Crazy Purple People

Fresh Eyes

Today is a day that I look forward to and dread.  Writing this entry drains me every year.  I honestly don’t know what it’s going to be about until I start.  It’s wrenching.  The emotions are still raw on some level.  Well, I do poke them a bit, kick the nest to see what comes churning up.  Really, this is the one moment each year that I set aside for pausing and looking back and looking forward. 

The occasion for this entry, of course, is the anniversary of my grandpa’s passing.  It was the day after my 17th birthday.  Today is the day after my 34th birthday.  Starting tomorrow, I’ll have more days with Grandpa in the past tense than the present.  It seems like a long time, and there are a lot of moments between then and now, but it also seems like it just happened.

Grandpa was 73 when he died of lung cancer and emphysema brought on by a lifetime of heavy smoking.  I remember when that seemed really old.  My dad’s within 10 years of that, and my mom’s not too far behind it.  Both of them are healthier and in better shape than he was, so the prognoses are probably more optimistic.  But in the last two years, I’ve seen two high school friends lose their fathers quite suddenly and unexpectedly.  And last summer, a cousin and her husband died at 31 from carbon monoxide poisoning.  There are no guarantees. 

*~*~*

I’ve been writing on this day for most of the 17 years since Grandpa passed.  Each entry is a snapshot, a moment in time.  I think it’s safe to say that each year has brought a different perspective guided by another year’s worth of experiences.  It’s also probably safe to say that this past year has changed my perspective more than any other.  I don’t think the experiences JoAnna and I have had are different from those of other new parents, but they’re certainly much different from what we had before.  

Our son Ben is 7 months old now.  He’s healthy and growing well.  He’s big for his age, and just got his first tooth the other day.  I’m perhaps biased, but he’s the cutest and best baby ever.  His smiles go through his whole body and light up every face in the room.  It cracks something inside me, like there was a secret stash of Joy in my heart that I didn’t know about until he showed up with the key.  So unexpected.  So wonderful.  So profound.

It’s all moving so fast, but in slow motion.  I think it’s the lack of sleep that does that.  So far, I find parenthood to be incredibly frustrating, but incredibly rewarding.  I love the moments in time – the awareness of exactly what is going on at the present moment, usually accompanied by the sense that I’m where I’m supposed to be, doing what I’m supposed to be doing. 

Eventually, I won’t have to wake up in the middle of the night to calm down a crying baby.  There will be a last time when that happens, but I won’t know it at the time.  There will also be a last time when Ben nestles into my arms and falls asleep.  I won’t know that one, either.  Those moments are only clear in hindsight, in memory.

*~*~*

One of the highlights of having a kid is that I get to see my Mom and Dad become Grandma and Grandpa.  They’ve been good about visiting as much as they can, though they still say Ben’s growing too fast.  It makes me unspeakably happy to see Mom reading book after book to Ben, or hearing Ben shriek as Dad gives him a good raspberry.  It’s another one of those lock and key moments. 

I can’t help but wonder: what did my parents think when they introduced their parents to me?  Did they feel the same warmth that I feel as I watch them with Ben?  When they read my annual musings on family and future, are these the memories that come to mind?

*~*~*

Yesterday was my birthday.  It was also Easter Sunday.  Thing is, I’ve had birthdays before.  But I’ve never had a son before, and every occasion with him is new.  We dressed Ben in a cute little purple dress shirt with clip-on tie, vest and dress pants.  I really don’t have the words for how adorable he was.  I was far more excited for his day than for mine. 

So far, being a parent is like being an adult, except moreso.  It’s much easier and much harder than expected, both in idea and execution.  The things that need to be done are basically the same, but the stakes are higher.  It’s not about me.  I can be lazy for myself.  But I don’t want to be lazy for Ben.  I want to be Dad, which is a thought hard to conceive and to put down in writing. 

Near as I can tell, it’s like baking bread.  There’s no secret.  There’s just a list of things that needs doing, no way around the kneading, and the yeast will take just as long as it think it needs.  Hopefully, it gets easier with practice.  And I need to find that list…

And by the time Ben is old enough to know that I’m Dad, I’ll know what I’m doing.  Or look like I know what I’m doing.  Or be able to fake it until I figure out something that works better. 

*~*~*

I wrote last year about being a link in the chain.  Watching my parents interact with my son, I’m very aware of being the middle link.  It’s a big new thing, or a bunch of little new things all tied together.  The view is much different than I thought it would be. 

If I thought I would feel a bond with Ben, I underestimated the magnitude of my deep ingrained love for him.  If I thought about the day-to-day experiences of childcare, there’s no way I could anticipate how I would do anything to make him smile and laugh, sing and dance any song that would stop his crying, or feel completely at peace with him sleeping in my arms.  Words don’t work for those things.

It's a gift, and I am very grateful to be here to share it.

Link in the Chain

Today’s the anniversary of my grandpa’s passing. Almost every year since, I’ve written something to mark the occasion. Family bonds and responsibility have always been strong themes, as I think about where I am right there, right then, and how I see the path ahead. This year, the entry serves a dual purpose, as I’m also breaking seven months’ silence here. I haven’t written in a long time, and neither simple words nor profound thoughts have come easily tonight. Bear with me.

I’ve read over the past few years of entries, to get my mind in the right place for this year’s installment. Sometimes I know what I want to say. Sometimes all I have to say is what I have on my mind at the time. Sometimes I ramble on incoherently. Sometimes the entry finds me, like last year’s Food of Love entry.

This year’s main topic is easy, really.

JoAnna and I are expecting our first child in September, starting our family in earnest. We’ll also be giving our parents their first grandchild, which seems appropriate enough. So far mother and child-to-be are fine, more or less. That is, the baby is developing as he/she should, and J is doing pretty well considering she has an alien life form growing in her belly.

From the 2006 entry:

“If I've learned anything in the past year, it's that I had previously had no idea what commitment and responsibility meant.”

Yeah. Like that, except more so. By a lot.

As I stood at the altar on our wedding day, looking into J’s eyes and saying the vows, I had a profound spiritual experience. I was very acutely aware of the magnitude of what we were doing, and that I had never really committed to anything or anyone before. The days that have passed since that day have shown me some of the depth of the commitment I took on.

When JoAnna and I found out we were going to be parents, I had a similar experience. I was very acutely aware that this was the most permanent, irrevocable and scary thing I’d ever done, and I had never really had any idea what responsibility meant.

I can only imagine how my idea of family and responsibility will change once the baby arrives and Jo and I find a way to survive and thrive. I’m looking forward to it, frankly. Excited.

We’re at the spot on the path where put up meets shut up. It’s all well and good to talk about passing blessings along and the burden of responsibility to the next generation. But it’s quite something else to know that the next generation will be arriving in just a few months, be sure to mark it on your calendar. Talk is cheap and fancy words are on clearance.

That’s a bit cavalier, but I expect that any expectations I have about what parenthood will be like are going to be similar to the ones I had about married life – basically right, but not even close.

Everything big is made up of lots of little things, often simple and mundane. I want to pass along the blessings that I have been given to my child, to provide security and opportunity and a sense of wonder at the world. This is true.

But as I understand it, the first stage of advancing this goal is to make sure the kid makes it to the second stage alive and in one piece. And that will consists of feeding and changing and lots of other stuff that I don’t know about yet but will learn as we go along, on a scale that will likely boggle my mind, while simultaneously still doing the things that got us to where we are right now – taking care of our marriage, getting up each day and going to work, keeping in touch with family and friends.

It’s simple, really. It’s just the details that are complex.

(Out of all the entries I’ve written, somehow I think this one has the greatest potential to be laughed at by Future Me…)

I wish my grandparents could be here to meet my child, to be a part of his/her life. For that matter, I wish that they could be here so that I could share my life with them. That’s just selfish on my part, but there it is.

I’m grateful that my kids’ grandparents will all be around. I’m grateful for the lessons they’ll teach my kids, maybe without realizing it. I’m grateful for the memories my kids will have of their grandparents. I’m grateful to be a link in the chain from my grandparents to my parents to my children and beyond.

Nice place to be, really.

The wheel turns

Fantasy author Robert Jordan (real name: James Rigney) passed away earlier this week.  I'd been following his blog for the last few months (site's been up and down since the news broke -- you can get it through Bloglines).  I knew that he was not in good health, so the news wasn't entirely unexpected.  It still left me in a fog for most of Monday.

Mom gave me the first four books in the Wheel of Time series for Christmas 1992.  Book 5 didn't come out until spring 1994, and in the meantime I'd read those four several times and buried myself in the online fan community.  I've been waiting for the next book in this series for near half my life, and I've lost count of how many times I've re-read the series.  We got to eleven, and he was working on the twelfth and final book through his illness.

Jordan's books were a constant through college and beyond, a story happening in the background of a lot of life going on.  Most books and blogs that I've read over the years can be traced directly or indirectly to Jordan and the fan community.  I could have found the same people and works in many different ways, but as it happened, my path started with Robert Jordan.  How do I say thanks for that?

I recently re-read those first four books when there was a gap in my book queue.  They gave me tingles.  The old excitement was still there, still keeping me up too late reading by the bedside lamp, reading just one more chapter. 

Thank you, Mr. Jordan, for everything.

~*~*~*~*~
A few comments that touched me:

Patrick and Teresa Nielsen Hayden - editors at Tor Books, whose names I have known since 1994ish because of their communication with the Jordan Usenet group.  The entry is brief, but the comment thread is not.

George R.R. Martin - fantasy author who I picked up because of Jordan's blurb.  I'm a sucker for waiting for the next book.

Neil Gaiman - hard-to-classify author who I picked up based on a recommendation, a Brit who makes his home in the Twin Cities area.

And just for fun...

Housekeeping

We've changed a few things in the appearance of the site, and will hopefully get back soon to change some of the context.  Writing entries, of course, but the reading and music tabs are frighteningly out of date.

Two reasons for the change.  One, it was time for a fresh coat of paint.  Two, our account just came up for renewal, and we downgraded the account.  There have been, what, four entries in 2007?  We really should be switching to a blogger account or something else free, but that's a bit too much change for this time of year.  I've already broken a sweat getting the green and eggshell/parchment color off the paneling.

Next entry: a summary of everything that's happened this year for us, to us and near us, 50 words or less per item.  Because if you're trying to get back into the swing of writing regularly, a large unmanageable goal is what you need.  We can't lose.

Uh...

Happy Flag Day!

Of course I was just kidding a few months ago when I predicted this entry, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't been watching the days pass, knowing that I couldn't let June the 14th pass unmentioned.

1.  My mom's getting hitched this weekend.  After a respectable interval of courting and general woo-pitching, she and Mike are tying the knot at their home on the pastoral pond.  We're heading out tomorrow afternoon, looking forward to seeing everybody and being a part of the celebration.  I'm bringing two kegs of root beer.   I imagine there will be other beverages flowing, but nary a one will go as well with a scoop of ice cream.  Mmmm...

2.  Summer has arrived in the northlands.  It's been 90 all week, which is about as warm as we ever like it to get.  It feels a little sudden, like everybody's enthusiasm for spending lots of time out in nature ran smack into a sweaty cloud of brightness and mosquitos and doesn't quite know how to handle it.  We've found the air conditioning helps. 

3.  We got the garden and annuals in this past weekend.  It's been warm enough for maybe a month, but things kept getting in the way.  With the heat, I've been watering almost every night.  Everything seems to be digging in just fine.  This evening, we saw the first sprouts from the varieties we got as seeds instead of seedlings. 

Returning from last year: tomatoes (cherry, roma, 3 varieties full-sized), bell peppers, muskmelon, yellow squash, green beans, peas, basil, rosemary, parsley and oregano.
Not returning from last year: acorn squash, radishes.
New this year: zucchini, sweet corn, carrots, lavender.

I'm excited.  I know more.  If a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, I'm even more dangerous than before. 

4.  My backpacking/fishing trip to Montana starts next weekend.  We're flying instead of driving (gas prices + dead time in a car), so it feels like we've got to plan a lot of things more in advance.  The group of friends going along spends most of the year either talking about past trips or planning the next trip to Montana, so the buildup is tangible.  Plans and ideas are thrown around, changed many times until what will actually transpire probably bears little resemblance to the initial ghost of an idea.  As we get closer, however, the plans start firming up as we approach the point of no return for making choices.  Buying the plane tickets is a great example of one of those.  Once that's done, well, I guess we're not driving, huh?  (I've been watching the prices since we bought -- it's nearly doubled in two weeks...)

I'd say that next time I'll put up pictures of what we've been up to, but a) there's no reason to believe I will, and b) there's probably no one reading this anyway.  As long as I'm saying things like that, I'd like to make some changes to the way the page looks.  Gussy up the drapes, maybe.  That'd be nice.

Food of Love

J & I just finished watching an episode of Good Eats where the subject food was popcorn. Not surprisingly, the recommended method of cooking wasn’t air popping or microwave – it was on the stove-top. He used a stainless steel bowl, but I always used to use a Dutch oven with cover.

Grandma used to use a high-sided skillet with a lid, the only thing it ever got used for, that I saw. When I was a kid, I remember watching her making the popcorn, shaking the skillet violently back and forth on the electric burner. It made a dreadful racket, really, and the burner was red hot. I was fascinated. This pre-dated microwave popcorn, but still – popcorn came from the air popper and from movie theaters. That’s it.

She made it that way nearly every night, after dinner. It went into a white plastic bucket (the only thing it ever got used for, as well) with butter or oil and salt. I think she took a bowl for herself, but the bucket went beside Grandpa’s chair. I remember an old plastic coffee mug, stained from years of use, sitting on the black ceramic standalone ashtray. I remember getting a bowl for myself, too. Strangely, I can remember how it tasted.

I love to cook. I wonder – do I love to cook because I have these memories of food and family, or do I have these memories because I love to cook and bring them to mind? I’m leaning toward the former, if only because I eat like a bachelor when I’m alone. I need someone to cook for, to share with, before I get involved and invested.

Food means friends. Food means family. Food means home.

Today is the 15^th anniversary of Grandpa’s passing. That’s getting to be a long time, almost half of my life. It’s been an annual undertaking to take a moment to reflect, to look back and then to look forward. (Last year’s entry is in the archives on this site. If you want to see further back, let me know.)

In the entries from the last few years, I’ve been thinking much about beginning a new life with JoAnna, with our own family (just us so far, thanks), and putting one foot in front of the other, walking the walk along the right path. I always give Grandpa credit for inspiration to live a responsible life, to do what needs to be done for the sake of people who depend on you.

For all that I’ve said over the years thinking about Grandpa and his life and legacy, it occurred to me over the holidays this past year just how much I have been drawing from my Grandma. I think it must have been plain to see for a while, but distance adds perspective, and most of the time I’m stuck behind my eyes.

I haven’t explicitly made a goal to add her recipes to my repertoire, but it certainly seems to be happening that way. I make the roast duck and stuffing for Thanksgiving. I bake the coffee-can rye bread that is traditional in our extended family. I make enough loaves for everyone to take some home from the holidays (or any other visit, for that matter). I even made scratch sweet dinner rolls that do a passable impression for Grandma’s. I’m working on other standards, from the porcupine meatballs to applesauce to apple desserts. There are probably some that I’m missing.

In one sense, I’m chasing the past and trying to recapture a little spark from the memories of growing up, of visiting Grandma and Grandpa. I do get that some of the time, when a taste or texture or smell resonates particularly well.

That’s something to work for, but that only works for me, and maybe my close family who share some of the same memories. Even then, our experiences aren’t the same. (My cousins have different memories of Grandma’s rye bread. They lived closer and got it fresher. The bread we got had been frozen and the texture is different, more crumbly. I think it’s better when it’s fresh, but it isn’t the same.)

Ideally, though, I’m trying to kindle the same feelings of home and family, to create new bonds. The past, the memories – all become fertile soil to grow upon, to expand and adapt as needed. The cherished recipes are starting points with room to grow. The recipes aren’t as important as the people who gathered together and shared them.

I already know that my rye bread is different from Grandma’s and will continue to evolve over the years. It may be my bread now, but I still call it Grandma’s bread.

Thanksgiving dinner has also changed. With JoAnna’s family joining mine, we have more people to feed. There’s also turkey in addition to the duck, because that’s what is tied to the memories in her family. It’s another wrinkle, a few more logistical details to work out. I’ve volunteered us to host the festivities for the foreseeable future, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It just seems right.

I don’t know that Grandma felt this way about food and family. I have no doubt that I’ve idealized her memory in the same way that I have with Grandpa’s, though I think that’s the way the mind works as time passes. I think that she did, though. If nothing else, I know that I happened to catch a cooking show on popcorn, and it took me back to a summer night at the farm house, watching and learning.

I’m not sure where this year’s entry will fit along the spectrum, but it’s what I have right now. This is about the sharing. It’s about the community. It’s about the together, the support, the changes and the ever-changing path. It’s about family.

Belated and unrelated

I will always remember 2007 as the (first) year I picked all of the Final Four.  I will also remember it as the 15^th (or so) consecutive year that I ended up out of the money in all pools I entered. Turns out it’s more important to pick the winner, especially when the winner is a favorite picked by many people. 

My biggest fear coming out of this is that I will suffer from the illusion that my relative success this year is a result of my skill and knowledge, rather than 90 minutes of cramming the night before the tournament, coupled with an abnormally vanilla favorite/upset ratio.

***

Eye of the Beholder (or Never Trust the Picture in the Brochure)

I've been using the first picture here as my desktop background at home and at work.  Needless to say, I didn't take it. 

Sunrise over Lake Michigan, taken from south campus at Northwestern looking at the lakefill. 

When I was on campus last October, I copied the shot.  Well, except for all the pleasant parts...

Awakening

Happy Spring!  (Well, there has to be some occasion, doesn't there?)

"We were looking for things to celebrate on the calendar when we ran across Vernal Equinox.  We knew Vernal as a boy, and frankly we never thought he would amount to much. Coincidentally, today is also the first day of spring."  Bartles & James.

Also coincidentally, if you google "vernal equinox bartles james", you end up with a bunch of blog/journal posts/comments with pretty much the same context.  Behold the power of advertising to fix a wine cooler commercial in my head for 20-odd years.  Thanks brain.

That's right.  I broke radio silence to tell you that.

Stay tuned for the next update -- Flag Day!  That's right, the patriotic pick-me-up to sustain you in the long dry stretch from Memorial Day to the 4th of July.  Just in case you forgot -- America is great!

P.S. Pass it on...

Merry Christmas!

J & I have been really enjoying ourselves this holiday season.  A key reason for that is that we finished all of our decorating and all of the shopping (and wrapping) pretty early on.  Our house looks like a catalog, and we get to sit by the fire and the tree every night. 

It does feel a little bit odd, though.  Both of us are used to working in the last days/hours/minutes to get something acceptable thrown together.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but it always generates a whole lot of stress.  This afternoon, we're going to church at 4, and then to J's parents' place for Christmas dinner.  The hours between this morning and then?  Nothing, sweet nothing.  J's reading a book and taking a nap, and I'm futzing around with rolls for dinner.  On the whole, I like the whole prepared thing -- hopefully we can do it again sometime.

Over the past month, we've hosted the family Thanksgiving, a holiday party for our friends, and a little pre-Christmas gathering for the extended Trapp family.  Pictures from the first two are loaded to the right with the title "Holidays 2006".

JoAnna and I are really enjoying spending this time with each other and with our families and friends.  We know that we are blessed and are very grateful for everyone who has touched our lives.  Thanks.

Merry Christmas!  And, if I don't get back here before then, happy new year, too!

Four more years!

JoAnna and I met at a wedding reception on November 16, 2002.  That seems like it's too recent -- I feel like we've known each other much longer. 

I used to keep an online journal on the now-defunct diary-x (I archived my entries before the site tanked). Here's an excerpt from my entry on the 17th:

I met someone last night.

I don't get sparks too often. Too much time settling for the mere fact that conversation perpetuates itself with no unpleasant silences or obvious differences, static electricity from human beings rubbing against one another. 

I'd forgotten what a thunderbolt could feel like.

So are we better off than we were four years ago?   I can't speak for JoAnna, but if I had tried four years ago to predict where I'd be now, I'd have sold myself way short.  I still have moments when the thought suddenly blinks into my head -- "hey, this is really my life.  Neat."  Also, we're still new enough newlyweds to be celebrating anniversaries other than our Anniversary. 

However, I will say that my writing has gotten more than a little rusty since then.  That's lamentable, except that it reflects a lot less time sitting alone in front of the computer and a lot more time living life.  With my wife.

Trapp/Simpson '06: So far.  So good.