More Will Be Revealed

I've not been so good about posting lately. I pledge to do better in November -- 4 posts a week, no excuses. Except maybe when I'm in NJ next weekend. Oh well.

Today's topic: worst/weirdest Halloween costume. I can't remember too many bad ones of my own -- perhaps my sister can weigh in here? But I do remember in 1978 or so I was Mork from Ork -- complete with a Robin Williams-esque mask and a red vinyl jump suit that ripped at the crotch and down the leg about four houses into our neighborhood outing. It was pretty much shredded by the end of the night. I also wore a blue puffy down jacket over my sweet costume for much of the night, as this was Arvada, Colo., and a bit chilly.

Other nominees: Evil Bob's Big Boy (1994?) -- with red plaid overalls, swirly hair cowlick in the front (natural!), goatee and sunglasses. I later donned a Buckwheat afro wig, which really made the deal. Oh wait, and I was Slash from Guns n' Roses one year, and my friend Cathy was Axl. Wow, the memories are really coming back!

So, my reader(s) -- what's your worst/weirdest? Submit comments as desired.

Here's Lindsay, with the opening entry in her costume list: Pumpkin.

We are meeting an old friend from Portland for dinner tonight, so I don't think I'll get a chance to blog. So, some quick updates on Lindsay:

• First tooth made its appearance around Oct. 13 -- I'm pretty sure I felt it poking through that day, right before I left for Chicago. She's got a nice jack-o-lantern kind of thing going on, with one tooth poking up from the bottom.
• No crawling yet, but she's a speed merchant with the army crawl -- all arms, skittering across the floor in search of something to drool/suck on. We had lots of fun with this over the weekend, moving toys around and watching her slide across the hardwood floor in pursuit. Attach a dust cloth and spray some pledge and then we'll really be in business.
• We swear she has said "Hi" at least twice. No, really.
• She's still just about as happy and smile-y as you could ever wish for. What an adorable little bundle of warm fuzziness. See below.

I've had some unusual "small world" things happen to me...some of which I documented here, I think. Where's that link? Hmm, can't find it. Maybe I didn't write about that.

Anyway, here's the latest: Nicola and I took Lindsay for a stroll around the block last night, and we ended up talking to two neighbors around the corner. One says that I look familiar, and eventually we figured out that we knew each other back in high school, when I went to Chatham Township HS and she went to Chatham Boro High School. She even dated a good friend of mine from back then. I'm giving the short version to spare you the boring details, but I was quite amazed to have found out that I'm living around the corner from someone I knew 18 years ago and probably haven't seen since. Spooky.

And we're not talking a booming metropolis when we speak of Chatham -- population about 17,500 between the two little towns, according to the 2000 census. The schools were separate back then but have since merged; I assume much of the Township vs. Boro rivalry is now lost.

What a truly wonderful place to grow up, and I believed that long before Money magazine weighed in on the issue. We moved there when I was in sixth grade -- not too late to find a way to fit into what was a pretty cliquish school environment. What made it so good...interesting thought. It wasn't the diversity: one person of color in my class, and the Jews all fled to private school. In this WASPy town, Catholics counted as diversity, I think, which should have made my Unitarian, Democratic family stand out more than we did. This is a town, too, that fought the inclusion of "affordable" housing in the condo development down by the river. So not the most tolerant place, really. But those are the reflections of an outsider, peering back into a cozy suburban town with age and experience providing perspective.

Back then, I was nearly ignorant of the town's shortcomings, such as they are. What made Chatham home to me was -- no surprise -- my friends. I can count at least a dozen people who I considered good friends in high school, and we continued our closeness for years after graduation. We visited each other at college and in our first apartments, we traveled en masse to each other's weddings (Boston, Kansas, Georgia, New Jersey, San Francisco, Arizona, etc.), we saw each other at home over the holidays. The bonds have weakened among the larger group in recent years, as we've moved farther apart and added kids and made new friends. But I still hold all of them in a special place in my heart: they were there -- sharing experiences and making mistakes and growing up -- during the most formative years of my life. I saw one old friend just last week -- he and I have been "best friends" since sixth grade. Yes, we're not as close as we used to be...some of that is the natural march of time and distance, and some is due to circumstances in our lives that have strained our connection. Still, thank god for him, and his family, who helped me stay sane in high school and beyond. It's the little things, like driving around Chatham's 9 square miles on a random Friday night in 1987, listening to Level 42 or the Fat Boys or the Cult, that I hope will keep us friends forever.

I'm back from Chicago and cruising through a slow day at work. This place really mellows out after our big annual meeting -- we all gear up to make 26,000 doctors happy for five days, and then we crash.

I returned yesterday to a beautiful, smiling Nicola and a beaming Lindsay, who giggled most of the way through our wait for my suitcase. Such a joy to return home...and to good news about her ear (there's more background in previous posts, if you feel like searching). Nicola summarized it well in an e-mail, which I'll post below. And then I'll get back into regular posts, um, maybe tomorrow.

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I apologize for sending this in “mass” form, but I thought it would be easier to do it this way since there are a number of friends/family for whom we have promised to keep updated with Lindsay’s latest “lucky ear” news.

Lindsay had her first behavioral testing hearing evaluation at the Children’s Hospital this morning. Things went really well and Lindsay did great. If you are interested, I’ll have to explain the whole “behavioral testing” process next time we talk; it’s very interesting but too complicated to type out right now. Basically what I found out today is that there is a good chance that Lindsay’s eardrums and nerve endings are functioning in both ears, but that the limited hearing in the left ear is due to the shape of the ear and the small opening/ear canal. They won’t know this for sure until they can do some specific testing on her when she is older. Her right ear continues to be functioning well with normal hearing. Her left ear did respond to music today (which makes me ecstatic). So, the original diagnosis of “at least a moderate hearing loss” is probably still correct. However, it’s more likely “just” (it’s all relative, right?) a moderate hearing loss as opposed to “at least”. That’s not exactly what they said, but that’s what they indicated and confirms my gut feeling. Lindsay will continue to go in for hearing evaluations every 6 months or so until she is a couple of years old and then it will go down to once a year.

We feel so blessed that Lindsay is such a happy, healthy and active little girl. We appreciate everyone’s concern, support and positive thoughts as we’ve gone through the uncertainty of Lindsay’s condition these first eight months of her life. As those of you who have seen her lately can attest, her hearing loss has not negatively impacted her joy, curiosity, smiles, laughter, activity or vocalization! J

Nicola

P.S. And Lindsay says, “ah goo” (which translates to, “Hi”).

I'm leaving tomorrow for a week in Chicago, site of our (American Academy of Ophthalmology) big annual meeting. 25,000-plus eye doctors and related types in one place -- let the good times roll!

So, I'll leave my reader(s) with some random thoughts. Discuss amongst yourselves.

• I have failed to document an important milestone for Lindsay: babbling. On Sept. 30, her random coos and gurgles turned into slightly less-random sounds with consonants and vowels combined: "da-da-da-da" (not what I wish it was) and "yoy-yoy-yoy-yoy" etc. Incredibly cute to listen to and we still chuckle at it, even when she's doing it in the middle of the night.
• I heard part of a "Fresh Air" interview last night with Jason Christopher Hartley, who has just come out with a book based on his "just another soldier" blog. Sounds like a fascinating read...and it made me think of January 1991 when we first invaded Iraq. I was a senior in college and The Independent, the weekly paper I'd interned for, asked me to write a first-person piece on the campus reaction. The draft seemed like a possibility at the time, considering it was the country's first "war" since Vietnam. I don't recall the details of what I wrote, other than me saying that I personally would go if drafted. At the time I was wearing my grandfather's hefty paratrooper ring in his memory, and to suggest that I would not serve my country seemed...disloyal? To him, not my country. Anyway, it probably wasn't what my editor (the wonderful Gillian Floren, who 10 years later I ran into on the streets of Portland) was looking for exactly, but she ran it, to her credit.
• Last Friday was a cool day at the office, as they opened up the roof for us to watch the Blue Angels practicing along the SF waterfront. Impressive, and it made me actually consider going to an airshow, something that has never intrigued me before. I sense a military theme here...hmm.
• "My Name is Earl" was strong again last night -- it's probably my favorite new show of the season. Great line about paper mache: "She'd found a way to make newspapers even more boring."
• Speaking of TV: I hope "Arrested Development" hangs on. Where else can you laugh out loud to dialogue like: "Eww. I think I'm going to run it through the dishwasher again -- on pots and pans." It's sad to say that this show is likely to die and Jim Belushi still has a sitcom.
• Final TV thought: I finally watched the season finale of "Rescue Me" (thanks to KT and Pete for sending the DVD). A gripping, grim episode that left most every character reeling and beaten down. Same complaint as earlier -- a bit predictable (I saw the "hooker" scam coming, as a lot of people probably did) -- but still fine (if gloomy) TV.
• The wounds of friendships lost are slow to heal. The details are for another time, or perhaps not at all. But I am still puzzled by the actions of a particular person who stopped speaking to me after nearly 20 years of friendship. I know there were some rough moments during the aftermath of my divorce, and perhaps I was a bit self-absorbed as I licked my emotional wounds and figured out what the hell was going with my life. But how about cutting me a little slack for that? I'd like to think I'd do the same for you if the tables were turned. I suppose I should use this as a wake-up call: make the effort with people who are important to you, and don't take anything or anyone for granted. Sometimes, the little gestures do matter.

Off to Chicago. Back at ya next week.

I'm too worn out to write much tonight, after a long day at work and a draining verbal battle with my ex over the holiday schedule with Ella. We worked it out, but man, it sucked getting there.

So, happy Lindsay pictures is all I've got in me.

You are all my witnesses:

Should I arrive at a point where I am terminally ill with less than six months to live, and I'm of sound mind, I would like my "death-hastening" medications served in applesauce, all crushed up.

Now, my right to take such control over my own demise may be abrogated in the very near future by the U.S. Supreme Court, which is debating the validity of a legal challenge to Oregon's death with dignity law. I hope I'm wrong in thinking that the conservatives' hypocritical attack on personal choices (see Schiavo, Terri) will somehow be blunted by a populace suddenly awakened to the fact that it has been sold a complete bill-of-goods by the GOP. Anti-tax-and-spenders have become the biggest spenders since LBJ, and they love states' rights until those rights cross some arbitrary moral line in the sand. And this popular "what the hell?" will turn into a common-sense revolution, with one outcome being that my personal freedom to control how my final, possibly agonizing days on this earth go down will have been protected.

I know the Oregon law well. I voted for it a couple of times, and I worked for a health policy journal during the second election that hosted a debate on the topic. I don't arrive at this opinion lightly, and I can't promise you I won't turn chickenshit if I'm presented the opportunity. I may cling to every last painful breath. But if I can make that choice -- to fight and avail myself of every medical hail mary -- why can't I also decide to accept the inevitably of the end and manage those months/weeks/days as I see fit? Who is that hurting, if I have the love and support of my family (as I assume I will)?

So, applesauce. And not the chunky kind, and not the all-natural kind. I like it straight and sweet.

I walked across the street today at lunchtime to the old Del Monte factory, which is now a combo hotel and shopping establishment called the Cannery. OK, it was a cannery long before it was The Cannery; the building was once the largest peach cannery in the world. Now, the whole area reeks of tourism, which is a drawback, but I appreciate the effort to save a cool old building, and the hotel is nice.

I am perplexed, however, by the arrival of a John Deere store in the Cannery. I just don't see that San Francisco tourists are going to be motivated to buy a 1/32 scale tractor or a branded piece of John Deere clothing. I heard a store worker say the other retails outlets for JD are in Tennessee and South Carolina, and of course there's the mothership in Moline, Ill.

Hmm.

San Francisco
Tennessee
South Carolina
Moline

"One of these things is not like the other. Which one is it, do you know?"

All this being said, I'm already planning a Deere-themed shopping excursion for the young kids on my holiday shopping list. Tractors are cool when you're six.

Lindsay showed off her dad's colors this weekend.

First, sporting a snug Tar Heel onesy (courtesy of my wife) and Jordan brand sneakers (courtesy of my brother-in-law and his wife, a Jordan bigwig), size 1C:

And second, in a Red Sox sleeper (courtesy of our friends Jessica Mozeico and Scott Jordan [no relation!]), complete with little non-skid baseballs on the feet:

Lindsay must be good luck: the Tar Heel football team beat Utah (who scored about 63 points on the Heels last year) and the Red Sox took two of three from the Yankees and made the playoffs as the defending World Series champions (still nice to say that!).

I don't know if Lindsay will end up being a fan of either of these teams; progeny don't always follow their parents' lead when it comes to this kind of thing. My dad is a staunch fan of the franchise I detest now (the Yankees)...but when I was a kid, I was not so anti-Yankee and pro-Sox. I think I even had a Willie Randolph poster in my room. But anyway, I didn't get my allegiances from family mandate (my stepfather professes very little in the way of sports fan-dom, except to Lafayette in the epic Lafayette vs. Lehigh battles).

My history as a fan is primarily geographically based, which is I think how most arrive at their favorites. (See this article on ESPN for a lengthy discussion of this between Bill Simmons and pop-guru dude Chuck Klosterman.) I lived in Massachusetts from the time I was 8 months old until I was 7 -- the formative years, in my case, of developing sports loyalty.

Does anybody care? Or is just an excuse to namedrop former favorites of mine like Dwight Evans, Russ Francis, Gord Kluzak and Andre Tippett? When the family moved to Denver during the late 1970s "Orange Crush" era, I went for Randy Gradishar and Haven Moses (I waited in line at a department store with my friend Matt Schulte to get an autograph and photo with this handsomely afro'ed wide receiver).

I suppose some would say that sports, sports franchises and athletes are not worthy of such attention or devotion. I would disagree -- sports discussions are an integral part of our social fabric, just like politics or (recently) pop culture. It is safe conversational ground between men...even men like my father and I, who still talk about baseball or some other sport during almost all our phone conversations. I would venture a guess that one of his favorite memories involving me is the wager he won when his Yankees finished ahead of my Red Sox. I decorated an old mayonnaise jar and sent him the winnings in pennies. I put a lot of thought and effort into that payoff...but I was younger then, and less jaded about our relationship. Or something.

It's so cliche, but it's still true that sports in general -- and baseball in particular? -- can be the strongest bond between generations. I still cry at the last scene in Field of Dreams as Kevin Costner's character expresses the simple boyhood wish of most/all boys: "Dad, you wanna have a catch?"

I hope I will always say yes, when my kids ask me this question. It's not baseball now...it's Hello Kitty Uno or Go Fish or Balloon Lagoon...but it's still the same fundamental choice.