The Journey of the Curious Servant

The Trip

2012-02-05T14:48:00.000-08:00

"I think it's getting lighter... Maybe it's too early, but it looks like the sky is getting lighter."

Steve cocked a heavy eye to the sky above the mountains. “Yeah’ it’s getting lighter.”

More cars were streaming from the left. I kept guessing that the next line of them would be Hwy. 99. Each time I was wrong, so I stopped. The increased traffic told us two things: 1. People were headed to work & 2. We were no longer in the exact center of nowhere.

We were at the “back side” of the San Bernardino mountains, almost 900 miles from home.

We’d worked all day the day before, driven all afternoon, all evening. Night fell near Roseburg. Grants Pass provided a Burger King. I think it was near midnight when a representative of the State of California questioned us about any produce we might have. We snuck across the border without revealing the two bananas in the back seat.

We changed places now and then, rolling down I-5, but as it was dark most of our time was spent talking or listening to the stereo.

As we slid over the top of Grapevine Pass, traffic got thick, especially as we transitioned to Hwy. 210.

We pulled off the freeway, in the general direction of our destination, looking for coffee. McDonald’s or Subway? Subway. The breakfast sandwich wasn’t too bad; I recharged my phone. We chatted quietly about our drive, the kids we saw walking to school, our mission.

We were a couple hours from the insurance agency where Dad had stashed the better items. We got there a couple of hours before our appointment. We found a burger place where Steve changed into his California duds: shorts and sandals.

I cleaned up travel debris from the back seat, cleared the Jeep’s rear compartment for our cargo. A half dozen garbage trucks crowded into the parking lot, a Hunter S. Thompsonesque convention. Perhaps Castenada, I dunno. A dozen cheerful garbage truck drivers milled around.

We reconnoitered the industrial park where the insurance agency was, noting entries (which I later forgot) and the alley where there was a sort of garage. We laughed at the idea of scoping it out first, noting there weren’t any snipers in sight.

We needed beer.

Unfortunately, California seems to have a dismal appreciation for beer.

We discovered California’s appalling lack of micro brews during the night when we tried to get a beer at a Denny’s somewhere in the middle of nowhere. They didn’t serve beer (apparently there are only two Denny’s in California which do), but we were welcome to buy some at the truck stop store and bring it in. There we discovered the best they had to offer was Miller Light. We settled for coffee.

The same was true for Rancho Cucamonga. No decent beer. No IPA’s. No amber ales. No dark, no light, no hand crafted pilsners. We found a Mexican restaurant that had Coronas, which would do.

The time came. We went to the agency. Steve waited bleery eyed in the car while I went in.

The guy wasn’t there.

I waited.

Steve waited.

The agent called. Someone would show me where our items were. We pulled around the building and I backed through the open garage door.

Under a comforter, atop an old desk, was the pile of stuff we had come for.

Several rifles, shot guns, a converted WWII 50 caliber tripod mounted machine gun. Stuff like that.

“Where’s the Luger?”

The guy didn’t know.

“There was supposed to be a Luger. There was supposed to be a bunch of hand guns.”

He didn’t know.

I loaded everything carefully, very carefully, into the back of the Jeep. Ammo went into the back seat, away from the guns.

We were supposed to meet a relative of mine and exchange these items for money to send to my dad who is very ill, nine time zones away. I’d been clearly told not to contact a gun dealer. This relative was to be trusted.

Should I call him? Where were all the other guns? An aunt was supposed to have some. Perhaps my dad’s ex wife had the other guns? I called her, left a message. Called my aunt, explained the situation.

“Will, we have a bunch of guns here, but there aren’t any hand guns. There’s a rocket, and a bazooka, and I think some sort of bomb.”

I looked at Steve. He had his head cocked, listening to my aunt over the speaker.

I decided I’d head to my aunt’s.

“I’m only going to say this once, then I’ll let it go.”

Steve didn’t look happy.

“Tell me you called this guy first. Tell me you did everything you could to know where everything was, and what was supposed to be where.”

“I did. I phoned this guy, I emailed him. I was told there were 30 or 40 guns here. I don’t know what happened to the rest.”

Steve didn’t look satisfied.

“And I didn’t know about a bazooka, or rockets, or,” I couldn’t help smiling a little at the weirdness of what I was saying, “a bomb.”

“OK. I can accept that. Let’s get to your aunt’s and figure this out.”

He was as good as his word.

My aunt is sweet. She welcomed us in. As we pulled up she waved and moved her Cadillac out of the drive so I could back the Jeep up against the garage. She gave me a big hug, welcomed Steve, and swept us into her condo.

My aunt introduced her partner to Steve, got us something to drink.

My sister wanted three of the best guns. She was in Cincinnati or Chicago or somewhere. Long haul trucker. Three of the best out of what was looking like only 20 or so guns. I set that aside for now.

“So where are the guns?”

She showed me. More rifles. More shot guns. The bazooka had a hole in the side of its barrel. The rocket launcher was in two or three pieces. I think. I don’t know that much about them. There was a rocket sort of thing. It didn’t look like it worked. I’d seen one on the TV show Sons of Guns and it should have had a grenade type pin in it, and the bottom didn’t look like it would accept the lifting charge.

“Where’s the bomb?”

“Right there by the door.”

I picked it up.

“Aunt Mary, this isn’t a bomb.”

“Really?! What a relief!”

“It’s a smudge pot. There should be a wick under there, and you fill it with diesel and light it to keep the frost away from the trees in an orange grove.”

“Oh! I remember those!!!”

“Yeah. It’s actually kind of cool, but it’s really nothing more than an antique door stop.”

We got ahold of my dad’s ex and tried to figure out what happened to all the hand guns and other rifles.

Apparently the guns had wandered out of my dad’s former office. They never locked the door and people, friends, former employees, and acquaintances had been streaming in and out of there for months, ever since my dad had moved to Thailand.

The hand guns and who knew what else were gone. What was in that living room, and what was in the back of the Jeep, was all of it.

I texted my relative, wrote I was ready to sell. He texted back. He didn’t want to meet that afternoon. If we could wait until morning he would bring four more guys who were also interested in buying stuff.

Do you know these guys well? Can I trust them?

Yes. I know them well. It’s OK.

I can’t take checks on something like this.

We have cash. See you at 10:00 tomorrow.

My aunt’s partner, a former homicide detective, offered advice. “Make your deal, but be careful. Do not go to a gun dealer. They will go in the back and you won’t like what happens. There’s nothing wrong with this in Oregon, they sell guns there as easy as selling shoes. But here in California, things are a little stricter.”

Our weariness was clear and my aunt showed us where we could nap. A couple hours later I felt normal. Sort of.

My aunt and her partner (who was very upbeat considering she’s had 18 operations for cancer in the last five years) took us out for dinner.

They wanted to take us to “the coolest restaurant ever.” A chinese buffet. Steve and I exchanged glances, but what the heck.

“Sure! Sounds good!”

They were astonished to find the restaurant closed. Permanently.

Across the parking lot was a Mexican food restaurant. Bright colors, surfboards, shark & turtle skeletons, all sorts of funk, was crammed into the small building. Plants sprung from every remaining nook and the outdoor propane space heaters were inviting.

What a great meal!

Did we want some guacamole? It’s free...

We did.

A young woman brought out a tray with a couple of avocados, onions, cilantro, and spices. Soon we were dipping chips into the best guac ever.

They mixed the margaritas at our table too.

The food was fantastic.

We went back to the condo.

Steve dozed while we talked.

I haven’t had such a good talk with my aunt and her partner in all my adult life. We talked faith and family and I poured myself a few shots of bourbon. We talked until 1:30 in the morning.

Then I went to bed. I hadn’t slept more than two hours in two days.

I got up at 5:30, showered, packed.

My aunt sent us off. She helped me wrap the guns (etcetera) in garbage bags and slip them into the back of the Jeep.

She gave us a sack of chicken salad sandwiches.

“Have a safe trip! Don’t go to a gun dealer or anyone like that. Be careful!”

Off we went to Huntington Beach.

I found a parking spot near the pier and Steve and I strolled past the surfers, skaters, joggers, and those also seeking breakfast to a sports bar where we found all we wanted.

I think one of the best parts of the trip was getting to know Steve. We talked a lot, along all those miles. When Steve had heard about what I planned to do, and why, he offered to help. It seemed like too much to ask of someone, but he volunteered and I accepted.

Steve is who I thought he was.

He may not be exactly love beads and paisley, but he’s as close as anyone comes any more and I am glad to call him a friend.

“I want to tell you a story.”

I looked up from my beer and Mexican breakfast thingie.

He told a little story. The upshot was that he was glad to have helped me in this little adventure, but he’d rather not be at the climatic moment.

So, when it was time I dropped Steve off at a 50’s style diner and went to the industrial park where I was to meet my relative and his four friends.

My iPhone guided me to the address but it didn’t look right. The parking lot was torn up, no blinds on the windows, no furniture in the office. The gate was damaged and there was graffiti on the wall. I got out.

10:00 on the nose. No one there.

I got back in the Jeep. If Steve had been there, he would have given me that look he gave me the day before when he said he was only going to ask once.

A car pulled up, drove by slowly. The two men in it weren’t familiar. Not my relative.

I got in the Jeep, pulled onto the street. The other car pulled into the parking lot. I paused, backed up, parked, got out.

“Are you Will? Yeah, you must be. You look like your dad.”

We shook hands, made introductions. My relative showed; he’d brought his three year old. They’d been to the firing range getting the little tyke his gun safety practice.

A water leak had flooded the office, parking lot, and that is why it was all under construction. I pulled the Jeep behind the building and backed up to the back door.

We began unloading the guns. It was quite a lot of them when all spread out. We set the WWII machine gun up on its tripod with the ammo belts around it. There were quite a lot of ammo boxes, the metal military type, and one large wooden crate.

I laid out the rifles and shot guns, and though it was a loss of money for my dad, I was glad there weren’t hand guns. Well, the German Luger might have been cool.

The other guys weren’t going to show.

That was OK. They started picking up guns, talking about what they were.

There was a very crude, probably British, machine gun. There were lots of shotguns, deer rifles, military weapons.

A gun with a folding bayonet was a 1955 Russian M44. It had probably been kicked around the Soviet Union for a while and eventually sold to the North Vietnamese. It probably found it’s way to the states in the duffle bag of a returning U.S. soldier.

There was a musket, a 250 Savage, a couple of 19th century Winchesters, a 30-06, many more.

The relative said “Look what I found.”

We turned to see him holding a hand grenade.

“Put it down!” we all said.

“I don’t think it’s loaded, look.” He held up the bottom to us, showing a hole in it.

He fingered the ring.

“Don’t touch that!” we all said. He smiled and put it down.

One guy was particularly knowledgeable, and especially tight with his money offers.

“What kind of work do you do?” I asked.

“I’m a gun dealer.”

It turned out pretty good. I walked away with eight guns and a large amount of cash.

I was ready to head home.

Steve wasn’t.

“We did it!” I said. “We sold what I could and now I can drop some money into the bank where Dad will be able to get at it.”

A waitress asked if I wanted a menu. “No thank you.”

“I’m glad,” he said. He looked at me closely, smiled a little.

“I know you want to get home to your family, but I have to ask. We aren’t that far from my son’s house, and I’d like to see him.”

I hesitated. Almost a thousand miles north was my wife and child. His son was 75 miles in the other direction. We had to.

So we did.

I’m glad we did.

Steve has a very good son. He was the perfect host. His wife made a fantastic tortilla soup. The little boy was very cute.

I took a four hour nap, and was ready for the road.

The drive back was long. Very. We ran out of steam somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Slept for an hour at a rest stop.

We listened to a funny audio book, laughing until we had tears rolling down our cheeks. We talked about everything. Family, faith, friends. We debated if the mileage signs indicated the nearer edge of a city or its center and tested our theories (Steve was right, it’s the center). We rolled through sunshine and rain and snow. Twice the freeway came to a stop. Accidents.

And finally, I pulled into Steve’s driveway.

I’ve given my brother a couple of guns to remember Dad by. I’ve sold the rest. The money was deposited and he has drawn it out to get the medical equipment he needed. I kept a souvenir C ration.

A few pages aren’t enough to fully share what those four days, those 2200 miles were like. Eleven hours sleep isn’t enough to do such a trip, but we did it. I shan’t do it again, but, it’s good to know I can still muster that sort youthful endurance.

A few pages isn’t enough to fully share the sights and experiences, the huge snowflakes, the mountains, the stories, the laughs, the nervous moments.

A few pages isn’t enough to fully share what it’s like to find a friend like Steve.

A Day in a Life

2011-08-26T08:33:00.000-07:00

Being a dad is pretty cool. How cool? Very. Especially if you have the great fortune to be the parent of the most wonderful baby in the world. Here are some snapshots of this little miracle so the rest of the world can share in this blessing.

#1: Food is good. Food is a very, very good thing.

#2: Sleep is good. Sleep is very very good. OK, maybe this isn't #2, but I figured I'd skip #2 even though #2 is a BIG part of his day.

#3: Daddy time is a good thing. Especially for Daddy.

#4: Daddy has other wonderful things in his life.

#5: Bed time. I love singing to him, dancing with him, loving on him. Last night, during this pic, I sang...

Close your eyes,

Have no fear,

The monsters gone,

He's on the run and your daddy's here,

Beautiful,

Beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful Boy,

Before you go to sleep,

Say a little prayer,

Every day in every way,

It's getting better and better,

Beautiful,

Beautiful, beautiful,

Beautiful Boy...

It rained a little last night. Distant thunder. I woke a few times, fed my son. Even did a little house work at 1:30. And when he began to fuss at 5:30, I had the privilege of sharing with him the morning air, fresh from the night showers. He ate breakfast on the back deck, feeling the breeze on his face, hearing the rustle of leaves...

Momma thinks I'm crazy, and threatens to take pictures of me tearing around the house with the dog in my shorts. Little does she know that such a threat doesn't bother me! HA!

"Honey Bunny.... Don't you dare! You're in big trouble mister!"
But she can't resist my silliness...
So.... after getting some coffee into her I talk her into going to the park... 6:00 a.m. is a wonderful part of the day!

See?! Very enjoyable!

Now for some breakfast!

Doctor Visit Today

2011-08-15T12:42:00.000-07:00

There was a measure heading for the Fall ballots in San Francisco, but it was struck down by the courts.

Proponents of the measure decry male circumcision as barbaric, unnecessary, and a mutilation (circum meaning "around" and cædere meaning "to cut").

We are taking our son in for the procedure in an hour.

It makes me uneasy, the idea of inflicting any pain, or even discomfort, on my son.

So why do it?

I could point to a recent study which indicates that circumcision makes it more difficult to contract AIDS. That really isn’t a motive for me, but there are other health arguments and they do carry a little weight.

The measure was tossed because it virtually attacks those of the Jewish faith who are required to do this.

Though my faith does not require it, there is something about the way this practice was given to Abraham, father of three world religions, and he was instructed to do this not only to all male members (unfortunate pun there) of his family, but also those in his employ (and my son is ticked because a potential employer wanted him to cut his hair!).

It may not be a big deal but it does prompt a little introspection in me (doesn’t everything?).

So, partly from tradition, partly from spiritual/theological reasons, partly from health, and partly because I feel it to just feel right, we are getting my son ready for a trip to the doctor to get his pencil sharpened.

============

Just got home from the doc's Everything OK. He didn't even cry, though he doesn't seem very happy.

Just before they worked on him I told him I wouldn't love him any less, even though he was. (Pediatrics humor)

Blessed

2011-08-07T21:11:00.001-07:00

There has been at least four posts I have begun, but life has been going so fast, I have been so busy, things have changed so quickly, that by the time I had written but half of it, it was out dated.

I haven’t time to fully share, to fully explain the joy, wonder, growth, and change, but I’ll do what I can.

My son is nine days old.

He’s little. Born seven pounds three ounces, he lost a little over 10% of his weight in the first few days, which concerned me. From watching nature films I’ve seen baby deer born and they stand right up and suckle and all is good. Humans are different. The babies need to learn how to suckle, mothers need to learn how to feed. He’s gained a couple of ounces and I feel more relaxed and sure he is going to be fine.

He’s a very good baby. The most he’s cried was during the first ten minutes of his life. He makes little noises when he is hungry or needs changing. He might fuss a little indicating he wants to be held, but he can be put back down again and he does not insist he be held until he is asleep.

I whip out my phone and snap pictures of him all the time. It may be typical to believe my son is atypical, but I don’t care. I know he is the most beautiful child to have ever been born.

I got a series of pictures during his first set of hiccups. The look on his face is hilarious. He is so obviously baffled, and a little freaked, at what is happening. At a certain age every new experience is a strange one.

First Hiccups

Today was the first time we took him to church. My sweet wife says I was an obviously proud papa, showing him off to everybody who would hold still.

My wife had to have a C section. I’m glad it spared her the pain of child birth, but I wish she wasn’t so uncomfortable with the healing. I’ve given her strict instructions to do nothing around the house, but she still sneaks in a few small chores now and then.

That reminds me... My wife is pretty special. My first wife was a bit of a control freak. It was difficult for both of us many times. Now, my new spouse, my new best friend, my new partner for the rest of this life, is so different from any other woman I have known.

Part of what makes her different might be unseemly to those who fly the feminist flag. She insists I be the head of our home.

It’s a startling experience.

It means I must “man up” in lots of ways. It means I must lead, and I must put her first. I must make all my decisions knowing they must be for her good, and the good of my child.

It means I must have vision.

It means I must be gentle, kind, loving, be willing to sacrifice.

Somehow, in insisting on this traditional role, she helps me to be the man God created me to be.

I’ve been a little manic in working around the house. The orange paint I put in the living room to help my sons deal with the divorce has been replaced with taste... (Oh! The little stub on his navel just fell off!!! Life is full of these little milestones right now.) ...ful green and brown, the funky light fixtures replaced with something tasteful, grownup. The old wood stove was dragged out, and I hammered out the brick, removed the carpet, and put down a nice laminate. Did the same for the spare room. It’s now a tasteful yellow, or rather, “Banana Cream” with white molding and a laminate I got from a friend’s damaged kitchen. I went a little crazy trimming trees and bushes and have a huge pile of branches that I need to deal with. The list goes on and on and on. Feels good to sweat for my family.

So... my house has been transformed into a home. My marriage has been changed into a family.

My mind has been working over time. I’ve been reading scripture more than ever, praying more than ever, and looking up obscure facts more than ever. (For example, knowing that the visible universe is 13.75 billion light years in every direction, which means that it has been expanding for nearly 14 billion years, so... how big is it today? the breadth of it that cannot be seen because the distances are too great? Answer: at least 40 billion light years across. I like that. Another question answered! Example: what is that little divot under the nose? Answer: the philtrum. Who was the Ethiopian Emperor who shamed the League of Nations and is considered by the Rastafarians as the second incarnation of Christ? Answer: Halle Selasse.)

I feel like I’ve been supercharged.

I guess I have been.

I’ve been charged with being the best husband, the best father, the best man I can be.

It feels wonderful.

My ex has been in contact with me a little over issues dealing with our sons. (One son has had some more medical issues arise.) She has tried just a little to play the old mind games with me, but I am quite comfortable in drawing the lines wherever I please and I don’t mind if she finds them uncomfortable.

I guess I got used to being a little sad all the time. It has taken a while to relax, smile more.

There are a lot of challenges ahead.

The school I have taught at for 13 years has been closed so I am now assigned to something very different, it is going to be a challenge. I’m sure it will be invigorating, and a source of much professional growth, but it is still going to be a challenge.

My son is going to be a challenge. I have all the tasks ahead of me that a good parent faces.

My marriage is going to be a challenge. I intend to be the best husband I can be. Strong. Protective. Encouraging. Loving. Sacrificing. A good steward. Have vision.

My wife brings me such joy. My son brings me such joy.

I find myself filling more fulfilled than I have in longer than I can recall.

I am blessed.

Undeservedly, excessively, joyfully and totally, blessed.

Ants!

2011-05-17T21:31:00.000-07:00

I discovered ants all over the pantry. I put some sweetened ant poison out and they swarmed to each drop, making little circles of feeding frenzy.

My wife came home and I pointed out the ants. She shreaked.

With great earnest she said... "Thank God they didn't get the peanut butter!!!"

HA!

Latest News

2011-05-16T21:02:00.000-07:00

My Wife
My wife is beautiful.

She is sweet, generous, industrious, and she loves me. She is a gift and I am grateful. I fell in love with her swiftly, and received three affirmations to my skeptical prayers.

It’s strange to be expecting a child this summer. I’m 55 and this is the age of being a grandpa, or a great grandpa. Heck, my dad’s new wife is 33 and she could be my child.

There’s an interesting journey ahead of me.

The Ex
B likes M. She’s been feeling shame and guilt ever since the divorce, and I’ve kept her at arm’s length. But, I see now she is truly happy for me, truly likes M. She has changed some. But the anger she feels toward herself and the world is still there and we pray for her healing.

Staying Informed in a Digital World
I get most of my news on the internet. It’s fast, though often superficial. The internet is a useful tool. I can read a story, check facts, compare one source to another. For example, last week there was a NASA announcement on the data collected from the Gravity B Probe experiment which has been going on for seven years. (Astounding device!) I was able to refamiliarize myself with the probe and the physics behind the experiment.

I’m disturbed at the vitriol I see there. People rant over every topic. Somehow it is easier for folks to grab a digital pitchfork and torch and attack each other. Very uncivil. I worry the anonymity which allows such attacks promotes this anger and that it spills into our lives through politics, bigotry, and perhaps road rage.

Self Compassion
When I learned my wife was pregnant I was excited and extremely nervous. She drew me in slowly, touching her abdomen, feeling the changes of her body. I was quiet regarding my disquiet.

My self reflective nature ferreted out my unease. It is something irrational. Something I need to take care of. Soon.

My sons are grown, adopted when they were very little. They are doing well. There’s a third adoption in my past. He’s buried on the edge of town.

My head tells me I did nothing wrong, that I did not fail him, but my heart holds three sins against me. When I laid him down to sleep that day, laid him down to die, it was the first time on his tummy. I’d been told that position was an increase risk factor for Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. The second sin my heart holds against me is I let him cry himself to sleep. Lastly, I haven’t forgiven myself for not breathing life back into those blue lips, that my thumps on his chest failed to restart that tiny heart.

These packages of guilt are irrational. I’ve read enough about crib death to understand that what I did and what I didn’t do were not things I can blame myself for. But, when I think of another new born, when I thinking of the joys of having a baby in my home, my heart beats fast and in it’s hammering I hear accusations.

I need to somehow wrestle with that irrational part of who I am until it no longer struggles, and offer compassion and forgiveness to myself. I don’t know how to do that.

Professional Life
Like most school districts throughout the country the one I work for is in trouble. So much so they have laid off many teachers and other staff, even closing the school I work at.

I am sad to see that exemplary school die.

But, I have a job and I am grateful for that. I was on the RIF list (Reduction In Force) and was given the position of teaching Language Arts (English) to Alternative Ed kids (a broad term which includes all sorts of students who don’t fit into the usual class room).

Spiritual Life
I’ve taken to reading scripture and prayer at scheduled, and unscheduled, times.

The connection and disconnection I see between science and faith is clearer all the time. The ideas I’ve been chewing on are finding their way into that novel that I am tinkering with.

Loving the Hard to Love
I’ve made progress in loving everyone more. It seems easier to care about folks, even those I’ve had trouble with. I pray for them more, and I’m sincere. It feels good.

Humility
This is a subject I’ve given a lot of thought of late. It isn’t something people talk much about, read much about, write much about. Which makes sense. How can one find a book in which the author speaks authoritatively about humility? It isn’t the sort of thing one brags about being good at.

Which is odd, because it is a virtue worth understanding and seeking.

My Lord was good at it. Good enough to set aside ultimate glory and permit cruel abuse.

In dealing with the close call of losing my job, and in understanding how I must set my wife ahead of myself (we are to love our wives as Christ loved the church), I find a gentleness coming over me I enjoy.

Spring
It has been a long, cold, wet winter. The flowers are busting out, despite the chilled soil, figs and cherries are growing on my trees, frogs croak over sized love calls to each other and the promise of warm weather is most welcome.

So... That's how things are with me of late.

:)

Raised Eyebrows

2011-04-03T15:25:00.000-07:00

Oscar was a long legged hound who’s blond eyebrows must have come from a touch of doberman somewhere. Mostly black he’d run around Huntington Beach with that loping gait looking in bars for my dad.

Dad would go from bar to bar, working on his daily drunk, and they’d tell him that Oscar had been in looking for him. He’d laugh and eventually that dog would catch up with him and spend the latter part of the day visiting bars with his tongue flappin’ in the breeze provided by Dad’s GMC pick up.

He was a character.

One of the funniest things that dog did was his reaction to puppies. Someone’d pull out a puppy and present it to Oscar.

His eyebrows would arch in surprise, his eyes widen, and he’d stand straight and stiff, his lip curled in horror at the mewling’ little one, and he’d back up as far as space would allow in the darkened rooms where drunks got a laugh out of startling the poor ol’ hound.

_______________

There are times in our lives when we naturally look at where we are, who we are, what we are doing and what we might be doing next. Puberty is one. I see that in my students. Their bodies are changing and suddenly their minds change as well. They can abruptly reinvent themselves.

Graduation from high school, moving out on one’s own, is another time.

And marriage, of course, is another. Even second marriages. Perhaps especially second marriages.

In my first marriage there were many difficult times which colored the way I saw the world. Readers of this blog might think I see that marriage as a wholly negative experience, but I don’t.

She was intense, controlling. Though that shaped how I lived my role as man and husband, and later, father, there were many good things about that relationship. She was my best friend. Which is one reason why her repeated betrayals hurt so deeply.

Still, there were good things, even in, and sometimes because, of the challenges.

Children, and the desire for children, fueled the engines which pushed us into and through those challenges. Failed pregnancies. The death of our first child. The realization of the mental handicaps of our next two adopted children.

At the death of the child I started reading the book of Job. I read commentaries and wrote notes and began a blog with the intention of discussing the book. That blog promptly turned into a journal about my life, my take on things spiritual, physical, scientific, marital, paternal... the works.

I felt a little awkward at times with the disconnect between the intention of the blog and its reality because it seemed pretentious, as if I was comparing my life, my challenges, to those of that biblical patriarch. But I pressed on, disregarding the obvious hyperbole.

There were times, three of them, in which I am certain the Creator came to let me know I was not alone in my small struggles, miniscule in the history of an earth which had rolled through scores of thousand of years of human experience, rattling around in a corner of a universe greater that 30 billion light years across. A heady experience in which I found the nature of a supreme being was so large He could be aware of the tiniest of souls in the smallest of places.

Those experiences meshed with my understanding of physics and astronomy in a way that puzzles me as well as those who believe there must be a conflict there.

When the papers had been filed, when my divorce was final and the house was transferred to my name alone... When my sons were under my care (though my first wife did her best to help as she could under the new circumstances), I began to become a me who was independent.

That independence brought with it the coarse lifestyle of the unattached male. I fed my sons from easy to fix meals which came from boxes and cans that required only a pound of ground beef or some grated cheese to make them palatable, possibly even nourishing.

I painted the living room orange, a color my sons thought cheerful and my friends (especially those of the gentler gender) thought typically male, and while crude and a touch bizarre, an obviously male attempt at creating a new life.

When my spirit had healed enough I began to date.

I looked around a bit, dated a few, and then got serious about searching for someone who was just right. Unlike Goldilocks, I prayed about the choices, I simply didn’t just taste and judge if they were too hot or too cold, too hard or too soft. I prayed I would find someone perfect for me and I for her.

I met Marilyn.

It is not hyperbole to say it is a miracle.

There is physical attraction. I find her beautiful, wonderful.

There is much, much more.

With her I feel I have found not only a friend and a helpmate but someone who makes it easier for me to be who I am meant to be.

She hasn’t the need to take more control of life than is good for her. She lets me lead in a way that is good for me, good for us.

I feel good to step up to the plate, learn to hold the bat properly, and swing hard at what life throws at me.

For so long, long enough for it to seem normal, life hurt. Disappointment, physical injuries, disillusionment over my life partner, unfulfillment for kids, I found solace in God, found God in dark places, found deep realities within my knowledge of science and my deep sense of my own soul.

Then I met her. Three times I felt, heard, saw, encouragement from the divine that I had found the woman I was meant to share my life with.

I met her in September. I dated her for a few months and fell swiftly (is there any other way to fall?) in love. I fell swiftly into a life that was different than any other I have had (and I’ve had many strange adventures). By November I proposed. By mid December I was married. Now we are expecting a child in mid August.

The idea of being a father at this age (I turn 55 in a few weeks) makes my eyebrows go up, my eyes widen a bit. I had long ago given up on that dream and thought myself too old.

It’s amazing.

It seems the old Will is gone. Though I see many challenges ahead, the future seems to be on a fresh road, a path I’ve never tread.

I worked this past month on the living room (I have already stripped and redone the bedroom this past summer). The orange is gone. The wood stove is gone and the carpet is soon to follow. In their place is an elegant fireplace, tasteful wall colors, and soon a new floor.

Just as the transitional work I’d done to make my sons feel OK about a life (without their mother) has been replaced with decor reflecting a feminine influence, my emotional and spiritual life has been remade to reflect a life filled with prayer, times of devotion, and a fresh breath of life.

The last chapter of Job showed the protagonist with a new life, a rebirth. So too this life seems to me.

It feels as if my pre-Marilyn life was Will Vol. I. Now I am in the first chapter of another new book. Welcome to Will Vol. II.

A new work... Father, man, servant of the Lord God.

A miracle I could not have imagined.

I am a blessed and happy man.

A Little Thump

2011-03-28T22:12:00.001-07:00

“Oooooh! I can feel Joshua moving around in there!”

I smiled at my beautiful bride.

“I wish you could feel him, but it’s too soon.”

Last Friday the ultrasound gave us a tour of our little one. The round head, corneas reflecting the ultrasound brightly. Spinal column, pulsating heart. The correct number of fingers and toes. And, a little appendage between the thighs indicating the baby’s gender followed Pop’s not Mom’s.

Joshua Joseph Greenleaf.

They said it would probably be a week or two before his kicks and punches would be visible and felt by anyone from the outside world.

Still, my sweety suddenly grabbed my hand placed it on her abdomen.

“Feel right here!”

Nothing.

We waited and nothing.

At least a minute and a half.

And then it happened.

A little thump beneath my thumb.

“Oh!,” we said together.

What a thrill. I really am going to have a biological child.

This whole relationship has been swift. It has been a blessing.

Partly I attribute that to the thorough screening system of eHarmony. Their matches were good, and though I went through hundreds of choices, and emailed scores, and dated dozens, when I met her it was perfect, swiftly, wonderfully, perfect.

I’ve had friends who questioned that.

That doesn’t bother me. I know from the outside it may see sudden.

Perhaps they forget I am not impulsive, that I think deeply about everything in my life.

There were cautions about divorce, which I found amusing. I stuck by first marriage long after most would have quit. Six times I forgave my first wife and gave her another chance.

I’ve one friend, someone I care about, who is so angry about this “hasty” marriage that there has been a refusal to talk to me, or even make eye contact. I regret that loss but I understand that those outside cannot know what I feel on the inside.

There is the emotional aspect of this. I don’t mean the heady infatuation of new love. I mean a deep contentment that comes from doing a very right thing. And the deep contentment of having someone in my life who calls on me to be myself in ways I’ve never felt free to be before.

I feel I am growing into who I was created to be. I am feeling a growing solidness to my personality, a sense of identity, of maturity, of stability that is more natural than any stage I have felt in my life before.

I also feel my Lord’s presence, His guidance, His assurance.

That is the real point I wish to make here. I may be well versed in matters of science, yet I have no doubts that there are spiritual truths (which we are simply ill equipped to measure scientifically) and that these things of the Spirit are true, are real. A personal relationship is what I have with the divine, and that this marriage has been given to me.

This past week, during Spring Break, I replaced light fixtures and repainted in the living room. It feels so good to sweat for someone I love.

And now, I feel a little kick beneath my thumb as I press my hand against my wife’s swelling belly.

I feel joy.

I feel gratitude.

I feel a contentment I have never known before.

My Wife

2011-03-12T19:02:00.000-08:00

My wife’s voice is doing its best to follow the melody of the hymn coming from the TV set. She keeps on pitch little better than I do. And I can’t carry a tune with a boom box. But her enthusiasm, the depth and sweetness of her heart, the passion she has for her faith, makes her song a lovely thing.

We took a nap this afternoon. We had lunch at a buffet and carried as much away from that restaurant that our bellies could hold. A nap seemed a wonderfully pleasant thing to do.

Her belly is swelled with more than the huge salad, soup, bread, and strawberry lemonade. She is carrying my child.

That’s a little bewildering.

I gave up on the idea of a biological child two decades ago.

My wife could not bear children, so... adoption. First Willy, the child taken home while he was yet less than a day old. The child who died three and a half months later. Then, two boys from Haiti. Two boys who’d faced terrible things at the start of their lives, and grew up in my home. Now they are on their own (sort of... they both have handicaps and live under the guidance of a group home and U.S. Job Corps).

Now my home consists of myself, my little dog, my wife of a few months... and the child within her.

A little bewildering.

I look at her swelling belly and wonder at being a father (again).

I haven’t been this happy in a long time. Perhaps ever.

I’m not blithely happy. I am concerned about my age (I will be 55 next month... that number is a limit under some circumstances) and what it means to raise a child.

But I am very happy.

This child is a blessing, a wonder, and a bit frightening... But not the source of all my happiness.

I am happy with my wife.

She is 41 and has sought all her life for someone to share that life with. Astonishing she finds that in me.

My faith is important to me. It is reinforced in what I learn about the world around me (I am a voracious reader of scientific news). It is reinforced in personal experiences (granted, not the sort of proof others can use, but quite strong for me).

Faith is foundational for my wife.

That is a rare thing.

It is something which provides the assurance I need to trust (my first wife had weaknesses which damaged my trust).

I was quite intentional in seeking my wife. I took some time to heal from my divorce. I dated. There was much hesitation there. I joined eHarmony and got very serious about meeting people. A lot of people. Up to four dates a week.

Now I have someone in my life who is sweet, so sincere, so loving of the same God I love...

And, she is bearing my child.

That’s a little bewildering. I see the swell of her tummy and wonder at it. I’ve never had someone bear a child for me. It is humbling, and... I don’t know... More than I can express.

I’ve been working around the house (I yanked out the woodstove and removed all the brickwork in the living room, and am preparing to paint rooms in preparation for the child who will be here in late Summer).

I feel this strong direction to be a good steward. A good steward of my money, my resources, and my wife’s heart.

She has a deeply gentle spirit and if a shadow were to fall upon that heart the fault would be mine.

She is supportive of me, follows me, and it is up to me to protect her in every way I can.

I love my wife.

Positive

2011-02-02T18:13:00.001-08:00

For a twelve (at least) dimensional being “trapped” in a four dimensional universe (everyone forgets to include time), and under the inherited impression I am mortal, I am doing pretty good.

(Do you need a moment to think that through?... Take your time...)

:)

I’ve had a lot going on the last couple of years. Met a gal, pretty sweet; we dated for a while. I went to Thailand. The last child in my home moved out, joining Job Corps in Astoria, Oregon. I broke up with that gal. It was a mutual decision and done kindly on both sides.

I signed up for eHarmony and got serious about finding someone to share my life with. Whew! That was quite the process. I probably had over 300 matches. Sent initial, canned questions to 200 or so. Got to the point of emailing 30 or 40. Twenty or so of those I dated. Ten or so I took out four or five times. One of them was an instant click and over a couple of months we went from virtual greetings to betrothal. We saw no need for taking too much time so we married last December.

How’s that for something positive?

I got home one afternoon and she asked me to come into the bedroom to talk and handed me a white plastic stick that looked sort of like one of those digital thermometers) somehow I still feel the need to shake those vigorously before using).

Where there should have been a digital readout indicating a fever or something were two thin lines. I knew what it was, what it meant. Still... I had trouble applying the information to my life. It was like seeing data from AMANDA (Antarctic Muon And Neutrino Detector Array) reinforcing the theories which point to additional dimensions. I get it. I see what it is saying. I just have trouble applying it.

It was a pregnancy test.

It was positive.

Positive.

Like the heart of atoms, those tiny beating hearts of all matter, positrons... positive.

I’m going to be a father.

Biologically.

Sometime in August.

I am going to raise another child. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.

My wife is a wonder. She is from Belize. Her spiritual life is very important to her and that is very refreshing. In my first marriage consistent prayer and biblical readings were attempted now and then, but never sustained.

We are reading from the beginning (Genesis), but intersperse those reading with readings germane to Sunday Sermons and other interests.

We pray all the time. Sure, every meal, but, each morning, as we go to bed, and whenever there is a question, issue, or event which needs our attention.

Here is a big one: We met the doctor who is going to deliver our child. I like her. A "plain folks" type who looks like she might be as much at ease bucking hay as discussing delicate issues regarding pregnancies. My wife has had fibroid tumors removed and one of those had been large enough to weaken the uterus wall, making the birth dangerous. There are a half dozen or so still, up to six centimeters. Those will inhibit the expansion of her womb and there is a chance that there won’t be enough room for the child late term. Which might force us to have her deliver early.

We welcome your prayers.

Good news from the blood work. Risk of Down's Syndrome is one in 500 and trisomy 18 one in 10K. Very low risk.

Meanwhile, back at Greenleaf Manor, the little woman is busy feathering her nest. She has rearranged every room in the house. She even talked me into taking a hammer to the bricks which surrounded the wood stove (now warming someone else’s shop).

We are talking color schemes for the living room, kitchen and den, errrr... baby’s room. (The man cave will need to move to the attic.)

I love the passion she feels for things of the spirit. Night before last we tackled the first five chapters of the book of Job. I went back to the first post of my blog Job’s Tale and shared it with her. I pointed out the pattern of the book and how I felt a small piece of the book was misplaced (Satan approaches God, The conflict is set up, the three friends arrive, wait, and then the discourse begins with each friend speaking in turn three times, Job replying each time, then a weird gap in the pattern for the third friend, then youth speaks, and then the interchange between God and Job).

I’ve been busy at work, busy with side projects (some video work in the works), working on that novel, and getting used to my new life.

All good.

Snow

2011-01-04T01:57:00.000-08:00

It is 2:00 in the morning. I have just awoken from a dream that felt wonderful... I must write it down:

-------------------

I was invited to the White House. There was snow all around, the soft yellow light coming from the large lantern chained to cupola over the porch made the white blanket over the lawns inviting... I walked across the snow and was welcomed by three former presidents.

Bill Clinton shook my hand, and the elder Bush led me into the East Wing, tugging at my elbow. His son followed.

I felt very patriotic. It was heady, meeting these men who'd held state secrets, led our nation, had made decisions which had safeguarded my country while I slept in ignorance.

The elder Bush, suddenly looking a little as if he'd stepped into the room from over two centuries ago asked me to come with him.

We walked to the Oval Office. He opened a cabinet and took out a musket. It was a beautiful weapon, fine wood, fine craftsmanship. It had a bayonet on it and looked like it might have been used during the Revolutionary War.

The Secret Service men standing discretely against a wall shifted nervously.

"This belonged to George Washington," he said. "Would you load it for me?"

It seemed I was an expert at such things (though I have never actually handled such a weapon). I knew what to do. In a few moments the gun was ready and I handed it back to the president.

I thought he was going to fire it from the porch, but he'd just gone to the window and held the gun while looking out over the snow.

He turned to us.

"There is something I've always wanted to do..."

He took a book down from a shelf, opened it with practiced ease, and began to read.

It was a poem by George Washington. It described a journey he'd made during the Revolutionary War. As the president read the poem the images of the countryside around our nation's capitol seemed to come alive and I was taken by vividness of the prose.

When he'd finished reading the poem he smiled, and put the book down. He called for one of the Secret Service agents who came and listened for a few moments. The man consulted with a microphone on his wrist, straightened up, picked up the musket, and left through the doors into the night.

A few moments later I heard a horse move off with muffled gait into the darkness.

The president looked at us, smiled and said: "I've always wanted to have someone who'd taken that particular journey come and tell me what it felt like. If you wish, you are welcome to wait for three days and hear it yourselves."

---------------

I woke from the dream, my new wife going to the restroom, a deep sense of patriotism filling me.

It was a wonderfully vivid and unusually emotional dream and I had to write it down.

A New Love

2010-11-07T19:46:00.000-08:00

I have tried to write a post about this latest chapter in my life... but... it didn't feel right.

Now a good friend has asked me some pointed questions and in answering her I wrote from the heart and I think, with a little editing to protect some privacy, I can share it with you.

------------------------

Fair enough.

I tried to write a post about it... but, I have to be delicate about M's rights, ---'s rights, and share the elements I feel are most important, all are difficult.

Perhaps what I write now can be the seed and rough draft for a post.

So, here goes.

I'll answer your questions in roughly the order given.

How Long have I known M? Not long. I exchanged emails for a couple of weeks through eHarmony. Out first date was September 28. Our second date was September 29th. Our third date was September 30.

She does not have children. She has never been married. She had one serious relationship about 18 years ago. She has been praying for someone to share her life with, but gave up just 3 weeks before I contacted her. She prayed about it and told God she would give it one more try, me, before settling for a single, celibate life.

Since that first week we have gotten together about once a week. She comes down and stays with her friend, J, in Hillsboro. J had talked her into moving down to Oregon. So, just as we met, she was moving her furniture from her condo to a storage unit and looking for work in Oregon. She now has leased her condo out and is staying with her brother until she can find a job here, staying with her current job in Kirkland until then.

I spoke with T about her quite a bit. In fact I have arranged for him to provide couple's counseling and she and I have already taken the initial surveys (Christian) and the initial reports are already back.

I also called a meeting with my Moon Howling buddies and spent quite a bit of time sharing with them about this.

Would DG approve? I think he does. We have gone over there and had desert with them. I've spoken with him several times, and he has had no words of warning, and I he wouldn't be shy.

There are the answers to your questions, now for the real stuff.

I have thought about this a great deal, and have prayed over it an enormous amount.

I have questioned myself... is this because I am lonely? Is this because I want a woman in my house? Nope, nope.

I looked around. I have been discriminating. --- is a good person. But, she wasn't for me, I am not right for her.

That is all I want to say about that except, I watched our relationship, and did not push it past what was right. I knew when it was time to rethink it.

At one point in eHarmony I had 168 women on my match list. I looked carefully at them. I corresponded. There were probably 30 or 40 I emailed more than 3 times.

Of those I dated about a dozen of them.

Of those I took 4 of them out at least three times.

Two of those were special. I felt an instant friendship with them, a closeness. But neither of them felt like they were meant for me as a mate (though one of them feels she would have and is, despite my best efforts, is quite hurt, though we never did more than hold hands for a minute or two). But, though I think they would be good friends, I don't think they are meant to be more.

Then there is M.

She took weeks to respond to my inquiries.

Finally we started emailing.

Our first date was at Giovanni's in Beaverton. I thought we had been in the restaurant for an hour, but... it was three!

I instantly felt great excitement about her.

She is very innocent. Never done drugs. No children. Hasn't much in the way of hobbies... except church. She is passionate about the Lord.

Every night we talk to each other for an hour or so. And every night we pray together for about twenty minutes. Last night I couldn't sleep. It was after 1:00 a.m. and I texted her. She was awake, so I called. We each lay in the dark and talked for over an hour.

I tried to get to that sort of sharing with Brenda for many years.

I prayed a lot. And there were three times the Lord sent me a confirmation.

1. I alluded to this this morning in church. I was praying a prayer of thanksgiving. I was thanking the Lord for all the things He has done for me. I was especially thanking Him for the times He showed up when things were rough. Willy's death. Understanding the challenges of our sons. Brenda's first affair. The church fire. Brenda's second affair. Our divorce. Then, quite clearly, I got a message, which could be put this way:

"I am also there in the good times. I am going to give you something good now."

2. M and I were on the couch, talking. Suddenly her appearance changed. Her hair had grey in it, her face, age lines, and I had the sudden certainty I would see that for real. I will live long enough to share years with this woman.

3. A real concern I have about a potential relationship with M is a desire she has: children. She isn't adamant about it, she had pretty much given up on that dream, even the dream of finding a partner, but still, it is there. And I needed to consider it.

I have had that dream. For so many years Brenda and I tried to have children. We bought this house while we were overjoyed about her pregnancy. That was a tubal pregnancy which could have killed her.

Still, there were several times I was reassured by the Lord I would have children. Once it was a verse sent by a missionary who had met my mother, telling her that she (Mom) had a son who wanted children and the Lord had a verse for me... a psalm of King David's about a man having many children (Psalm 127:5).

I prayed for so many years for children. I felt God told me I would have children. I kept bringing up the story of Abraham and reminding God He had promised Abraham children and gave him promised the children. I promised God that if He gave me a child I would do as Abraham did, and give my child to God.

I did.

After getting Willy I held a celebration of thanksgiving, inviting friends to a huge meal in celebration and where I promised to raise that child in any way God wanted.

And God took him.

I hurt.

But, God was there, through it all. I was hurt, angry, and grateful for God's continued presence. I angrily told God I was upset, that God had asked Abraham to give Him Isaac, but He took my son.

Then, He gave me two children... the first... Isaac. Isaac was two, and he had the name echoing the promise God gave Abraham.

Still, secretly, I wished for a child of my own flesh. It was an undercurrent to many of our marital problems.

Over the years I gave up on that dream. I have, in recent years, given up the idea I would have biological children and have begun dreaming other plans for my future.

Now, here is M wondering if I might be willing to fulfill that dream of hers.

I took it to God in prayer.

Reluctantly. Am I too old for children? I am 54.

And, I clearly heard:

"How old was Abraham when I fulfilled my promise to him?"

Abraham accepted he was too old (100).

So... there are the three confirmations.

Meanwhile, I find myself enthralled with her.

She isn't perfect. I see how she has little interest in the things I am so curious about, science and art, and all sorts of music and literature. But, she is interested in sharing my life, and loves learning of the things I like to think about. (But seriously, who would be so enraptured by such stuff? For example, I have lately been reading all I can about three subjects, dark matter, magnatars, and entangled particles. HA! Seriously, who else thinks about this stuff?)

But, she is strong in her faith. Perhaps a touch pentacostal, but maybe that isn't really a bad match for me either!

To me she is incredibly beautiful. I know she isn't a perfect beauty, but there are features she has which I have memorized. Her eyes... There is a curve to the inside of her upper eyelids I find enchanting. I also love the smooth curve of her neck. Her fingers... I have never seen such long nails... not the part which stick beyond the fingertips, but the part over the end of the fingers. Her fingers are slender and lovely, and the nails increase that impression.

I think about her all the time. I love her. I love her in a way I never loved Brenda. I trust her. I believe in her.

I believe she is someone God has made for me.

Does that answer all your questions?

:)

Ouch! Gribbet Snort Gaheez! Mmmmmmmm...

2010-10-08T22:46:00.000-07:00

A little update...

Earlier this Summer, early July, I caught a large piece of furniture from tipping over. It took a few months to figure it out, but I tore a tendon that afternoon.

It was a typical stupid, male move. God created men and women to balance each other. On our own men tend to do dumb things. We don't ask for directions, we never read the instructions, and we are always ourselves putting ourselves in a position where we are faced with handling something too large for us.

Came out cool though.

Wednesday I had surgery on it. They made a few small incisions, shaved off a bone spur, sliced open the tendon and pulled it over two screws put in the bone.

Ouch!

So, I'm on pain killers. I'm not much for turning myself into a drooling, loopy, invalid, but it helps me to relax and therefore, heal.

So, I lie here in bed, wearing an oxycodone smile and muttering "Gribbet Snort Gaheez! Mmmmmmmm..."

It'll be better soon.

:)

Sharing

2010-09-19T22:13:00.000-07:00

On a business trip I found myself l alone in Orlando, Florida for a few days. I had to kill some time (well, perhaps “spend” is a better term; I don’t want to be accused of chronomicide), so I went to Disneyworld.

It wasn’t much fun. I stood in lines, once in a while making small talk with the families and lovers around me. After a ride I’d bounce down the path, momentarily thrilled, which quickly evaporated.

I like movies, but they are a little shallow when I see them alone. I want to share the plot twists, talk about the actors’ skills, the directors’ choices.

Reading books, listening to music, going on hikes, camping, are joys deepened by sharing.

Not everyone is like that. I know people who do such things alone and enjoy them thoroughly. Not me. I prefer to savor experiences with someone.

I’ve a lot of freedom now. Single. Kids moved out. I need to go home to feed Bogie, my mutt from the pound, but my schedule is completely filled with my choices.

I’m not going to the movies. I’m not going out to eat. Such things feel empty without someone beside me.

Oh, I’m fine puttering around my house, doing little projects. I’m comfortable with myself, and Bogie seems to enjoy my explaining to him what we’re doing next. :) It’s just not a full experience.

I think God understands this. I know He does. First, He made me, and He “gets” me (glad someone does!). But, I think as omniscient and omnipotent God is, I think there is something He needs.

God is love.

Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. 1 John 4:8 

God IS love.

Love is giving oneself to another.

Love requires something.

Love requires someone to love.

God requires someone to love.

This makes sense. Before He created Earth, before He created Angels, before He created time, He was.

Forever. There was eternity before there was time. And in that eternity there was only God. A triune being of pure love.

We have a little trouble with the idea of the trinity, a being three in one. Sometimes it helps to use the metaphor of being a two dimensional being observing the intersection of a three dimensional being who place three fingers of a single hand on his universe (was that unclear? I can go into greater detail if you like.).

Perhaps a better metaphor for myself is the parts of myself which view the universe differently. There is my mind, which likes to observe, measure, record, define, ruminate. There is my heart which, admittedly, is a little soft. It reacts more slowly than my mind, responds to the grief of others, responds to the hardships of others, responds to the joy of others. There is my spirit. (This is the slippery part.) My spirit senses things the other parts don’t. That part senses beauty and eternity and God.

Perhaps that is the closest I can come to imagining how a single being can be three.

Perhaps that is how I can understand a little how God is love, something that requires someone to love, when He was there before there was even an eternity to share with angels.

Yes God, God don't never change
He's God, always will be God
God in the middle of the ocean
God in the middle of the sea
---Blind Willie Johnson

Interesting that creating angels was only the first part of His desire to share His love with others beyond the community of a triune self. He went on to create a race of beings who are inherently self centered, capable, even disposed to, being selfish. Perhaps winning the love of the selfish is sweeter.

All this is beside my point (sorry for the rabbit trail). My point is, I long to share my life. (You know, I’m NOT sorry for the rabbit trail!) This isn’t about being codependent.

I just want to share.

Long Time, No See!

2010-08-28T22:42:00.000-07:00

Hi folks.

Yeah, I've neglected this little online journal this past summer. In the main that is because things have been going well.

Started dating a gal. Real sweet one. For a little more than a year.

Loved her kids too. Every Monday all summer they came over and we worked on a tree fort.

But... that's over.

Hey, it ain't that bad. Ain't that good, but, I'm a big boy, and I'm OK.

We are working on transitioning to friends. It's a little awkward, but I think it will be fine. She's on vacation with her kids at Disneyland and I'm dog sitting for her. See? It's cool.

She did me a lot of good. Helped shake me out of habits I've had for years, echoes of my marriage. It feels like I'm on the road for being my own fella.

It also feels a little sad. A little like failure.

But, as I said, I think it's good.

She has been pretty independent for a long time. On her own. And I think she may be a little more independent than the kind of relationship I want.

If I remarry I want it to be with a full partner, a full sharing. Best friends. Shared lives to the grave.

So... That's that.

In other news...

Jeremiah has been reevaluated by the State of Oregon and deemed not to need the level of care he has been receiving, so he needs to move somewhere cheaper. Hopefully that will be worked out soon.

Isaac is in Job Corp at Tongue Point in Astoria, Oregon. Today Jeremiah and I went to see him (it's about a 2.5 hour drive). He has a friend who went with us. We went to Fort Stevens, and the Astoria Column. Had pizza. I took him shopping for a few things he needed.

Isaac & His Friend (Just Friends, honest)

Fort Stevens - Firing Reproduction of Civil War Cannon

Atop the Astoria Column
(We threw Balsa Wood Airplanes into the Forest!)

That was today...

Earlier this summer my buddies and I had another moon howlin'. It was a good one. I intended to write about it, but it never happened (I remodeled my bedroom, worked on my house...).

We fired a spud gun, and shot a target with a rifle, had a beer, cooked hunks of meet on sticks, talked serious, spiritual... We told stupid jokes. In fact, I said something that we all felt we could take away from the night. After laughing really hard at a really dumb joke, I said... "Keep in mind guys, sometimes STUPID IS IMPORTANT."

We might have to put that on T shirts.

I've lots of other stuff I could say right now... political, scientific, spiritual... but, I reckon that's enough for now.

Update

2010-06-04T06:12:00.001-07:00

Life is good.

Sometimes strange.

Sometimes not what I would choose, but if it were left to me to script my life it would be so comfortable I would never grow.

Overall, it’s been good. That is why I haven’t posted much of late. When things are good there isn’t such a need to vomit up the toxins.

So, I’ll just post a little catch up stuff.

Jeremiah is going to move again. The State of Oregon reassessed his needs and determined that he does not need the level of support he has been getting, so they reduced the funding for him and that forces him to move to a home with less support staff.

I think this will be good because the other residents where he live have such great handicaps that he never connected with them. Never made friends with them. He made friends with the staff.

They will be letting me know about some other places Brenda and I can visit to choose his next home.

I spent six hours with Brenda on Tuesday.

Kid stuff again.

Isaac was accepted about two years ago for the Job Corps and finally moved in to Tongue Point Job Corps at Astoria, Oregon.

Brenda was going to drive, but I quietly insisted. “I’ll just pick you up on the way,” I texted.

It’s two and a half hours there and I dreaded the trip back alone with her.

Simple solution: invite Jeremiah along.

The place is a lot like a military base.

Check in at the gate. We were escorted to the dorm, followed a military style truck... They seemed a little surprised at how Jeremiah, Brenda, and I came in with him for check in. They went through Isaac’s bags. The only thing not permitted was the mouthwash (contains alcohol).

On the way back Jeremiah fell asleep in the seat beside me. Brenda, in the cramped back seat of the Mustang, started apologizing again. She said she had made a huge mistake, that she was sorry for all the hurt she caused me. She cried.

There was an awkward silence.

I didn’t want to open any doors, not even a crack.

“Thank you for saying that,” I finally said.

I always want to comfort those who hurt. This time though... this time if I showed any movement toward her or her feelings, well, she would take it the wrong way.

We stopped and ate.

The house is too quiet.

I’ve heard about empty nesters going through adjustments.

Part of me resents that this time in my life, the time I had fantasized about, when the kids are gone and it is just me and my spouse, has been thrown away by someone I trusted.

I’ve been in a bit of a funk all week. The house is too empty.

Last night I was texting a friend who asked how I was doing.

“I miss Isaac.”

Those simple words made me choke up. Before that moment I had made comments about how strange it was to have the house so quiet. I said things about the absence of helping someone with meals, or sharing the bathroom. But those simple words, “I miss Isaac” seemed to so clearly say what was really at the heart of my funk, I choked up a little.

I remembered the key moments in raising him. The clear spirit-led guidance that brought us together. And moments of his life with me. His first joke. Teaching him to ride a bike.

The moment I first saw him... I was standing in the living room of the orphanage. Looking out the sliding glass door, across the patio to the bedroom filled with cribs... and there he was, jumping up and down... “Daddy, daddy, daddy!!!” he was shouting.

This is a challenging time of the school year. The tasks, the lessons, the projects coming due, are all made more difficult by the many culminating fields trips of various courses and programs, and by the behavior of the adolescents wound up by the nearing Summer Break, the good weather, and the chemical imbalances nature sometimes inflicts on the brains of carbon-based life forms during Spring.

School ends in a little over a week.

I’m adjusting to an empty house and the changing schedule.

It’s all good.

How to Combat Froo Frooism

2010-04-15T16:02:00.000-07:00

Things are going well, so I have less to write about... Or at least, it isn't dramatic anyway.

Which is a good thing. That melodrama I was living was tearing me apart.

Brenda doesn't appear near my home any more. she has learned that the closest I want her to come to my house is the park around the corner (to pick up Isaac) and that I'm not thrilled about that. She needed that clear a boundary.

I've been going out with a gal... a real belle inside and out.

She's got great kids. It's fun hanging with them.

Last weekend we went to a museum, The John McLoughlin house, and spent all afternoon there.

Once a month they have a gaggle of ladies in to do demonstrations on some froo froo Victorian skill. Saturday they were displaying needle books.

The ladies were all decked out in clothing and jewelry... all of it "period." Nothing outside of the 1840s & 50s. Even their language.

They were showing folks, a few ladies who had stumbled in from the 21st century, how to make needle books. Needles, dangerous tools of reconstruction, are easily lost, and these books with felt pages were a good place to store items that could take a year to replace if ordered from England.

I, and one of the boys I was with, thought the fish needle book was cool. Two pieces of "paste board" were carefully sewn into fabric, stitched together, and a ribbon is pulled out which holds the needles.

He and I sat down and bravely picked up the piece of naked "pasteboard" and cut a "fishy" fabric into pieces that might fit.

It was quite the project. We began at noon. The boy's brother and mom had to leave before 2:00, but we wanted to plug on.

They gave us all sorts of tips. Always thread the needle with the end of thread that was the lead off the spool. How a pattern of stitches that backed up over the previous stitch made for a strong and straight seam.

My favorite trick was the knot. I used to repair my clothing (and sleeping bag, and tent, and backpack) with fishing line when I was on my youthful adventures. And the way I put a knot in a thread I just wound the thread around a meaty forefinger and rolled the tangled hoop off with my thumb, pulling it into a snarl that could not possible pass through any fabric.

But not anymore. Now I delicately lay the end of the thread across the needle, wrap it three times against the glittering nearly invisible spike, and pull it smoothly down to a satisfyingly neat knot at the end of a silky thread.

I could see the victorian ladies were amused at the two of us transgressing the gender barrier.

The boy looked a little uncomfortable at one point.

"A real man does what he does and doesn't worry about what anyone else thinks," I told him.

He smiled.

"And besides, if this whole thing seems to get a little too froo frooish, just do something extra guy like."

"Arrrrr arrrrr arrrr arrr! Ooooh arrrr! Uh! UH! ARRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

We thought grunting a lot would suffice.

So, throughout the afternoon he and I would break into grunts for a moment or two, making clear to all at the table that we were guys.

The ladies seemed amused.

At 4:00 p.m. we had to stop. We hadn't quite finished. But he and I made a pact to continue our projects Sunday afternoon.

So, or rather, sew, we added an additional 45 minutes to our task and got the job done.

Here is mine:

My fish (tongue with needle inside)

Tongue Out
Notice the needle! Cool!

Easterly Thoughts

2010-04-04T11:01:00.000-07:00

Christianity, the faith of God incarnated as a tortured sacrifice for the sins of humanity, seems a bizarre belief... eternal damnation and eternal paradise mixed in the hearts and lives of mortals, flawed people who sometimes wonder if they are buying salvation with their belief, with good deeds, perhaps with money in an offering plate.

It does seem odd... Why would a loving God, a being of glory and purity and joy and love, mix suffering and death and punishment in the mundane time and place of a criminal's death at a somewhat obscure backwater outpost of the Roman Empire?

Perhaps this is made strange because we are strange. ...Because we are looking at the whole thing from the wrong side of reality.

Consider this story of divine redemption from a different perspective.

Consider an existence not fueled by consuming food, of physical bodies functioning by a fight to make order out if disorder, driving our animated flesh from dissolving particles of plants and animals.

Consider an existence based on physics which are alien to us because they existed before the laws of physics which run this universe.

Consider what it may be like to live an existence that is not held to the standards of an outside perspective because there isn't any outside. There isn't (wasn't) sin, of doing wrong to others and having wrongs done to us, which is the result of individuals wanting what is not theirs, or doing what is not good for others.

Consider an existence which lies solely upon a perspective of what is, to us, an emotion. An "emotion" which is the foundation for existence itself. Consider the perspective of eternity, of a timeless forever which stretched beyond linear time, interrupted by the brief existence of our universe, which flows from the desire, the need to share the most intimate, ultimate part of ourselves: our "heart", our love.

From that perspective, the view of eternity longing to expand the embrace of Love, even to selfish beings of flesh... of, really, animals with minds, and souls which might sense a reality truer than one based on hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon.

From that perspective, Love became flesh to provide base beings, creatures who are more space, more nothing than matter (for there is far more to us that is empty than the solidity of the mass found within protons, neutrons, and electrons).

From that perspective Love became flesh as an example of pure selflessness so we might look past our own weaknesses, past our predilection to wanting what we want when we want it.

For Eternity to clothe itself (Himself) in base, vaporific matter, and to suffer the worst we can do, is the personification of Eternity in a fashion we might, just might, be able to understand.

Perhaps the events of Easter, of God made flesh, of that flesh suffering and dying, and God demonstrating He can overcome the simplistic nature of our universe's physical laws, isn't so strange from the perspective of Eternity.

Saturday Sushi

2010-04-04T10:58:00.000-07:00

Dragon Roll

Change of Heart

2010-03-31T12:03:00.000-07:00

I've a question for you.

Do you feel your heart, your emotional center, is changing?

I'm sure it is different than when you were a child. I'm sure that when school let out for the summer the warmth of the sun shone on you a lot like the way your heart shone its joy of being alive and free and... well, of being eight.

It changed along the way. There were hurts and joys, mysteries and discoveries, all shaped how you felt.

I feel my heart changing.

It isn't just the big changes that have happened... It seems an ongoing process. I feel my heart changing in a steady way that makes the swift changes just obstacles along the road of my life. The movement on the road has always continued.

Two great sorrows, the death of my child and the death of my marriage, broke my heart, but it mended. Major changes which reformed me the way a smith's hammer on hot metal.

But the other changes... the ordinary changes... Like what I am feeling now, I'm fascinated by them.

I feel my heart changing steadily. I find myself loving everyone, everything, a little more each day.

I have especially noticed a deeper emotional response to worship. When I worship my mind and heart fill with the scope of existence, the galaxies spread across 20 billion or more light years; I imagine the tiny strings at the deepest skein of the fabric of the universe, following the shuttles of physics in the loom of all things; I picture in my mind's eye the pulsing death throws of Beetlegeuse, swelling, deepening, preparing to die... I imagine the deaths of quasars and of may flies and my heart swells.

Even in talking or writing of such things my pulse quickens, my tongue grows thick, my eyes moisten. It is all so lovely.

And it seems to me, there is something about my heart, something about my life, that continues to change, continues to grow.

Is this unique to me? Do others experience such change? I note my father seems to gentle as he ages... Do we all?

So, dear reader, do you feel your heart, your emotional center, is changing?

A Little Writing Before the Others Awake...

2010-03-27T05:36:00.000-07:00

I guess I haven't written much of late because things are going well.

Not perfect, but well.

I'm at a youth camp this weekend with my son Jeremiah. We are volunteering, doing whatever work they would have us do in preparation for their summer season.

I've been awake many times through the night. Perhaps it is the bunk bed, or the snoring of other men, or simply the bizarre dreams.

My dreams were filled with trying to find sleep in corners of a nearly vacant city with strange tall, and strange small birds stalking about in the dark, police cars shining their lights down alleys, of large mirrors placed too high to see into, and dusty vacant buildings echoing with the sounds of meals which no longer exist.

I went to sleep peaceful enough.

There was a worship service last night, my heart was at peace.

A good thing.

It seems odd to be 53.

It seems odd to be single and to have a heart moved by the thoughts of spinning galaxies and breezes blowing over grasses of meadows covering fragments of continents which no longer exist.

It seems odd to have a heart which loves and wants to love and yet only shares my life in pieces with my children, with my friends, with my God, and with a woman I am greatly attracted to.

It seems odd to consider this life, this second life after a marriage which spanned the best part of three decades. I wanted to give 60 or 70 years to a marriage. I wanted to give everything to a future so it would add up to a past I was pleased to have lived.

Now I can only offer 30 or so years...

I think of what I have to offer... emotional, spiritual, even to a small extent, financial assets. That last part is strange... I prefer the idea of sharing all I have with someone who hasn't anything to give back, so the sharing can be freer, without feeling I might receive more than I give. I want to be generous in every way.

This person I am seeing... I don't feel free to write of her, of us, as I did while my marriage was shredding. I think when I was writing back then I was hoping she would read what I was saying and understand, find her way back. I asked her many times to read it.

But now, things are good, and there isn't the need to pull at the sinews of the relationship to see what is attached.

Not that things are perfect. It seems clear I am someone who can be hard to read, that my flat affect can be taken as displeasure or disinterest when it can actually be covering amusement or even joy. So, I have a long ways to go to learn how to share who I am.

But this blog isn't the place to do that. Not this time.

As I write the dreams of the past night swirl around me, float through my thoughts, their emotional responses cling to my heart like tendrils of a dense fog slipping back toward a river flowing just out of sight... Shadows of buildings, sagging chain link fences, crumbling cinder block walls... animals in the dark... more fearsome in the dark than when I swept a flashlight over their startled features. Of the man who slithered along the side of the van, turning out to be a friendly early riser out for a walk. Constellations I have never seen floating in thin strips of sky far above alleys...

I'm nine years older. It doesn't seem much, at 53. But now and then conversations reveal experiences, memories of events personal and historic... no matter.

Last night, at worship, I felt the certainty I often feel during worship, of realities of my relationship with God which prevent me from calling it faith. How can it be faith when I am so certain? Moses didn't have faith in the reality of God, not after being in His presence. That bush burned in Moses' heart long after it no longer burned within his sight.

When I worship I feel a connection to everything, to the great expanse of time which comprises this universe, the great expanse of space which comprises this universe, the great expanse of smallness which stretches from me through my molecules, my atoms, sub atomic particles, quarks, and the strings vibrating in dimensions far more plentiful that I can experience...

When I worship my heart feels large.

When my heart feels large, I want to share it.

I don't mean I want to go out on some evangelical mission, convince anyone of the truths I feel within me.

I mean I want to share my heart. I want to share my life. I want to be close to someone. I want someone to know me, and share joy.

Toward the end of this week is Good Friday. I usually watch The Passion on Good Friday, remind myself of the mystery of the infinite made finite.

Jesus was a guy like me. He grew tired. I suppose there were times when He was all the things I know in being a man. The stories of His life mention weariness, thirst, even fear or dread. I suppose He passed gas. I suppose that He had to read the Torah to have the foundation for His message, He didn't walk around with omniscience. It seems strange to think He dealt with acne and blisters and splinters.

But, He was a guy like me.

I know He longed to share His heart...

Uh... Yeah.

2010-02-21T13:35:00.000-08:00

I picked up a rescue dog from the humane society last night. I'm calling him "Bogie" (I love Bogart movies!)

It is so good to have Isaac home. What was to be two or three days in the hospital became four weeks and it was getting old for all concerned.

He lost a lot of weight, but we've started him on soft foods, so he is eating for the first time in a month. Very cool.

In my classroom I have a poster I made: "Questions are more important than answers. Answers are often wrong, questions never are."

I love learning new things. I will come across an odd fact follow that rabbit trail, and the trails which branch off it.

For example, the other day I read something odd about the octopus and looked the creature up. I read the wikipedia article three times, and also read about the hectocotylus, muscular hydrostats, and the Hawaiian creation myth.

Amazing creatures! I am still reeling over the bizarre qualities this animal possesses.

While the females guard their eggs until they hatch, the infant offspring (up to 200,000 of them) are left on their own to learn how to survive. They do this without, apparently, any instruction and no instinctual knowledge. They learn everything from scratch!

Experiments show they have short and long term memory, and have amazing problem solving capabilities.

After reproduction the males and females die, not of starvation (though they usually cease to eat) but because an organ behind their eyes releases a toxin. They self destruct! Elements of their reproduction were described by Aristotle but not believed until rediscovered in the 19th century.

Their limbs can detach and be autonomous for a while, even mimicing surrounding objects (in appearance and movement).

They have three hearts. One for each gill and one for the rest of their body.

The have multiple types of cells which can alter their color. They can make themselves look like almost anything around them. They have been observed to mimic a plant, will move about on only two legs to maintain the illusion.

The ink they emit not only hides them visually but deadens the sense of smell of other creatures.

They can move by crawling, walking, or using their jets. They have been observed crawling from one tide pool to another in the open air and have crawled onto the decks of fishing ships to get at crabs.

They have been observed to use tools.

They are so intelligent that the UK Animals (Scientific Procedures) Act 1986 has granted them honorary vertebrate status so they may only be experimented on with anesthesia.

Perhaps one of the most astonishing things I learned about them is that their oxygen transporting element is copper not iron. They have blue blood. (interesting they can eat iron based creatures and iron based creatures can eat them.) The copper is in proteins spread through their blood plasma not in something akin to red blood cells as ours are.

What an amazing animal!

If such a creature were sentient, and had a soul, what sort of connection might it have with the Creator? God would seem more alien to them than to us because they do not have the concept of community, of family, that we do. They might relate to the idea of a trinity through the concept of autonomous limbs connected into a single being, but the idea of love and sharing emotional bonds would probably be impossible.

How would such a sentient being understand truth? Truth would be measured in such things as a sense of touch that includes taste, a sense of vision that includes polarized light, but the idea that everything is illusion, since their own bodies routinely mimic reality easily, would make the idea of falsehood as normal as empirical truth.

Would the concept of eternal life be beyond their comprehension since their bodies self destruct at a given time? Old age is impossible for them. They would see life as fleeting and of little value since so few of their offspring endure (which they don't even understand since they have many but never live long enough to witness them). No mates, no children, just solitary lives of mimicry and illusion... the tang of copper at their touch rather than the savor of iron in their mouths.

About this point, dear reader, you are probably shaking your head. Not at the strange mind a sentient octopus might have, but at the strange mind this writer has. :)

That's OK.

That is the real point of this post. My mind. I'm amused I ponder such things. Makes me smile that I wander into such musings. What really gives me a the thrill is when I think about the strangeness of the universe and the possibilities beyond the fields we (I) know.

What a wonderful gift the Lord has given me!

! ! ! ! ! !

2010-02-16T15:39:00.000-08:00

: )

Hurray!

2010-02-16T07:07:00.000-08:00

Just got a call from Isaac. He put his doctor on the phone who told me Isaac can come home today!

He was checked in on January 20th, a Wednesday. That's FOUR weeks!

Hurray!

A Little Good News :)

2010-02-13T12:53:00.000-08:00

X rays are done. Good news.

The mouse cursor is at the spot where there was a constriction.

This pic is 13 seconds after swallowing & the fluid is already entering the intestine.

He can have clear liquids now.

About Stuff...

2010-02-13T10:13:00.000-08:00

13.73 billion years ago the universe packed neatly into a space smaller than an atom.

13.73 billion years ago all the dimensions of the universe were packed neatly into a single unified dimension, having no height, no width, no depth, not even a moment to exist in for time had yet to begin.

It would take less than an instant (defined as an infinitely short amount of time) for it to expand... if one could be floating there, outside of the universe a short distance away (which is patently absurd since there was no space outside of the infinitely small space, but say there was...) one would never see the universe coming because it moved faster than light (the universal speed limit had not passed quantum physics legislation yet).

I'm waiting for Isaac to get out from video x ray (they are having him drink a contrast fluid, and then will video tape how it flows [or fails to] through him).

So... I'm just sitting here thinking about stuff...

Stars in our Neighborhood

Our Galaxy

Local Galaxies in our Supercluster

The filaments in our corner of the universe (of which our supercluster makes up a spot)

The inventor of the Frisbee died this past week...

The DVD of The African Queen will come out next month!

Tapioca is made from casava roots

Progress!

2010-02-12T09:54:00.000-08:00

At this time yesterday I thought Isaac was having a procedure to place a stent into his intestines.

I didn't like the idea.

Sometimes the stomach resists these stents and push them further into the intestine.

While I was teaching my last class yesterday, getting ready to hurry to Portland, Isaac, Brenda, and the surgeon decided to simply remove the NG tube going into his stomach and see what happened.

Would the stomach just fill with gas and fluids, pulling on the previous incisions? Or would it fill up partially, and start moving materials into his intestine?

I was there last night. The stomach grew uncomfortable for him, grew a little distended. We refrained from pain meds, opting for strong anti-inflammatory medicine instead.

The pain subsided.

He had a small bowl movement late last night, and a larger one this morning.

!

!!!!!

I am not there this morning, I'm working today (on a lunch break right now), so I don't know exactly what they are deciding, but I suspect they will start having him drink fluids, perhaps eat some Jello (registered trademark).

This is VERY good news.

I am cautiously hopeful I can bring him home soon.

Lastly, on the ex wife front... It seems she is getting the message. I told her details about my income, about anything to do with the hospital bills and Isaac and all that, she would only get what I am convinced is absolutely necessary. No more than that.

I woke this morning at 3:30, went for a nice walk in nature. It was a peaceful hour.

?Huh?

2010-02-11T16:35:00.000-08:00

Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.
--Mark Twain

I got to the hospital as quickly as possible. School ended, and the student I had scheduled to tutor after school was covered by someone else.

School ends at 2:30. We are expected to stick around until at least 3:30 (though it isn't uncommon to be here after 5:00, and I often arrive at 6:00), I hustled off. I was told Isaac was going under for a "Procedure" (? "operation"?) to insert a stent in his intestine.

Sheesh. I really don't want to see that happen.

But I am glad they are taking this last chance to see if they can let the stomach have one more chance.

They removed the NG tube (a nasal tube that pumps fluids out of the stomach). They are avoiding the pain meds (which slow his digestive track) and giving him an anti-inflammatory. We are crossing our fingers that this will work.

So... I feel confused. I thought the stent was a sure thing. Glad to hear that it is only a possibility. A stent is sometimes rejected by the stomach and pushed further into the intestines. That would be more serious.

Perhaps all the prayers are moving the Lord's hand. Perhaps his intestines will take this last chance to wake up and do their job.

Either way, I'm hopeful. I hope the doctor returns soon and feels we can put off this procedure.

I just want my son to get better... come home.

As for Brenda... she hasn't been here this afternoon. I'm grateful for that.

I need to have a blunt conversation with her. I dislike confrontation. That has been reinforced to a pavlovian level with her. But, I see she is continually testing the boundaries. I tell her where they are, and she pushes it.

I teach middle school. Kids between 11 and 14. They ALWAYS test the boundaries. If they are to stay in the cafeteria before the school day begins, then they will see if it is OK to stand in the doorway. Once the door fills the will see if it is OK to stand outside the door and talk to the kids in the door. If no one says anything they will see if it is OK to go look at the bulletin boards in the hallway. If no one says anything, they will see if it is OK if they just run to their locker real quick to put something away...

I will have to be as clear with Brenda as I am with my students.

DANG IT!!!!

2010-02-10T21:52:00.000-08:00

The tests on Isaac's intestines did not go well.

Tomorrow at 4:30 they are putting a stint into his intestines at the point they enter stomach.

After three weeks in the hospital, another operation.

I will rush to the hospital when work ends today... I'm supposed to be here until 3:30, but the kids leave at 3:30. I should be there before they put him under for this next operation.

All of this is creating some large hospital bills. It is probably over a $100,000 now. Isaac is on my insurance, but if they see him as a 19 year old, an adult, and look at his income and determine what he can afford. This means doing his 2009 taxes, calling the hospitals, negotiating what the items values are for the insurance companies (what they will pay), and what they can charge us based on Isaac's ability to pay.

This also includes looking at my income, my tax burden, and making the point that while I claim his as a dependent because I support more than 50% of his living expenses, he is still an adult (moving toward independence) and these bills should be treated separate than if they were incurred by me directly.

The sticky part here is Brenda. She wants to do this. Frankly, she has the time, there are needs to show that she is not a part of his direct resources (her tax filing) and there is an immediacy. That's the reasons to let her do this.

The reasons not to let her is that this can be used as an opportunity for her to pry into my business. It isn't that I have anything to hide. (In fact all of this will show that I have shouldered much more than my fair share.) This would mean a careful vigilance on what she knows, what she has access to, and what she might do to wedge a small opening into my life into one where she has more control.

Here is an example... Last night I got a voice message from her. She was warning me that Isaac had gotten a phone call that was a scam for money.

"So what?," I thought.

She then told me that had called the phone company for Isaac's telephone to tell them not to charge him for the minutes this call took. Hmmmm... OK. A little awkward since this is really my account and I have Isaac on my family plan.

"I also told them to block that call from his phone so they don't call him again."

--Sigh.-- OK. Boy she likes to get involved in the details!

"Since he is on your account I told them to block the call from your phone as well so you aren't bothered by this scam."

"WHAT?!!!!"

Now I need to speak to her about how inappropriate it is for her to adjust ANYTHING on ANY account I might have with ANY business at ANY time.

--Sigh.--

So... Isaac has had another setback. He will be knocked out this afternoon and a large stint placed in his intestine.

Meanwhile, Brenda will be looking for the calm reassurance I have given her for nearly three decades and I will withhold it.

Meanwhile, Brenda will try to help with the business end of negotiating a good deal for Isaac, but needing information about my and Isaac's income, and wanting to "help" me with my taxes. Criminy! Another emotional, relational mine field.

Meanwhile, I need rest (I couldn't sleep last night, but knowing I will be up late tonight I took a pill that I knew would make it hard to get going today so I would).

Meanwhile, I need spiritual renewal. I need some walks in the early morning hours at Mollala River State Park, being in tune with the world as the nocturnal creatures retire and the diurnal ones awake, while I use the world to be a natural cathedral to separate the confusion of human life with the peace of eternity.

--Sigh.--

Whew!

2010-02-05T16:14:00.000-08:00

Isaac is back in his hospital room.

There is a new, larger, NG tube draining his stomach through his nose and he is very out of it. The tube is painful and he abhors it. At least he was unconscious (for an endoscopy) when they put it in.

The doctor who performed the endoscopy did a good job explaining it (though B told me later that last night she felt the doctor's bedside manner wasn't all it should be and made her feelings clear, perhaps a little excessively. B said that was probably why she was being through and careful in talking with us).

At any rate... good news!

The reason Isaac's stomach wasn't emptying into his intestines is due to the incision from the removal of the tumor. Actually, because of the two operations there. The first time when the staple went in it pinched the stomach a little, closing the opening a bit. When the staple popped out and was replaced with sutures, it was pinched even more. Then, as is natural, it swelled up from the trauma, which nearly closed it all together.

She gave me pictures of it all so I can explain it to Isaac when he is aware enough. (Note, if such pictures make you feel squeemish, be careful because I intend to put them at the bottom of this post.)

The bottom line is that the sutures look good. It is straight, clean, pink. It is swollen, but the swelling should go down in the next couple of days.

During the endoscopy they inserted a balloon and stretched the opening to the intestines a bit to make it easier to begin functioning again.

Meanwhile they will continue to drain his stomach through the tube, leaving it fairly empty. They will turn it off now and then, wait a little while, and then see if there is a build up of fluids or if the liquids are draining away into his intestines as they should.

They expect him to be able to go home in three or four days.

On the off chance that the stomach does not adapt and start channeling fluids where it should, there are two options, but they are unlikely. One is to insert a tube into that opening, but that isn't desirable. Sometimes those tubes are pushed on into the intestine by the stomach and need to be surgically removed later. The other option is to insert a drain through his belly that can be manually drained. Neither of those are good choices, and I trust they will not be necessary.

Brenda has left and probably won't be back until Sunday evening at the earliest.

I need to catch up on my rest, but I think that will be easier now.

It wasn't just a matter of sleeping in chairs or the back of my car, but the stress of wondering what was happening with my son which has worn on me.

I am looking forward to getting him home and getting things back to normal. Well, as normal as things seem to get for me!

OK... Now for the pics. I include them here because I want to keep this online journal complete, though it is a strange and perhaps queezy sight...

To me it is exciting... it is one thing to hear the doctors describe what is going on, and another to see with my own eyes that things are going well.

...

...

...

...

...

The picture in the upper left shows the suture (horizontal line on the left). You can see it is a little swollen, but nice and pink, and well sealed. The picture on the lower right is the line leading to the balloon (which is the yellow thing in the pic on the lower left).

The picture in the upper left here is what the entrance to the intestine after it was stretched open by the balloon. That is a close up of it in the pic on the upper right.

Hi there

2010-02-05T14:40:00.000-08:00

A friend was just here... I asked him what day it is.

That is how I am feeling...

I spoke with my boss this morning and he asked how many days had I been gone. A few hours later I realized I had completely forgotten three of the days I had worked.

It is all blurring together.

This morning, I think it was this morning, I wrote a little piece for this blog which garnered a flood of emails. Some supportive, some mixed, some chiding (yet loving).

I don't know if what I'm writing now will clarify my feelings, but I'm going to try.

For those who do not know, Isaac is 19 and he once told me that he knew I had to divorce his mom. He said it was the best thing for all of us.

I must have written something (I'm too tired to go back and reread it now) which indicated I was treating her in some way that approaches harshness.

I'm not. Throughout this I have kept he informed of every decision, every change, every update, and she has done the same for me.

I have treated her respectfully.

I could recount the injuries I've received from her, but there isn't any reason to do so. I wouldn't tell her unless severely pressed to do so (and I can't imagine such circumstances.

But, it is clear that she has continued to play some sort of strange game which includes hinting that we should get back together. NOT going to happen. Since I have become resolute in maintaining clear boundaries it has made things much simpler with her. She is becoming polite (if not less eager to take control).

This is what is best for Isaac, best for me, and I believe, best for her.

Every opportunity I gave her to be a larger part of things, especially anything to do with my home she used as an opening to insert a wedge and widen her influence.

Honestly, she wasn't interested in me until it began to look like I was moving on.

I care about her. She just didn't feel the same way, and I'm OK with that now. And I can care about her without pretending to be more buddy like than I feel. And not being fully honest with who I am and to let my son see how one can love someone without embracing their misdeeds. She is a past chapter of this life.

I swore to love and protect her all my life and I really tried to do that, far past the point where it was clear she would not permit it.

I think there will always be a frustration in my heart that I was not able to spend my life with a single woman. It is only partly her fault. Beyond the mistakes I made, I also see I made the choice to marry her. I chose poorly.

_______________

OK... BIG time out! Just got information about Isaac. This post is a little defensive, I know, but I felt the need to spit it out and this is the place for it...

Bottom line... I know, in my heart (and I really do have a gentle heart), that the interactions with Brenda are what they need to be. Nuff said.

For those of you who had the courage to say something to make certain I was doing what was right, thank you. It isn't easy to tell someone something you know they probably don't care to hear and I take the comments in the spirit of love in which I know they were given.

Additionally, I know I am exhausted and will be as cheerful as ever very soon.

Now.. I have much news about Isaac's condition and I want to toss this missive onto the blog pile and let it get buried under more interesting news.

Another Day...

2010-02-05T08:11:00.000-08:00

Back in Isaac's room. He seems to be feeling better this morning. He's not so scared.

The first surgery was January 20th. The cut the muscles at the base of his stomach and while there, removed a pancreatic tumor in his stomach.

On Friday the 22nd the staple at the tumor site had popped and they took him back in for another surgery.

The sent him home a week later, which lasted just until Saturday when his stomach kept filling up and he threw up everything I gave him.

So... Back to the hospital.

I reread the last post. It wasn't the easiest night last night.

Quite a scare.

I know the post sounds like I am being mean to Brenda. I'm not. I'm polite. I listen. I simply ignore her manipulations. That is what they are, manipulations.

She seems to have stopped trying to get back together with me, I'm not buying it anymore. I don't even need to remind myself that she has had two affairs, and that through the last one she left six times to go back to her boyfriend, and each time, I let her return.

That is done. I don't like to see her hurting, I am free with hugs, but no longer with her. She uses them as a wedge to pry things open for her purposes.

She was happier when I was miserable. Now that I am moving on, she wishes to drag me back. I'll remain polite, and focus on caring for my son.

So, Isaac is watching Spongebob, Brenda is out having a cigarette, and I am trying to wake up. (The back seat of that Ford Mustang isn't the best bed.)

I sure hope the doc shows soon so I can ask some questions about his prognosis.

Concerned

2010-02-05T00:03:00.001-08:00

I rushed back to the hospital within the past hour.

Isaac has had a seizure.

He's scared.

I would rather not be sharing this event with Brenda.

_____

She has stepped away to give he and me a little privacy.

I was a little surprised. It seemed that every time I started to talk to him or the nurse she inserted herself into the conversation. Perhaps my irritation flickered actoss my face causing her to leave.

She has offered to let me sleep here tonight. I refused. I';ll go sleep on a couch in the lobby or in that tiny seat in that silly little car I bought.

When she called to tell me about the seizure I heard the fear in her voice. I sensed that she wanted me to rush not just to him, but to her, to calm her, to be supportive. It's the role I played for nearly three decades.

She tends to be controlling, and excitable. I tend to be emotional, but in a soft way, and when others are hurting, put myself aside and try to help.

It pisses me off that she wants that of me now.

A year ago I would have swept her into my arms, comfort her.

Now when I think of her I s see a person who is so mixed up she does not even know the truth of her own heart, her own mind.

She lies to herself, and believes them. That makes it much easier to justify one's behavior when one can conjure up "reasons" and convince oneself they are the whole truth.

I have similar failings. Everyone does. Being an individual usually consists of being a little self-focused, a little biased in seeing that one is in the right and the rest of the world is screwed up.

I have tried hard to be honest with myself.

I don't always succeed, but I can see that every time I think someone has done me wrong it is usually a defense mechanism.

I suppose that is partly the case with tonight.

Her body language says she wants a hug, wants reassurance; I find it repugnant.

When she speaks I feel like snapping at her. To tell her to butt out. To tell her to let me ask my questions without a whisper from her.

Perhaps I am tired. I usually don't express this sort of negative feelings.

_____

She just stepped in for her purse. I think she needs cigarettes. I told her I would be leaving soon as Isaac has nearly fallen asleep...

Where was I? Oh yes... annoyed, and attempting to discern my own truth, weaknesses and strengths...

I've avoided talking these last few months about my heart... for there is someone I've met I care a great deal for. I love.

I know, I love easily.

I think about missteps I take in all the walks of my life. I regret them. I am trying to learn from them.

I think I'll go off to sleep in the car...

Three Little Birds

2010-02-02T22:16:00.000-08:00

"Don't worry about a thing,

'Cause every little thing gonna be all right.
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"

Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', ("This is my message to you-ou-ou:")

Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry (don't worry) 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"

Rise up this mornin',
Smiled with the risin' sun,
Three little birds
Pitch by my doorstep
Singin' sweet songs
Of melodies pure and true,
Sayin', "This is my message to you-ou-ou:"

Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, worry about a thing, oh!
Every little thing gonna be all right. Don't worry!"
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing" - I won't worry!
"'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."

Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right" - I won't worry!
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry about a thing, oh no!
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!

Isaac asked to have this song playing while they reinserted the tube into his stomach through his nasal passage.

He asked for Chris Botti last time, but he has been listening to that CD straight for 36 hours.

"What do you want, Buddy? Sade?"

"No."

"Maybe some soft classical? Perhaps Bach?"

"I don't care. No wait... maybe that Bob Marley song about 'Everything is going to be alright.'"

"Three Little Birds? Sure!"
He hates the procedure.

It is painful.

The first attempt failed...

While screwing up the courage to try again we decided that he could imagine he was swallowing a whole french fry. It's the swallowing that is required to guide the tube.

Brenda sat on one side of him, I sat on the other. I gripped his hand with my left, and held his shoulder with my right.

I then held the tube while the doctor removed the guide wire.

So... the tube is in, and already nearly a liter of fluids have drained from his stomach. The pain is subsiding. The pressure on the sutures has been relieved.

Singin': "Don't worry 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right."
Singin': "Don't worry (don't worry) 'bout a thing,
'Cause every little thing gonna be all right!"

He loves that song.

Anyway... the tube is in. The stomach is draining. Now... if only the intestine will unkink and start letting the gases and fluid drain from the stomach.

More time in this hospital. They even had the balloons still from a few days ago... This almost looks like the same room.

Brenda is going to spend the night. I will be back in the morning to relieve her.

At least he is going to get the fluids he needs, and proper pain meds...

Update: February 2, 2010, 9:30 p.m.

2010-02-02T21:25:00.000-08:00

OK...

Does not apear to be kidney related... not a stone or other problem...

It's from the surgery.

It seems the intestine close to the stomach has pinched off and the stomach is filling up with juices and gases and causing increasing pressure and pain and since it cannot drain, vomiting.

We have attempted once to get a tube into the stomach through the nose... but... no good.

Isaac has taken a ten minute break and we are about to try again.

He needs to be a participant in this painful procedure... He needs to swallow at the right moment to guide the tube into the esophagus and not the lung.

The tears streamed down his face as the tube scraped his nasal passages and he tried hard to swallow.

He is saying he is willing to try again. Doc is here...

Here we go...

Update February, 2, 2010

2010-02-02T13:08:00.000-08:00

Isaac has been throwing up the last 2 or 3 days. I haven't been able to keep his meds in him.

Took him to the surgeon's office in Portland. His white blood cell count is up, indicating a possible abcebs... and infection, probably in his stomach.

They are admitting him back into the same hospital, Providence, Portland.

He is dehydrated so back in go the IVs and get some fluids in his body. Then on the a CAT scan to see if we can spot the absess and make a plan.

Looking like a 3rd surgery.

New Journey

2010-01-29T20:28:00.000-08:00

It is going to slow down soon...

I'm at the hospital and my son is doing much better. He began to eat a little today, using the new and improved esophagus and testing the repaired stomach.

Seems to be working.

Lots of milestones for him today. Eating, a drainage tube removed, the intravenous nutrition cut off. He is walking better. Bodily functions, the three common states of matter, gas, liquid, and solids, all being handled in the most mortal of ways.

Isaac has gone through a lot of changes this past week. He's known more pain. He has had time to reflect (see earlier post where I captured some of those thoughts) and seems more aware of everything around him... people, events. More empathetic.

I think that is normal. I know the traumas of my life led me to feel more deeply...

They just removed the last IV tube! The ports are still there, and he still has one more drainage bag in his abdomen... I've been writing this post one paragraph at a time... A little writing, then help him walk, a little more writing, then help him sit up, a little more writing, and then guide him to the bathroom, a little more writing, and then elevate his feet...

Anyway, back to this post...

This hospital stay has been a bit of a journey in many ways for him.

He has become more self aware too. And self assured.

When the fellow, Steve, the guy best at inserting tubes, was here to attempt the drain tube through his nose a few days ago, he asked: "Shall I call you 'Isaac', or 'Mr. Greenleaf'?"

"Call me Mr. Greenleaf."

Huh!

He learned to say "no" this week. He has always been so compliant. I got a text message from Brenda yesterday saying his constipation was preventing them from giving him the Jello, and he was refusing the suppository that would help.

I walked him through the reasoning for such strange medicine and he took another brave move into a new world of remedies.

I am so tired... Been coming and going... Canby to Portland, Portland to Canby. Scooting along in that Ford Mustang I bought on New Year's Eve... None of my sleep for the last week was uninterupted. It will be better soon.

He is supposed to go home tomorrow. Hope it happens. There have been many changes to such predictions in the past.I suppose this hospital stay of his has been a journey of my own.

It began with me doing most of the watching over him. Brenda flew in on her... well... I really should change her ringtone to something kinder... the witch theme from the Wizard of Oz is a little sarcastic (but it does make me smile)... anyway, she flew in and took over. Or tried to. I stopped her and then let her, on my terms.

She asked to talk in the hospital cafeteria. Two elevator rides, six hallways, in subdued non-conversation. She asked if she could help care for Isaac after he was discharged.

"It is going to be difficult caring for him and I would like to help."

"That isn't going to happen," I said.

She became indignant.

"Nope. The closest you can come to my home is the end of the driveway, and I would prefer you didn't do that."

"Well!"

"Sorry, that is how it will be. I need my own place. Having you there, going through my fridge, fixing meals, sweeping floors. It's not what divorced people do."

"They do if they are mature."

"Name one."

She struggled to answer in silence. She grabbed her coat, got up, started to leave.

I didn't even glance at her.

"You can go if you like," I said, looking at my grapefruit juice, "but I was going to offer a way for you to be a part of this."

She returned to her seat. It sorted of spoiled the dramatic effect she was going for.

"You want to be a part of Isaac's recovery... fine. It just isn't going to be in my home. You can have the hospital. You can take the time off work if you want, you can spend all the time you want here. You can talk to the doctors, make sure things go smooth. But, when he is discharged it is all mine. And... you need to keep me informed of all developments, and you have to give me privacy with him when I come to visit."

She nodded agreement.

I was glad I paid for her coffee. Such small moves in the weird chess game we play count.

Since that move in the cafeteria, the one of setting boundaries, where my white bishop slid through her pawns and removed her queen, changed the game forever.

She wavered a bit during the week, seeking to understand the new point of equilibrium between us. Sometimes she sulked, sometimes she was chatty and overly clear in her suggestions. My face displayed no emotion, and when she went too far in her chattiness or her suggestions, I let my gaze slip away as if I wasn't listening anymore.

She has begun to treat me with the respect I know I deserve.

It's a new journey.

How Am I?

2010-01-26T09:11:00.000-08:00

Email to me: "...Please write a short note on your CS blog and tell all of us how YOU are doing, and how Isaac is doing..."

Oh yeah. Me.

It is easy writing about Isaac. Parents focus on their children.

OK, this is a blog about my life... ruminations on faith, love, life, science, just about any idea and experience which rolls through my noggin. So, I'll share about me.

But first, Isaac update (well... that is what is first on my mind).

The surgery last Wednesday went well. The muscle at the base of the esophagus was cut so food would fall into his stomach (the nerves of the esophagus have died by a fluke of the machinations of his body's autoimmune system). There was also an infection would have to be addressed once his ability to swallow returned. Additionally... a tumor in the stomach. The operation removed the tumor as well as the muscle at the stomach.

On Friday the staple at the site of the tumor popped off and the contents (mostly juice) flowed into his abdomen, bringing much pain. That night, after a CT scan identified the problem, he had an urgent second operation. That set him back. I think yesterday he had 8 tubes going into or out of his body.

Saturday they said he would be in three or four more days. They said it with little certainty. I told Brenda (my somewhat intense ex) she can care for Isaac in the hospital, but when he is released to come home, it is my home, my business. (She did not take it well.)

Now... How am I doing?

Emotionally, physically, mentally, and I suppose to some extent, spiritually, exhausted.

I was continually surprised how quickly time passed in the hospital. It seems I spend time doing nothing, waiting for information, waiting on Isaac, waiting for nurses or doctors or tests. Yet time flies by. I think it is though there aren't specific tasks to be done there was always something immediately to be done, just little. Helping him sit up, getting a nurse for more morphine, explaining what I learned about his progress, texting folks who have questions. The little stuff adds up and I am actually much busier than it would seem.

Spending nights in that chair is not truly restful. Every time a nurse comes in I get up and check on what is happening, what his latest condition is. Nights comprise of 20 minute segments of sleep.

I try to eat properly, go get a real meal somewhere, but it is inconvenient. Most of my food is prepackaged sandwiches and large amounts of coffee. I know it isn't healthy and contributes to an overall sense of not being physically at ease.

My spiritual life is a little dry. The concern has all been about Isaac... his body, his attitude, his emotions, his spirit, his care. My prayers have been focused on him and I guess I haven't given much thought about me. Still, worship on Sunday was full, meaningful, but that is outward, or rather, upward.

I have not gone for many predawn walks in the woods of late. I haven't had much time for the inflowing of the spiritual forces into my heart and spirit. I guess I'm feeling a little spiritually dry.

Aside from the focus on Isaac I have been mentally distracted concerning my classes. To be absent from my students this much makes it difficult to ensure they make the proper amount of progress in their own studies. My mind goes to those classes frequently.

My emotional growth regarding my divorce is actually doing very well. Brenda has been helpful and distracting, kind and manipulative, and a complication in dealing with Isaac's care, but in terms of boundaries and putting our post marriage relationship into a proper framework, a healthy thing.

She has tried pushing the boundaries of course, and there were subtle and not so subtle aspects to dealing with how we relate to each other. I am finding it ever easier to be firm. She wanted to come help Isaac in my home after his release. It was easy to be clear that it simply is NOT going to happen. I have given her the opportunity to be involved as much as she likes at the hospital, and I have made it clear it ends there.

I care for her as I care for anyone who is in a bad spot, I simply do not feel I have to act on any of it. If she needs to move out from her boyfriend, or take time from work, or deal with anything, that is all her business. Not at all mine. I'd rather not discuss it.

When she pushes I smile and tell her that if she wants to move the conversation beyond the boundaries I have set, I will walk away.

She flusters and blusters but acquiesces.

So... How am I doing? I'm tired, and frayed along the edges, but doing quite well overall. I am proud of my son, a little miffed at some students, not getting all the rest and nutrition I should, but, am doing fine.

Thanks for asking!

:)

Expectations

2010-01-23T10:31:00.000-08:00

This isn't sleep or grogginess... it is pain

Preparing for Surgery #2

This is Grogginess... after the 2nd surgery

I brought Isaac to the hospital Wednesday morning. That was a long time ago.

He had surgery that afternoon, and things seemed to go well. The nerves in his esophagus have died, his body mistook them for invaders and sent antibodies to deal with them. Because he could not sense the food pushing against the entrance to his stomach the muscle there never opened on its own and he began throwing up the food lodged there. He lost weight.

The surgery opened the confused muscle and now food may fall past it. They also removed a pancreatic tumor in his stomach. Wednesday afternoon.

Was it Friday? Yeah... Friday... they put him on liquids. Cranberry juice is what he asked for... and the pain returned. Terrible pain. He had trouble breathing.

As the day wore on they took various tests, especially when he began founting fluids from his incision.

I went home when Brenda came in... just before they took him in for a CT scan. I was tired. I went and had some dinner... fell asleep. At 6:00 a.m. I checked my phone for messages. They had taken him back in for surgery. The staple for the pancreatic tumor had given way and his abdomen had filled with juice... and water... and a liter of the contrast fluid for the scan.

He is resting now. The pain has greatly subsided. He has tubes coming from his abdomen and nose to drain him. Tubes delivering fluids to his arm, oxygen to his lungs.

Before Brenda came he asked for pain medicine. Not for himself.

"I want a good dose this time," he told the nurse, "...because when I hurt my mom and my dad see it and it makes them sad. I don't want them to cry."

I feel a little frustrated that there was a problem with the surgery. A little frustrated that my comments that his increased pain came with the drinking of the juice and they did not act on it as timely as I would have liked. I expected it to go much better.

But I understand. They saw his symptoms stemming from other causes.

Before Brenda showed I had made him as comfortable as I could. Tried to help him pee (water running, hand in warm water, warm water pouring over him, the sound of a waterfall coming from my iPhone), gave him a sponge bath, lotioned his skin, massaged his shoulders and arms and feet... all the things a helpless parent tries to do...

After all that he started talking. More than I have ever heard him talk before. Gasping in pain... soft music playing in the background... he began to talk.

When I first adopted him I expected to be able to teach him all about the things that are important to me. Since then I have grown accustomed to his mental abilities, but of the last few months he seems more alert (except to his tendency to leave a trail of belongings wherever he goes!). He seems to make more connections, asks deeper questions.

I was astonished at his soliloquy yesterday. He spoke for 15 minutes without stopping. Deep stuff. His life, his faith, social injustice, how his pain was teaching him things. Half way through I began to record it. Through his gasps of pain, over the gentle music playing in his room, he spoke more to me than he has ever had to say before.

It was touching... and... it surprised me how much he has grown.

A dream of mine was what I would be able to teach him... and this little speech showed me he is capable of more than I had thought, and... that he has already learned much. It is more than I expected.

Isaac Reflects on Life, Faith, and Pain

Third Night...

2010-01-22T15:50:00.000-08:00

OK... he was to be released yesterday, but a lot of pain and the inability to urinate kept him in another night... and...

There is something leaking inside of him... A lot. He will have to stay another night. We are hoping there won't be another surgery. Cat scan in a little while.

He is also having trouble taking a deep breath.

Another Night

2010-01-21T13:16:00.001-08:00

Looks like Isaac will have to spend another night in the hospital until the pain is under control (apparently they won't let me give him morphine at home) and he can go to the bathroom (catheter free).

--2:30 p.m.--

Finally! A pain med that seems to help! He will spend another night in the hospital (until he can go to the bathroom and the pain is under control). AND... he just had a small bowl of pureed chicken soup and for the first time in 2 months, it went straight into his tummy!

Post Op

2010-01-21T10:44:00.000-08:00

Operation: Post on Post Op

I ran back to Canby this morning... checked on developments in my classroom (things went OK yesterday... though apparently one boy had managed to move the document folder from the hard drive to the trash and then emptied the trash. I recreated the folder, but the files are lost).

Back at the hospital... Isaac need a catheter last night... and thought it was fine... but feels he is going to need another...

He went in for an x ray this morning...
and he ended up in so much pain.
I hope he didn't open anything up. I've never seen him hurt so bad. Made me cry to see him suffer.

They gave him a sedative and increased the morphine a couple of notches. It seems to make the pain bearable.

Brenda sent me a text thanking me for staying with him last night... (As if I did it to cover for her or something!)

I'm getting a lot of messages via this blog, emails, texts, and facebook comments about how people are praying, wishing him well, just saying nice things. Feels good.

So... there's my update post. I'll let y'all know when I know if I can take him home.

Surgery

2010-01-20T16:29:00.001-08:00

The lad wanted everything documented

Isaac was wheeled off to surgery at 1:50 this afternoon. It's now 4:30 and I am too distracted to write well, too bored to do anything else, and too much at peace to worry.

Apparently, about two years ago, Isaac was exposed to a virus, probably something common such as measles, and his body made a mistake. It created antibodies to fight the virus but the body's attack force sighted on the wrong target and began destroying the nerve cells in his esophagus.

Like I said... everything

Over the last couple of months he has lost about 10% of his weight because the food can't get past the clenched...

Pager has gone Off!

To the recovery room!

...

OK... I'm back. It's been a half hour and the doc says everything went well.

The muscle at the bottom of the esophagus has been cut to keep it open so food will get in, and while they were there they removed the suspicious pancreatic tumor (about the size of a nickel... the doctor called it "a cute little thing.").

Throughout all this I have had to deal with Brenda and it hasn't been too bad. She is hinting that she is moving out from her boyfriend's... The subtext isn't hard to read.

She has been dropping hints that she could come over to help with Isaac, and wearing the expression of a lost puppy.

Not buying it. I get what she is selling, and I have had enough of that subscription.

I'm told that sometimes people have a hard time reading me. When I am unsure of a situation I wear an expression devoid of expression.

: /

That's what I wore today.

I'm a naturally loyal person and she relied on that. But I've worn through that tendency when it comes to her.

Three things that make this easy...

First, I no longer love her. The hurts she gave me make it clear she cannot love me the way I need and though I care, that isn't enough to be any more than a dispassionate partner in dealing with issues which arise around our children.

Secondly, I no longer trust her. I forgave too many times, was betrayed too many times, for her to win that trust back.

Lastly, I'm not that masochistic. She isn't good for me. The controlling nature, the emotional demands, emotional abuse, is clearly not what I need, not what God wants for me.

Isaac wanted a picture of every step of the surgery. That included a picture of him prepping for it with Brenda and I in it. She moved to come beside me. I told her to go to the other side of the bed.

Yeah... I could see it smarted. Oh well. This time the cut was by my hand. Simple.

I guess sort of surgical.

She teared up. My face... flat affect.

I don't particularly like the idea that a muscle designed to keep stomach contents, acids and food, in Isaac's stomach has been severed. But it is what is best.

I don't particularly like being unresponsive to someone who seems to be hurting, but it is definitely what is best.

...........

So... it will be an hour or so before I can see him... I think I'll go get something to eat and come back and add more to this when I have more to add

...........

Isaac is in his room... Brenda has left.

What a good boy!

He doesn't want to trouble anyone... but he, hesitantly, asked for pain meds twice. Morphine. He wanted to sleep, but he told the nurse to take her time, not to worry about him.

What a good boy!

He asked me to pray for him. I thought he wanted a blessing, and he said "that too", but what he really wanted was to say a prayer of thanks for all everyone has done for him and for getting through it all.

What a good boy!

"You're a good Dad..." he mumbled. "Thank you for getting me..."

Perhaps it's morphine speaking, but... what a good boy!

Haiti

2010-01-14T21:01:00.001-08:00

You've heard.

Tens of thousands dead. Perhaps more than a hundred thousand. Three million homeless.

I have followed the politics, underdevelopment, and misery of that country for a long time.

My children are from there.

If they had not been snatched from the streets during the military coup they would almost certainly have been killed by the roving bands of former policemen who were "cleaning the streets."

If they had not been adopted into my home, they may have died from disease due the lack of sanitation. If they had not been adopted into my home they may have died from lack of proper nutrition. I haven't forgotten the Time magazine image of the little girl making food out of dirt and lard.

Once in a while my sons talk about Haiti. Especially Isaac. The wonder what it's like there. If they have relatives still alive there.

While we were trying to secure residency for Jeremiah (there was a huge oversight by our adoption lawyers and our children were never properly made citizens and had overstayed their medial visas) we feared he would be deported back there.

My sons still bear names from there.

Jeremiah was Fritzno Zephyr. When he was granted permission to leave it was with the stipulation that his last name be Solomon, the name of the mayor of Carrefour. In the states he was given the name Jeremiah. When we adopted him he became Jermiah Fritzno Zephyr Greenleaf.

Isaac was only an infant when complete chaos destroyed what little civilization was there. He was given the name Gary, and he also gained the last name Solomon. In the states he was given the name Isaac. When he was adopted he became Isaac Solomon Greenleaf.

Jeremiah had been badly treated there. The growth plates in his feet had been crushed, probably by something like a baseball bat. There are dents in his head. Additionally there were congenital problems and psychological problems. His first meal in our home began with a bowl of rice. He stared at it, trembling. He wasn't sure what to do with it and the food set for him frightened him. He looked up at me through tears and asked "Is this all for me?"

Isaac wasn't intentionally starved. In fact I believe he was loved there.

Voodoo is common in Haiti and there are many customs people have to ward off evil, and to attract it. They believe werewolves steal beautiful babies so they heat cashews and scar their faces. Isaac bears such scars.

I have followed the politics and culture of Haiti carefully these past 15 years.

It is a hopeless and fearful place. It is a place of horrid poverty, astonishing crime, and absent education. There wasn't much in the way of infrastructure there, and what little there was is rubble today.

My children are fortunate to have escaped.

Millions still groan in fear and pain.

Update Regarding Previous Post

2010-01-13T07:12:00.000-08:00

Yesterday's meeting with the surgeon went well. Isaac will have his surgery next Wednesday. I just need to try and get as much nutrition through that blockage as I can until then.

He is actually excited about it. He really wants to be able to eat again.

He will never eat the way most people do. His esophagus has had all its nerve cells die and so it cannot use the muscles to swallow. All of this has stretched it all out of shape (from a inch and a quarter diameter to 3 inches), and so he will have to simply use gravity to get his food down, and there will be nothing to stop it from coming back up... So... no lying down during or within an hour of eating.

On a personal note... Brenda is obviously trying to get back together with me. Lots of strange apologies. Lots of statements about what a big mistake she made. Lots and lots of melodrama.

Which ain't gonna happen.

I maneuvered her through doors, into chairs, through rooms, to keep Isaac between us. Kept it polite, and business like.

When we parted she looked wistfully as we walked away. I glanced back at strategic moments... and she was watching us out of sight.

I am so done with being manipulated!

I almost feel sorry for the guy who had that affair with her. Now it's his turn to deal with the melodrama.

Maybe I should send him a thank you note. I could inscribe within: "Not it!"

Just joking!

Seriously... things have been rough for her lately too. Aside from this serious issue with Isaac, her mother broke her back a few weeks ago, and her father died last week.

But... her happiness is no longer my business.

She sent me an instant message this morning:

Well... that is just a little too obvious.

I care about her, but simply replies, a business like interaction, that is all I want from her.

I am feeling good about my life. What I am doing (bought a mustang New Year's eve! Vroom vroom!).

I don't need that grief anymore.

I'm just going to take care of Isaac.

Isaac

2010-01-12T10:50:00.000-08:00

I just typed up an explanation of what is going on with Isaac and I thought I would include you in this...

Here are the details for Isaac:

He has been having a lot of difficulty eating for some time and is losing weight.

He had a barium xray a month ago which indicated a blockage in his esophagus.

Brenda and I took him in or a endoscopy for a closer look. They knocked him out... and found the muscle at the bottom of his esophagus is too large and clenched. They also found some anomalies in his stomach.

We took him back for a motility test where he had the camera inserted but he was conscious so he could swallow on command. That was difficult for him.

That test revealed the esophagus is very nearly completely closed. He cannot swallow. Everything he takes in, even liquids, do not get through. He has had the liquids pooling and draining out during the night.

Meanwhile, Brenda is in hysterics. She is frantic and looking for me to step into the role of reassuring her and calming her. I need wisdom to guide us into a healthy relationship that is different than what we are used to. She hints that she would like to return. I would rather have all my teeth pulled and every other toe broken.

We are going to see the surgeon at Good Samaritan at 4:30 today. It is entirely possible Isaac will be admitted at that time.

There is more.

In addition to the esophagus Isaac has an infection in his stomach. But he is unable to swallow the antibiotics, so the infection will have to wait until after the surgery.

There is more.

Apparently as a fetus Isaac's spleen protruded into his stomach and separated and it needs to be repaired. That will need to wait until the infection in his stomach is cured.

Interestingly, I am in good spirits. I know this will all work out. I am concerned about my son's health. I am concerned about the surgeries and the finances, and dealing with Brenda, and juggling work... But... I am at peace, knowing God is on control.

Feel free to share or forward this as you see fit.

God in a Jar

2010-01-07T14:57:00.000-08:00

“Questions are more important than answers. Answers are often wrong. Questions never are.” (Statement posted in my classroom.)

I LOVE questions!

Sometimes folks get worked up over answers, especially when they contradict favored beliefs. I enjoy unusual answers. I enjoy unusual questions even more.

Why does mayonnaise act like a solid? It does have some egg which is thick and sort of acts like a glue, but in itself eggs are runny. And the other ingredients... water and oil... are even runnier, especially when mixed. So why does a glob of mayo stand tall in the spoon? It may be the iconic spread of the bland and ordinary, but it shouldn’t be a proud culinary stalagmite.

With every new space telescope more amazing vistas of the universe are displayed. Hundred of billions of stars, in billions of galaxies. The furthest ones are so far away they no longer exist (distance = time). There are so many that if it weren’t for intervening dust, the night sky would be white.

Despite the enormous amount of mass represented by all those galaxies filled with billions of stars, all the mass we can find in the universe represents just 10 percent of the total.

Cool!

The way galaxies move, individually and in strange clusters, demonstrates they are embedded within enormous masses of invisible Jello.

The two galaxies colided long ago, yet still rotate independently, held in place by dark matter.

So... invisible matter... Ten times more than what we see. Cool!

E=MC2

Matter is the flip side of energy. Just as there is much more matter in heaven and earth than is dreamt of in our philosophies, there is also much more energy.

Mayonnaise doesn’t run all over the place, and paint is thick, because of the casimir effect.

Tiny, tiny, tiny particles act weird. Particles around a micron (a millionth of a meter) in size, when suspended in a liquid matrix, cling together because space itself exerts energy. The wave forms between close neutral particles can’t be large enough to exert enough counteracting energy to keep them spread apart.

Recent experiments showed showed the casimir effect shoves this 120 micron ball toward the plate.

Did you miss that? In other words, neutral particles with no reason at all to be attracted to each other, do so because the universe, space, produces energy. That energy, on the macro scale, is causing the galaxies to fly apart. Eventually the universe will expand to the point where light itself won’t be able to traverse the distances.

On the microscopic scale, when tiny things are close enough together so virtual particles tend not to have enough room to appear momentarily between them. Since more of the particles and energy are outside the space, it ends up exerting pressure from the outside, shoving them together.

The evidence continues... the effect explains many other odd effects found in our universe, from black hole evaporation (Hawkings Radiation) to quantum diffusion (it IS REALLY random way down there!).

As human engineering approaches the nano scale (billionths of a meter) this energy produces ever more obvious and odd effects. For nano technology (machines built on the molecular scale) this creates friction problems.

Experiments investigating the Casimir Effect reveal a strange universe. It is filled with “dark” energy (energy we cannot “see”), virtual particles that pop in and out of existence, and suggestions of many dimensions beyond the four we know.

Wow! Proof there are things beyond our understanding.

Somehow, within all of this, I find something within me that resonates with all of this... something spiritual. I believe, I know, that this life I live is somehow thinner than a truer reality. Perhaps it is the dream I had where my senses were more acute than my everyday senses, perhaps it is something about my inner emotional self, my soul, that recognizes deeper realities, perhaps it is a layman’s speculation about an additional eight dimensions that there is a being who resides in a realm that is by its nature, fuller than this one.

I’m not a big mayo fan, but I looked inside a jar of it the other day. The deep indentations of the last time a knife swept through the white stuff was still clearly visible. I thought about how, at the smallest possible scales, molecules of oil were vibrating within water, held in place because their size was small enough that the force of the universe, dark energy, pressed the water molecules into a matrix.

I just love that there is still so much mystery in the universe and that questions are still far more important than answers.

The universe stretches on and on beyond the fields we know.

A Little Art

2010-01-05T22:29:00.001-08:00

I've been writing... Some I don't feel comfortable posting, and some is in need of polishing (there is an amusing one that discusses mayonnaise, the universe, and God).

A friend asked me where she might see some of my art online... so I just threw some onto another blog I have for that purpose.

Thought some of you might want a peek...

I'll Meet You Somewhere Else With The Boys

2009-12-26T14:31:00.000-08:00

“Do you want me to just drop them off at the corner or what?”

“No, I’ll meet you at the theater.”

Her voice carried a hint of sarcasm.

I told her two days before she is not to come to the house any longer.

She was pacing the parking lot, cigarette smoke trailing. She looked irritated, a touch angry, and miserable.

I pulled beside her, the right side door beside her car next to her and the boys. She came around. I rolled the window down.

Her face has aged.

“I can take Isaac to his appointment on Wednesday if you want.”

It was just something to say. We had already discussed how and when and who was getting Isaac to the gastroenterologist’s.

“Don’t worry about it. Anything else you need?”

“I don’t want you to think this is a criticism of you, but it may be one thing that is causing Isaac allergic reactions... You should really watch the food in the refrigerator. I’ve noticed sometimes you have let food go bad.”

Suppressing irritation, I shrugged. Said nothing.

“I hope you are better. I hope things are easier for you.”

“I’ll be all right.”

The boys got in. I drove off. She watched after us, her brows furrowed.

She has been trying to draw me into conversation, trying to gain some sort of ground over the lines I have drawn around my home, my life. Lines dividing her from me.

It has been over a year since our divorce. I’ve accommodated her to make things easier for her to see Isaac, well... for him to see her. She has exploited it to make her presence a continued part of my home... an awkward, and somewhat manipulative, presence.

Another step in this journey...

Avatar

2009-12-20T21:03:00.001-08:00

In 1973 I joined a long time friend’s new friends on the fields of the high school early in the morning, and sometimes in the evening, learning Tai Chi.

The hint of martial arts helped my self confidence, while the slow, concentrated, peaceful movements appealed to my introspective nature. Also, it was nice it followed the mysterious path of Kwai Chang Caine.

Tai Chi led to various types of yoga, which led to my introuction to hinduism. I joined an ashram, telling myself I was true to my faith having chosen Jesus as my avatar.

In the mid 70s the word “avatar” was just one of many hindi words I learned (though I have realized today I’ve been mispronouncing it all these years, but in my defense, I learned the word from someone with a thick Calcutta accent).

An avatar is an incarnation of God, or, a god. The hindus consider buddha an avatar. Krishna was an avatar (and that wasn’t his first visit). They consider all the greatest manifestations of spirituality as avatars.

Sometime over the last 15 years “avatar” has come to mean a stand in for a person... For example, in a silly little online community I play in I have an avatar named Sam Spade (from The Maltese Falcon).

Avatar is a hot movie right now. In the movie the word describes a genetically designed stand in for humans contacting a race of indigenous people on an alien world.

I loved the movie. The others in the theater did too. It’s rare a movie audience applauds.

Amazing movie. It sets sets a new bar for movie making. I’ve never felt so drawn in to a movie. It was thrilling.

Go see it, especially in 3 D.

Not everyone is as happy with it.

Others as well...

I had an unusual dream a few weeks ago. I always have unusual dreams, and I recall them as well as I recall anything in my waking life. What made this one especially unusual was my heightened senses. Dreams often provide a sensory experience which is a notch or two down from that of real life. Sometimes the same, but usually less.

Not this one. This time it was more filled with sensory experience than real life. Every smell, every touch, the feel of the horse’s breath on my neck, the texture of the hair of the man’s head I held, the brightness and subtle colors of Jupiter, Venus, the waxing crescent moon, the Orion Nebula, all extremely clear and sharp.

That was part of the thrill of the movie Avatar. The sensory part of it was a quantum level above any previous movie experience.

So was this dream.

The dream makes this experience, the one right here and now as I type into this laptop at the gastroenterologist’s (Isaac is going to have a procedure done soon), less real than the dream experience.

It makes me feel like real life might be merely a dream.

Seriously. I have my doubts how real this is...

I feel God is more real than I. I intuitively feel He holds all things together, from the largest structures of the universe to the 12-D vibrating threads which make up quarks, which make up bosuns and leptons, which make up sub atomic particles.

Some folks, some conservative, evangelical types, dislike the movie. They grouse about environmentalism (seeing a swipe at big business), western culture (a swipe at our latest version of imminent domain), and echoes of American misadventures in Vietnam, Iraq, and 19th century westward expansion.

They also see the film embracing of paganism (pantheism actually), alcohol and tobacco use, swearing, and other “anti-christian” elements.

Well... I think there are all sorts of truths in all sorts of things. The first step is to realize that though our faith is not embraced by all, bringing our faith to others does not happen with a hammer. Rejecting a film, a group, or a person, because of alcohol or smoking is absurd. We aren’t called upon to beat our culture into the shape of our faith, but to bring our faith into the lives of those around us so faith makes changes from within, person by person.

Living in a nation where my vote matters means I must use that vote in ways which align with my conscience and faith.

It gets murky when others try to tell me that their views, party platform, align with my spiritual views. I don’t buy it. Since Ronald Reagan (apparently enough time had passed since Nixon) there has been efforts to demonstrate that the Republican party is pro life, pro faith. That is partly true, they oppose abortion... but I’ve never heard God endorse them. If He had, I’m pretty sure they would have included that in their campaigns.

On the contrary, often the party has been pro death penalty, and anti-environment. Both of those views oppose what my faith says to me. God does not permit vengeance for any but Himself, and the world He created is worthy of respect. Loving others, no matter what, loving the world He gave to Adam to care for, seems to align much more closely to the tenets of faith I know.

Either way... the film, Avatar, because it is pro environment and anti capitalism is not in itself, anti-christian.

I read about the work of a brain researcher who came to an interesting conclusion. He studied brain injuries and believes the brain limits the mind, it does not simply generate it. According to him the limits to thought and action by those suffering from brain injury hide a larger ability which is sometimes revealed when the injury is repaired. It is indicated that the injured are able to recall more about their time of disability than they could have expressed while experiencing it.

The Indians see the incarnation of God, or god, as an avatar. Sort of a diminished expression of something greater behind the physical form. The suggestion is that an avatar is an expression of something greater.

That sounds an awful lot like what those who share my faith believe... that God took the form of a man, limiting Himself so to express Himself to us.

Perhaps what many belief systems sense are elements of a greater truth.

Just as my silly avatar in that silly online world is merely a puppet I control, perhaps my body, this life, is merely an expression of a me that is greater than can be expressed in a three dimensional world.

I think I caught a glimpse of a greater level of senses in that dream I had. Scientists believe our universe may contain at least 12 dimensions. Perhaps I am more than I appear to be.

Take what you will from the movie. One must certainly take away that it is a quantum step forward in movie making. But that aside, elements of the story, whether issues of environmentalism, capitalism, dealing with beliefs of others outside our own, or even drinking and smoking, truths are revealed by what we think and feel.

Attacking others for how they live their lives is to take a hammer to the world and attempt to beat it into the shape we wish to see.

I’m a Christ follower. He did not take a hammer to people. Indeed, people took a hammer to Him, and He lay upon a piece of wood and let them.

If the movie makes one angry, perhaps such anger is not the approach He would take.

Merry Christmas everyone... in this season when we recall that God Himself limited Himself to less than He really is... just so we could hear how He loves us no matter what.

Brief Update

2009-12-16T11:42:00.000-08:00

I've neglected this blog of late. Partly because I have been busy.

So... a little update...

It has been... interesting.

As far as my dad goes... he got back to Thailand, checked into the hospital, had heart surgery, and is now running around Koh Samui again, get his "massages" and living large.

The guy was on death's door a month ago and now he is right back to as crazy as ever.

Personally, my emotions have been swinging to and fro... Isaac had some real problems a couple of weeks ago. He is still having some difficulties. He has lost weight, is having a great deal of trouble keeping food down, or even swallowing. Today Brenda is taking him in for a barium X ray.

I have been working 12 hour days for several weeks. That is partly because my two robotics teams were preparing for a tournament and now that is done.

I've been sketching out (Literally! I have drawn pictures and notes all over two walls in my spare bedroom.) plot elements for a novel.

One clear thing about my life is I'm a doofus and have no idea what I am doing.

But some things have been very good.

I finished a mural created from the lyrics in Christmas songs for a charity CD (raising money for an after school program).

Jeremiah played his drum on "The Little Drummer Boy".

(Yes, that is a question mark I cut into the back of his haircut)

Speaking of being a little odd... I know I have told you I have a very active dream life. I recall my dreams as easily as I recall events in my waking life. I had several dreams last night. The last couple were bizarre but not highly unusual in any other way... but the first one...

The first dream of the night was the most vivid dream I have ever had. It didn't have any real significance... it was primarily the exposition of a story... it would fit well into the first few chapters of a novel. But... the clarity of my senses was amazing.

It was more vivid than my real world life. It was about 12 hours subjective time. I can still clearly recall the smells, tastes, sounds, sights, sense of touch.

I can describe every moment of that half day (it began in the mid afternoon, went through the entire night, and ended about mid morning). The details... the house of carved wood and glass... the feeling of the horse's breath on my neck, the texture of the hair of the man's head I held, the taste of food and beverages, the smell of the cut grass, that it started a light drizzle about 2:30 a.m. in the dream... that before the clouds had rolled in there was a waxing crescent moon and Jupiter and Venus were up... the size, breeds, colors, and texture of the two dogs of the intruder to the grounds in the middle of the night, the smell of the man's skin, the exact descriptions of the two women who played large roles (people I have never met, but I can describe the freckles on the one, their height and weights, hair color, the body shapes...). I can recall every detail of the phone call I received just before dawn, and the buildings in the surrounding neighborhood. I can recall my unspoken thoughts, and the shape of the yards, fences, windows, everything.

I've never had a dream so vivid.

It makes me think a little about the reality of our existence... how I can experience something more real than this life leads one to wonder how real is this existence?

The following dreams were absurd and bizarre... and I can recall the details of them as well, but the quality of the subsequent dreams was much the same as the experiences I have had this morning since my shower and coffee.

Jeremiah is spending Saturday night with me... He really wants as much of a traditional Christmas as possible, but frankly, I just don't seem interested in decorating the house. Yesterday was the 17th anniversary of Willy's death.

Brenda called the other day. Apparently Isaac told her I have been a bit blue. I found her sympathy irritating.

I wish I was writing more on the blog...

But... there's a quick update.

Perspective

2009-11-29T14:00:00.000-08:00

Part of me sees God as distant... and He is. It's true. Criminy!

It's all so large. So very large. So large it cannot be constrained, not even by the speed of light.

If you ask a Christian about God, they will nearly always talk about a personal God.

That's only part of it, of Him.

It is difficult for many to imagine the scale of the universe.

It is at least 27 billion light years across. That means, at it's current size, it would take 27 billion years for light to travel that distance.

How fast is light? Pretty quick.

To travel from Portland, Oregon to Sydney, Australia at the speed of light would take less than 0.025 seconds.

Pretty quick.

The matter of the universe once went faster than that, and, in a way, will do so again.

Just after the Big Bang matter raced outward faster than light... a universe of matter too dense and too hot for the four laws of physics to exist, so, the laws, having not yet been created, weren't "enforced". Didn't last long, but still... that is how it all got to be so darn large.

Soon baby galaxies formed, globs of stars, mostly enormously large stars gobbled up their hydrogen fuel in only a few million years before collapsing and rebounding, seeding the universe with new elements, which in turn formed into new stars, which lived nearly as short lives, and repeated the cycle (our sun is about 4.5 billion years old because it is much more moderate in size and is eating its cosmic meal with more appropriate, sedate manners).

The early galaxies formed around enormous black holes jetting material at speeds so great they are still "seen" at enormous distances (therefore times) shouting with the power of a trillion stars.

Today things have become somewhat more settled... galaxies are clumping together, but... the universe continues to expand (at an ever increasing rate).

The distances between the galaxies grow further apart like dots on an expanding balloon.

Can you see how the dots have moved apart from each other?

And while nothing within the universe travels faster than light, not relative to anything near it, the accumulative speed of all of it together, from one side to the other, will eventually add up to a speed greater than light. Eventually the further edges will begin to disappear from our telescopes as they recede.

It is my conviction, without demonstrable proof, that God is within, through, and outside all of this, and indeed, holds it all together.

So, when one asks a Christian about God, and the answer is about a personal God, I feel that is only a small (pun intended) part of it.

I think God is interested in larger things as well.

I think God is not only closely following the spiritual growth and exploits of individuals, and of nations, but of civilizations and our species as a whole.

God is BIG.

God has held the universe close to Him, as it was born leaping instantly to a fullness faster than light, of how it toddled through its goofy globular galaxies with its infant cries of quasars...

Yet...

Yet on many occasions... many times... I have felt His eye on me.

I have felt His breath on the back of my neck.

It is terrifying.

Yet even in those moments when I have felt that intense gaze, I also felt warmed by a love as large as the universe.

So large.

So complete.

So free.

He is a personal God. ...A being of such enormous consciousness and love and power... yet with an awareness of things, beings, so minute, that such love in its enormity is so alien to my ability to love.

The universe isn't static. It has gone through many changes, stages, and has more change ahead of it. Time unfolds in the direction of ever increasing entropy, but I am certain He is outside it as well... and takes joy in the entire work of creativity.

Pretty cool.

Pretty big, and pretty cool.

I like the perspective.

Eternity

2009-11-21T00:16:00.000-08:00

I am far from perfect. Quite far.

Monday I blew it. I went up to Isaac’s room. I was going to say good morning, after all, I hadn’t seen him since Tuesday.

His room was a bigger mess than I had ever seen it. I mentioned how unwashed dishes had brought the ants back. Then I said something about how his lowered savings account would now cost him a monthly fee. And it all came out... I began growling, and then yelling... about his being late for work, about responsibility... about... too many things. I was frustrated. I went too far.

I hurt him a great deal. Enough so I... well... he needed to see a counselor.

The counselor wasn’t any good (he fell asleep twice during the session), but it was a start.

A good start to a number of changes. He needs to learn better communication skills. I need better listening skills. And I think I need to rethink what he is capable of, what might be too much to ask of him.

Brenda came to see him While I was at work Wednesday. I didn’t know she was here, but, perhaps it is OK for Isaac to want his mother do what she did... fix him breakfast, make Jello for his dinner desert.

I didn’t like it.

She wants to help him more tomorrow. She wants to come over here...

I don’t like it.

Went to a movie tonight. Two trailers, back to back, hit me in the gut.

The first was about a woman traveling to Ireland to propose to her boyfriend. Apparently February 29th is a date that a woman can propose.

I met Brenda February 29th, 1980.

The second trailer hurt.

It was about an older woman finding the love of her youth with the help of a young stranger. It was a poignant moment, her seeing the many of her youth, a love carried through a lifetime.

I’ve spoken to Brenda several times this week. My heart has never been further from her than it is now. There is absolutely no echo of the adamantine resolve to make our marriage work. It is gone.

But something else remains.

I desire to love, be loved. I desire to have a love that carries me to the grave.

The ol’ metacognition thing, ever present, has me self analyzing. Why do I feel this way?

It isn’t simply a desire to be wanted.

I am obsessively loyal. To a point of self destructiveness.

For a moment, watching that trailer, I felt overwhelmed, frustrated.

I’m not the bachelor type. I am uninterested in dating a string of women.

I feel frustrated that I cannot live a life of that kind of loyalty. The one I chose to walk to the grave with turned down a different path.

I took my glasses off in the darkened theater, bent my head to pray.

Why am I like this? Why do I so strongly want to be loyal to someone?

In that prayer, with my eyes tearing, I felt the spread of eternity around me. I felt time sliding not only into a future so distant that the form of this universe is thinned to a cold smear, dark... I felt that eternity stretching sideways... an eternity that pauses in a conscious yet static moment that will always be, has always been.

This eternity isn’t a theological theory for me. It is a truth that is intrinsically woven into who I am.

I was surrounded by many in the theater... I wanted to wrap this prayer up quickly.

I know this eternity.

It knows me.

I cannot escape it.

Being a part of that larger expanse of time, the one that never ends, in any direction, future, past, even perpendicular to now, is as real to me as the whispered voices in the darkened theater.

It is how I am made.

And there was tonight’s small epiphany.

I am still grieving the loss of the destroyed loyalty I had, the steadiness I felt even when my spouse was tearing the foundation of our marriage apart.

I fear choosing again... There is someone I am serious about. But I fear making the choice a poor one.

I fear it because I see that I am a loyal person. I will stick with it through the end.

That sense I have that eternity stretches around me, is similar to the sense I have of being steady for those around me.

I want to get the special love that will walk with me to the grave, but more important than that, I see that in how I know I am eternal, is similar to how I feel about steadiness in my relationships.

Part of me wants to move quickly.

Part of me takes great joy in all of this.

I like being an eternal being.

I like that I was made this way... even if it sometimes led me to cling to waht should have been tossed.

Tonight They Burn Steady

2009-11-17T23:06:00.000-08:00

The stars were so bright tonight.

The crisp autumn air, chilled by afternoon rains, is too still to permit them to twinkle. They seem like old friends... the constellations, a few stars I know by name.

I got quickly into the van... I knew I needed sleep... and drove home. Yet here I sit in bed, tapping away at this keyboard because there is too much in my head and heart to permit sleep.

Driving home I thought about my father, and the women in his life, about my son, and the panic I felt yesterday, about the woman and her children behind me getting ready for bed... a delightful evening... Sweet kisses... A large heart...

Contentment and confusion, those who need my help and those who help me, classical music and classic rock, a predawn walk in soaked shoes and chilly sheets warming slowly...

Parental frustration shook my son to his breaking point, my friends gathered around me, pressing their shoulders to he and me, pressing the cracks of our hearts closed so they could heal...

My father gasping for breath, slipping toward death, my father surrounded by women who give him their love for free, and for a price. My father stronger once again as the small jet lifted me away from Orange County, northern bound.

I am terrified and overjoyed at the size of the universe and the gaze of its creator fully upon me.

Life is wonderful and confusing and frightening and complex and simple...

I want to write about all that is happening, all that has happened, and of what I sense of the future, sliding toward me from the entropic direction of our universe, yet paradoxically already done, complete.

I am so grateful for the work I do, the charges in my care, the colleagues beside me, those who direct my labors.

I am grateful for my freedom, and I resent it too... I am free to love again, and choose again, and I resent the one who saw so little in herself she threw away what was good in her, and in me.

I wonder at the anorexic star, voracious at its final meal. I wonder at the brilliant immolation of stars and worlds and dust shining with the brilliance of a trillion stars, so far away they died long ago, long before their light reached here.

There is too much to write about... My successes and failures as a parent... my successes and failures as a person...

So... this disjointed prose will have to do... notes jotted down on a digital notepad...

The stars were so bright tonight.

The Prodigal Father

2009-11-10T07:11:00.001-08:00

My dad is in Southern California, wrapping up his life there.

The business struggled the last few years while he was in Thailand. The economy, poor decisions by those he’d left in charge, a number of factors, and it is clear the business should fold. The biggest name in building demolition and earth moving in Orange County, California is folding.

So is his marriage, of course. He’s on his third Thai girlfriend now, she on her second Californian boyfriend.

This is all regretable, but simply a part of the way things are.

My father wasn’t a perfect father. There were many choices he made, many actions he took, which were far from ideal.

But in his heart he is a good, though flawed, man.

His divorce papers have been filed, his heavy equipment auctioned. A couple of houses, a zillion personal items, details of outstanding bills and obligations are all that separate him from flying back to southeast asia for good. That, and his heart, which is “in pretty bad shape.”

He doesn’t want to go into a hospital here in the states. He is hanging on to check into a hospital in Bangkok.

I’m flying to Southern California this afternoon.

I’m taking a couple of days personal days and I’ll run whatever errands makes this easier for him. Chauffeur him around, deliver personal items to family members, file papers, pay bills, whatever makes it easier for him.

Faith is a big part of my life. But, unless he wishes to talk about it, I have no plans to talk faith with him.

He knows all that stuff. He went to church every Sunday when I was first entering school, before he had his first affair.

He always lived a little larger than was probably wise. World speed records on motorcycles, adventures dreamt in alcohol-fueled daydreams, or machismatic bravado... he lived a little large.

Cracks me up to think of that ambulance pulling up to him on the Bonneville Salt Flats, expecting to find a corpse but finding my father sitting on his ruined 400 horse power motorcycle, non chalant about dropping it at 165 miles per hour. When they told him to get on the stretcher for the ride in the ambulance he just told them to F off and asked for a cigar though half his teeth were missing.

He never asks for help, never complains about his health. Until now.

Which tells me that this time he is serious, he is facing some serious health issues. He may not make it to Bangkok by the 22nd.

Growing up I wasn't exactly the macho son he wanted. I read too much, drew or painted too much, thought and talked too much.

None of that matters now. I’m 53 now. I’m grown up and the ghosts of parental misadventures no longer haunt me.

All I want now is to help him, and for him to know he is loved.

Of course I am concerned about what eternity he faces, but it isn’t as if he doesn’t know about the elements of my faith, what salvation is. I think he is a believer of sorts, though of recent years he dabbles in buddhism.

No... none of that matters. He knows it all, and I will share of that sort of thing only if he wishes it. I’ll be glad to talk of angels and miracles and wonders of this world, this universe, and the surmises I have about the universes beyond this one, and the mystic imaginings I have cobbled together from reading of faith and science...

But I am more interested in simply being a help, being a loving son, offering what I can. I can’t really tell him anything about faith he doesn’t know, but I can tell him that the way I live my life is well grounded, enough so I am glad to drop everything to come help.

Dad is 72. A well worn 72. When it comes to aging it isn’t the distance traveled that matters, it’s the terrain.

He’s climbed a number of mountains, dangled from tree roots over dusty canyons and swum choppy predator-infested seas.

His exploits are many. He lived a prodigious life.

And prodigal as he is, he is running out of steam... physically, financially. He’ll probably have a half million dollars when this is over... enough to get him whatever he wants for this dusky time.

He went on his adventures, lived that prodigious life, but now I see him reaching toward me (he sent me on that adventure to Asia last summer), and I know that despite his mistakes, despite the fears he instilled in me, I love him.

The Prodigal Father has returned to me, and if I can help him find the Father who is truly prodigious by offering him a little help... Well... that will be quite nice.

Mecca

2009-10-18T17:53:00.000-07:00

I apologize for the time between postings. I have been writing, but much of it I feel too private to share here. Which is funny because I have revealed and admitted much on these digital pages, but none of what I write lately seems appropriate here.

But... Here are some odd musings. I might share for the heck of it.

When I worship on Sunday mornings and I open my eyes between songs, I find myself facing a different direction than those around me.

Got me to thinking.

I'm not facing in any unusual direction for any particular purpose. I simply stand to worship and continue facing in the exact direction the chair was facing. Those around me seem to either be facing the screens displaying the lyrics of our worship songs, or in the direction of the central cross in our sanctuary.

I end up facing about ten degrees to the left of most.

Does it matter which way one faces?

It matters for some.

When I lived in an ashram I oriented everything in my rooms eastward. There are some Hindhu concepts there, but I always thought it cool to face the direction that the world is spinning toward. I liked the idea of aligning my face to exactly the same direction Earth itself is trying to face.

My second favorite direction is north. I almost always know where north is. The top of the world. The fount of the magnetic field, the axis upon which the earth turns.

Still, in church I am not facing east or north or at the cross or at the lyrics. I am simply standing up, with my eyes shut, in the same direction my toes were pointing while I was sitting in the chair. Simply standing up.

I know the spot on our planet that is directly beneath my feet. It's a little over a thousand miles south of Perth, Australia. Waves in the Indian Ocean are rolling beneath me.

I almost always know where the moon is at any given moment. If I don't, I can estimate it in a moment, for I always know what phase the moon is in.

Knowing my directions became an obsession for me in 6th or 7th grade. I was certain my stepfather was going to leave me somewhere and I would have to find my own way home.

So, it occurred to me a couple of weeks ago I was not facing the cross or the lyrics, or the center of the stage as others were. I thought... why I don't face in any particular direction?

Did you know that on December 22 the earth is directly ahead of the sun as the sun races at 155 miles per second around the galactic center? On September 22 the Earth was exactly adding its speed around the sun to the exact direction in which the sun races.

"Ok Will... I think I understood what you are trying to say, but I gotta say, I can't for the life of me understand why you sit there and think of this sort of stuff."

That's what you were thinking, right?

Well there it is. I noticed I wasn't concerned the other day about what direction I was facing when I stood during worship.

Those who practice Islam know exactly where the city of Mecca is, for they kneel and pray in that direction five times a day. And I know where I am, but I make no move to face anywhere in particular when I worship.

I suppose if I were to choose to face any direction during worship, I think I would prefer to turn and face the others worshipping with me. I think it would be cool to think of my worship reflecting off someone on the other side of that group, and together our mutual worship might channel into the direction He is. But since He is sort of everywhere... seeing him as a part of the body of Christ, The Church, is as good a direction as any.

When I worship I do consider where God is.

I love to do that.

Scares the snot out of me.

The cells of my body are made up of all sorts of enormous chains of atoms, grasping onto each other with ionic bonds that make them useful for all sorts of things.... bonding oxygen so it can be carried to my cells, water's slightly imbalanced molecule acting as a perfect little magnet to make things flow together and drag them around.

It's cool to imagine one of those atoms in one of those molecular chains. Those massive neutrons and protons expending all their energy just to balance the tiny negative charge of the electron racing around it so very far away... If we considered the proton the size of a world, the little moon of the electron is circling around as distant as the furthest planet.

All that emptiness there.

I seem so solid. So here. But in reality I am far more nothing than I am something.

And, in the deepest part of who I am... I look at those protons in the center of those atoms, and imagine the tiny one dimensional threads which make them up. I imagine them as tiny violin strings, singing a song of existence... the vocal chords of God. I think of matter as the spoken Word. They exist because He sings them into being.

And then my mind, and heart, do a flip, and I think large. I think about this spinning galaxy, the Milky Way that less than a century ago we all thought was the entire universe. I see that pinwheel piece of jewelry spinning madly about, every 250,000 years, and how it is dancing toward other galaxies, and all of us...

the Milky Way and Andromeda, and the large and small Magellanic clouds, and dozens of other galaxies, all performing a dance of gravity in which we are all headed into the direction, Ursus Major, the direction of our supercluster, which in turn is a part of the virgo supercluster, which is too far/close for us to understand it's exact mechanisms.

But we have seen whole super clusters off in other directions, and we can discerned how they throb with a pace that is in the billions of years, and we can see the quicker heartbeat of those superclusters, an enormous blackhole in an enormous galaxy, shouting its beats of merely 10,000 years.

I think about those structures when I worship and I imagine that there are millions of these things, each with billions of galaxies, each filled with billions of stars.

I think about that when I worship.

I imagine that amazing universe observed by a being of pure joy, pure love. I imagine it moving to His breath, and sparkling beneath His mighty gaze as He views it all at once, from it's bright birth to the moment of it death (which only He can see), and it feels like He is immensely happy with it. I imagine a joy He feels, a love He shares within Himself, a trinity the muslims do not understand, and I feel Him through it all.

From outside the largest of all structures, including time itself, all the way through the world I know, and on down to the tiny strings singing existence on levels below the realm of light, for light itself needs more room than the spaces where He is.

And I think about this strange spark within my breast, this turning, flopping thing I think of as my spirit, and I feel it's joy in worshipping this grand spectacle. And how it sings toward Him, and He is somehow here, aware of me.

So the direction of the building, the cross, or the stage, or the lyrics, or the direction of the moon, or the rising sun, or the axis of the spinning Earth, mean nothing when I consider who it is I am standing before and offering a song of praise.

It doesn't really matter which direction I face.

:)

2009-09-26T00:07:00.000-07:00

The call had begun about Rocky... She was telling me bits of info she had gathered, how his death wasn’t my fault. His symptoms matched a neighbor’s dog who had died of hepatitis B. That she had also heard of cancer of the liver that had moved that fast and his lumps had been near his liver.

Then she began to cry.

It began with a text message to her. Apparently I have been insuring her car. I sent a message asking she send me info on how long she has been insuring her car herself.

A text back... sympathy, regret, offer to provide info to help me get refunded.

Then a phone message at home.

Then the call just as Isaac and I were finishing BBQ ribs and Elsie’s Famous Egg Salad.

She told me she was sorry... that she didn’t want to hurt me. She was sorry.

She also said she had heard I was seeing someone and she hoped I would be happy.

I’m a bit of a sap; I do not want to see anyone hurting... but... there is a hint of vindication, an element of hearing that she knows I was not, am not, what she said I was, that she had run off for excitement, lust, that is perversely validating.

I imagine it is starting to run out. His words to me that he did not lover her, that he had tried to get rid of her, must ring more in her ears now that the dance music isn't playing so loudly.

Yes, I’m seeing someone.

She is kind. She is intelligent. She has great kids and a great heart.

I don’t know she is the one for me... After the trauma of watching a three decade marriage decay into a caustic sludge that ate and rotted every aspect of my life it touched, I am cautious.

But... I think of her all the time, and when I do I smile.

Perhaps it’s a part of being a sap, but I’m sorry to hear Brenda cry, to hear her sinking in regret.

The year is as begun great.

I love teaching English again. And I still get to teach technology... most of my day is spent being creative, thinking of new ways to help children learn how to better communicate, become self learners, discover who they are by providing opportunities to explore.

Isaac has been hired for his first job. He was told he will be trained to work in the projection room of the new theater in our formerly rural community.

Jeremiah is enjoying Special Olympics bowling. I’m enjoying coaching it.

Isaac is enjoying the early stages of adulthood.

Curious Servant is enjoying falling in love.

Permission to Fail

2009-08-30T18:35:00.000-07:00

Life is a mess.

Or, rather, life is messy.

I'm hoping to get together soon with my moon howlin' buddies, talk about life's messes.

I'm not saying I'm a mess. Just messy.

I start back to work tomorrow. It is exciting.

What a great job I have. It is a lot of work. Demanding work. Important work.

Teachers get a couple of months to recharge their pedagogical batteries, continue their education, and simply catch their breaths.

I am ready!

I teach an interesting age, middle school. That is 6th, 7th, & 8th grades. Aside from the first three years of life, I think these three years cover the greatest changes of their lives.

Now I strongly believe in teaching my subject, delivering what I am charged to bring to them. But I think there is a more important thing for them to learn. They need to learn the skills that will bring them success in high school.

They need to learn to take responsibility for their learning... homework, study skills, meeting due dates, simply doing the work of a student.

If there is ever a time for a student to trip, to make mistakes and learn from them, it is middle school. No prospective employer will ask about their 6th grade marks, no college transcript will reveal their GPA from 8th grade.

I think this is true of life in general.

I would love to be successful at all I do. To be the perfect father, to shrug off my divorce easily, to be an always obedient follower of my faith.

13.7 billion years. That's how long this universe has been around. It's a long time. I whole heartedly believe my "future" will be longer than that. I'm comfortable with that idea.

God doesn't expect perfection. He knows me, knows us, better than that

It's OK to think of life as process.

My Boys

2009-08-16T17:38:00.001-07:00

Wanted kids... like just about everyone else. Basic instinct... procreate... replicate.

Wasn’t in the cards. I guess.

When it was all too clear we weren’t having kids of our own...

First there was Willy. Pretty exciting, having a newborn in the house. Scary. Fragile.

At any rate... we lost him and a year and a half later adopted two boys from Haiti.

I never admitted, to my wife, to friends, to anyone, my reservations about adoption.

A couple of people had the courage to say what many, including myself, were thinking... can adopting fulfill that inner need for children?

I told everyone how wonderful it was having these two boys.

And it was.

OK... I had secret doubts. My children didn’t look like me. They’re black, I’m not. I love science, literature, art... they... well... they aren’t equipped to... appreciate such things as much as me.

The other night I was watching a movie with my son Isaac (and a friend and her kids). The climax of the movie came... the music swelled... the schmaltz swelled... Isaac started making his goofy happy noises, practically vibrating and jiggling, worked up at the emotional high of a happy ending.

I understand that. Even though the ending was predictable, I felt it too.

I’m the sentimental sort. I love art and literature and happy endings.

Watching Isaac, gleeful over the ending of that movie, I saw a bit of myself in him.

Isaac doesn’t carry any genes from me. He can’t read the sort of things I like. He can’t... well... doesn’t matter. There are many differences between he and me. And between my other son, Jeremiah, and me.

Through all those years I so loved those boys. Sure, sometimes I wished I had a biological child... But when I think over all those years... well... I like, Isaac does... like making goofy happy noises, vibrating and jiggling, worked up with an emotional high of a very happy ending.

Yeah... things got screwed up. My wife, frustrated over her role in this family, frustrated over a lack of biological children, frustrated over the... the... well, the things our children will never achieve...

But... though things got screwed up... it was all wonderful. Full of wonder.

These are my children.

These are my boys and I see parts of myself in them. In their hearts, in their actions.

These are my children, and I am a proud, very proud, father .