New Kid Photos

A rare moment with Adam and Toby together. I'll scan Toby's fundraising card proofs on Monday and post them. 

Adam in the dorm. 

This beats sitting at a computer all day

I'm in a bored-with-work mood today, as I make major revisions to memos I wrote up two weeks ago in order to conform with unanticipated changes in the law that occurred while I was away. Grrr! So, in my bored state, I go to the website for the Tuscan villa owned by one of my law school roommates, and I see this photo, which appears to show that old roommate standing next to his in-ground swimming pool. Not that I'm envious or anything like that. No, not me.

In other news, we're planning to see our boys this weekend; I'm very much looking forward to that. Their regular day school program starts on Monday, and they both like attending school. 

Interesting twist on Harry Potter

From Peter Lambert of the TLS:

HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE

J. K. Rowling

607pp. | Bloomsbury. £16.99. | 0 7475 8108

It is not easy being an adult Harry Potter fan. All around us are detractors, laughing at our obsession, questioning our intellectual maturity, forcing us to conceal hardback books behind carefully spread pages of the TLS. But the derision of our peers is nothing compared to the torture that J. K. Rowling is now putting us through. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, the penultimate book in a series of seven, may be the most gripping yet, but it is also deeply distressing. Harry and his friends are fighting a losing battle against the evil Lord Voldemort, the death count is high, and Hogwarts Academy is awash with paranoia. As we follow the teenage wizard through a year of struggle and eventual tragedy, it becomes clear that Rowling is no longer interested in nurturing our dreams, but in stamping on them.

There was a time when Harry Potter was all about escapism: an unloved orphan turned out to be a glorified messiah, and had some terrific adventures in the process. This was uncut fantasy; for those who could stomach it, reading Rowling’s first book was, in Stephen Fry’s words, “like swimming in chocolate”. Only in retrospect do we realize this was part of a master plan: that the first, sugar-coated hit would lead to a lifetime of troubled addiction. Who would have guessed, before the arrival of Volume Four, that a Harry Potter novel might end not in resolution but in turmoil? Who would have believed, before Book Five, that a major character could be killed? Rowling’s genius has turned out to be her ability to manipulate readers over the course of an entire series: to set up a craving for escapism which, with increasing resolve, she refuses to satisfy.

What hurts most is the casual erosion of the customs and routines that once made Hogwarts such a delightful place to visit. The everyday rituals of magical existence have always been important – buying school books in Diagon Alley, drinking Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks – and part of the pleasure for readers is seeing these rituals happily revisited from book to book. Not so, however, in Half-Blood Prince. Quidditch is now fraught with danger, the house cup competition all but forgotten; even Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour is closed for business. A trip on the Hogwarts Express, once a perfect opportunity to swap chocolate frogs and catch up on some wizard chess, now ends with Harry’s nose shattering, “blood spurting everywhere”, as he is mercilessly kicked in the face.

And this is before anyone dies. Readers have now come to expect one important mortality per novel: it is a tribute to Rowling’s skills as a mystery writer that death can still surprise us here. The book’s blurb describes the writer as
possessing a “flair that is magical”; in fact, Rowling is not so much a magician as a muggle-conjurer, using one hand to dazzle us with red herrings, decoys and bluffs, while the other discreetly removes our wristwatch. Six books in, one might think readers would be wise to her tricks, but again, Rowling plays our familiarity to her advantage: we know that a twist is coming, she knows we know a twist is coming – and so the twist doesn’t come. Yet. It would be a crime worthy of the Dementor’s Kiss to unveil the identity of her latest surprise victim: let us simply state that there is something perversely cruel about a writer who begins her story with an orphan finding a surrogate family, then spends five books killing this new family off. No one is safe from Rowling’s merciless pen: one of the reasons fans are now desperate for Book Seven is the suspicion that she might use it to kill Harry, or, worse still, have him survive without any living friends.

As a series writer, J. K. Rowling is learning from previous mistakes: where the last two Potters were in danger of becoming flabby, this one feels lean; the story-telling is efficient. And the writer’s weakness for expository dialogue – in which large amounts of back-story are explained to Harry – is less in evidence here; Rowling is using new, inventive (and, naturally, magical) means to dramatize information. This is a children’s writer at the height of her
sadistic powers. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince is taut, witty, effortlessly engaging, and very, very nasty. How we yearn for more.

I tend to agree that the Potter novels have become darker and less childlike. However, her main characters are older teenagers now, and they are addressing serious life issues that many teenagers are made to face in real life. The development of the kids in the novels (except for Malfoy, who exists only as a foil for Harry) is one of the things I most appreciate about Rowling's writing. Moreover, Harry Potter's entire life has been filled with tragedy, from the death of his parents and his banishment to the Dursley's cabinet under the stairs in "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone," right on up through the shocking event at the end of "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince."

Like Peter Lambert, I yearn for more.

Sleepy Randy

I spent last night at the sleep clinic of the local hospital.  I arrived at 8 p.m., and the technician explained everything and hooked me up with a couple dozen wires. They were able to detect any movement of my face, mouth, arms, neck, or legs, and they could detect if and when I stopped breathing.  The new clinic facility was opened about 10 days ago, so the bed was new and very comfortable.  I fell asleep shortly before 9 p.m., lying square on my back.  I always sleep face-down, so sleeping on my back is a challenge.  I woke up briefly at 5:20 a.m, then slept until 7:00 a.m.  I thought I would probably need to stay for some further testing today, as I had experienced my best night's sleep in months.  However, the doctor came in around 7:30 and said, "well, it was pretty miserable last night."  I definitely have sleep apnea, and it gets worse the deeper my sleep gets.  Also, I evidently grind my teeth during apnea episodes before I begin breathing again.  The next step is to be put on a CPAP machine, which uses air pressure to keep the throat open at night.

Also last night, I dreamt that I was hiding out with the "Scarface" version of Al Pacino.  We were being hunted by somebody, either the cops or other drug lords, I can't remember. Also, I had a dream where I lost a tooth. Supposedly, losing teeth reflects anxiety.

Rambling Randy

Shoshone Falls, on the Snake River near Twin Falls, Idaho. I'm glad we made this little detour from Interstate 84. 

The obligatory turista photo. 

The Snake River Canyon at Twin Falls, Idaho. I remember when Evel Kneivel attempted to jump this canyon on a motorcycle. Good thing he had a chute on that thing. 

From the road

I'm coming to you from Boise, Idaho, today, goofing off online while DW is out with her old missionary companion. I have a couple of hours alone in the motel, so I thought I'd reflect on my Western vacation thus far.

This has been a different kind of vacation for me, with a focus on people and relationships instead of on events and activities. I usually try to cram in as much outdoor activity as I can when I'm out here, but not this time. We landed in Salt Lake City on Tuesday and went from the airport to dinner with an online friend known as Working Father. It was great getting to meet in person someone I've chatted with for a couple or three years.

From there, we drove south to Mapleton, Utah, to spend the night with DW's sister and BIL. I met their children for the first time. Their 3 year old son greeted me with a cougar growl and claws, and we played hard pretty much from then until we left. It was a lot like playing with my own boys.

Then it was north to the Chuck-a-Rama restaurant in Salt Lake City for a family dinner. I got a little grumpy on the way up, and as we pulled into the driveway of the place, I muttered "fuck-a-rama" to DW. Minutes later, brother-in-law Bill came in and said, "I don't know how they stay in place with that name." Now, I realize that the f-bomb offends Bill, so either he has telepathic insight into my mind or great minds think alike. I don't know which.

On Wednesday, DW's oldest sister drove up to Logan with her daughters, one of whom has Leukemia. DW and I took the other daughter to a movie, then I fell into a fishing expedition with the ailing daughter. She was so determined that she had fashioned fishing gear from a stick, a shoelace, and a safety pin. We came very close to catching a small fish in the creek that runs behind the local golf course. It was fun, and it was nice to see that family again.

Wednesday night, brother-in-law Bill came in with his law school orientation materials. It looks like the U. of Utah does an excellent job prepping its law students. Anyhow, we--and my FIL--spoke for quite a while about law school.

Thursday morning, DW and I met another cyberfriend sometimes known as Max Doubt. Neither of us knew what the other looked like, so we sat in the coffee shop looking right at each other until I walked towards the door to go have another look outside and MD called my name.

This morning, we drove to Boise, and I discovered along the way that a rental Ford Focus does quite nicely cruising at 95 mph. There's no reason not to drive that fast on that stretch of road. We had a nice lunch with DW's missionary companion, and now I'm here.

All along, we've spent some good, quality time with the in-laws. Anyhow, by my standards, this is a pretty intense focus on people and relationships. No hikes; not even a drive up Logan Canyon. We almost did that yesterday in FIL's new Toyota Prius (I love that car!), but there was too much construction for us to bother.

With an upcoming trip in the works, I've been thinking about Utah a bit. The trail to Naomi Peak, in the Bear River Mountains above Logan, Utah, is a nice, relatively easy hike--or it was when I was in better shape, anyway. Naomi Peak is at 9,980 feet elevation, providing a fabulous view of Cache Valley, which is at around 4,700 feet. The first time I hiked up there, I trudged through deep snow in July. I'm such a flatlander that I kept asking myself what those red splotches were in the snow. It finally dawned on me that there are bears and other carnivorous animals running around up there.  

Six Feet Under, heading six feet under

I was watching "The 4400" (great show, btw) last night, so I didn't see "Six Feet Under." I'll watch it tonight, but I read about it on Television Without Pity, and all I can say is wow! I don't want to be a spoiler--unless Phoebe and Voodew have already seen it--but I will say that I didn't see it coming, especially with three episodes remaining. The show has been quite good this season, with more focused storylines and less of Nate, David, and Claire having sex with everybody they make eye contact with. 

Sorry, no photos

One of my gentle readers suggested that I might want to post photos of my recent visit to the state in which I was born. Alas, I didn't take a camera with me, and any photos I would have taken would be painfully boring to view. I'll take the camera to Utah tomorrow; I hope that the photos from there will be worthy of viewing.

Dive Texas

I spent the better part of today at the Athens Scuba Park, about 80 miles from my hotel. I teamed up with a father and son who go there frequently, and into the water we went. The visibility was awful--maybe 10 feet or so--and the dad led us around in circles for a while. He kept cursing his performance. On the second dive, I was in charge, because I had a compass. Alas, my compass skills are a bit rusty, and I started out trusting my sense of direction over my instruments. However, it didn't take long for me to get us headed in the general direction of the sunken airplane we wanted to look at. We swam and swam and swam, but couldn't find the airplane. I intuitively swam in the deepest parts of the lake, and I couldn't help but tell myself, "it's a freaking airplane! How can I not see it?" I surfaced, and the father and son were about 50 yards away, in about 20 feet of water. "I'm standing on the airplane," said the father. Anyhow, it was fun overall. Technically speaking, I even did some wreck diving when I swam through the airplane and an old Dallas city bus. I was surprised that there were no fish there, but evidently the natural chemical composition of the water discourages most forms of aquatic life.

Edited to add: On the way to Athens yesterday, I drove through Seagoville, Texas. At the top of one of the exit ramps is a large sign saying "Welcome to Seagoville: City of Opportunity." Across the field behind the sign is a federal prison. Apparently the local Chamber of Commerce has a cynical sense of humor.

Chaos in America

Yesterday's keynote address at the Conference of Appellate Staff Attorneys was most excellent. The speaker began by setting out two rules of chaos theory, which he argues are universally applicable. First, every successful individual, organization, or society must develop a mechanism to mediate between order and regularity on the one hand and chaos and creativity on the other. Second, the success of the individual, organization, or society can be measured by the success of that mechanism, particularly in the areas of commerce, government, and ideas. Fortunately for Americans, the United States collectively has been more successful than most societies in all three areas.

I suppose that those of us who have experienced/are experiencing midlife crisis issues are seeing a swing from order to chaos, and perhaps need to tweak the mediating mechanism a bit. I also thought a bit about American corporate structures, and how they have moved from the top-down military-based model of post-war America to the flatter, more dynamic organizations that are internationally competitive. But to me, the more interesting question was how this chaos model might apply to religion in America. Could some established religious organizations be in trouble because they have effectively eliminated chaos and creativity, or might they flourish because they offer people order and structure in times of social chaos and creativity? Could the disaffection of some formerly religious people be, at its most basic, an expression of a preference for creativity and chaos, combined with a recognition that such cannot be mediated with the order and structure of the organization in question? I'm just saying.

Randy in Exile

I'm reporting from Irving, Texas, this evening, where I am attending a professional conference. I discovered at the N.O. International Airport this morning that guys carrying hard hats and wearing steel-toes boots get the third degree from the screeners, while guys wearing Birkenstocks, cargo shorts, t-shirts, and Mexican cowboy hats are allowed to breeze right past the security checkpoint. Thus attired, I encountered three of my coworkers at the gate, all of whom were somewhat more respectably dressed. I came dressed for Texas in July, cowboy hat and all.

Angels in Alexandria

DW and I returned from Alexandria, Louisiana, this morning, after a nice visit with Toby and Adam. Adam has decided that he is going to learn how to swim, and he had DW pulling him around the motel pool, then dropping him in the water so he could locomote by himself. He needs to learn how to breathe in the water, and needs to keep his body more stiff, but I'll be darned if he isn't getting the stroking and kicking down. This is a child whose estmated functional age equivalency is around 15-18 months, and a child who is entirely nonverbal. DW and I were thrilled to see him focused and working towards a goal that is a pretty common one for kids his age. Toby, meanwhile, had me running between the pool and the elevator. In the water, he would shout "Toh-BEE!" or "Ah-MAN!" (Adam) when he wanted to be thrown into the air. He got a little too curious about the interior of the elevator, and he found himself shoved into it. I really thought he wanted to ride in it. I was wrong. Anyway, we all had fun.

Joseph, where art thou?

So I'm at a church barbeque in someone's back yard. We're seated at picnic tables, and the yard is surrounded by a cedar fence. However, we are all 1840s Mormons, and Joseph Smith is in attendance.

A carload of 1840s rednecks pulls up, shouting about how they're "gonna git" Joseph Smith. We Real Men in the back yard, including Smith, decide on our strategy for fighting off the attacker, and we all line up, ready to rumble. Suddenly, Smith says something about needing to look behind the gate for other attackers. He opens the gate, goes through, closes it behind him, and disappears.

The rednecks enter from the other side of the yard, and the fight begins. I have the teenage son of Papa Redneck in a headlock, and he won't stop biting and thrashing, no matter what I do. I conk his head into the fence repeatedly, and he still won't stop. I advise him that he probably has a psychiatric disorder, and that I know a doctor who can help him. Next thing I know, I'm out front looking for Joseph Smith as if he's a lost puppy or something. 

Afterlife, anybody?

Mama, take this badge off of me,
I can't use it anymore.
It's gettin' dark, too dark to see,
I feel like I'm knockin' on heaven's door.

--Eric Clapton & Bob Dylan, "Knockin' on Heaven's Door"

Last night, DW asked me out of the clear blue whether I believe in life after death. I responded that I honestly haven't thought much about it; that I like to believe that there is some kind of afterlife, but that I don't really know; and that I have no idea what it's like. Honestly, this isn't a topic I gave any thought to when I was an active church-goer. I took a pragmatic view of the issue--if I had faith and lived a good life as a good person, then things would take care of themselves.

The various Christian traditions have differing ideas about the nature of the afterlife and heaven, but at least they offer a great degree of certainty. Mormonism, with which I am the most familiar, claims that there are three degrees of heaven, and that we are assigned to one level or another based on faith and, especially, works during mortality. My favorite things about Mormon heaven are that families are kept together there (unless, of course, they're on different levels, then I have no idea how that would work) and that my kids will be at the top of the ladder, so to speak, because they cannot be held accountable for their actions in the same way that most of us can be. Also--and I don't know how doctrinal this is--my kids will no longer be disabled. I like that.

Zen, as I understand it, allows for differing beliefs on the afterlife, but purists probably would argue that the body dies and the life-force within the body remains as part of the great life-force that animates everything in the universe. Tibetan Buddhists generally believe in reincarnation, with one's form in the next life being based on actions in this life.

Once again, I feel embarassed to say that I don't know enough about Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, or other traditions to say anything about their views of the afterlife.

Do any of you, my gentle readers, have any thoughts on this topic?

More parental doting

My son Toby will be a celebrity in Central Louisiana later this year. A local firm is underwriting Christmas cards that will feature one of Toby's drawings on the front and his photo on the back. The firm will send cards out to its customers, and the school will have beaucoup boxes to sell. Once I know more, I'll post an e-mail address so I can arrange to send cards to all my cyberpeeps.

Killing Pablo

This weekend, I'm reading Mark Bowden's "Killing Pablo," which I picked up for $1.99 yesterday while DW was purchasing the new Harry Potter book. We tend to focus on the Middle East when we think of terrorism, but Pablo Escobar used terrorism to hold a modern state of nearly 30,000,000 people hostage, and he nearly destroyed the legal system and government of Colombia in his heyday. Bowden focuses on the hunt for Escobar by Colombian and U.S. elite forces, who hunted the narco-terrorist down while vigilantes--likely acting on intelligence supplied by the Colombian forces, and quite possibly in cahoots with the Cali cartel--methodically killed off and/or terrorized Escobar's top-level subordinates, effectively destroying the Medellin cartel. The book ends with the reflections of a DEA agent who was involved in the hunt for Pablo. The agent expressed mixed feelings, and hoped that the message of the manhunt was not "the ends justify the means."

Bowden places Pablo Escobar in the context of Colombia's long history of political violence (the 1950s, for example, are called simply "la violencia"), and also in the context of the insatiable hunger of Americans for cocaine. It was the first Bush Administration's decision to go against the source of that cocaine and the Colombian government's eventual realization that the country could not have peace while Escobar was alive that led to the manhunt that everybody involved knew would end in Pablo's death. To the Americans, the hunt for Escobar was part of the futile "War on Drugs"; to the Colombians, it was part of a struggle for control of the country. A great read for anybody interested in Latin America and/or organized crime.  

Numerologically certified

Underwater

I spent a couple of hours this afternoon at Harry's Dive Shop. They have their own pool there, and I needed to make sure that my gear doesn't need to be serviced so I can attempt to dive in Texas in a couple of weeks. Everything worked just fine, despite having sat in my closet for a couple of years. I took my Poseidon regulator into the water for the first time and loved it. Next stop, Palancar Reef. Someday, I hope.

Sexual neurosis

This week's "Times Literary Supplement" reviews a work labeled "American Sexual Character: Sex, Gender, and National Identity in the Kinsey Reports," by Miriam G. Reumann. As an American who rather likes sex, this was the first piece I read.

The reviewer opens:

One of the oddest contradictions, in a country riven by contradictions, is how the United States--the world's most powerful and confident nation--is at the same time the most insecure, the most anxious, the most terrified of national collapse. One manifestation of this is an obsession with that slippery and quite possibly non-existent thing, national character.

Reumann examines the shocked reactions in 1950s America to Kinsey's reports about male and female sexuality. Evidently, the report on womens' sex lives, and Kinsey's sections regarding homosexuality, scandalized the cultural and political powers that be in our country. According to the reviewer, Reumann believes that she can get a grip on Americans' perceptions of our national character by examining those reactions:

"[I]t is axiomatic then (as it is now) that American sexual character was national character. Americans could be defined by what they did sexually. From this it followed that private sexual acts were in fact political acts.

There is a suggestion in the review that we as a collective have been concerned about declining masculinity (at least in the past), and the reviewer specualtes that we are anxious about sexual issues because we are a nation of immigrants and not a homogeneous people; therefore, we have deep-rooted insecurities about cohering as a nation. The reviewer goes on to say (correctly) that the 1950s were a period of intense anxiety due to the Cold War, changes being brought about in society due to our sudden wealth, and early feminism. Also, the reviewer notes, sex-related issues remain as political issues here. However, the reviewer concludes that:

The fact is there doesn't seem to be any real connection between sex and politics, or "national character" or the strength of a nation, or any of the other issues raised by the voluminous material gathered here. Certainly no cogent argument for this is provided.

All very interesting. I've not read the book, and I probably won't, but it seems a stretch to argue that American national character is defined by sexual character. How is "national character" defined, and who defines it? I think we Americans have much more flexibility on these questions than the citizens of, say, Japan or the U.K., where the relative homomgeneity of the populations and the much longer national histories deeply influence the answers. One of the neat things about being an American, in my opinion, is that each of us can see something slightly different when we view the stars and stripes. On the one hand, people like James Dobson and Boyd K. Packer might agree with the hypothesis of the book, as they argue that gay marriage is an offense to God that will destroy the institution of marriage and that society will crumble as a result. In that respect, our national character is tied up with our personal sexual behavior from a largely religious perspective. On the other hand, people of a more liberal bent could view America's history as one of gradual inclusion and generosity--as an imperfect society that adapts to changing circumstances and cultural norms. In that view, our national character really isn't tied to sexual behavior at all.

The United States of America. Energetic, contradictory, neurotic, powerful, and the place I call home. Gotta love it.

Latter-day dreaming

Last night I dreamed that DW and I took the kids to a social event at our local LDS chapel. We saw quite a few people we've known from the local LDS community over the years. However, I was wary of these people, most of whom I haven't seen in years. They were just a bit too friendly to us--and too bright, shiny, and happy--and it totally creeped me out. I put DW and the kids into the car. A crowd of Mormons surrounded the car and wouldn't let us out of the parking lot. I seem to recall the leader of the group saying that they wanted our kids.

Next thing I know, I'm very agitated because the LDS group has trashed a house DW and I are renting. Somehow, the group is having a social function at the house, and nobody gives a hoot about cleaning up after themselves (sadly, this is all-too-common, and not just among Mormons). I'm annoyed because the house will need to be cleaned before we can leave and get away from these people.

Finally, I load the family into the car, which happens to be a mid-90s Chevrolet Corsica with bad brakes. We used to own a 1995 Chevy Corsica with bad brakes, so that's probably no coincidence. I had just purchased the car without test-driving it or anything, just so we could drive off. The brakes wouldn't stop the car, and not even the emergency brake was of much use. I recall being able to coast to a stop a couple of times.

This dream must have been pretty intense, because DW shook me and told me that I was screaming. It was like we were being kidnapped by a cult or something, and, truth be told, I can't think of any Mormons around here--or very many at all--who behave like wacko cult fanatics (I'm sure there are some; I just don't know any). In any event, the dream probably says more about me than it does about them. Just what, I don't know. 

Pottermania once again

I'm looking forward to reading "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" after DW gets done with it, which should be about two days after the book goes on sale. I'm a complete muggle, but I do like reading about how the magic half lives. 

Mens Rea

My current state of mind. I'll write a little more about it on Monday morning.

Okay, I'm back. Anyway, I'm in a state in which I can't seem to get on-balance. I continue to be thrown out of whack by unusual dreams, and I don't sleep well in the first place. Adam's sadness at returning to school last week still haunts me, and makes me wonder whether I really did enough to make that placement unnecessary. I didn't exercise at all last week, and I haven't had any remotely poetic inspiration in months. Finally, our weather the past couple of weeks has created some uncertainty for everybody in the area. It's probably just a spell of the blues, with a little uncertainty thrown in. I hate uncertainty--I tend to like order and predictability. Kind of odd for someone who practices Zen, but not the least bit odd for a middle-aged husband and father of my socio-economic background.  

Tropical weather

Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, and germens spill at once,
That make ingrateful man!

--King Lear

Tropical Storm Cindy passed through our area early this morning, and we're fortunate that it did very little damage. Hurricane Dennis may or may not come here in a few days, but until then, I'll enjoy the blue skies I see from my window right now.

Fourth of July weekend at my house.

Toby sprays a fire ant mound I didn't know was there as Adam fishes Thomas cars from the bottom of the pool.

I experienced quite a few highs and lows in a short period this past weekend. I had big fun playing with my boys, working with Toby on hand-over-hand drawing and writing, and putting the kids to sleep at night. The look of pure, innocent bliss on their faces as they fall asleep is something to treasure. On the other hand, I had a bloody lip from being hit with a die-cast Thomas engine after I took a turn in the car that Toby didn't want to take. Also, I had a hilariously catastrophic trip to Target on Saturday night. The boys and I got to the cash register (Adam in the cart; Toby on foot) when I noticed that my debit card wasn't in my wallet and that I didn't have sufficient cash. Toby and Adam both attacked me as I dragged them from the store as I heard murmuring about us from the people behind us in line. I remembered that the store has an ATM, so I dragged my tantruming boys back inside, but the ATM didn't work! By this point, Toby was tantruming so wildly that Adam was laughing at him, and I was laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation.

The low point for me came yesterday, when I had to hand Adam to his trainer at St. Mary's. I felt as low as I've felt about anything in my entire life, and I still feel about one inch tall. My logical side realizes that my family needs this arrangement right now, but my less rational side still asks, "what kind of shitty parent lets his kids be raised by other people?" I wouldn't wish that feeling on my worst enemy, even if I had a worst enemy. 

Adam and I were on one end of the teeter-totter and Toby was on the other end. The boys enjoy the rough version, where I slam my butt onto the ground and fling them into the air. 

Adam has an idea how to get his brother off of the coveted first swing. A few seconds later, Toby caught a face full of pine bark and dirt. 

Dream dictatorship

Man, oh, man! I had a hilarious dream last night. It starts with a televised expose of North Korea's secret production of minivans for the automotive industry. I see Dodges, Fords, and Toyotas trucking out of a North Korean factory, destined for sale in the U.S.A. Next thing I know, I'm an undercover agent in North Korea, evidently to get the lowdown on Kim's Caravan-craving cadre of card-carrying Communist comrades. Why the U.S. government would send an ivory-skinned, blue-eyed Caucasian undercover among Koreans is a question for another day, I suppose. Anyway, I'm living in a dingy, concrete-floored hovel with another agent--who, fortunately for me, is Korean. Unfortunately, he also happens to be a North Korean intelligence officer. Next thing I know, my entire ring of acquaintances is sitting in an opulent, tastefully furnished room in what must be a government building. We are interrogated politely by my roommate/mole, who it turns out has developed quite a taste for decadent, bourgeois, American culture. At some point, I'm left alone in a room, and I make my escape via the window. I quickely pull myself up on a roof overhang (this is ridiculous for anybody who has seen my gut IRL), and start running along, and climbing on, the various roofs of an enormous, Asian-style building that I shall call the Kim Il Sung Memorial Axis of Evil Pagoda. So I'm hopping along over KISMAEP with North Korean agents chasing me. Suddenly, I'm among a large throng of people pouring out of what seemed like a stadium attached to KISMAEP, into safety (were they going across the DMZ? I dunno). I realize that DW is back in the KISMAEP, which is kind of strange, as she was not present in the dream at all until that point. I head back into KISMAEP, knowing that I'm very likely to be taken prisoner by that Caravan-craving cadre of card-carrying Communist comrades. End of dream.  

Will I get wet?

My boss is sending me to a week-long conference in Irving, Texas, next month. I'm trying to find something to do during my free day during the conference. It turns out that there are a few scuba parks in North Texas, so maybe I'll go diving. The lake in the picture is stocked with fish and plant life, and the owners have constructed platforms and placed objects underwater to make it interesting. Hopefully I can get wet. 

Meta-blogging at MIT

To sleep, perchance to dream.

I went to the sleep clinic at the hospital here in Northshore Paradise today. I've had mild sleep apnea for the past couple of years, but it's become significantly worse in recent months, with frequent waking and really loud snoring (according to DW, anyway). I'm scheduled for an overnight sleep study on the night after DW and I return from Utah in August. I sure hope I don't have one of those wild dreams of mine that night. That might set off alarms all over the place.

Daily Zen

Wherever and whenever
The mind is found
Attached to anything,
Make haste to detach
Yourself from it.
When you tarry for
Any length of time
It will turn again into
Your old home town.

- Daito Kokushi (1282-1334)

I suppose it depends on how much you like your old hometown. Me, I'd rather be in New York City.

My kid the artiste

My son Toby loves to scribble with pens and pencils. I think he really wants to be able to draw free-hand pictures. He gets frustrated when I work hand-over-hand with him, so I guess he just wants to do things his way, just like Frank Sinatra. 

Toby's Blue Period. 

Ride 'em, cowboy!

Adam loves to saddle up and ride! 

Parental bragging

We viewed the new informational video for the St. Mary's Training School this morning, a video that briefly features Toby and Adam. If I can figure out how to go about uploading the DVD, I'll post a clip.

I busted a (rather large) gut last night watching Adam eat pizza. He takes the slice, turns it point-down and upside down, puts his mouth underneath, and takes bites off the end. When it gets too wide, he puts it onto his plate, takes another piece, and repeats the process. He ends up with a pile of pizza on his plate, which he begins to nibble at. He squeezes the mass, evidently to form it into something, or maybe just for fun. He continues eating until everything is a complete mess. Most parents would intervene to correct his table manners; I was too busy laughing out loud.

Cyber Toby

It's the same old Blue's Clues video, but it's on the computer! Woo-hoo!

We head back up to Alexandria tomorrow. DW and I are committed to helping out with the St. Mary's trainer appreciation day on Tuesday. We'll duck out early and spend a couple of hours with Adam before we come back here Tuesday night. 

Water baby

Toby got a little too wet today. We drove up to Alexandria via Natchez, Mississippi, this morning, to try out our possible hurricane evacuation route. It added almost 1.5 hours to a 3.5 hour drive. However, we figure we'll bypass the worst traffic that way, should we decide to head north and west during the next evacuation. 

Office picking

Our office is moving into a much larger space next year, and today the office manager took the first group to begin the "office selection process." I think that's what she called it, anyway. I've had a window office since 1991, but quite a few of our attorneys are cooped up all day without any natural light. Everybody will have a window office in the new place--even Craig would have one, were he still around, though he no doubt has a corner office with walnut paneling by now. I had hoped that the other folks in my group wouldn't notice the office way in back, which wasn't even marked as a supervisory office on our little maps. Unfortunately, everybody noticed it and wanted it. I'm number 7 or so on the seniority list, so I won't be moving into that office. Still, there were two other very decent senior citizen offices at the back of the building, and I may stand a good chance of getting one of them. The back of the building is secluded, and the view from there appeals to me. I just need to convince the people ahead of me in line that they want views of the courthouse and the park, and that the views from the back are hideous.

Physiology of religion

I picked up the recent issue of "Discover" magazine at Target the other day, mindful of recent conversations with DW and coworkers about how woefully ignorant all of us are about scientific issues. I read an article about developments in the study of out-of-body experiences, near-death experiences, religious experiences, and brain physiology. The author theorized that these experiences exist on a spectrum, and that different parts of the cerebrum are implicated. Of particular interest to Zen practitioners, brain scans reveal that activity in the parietal lobe--which is associated with movement, orientation, recognition, and perception of stimuli--slows dramatically during meditation. The individual's sense of boundaries and separation from the rest of the world is controlled by the parietal lobe, and the senses of boundaries and separation break down during meditation, allowing the practitioner to feel connected to everything and everybody. People who have experienced out-of-body and near-death experiences have reported the same feelings. Also, a brain scan of a monastic engaged in lengthy prayer indicated the same slowing of activity in the parietal lobe, so people who pray extensively can have the same kind of sensations.

The Discover article used a brain scan to show that activity in the frontal lobe-- associated with reasoning, planning, parts of speech, movement, emotions, and problem solving--also decreased during the experiences being studied. However, a Time magazine article from a couple of years ago used a brain scan of a Tibetan monk to show just the opposite result. Both could be right, I suppose. As I understand it, the Tibetans focus intently on an object or topic during meditation, while we Zen types focus only on breathing and posture.

Finally, the right temporal lobe--which is usually associated with perception and recognition of auditory stimuli, memory, and speech--appears to be closely linked with religious experiences generally. Back in the 1950s, a neurologist discovered that patients with right temporal lobe epilepsy appeared to have religiously based delusions associated with their seizures. Brain scan imagery apparently confirms that activity in the right temporal lobe picks up during ecstatic and mystical religious experiences. A couple of neurologists wrote a book about this in 2002, titled "Why God Won't Go Away." A friend directed me to that book a couple of years ago, arguing that religion is bogus because it has a neurological origin. However, it seems to me that a neurological explanation of these experiences is perfectly compatible with the theologies I'm familiar with. Zen and Buddhism, of course, focus on the mind, so those are not problmatic from a neurological point of view. As far as Christianity is concerned, it makes sense to me that an omniscient, omnipotent creator would implant a mechanism that would lead people to seek spirituality. Unfortunately, I'm not familiar enough with other theological traditions to take a guess at how they would view these questions. Anyway, that's just my take on it; I'd be interested to hear other thoughts.

The big news in Randyland over the weekend is that I upgraded my cell phone from a very basic Nokia model to a fancy Sony/Ericsson cameraphone. Some of the buttons on my old phone were hard to press, especially the one to make and accept calls. DW and I took advantage of a buy one/get one free promotion to get the fancier phones. Cingular Wireless is doing a Star Wars III promotion, so I've got Darth Vader wallpaper and an intergallactic fighter jet ringtone. Also, we get to go see the movie for free, if I could get the dang free-ticket website to work.

Guest Post: Randy's Links - The Daily Zen

What I know about Buddhism would not fill a thimble. Just spending ten minutes at the web site The Daily Zen reinforced how broad is the scope this ancient philosophy - and yet, how simple the practice.

Simple, but not easy. Just 30 seconds into Zenbo, a cyber meditation space, and my eyelids were getting heavy. Back when I used to try and meditate, I had the same problem...I would get drowsy and then my mind would start working.

I enjoyed the Zen Legends link, which told a story of the barbarian from the west, and how he instructed a very confused emperor on what actions have merit ("Only those that exist outside the mind.") There was also a reference to the meditative nature of the tea ceremony...something Randy hasn't mentioned participating in.

The artwork is lovely; from simple flowing line drawings to detailed illustrations of cherry blossoms or a mountain journey. Just looking at some of the artwork was relaxing and peaceful...not a sensation I normally associate with web surfing.

Of course, there's stuff for sale.

The links page looks like it would lead to many interesting sites - one that intrigued me is yakrider.com, which had a link on Christianity that could make for some interesting reading. The contrast in eastern vs. western concepts of time was also intriguing.

All in all, I think this is a site I would enjoy exploring in some depth. But to do so, I think I might have to be deep!

Daily Zen

It's been a while since the DZ had anything really quotable.

Sitting on top of a boulder
The gorge stream icy cold
Quiet fun holds a special charm
Fogged-in on deserted cliffs
A fine place to rest
The sun leans and tree shadows sprawl
While I view the ground of my mind
A lotus comes out of the mud.

- Han shan

I wouldn't characterize sitting atop a cold rock as "fun." I mean, it's pretty and all, but fun? Maybe if you're rigging up your fly rod . . .

Yikes!

Complicated Pumpkin Shadow

I'm ripping off my gentle reader Kristian here, but I like this poem he quoted on his blog. The author even mentions shadows:

My senses open to this time and place
studder steps and craning necks
and we all fall about the place
this is where we came to hold hands
to wait on promises made good
by tradition and sorrows
my voice came
and the planes came
and they opened up their bays
to blue sky crying for some rain
and rain they did
I took my place
and put a little checkmark next to my heart
to remember this place for some other day
to live in the half life is exactly as it sounds
half taste
half pain
half dead
but wide awake in half light
I figure now i've lived just 18 years
as the other half of me
in mothballs and vanilla cream
patiently holds out for a little more
and fallen bells tumble her cross as bent as me
as we wave, the family and I, to what was
what was lives in the shadows
but it is the shadows of god's grace
my shadows all man made
gray and smokey turns
come along to this place where we stood
proud and happy and so understood
lest faith should follow faith
and love should follow love

Billy Corgan, "Half Light, Half Life," in "Blinking with Fists." Some of you may remember Corgan as the lead singer of The Smashing Pumpkins. The line about being wide awake in a half-light resonated strongly with me, as I have a tendency to wake up in the middle of the night and stay awake, thinking about life, the universe, and everything.

La-Z-Boy

I'm currently reading "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying," authored by Sogyal Rinpoche. The Tibetans are too focused on death for my liking, but Sogyal has some interesting insights nonetheless.  I am partiuclarly intrigued by his notions of laziness:

There are different species of laziness: Eastern and Western. The Eastern style is like the one practiced in India. It consists of hanging out all day in the sun, doing nothing, avoiding any kind of work or useful activity, drinking cups of tea, listening to Hindi film music blaring on the radio, and gossiping with friends. Western laziness is quite different. It consists of cramming our lives with compulsive activity, so there is no time at all to confront the real issues. This form of laziness lies in our failure to choose worthwhile applications for our energy.

I had two knee-jerk reactions to his definition of Western laziness: 1) Sogyal has never been to Louisiana; and 2) that definition fits me and some of my best friends perfectly. Actually, part of me craves going back to cramming my life with compulsive activity so as to avoid thinking about all the stuff I talk about on this blog. I haven't sat zazen in a couple of weeks, in part for the same reason. I'm so damn lazy.

Guest Post: Randy's Links

Randy reminds me occasionally that I have posting privileges here. I've been looking for a place I can write something that's not about me and not about Mormon stuff. I was looking at Complicated Shadows at work today (bad Ann!) and gazed upon Randy's links. I noticed an empty space where a link had been. And a topic occurred to me: reviews of Randy's Links!

Today, I review Television Without Pity. This may seem like a strange thing to review. Probably everybody on the internet is a regular reader of TWoP. However, being not much of a TV watcher, I had never perused the site before today. It's pretty cool.

Plusses: excellent writing, a huge number of shows covered. Excellent home page that sucks you in to all the current stuff.

Minuses: probably nothing wrong with the site; I'm just woefully out of touch with pop culture. What ARE these shows? Are intelligent people actually watching Brittany and Kevin just to write snarky things about it? It takes all kinds.

Also, I was very, very surprised that Law and Order is not among the shows on the "Shows" page - not even on Permanent Hiatus. I heart Law and Order. It's how I know everything I know about the law. Well, that, and Randy is my friend. But he doesn't share much.

I read the description of the last episode of this season's ER as my sample page (because it's a show I watched once upon a time) and it was wonderful. Just the right blend of fan and wisecrack.

I would love to see that turned to Law and Order.

Hippotherapy 101

My sons' school is into its summer program now, part of which consists of hippotherapy. Like I said previously, Adam seems to enjoy riding on the horse, while Toby prefers being pulled in a cart. From the American Hippotherapy Association's website:

What is Hippotherapy?

Hippotherapy is a treatment that uses the multidimensional movement of the horse; from the Greek word "hippos" which means horse. Specially trained physical, occupational and speech therapists use this medical treatment for clients who have movement dysfunction. Historically, the therapeutic benefits of the horse were recognized as early as 460 BC. The use of the horse as therapy evolved throughout Europe, the United States and Canada.

Hippotherapy uses activities on the horse that are meaningful to the client. Treatment takes place in a controlled environment where graded sensory input can elicit appropriate adaptive responses from the client. Specific riding skills are not taught (as in therapeutic riding), but rather a foundation is established to improve neurological function and sensory processing. This foundation can then be generalized to a wide range of daily activities.

Why the Horse?

The horse's walk provides sensory input through movement which is variable, rhythmic and repetitive. The resultant movement responses in the client are similar to human movement patterns of the pelvis while walking. The variability of the horse's gait enables the therapist to grade the degree of sensory input to the client, then use this movement in combination with other clinical treatments to achieve desired results. Clients respond enthusiastically to this enjoyable learning experience in a natural setting.

Physically, hippotherapy can improve balance, posture, mobility and function. Hippotherapy may also affect psychological, cognitive, behavioral and communication functions for clients of all ages. Clients who may benefit from hippotherapy can have a variety of diagnoses: examples include Cerebral Palsy, Multiple Sclerosis, Developmental Delay, Traumatic Brain Injury, Stroke, Autism and Learning or Language Disabilities. However, hippotherapy is not for every client. Each potential client must be evaluated on an individual basis by specially trained health professionals.

Those wacky dreams

I had some weird, violent dreams last night. I remember one that may actually have been two, but I recall it as a single dream. I thought I'd write it down before I forget about it.

DW and I are at home, in our current house, at 5 a.m. For some reason, we haven't gone to bed yet. DW looks out the front window, and sees a large van parked in the driveway, with its lights on. I open the door from the laundry room into the garage, which is empty--and clean! (ahem. Note to Randy--clean the dang garage) The garage door is open, and a 50-ish man and woman get out of the van and approach me. They ask if they can bring their family into the house and stay for a while. I say absolutely not, but they ignore me and bring themselves and their kids inside.

They must have stalked us before or something, because DW told me that she had been instructed to dial "211" for assistance should these people ever bother us again. I dialed "211" and reported the weird van people. Now we're in a different house--a mansion with marble floors and posh, Louis-XV-style furniture (my tastes IRL run more towards the Bauhaus, Frank Lloyd Wright, and modern Scandinavian, but this is a dream and doesn't need to make sense). I look across the sunken area of the room, which is surrounded by columns, a la Caesar's Palace (tacky, tacky, tacky!), and I see DW holding a tray of large sugar cookies studded with M&Ms for the husband of the van couple. Suddenly, I'm enraged, and I put down the phone and run at the guy. DW grabs the wife, and she and I pummel, kick, and stomp the couple into two nearly-dead bloody pulps. I recall saying something about never wanting to hear from evangelicals like them ever again. The two are still breathing, but DW and I put them into glad bags and drag them around the McMansion next door and down the hill towards the garbage cans.

This is where a second dream may have begun, but I think it's really just part two. Down by the garbage cans, another man is standing, holding a gun on me. I think it's the old guy from part one, but it looks like Claire's boyfriend from the first season of Six Feet Under. He is raging against me, and is just about to shoot me, when a shot rings out. The other guy is hit in the forehead. I turn, and I see my IRL next-door neighbor, standing on the balcony of the McMansion next door, cradling a rifle like he's Chuck Conners (the Rifleman from 60s TV). The guy standing near me is even more enraged, and he and I start firing away at each other. My neighbor also starts firing at the other guy. The other guy is shot full of holes, and I am uninjured. Still, he hasn't gone down. I recall shooting him in the head again. He turns the gone towards his own abdomen and pulls the trigger. I recall him thinking that he wanted to splatter his guts all over me. Next thing I remember, I am very calmly describing the incident to an old friend of mine.

Weird, very weird.

Adam, cowboy

Adam's trainer at the St. Mary's school told me yesterday that he has been riding horses this week--not just riding behind in a cart like Toby does, but actually sitting in the saddle. He even throws tantrums when it's someone else's turn, a sure sign that he enjoys what he's doing. Ride 'em cowboy!

I seem to have some kind of mite-bites on my behind this week. At first, I thought it was just an allergy, but DW's dermatologist directed her to sanitize our entire house as if we had kids with lice. It was probably the motel linens in Alexandria, LA, but I told DW is was those missionaries who dropped by the other day, bringing in divine pestilence along with their good cheer.