The girlfriend

My 13 year old son is downstairs with his girlfriend. It's kind surreal, just doesn't seem possible. I think she is a ghost.

The wife and younger kids went to the ward x-mas bash. The wife instructed me to head downstairs every once in awhile and say, "gotta get something from from the fruitroom" (actually my wife calls it a pantry but in cache valley we say fruitroom). So should I go down? It is kind of quiet right now. But what would I get out of the fruitroom? Some flour? Maybe some chips?

Again (see my earlier post on this subject) one half of me wants to maintain some boundaries while the other is kind of rooting for him. I mean who wouldn't want his son to experience the thrill of holding hands or the mountain-like accomplishment of a first kiss?

Whatever my own ambiguity, must be able to tell the wife I went down when she gets back. Guess I will go check out the canned goods.

When cleaning becomes a titillating temptation

Funny how the things I never have time for (listening to music, blogging, writing emails to colleagues, cleaning) I immediately start doing as soon as wheelbarrow of papers comes in at the end of the semester.

Hell, I got time for anything right now--call me! I'll pick you up. I'd drive you to Vegas and I hate Vegas. I'd shovel snow if there were snow. I'd even do one of my wife's projects. Shucks, I'd help you clean out your attic. Even cleaning my office is a titillating temptation.

Ok...temptation indulged: must read three papers and then I will allow myself to caressingly filter through the piles crap on my office floor.

Heroes: Pleasurable manipulation

My son and I have been watching season one of Heroes. We've knocked out 8 or so episodes during this last week. A romp of a show with almost as many cliffhangers as 24. Of course I feel manipulated but will allow such manipulations for pleasure and some time with my son for at least one season--not sure I can do more than that. The voice-over philosophical statements on agency, evolution, and ontology seem too serious considering the plot, but maybe I need to watch more episodes to find the meat underneath the action-packed veneer . . . not holding my breath.

More episodes will be watched as my son is begging me to watch two a day. Yesterday he watched one without me--how could he? He was reprimanded and made to watch the episode again while guiding me through it so we could ff through the slow parts (i.e. about 3 and half minutes).

With a fair amount of violence, gore, and tension (several squeamish demures while wondering, "can they show that on tv?") Tim Kring, the creator, made a brilliant move incorporating the Japanese odd couple who travel to America to help save the world. Hiro Nakamura, played by Masi Oka, is astoundingly funny which brings much needed breaks from the cranium lobotomies and regenerating, flayed body in the morgue.

Note to self: must figure out a way to discuss and watch Heroes episodes when I teach Middlebrow's scifi course next year. Certain to boost my evaluation scores.

Out of the mouth of babes: youngest son on Obama

Before election:

"Will Obama make us go to school on Saturday if he becomes the president?"

After election:

"Obama made the gas prices go down" as we pull into a gas station.

***

NOTE: the forcing kids to attend school on Saturday was heard by all of my children and by my wife who works at an elementary school--one third grade teacher got the question so much the day after the election she had to assure the entire class that surely it wasn't true because the government would never spend that much more money on education.

Compelled by The Road

Wow, I can't believe a month has gone by--been very busy. Somehow I'm doing less in more hrs. Go figure.

I read The Road by Cormac McCarthy this weekend. It's about a father trying to find some semblance of humanity amongst burned out towns and cannibalistic tribes for his son. I meant to nurse it over the next few weeks, like only eating two pieces of Halloween candy a day, but there was no way. Few books have compelled me to read them immediately and even fewer that didn't accomplish it through mere plot manipulation. I knew what would happen in this book; what I wanted were the emotional details.

It was beautiful in its own post-apocalyptic way. After I finished it late last night, I shed a few tears and then went into my youngest son's room and hugged him while he slept. It seemed an appropriate, albeit cliched, way to finish up my torrential relationship with the book. But the hug didn't ward off danger--early this morning his awoke throwing up.

Updating the Queue Mega style

Scanning through my Netflix queue, I realized that out of the 70 or so movies listed I wasn't too interested in any of them. That's not exactly true. There are movies I want to see but some are movies I "should" see (El Bola, Deliver us from Evil, Factotum, Helvetica, Born into Brothels), many are movies I want to see with my kids so can only line up so often, several are movies I want to see but would be a disaster with the wife, some are movies I put on my list and can't remember a damn thing about, and hardly any are from 08. Contemplating the sad state of my queue, especially the lack of 08s, I realized that I hadn't looked at one of my favorite movie reviewers, Hightoughmegastore, for some time--somehow this bi-annual event had slipped through the cracks.

Now, I don't add just anything from her list she's, to put it lightly, easy: she can find something good in about every movie she sees (btw I just used Mega as an example in my ch lit class to demonstrate that one can be smart, critical, and use criticism and still love all sorts of art). Which is one thing I like about her little reviews but which also causes me to only pick movies she really liked. Here's what made it into my queue: Smart People, Married life, Baby mama (I didn't really need Mega to get this one on my list), The Band's Visit, The Savages, Flawless, Honeydripper. More would have surely made my list, but Mega is sorely behind at least 20 movies. How dare she only list them without a review! Come on Mega, get choppin!

I was hoping one or more of these movies would be on the Watch Instantly Netflix feature so we could watch one tonight and sure enough two were (Flawless and Honeydripper) but neither seemed quite right for the wife--she's not much of a capper lover and Honeydripper looked too slow. Instead I found Outsourced (2007) on the watch now list (btw the online Netflix movies are getting better and better). So here in a few I'm off to hook up the laptop to the tv to watch a film with the wife, alone. Amazingly, the kids have all disappeared with friends. Well, two of them at least.

Before I end on a somber note, I'd love to hear about everyone's top three moview of 2008...ok onto serious, stewing over stuff I'm known for.

The third, my eldest son, was with a friend and was to come home when said friend went to the LDS priesthood session but then the friend invited him along to the all-male-afair with an offer of Garcia's mexican cuisine after. I picked him up from the friend, helped him get a snack, and then took him back. It was harder than I expected, a twinge of sadness that his father wouldn't be the one to induct him into this Mormon father-son ritual and a pang of fear about the future. Oh, well at least I found a movie I can watch with my wife--one can't be a miracle worker on every front.

Oh where hath my %$@#% Saturday gone

A Saturday spent already; not sure where it went but it's been nice day overall. Dealt with the sick throwing up son (wife did the most as usual) this morning, graded a couple of papers and read some email while listening for heaves, went to the library to pick up some books for a lecture I'm giving in my ch lit class picked, then picked up dancing daughter from her class. Lastly, instead of doing what I should do, I went on a mt bike ride. Now I'm tired, sweaty, stinky, and unmotivated to do the things I really should have done this morning: written a rough draft for a retention study I'm doing with a colleague, grade 30 ch lit book reviews on the symbolism in MC Higgins the Great, prepped for my Tuesday classes, increase our garden size by tilling a few swaths of grass, wrapping our apples in newspaper for storage.... See that's the problem. When I got up this morning I probably could have done one or two of those (I did pick the tomatoes I will have you know), but there were just too many things to choose from so I was like the indecisive deer in the headlights and once I regained my wits, I just figure ah to hell with it I will go on a mt bike ride.

And what a mt bike ride it was, primarily a lesson in humility (note to self: only ride with riders who will inflate imaginary sense of my riding abilities). The humility started in strong doses as my friend, one of the top three expert class riders in Utah, took it out "gently," a nice conversational pace FOR HIM!!, as we rode the pavement from Mueller Park in Bountiful to North Canyon. Once we turned off the pavement, the dirt road ascends steeply for 4 miles. Climbing I was rudely transported back to 100 degree August days, sweating out my jersey immediately and profusely, watching my friend speed out of sight. Back cramped, had to stop and stretch twice; I survived. It does improve at mile 4 with a much more sane switchbacked single track--before I knew it we were on top of Rudy flats and ready for some of the best downhill in the state and a solid 5 miles of it to boot.

Finally I'm used to my "new" bike I got about three years ago--a full suspension Specialized Stumpjumper for anyone that cares. If you want to know more about my bike, look it up--I only know it can go fast and has brakes which stop it. What I do know is that finally I feel comfortable handling the bike. Before I'd ridden a suspensionless Bridgestone MB5, quite a bike in its day, for about a decade. But now, sweet jesus, it's a beautiful ride. It's amazing what one can do on a bike, going over rocks, roots, washouts. I guess I didn't think this kind of fairly dangerous activity would attract me when I was approaching 40--in some ways I enjoy it more than I did as a kid. Anything else I say here will sound corny and cliched but, alas, I can't resist. It feels like the bike is an extension of me and somehow that's so beautiful because I could never run 20+ mph down this trail, could never descend the 5 miles in 30 minutes, could never jump over an obstacle floating for 15 feet....and somehow all that just tickles me silly.

It's approaching 7pm and all that stuff I should have done is safely out of reach, jusifiably undoable as it were. Relieved of duties, I will settle down to some reading, maybe a movie, some time with the kids--there's always tomorrow.

Bonus: video of guy riding Mueller with funny little dog

Things I meant to blog about but didn't

I've had lots (really!) of great blogging ideas but I've had little time and my brain is stuffed. So here's the short version of each; at least this post will move the F word down on my homepage:

1. Our 13 year old son has gone through some sort of evolution. A few weeks ago we realized he had a girlfriend--kind of difficult to keep tabs on this kind of thing when he can email, IM, and call her on the cell phone. This morning before noon he had already chatted with the gf and we fielded four calls from four different friends. What happened to the shy, boyish child of last year? Concerning gf thing I have radically contracting feelings and thoughts. On one hand, I'm think hold up buckaroo, there's all kinds of time left, no need to take the fun out of puppy love stuff (a note, a brush of hands, etc). On the other, I identify strongly with his plight to get with his girl. Several times I've caught myself constructing arguments my son might use with us and the gf's parents. And after seeing him IM for several hrs with the gr, I finally said, "You might as well go see her." Which of course he had already thought out and planned--that evening he headed out on his bike with goofy directions to her house, accepting none of our help. Amazingly he spent an eveing with the gf and her family. I was 17 before I did such a thing--much safer and less grown up to just make-out in the bushes during night games. What is he thinking!

2. My wife and I went to Beethoven's 9th symphony--it really go me going. Of course I'm familiar with the Ode to Joy but had never heard the entire piece. Near the end, during the last movement where the orchestra begins to tempt us with the Ode to Joy melody (after having taken us through some sort of Turkish march music), I nearly lept from my chair and had to blink away a few tears. It was brilliantly explosive.

3. Harvest time again. This past Sunday the whole family got invovled, picking peaches, pears, apples, grapes, tomatoes, peppers, and squash. I've designated myself the peach cutter upper for this fall-50 or so peaches later, I'm still loving it (the eating and cutting). I've made a couple of superb batches of fresh salsa with a variety of hot peppers--the classic jalapeno, the less well-known serrano, a long skinny red pepper, and the exotic tiny thai dragon (hot as a mother). Eating all this fresh food has given me an opportunity to detox from the modern vagaries of grocery store shopping. If only I could eat this way all year.

A case study: Student expression and the employment of "fuck"

Strangely I've read about five student drafts exploring personal memories and three have dropped the F-bomb. I usually don't get this kind of openness till later in the semester and even then at a much lower percentage; seems students often hold onto the rules of high school. I've often had students bashfully approach me with concerns about the language they have in an essay: "Professor, I'm writing about an experience in the military and you know the language in that setting is kind rough..." At this point I usually interrupt, assuring them they can use any language they'd like. And still I get: sh*t and b*%$# etc.

And it's not just the F-bombs in these papers: much of the writing is quite daring for a first assignment. I have no idea what's in the air. Certainly I haven't done anything that different from all the other 1010 sections I've taught. This proliferation of fucks has really brightened my day, giving me hope in the next generation. By fuck, I'm going to read three more papers before I do lunch.

Dancing across Morgan by cool clouded skies

Seth did it! After a couple of years discussing and then several months planning and preparing this summer, Seth completed his 50 mile bike ride which was the last requirement for his cycling merit badge. And along the way he somehow fits into my old cycling jersey and can ride my old bike.

It all started off with Seth, yes my teenage son, waking ME up at 5:15 this morning. We ate some peanut butter toast y and drove up Weber Canyon to Mt. Green and headed out, the back pockets of our cycling jersey's stuffed with Clif shot blocks, GU, peanut butter crackers, and granola bars. From Mt Green we circled around the southeast side of Morgan valley passing through several small towns. At our first stop at a gas station, Seth knew we were in another world: "Hey, did you hear those people? Both people that pulled up knew the woman already here getting gas. And all three of them shewed that dog home by name. That doesn't happen in Layton."

In order to get in the full 50 miles we headed up East Canyon road for about 7 miles or so--quite a climb to East Canyon reservoir. Then we flew down, finally arriving at Morgan where we sat in the grass a bit eating crackers and stretching.

Our only conflict was that Seth got a bit irritated that I kept looking back to make sure he was close and to encourage him to ride my wheel closer--the draft really makes for an easier ride. Eventually he started making fun of me. I guess after looking back about 1,000 times, it really doesn't help much. By mile 40 every time I looked back, Seth would quote lines from that great British comedy, Father Ted: "I don't know Father Ted, what would you like to do?" or call me strange names like Shaniqua.

All in all a great ride: 50 miles, about 3 and half hrs of ride time, max speed 35mph, average almost 14mph, several dead animals and bad smells, and hopefully some good memories we will both carry with us.

Who needs a car anyways? Day 2

Again I left at about 8:20 and for the second day didn’t have time to tell my wife good-bye—the train waits for no one. For this trip I selected my full suspension mt bike because, well, I wanted to go for a mt bike ride with my friend Jason in SLC after work. So instead of biking the 8 miles on my knobby wheels, I jumped on to Trax for my first Trax with bike experience. There didn’t seem to be a place for bikes like on FR so I just tried to lean it against me while trying to read an article out of TETYC. This did not work as Trax stops and jerks a lot more than FR. On one of the stops a seasoned Trax rider got on, stuff his front wheel down the stairs on the opposite side of where the doors open—will do that next time.

Then I rode the three miles to campus; unfortunately I chose the 45^th south stop and rode down 45^th. Very dangerous. Next time I will take the 39^th stop. And after a short 3 mile ride, I arrived safe and sound.

I have to say that I really enjoy being on public transport. It gives me a feeling of connection or something. I know that I have a romantic view of all this as I don’t absolutely have to use public transport—certainly it could be a pain in the ass to always depend on it—but still I can’t yet let go of that romanticism.

After teaching, I headed out thinking I would catch Trax at 39^th about three miles away but the 4:03 train didn’t show and I figured I’d make better time on the bike than sitting around. After almost an hour of riding, and a 5 minute stop for Gatorade at a gas station, I arrived at Jason’s house who lives just off 9^th south on the east hill above 13^th east. We threw the bikes in his Subaru and headed up Millcreek meaning to ride up to Dog Lake but we forgot about the even/odd day thing—personally I think mt bikers should be on odd days. Instead we tried for about .94 miles to ride the steep trail towards Lamb’s canyon. What an unforgiving trail. Wasted we skidded down and went on the much more accommodating Pipeline. I’d been on the lower 2/3s but never the upper part—some of the best, hard packed, fast single track I’ve ever done.

After the ride Jason dropped me off at the central Frontrunner station; again I felt oh so cosmopolitan, loving my look: the dirty, sweat crusted guy reading some sort of academic journal.

So I had a lot of fun but this will never work daily in non-summer mode when I’m actually really busy and need to get places quickly. Never. But twice a week I think I can do.

Who needs a car anyways???

I decided to chronicle my family’s journey—literal and metaphorical—of trying to survive with one car. But after one day of mass transit and bike, I’m not sure there will be much of a journey before I cave and buy a new car. Maybe it can be my journey to be less car dependent or something like that, something much less grandiose or important. I can imagine if I wrote one of those books about how I did something for a month or a year (do these kinds of books/documentaries make up a particular genre?), mine would be entitled “How a family of five kinda sort of went without two cars for awhile.” I’ll never quite reach the status of my one-car heroes with one kid, Dr. Write and Middlebrow, and my no-car hero, Signifying Nothing.

After my Kia Rio engine was internally destroyed and the red carcass was sold for junk, I immediately started to resent having to buy a new car. Certainly not something in our budget or plans. My mind tried to find a way out (read I started to obsess). Kids adjusted ok: youngest son thought it an adventure to ride his bike to his friends house a mile away; daughter was less convinced, as she called after a party,
"Are you coming to get me?" (long pause)
"No, that's why we had you ride your bike"
"Oh, ok."

And oldest son has been biking to drum lessons already. Still, not sure how we'd negotiate soccer/dance Saturday with multiple games and dance practices at a variety of locals, sometimes at the same time. But first things first: how the hell do I get to work?

Yesterday I left home at 8:15 am on my road bike and rode two miles to the new Frontrunner station—a mere 6 minute ride at 20mph. I boarded where there was a bike symbol, but a bike was already in the designated spot so I just leaned it against my seat which worked out fine. Looking the seasoned pro, I put on some classical music to block out the talk from the couple across from me and started to read the Tortilla Curtain by T.C. Boyle—how often do I get to put 30 minutes into a book for fun during the morning of a work day? Never.

Frontrunner ride was smooth, fast, and air-conditioned. Next, transition central station at 6^th west and 250 south. From here I biked down 6^th west and then turned at 8^th south, which has a great bike lane, the plan being to head west to Redwood road. But I was tempted by the Jordan Parkway, so I traveled its circuitous route from 8^th south to 33^rd south—a nice detour even if it add a couple of miles and a few hills. At Redwood campus by 9:50 am, bike computer read 11.5 miles and about 35 minutes.

Only major unexpected, as I took off my son’s back pack, a completely and utterly sopping wet back. Luckily I’d brought my cycling shirt (thinking I might cycle all the way home in the evening which I ultimately decided against) which I changed into so I could dry out my shirt. Shirt never completely dried, but hey it didn’t stink.

After a day of teaching in my casual wear, including cycling socks with skulls on them, I left Redwood at 6:55 in order to catch the 7:25pm train. I knew this would be cutting it a bit close but I also knew Redwood slanted somewhat downhill to the north; unfortunately, I had moderate headwind most of the way. Not wanting to wait for the 8:25 train, I put the foot to the pedal, rarely letting my speed dip below 20mph and cranking up to 27mph on several occasions. All was going well until I hit the last train crossing on a 8^th south, just blocks away from the station: I should have made a run for it as the UP train was going slow as molasses but I decided to be safe and wait. I made Frontrunner with a minute or so to spare.

Exerting such effort was quite invigorating but also made me sweat: after having situated myself, I peered to my left and scanned behind me, then made a mad rush to take off my damp cycling shirt and put on my now finally dry regular shirt. Maybe there’s a bathroom where I could have changed; certainly the woman to my left, exposed to my brilliant white hairless concave chest, was wishing I’d scouted one out.

Journey #1 done. Tomorrow, Journey #2 with a couple of twists: I will take my mountain bike, which is much slower on the roads so I will make a transfer to Trax even though it will take me almost as long to get from the Frontrunner station to the Trax Fireclay station at 47^th South as it will take me to get from Layton to SLC. But then it’s only a 3, instead of 8, mile ride to Redwood campus—must save the legs as I’m going to mountain bike the Bobsled trail with a friend that evening. Now if I can figure out how to fit everything I need into my small mountain bike pack so that I can pop out just before City Creek at the end of our ride and, without returning to my friend’s house, descend to the Frontrunner station for my ride home. Good thing it’s the last day of classes so no need for silly fat books I make students buy and since student turn in work electronically no big bag of papers.

I’m never going to make it without a car; maybe, though, I can learn something and do the train 2-3 times a week while the weather is good. I even considered buying a junker car and parking it at the SLC Frontrunner station so I could drive it from there to Redwood each day and then drive it home on Friday. But I assume it would get ticketed or maybe even stolen.

Soooooooo desperately not wanting to buy a car.

Dancing across Antelope by Moonlight

Last night oldest son, Seth, and I completed the 22 mile Antelope by Moonlight bike ride "creatures by night." And we were indeed creatures by night even though we did not dress up as bugs etc as a few did, though son thought our biking spandex was plenty enough costume. The ride started at the marina and went out to the renovated Garr Ranch (or what I call the only place you can find a bunch of trees on the island). It was a spectacular ride in so many ways--30+mph downhill on the biggest hill; a full and visible moon, which started out a big yet orangey because of haze, but came into its own as the night progressed; an excellent tune-up for son's 50 mile ride in August which will complete his cycling merit badge; good late night conversation; and we missed all of the crowds by getting there early, starting out hard, and finishing early.

Speaking of starting out hard, I told Seth we should kind of push it a bit the first mile or two in order to distance ourselves from the 900 other riders lined up. I didn't want one of our wheels to get caught up in a cape or something. About a mile in, clearly revved up with adrenaline, he said, "so is this supposed to hurt since we are pushing it?" i.e. I can go faster if you want. He was, as they say, "dancing on the pedals" or my favorite "pedaling without a chain."

This summer may indeed go down in the annals of Christiansen family lore as the summer of biking. Sometimes when we think about having kids, we--read "I"--get nervous about all the ways in which we may screw up and then be blamed for said screw ups for years to come. And I'm sure this will happen to me, but it's also interesting how kids can salvage one's mistakes. For example, as recounted here before, I've been an obsessive and stupid athlete at times, injuring body and mind, in the pursuit of victory. All that didn't really work out too well for me and yet now I can share my joy of cycling with my son--kind of makes up for my mistakes. Also, riding with Seth tempers me. I'm less (note less--I'm not a saint) concerned with how fast we are going or who is passing us. Instead of focusing on myself (full disclosure: I did hammer the last hill and then couldn't find Seth but he was waiting for me at the van so all went well), I'm concerned with how he is doing, feeling, etc. Just about to hit 40, that's where I need to be.

A Room of One's Own

Life doesn’t seem to thoroughly surprise me too often anymore. Well, that’s not entirely true. I often get surprised at how absolutely stupid we are at times. Like when watching Sicko the other night, I just couldn’t believe the inanity of our health care system and the amazing lies we continue to tell ourselves about so-called socialized medicine. But I also couldn’t believe that a smart guy like Michael Moore continues to insist on including a few low blows (i.e his Charleton Heston stunt in Bowling for Columbine) like the boat into Cuba—dumb, over-dramatic, not even rhetorically savvy. So that kind of surprise I get plenty of but the positive shake-up, the “wow, I’m feeling so good about how the world has opened up” rarely happens.

It happened today when we set up my new office. It’s not exactly “new” but before it was just a fold up table and a book shelf. Now, thanks to furniture in a box and my wife who pushed and pulled me along, I’ve got a desk, a hutch, two book shelves and a matching filing cabinet (though my wife will probably take over this, sticking all kinds of unimportant crap in there like our birth certificates, warranties, account information, you name it). It’s got that new-all-over kind of feel—new carpet, new baseboards that I cut and my wife painted, a new lamp, and lot of space where I can stack books and papers and crap. But that’s not what led to my epiphany, not exactly.

A room of one’s own, a potentially blasphemous comparison I know being the dominant white male I am, but it’s true. I haven’t had my own permanent space since I was a kid and back then I didn’t know dick about what I liked or what comforted me. I know I have a house, all 3,000 square feet of it, but it’s not only my space and honestly it’s really my wife’s space. I’m not really blaming her—I’ve pretty much relinquished the space as I don’t trust my decorating skills and because I have other important battle fronts. To demonstrate: I’ve had some old beer bottles I’ve wanted to put out; instead they have been wrapped and shaded in a wooden box with a latch (one my dad made in wood shop) for years. I’m not a beer drinker so why in the hell would I want to display these? Because they have a story, a great story. When I was about 12 my grandmother Christy had me and my cousin, Jeff, help clean out her attic. While cleaning it we found cases of old beer bottles. Given my grandmother was a devout Mormon, this came as a bit of shock. Turns out her husband made his own beer. Funny she kept the bottles for so long—he died in the late 1950s.

My grandmother was quite embarrassed and wasn’t going to let us keep any of the bottle until we begged. And even then she only wanted us to have one of each kind. I clearly remember going back to the truck and sneaking about small 12 oz Fisher bottle. On many occasion I’ve tried to find a place for these but my wife has always put the Kaibosh on it. I guess they tie me to my past, to my grandmother Christy who lived next door where I spent evenings watching the Love Boat and eating popcorn popped the old way with oil in a pan and days helping the garden, moving the grass, carrying out her flower boxes (hell they were heavy) each summer that she’d kept alive in the house during the winter. And they speak to the often hidden lives of Mormons—I like that.

And now at 39, I have a space where I can put up whatever I want. It’s kind of liberating, opening up all kinds of possibilities.

I scouted around for the boxes that hold my childhood stuff. I’ve found many a treasure to put in my new found space: marbles that my dad gave me which he had gotten from Uncle Floyd—several are made of clay, dating back 70 plus years; nifty rocks I’ve held onto for years—a petrified piece of wood, a seeming embedded vertebrae of some sorts, a pink crystal type rock; and many more antique bottles. The attic clean up with my grandma Christy also yielded several wine jugs, my favorites are the fancy Ellena Brothers 1 gallon wine jugs from CA. It took cunning to keep a hold of these as my grandma tried to get them back a week later; she had a friend who wanted to plant something in them---of course we refused, thinking this was an abomination to blemish such a fine bottle.

I also put on display several of the antique bottles my grandpa Mackey gave me before he died. He literally had 1,000s of antique purple bottles curing on his roof for years, then stored them in the basement along side his vast collection of arrowheads. He was an impatient man with people, until he got older, but a meticulous, detailed oriented collector. A year or so before he died he began to distribute his bottles to his grandchildren. Among my 15 or so are several flasks, a few Watkin’s medicine flasks, and a purplish thick bottle which my grandpa said was of very good quality. Glass a dying age of containers, which reaches back to those past on.

It’s the oddest feeling sitting here with the familiarity of my stuff: my little sanctuary. I’m not sure why I didn’t do this before—the money, the time, insecurities. Here I am and feels good, calming, in the moment. So many possibilities open up for one not apt to buy much of anything outside of books and bikes: some images of Hayao Miyazaki crouched over his drawings smoking, images from Miyazaki’s films, some Dan Johnston artwork, a Georgia O’Keefe, a landscape painting or two. Maybe having these things around me solidifies what I believe in, what I’ve done, who I am. A room of my own is a very fine thing.

Guess what I saw?

While Rexburg itself is mostly flat, treeless, and unenticing (at least geographically) a mere 25 miles away is Mesa Falls. I got an early start this morning with road bike and gear in tow. I parked next to an alfalfa field just outside of Ashton, unloaded my bike, and started out on my Mesa Falls Scenic Byway adventure.

Yes, I did fell slightly guilty that I drove 50 miles (roundtrip) in order to bike 40 miles. Still, it had much more appeal than a ride through the potatoe fields around Rexburg and the appeal came through better than the promises of our $20 fireworks kit from the night before. First, I stopped to stretch and meditate a bit at Warm River, then I ascended through shady coniferous roads towards Bear Gulch, an appropriate name given I saw..... (I'm not shitting you) a bear cub. It ran across the road about 20 yards from me. I about fell off the bike, not from fear but joy--I just couldn't believe it. And, Yes, I was afraid the sow might be near so I did not dither; of course if she had given chase I would have cranked in a Tour de France type finish line sprint and left her in the dust. At least that's how I pictured it in my mind as I quickly looked back and forth across the road as I passed where the cub had crossed. Inspired by the bear sighting, I looked more closely for animals, spotting two white tail deer just off the road a few minutes later.

And through it all (at least the 20 miles out early in the morning) I only passed a handful of cars--everyone must have slept in with some hangover, alcohol or firework induced, keeping them flattened to the mattress. I wondered whether Mega was up and about yet--she and the Historian were probably only a handful of miles away from where I turned around (just west--I think--to Island Park). Seems they may have had the firework hangover (see here). And yes, Mega, Idaho does equal Heaven, about the closest any of us will ever get to heaven thinks me.

I did take two quick detours to see both the lower and upper falls (I've seen them several times but still had to stop). On the way back, I set out to improve my paltry 13mph average--several hills and some coasting to look for animals and the views to blame and I'm kind of out of shape. I only increased it to 16mph, but I was ok with that--I'd seen a bear cub, I'd seen a bear, and I'd enjoyed the immensley enjoyable sound of nothing else (for most of the trip) but my wheels spinning down the road in a vast Idaho landscape of tree, rivers, mountains.

Living Live

Tonight I'm taking the kids to see Cold Creek, a bluegrass band from Utah County. I need a motto for the summer or maybe the year. Something like Live Local Live or Live helps you Live. Ok, so maybe I don't need a motto. What I want is to continue seeing live performances, particularly of local stuff and/or in local/small venues. To that end, Cold Creek tonight, then Kansas at our very own local amphitheater in August; and either this summer or the next, I want to do the Shakespeare Festival with the kids. Also, and dang it I meant to order tickets to someone, I want to see something at Red Butte. Finally, for the year, David Sedaris in October (that's without the kids).

There's something about live performance that rejuvenates me; somehow while focusing on getting degrees, family, running, paying the mortgage etc. I let a million live shows pass me by. At least this one ain't getting by tonight.

Blogging World Predictions for 2009 (or revitalizing a silly juvenile genre just for the hell of it)

First blogger world

1. Middlebrow and Dr. Write, after an embarrassment of riches, will shake the dust of this community college for a prestigious joint chairship somewhere in the Northwest. Incredibly MB’s desk will become a shrine for the student group he forms before leaving, "Simplicity Now!," a desk which mysteriously stays clean even when officemate and other doubters mess it up.
2. Mega, already spending most of her time in the NW, will, as she does so well, duplicate herself and manage to maintain her current teaching position while also becoming poet laureate of the NW and Canada AND the radiant music professor in a new movie (see #3).
3. Sig Nothing will finally tire of the noise and congestion as the 4^th production of a College musical (aka high school musicales go to university) goes into preproduction and will take up Monkey Wrenching on the set in the evenings. The production will be delayed, until in an undisclosed deal Sig will become the Zac Efron for, the decidedly more intellectual HM franchise, “Teaching in College Musicale: the Remoteness of Being.”
4. Unip and Building a rock wall will move to a remote cabin in the Canadian frontier where they will telecommute via satellite to their jobs each afternoon; climbing crags and boulders with their five children (this won’t all quite happen in 2009) will take up their mornings.
   

Second blogger world (in chronology not affection):

5. Myself Undone (aka Anarchist) will create a one man play, “Freedom for: A Proustian approach to life.” It will go to Broadway where in an interview Undone will respond to questions about his ultimate purpose, “I have made to unmake; done to be undone; where I am, there is nothing.” To which mobs of New Yorkers will respond by ransacking established government and commerce to create land based, sustainable agriculture on rooftops.
6. Happy Heretic will hit it big in online stock market trading and will change his lifestyle radically by making two instead of one trip a year to Mesquite and by donating one million dollars to a project entitled, “Merging identities: Freedom ‘from’ is for dumbasses” run by Undone, SE, and yours truly.
7. Spontaneous expression’s (recently Disregulated) witty, hard-hitting blog will go mainstream; she will blissfully and unabashedly dance on Ellen while announcing her new blog as book, “Disregulating Yourself: The Kama-Sutra of Identity.”
8. Paradigm Shift will want distance from his friends and family and move to Utah. Even though he will take a job which pays 200K, he humbly and helpfully will buy two homes surprisingly close to my own (one directly north of my own and another one—kind of in disrepair—in my very own cul-de-sac). He and my sis will remodel beautifully the home in the cul-de-sac, increasing the value of my own home, all the while enjoying immensely the proximity to me, and strangely enough ultimately donating the home directly behind to me.

A vision of St. George with the kids: the road less traveled

Last year Alison and I went to St George and, as often happens, I found myself thinking the kids would love this hike or activity. So then and there we decided we'd bring them with next year. And amazingly enough we did--10 years quicker than it took me to get my kids to San Francisco after a similar experience there. I guess St George is a little cheaper.

First up: the rocks 2 minutes, just north of St George where you can sit...

or learn climbing skills from an inexpert...

"There are two ways up boys--the wimpy bridge thing or straight up."

or take shadow pictures...

or, not captured in photos, watch very scared people learning to rappel off the biggest square looking rock or look down on St George.

Next stop: Mt biking for some, hiking and complaining for others, at Gooseberry Mesa,
some of the best little known mt biking in the state. The practice loop is excellent for those learning to mt bike and/or one's first experience with slick rock:

It's hard to explain how amazingly cool it was to get Seth, my oldest, out on the slick rock. I've taken him mt biking several times but mt biking in Davis County is pretty boring and requires a lot of technical skill and strength. Very satisfying to see him enjoy himself. Hopefully an experience which will lead to many more mt biking trips.

Youngest son wasn't quite ready to bike the slick rock, but he ran alongside for a couple of miles.

Hana wasn't nearly excited by this slick rock wonderland.

Of course she didn't have a bike nor the skills to tackle it. I thought I'd do better with the gender-specific activities, but I've hit many rocky and unpredictable ascents--Hana has barely touched the bike we bought for her and tends to want to watch Hannah Montana instead. Keep offering opportunities, right? She did ride Seth's bike down the jeep trail which intersects the mesa. And find other stuff we can do together--we just watched A Room with a View, which I couldn't get my oldest son to even look at.

Youngest son finally got some biking in on the way out on the dirt road.

He was so cute as he would pull up on his handlebars whenever we crossed small patches of slick rock on the road--maybe next year he will be ready for slick rock 101.

BTW Gooseberry is a great little find between St George and Zion's (and it's free) but it's a bit of a bumpy, washboard road. Turns out two brothers laid out the trails and got the National Forest service to sign on; sometimes the little guy does win.

Next stop: the often overshadowed, by Zion's, Arches, and Bryce, Snow Canyon State park just north west of St. George.

Here's Seth climbing the petrified sand dunes:

more petrified sand dune climbing:

Daughter had (mostly) a better time on this hike:

And everyone enjoyed the lava tube caves--a break from the heat, adventurous, and a bit creepy especially since we saw the new Indiana Jones movie the night before:

If you do some hiking in Snow Canyon, I highly recommend the Butterfly trail which will connect you to the lava tube trail (take a left here) and just 20 yards later you will be at the biggest lava tube/cave.

***

Well, as you can tell I'm quite satisfied with myself--it's rare in life, at least mine, to have a vision of something and then actually, pretty much (note earlier post on eating at JB's), pull it off. On the way home, I brainstormed some other visions I'd like to actualize with the kids, preferably before the oldest graduates high school:

Colorado Springs (including Pikes Peak)
the Grand Canyon
Mesa Verde
Shakespeare Festival (the more cerebral is good too)
Mt Timpanogas

It's cliche, but wow there's so much I want to do and so little time to do it. I just can't believe that I've never made it up Mt Timp again since my initial summit in 94--where in the world did those 14 years go???

My meditation image for the day.

Crab Spider capturing a bee on yellow flower

p.s. I showed this image to my 7 yr old son, leading him through the image, like a good teacher, with questions (what do you see? what else? are you sure?) Once he could discern the spider and its intentions, he remarked "it's like playing hide-go-seek, except different."

Never, even if....

NEVER, even if the kids or other car occupants are screaming, even if you feel you can't go on, even if your head aches and your gut is growling, even if you've driven down the same street 12 times, even if your spouse threatens divorce, even if the meter's on empty, even if you may inadvertently scream: "where @$*&# do you want to eat then??", even if you have hit the wall, even if you may never go on a vacation again, even if every restaurant is closed because it's Sunday and only Mormons live in that town, NEVER EVER settle for the JB's off Bluff Street in St George.

I've never paid for worse food and service in my life--the beets were a light orchid purple, the lettuce wilted, each dressing and liquidy salad had a 1/4 inch film AND never was a refill on water offered even though we were the only other table.

Lesson learned: do not, as I often do on vacations, get so focused on eating at unique restaurants unattainable at home that one loses sight of the bigger picture--purchasing edible food which leads to sustenance. If you can't find unique and interesting, move onto reliable, rather than settling for whatever happens to be in front of you at the brink of utter frustration.

Consider yourselves warned.