I have been remiss in my updates here. It’s been a busy time at work, and to a certain extent at home. The work’s not done, maybe I can talk about it once it has been. But there have been some big events of late. My mom’s husband, Tom, died (see below.) After his death, and I hope for some recovery, she came out to visit spending about two weeks with us. During that time, we went down to LA for a good friend’s wedding, went hiking in the woods, and walking around. We ate out, we ate in. 3 generations of my ladies came into the city to have lunch with me at work. One of the things that my mom wanted to share with us were the following notes that she made during the last few weeks of his life as he battled cancer. It was touching enough that I wanted to share it.
Dear Sam,
Some of the other moms that brings kids to your tot group remarked, “Oooh, 17 months, that’s a rough age.” If that’s the case, I can’t wait to see a great age, because you’ve been a real pleasure to be around this month. It’s true that you’re starting to explore this thing we call a tantrum, but the ones I’ve been exposed to have been pretty managable, and we’ve gotten you out of them without too much trouble. Most recently, I started reading one of your books, “Farm Friends,” to your mom. Of course, I don’t think she was enthralled by the plot: “This is a pig. Here’s a cow. Don’t forget the horse.” etc. But she feigned as much interest in listening as I did in reading, and by the end of the third pass, you had climbed next to mom, eyes still wet, signing and saying (mo, mo).
The radio was an important part of my childhood. I was limited in the amount of (non-PBS) television I was allowed to watch, but there was no such limit on the radio. The 80’s contained the complete range of my teen-hood, and I still have a fondness for ’80’s music. Mostly my parents listened to NPR (WUNC – Chapel Hill), so that was a big part of my childhood too. I have fond memories (to the point of idealized nostalgia) of listening to “Prairie Home Companion” by kerosene lantern after Saturday evening meals nestled in the “shack” in the mountain woods of Virginia. The vivid imagery spun by Keillor of Lake Woebegone interacted fantastically with the already active imagination of childhood.
I am reminded this weekend of why it is that we uprooted our lives and moved across the country.
For starters, weather. As I write this, it’s 2-degrees F in Altoona. Here, it’s 54-degrees F.
This weekend, we went to the Berkeley marina where we stumbled upon the Cal Sailing Club which I intend to join. Right there, there was also an adventure park which we did not yet explore and another playground where Sam stomped around in the sand, rode on the swings, and slid down the slide.
Dear Samantha,
Tomorrow you will turn 16 months old. Back in Pennsylvania, a little groundhog named Punxsutawney Phil will stick his little brown nose out of his hole-in-the-dirt house and venture out into the air. Hundreds of people will watch to see if he sees his shadow. If he does, folklore has it that there will be six more weeks of winter. If not, there will be an early spring. I was saying to your Dad the other day that I doubt people in the San Francisco Bay area pay much attention to Groundhog Day. Six more weeks of winter here will be very much like six more weeks of spring. While I miss *just a wee bit* the anticipation of spring, I am more than happy that this past month of January, you and I have spent time outdoors nearly every day. And instead of looking forward to spring, I get to look forward to each day with you. You surprise me constantly with some new skill, word, sign, or hilarious behavior. I can’t even predict what you’ll be doing and saying by the time the daffodils bloom back east, and that’s just wonderful.
When I was a member of City Car Share, before my wife, daughter, furniture and car came out to join me in the bay area, I got to drive a Prius around. It was kinda cool. It could be erily quiet at stop lights, it got up to highway speed well enough, if occasionally hesitant. But one of the things that amused me most about it was a sticker on the window. It took me a while to actually read the fine print. There are so many stickers on cars these days; state inspections, oil change timings, radio theft warnings, AAA finders fees, you name it. This sticker had in large letters PZEV. It wasn’t until I examined it more closely that I read what it stood for. The prius is a “Partial Zero Emissions Vehicle”.
I often (though no longer “frequently”) take “casual carpool” (or creepy carpool as my co-workers call it). This is an amazing thing to me as it feels like something that can only happen in the bay area. There are places around the east bay where people and automobiles congregate to get across the bay bridge. The advantage for pedestrians is a free ride across the bridge over into the city. The advantage for the driver is that they get to go around the toll plaza, and use the carpool lane. While there’s no HOV lane (or carpool lane as it’s called over here) on the bridge, there are on the highways leading up to the bridge. The HOV lanes on the highway often aren’t that much faster, probably because so many people take advantage of this, but it certainly gets one past the toll booth much faster, and cheaper too now that the bay bridge west bound has gone up to 4 dollars.
Dear Sam,
Already it’s been almost a month and a half, since I’ve written your newsletter. Yet, in some ways it seems to me like I just wrote your month 14 newsletter. I’ll be fascinated to see how both of us have a changing perception of time as we both mature. I remember as a child ((I was about to write ‘kid’ here, but then remembered that as a kid, I wouldn’t let anyone refer to me as ‘kid’ because it (also) meant ‘baby goat.’)) it seems like such a huge time from one birthday to the next. And seven years of bad luck? An eternity! For me, this has clearly changed. While you can’t yet communicate your thoughts about time, your communication skills have continued to improve markedly. You love to talk, and you have simply the most adorable babble as you spit out what seems like a completely arbitrary arrangements of consonants and vowels.
Sam has really started taking off with the walking. Only a little bit of it is unsupported, but finger walking has come quite a long way in a short amount of time.
Last week, Mom and Sam came into the city so that Mom could get some new glasses. Sam and I had lunch in a park near the office. A passerby noted “You two look like such a picture there. She looks so content.” Near the end of lunch Mom joined us, the world in somewhat sharper focus for her. After we packed up, we each took a hand, and with Sam walked the ~2 city blocks back to the office
Dear Sam,
It’s been a while since I (Dad) have written your monthly newsletter. I’ve been fortunate that your mom has been willing to take up the challenge during the time that I was out in California without you guys, and during your transition out here. But I’m back (and with a new interface on the blog) and do I get a great month to write about.
