The Sibling Dynamic, Part Three

Stoic and strong, she's watchful and wary of her surroundings. She can be just as mischeivous as her brother, but hers is the quieter kind. His trouble is announced to the household by the sound of something breaking, something tumbling over and bumping into the wall. As we do that parenting thing and focus our discipline on him, she's silent in the bathroom, making a mess of the bathroom sink, turning everything into a cup or drawing on the wall.

Anyway, in the shot above, we see her standing alone and standing tall. I receive great joy as a father watching her grow up, so delicately and sweetly.



Her brother on the other hand, is all boy. Sweet and loving as well, but you have to pay a bit more attention to see that sometimes. Maybe the Tasmanian Devil was a sensitive soul as well, but you'd have to slow down the tape just to see his face. I wonder if his dad ever saw his son the way I see mine. "Taz. Can you please stop spinning for just a second?"

And there he is above, in the background. An unexpected part of the picture in a sudden flash. I want his zest for life. Where his sister will sometimes stubbornly play no role in whatever we're all doing, he'll jump forward with little to no apprehension. I wish I could remember what it was like to inhabit a body only five years old. After my thirty-eight years, I have to do a complicated series of stretches each morning or I'll be a bit off all day long. This little guy, even when he falls down, he's quick to bounce right back up and get back to the quick pace of his many adventures.



The lesson we're trying to teach him now is that saying, "I'm sorry," isn't the free pass to get out of each and every bothersome thing he does to his sister. One night, while in time out, he kept whining and repeating the same refrain: "I keep saying I'm sorry, but no one ever listens to me." Poor little victim.



These two are going to be fine. They're loved and they are listened to. Even when they think they are not. And for better or worse, they're blogged about as well.

Not Running Away...just practicing.

What I wouldn't give for just a few days of silence. I'm lucky to have what I have and would miss it terribly if separated from it for too long. But a few days of solitude and serenity would be quite welcome.



I've still got that dream of a train trip to the Pacific Northwest rich in my head. (I'd need more than a few days for that one.) Just my iPod, some books, my camera, and lots of time to think. Not much more on the agenda than that. A window seat is all I'd require.



In lieu of a train ticket, I guess I could just hitchhike and see where that takes me. But really it's those thoughts of that train ride that keep stirring in my blood. I listen to too many Tom Waits songs about trains maybe: "Train Song" from Frank's Wild Years, "Down There By The Train" from Orphans, and "Downtown Train" from Rain Dogs are always an iPod's click away for me.



I just like to wander and wonder. I'm a dreamer who may or may not ever contribute much to society in general, but doesn't mind much either way. Meanwhile, the kids are being quiet and cool and I'm enjoying some time to look around flickr and enjoy other people's pictures of their travels.



For instance:



Photo by flickr user, rickpawl. His train shots are grouped together here.



Wow.

Old Girlfriends and the Internet

I was talking to a friend last week about the Internet and its effect on high school yearbook sales. (It's killing them.) Many students aren't buying them anymore mainly because they feel that with websites like MySpace and Facebook, what's the need? All of their memories are going to be online forever, right? Of course, the answer is probably not. Who knows what lies ahead for all things technology and Internet-related, but a book well taken care of will last about as long as you want it to. And your friends can't up and decide that some pics are too geeky and simply delete them. That said, I have no desire to ever look at my high school yearbooks again (too geeky), but I guess that I'm glad that they exist somewhere.

The better part of the conversation turned to how much easier it is for us guys to be found online by curious former classmates and friends than the ladies. Those maiden names tend to go by the wayside pretty quickly for the girls. But me? I'm a Beziat forever. If you can remember how to spell it for the search engine of your choosing, this blog is likely your first stop.

We decided that there were a couple of old flames that we wouldn't mind running into again, in a platonic nature, of course. The ones with whom we parted on good terms, the ones we wished well; it'd be nice to have even the briefest of friendly exchanges with them. The thing that keeps us from Googling some of these names is that decent guys like us don't want to take a chance of coming across as crazy stalkers. And if their names have changed, then it's likely that we put more effort into the search than the ten seconds it takes to enter the name as we remembered it. I think I'd be a bit wary if someone worked much at all to contact me. Or I'd be flattered. I guess it depends on the person.

Anyway, I'll just sit back and wait for my exes to contact me, should they so choose. I won't embarrass the (mostly) nice ladies by putting their names on here, but I'll just say that of the nine former flames I can think of right this minute, I would welcome emails from six. As for the other three? Um, well, you must have me confused with someone else.

[Edit to add: Should she go about Googling herself, she wasn't exactly a girlfriend, but she was a good friend and it would be nice to see how she's doing, Amy Sullivan would be a welcome visitor to my email or comments.]

Lesson learned? Not quite, Princess.

We took the kids to the pool the other day. Ari seems to enjoy drinking the water more than anything. I thought I made progress when I scolded her a bit for it and she looked up at me and told me nonchalantly, "OK. I learned my lesson." She just sounded so proper and earnest about it. What a big girl this young daughter of mine is becoming.



Seconds later: She attempts to take another sip on the sly. I busted her on it and admonished her. "But Dad," she reminded me. "I told you already. I learned my lesson."



sigh



Made sense to her, I guess.

When 140 characters just aren't enough.

I approach the blog nowadays with a head full of nothing. If a blog to me is really just about connecting with a certain circle of friends, then Twitter has been taking care of that need lately. I type out my limited little thought of the moment on my phone, send it out, and I'm a part of whatever in the world all of this social media stuff is about. Even if there's drudgery at the workplace, there's connection via 140-characters or less.

The blog, however, ain't what it was. Maybe that's a good thing, too. It does cut down on my whining (read: processing) about money. Newsweek has one of those "blogging is good for ya" articles in the June 30 issue. It's nothing profound, and just touches on how writing is therapeutic enough in diary form, but the built-in audience that comes with blogging takes it to that human touch. (Newsweek also has a nice article about Twitter specifically.

Anyway, I should have more time to spend on the blog over the next few days. Paige is out of town and I am staying home with the kids. I hope we have more fun tomorrow than we have so far today. I got a woefully inadequate three hours of sleep last night and it's been all I can do to deal with the 5-year-old's tendency to be loud and aggressive. Typically, I turn my head for just a moment, his 3-year-old sister begins to cry, and he immediately proclaims, "I did nothing!"

The joys of parenting, huh? I just deal the best that I can and hope the rain passes soon so that I can take them outside to the playground. As I type this, the thunder continues to rumble. Inside we remain, and for the time being, Winnie-the-Pooh plays on the television and I'm grateful for this bit of silence from the two kiddos.

Enjoy your day.

Wordle. From my blog. Looks about right.

I just wish it would post bigger.

One click makes it big and rightly readable.

When you say Chagall...

According to today's Google logo, today is the birthday of Russian-Belarusian-French painter, Marc Chagall. To me, though, I hear his name and it's early-90s Christian rock band, Chagall Guevara that comes to my mind.

Click here for their one music video, "Violent Blue."

Jedi Gym

Happy 5th of July!

I walked my dog tonight with a head full of whatever it is that I carry with me everywhere I go.



With a beer in hand and my camera around my neck, we strolled our apartment neighborhood and enjoyed a quieter night than last night's 4th of July fireworks. Well, so we thought. Just before heading back inside, the sky went ablazing with quite the noise and fury of leftover pyrotechincs. Happy 5th of July!



So from underneath a rather large and full tree, I share with you what we saw.

I share with you my beer as well. 'Cause I'm nice like that.

My best your way.

Protected and loved.

I come home late each night. In the day I'm a mess, feeling every strain of life. Who am I to my family? To my employer? Will I ever provide for my wife and children in the way that they deserve? There's so much stress that I get lost in my worries and forget to just smile and see how nice things really are. Thankfully, there's always the quiet of night waiting to soothe me, waiting to massage my concerns away. The family sleeps and I relax in my living room. This is when I let go and smile.



Every night, I come home to many rewards. My efforts are appreciated. My family is loved and is safe. Peace and quiet await me in these nocturnal hours. Evidence of their comfort and safety is displayed in ways both obvious and imagined. Georgia, our dog, is always quick to greet me at the door. She can't wait for me to take her out for our nightly walk, confident and proud that I know how perfectly she guarded our home from squirrels and cats in my absence. Also, there is a light by the door that illuminates an image not entirely unlike that of an angel. (Or a dragonfly, depending on where your imagination takes you.) Anyway, I always smile to see it.



I may have my doubts at times as to whether or not anyone's watching over me, but I'm always satisfied to think of my family kept safe by those pictured below.

Little Ari likes arias.

It turns out that my young daughter likes to watch opera almost as much as I like to listen to it. To her, all of the women are beautiful princesses.

Die Soldaten

Alex Ross, music critic for The New Yorker, wrote on his blog tonight about an extraordinary event that should be of great interest to opera lovers everywhere.

German opera Die Soldaten is being performed at Lincoln Center this week. I'm reading up on it and watching clips online. I would love to see it, this previously deemed 'unperformable' opera, due to both size and complexity. I am, however, many miles south in Nashville, remaining tickets are in the $150-250 range and attending such an event is far beyond my financial reach. Alas, I'm one of the "common people" and thus I will keep my seat in my Hermitage living room, watching a Dylan documentary and sipping from my new Bud Lite Lime. (Quite tasty.)

That's cool though. William Shatner and Joe Jackson know my pain. Here's "Common People" featuring Ben Folds on keyboard.

I love this song. It's been out there for awhile, but I first heard it yesterday on WRVU. Thanks to Ashley for playing it on her show, Alphabet.

Boats on the water on the 3rd of July.

This would be better with a photograph. Alas, I didn't even try to get a shot of it. Soon, I need to get serious about improving my night photography skills.

Anyway, driving home late last night and crossing the dam at Percy Priest Lake, my view of the water was more fascinating than ever before. Peering across the dark, dark lake, where usually all I see is the moon's reflection over the water, last night I saw a multitude of lights from the countless boats out over the vast and far-reaching lake, taking their view of early July 3rd fireworks from Nashville Shores.

Except for my low vantage point, I was reminded of late night Southwest flights over small cities, descending onto lonely airports while seeing only a plethora of luminous dots scattered across otherwise rayless and expansive land masses. Whether in my airline seat looking down or in my car looking across, the magic and mystery of distant lights always captivates the imagination. I'm at peace with where I am and curious about where I'm not.

Thanks for stopping by. Have a safe and wonderful weekend.

Don't fall asleep near a 3-year-old with stickers.

I remember once, way back in 1992, hanging out and getting drunk with some lesbian friends of mine after seeing Tori Amos at 328 Performance Hall, I passed out and later awoke to find that they had prettied me up with lipstick and makeup.



Remembering that, I suppose I can't complain too much about these bunny stickers on my arms.

Where we're at.

I think we've got just enough to get the transmission fixed. Thanks to everyone for their kind generosity. Paige will call the good people at the auto repair shop today and see when they can get started.

In other news, one friend is loaning me a bicycle and another friend is loaning me a scooter. (Care to guess who the blogging scooter friend is?) I look forward to seeing some of you on the Nashville Greenways and I look forward to seeing some of you on the street.

In other news, we're looking at the feasibility of trading in the van for a brand new Ford Focus. We still owe a good bit on the van, but I get a huge discount on new Fords because of where I work. (A hotel. Go figure.) It'll take my van-and-truck-loving wife some getting used to if she's going to decide on a small car, but the m.p.g. and new car reliability will go a long way in helping her in that regard.

Anyway, thanks for continuing to read this stuff. I know I've been writing so much lately of general woes. Life sometimes rocks and life sometimes sucks and it all gets shared on the blog.

My best,

Mike