I thought it was a little too quiet!

It should come as a surprise to no one that Alden does anything he can to keep from going to bed. Usually, this means a request for Apple Jacks right as his head is about to hit the pillow. For some reason (probably my own exhaustion) tonight I gave in to his request, and went into another room to import some photos while he ate. It got really quiet after a few minutes . . .

At least he didn't face plant in the bowl. Or maybe he did, and just slid off--hard to tell with the mess he left behind.
Kate is just as bad, but her weapon of choice is to read children's biographies of Chagall and Cezanne late into the night. How is a guy supposed to resist that? So she is sitting by my side as I write, and reading about Cezanne ('Dad, did you know he was 67 when he died in 1906?'). At this hour, even she is having to work hard to keep her eyes open. . . .
She didn't fall asleep mid-sentence, as her poor tired mom did, but she has finally given in.

By the way, Keegan, aka Dream Baby, went to sleep at about 8:00 p.m., with out so much as a peep.

Fountains and Churches

It would not surprise anyone to learn that the Bay area is blessed with amazing public art and space. Exhibit A: the Town fountain, a new landmark which is perfect for a small sailing town. (The sails actually rotate around, pointing to different directions of a compass marked in the surrounding pavement, and giving a slightly different view every few minutes.)



What some may not know is that the Bay area is home to a surprising number of really beautiful churches. Yes, the need for God and spirituality is alive and thriving even in the very heart of secularism. I plan to take more pictures of these anomalous (if you believe Fox News) spiritual centers over the coming weeks. I begin with one of the smallest: Old St. Hillary's. If there is a more picturesque church, I'd sure like to see it. What a great place to contemplate the meaning of it all.

Dancing with Shrek, part Deux

As I may have mentioned earlier, Alden's favorite sport these days is "Dancing with Shrek," and now you see why. It involves:

pulling out the hide-a-bed while watching a great video

jumping like a madman (or woman, as the case may be)

and finishing with the finest John Travolta flourish.

What could possibly be more fun?

Consumer Excess or Happy Refuge?

Though it may reflect consumer excess of the most excessive kind, at least for a 7-year old, this picture may soon remind me of simpler times.

Two Saturdays ago Kate and I went to Safeway for some groceries. There was music on the radio as we began the drive. From the back, I heard Kate say, "Dad, could you turn off the radio so we can talk?" I had to clear my ears. Usually, meaning every time until now, this request goes the other way. ('Dad, can you turn on some music?' 'What about just talking?' 'Oh, no thanks.')

We engaged in a truly delightful conversation, the kind I always envisioned having with my children, about friends, school, what they thought on certain issues, etc. This continued during our grocery shopping, and I began to be a little excited and quite happy. It seemed this was not just a one-time event, but that things really had changed somehow. In the midst of this ongoing discussion, we arrived at the checkout line which, as is usual on a Saturday, was packed with people. Every checking isle had 3 or 4 carts in it, and they all curved to the right, in order to make room for carts passing along the central walkway. This meant we were closely surrounded, on all sides, by people standing with their grocery carts.

Then it happened.

In a strange, vortex-like event, everything became inexplicably quiet just as Kate asked, out of the blue and in a loud, high voice: "Dad, do boys have uteruses?"

Not wanting her to think this was a bad or silly thing to ask, I determined that a non-chalant, "no dear," in my regular, conversational voice, was the proper response.

"Well, what do they have?"

Heads turned. On the back of my neck I could feel the grins growing behind me. Abandoning any hope of being a confident, in-control parent, I answered, VERY sotto voce, with the correct anatomical terminology. To which Kate responded (without any change in volume or tone):

"Oh, well, whatever it is, could you and mom hurry and snuggle together in that special way again? I really want a sister."

A quick, hushed promise to talk to mom about it managed to extract me from further attention by our quietly chuckling neighbors. Suddenly, I was the one wanting car music, and found myself missing the days when all that mattered was Barbie's hair.

But There Are Flowers

Today on NPR (Pacific Time) I heard a haiku by Issa Kobayashi that I have not been able to get out of my head.
He said:

"In this world
We toil on the roof of hell
Gazing at flowers."

He may be right. There are many days when I wonder what is about to bubble up and engulf me. But there are flowers. And they are so beautiful.

For Our Dear Departing Dentals

Through our ward (local church congregation) we know quite a few dental students who are attending the University of the Pacific. They are amazing. Faithful. Giving. Dedicated. Terrific parents. Wonderful friends. Very smart -- with one exception. Many are from Arizona, and they insist on returning to Arizona in the middle of June after they finish school. How they can do this after experiencing the nice, COOL San Francisco weather is beyond us. Who willingly lives in a place where you are one power failure away from death by heatstroke? Perhaps they are inexplicably drawn to the beauty of Metropolitan Phoenix. In a last ditch effort to save them from this fatal attraction, we post a few pictures from Brett's commute.

A San Francisco morning commute.









A San Francisco evening commute.










'Nuf said.

The New Math

It seems obvious even to the casual that Kate really loves her little brother. Yesterday, we learned that what seems clear is always more complicated than that. Grandma, commenting on Kate's affection, asked Kate what she loved most about her brother Alden.

Kate thought for a minute, then responded, "Well, he helps me with my math."

Grandma: "Oh, how does he do that?"

Kate: "I've learned that BOY + 2 = T-R-O-U-B-L-E."

President Kate

Today my parents arrived from Salt Lake City. Kate was so excited when she found out they were coming that she squealed as only a seven year old girl can.

While we were waiting for the flight to land, we had our first discussion about politics. It began when I picked up a book about the actions of a certain president whose name shall not be spoken. Kate asked me what it was about, and when I told her, she initiated a 20 minute conversation about what makes a good president versus a truly atrocious one. Arrogance, hubris, hypocrisy, lack of respect for the law and constitutional rights, lying, and a complete unwillingness to study, consult experts and consider different opinions before taking precipitous action, all figured prominently in the discussion.

Grandma, who has been a straight-ticket Republican since Eisenhower, found out about our little discussion as soon as she entered the car. Kate recited the whole thing at rapid-fire speeds which brooked no interruption. When an exasperated Grandma was finally able to get a word in edgewise, she asked Kate "Don't you think it would be hard to think about and do all the things that the President has to do? Do you think you could do it any better?"

Kate didn't miss a beat: "ABSOLUTELY! I know I could!"

That's my girl. I know she could too.

Children and Parks

We had a rare errand-free hour on Saturday, and headed straight for a favorite park. Everyone should have the chance to be with children in a park. Sunlight, breeze, body, motion: a happy confluence of the simple and magical that is life at its elemental best.

The Security Blanket

In case you were wondering, here, in all its glory, is the security blanket. Bed without these is simply not possible, and is dicey even with them. Why four, you may ask? Well, it started out as one, but Alden insisted on carrying it everywhere. Of course, that meant it was nowhere to be found when needed for its actual purpose. And so there was a second purchase. And a third. And then a fourth. We now have about 6 in our house, and that seems to be a magic number. (It is just too hard to carry any more than four.) I hope we can use them all by the time he is ready to graduate to the hard stuff.

An Ecstacy of Mush

Spoon, fist, finger--once you get to a certain point, it is all the same. He was in heaven. After the first bite, he was more anxious than a nest of robin chicks after a regurgitated worm. I don't think he'll be quite as picky as his brother.

Truth or Fiction?

Tonight Kate spent quite some time in the bath. When she was done she related an elaborate story, lasting at least 20 minutes, about the Great San Francisco Bay Tsunami, and her home becoming a Noah’s Ark for all kinds of animals and aquatic life. She prefaced the story by noting, very carefully, that it was fiction, but that about a third of the way through, it turned to fantasy, especially the part where she started helping unicorns and people like Rapunzel. I asked her what the difference was between fantasy and fiction. She said that fiction “is something that has never happened, but could happen.” Fantasy, however, was something “made up that could never really happen, like sea horses galloping on land or unicorns flying through the air.” I doubt any English teacher could improve on that distinction. She is quite a girl, with quite an imagination. Maybe we have a little writer on our hands.

Alden, who shared the long bath with her tonight, is still of simpler thoughts. All he wanted to do afterwards was “dance with Shrek” before going to bed. And so they are in their shared room, Shrek soundtrack blaring, dancing away. Contrary to Kate’s bright lines, truth and fiction seem to inhabit the same space in our house on many happy days.