Frenzied Daddy

I often feel bad when I don’t post at least every third day; I feel like I should post at least every other day. However, most of my linked-to blogs over on the left post once a week or so and … that helps me feel better. Because I respect them, and it reminds me that it’s a personal quest to tell people whats up in my life.

So Gwenidh is working on some of the same issues I am; and she has taught me a technique I’m finding useful; delayed gratification. Not only am I trying to avoid sodapop and candy for the month of May, but I’m using Gwenidh’s “delayed gratification” technique; if I want something to put in my mouth, I’ll hold off on letting myself have it for 30-45 minutes. So … thanks Gwenidh.

Actually, she’s helping me more than I’d admit; She’s making glass beads too – and she’s a ton more ambitious. I’ve made maybe a total of 100 in my life; she’s made many many more. So she’s a prod in that (right) direction too.

One of my favorite books (in my top five) is Barry Hughart’s Bridge of Birds, a Novel of an Ancient China that Never Was. The memorable story of Number 10 Ox and his mentor, Master Li (with a slight flaw in his character) made an impression on me for dragon boat races (although that was the hard-to-find sequel, Eight Skilled Gentlemen) and for stories with familiar plots, unfamiliar twists and unusual companions.

Spirited Away has enough of that flavor, though I believe the root culture is Japanese rather than Chinese. The basic plot is that a family blunders into a magical realm, and they are hungry, and while the child tells the parents not to, the parents eat of the magical foods. And, as you might expect, the child has to redeem her parents.

This basic plot conveys none of the wonder of the movie; you meet the furnace keeper, the radish spirit, and a whole host of unusual characters. The story told is one of a young girl’s learning to be self-reliant and brave, and it’s a story of love.

I liked the movie a lot. Parts of it remind me of Brynnen; the child clinging to her mother while they hike through a tunnel, the child’s concern for others. It was a great movie, and one I’d like to own (which I don’t really say all that often.)

I had a lot I wanted to say today. I’ll probably be journalling it, sharing it, over the next week.

It was a long weekend; Brookes was off in Edmonton for a trade show, and since I don’t think it’s a good idea to take the child on the paper route in the mornings, she was at Grandmas’ for the weekend.

It was a long, quiet weekend. It was beautiful out; yesterday was 65 and sunny. But I spent most of the waking hours (what few there were) playing computer games and watching movies. The movies were I Spy,
Bourne Identity and
Spirited Away; the best of the three was Spirited Away. That’s one of the things I wanted to write about.

What I do want to say, is that weekends like that; with Brookes out of town, and the child out of the house, remind me of my childhood. I feel like a divorced dad with visitation rights; I go and have dinner, and visit with her, but always looming in the distance is the fact that I have to go “home” to deal with that stuff there. I remember my father bringing birthday presents that he never had time to wrap, and I remember teary goodbyes at the airport after Mom moved to Seattle, both leaving Anchorage and leaving Seattle.

It’s days like that, when I can see Brynnen’s want to be with me, and her excitement that I’m there for dinner, and it’s delightful. But the seperation comes up on us quickly and even though I know it’s just for the weekend, I can’t imagine what it would be like for forever.

Most of the time, I drink a toast to unwed mothers. They work hard, usually paid less than the fathers, often they have custody of the kids. I know how hard it is to be a single parent, just from the few times I have been in charge of the child (one child; more would be a disaster) for longer than a day; especially when she was two or three. Today, I drink a toast to divorced fathers as well, with a wall between themselves and a happy fatherhood. Hang in there guys; if my father can do it and have me come out mostly-ok, you’ll be just fine.

We’re driving home in the car last night, and we’re discussing the lack of television for the evening. At which point TheGirl announces that her mother is “splendorously rude.” I had to do it- I asked her where she got that amazing word; I don’t expect many six year olds to wield the word “splendorously” into a conversation.

“I made it up.”

“No, it’s a real word; I just want to know where you heard it. It’s a good word.”

“Daddy, I made it up. I used the word “splendor” and made it “splendorously.”

At this point, I’m thinking “no fricking way- my six year old just took the word splendor and made it into an adjective?! How cool is that?” I mean- how many other six year olds can do that, and then use the word in a sentence, so that her intent is clear?

Maybe a fifty-cent word deserves a quarter.

I see a lot of raccoons on the paper route. They kind of vanished for a couple of months, but they’re back. Some people call them ‘vermin’ and throw stuff at them, shout at them— I don’t. I always liked raccoons. At least more than possums. Maybe it’s the stripes, maybe it’s because they’re tool users. I don’t think they’re as playful as otters, but they’re not badgers.

Mostly, I see them crossing the street. One instance was pretty interesting, I was sauntering along the route, tossing the six papers for this one stop, and the raccoons were crossing the road. There were two bigger ones, and two smallish ones. The two larger ones were in the lead, and as I walked towards them, one of the larger ones turned towards me and positioned itself between me and the smaller ones, and hunched its back (making it seem larger, probably)… and crabwalked sideways to keep with the group. I thought it was kind of neat.

I’ve heard owls too- but no bears.

You know, if there’s one holiday I have no use for, it’s Easter. It’s one of the religion-defining holidays for most Christians, but I think my daughter expressed it best when she said;

“Daddy, I love Easter the best— you get to eat all the candy you want.”

Easter, to me, is two things; it’s the place for Christians’ rebirth cycle for their God, and it’s a time to buy candy (chocolate!) for my ladies. And the Easter Bunny comes to the house and leaves his eggs (no comment) in the yard. I’m disassociated enough from the feeling of the land that the spring-ness and the excitement of fertility just doesn’t appeal to me the way it should. And I don’t really need an excuse to buy candy, do I?

Anyway; we had a nice weekend. Brookes was home for the first Easter in quite a long time. Brynnen and I colored eggs, and the Easter Bunny brought some of his (no comment) own. Brynnen went to an egg hunt with Lisa’s girls on Saturday, my friend Rachel turned 34 finally, and our Easter Day was rain-free.

It was a stupidly productive weekend too; I got the shelves and the workbench moved out to the garage and set up, and now all that’s left is moving some stuff out of the basement and reorganizing down there, and organizing the garage. It feels weird but good having the workbench in the garage. Maybe I’ll get some work done.

There’s nothing quite like hearing from your back seat “Do you think your daughter would like to spend the night at our house tonight and then go to the egg hunt in the morning?”

Thanks, Lisa. She had a great time.

Saw Bulletproof Monk last night. It was “pretty good.” I’m not sure it was worth the $16 we paid (Brookes and I, normal showing)- definately go for a matinee, or a rental.

I giggled most of the way through it- it was breakneck and covered a lot of ground. Seann William Scott was good, but didn’t hold a candle against Chow Yung Fat- that man has some serious presence.

The movie couldn’t have taken itself seriously. It was … seriously campy. Some of the scenes with Chow Yung Fat couldn’t have been meant for him; his dignity and his presence don’t lend themselves well to slapstick. But the idea of him as an immortal monk walking through New York telling Seann William Scott “monkly platitudes” was entertaining.

I give it a B-. It was good, and I should own it, and I’ll watch it again, but it’s not way up there in the sense that Shrek was.

This entry is prompted by yesterday’s Steve Duin article in the Oregonian, Metro section. He references the site New American Century.

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