In late October we were robbed and it took some time before I could get things back up and running again.

Details are in the current blog entries for 2006

And The Missing Entries……….

DECEMBER

(sometime in December)
Wha… I Swear That These Damned Songs Keep Following Me!

Or perhaps I just need my medication increased…

I was in Kroger again with Moiya, wandering the cookie aisle, trying to find animal crackers when the store Muzak started playing—of all things—Ray Charles. (When did Ray Charles become background music?)

You are so.. beautiful.. to me..

I look at Moiya and she has crammed an entire cracker into her mouth and looks like a demented chipmunk. She’s drooling a bit.

You are so.. beautiful.. to me, don’t you see?.

Moiya’s hair--what there is of it—is sticking up in all directions. She has..um.. is that.. cherry Jell-O on one cheek?

You’re everything I hoped for,
You everything I need..

Moiya lays her little head down on the hand I’m using to push the cart and pats my arm affectionately.

You are so.. beautiful.. to me..

(Sometime in December)
All Grown Up

Alas.. We don’t like being carried in from the car any more. We prefer to walk.

And now that Mommy and Daddy have calmed down a little, we prefer climbing the stairs to our own room, thank you very much.
We’re getting quite accomplished at using the spoon, and are working on forks. We rarely resort to using our hands anymore. Big girls, it seems, don’t do that.

And the child my Mother-In-law once dubbed “baby snuggles” seems to have taken sabbatical. I am assured by my cousin Marci and others that these are common and transitory things. But still.. I miss them.

Last week I was the flavor-of-the-week. Everything was “da-da!” Jacquelyn couldn’t get a nod. This week we’ve mastered “Mommy” rather than “ma-ma”… and Daddy is yesterday’s news. (sigh). I know.. I know.. it is transitory… but still.

A few weeks back we had a breakthrough two weeks. It started with peek-a-boo. We’d done peek-a-boo before, but now it was cropping up everywhere. I’d look in the rear-view mirror and see my daughter sitting still with her blanket over her head. And so she would sit unless I said “PEEK-A-BOO!” Which caused her to erupt with laughter. It was a pretty reliable attention-getter for Daddy as well. When Mommy was doing the diaper thing and Moiya was screaming, I could always play peek-a-boo to distract her.

Last week I tried it, and she just stared fixedly at me, as if to say “Wow, old man. That’s just sad.”

(sigh)

Then one day, as Jacquelyn was driving back from daycare, Moiya looked at her and said, quite distinctly “me want juice.” Jacquelyn nearly went off the road.

The next day I was leaving the house with Moiya whilst one of her Bear DVD’s (ok.. the only one we have now) was playing. Moiya waved and said “Bye-bye Bear!” ( To my credit, Jacquelyn had warned me and so I didn’t drop her.)

But then we regressed. Apparently having people understand you and getting what you actually want is passe’. So we have reverted to grunts and screams.

“Do you want to eat?”

 “Unngggh!”

 “Do you want juice?”

 \“UUNNGGH!”

 Do yo want down?”

 “UUUGGGNNNGHHG!!!” (accompanied by throwing a bowl of applesauce and her sippy-cup)

(Snappishly) “Do you want to go to bed early?”

 (pause)“Nope”

(sigh)

(Sometime in December)
Profiles in Courage

I probably shouldn’t do this. Every time I let y’all look too far inside via this journal, I live to regret it.

But what the hell..

When I was just a kid, and my Mum had to take me in for a shot to the doctors she kindly used to offer to buy me a toy of my own choosing afterwards. In one of the several events in my life for which I have NO real explanation, as we went through the department store towards the toy section, I stopped before a recording of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.. (New York Philharmonic, conducted by Leonard Bernstein.. I remember). I told my mother that it was what I wanted.

I didn’t know why then, nor do I today. Sometimes I get… guided... to things. I remember Mum telling me “You don’t know what that is, honey. You won’t like it.” But I had a child’s dogged determination and bloody-mindedness. No, I didn’t what it was or know WHY I wanted it. But I knew damned well that I did want it.

And my world changed forever.

It is not too far-fetched to say that, at the darkest times in my life (and there have been more than a few of those) that the music, the incredible spirit of Beethoven has given me strength and determination to pick my self and carry on.

So when I read last week of his final post-mortem, I was understandably a tad interested.

As of last week, we finally know what killed Ludwig von Beethoven. Researchers ran tests on hair and bone samples (determined via DNA to have, in fact, come from Beethoven), then proceeded to test for Mercury. It has long been assumed that Beethoven had died (as so many did in that period) of syphilis, and mercury was a common treatment of the time. But no mercury was found.

• Headaches
• Hearing problems
• Behavior problems/ Personality changes
• Hyperactivity
• Staggering
• Drowsiness
• Confusion
• Loss of appetite
• Nausea
• Painful gastrointestinal irritation
• Colic
• Vomiting
• Abdominal pain
• Constipation
• Muscle pain
• Joint pain

This is a virtual inventory of the descriptions we have from contemporaries of what Beethoven was like/went through. Today, in out post-Reagan America, he’d have ended up in a homeless shelter, clearly deranged and pretty much overlooked

Consider the opening of the Heiligenstadt Testament.. where he bids his brothers goodbye, determined to commit suicide:

O ye men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn or misanthropic, how greatly do ye wrong me, you do not know the secret causes of my seeming, from childhood my heart and mind were disposed to the gentle feelings of good will, I was even ever eager to accomplish great deeds, but reflect now that for six years I have been a hopeless case, aggravated by senseless physicians, cheated year after year in the hope of improvement, finally compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or, perhaps, be impossible), born with an ardent and lively temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of society, I was compelled early to isolate myself, to live in loneliness, when I at times tried to forget all this….. therefore forgive me when you see me draw back when I would gladly mingle with you, my misfortune is doubly painful because it must lead to my being misunderstood

 But in the end, Beethoven chose to live, and in so doing, created some of the greatest music in Western civilization. But his suffering did not last for the 6 years he cites here.

It lasted for thirty.

The list above represents the symptoms of severe lead poisoning. And we now know that it was such poisoning that wrung the life, slowly and painfully, out of Beethoven.

Thirty years driven to madness by pain and dementia. And yet.. How is it possible? How can one reconcile that this same miserable man, almost at the end of his sad days, could write a hymn to joy? The Fifth, okay. The Fifth is the sound of a man, beaten and bent and bloody, dragging himself upright and shaking his fist at life. It is the song of a man defying all that is hurtful and hateful, all that has beat him down. It is the elegant form of Paul Simon’s “The Boxer”. And my-oh-my do I know it well.

But how do we reconcile this man, who we now finally know to have been living with the most hellish levels of pain and despair.. how do we reconcile this with the Ode to Joy? Here’s a musical theme that lives still in the common consciousness, 200 years later. How did this output come from this sad, poisoned wreck of a man?

I am reminded of a favorite line from a favorite book, “To Kill a Mockingbird” which both Jacquelyn and I hold dear, in which Atticus Finch tells his son: “I wanted you to see that courage is more than a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you start, but you start anyway. You rarely win, but sometimes you do…

Each time now, when I think I am being in some way brave.. each time now when I feel like throwing in the towel.. I will think of Herr Beethoven, of Atticus Finch, or my Daddy, dragging himself up and struggling to walk unaided into the hospital for the last time and his appointment with death.

I will think of their courage. And I will stop my damned annoying whining.

NOVEMBER

(Sometime in November)
Computing By Candlelight

(Sometime in November)
Dr Livingston, I Presume
my native guides

(Sometime in November)
Dancing with the Dell-vil
The Seventh Level of Hell

(Sometime in November)
Soothing the Savage Breast

My daughter, at the ripe old age of 19 months has lately morphed from her usual sweet self into demon-child from the fire-pits of hell. And since my wife generally works late hours, it's usually Daddy who bears the brunt of temper at dinner (Moiya hasn't liked anything all week, despite my having emptied half the fridge at her) and bedtime (which she considers the ultimate injustice and says so -- loudly). For the past three days we've been butting heads pretty regularly and pretty hard.

Tonight, after I changed Moiya’s diaper (whilst being fiercely kicked), and as I chased her around the room trying to put her warm little footed jammies on her (or as she refers to it, trying to kill her), the radio began to play the An die Freude.. the finale of Beethoven's 9th Symphony. And after I complained to Moiya that the conducting was a bit.. um.. pedestrian, I flashed back--in that quirky, undisciplined way my brain does--to a scene in the movie "Immortal Beloved". (Not a great flick, but a reasonably accurate portrayal of Beethoven the man).

There is a scene of genuine beauty in the film. Towards the end, accompanied by the slow, gentle, reflective choral section of the last movement -- just before the wild rush to the end-- we see Beethoven as a young boy, climbing through the window of his apartment and hiding on the roof from his abusive father. And then we see him racing, barefoot, headlong through the moonless night to a nearby pond.

He dives in, and the camera pans up and looks down from above on the young child, floating on his back. And with the blackness of the water and the reflection of the night sky, one has the sudden, starling visual illusion that he is floating in endless space, swaddled by a blanket of stars

I'm not sure what the scene is like devoid of the music, but with the soft voices of Beethoven’s chorus as backing it is achingly beautiful, and it played across my minds eye as I held Moiya and rocked. For once, she was still.

And after that quiet, still moment that seems to hang forever in the air, the tempo of the music begins to quicken.

And it quickens.

Then the chorus roars out like a wave. And suddenly Moiya and I were dancing - a wild and improvisational thing, all twirls and dips, the music and my daughter's laugh combining to release all the troubles and angers and frustrations of the week. I threw her into the air and caught her in exactly the same way I chide Jacquelyn for. And as the chorus raged and raced , Moiya was giggling and I was laughing... big, goofy, soul-cleansing whoops of delight. Laughs and tears and an oh-so-real sense of the goodness there is in life.

And when the music finally stopped, Moiya touched my cheek and patted my shoulder with her little hand as I settled her into her crib for the night. (Daddy, of course, was wheezing for breath like a dying cow. Daddy is soooo out of shape)

But DAMN it was worth it!!

Note to self: Daddies are big goofy soft-headed old fools

And Moiya went to sleep without a fight, for the first time in ages.

Sorry this isn't more clear, but pencil sketches are just the very devil to scan. It's a princess costume, but I HATE so-called "fairytale princess" costumes. So I decided to base this one on the Italian Renaissance instead. (Perhaps Moiya can be Catherine d'Medici)

Costume is deep wine-colored velour with white patterned velour sleeves and underskit. Gown is trimmed in white and gold, with pearl accents.

Bodice is nearly done. Should have pics next week. WOW... kid proportions are SO WIERD! I drafted out the pattern and just kept staring at it, thinking that it couldn't possibly be right.

Next year, of course, Moiya will be at a point where she will know what's going on and can pick her own costume. But till then, Daddy can still play :)

Yesterday, I had my first phone conversation with my daughter. Not the usual one where I talk and she chews on the phone and pushes the buttons. But a real one.. where she knew who I was, I talked to her and she talked back.

I'm still stunned.

Jacq. handed her the phone and said "It's Daddy" Then clear as a bell I heard

"Dada?"

"Dada!"

"Hi Dada!!"

(Odd noise which I later discovered was Moiya giving the phone a kiss. Jacquelyn in the background telling Moiya to say goodbye)

"Bye-bye Dada!!"

Wow. Just... Wow. I walked into my night class and just kept giggling.

Just returned from dropping Moiya off at daycare and am so angry I can scarcely see straight.

Now, Jacquelyn has been on third shift all week, so things have been messed up schedule-wise (yeah… weekends are really fun here. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy them). And the cow that runs the day care unexpectedly shut down Friday, as she had to go to a funeral (yeah… a daycare that had more than ONE caregiver would be nice) which has thrown things still further off. So at 7 a.m. (thank God I’m prepping today, or this would have transpired at 5:30 a.m.) I get Moiya fed and cleaned and dressed and we go to daycare.

“Did Mom give you a check.?” She asks, making no move to take the baby as I come in.

“Ummm.. no. I haven't seen her yet ”

“Well then, Moiya can’t stay here. You owe me for last week.”

SHE CAN’T STAY HERE??

EXCUSE ME??

So I bundled Moiya back out into the cold and RAIN and took her home so I could get the checkbook and give this b*tch her $68

Gotta find a new place.. and would if my internet access weren’t out AGAIN (another phone call I need to make, since they “fixed” our connection last week).

The world is full of s.o.b.s.

NPR has been airing an interesting project, based on an effort during the depression, where a roving recording studio sets up in random cities and records whatever stories its passing residents feel compelled to offer. The results are usually fascinating. I remember especially an elderly lady telling of the days when Coney Island was new and she was a child visiting it on vacation. Good stuff, that.

But this particular time it was a young fellow who had apparently founds his “birth mother” – an appalling term -- and wanted to interview her about the events surrounding his having been given up for adoption.

Now I suppose, being a good and bitterly defiant liberal, I can stomach some of that.. though frankly, people who go off to find their “birth parents” give me a royal pain in the tuckus .

But what really set me off was this young ass referring (on tape and repeatedly) to this woman as his “mother.”

Mother?

By damn, no sir!

MOTHER?

Being a walking petrie dish who can’t keep her legs together no more makes you a “mother” than being a sperm donor makes you a “father” (though there are righteous asses in this inbred-idiot country who would argue both points).

Your parents are the ones who cried and held each other on the nights when you had colic.

• They are the ones who rocked you to sleep at night, though in doing so, they had no sleep themselves before going to work the next day.
  
  
• They are the ones who fed you, clothed you, cleaned your messes and bathed you.
  were intimately acquainted with your poop, your pee, your blood, and your spit, and didn’t flinch at any of them.
  
  
• They held you during the bad dreams, and they encouraged you to follow the good ones.
  
  
• They punished you when they had to, though it ate at their souls.
  
  
• They helped you with your homework, taught you social skills, and worked and scrimped to make sure you had all that you desired.
  
  
• They gave up leisure, money, free time, and a host of other things, just to have the time to look after your needs.
  
  
• They got up in the wee hours, having worked long to pay for your presents, in order to place them under the tree that you might have a few innocent years of believing in magic and wonder.
  
• They dried your tears and bandaged your scrapes.
  
  
• They slept not at all when you were ill, too busy watching over you in the long night to care for themselves.
  

They gave up their lives for you.

And their reward, you little sh*t, is to hear you call some other woman “mother”?

God help the unlucky couple that raised you.

If I found out tomorrow that I was adopted, can you imagine that it would make the slightest bit of difference? Would my mother be less the woman who raised me? Would my father not have vouchsafed his name to me?

Is family no more then than genetics?

Bollocks! And genetics be damned. My parents are those who RAISED me.

And Moiya is OUR daughter. Nobody else's.

Grrrrrr.....

Neglected to mention why I wanted Moiya around pets/why I am pleased that she has taken to them:

Empathy.

In the news, the one pattern I see played out over and over is a lack of empathy.. a failure to be able to put oneself in the place of another. This is something I was taught from the cradle, but see around me seldom, if at all.

Be it child abuse or animal abuse on the part of some sad freak, or a failure to provide for destitute citizens on the part of the movers and shakers in Washington, the lack of empathy ("do unto others...") it the greatest curse haunting America.

And I don't want it to haunt my daughter.

One of the first words she learned was "gentle". When she tries to pet the "kitties" and we say "gentle", she learns. When she tries to pet the "kitties" and they flee her rough handling, she learns.

And when she tries to pet the "kitties" and approaches them correctly so that they stay to be petted and hugged and kissed,

Oh my...

we learn.

As we had hoped, Moiya adores animals. Especially cats.. but also pretty much anything else. Whatever it is, she wants to pet it and, if it will hold still long enough, she'll give it a kiss as well.

Every time I pick her up from daycare, she starts meowing as soon as we step outside, as she knows there are kitties about and she cranes her little neck trying to spy them. When she sees the cats at home, she gets a huge grin, and start mewing at them.

Then we noticed... she also meows at the dog. And now that she's discovered the bunny, she mews at her too. In fact she mews at pretty much any kind of animal. As far as we can tell, she thinks they're all kitties.

Except the "Ish".

Just got word that Bob West (aka "Mister Potato-Head" when we worked for him) died this weekend of lung cancer. While I personally had no use for the man, death is always sad --especially that particular kind. (I remember Lamont got so tired of his bumming cigarettes that one Christmas he slipped him a few exploding ones. Bob should have taken the hint).

His wife, as I remember, was a nice person. And his daughter was bright and clever and funny (his son was just like his old man, alas). And the thought that they are now all greiving saddens me.

There are fewer and fewer people around from those days. One had to be retired for mental disability. Two have had coronaries. And two have died.

So my prayers for Bob and his family. And one for me.. that I be the Last Man Standing ;)

Huh! Just when I thought that the cabal in Washington had lost its power to suprise me comes word that Michael Brown (the horse-breeder/college-buddy of the Homeland Security Secretary) who was responsible for much of the Katrina mismanagement, has been rehired by FEMA -- this time as a consultant. His mandate is to report on the performance of FEMA during the disaster.

That's right. He's going to make $250,000.00 to write a report about his own performance.

I mean... damn! Why can't I land a job like that? Meanwhile, owing to having been off a week with my back, I no longer have any vacation time accrued for the holidays. In fact, I owe my employer money for time off I wasn't "due". And Jacq doesn't get a vacation until she's been on the job for a year.

I think I see Madame Dufarge waiting in the wings with her knitting....

But when I looked in from the bedroom, this is what I saw.

I understand FEMA offered help via a website for the people caught in powerless New Orleans.

Today I finally went up front to the receptionist's computer and changed my password. (We can't do it from the instructor computers, 'casue they don't work right. I think I may have mentioned). We be a technology company.

Anyway, I find all these frantic e-mails asking when I'm coming back to work, can I cover such-and-such a class, yadda-yadda....

Now.. let's think about this, boys and girls.

You have an employee. You know that they are (at least for the moment) effectively crippled. Bedridden. Flat-ona-da-backa. No cannee-sittee-uppee

So you decide to communicate HOW?

I made what will probably end up being the last haul from the garden yesterday. It was the first day I’ve been able to walk, so I limped painfully out to the far side yard to see the state of things.

All the greenery that was once so fresh and healthy about Innisfree has a tired, and ragged look. Disease has withered the tomatoes, and the green pepper plants needed water they did not get in my absence. The cucumber plants, after offering some prodigious specimens have retired to the earth with a sigh. Only the okra are out of place now, still gathering strength, twice the size of last year and finally getting blooms. Better late than never.. perhaps we will eat okra before winter after all.

But I gather up one last plastic bag of gifts from the soil, and I stop for a moment of reflection near the woods (where not so long ago I espied a young deer peering at me curiously through the brush) and say a silent "thank-you" to my small patch of the earth, and the plants that have labored so hard all summer long. One quiet moment of gratitude and respect from me is surely not too much to ask.

Most would say in this oh-so-literal age that this is wrong.. that thanks should be offered up only to God and not to dirt and mindless plants. But I say that God is a being of many faces, and my little patch and its plants are, to my eyes, the most beautiful one. Thousands of years ago, primative peoples got it. The silent, secluded monks in their monastery gardens got it.

And I get it.

Practice

We have begun to notice that Moiya likes to practice. When she first managed to climb into her little rocking chair, she did it over, and over, and over again throughout the day until she felt she had it mastered. Sometimes these little triumphs are shared--via a hug--with Mr. Bear. Sometimes she gives a little hand-clap for herself as she walks off in search of the Next Challenge.

I was reminded of this while waiting at the immediate care center. There was a small child’s table and chairs set up in one corner of the waiting room, with coloring books and crayons (which I thought was wonderfully thoughtful. Moiya has recently begun to experiment with crayons. She has learned that they do not taste good).

Moiya struggled into one of the little slick, padded chairs encumbered by her shoes, which did not want to slide over the vinyl. As she was having a little trouble getting turned around, I hobbled over and helped her. . and was astonished when she slid right back of the seat I had just helped her into and started climbing on again!

At first I attributed it to sheer bloody-mindedness at having been helped. But finally it dawned that she hadn’t “gotten it right” yet. And so I let her go1… she climbed on, she climbed off. She climbed on, she climbed off. Occasionally she would color. Often she would flirt with other people waiting for the doctor.

Then she would climb on, she would climb off…

***********************************************************************

In addition to noticing her increasingly obvious attempts to imitate words (“ish”) and sounds (we finally caught on to the fact that her high pitched squeal when she sees a cat is a “meow”. If you "meow" at her, you’ll get the same squeal from her as when she sees Duncan) it is becoming increasingly obvious that she understands most, if not all, of what is said to her. Last weekend, she picked up one of her shoes (which she used to fight wearing) and thrust it at me insistently,. She understands now that she can go more places if she is shod.

So I said, “Well, we’ll have to put your socks on first.” So she he immediately put the shoe down, turned around, got her socks from the other end of the room, and brought them over to me.

Wow. Just – as I continue to say – Wow.

(In the midst of proofing this, I gave Moiya a bath and we played a bit before I tucked her in. And at one point I said "We need to comb your hair." So she went and got the comb I bought her last week. And half to myself, I said "Well, I meant 'brush'." And she promptly went and got the brush.

Yikes!

******************************************************************

Rather than taking away the things that she has picked up, we've started just asking her for them, and she is usually quite happy to hand them over. Giving and receiving seems to be interesting. She picked up one of Jacquelyn’s books and tried to give it to me, and I said “Give it to Momma.” So she toddled out of the room and found Jacquelyn. If asked, she’ll also start picking up things and straightening her room. Sometimes she really does put them away (we practiced getting her blocks out and putting them away till I finally zipped the damned bag shut to stop her) and sometimes she straightens by carefully dropping things on the other side of the child gate. Out of sight, out of mind.

Mom gave her a book with these goofy plastic crickets on the front. They’re little clickers, but you have to push just on their heads, and pretty hard. I finally got her to understand where to click (erm.. Moiya, not Mom.. Bad pronoun use there), and she practiced it on and off for about the next hour. Now, anytime Moiya passes the book, she’ll stop, click one, and walk off with a smug look.

Just now, we were playing with Moiya's Lego blocks. Primarily this has always consisted of me building things and her knocking them over. Or of the two of us gleefully banging them together to make some cool noise. Today, I was building a tower and Moiya picked up a block, waddled over and fitted it to the top. And then another. And another. When it got too tall for her to reach, she’d push it aside and start another. The fitting of the pieces was the goal. We were practicing. Not long ago she first managed stacking rings.Now the legos. Next her goal seems to be to master the wooden puzzle Mom got her. She gets frustrated after awhile and smacks it.

But she always returns. We’ll get there.

One of Moiya’s favorite books is “Snuggle Puppy” by Sandra Boynton. We made up a tune for the song and have been singing it to her since she was still just a lump. The song used to end (when we swaddled her on our bed in the early days) with Jacquelyn and I both giving her a kiss. Last Sunday she brought it over, motioned for me to read it, then danced while I sang. And then, when I was done, she gave me a big kiss.

Moiya also tries to kiss the dog and the cats, thought they are less receptive than we are. Duncan has again gotten more trusting as Moiya has gotten more gentle, and will once again sometimes submit to being hugged and kissed. But if the mood is on her, when Moiya sees pictures of dogs of cats in books, she’ll lean in and kiss them too.

That same day, Moiya kept walking to the far side of the rocker. It looked like she was trying to pass between the wall and the rocker and come out the other side… but she never made it through. She’d disappear, then return. Then disappear, and return. I thought it first there wasn’t enough room for her to get by, but that proved not to be the case.

Finally it dawned. Moiya ’s recently begun to appreciate the game of peek-a-boo. I’ve tried it off and on since she was born, usually to dumbfounded stares.. but recently to smiles and giggles. So in a flash of inspiration, when Moiya walked out from behind the rocker I said “PEEK-A-BOO!” She immediately squealed with laughter and ducked back.

And the game was on!

Being a Dad is just the best thing ever

********************************************************************

And lastly.. though I’m not sure how to do this discretely. Oh hell.. who am I fooling? There’s no way to tell this discretely. One of the medications they’ve pumped me full of causes extreme flatulence. So one recent morning, while I was lying on the floor of her room (which was about all I could do) I just ripped a series of about five loud farts.

Moiya stopped dead, midway through turning around in her rocker (she likes to sit backwards in it to watch the “ish”2) and just stared at me.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry. It was me.”

Moiya looked at me for a minute and then put out her tongue and blew a loud, wet raspberry. A whole series of them, in fact. I laughed so hard I couldn’t see straight. And she kept doing it for the rest of the day, every time I.. um.. you know.

Heh.

That’s my kid.

**************************************************************

Wow.. the first blog with footnotes! Lucky you!

1 "All the kids kept trying to grab for the gold ring, and so was old Phoebe, and I was sort of afraid she'd fall off the horse, but I didn't say anything or do anything. The thing with kids is, if they want to grab for the gold ring, you have to let them do it, and not say anything. If they fall off, they fall off, but it's bad if you say anything to them"
~The Catcher in the Rye, J.D. Salinger

2 I also used to sit backwards in that particular chair, so I know exactly why Moiya does it. In that position the back of the chair makes a perfect armrest to lean forward and observe things from. Very comfy, as I recall.

This will be a long one.. it’s been a helluva week and I’ve much to get off my chest. In spite of the events below, it has also been a week of some of my dearest and favorite Moiya Moments. I’ll detail those later on.. I’m tired now and I’m afraid I’ll forget one :)

Sorry also for the typing.. I’m trying to do this flat on my back on a laptop balanced over my face.

To begin with, I wrenched my back.. worse than I have done in a good 20 years. Sent home from work on the first day (just because they found me writhing on the floor of the instructor room.. sheesh!) I was sent with stern admonitions by our business manager (who I report to) to see a chiropractor. I was raised to think of the words “chiropractor” and “witch doctor” as being essentially synonymous.

But as these were the folks giving me leave to stay at home, I didn’t feel I had much choice. If I hadn’t followed their dictates and was consequently unable to resume my duties, I figured my stock would be even lower about the place than it already is. Be3sides, the first day of hot pads and bed rest had done nothing to help. So I scheduled an appointment. So began the longer dammed ten minute drive of my life. Had to sit sideway (tough in a bucket seat) with a knotted towel at my spine just to kept from screaming.

But I also arrived at their office with nothing to lose.

Very odd place, chiropractic offices. More medical-ly that visiting your accountant.. but lacking the sick, disquieting feeling of a real medical office. Sort of like and accountant’s office trying to adopt a false mustache as a disguise.

Anyway.. I have to read some brochures about hoe chiropractic sciences can cure everything from ingrown toenails to acne, then the “Doctor” .. who looks exactly like Charles Grodin with a bad blonde dye job proceeds to quiz me about what I’ve just read and then does some X-Rays “to see if they can help me.” They did do this very cool thing where they had me lay on my stomach whilst they zapped my back with these little electrode thingies. That was quite pleasant. Then they took my money and sent me off with instructions to ice it for 20 minutes every hour and come back the next day.

This is the week Jacquelyn goes back on “third shift”, which means she leaves for work at 9 p.m. and comes back at 8 a.m. So she can get Moiya from daycare and tend to her as I freeze my posterior off in a succession of ice packs.

Next day I make the excruciating drive and hobble in to hear the good news that yes, indeed, they can help me. Huzzah! I get zapped some more, and then Doctor Nutcase begins the “adjustment.” I have to admit, it was interesting. Lots of snapping and popping and other alarming noises. And I hobble back to the car in the hopes that maybe this will all work out.

After two treatments, it was my considered opinion that things were worse. They seemed better… Friday morning on the way to my “consultation” alluded to in an earlier post, I managed to get Moiya ready to go to daycare.. actually got her there. But by the time I got back in the car, I knew I was a dead man. Judging by the waves of pain, I was certain my spine was working it’s way out my back like an old underwire. Thank God I didn’t encounter anyone on the road, or I’d have simply rolled over them. Managed to get the car into the drive, crawl into the house and phone our business manager to tell her that there was no way in hell I was going to be there in any shape that anyone would pay to see. She’s not happy, but I tell her that I’ve followed her orders like a good little soldier, so what’s she gonna do? Besides, it’s Friday, so I get a slight reprieve.

Actually, this is were it gets bad. Because now there is no more daycare for Moiya for two days.. Mommy is on the vampire shift, and Daddy lays on the ground and moans a lot. Doctor Mad-As-A-Mongoose gives me another lecture on how we don’t want to just treat the pain.. no…. then it might come back. So we don’t just want relief, we want to keep milking the old bank account for the foreseeable future for “correction”. I mention, literally as I gasp and collapse onto a chair as my back gives out yet again, that I understand the concept (the “doctor” is apparently used to explaining things to retarded two-year-olds), but as long as we’re on the subject of “relief” could he please tell me when I could be expecting to receive some?

There was no coherent answer. I should point out also that as I limped in that day, not one, but two office staff observed cheerily that “I looked like I must be feeling much better.” This despite the fact that I literally, at that point had slept no more than two hours per night for the past three days, limped like Quasimodo, and had lost a good deal of the feeling in my left leg. To my credit, my reply was polite and G rated.

I should also point out that I have completely lost faith in my former physician (Don Cortisone) and was casting about for another – to get my lovely colonoscopy, if for no other reason – when all this transpired. So at this point I’m feeling a little confused, and not seeing any real alternative other than to keep on with the planned treatments.

Saturday was just awful. Moiya was tired and cranky, so Jacquelyn put her down a little early. About Midnight, she wakes up and starts howling. I figure she’s hungry, she I hobble up to get her, having to stop and lie on the floor next to her crib after I get there, till the pain subsides. The I clean her, get her down and whip her up some dinner and we settle in to watch a little Bear and the Big Blue House.

When the power goes out.

No storm. I just goes.

The house is very dark and while we have a scented candle on the entertainment center, I have no idea where any matches are, and no chance of finding any in the dark. So I find my way to the kitchen, where I keep a plentiful supply of chopsticks (very handy in cooking) and light one on the burner (yea for gas) and use it to light my way back to0 where Moiya now freaking out, and light the single Yankee candle. Pick her up, throw out the back again, then head upstairs.. except this time, as I have baby in one hand and candle in the other, there no way to use the stair rail. We have a few stops for breath and moderate swearing, but we make it.

By this time, Herself has decided that she doesn’t know what the hell is going on, but she knows she doesn’t like it, and she especially knows she doesn’t want to go back to bed. So there’s lots of scre4aming. I tried to mollify her by leaving the candle lit and lying near her crib so she can see me, (because by this time I can no longer sit up and am sweating like a pig). But to no avail. She keeps chucking pacifiers and stuffed animals at me.

We finally settle about two-thirty and I crawl off to bed.

At five-thirty, she’s awake again and wants breakfast. We manage that, but play mostly consists of Daddy lying on the floor whilst Moiya crawls over him and fetches books to be read to out of.

At eight-thirty, Jacquelyn gets home and brings breakfast from McDonalds (it was a better night than before, as at least the drunks she had to throw out this night didn’t take a swing at her). And after seeing me drop onto my knees halfway across the floor, decided that she had had enough of all this idiocy. She got online and found an immediate care center, and few minutes after that, bundled up Moiya and hauled me, still protesting, to real medical personnel. (I’m still not sure I understand the concept as opposed to an ER.. but there are many things I don’t understand in life. Fortunately, she does)

In short order, they had shot my hip full of steroids, and filled me full of anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxants. By this point Moiya is tired and the adventure has worn thin, so Jacquelyn drops us both off at home and goes back to get my meds. This is by now mid day, and she’s been on her feet working since 10 p.m. the previous evening. I picked my Best Friend well.

Cut to Sunday… same basic situation as Saturday, except I’m taking pills and have resolved to tell Dr. Crack-For-Brains at the witchdoctor institute that I will not be seeing him on Monday. Still a lot of pain, in spite of everything. But by mid afternoon, Moiya is getting stir crazy, and we are out of food. We usually have our shopping “adventure” on Sunday and she’s missing it. So I wait till I’m feeling a little better, strap myself together, and cart her off to WalMart, so that Jacquelyn, who has been watching her so I can rest, can get some sleep before she has to go back to work. Starts off ok.. Moiya is happy, and while I’m wearing out, I support my weight on the cart and think I can probably get the short list I’ve got. Almost did too… then reached for my wallet and found I didn’t have it. Hard to tell though the back brace. So… not having been raised in Kentucky and Indiana as well as in a different century, rather than leaving the cart there, and knowing I won’t be back to claim it, I put it all back again and return home where Ice awaits.

But now I’m freaking, as the meds are working (I think) but nowhere near fast enough to make up for the chiropractic debacle. I have to teach in the morning. But what? I know that the schedules have all been rewritten to compensate for me not being there. So I have no idea what I’m teaching. Maybe something that can be cancelled.. but I think it is probably the class that was initially cancelled for me when they first sent me home. There’s no way it will get cancelled twice. And I’m the only one who can teach it.

No problem. There’s a web site I can log onto and get my up-to-the-minute schedule.

And since I’m writing about it here, you just know that isn’t what happened now, don’t you?

You see, we each have a password. And it has to be changed periodically. And at one time, that was no big deal.. we got our office e-mail on a designated “e-mail computer” . We can also get our email online… but they didn’t set something up right and you can’t reset your password that way. You have to use the e-mail computer in the office. The guy who set it up promised he’d fix it, but he never did and now he’s gone. Unfortunately, the e-mail computer is screwed up too, and it can take days to reset your password. They promised they’d fix it but…

Anyway… I was out getting crippled when my password expired. So I’m locked out of the e-mail… and out of my schedule.

Damn! Starting to panic. There are three people we’re to call in an emergency: the business manager, then the training manager, then the general manager (who lives in Dayton, Ohio… don’t ask) No point calling him, he won’t know anything anyway. No point calling the Training manager, he doesn’t work there anymore. So I call the business manager… you know.. the one who sent me to a chiropractor.

“I’m sorry, she’s not in.”

“Can you tell me when she’ll be back?”

“Sometime next week. She left town on vacation.”

At this point I look at Jacquelyn and say “This must be what it’s like to work for FEMA.”

Happy ending (kinda). Called my officemate James (a prince among men) who got online and got my schedule for me. Turns out I have a prep day Monday. One more day of grace. I still have to work, but I can do it from home.

It is late now, as I write this, and the house is quiet. Jacquelyn has gone to serve her last night on vampire shift, Moiya sleeps, and from the monitor I can hear the music from the radio I leave playing by her crib each night. They are playing Appalachian Spring, by Aaron Copland. And as I close, they are reaching the section that is taken from "Simple Gifts", an old Shaken tune. I’ve always liked that song. And it serves as a happy reminder that, no matter what, when I look around at who I share this litte house with, I know that I am a lucky man. It’s a good ending to this entry:

'Tis the gift to be simple,
'tis the gift to be free,
'tis the gift to come down where you ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.

OK.. the meds are kicking in now.. to sleep.

..about this. Tomorrow I'm "consulting" (as NH continues to go down the drain, they are in desperation, hiring us darkies out as "consultants"). They are charging some poor schmuck $129 PER HOUR just to talk to me! Imagine.. my conversation is worth $129 dollars per hour!

Partly I'm flattered. But then there's the reality that, though the company and the Account Exec who set up the sale will profit, I will see none of that money.

I think, technically, that makes the Account Exec a pimp...

Last week we had two HUGE mushrooms of unknown variety growing in the front yard. Then Yard Guy mowed the lawn. This week we have a front yard full of scarey-looking mushroons.

Kinda cool though...

What a week. On the way hoe from work Friday, the car began acting odd.. The power-up lightfor the airbags started flashing, and the radio cut out. The windows would only lower very, very slowly. And the door locks wouldn’t function at all. At this point, I was desperately hoping that I’d blown a fuse, because the alternative was not something I wanted to consider. I mean… we just had the alternator replaced in July.. so it COULDN’T be that. Right?

On a hunch, I opted not to stop at Kroger of PetSmart and made a beeline straight for home. Since I left work a little earlier than usual, there wasn’t as much traffic, so I kinda.. well.. “floored it”. There are large stretches without shoulders on the way home.. and I’d left without my cell phone that morning. And I was beginning to undergo “digestive difficulties” from lunch. And I could just see me, breaking down in rush hour, on a bridge, with no way to summon help, and having explosive diarrhea I mean.. that’s just the sort of luck I usually have.

To make a long story short, I made it across the river. It was indeed the alternator, so I drove home on battery power alone.. which quit just in sight of Innisfree. The engine cut out just as the house came into view and I coasted the rest of the way in (and let me tell ya, you don’t appreciate power steering till you lose it.

Made it to the driveway.. made it to the bathroom. (whew) For once the ‘luck of the Irish’ passed me by. J

We were supposed to Have dinner with my in-laws, but pressing .. um.. digestive matters kept me home. So at least I was able to get the car towed in (between bat5hroom breaks) and serviced. And yes, it was the alternator. And since my clever Jacquelyn had saved the receipt, we got parts and labor for free.. only had to pay for a new battery, and a small portion of the towing (AAA is a WONDERFUL organization).

Forgive my typing.. my 10 th grade teacher informed me “Don’t take typing, you’ll never use it” It was wonderful enough to do a master’s thesis with two fingers (I personally kept the White Out company in business for years. Some of my papers looked like relief maps) .. now I type on computers all day. THANK YOU Sister Mary Angelica. And all this has been exacerbated by my having thrown out my back yesterday. Jacquelyn was on one of her late schedules (on at 10 p.m., off at 8 a.m.) and the Girl was down for the night. And the dog had gotten into the cat food and decorated the dining room hardwood floor with evil-smelling piles. So I took the opportunity to scrub the floors, reseal them, and vacuum. Unfortunately, holding the half-bent position required to run a vacuum for two hours did me in. I look like Quasimodo and am confined to bed, on my back, typing this on a laptop balance on my knees. This does not add to my typing excellence.

Anyway…

Enough of that. Nobody reads this to hear about moi. Onwards to Moiya news.

We’ve got out molars now, and are starting our canines. While we talk constantly, only a few words actually get through. Though I’m absolutely certain that she IS saying words now, if only because she understands so much. I cannot prove that she understands each individual word spoken to her, but she tends to understand the meaning behind them. When she picks up things she should not, rather than taking them away, we’ll ask “Can I have that?” And she’ll immediately hand it back. We keep pet gates over doorways into potentially dangerous places (bathroom and kitchen). This morning Jacquelyn was in the bathroom and Moiya wandered in. Jacquelyn just walked out and asked Moiya to “close the door” Which she did. A few days ago, she picked up a paperback of Jacquelyn’s and I told her to “take it to Mama.” And she promptly turned around and walked over to where Jacquelyn was sitting and gave her the book.

But the most amazing thing is the fish.

As things stand now, Moiya might very well end up an ichthyologist one day. Long before she could even walk Moiya was fascinated by the large fish tank in the lobby of Mom’s complex. Not sure why.. I thought it was just because they were moving and she was attracted to that. But her attention is razor-sharp now, and no matter what other distractions might be present, it focuses on fish.

A few weeks back, we were reading from one of her books, which has a big picture of goldfish in it. And as always, I pointed to the dog and said “dog”. I pointed to the cats and said “kitty”. I pointed to the goldfish and said “fish”

“Pffeees”

Of course I got a face full of spit, but it was well worth it. I continued to point to the fish /and Moiya kept saying “Pfheeesh”

Last week we were looking at another of her books,… “household objects” I think, when we came across (in the food section) a picture of some mackerel. She had not been interested in the dogs or the cats. But then I pointed to fish and said “fish”

Moiya immediately got up and walked over to her books, pulled out the one on household animals, brought it to me, opened it to the goldfish page and announced “Eesh”

Wow. Just Wow.

What an amazing adventure.

So we decided to get Moiya an aquarium. Setting it up was no fun (owing to the back). And Moiya ignored it the first night, when I’d only put water in (though she had a wonderful time at PetSmart, looking at all the fish.. we could have stayed for hours had not Daddy been in pain). But the next night, after I put in the gravel and fake plants, when we put her to bed, she looked over at the tank, pointed with great excitement and exclaimed “EESH! EESH!”

Each and every day is just a wonder.

One other small thing. When Herself and I went grocery shopping last Saturday (and I’ve grown to love my little outings with Moiya) we got her a comb and brush set. She doesn’t have much hair, but what there is is fine and easily tangled. She got the hang of things quite quickly, and was soon b rushing herself, Mr. Bear, and me. Often with the wrong side of the br4ush.. but she’s got the movements down,

Then I saw her do something entirely new.

After a few brushes, she would grin and giggle, and do a dance (not possible to describe). So I repeated the dance to hysterical giggles (note: this is how my dancing is usually received… but just this once, I didn’t mind J

We kept this up for ½ hour. Moiya making up dances and me following. It was a wonderful day.

(OK.. gonna go lie down and sleep mow. Maybe will make sense of this later.

I love this picture. I almost overlooked it amongst a batch that I'd shot some while back. And it helped me today remember why I haven't yet sold my daughter to passing gypsies.

Moiya is going through two phases:

First, she greets everything not to her satisfaction with a high-pitched shreik that leaves dogs in the surrounding counties shaking their heads. This is a sound that makes angels weep, saints swear, and glass break. And she can apparantly produce it indefinately.

Second, like her Daddy, she has developed insomnia. Not sure whether it is willful or no, but nothing can coax her to take a nap, no matter how desperately she need one. For some odd reason, she feels that throwing things from her crib is a good way to protest her incarcerations... until she realises that Mr. Bear, her sippy cup, and her pacifier are all on the other side of the bars. Then the high-pitched squeeling REALLY begins.

In desperation today I drove out to Corydon (which, charmingly, has a town square) and let her run. She can't really run, of course, but she enjoys charging around like a little pink tank on those stumpy little pile-driver legs. And the square has a split-rail fence around it, so she's pretty safe. We charged around for about a half-hour (with only one period of tears, when Daddy wouldn't let her run into traffic), and then used the stroller to sight-see for another half-hour. FINALLY she got tired and napped when we got home.

Thereafter I had my baby back (rather than Demon-child). We had ravioli and avacodo for dinner. We had a bath (it is GREAT fun to splash Daddy... but only if he complains and shakes his wet head in mock dismay when we do it). And then fluffy towels and lavender lotion and bedtime stories before turning in.

(Sigh)

So nothing much to tell, really. Only what I've already posted. We've gotten our last tomatoes, as the creeping fugus I've been fighting all summer has finally reached the tops of the plants. The okra is huge, but never produced a single bloom. The lavender is so overgrown with weeds that I've had to kill it all and start over.

I sometimes feel as though I'm a reverse-Midas; everything my father touched turned to gold; everything I touch turns to dross. And the thought makes me more tired and depressed than I can say.

Then I go up and look at my sleeping Moiya. And somehow, everything is ok :)

Moiya and I went grocery shopping this evening. We usually go on Sunday afternoon. But Momma was at work and we were bored and lonely and I thought it would be a change of pace for the Girl.

And having now seen the Corydon Wal-Mart on a Saturday night, I can only find this to say: I had no idea so many people married their own sisters.

Last night, as Jacquelyn was changing Moiya's diaper (which Moiya objects to - I keep trying to explain that it is MUCH more objectionable for us, to no avail) and I was trying to distract her screaming with a book, she took the volume in her hand and said “boo-eck”

“Did you hear that?” I said. “Did that sound like she was trying to say ‘book’?”

“Book” said Moiya, clear as day.

“She said it… she said book twice!” I exclaimed.

“Book” said Moiya.

“Three times!’

Moiya looked at her little board-book and said “Boooook” once more, and then life moved on. We often think she is saying words, but it is usually open to question. This was not.

Heh… my daughter can say “book”

She also dances when the “Ode to Joy” from Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony plays.

Life is good :)

We were at Kroger a few weeks back buying groceries, which has become something of a ritual for Moiya and I. And there was a clerk there stocking shelves who took a shine to Moiya and would flirt with her every time we went by. On our last pass, I tried to get Moiya to tell the girl “bye-bye”, which she knows perfectly well how to do. And though she grinned at cooed, she absolutely would not say goodbye.

Until about three aisles later, with no one anywhere in sight. Then the waved at nobody in particular and said loudly “bye-BYE!”

It also looks as though she’s going to be a cleaner. We finally figured out that the reason she was throwing food from her tray was that she was done and wanted the tray clean. Give her a paper towel and she’ll start wiping like mad. Totally ineffectual, of course, but still…

The funniest thing is up in her room. She goes mad until she gets a few baby wipes (we’ve had to start keeping them out of reach, as she’s figured out how to open the box). After she gets a wipe of two, she goes around the room “cleaning”. She’ll wipe down the walls (one particular spot.. we don’t know why) and her bookcase. Sometimes the footstool. And if I hold still long enough, she’ll toddle over and start cleaning my head. Tonight she actually wiped her own face clean! Of course she then stuffed the wipe in her mouth and wandered around the room chewing it thoughtfully. But still…

I noted to Jacquelyn with enormous satisfaction, that Moiya’s toys are still pristine. But her books look like hell. They continue to be her favorite playthings. Other toys will enter the spotlight of her attention briefly and then leave. But Mr. Bear and her books are standing firm. Oddly, even though she can’t read, certain books are clear favorites. She’ll dig through the pile determinedly and pull out the same five or so, over and over again. Not sure what the criteria is, but she clearly knows what she likes and what she doesn’t

I have no explanation for this. Moiya has a little electronic.. oh, let’s call it a music box, for that is essentially it’s function. Push a button and it plays random tunes. She likes to amuse herself with it at night while she’s falling asleep and telling Mr. Bear about the day. And since it’s batteries are getting low (it sounds as though the musicians are on heavy narcotics) I went to change the batteries and found that we didn’t have any of the right kind.

So I opened up a Baby Einstein stacking toy that Mom gave her to swap batteries. She didn’t like it much when she was smaller and couldn’t stack things. But now she can and does and I thought a short break from hearing the tune it plays when you get the little rings onto their post would be no bad thing.

But it was empty.

Slots for three AA batteries.. but there was nothing there. So I closed it back up and pushed the button. It played a tune, it’s little lights flashing merrily.

I turned it over and opened it up again.. still no batteries. Then I noticed that the On-Off switch was set to off. I turned it on. Nothing. I turned it off.

And the little toy with no power that was switched to off played a little tune.

I’m going to go lie down now…

To my talented friend Lisa (who is making "the big move") and to friend Tracine, one of the nicest people ever (who is recovering from cancer) and to cousin Cheryl (who is moving) and Aunt M (who nver gets my letter so I have to say "hi" here) and to buddy Mayna (whose Mom is fighting lung cancer) and to superfriend Ellen (aka "Job" who is starting a new chapter of her life).

Love and hugs and prayers that (for once) good things happen to good people

Damn the persistence of memory. Was shopping in Kroger with the Girl when I became dimly aware of the muzak, just on the edge of hearing. Whilst I dug through the frozen goods happily unaware, at the back of my head my brain was busy piecing the bits of melody together, identified it as a song I’d not heard in ten years or so, selected a salient verse and suddenly it flooded into my conscious mind without warning:

I wasn't there that morning
When my Father passed away
I didn't get to tell him
All the things I had to say

 I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year
I'm sure I heard his echo
In my baby's new born tears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Stopped as dead as if I’d been punched in the gut and just scooped up Moiya and held her very, very close for a long while. Dad would have so loved this little girl.

Got some odd looks (not the least from her). But what the hell.. been getting those for half a century. Might as well do a few things to deserve them. Damn the mind. I hate being blindsided like that.

I tell you, there is nothing – NOTHING – better than rocking a sleeping baby.

Nothing

Even I have to turn the camera away at times.. such as while watching Moiya trying to grasp a rolling ball… and continuing to try to grasp it whilst it rolls through her legs.. and reaching through her legs as it rolls on behind her, till she falls on her head.

I even felt guilty laughing. Well.. Mostly. By the third time she did it I just couldn’t help myself.

Things are getting scary at work, and none of us (by “us” I mean the few people who actually do the work) know what the hell is going on. Our General Manager/Sales Manager seldom shows up for work. The sales staff doesn’t come in till part way through the morning. We never have staff meetings, instructor meetings or sales meetings any more. The sales efforts/ads/special offers have ceased. The account reps never meet with the customers any more.

Not surprisingly, last month was the worst for sales on record. Last week, over the five days, only three had anyone enrolled in classes. And this week is the same.

And so those of us who ARE there and who DO the work are wondering if we aren’t in the same situation as the passengers in steerage class on the Titanic.. you know, the poor Irish SOBs who were made to stay below deck until the rich white folks had taken all the life boats.

Finally had a nice day. This past week was brutal. Jacquelyn finally finished her training period and was put on as a manager. However she went on as third shift, meaning she left here at 9 p.m. and returned the following morning at 8 a.m. (The first night the water pipes burst in the restaurant.. talk about baptism by fire!). So it’s been tough all round. Jacquelyn may never get her sleep cycles right again.

So we went out to Boros-land and spent Saturday with the In-Laws. When the whole family isn’t turning the place into a (n admittedly nice) three-ring circus, this is one of the few places I can actually relax. I mean, you just have to love people who understand the sheer joy and luxury of stretching out on the floor in the afternoon to take a nap. Jacquelyn gets to visit, I get to unwind (and pump my father-In-Law for gardening tips) and Moiya gets to run through wide open space.

Herself has taken to raising her little shoulders and elbows when she charges around flat-footed. And after much thought, it finally dawned on me who she reminded me of.. my daughter walks like John Wayne!

Anyway, after a long and difficult week, it was a nice escape for us all.

Not Mr. Bear.. though Lord knows I praise him as well. Anyone that affords my little girl so much comfort deserves praise. Each morning when I wake Moiya, after she fumbles her way into wakefulness (she wakes up much like her Daddy), she looks around for Mr. Bear, grabs him, kisses him on the nose and wraps her little arms around him tightly before she goes to face the morning. And when she settles in at night, we hear her, long after the lights are out, telling Mr. Bear all about the events of her busy day. He is comforter, confident, and ally. Quite a tall task, which he handles without the merest hint of complaint. Once again, kudos to Aunt Lala, who introduced us to this paragon of friendship.

No, I refer to Bear of Bear and the Big Blue House. If you have kiddos, you know Bear. If not – this is (and I in NO WAY say this lightly) the heir to Captain Kangaroo. Bear is a wonderful, fatherly friend. And the show has the same comforting patterns that the Captain knew little ones need. While no two shows are the same, they always follow the same pattern: greetings from Bear at the door to the Big Blue House; Getting snuffled by Bear (who is always interested in how we smell), introduction to the usual crew: Ojo the bear cub, Tutter the mouse, Pip and Pop the madcap otter (twins), Treelo the Lemur, Bear’s friend Shadow, and Luna, the wise and comforting moon.

Every show has a theme.. something to help children relate to their world (though it is never preachy). There are always songs, frequently dances, and usually laughs. Shadow always tells a story, and Bear always ends the episode by telling Luna all about everyone’s day, just before they sing the “Goodbye Song”

It is charming. There is so much I will not let Moiya watch. We don’t even have an active TV connection in our house (there's no broadcast where we are, and we've cancelled the cable and satellite). Entertainment is fine, but Moiya has never yet seen a commercial, and I mean to shield her from the American advertising machine for as long as I possibly can. Thank God there are DVD’s out there of such brilliance. Just watching Moiya dance to the “Welcome to the Blue House” song makes Daddy’s heart happy (Though nothing will ever match having her toddle over and sit in my lap whilst the Baby Einstein orchestra was playing selections from Beethoven, and having her waver her little arms around in time to Beethoven’s Ninth)

So.. blessings to Bear.. a fitting tribute both to Bob Keeshan and Jim Henson

Never been really blessed in the friends department. And for most of my years, I’ve not really cared. As an only child, I learned to be my own friend. My dad taught me early that “people are no damned good.” And I’ve always found it good advice. On the whole, getting close to people has never resulted in much good for me.

From time to time (usually at birthdays or other such occasions) I’ve bemoaned my solitary nature. But not all that often. In fact, usually, even while married, I’d have to say I was at my most content when the house was empty and I was on my own.

Alas, all that changed when I got together with Jacquelyn. When she isn’t home I am lonely. When neither she nor the baby are home, I wander from room to room like some sad ghost. What are the lines from My Fair Lady?

I've grown accustomed to her face.
She almost makes the day begin.
I've grown accustomed to the tune that
She whistles night and noon.
Her smiles, her frowns,
Her ups, her downs
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.

I was serenely independent and content before we met;
Surely I could always be that way again-
And yet...

My solitary ways notwithstanding, there have been those I have counted on over the years. And the occasional lack of loyalty (or betrayal) from those special few has left me stunned and searching for answers. I was utterly stunned when my ex-wife walked out, a day after making me swear that I would never leave her and love her forever. Some years later, when her sister – who pledged that I would be a member of her family forever – excised me from her and her children’s lives, I was as devastated as I was confused. And a few years back, when I made plans to go to the YPAS reunion in order to see people whose memory I had cherished for decades, only to find that they didn't give a damn about seeing me, I was again nonplussed.

And Jacquelyn has suffered much the same fate at the world’s hands. Aside from the urge to wreck terrible and bloody vengeance on those who have hurt here (and I’m NOT saying I still won’t), I’ve always been confused as to how anyone else could possibly fail to see her as I do and love her as I do.

So on my fifty-second birthday, confronted by these, and my own family’s indifference, I went into rather a black hole, wondering what the hell is wrong with me. It has taken some several months, but an idea has finally drifted into my little brain.

It is as simple as PLU: People Like Us.

Folks only become (or stay) friends with PLUs. Jacquelyn and I tend to confuse friendly coworkers with friends, and therefore get hurt. You can be friendly with non-PLU.. but not friends. And if you are friends with someone, and changing circumstance makes them no longer PLU, then the friendship will end. Period. My ex left when her business degree enabled her to associate with wealthier people and gain more power. Suddenly being the wife of a school-teacher was no longer a case of PLU. So after 15 years she was gone. Her sister meant to vow unwavering fealty.. till her CFO husband started pulling in the big bucks and I was no longer PLU. And it was naive to imagine that the students I so loved from twenty years back viewed me the same way. (I suspect that even our friends the Schmidts, as they grow ever further into the suburban middle class are finding us non PLU -- thus explaining why they seem never to have time for us these days).

But Jacquelyn and I seem to be missing the PLU gene.. we just don’t care who you are.. if we like you, we open up and offer friendship - wisely or not.

I guess I just was never taught by my parents who to like (gosh! Imagine that!) It is hard to learn that most people aren’t the same. I think people are trained to be fickle and base (unless you believe in the "Lord of the Flies" idea that it is our nature, a concept which I find too depressing for words). We Americans pride ourselves on being a "classless society", but everyone knows that has always been a joke. Look at the startification of our society.. no talking anymore, no middle ground... just camps. Conscious of not, most people are programmed from childhood to, as they say in West Side Story "Stick with your own kind." Like seeks out like.

And there just aren’t many folks like us.

That's my theory anyway. Maybe I'm wrong. But I still thank God we found each other.

I noticed them when I was setting up the gazebo.. I had heard that crows were interested in new things.. being very curious by nature. And that they liked to “talk” among themselves. But I had never given it any thought until Last week as the gazebo went up. A crow arrived and called loudly from the woods. Then another.. and another. And then conversations ensued. And somehow I knew.. knew in my bones.. that they were discussing what I was doing.

I was so excited by Moiya’s triumph over her little chair! Little did I suspect that, later in the day, her Momma would catch her pulling said chair over to the kiddie gate and trying to use it to climb over.

Oh, we are in so much trouble…

I was on my way to work one morning last week, and as usually, I hugged Moiya and gave her a kiss goodbye. When she turned to me, stuck out a little chubby arm and flexed her fingers in a pretty-good approximation of a wave and said clearly “Bye Bye!”

I very nearly dropped my coffee cup.

I have since seen it several times, as the new daycare encourages the children to bid one another adieux. But this first time.. the first time the meaning and the words were so clear. The first unequivocal time my daughter spoke to me in mutually agreed words, just took my breath away. It does so still.

Things are very tight this week. I have so much i want to write about.. so many observations to share.. but work is just too tight. After friday (class from hell) will have a slight breather. Till then, all I can do is share pictures.

"For a long time it had seemed to me that life was about to begin.
But there was always some obstacle in the way, something to be gotten through first, some unfinished business, time still to be served, a debt to be paid. Then life would begin. At last it dawned on me that these obstacles were my life."

~Alfred D Souza~