Annie is on the phone right now with her friend Colleen. I really like Colleen. I think this might be the first friendship that Annie truly maintains for a long, long time.

I wish I could blog what they are talking about, but it is so inane, I just can't get it. You see, they are very excited about having a sleep over this Friday. They talk about the things they are going to do, but the changes in train-of-thought are more than I can do. I should tell you that I'm often reprimanded for changing the topic of conversation on a whim. They've got me beat. I've heard them go from the movies they will watch Friday night to the sounds their bodies make given certain disturbances.

Ooops. I just heard the phone hang up. Better check in...

Handling it... barely

I'm guessing all parents have traits they want to see develop in their kids... maybe even pass some on from the parent. I confess. I have been a little disappointed with Annie's choices for Show and Tell in the past. She would always want to show a stuffed animal, My Little Ponies, or one of her Breyers. You see, I was the Show and Tell Master, and want her to be one as well...

Among the top examples from my Show and Tell pursuits as a kid were: snapping turtle eggs, horse and cow bones (I was particularly fond of the skulls), and pig tails (after this one, my mom refused to empty my pockets when doing laundry). I was always looking for the unique and interesting, and got a not-so-secret joy from the look on the teacher's face when she couldn't help but let me go next. It was sort of the look you imagine a teacher has in the Little Johnny jokes. Not to mention that as a typical kid, I'd leave the items in my desk half the time. The stink would become overpowering, and the teachers were as afraid to look in my desk as my mom was to look in my pockets.

At any rate, I was fairly pleased when Annie decided to take Tolkien for Show and Tell. The weather has been uncooperative, but I couldn't stand her disappoinment when I told her "maybe next week"... again... So, Tolkien took a shower in the itty-bitty corner shower, and this morning rode with us to school (I need a horse trailer). Tolkien Salinger is an English Mastiff, weighing in at... oh, I guess about 170 pounds. He is very loving and docile, but I was a bit concerned, because Tolkien is... er.... shall we say intellectually challenged? He was very good, though.

We walked up the hill and proceeded to the classroom amidst the cacophony of an entire school of kids shouting "look at the size of that dog!" We approached the class room with our entourage of shy but curious kids who were probably hoping they would get to see Tolkien eat somebody. Once inside, Annie's teacher managed, with her usual inspiring skill, to get the excited kindergarteners to settle down on the Carpet. She told them all about Tolkien: his age, breed, what he's like, and that she loved him - with just a little help from Daddy ("Actually, Annie, he's four years old, not four months").

She then answered questions: where does he sleep (with you?!?! er... no)? Does he stay inside (when he doesn't stink)? And there were a lot of "questions" that went something like "I have a dog". Finally, everyone got in line to experience the pleasure of petting Tolkien in exchange for some drool, except for one boy who decided he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Ffffft - Tolkien? Dirty? Smelly? Ok, maybe... a little. It was a lot of fun, and Annie was very proud... as was I.

I brought our big dog home, and he promptly fell asleep on the deck. I hope this time Annie remembers the experience when I pick her up today...


Update: 4:30 pm - She didn't.
Showin' and Tellin' Writin'

I grew up on a farm. I experienced all sorts of things that are considered by general society to be "icky". Case in point: When I was about nine years old, my dad woke me up, because we had a sow in labor that was struggling. If we didn't do something soon, she would die. Unfortunately, I had the smallest hands/arms. You might realize by now what I needed to do. I didn't find anything, but after the "procedure", she was fine, and lived on to have more litters. It was one of the most important things I've ever done, in my humble opinion.

As a parent, I don't believe that kids should decide things are "icky" based on popular opinion. Annie and I have discussions on this far too regularly, but she always gets it. When we started working on remodeling the bathroom, she accompanied me under the house to cut some pipe. She was reluctant at first. She stayed close, keeping a wary eye on the cobwebs. We discussed the importance of spiders, and what they ate. We cut the necessary pipe, and moved out. On the way she decided spiders were cool. In fact, by the time we got back in the house she was clamoring for a pet spider. Fortunately, we have enough cobwebs (my poor housekeeping) she agreed that we would leave one and that would be our pet.

Another time, we discussed the "ickiness" of banana slugs. Banana slugs are fascinating. I believe I finally convinced Annie of this. She decided they were cool, and we regularly seek them out to see what they are doing, as you can see:

Well, to continue this, Annie’s mother was always at odds with bats. I like bats. They are useful and interesting. So, Annie and I decided to build some bat houses. I bought some books and pamphlets, and worked out a design. As you will see from our Bat House Pictures, we did a great job (pat on both our backs). We had a blast, and learned a lot about bats in the process. Unfortunately, bats don’t always follow the intentions of humans. We have no bats in our bathouses. However, there is a break in one of my eaves where a creature, such as a bat, might find access to protection from the elements. Local bats have chosen this as a home as opposed to the condominiums that Annie and I have installed. Oh well, as long as they pay the rent....

Bat Slumlord

This morning the traffic report on the radio had no less than twelve accidents on the main highways/freeways around the South Bay Area. Highway 101 had four over a span of about 15 miles. For those of you unfamiliar with the Bay Area climate: in the winter? It rains. A lot. Where I live in the Santa Cruz Mountains we get over 30 inches of rain over winter and early spring.

For those folks who live in the Bay Area, and are reading this, the following can't possibly pertain to you, so you can just commiserate. When I first moved to the Bay Area I was very impressed with the general level of intelligence. It was inspiring. However, when the rain starts, something happens. In computer speak, I'd say that Bay Area folks flip a bit. Medically, I think they have a series of very small strokes that occur in the part of the brain responsible for driving. So, for the denizens of the area that are experiencing a localized stroke in the driveamus campus part of the brain, read carefully: Just like last winter, it is going to rain this winter. When it does, get the frick off the cell phone. Drive a little slower. Use the lever on the left side of your steering column - it's called a signal, look over your shoulder instead of just ripping into the next lane. Maybe, just maybe, drive a fraction slower. Look ahead, and stop looking at the coffee stain on your pants from the recent near accident you had for not following the preceding directions.

As evidence of the medical condition that afflicts some Bay Area folks regarding driving, I give you the following: While driving in to work one morning, I pull into the exit lane. The traffic on the road I want is fairly dense, so I have to come to complete stop. I'm completely off the freeway by at least twenty yards. I look in the review mirror and see a car barreling toward me. In hopes that I will create a psychic link to the driver, I begin shouting "STOP! STOP! SLOW DOWN!" Unfortunately, my psychic powers failed me, and the car hits me from behind after too late trying to stop.

I exit the vehicle, and look at the crunch in the bumper. The other driver gets out, and I brace myself for the expected transfer of blame, even though I was at a stop with traffic stopped in front of me. Surprisingly, she got out and apologized. She gave me her insurance information, and never asked for mine, saying her insurance would take care of it. I was speechless and dazed when she said "This happens to me all the time."

Ok, I'm climbing down from my stump, and hoping Karma doesn't put me in the ditch today.
Experienced in Driving in Ice - Rain is not a Problem

Yes, in times of happiness I sometimes recall the mantra of Stimpy from Ren and Stimpy. A couple of hours ago, the Fed Ex lady returned to me my notebook computer after its trip to the computer doctor for a new keyboard. The clouds broke open and a sunray from God followed her as she walked in slow motion across the deck. The angels sang.

I had become so accustomed to the mobility the notebook provided that I really missed it. Once again I am free, free I say, to work just about wherever I happen to be. I can punch away at the coffee shop overlooking the San Lorenzo River, the cafeteria at Sun, the dentist/orthodontist office (where I discovered an wireless access port), on the deck with my view of the valley, even the bathroom. Ok, too much information...

Mobile Again

Here I am, essentially 35 (one week shy), and I have been fitted for braces. For some strange reason, my dentist has determined that I have had my fair share of stress in my life. I've ground off quite a bit of tooth material in my attempts to clamp my mouth shut and not say something that I'll regret later.

What sadistic dental professional ever came up with this idea? I went to have my wires changed and had the orthodontic assistant that I will unaffectially name Moron. I'm sitting there like a good patient, mouth open, trying not to spit, belch, or do anything else offensive, and she begins remounting the wires. I have a few teeth that need to be moved quite far before they go to the next stage, so (if you don't know) they have to use wire wraps around the anchors to move the teeth more. I do play a part in making this difficult for the sadists that have chosen orthodontia as a profession: my jaw bones are at least twice as thick as a normal person. I didn't do it on purpose. That, and I have a rather small mouth.

So, Moron goes to work at wrapping the wires around the anchor. She cuts a seven-foot length of wire, and goes to work. She stabs the end of the wire into my podigious jaw.... once... twice... I'm having visions of reaching up and squashing her larynx. I'm close to ripping the vinyl off the arm of the chair. She apologizes, but somehow makes it sound like my fault. "I'm sorry, but your anchors are just so small." I didn't pick 'em. She tries again, I think this time the wire was eight-feet long. She stabs me once... twice... three times, and continues her less than sincere apologies. She turns to get some other torturing tool, and I tell her I need a second. I don't think she realized that it was not just for my sanity, but for her health.

The Moron's volume during her complaints has reached a level in the open orthodontic department that the Orthodontist comes over. I have wire hanging off my teeth, on to the floor, and eventually spilling out into the parking lot. I look at the Orthodontist imploringly. Please, kill me now. Grab this wire and garrote me. Instead, the kindly doctor looks at me, having all the appearance of going through a seizure, and indicates her own willingness to continue extracting what must be some sort of Karma payback for my sins.

She asks for another tool, firmly graps what now feels like a cable the size of which would be used for support on the Golden Gate Bridge, and goes to work.

Low and behold, this Asian angel deftly whipped those wires around the anchors, and the wire got smaller and shorter with each turn. In the time it took the Moron to complain, the doctor was done. My gratitude was the only thing that kept me from giving the Moron the bird, and a quick kick in the butt. During this procedure, the Moron indicated to the doctor that she hadn’t yet finished placing one of the rubber bands on an anchor (not that she was incompetent, of course).  I’m not sure if the doctor didn’t fix the band, but when she was finished, the Moron never went back and fixed it, but just excused me (thank you, o’ Queen of putzness).  I was so irritated that counter to my normal behavior, I didn’t ask about it. Screw it.  A rubber-band fell out (didn’t break) in about two weeks.

I go back in a couple of weeks. I will politely request a different assistant. If Karma again mistakes me for someone else, and she is the only one there, and I can’t cancel my appointment due to leprosy or something, I will let her re-do my wires. Of course, I’ll have my hand on about a pound of her flesh (she could spare it), and if she stabs me again, I’ll be leaving with it…

Wired

The first wind came around 1:00 pm (and no, that wasn't breaking wind). Sporadic winds have come along each time I thought I'd have to take a nap, and now that I've been up for 24 hours I find myself unable to go to sleep. I wouldn't care much, except that Lilo the Cat and I have been having some great socio-feline conversations over the past hour, and I understand him way too well. I had no idea he had such a foul mouth. He's been trying to use the Jedi Mind Trick on me to channel another post, but I've been able to resist so far.

I talked with my parents this morning, and my dad said that I should do something fun today, given my sluggishness. I've never been one to contradict my dad, so I spent the day working on my photoblog. I learned a lot (would have taken my designer a tenth of the time, but what the heck). Mindy coerced convinced listened to my whining about my feelings regarding the standard photoblog, and got me on the right track. So, you better frickin' take a look. Of course, as of right now, I only have pictures of Annie riding a horse. But at least it's functional in a way that appeals to me. If anyone has issues with the format, let me know, please.

Zombied

As a kid I was a little horse crazy. I wrote about horses, read about horses, collected horses, all my art had horses in it... you get the idea. As it turns out, there is a nucleotide order in DNA that is directly related to being horse crazy, and I gave it to my daughter. A friend of mine stables horses just outside Fremont. She invited Annie and me (after all, I had to drive) over to see the horses, and Annie was hooked. My spoiled blessed little girl has her own saddle, grooming kit, riding accoutrements (which of course includes a pink riding crop), leg wraps, halter, lead rope...

She has fallen a couple of times, but she gets back on like a good equestrian should. It's amazing to see a five-year old girl cantering around the arena. Of course, this has all resulted in her believing that we need, need a horse. Ain't happenin'. I had horses as a kid, and I know how much work it would be. She actually scolds me at times for not fixing the barn up for a horse, and one time said that I must have worked on it, because it looked to her to be ready for stabling. Given that I haven't done anything to the barn in over four years, I'd say she's dreaming.

Annie & Topaz used to spend every Saturday together, but with the current schedule it's become a monthly thing. Fortunately, between the My Little Ponies and her Breyers she spends plenty of time living the horse dream. Although, I discovered her teacher asked her to get a non-horse book for once from the library...

Hoofin' it

With all the fill_in_the_blank for Dummies books available, I wonder if there is one on sleeping. I struggle with a minor thing called insomnia.

I don't get it. I'm sleeping, and then I start to come out of it just a little. Suddenly some bored neurons decide to run a drill with the axons and dendrites, and the next thing I know my synapses are firing on all eight cylinders about some inane thing.

Most folks think that there must be something that can be done to take advantage of this affliction. That's because they have never frickin' experienced it. Your brain is focusing on stupid things, not useful things. Like while I'm typing, my brain is actually wondering " why is his head tilted over to the side a little as he writes? It's not a natural position. There! His head is now tilted forward a little. Still, now he has to look at the screen from under his cro-magnon forehead." Meanwhile I have a schematic staring at me on the desk that could easily suck up the time my brain is spending on worrying about the alignment of my head and neck. Stupid brain (in my best Homer Simpson voice).



Walking Dead

Fridays are often a time of upset (minus one weekend per month). Annie goes to her mother's on weekends. It's a bit bittersweet. I miss her, but I also look forward to some isolation. This is strange, given that I live, for the most part, in isolation. But, in her absence there is no Blue's Clues, no Old Maid, no books with pictures... But, today I received a geek present. I got two books that I orderd for work, and it is sooooo cool: Fractal Geometry and Frontiers in Electromagnetics. We all have our little quirks.

Curled up by the nightstand light