The Attitude Indicator

Moving the show . . .

Kelley — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 01:12:27 GMT

I've decided that it's time to move on from Tribe.net. OK, I'm just moving the show over to that other site that rhymes with spacelook. (It's really the presence of the Starbucks module that sold me on the idea)

Checking email

Kelley — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 07:06:21 GMT

Dan McGriff decided to check his email. He hoped he’d been chosen as the wedding photographer for the Lopez party but it wasn’t looking good for him. Ever since he’d given himself the break to take up photography as a paying gig at the expense of reducing his network consultation business, he’d lost money on both. He was getting tired of the feeling of perpetual struggle. He’d told a friend that he felt his life, despite the cliché, had no meaning. His friend reminded Dan that he was only 35 and for his life to have no meaning, he’d need to live a few more years under his present circumstances. He scrolled through the messages in his inbox hoping to see Cecilia Lopez’ email when he came upon one from “H&J Parker”. He was surprised to receive a message from Julianne Kiernan-Parker especially since it came from her joint account with her husband. He hadn’t heard from her for close to five years; around the time she got married to her long-time off-and-on boyfriend Harry. The subject line was disturbing: Our loss. For the moment, Dan wondered if her husband had died, or worse yet, her child. His child. When Julianne married Harry Parker, she was pregnant with Daniel McGriff’s child. Close to full-term, if he recalled correctly. She married and he never heard from her again. He didn’t know whether she gave birth to his son or daughter. He wished he hadn’t have freaked out when she first told him she was pregnant, and he wished she would have given him a chance to play the father role, even if distant. “It wouldn’t be right,” she told him. He thought about hiring an attorney but he didn’t have the money to pursue it, and when he looked back, he knew he was half-hearted about it. He opened the email. Dear Family and Friends: I apologize if you find this impersonal. I’m writing on behalf of myself, Harry, our son, Will, and our daughter Darby. Yesterday, June 6, after collapsing at work at the tower at Oakland International Airport, Julianne was taken to Summit Medical Center in Oakland CA where unexpectedly she died. She was only 44. It appears she died of a stroke. Funeral information to follow. Henry William Parker, Jr. “Oh god,” Dan said. A dozen thoughts, each compelling, entered into consciousness simultaneously. The obvious thoughts were about the shock of Julianne dying and that she was still in the Bay Area since she had told him in their last conversation that she was moving back to the East Coast. He looked at the email and wondered which of the kids was his. Maybe she had twins. Did he have a son? He wondered if Harry put them in chronological order. It seemed like it. That meant he had a son named Will.

Convening

Kelley — Wed, 18 Jun 2008 07:03:57 GMT

Harry sat at the computer and signed into their email account. He wondered if he should create a group email; a general announcement. He didn’t know what to write. There wasn’t an etiquette he knew about and the formality of an obituary seemed out of place for an email to go out. He knew he had to use email; calling people one by one seemed ridiculous for him. He couldn’t bear to tell the story again and again and again. He looked at the inbox. There were the messages about the business of everyday life: bill reminders, mailing lists bulletins, coupons, and the inevitable spam. There were no messages about her death. In cyberspace, it hadn’t happened. Selecting “ALL” from the email program would send his notice to everybody in their address book. He didn’t care who received it. He didn’t care if the billing department and the do-not-reply address at the bank or insurance company received it. He began by writing how he thought it should sound. At the end of the third sentence, he summarized her condition: she died. He didn’t go with the ‘we lost her’ or ‘she slipped the surly bonds’ or ‘she went to be with Jesus.’ It was simply a statement of fact. He completed the paragraph explaining that she likely had a stroke. “Hey, your parents are here,” Edie said. She came over and looked at what he was doing. “Do you think, ‘funeral plans are pending’ or should I say, ‘information about funeral will be forthcoming,” he said. “How about ‘funeral information to follow’” “You said my parents were here?” “Yes, they are talking to the kids,” “Weird, I didn’t hear them.” “Did you put your phone number on the email?” “No,” “Then don’t.” He sent the message out. When he entered the living room, he saw his father talking to Will and his mother leaning over Darby. Everybody looked up at him. “Daddy’s not feeling good too,” Darby told her grandmother. His mother came to him and gave him a hug. “I’m so sorry,” He started to cry. Darby got up from the floor and hugged his legs.

CABG patch

Kelley — Sat, 14 Jun 2008 07:04:32 GMT

So, now that the initial drama has subsided, I can report that my dad had a Coronary Artery Bypass Graft (CABG) or more commonly, bypass surgery. He had a triple bypass. The weird part is that a week after suffering a series of heart attacks, extensive treatment and examination, and then the extensive, major surgery, he is home, up on his feet, albeit with effort, but that he appears, on the surface, to have survived what was likely, if not treated when it was, to be a major coronary event. Given the amount of occlusion (e.g. blockage), he would have likely suffered a major heart attack. It's strange to think that he came close to dying, and then stepped away from it. And in a week's time, he's home and he's back to his old self (for better or for worse). I don't think he's necessarily had a Near Death Experience (NDE) but I can say that seeing him have a heart attack in front of me on Friday evening reminded me of seeing other family members go through trauma or injury and how witnessing these events humbles one, renders one fairly powerless, and reminds one of not just fragility but complexity and resilience. In short, it's intense and I don't think I'm yet recovered after the whirlwind of anxiety and activity this week. Again I think to myself . . . I shoulda gone to medical school so I could be a "real" doctor. What use was I as a clinical psychologist? In this instance, not particularly useful.

Chapter Four, somewhere in there

Kelley — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 04:02:57 GMT

The sound of Julianne’s phone ringing caught his attention and he looked at the plastic ‘patient’s belonging’ bag sitting on table near the front door. He was pacing around the living room but he did not go to the bag to check the phone even when it rang a second time and then beeped again signaling a new voice mail. His daughter walked into the living room. She carried Mr. Duck by the bill, one of her stuffed animals. She gave Harry a look and then she went to the sofa and curled up facing the television. “How are you feeling?” Harry asked. She didn’t answer. He walked down the hall in the direction of his office. He came to Will’s bedroom door and looked in. Will sat at the computer and Edie sat on his bed. “Hey,” Edie said. “I think my parents are on their way. I think I should take a shower or something,” he said. Then he pointed to Will, “What’s he up to?” “Oh, Will’s been telling me that he’s making a card for his mom. We were trying to decide what a good picture would be and what we should say. Will has a lot of questions about what happens to somebody when they die. We’ve found out that it’s really hard to explain and really hard to understand,” Edie explained. “Yeah,” Harry shrugged, “So it seems.” “Am I going back to school today?” Will asked. “No. Maybe tomorrow,” “I don’t want to go to school,” “OK, maybe later,” “I don’t ever want to go to school,” Edie intervened, “Why is that Will?” “I hate school!” “It’s no good?” Edie asked him. “They’re mean to me and I hate them!” “Who?” Edie continued. “All of them! Don’t make me go,” “Were you at school yesterday?” “I went to school and they told me I had to go home and they made me go home with Miss Elise and I went to the restaurant and I don’t ever want to go back to school!” Edie took Will’s hands, “You don’t have to go back, right now. OK. You can stay here and everybody’s here: see, your dad is here and your sister is here and your grandparents are coming and your aunt is coming tonight; you won’t be alone.” “Mommy’s not here,” “I know.” Will put his head down against Edie’s hands and started crying for his mother. Harry leaned his head against the doorframe and didn’t know what to do. No idea crossed his mind except the sound of Will crying.

More family

Kelley — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 06:21:47 GMT

Melanie Parker-Campbell sat on the kitchen deck looking towards Koko Head on the windward side of Oahu. While the view wasn’t entirely in the direction of the mainland, she imagined that she was facing towards California. She tried to picture her brother Harry at home and wondered what it would be like to actually lose a spouse. She listened for her husband’s snoring. She was used to him being gone. The idea of him gone forever crossed her mind on a regular basis; in fact, both had admitted to thinking about this fact in their line of work. He was an airline pilot, and occasional Navy pilot, and she was still a flight attendant. They never worked on the same flights. She only worked the local, intra-island routes while he worked the transpacific flights. They had a superstition about working the same flight. They didn’t want to orphan their only daughter. However, in planning their living trust, if they were both to die, their daughter Camille would have gone to live with her Uncle Harry and Aunt Julianne. She loved the peacefulness of sunrise. The morning was humid but she still had coffee. This was her usual routine. Tonight she and Cami would be in San Francisco where it would be inevitably cold and foggy. Melanie was a warm weather fan; between growing up in Southern California and living in Hawaii, she always went for warm; hotter the better. She always thought Harry was drawn to the fog and cold since it matched his disposition: moody. But he was always the moodiest of the four kids. After their brother Daniel died at age 12, Harry, then 11, and already moody, became even more moody. Melanie, then 14, became the stand-in mother at least for the youngest, Evan, who was only 5. “Kakahiaka mama,” Cami Campbell greeted her mother using the local slang. Born in Hawaii, Cami spoke the local talk. With a half-Japanese, half-Caucasian father and a half-Chinese, half-Caucasian mother, Cami was the epitome of the hapa, or mixed plate in Hawaii. “You’re up early,” “Couldn’t sleep anymore. I was thinking this trip’s going to be weird,” “How’s that?” “You know, like all the funeral stuff and everything. Seeing everybody sad. I just keep thinking about Willy and Darby,” “It will be hard,” “Is it wrong to be thinking about what I’m going to wear because I don’t have that much stuff for cold weather, and I don’t have anything for the funeral too,” “Grandma and I will take you shopping. I have to find something too.” “When’s daddy coming?” “He’ll come in a few days. He’s got two trips and then he’s free. I think he’s going to come up from Phoenix,” “Do you think Uncle Harry will get over this?” Melanie looked at her daughter, now sitting in the chair opposite. “No. I know he won’t.” “I know it’s kinda weird to ask this too but can I bring my laptop?” “Yeah,” “Do you think Willy and Darby will remember me?” “They will by the end of tomorrow,” “I’m going to baby-sit them a lot, aren’t I?” “We’re really hoping you will be able to help like that,” “I know. I’m going to go take a shower and finish packing,”

Wanna get away?

Kelley — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 05:38:03 GMT

Recently inspired again to the romance of train travel an old idea of mine to take the California Zephyr from the Bay Area to Chicago has taken on more urgency. This evening I looked at the schedule and prices for the route. Apparently, the trip takes 51 hours point-to-point (sparing any derailments or other force majeure) so I would live on a train for 2 days for, depending upon my choice of accommodation, somewhere between $182 and $1000. The low-end fare is a seat. Everything else is an incidental charge: meals, etc. It’s like taking Greyhound. The upper-end is for bedroom which is like a roomette except that it has a private bath and shower whereas the roomette is more like an old-school motel room with a shared bath and shower downstairs. I say, for the train travel, the journey is the destination; Chicago would be the turn-around (I’d imagine a non-stop Chicago-Oakland on Southwest Airlines). So I would do this largely to say that I did it (and to take pictures and to spend a lot of time looking out the window). Given that I do not own a laptop currently, I think I’d probably need to purchase one since the onboard entertainment indicated: On some routes, onboard entertainment includes seasonal presentations and commentary by volunteer rangers of the National Park Service through Amtrak's Trails and Rails program. I generally find this interesting, but … Obviously train travel has changed a great deal (much like air travel has changed). On the positive side, both train and air travel have cut down travel time; on the negative side, train travel has followed the lead of air travel in terms of amenities. On the pro side, the scenery is generally better on a train; on the down-side, the entertainment on a train and plane are roughly equivalent. On the plus side, a derailment is less likely to kill you than a plane crash. That being said, a derailment involving running into a semi-truck carrying hazardous material isn’t unheard of. On a plane, your seatmate could represent a fact of endurance that only lasts a few hours; on a train, unless you’re planning some re-enactment of Hitchcock, it’s hard to get away from ‘train people.’ This brings me to the point of train people. I don’t know train people. I know railfans. Those are like any other hobbyists—enthusiastic, informative, sometimes a little weird; but train people? I wonder if train people are like RV people, or boating people; and I wonder if train people on long-distance routes include bus people. Now, bus people are an entirely different matter. But train people . . . are they similar to folks who book cheap passage on cheap cruises? I have to wonder. However, if I had a bedroom, or roomette, I could, as I am sometimes quite capable of doing, hang out with myself in my room (until I went stir-crazy—somewhere around hour 13 of the 51 hour trip) for long stretches of time, coming out only for meals. It would be like staying in a motel on rails. But at least the scenery would be eye catching. And the rhythm itself. The rhythmic, occasionally jarring, romantic rhapsody of train travel (or at least the ghost of its heyday).

Chapter three or maybe Chapter four

Kelley — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 07:54:30 GMT

“Maybe we should take the kids for a while. I think Harry might be too distracted with things for a while,” Nancy Lim-Parker raised her voice so her husband would hear her above the noise in the airline cabin. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Henry Parker, Sr. said. “Who took care of the kids when Daniel died?” “Your parents,” “I think we should at least suggest it,” “What?” he leaned toward her with his ‘good’ ear. “I think we should take them for a couple of weeks,” She squeezed her husband’s hand. “I wonder if Julianne had a life insurance policy?” Henry said. “I’m sure she did. Harry would have insisted.” “I just hope he puts in trust for the kids,” “Of course he will. He won’t want it for himself. Remember what we did with Daniel’s life insurance policy?” Henry nodded, “We put in trust for the other kids’ college funds,” “Do you miss him?” “Daniel?” Nancy stared down the aisle for a few moments. “Even after thirty-something years; Losing Julianne brings up a lot for me,” “I know. We’re not supposed to outlive these kids,” “Well folks, we’re starting our descent into the San Francisco Bay Area. Current weather in Oakland is 58 degrees, overcast, with winds out of the west at 12 miles. We’ll have you at the gate in about 20 minutes. We’ll be turning on the fasten seat-belt sign now, so . . .” “We should have flown into San Francisco. I don’t want to look up at the airport tower when we get there. I used to look up at the tower and wonder if Julianne was there. I’d tell people seated next to me, ‘Oh, my daughter-in-law is up there,” Nancy’s voice went flat. “I know. I just wish I didn’t have to drive this morning or else I would have had a bloody Mary. I could use one under the circumstances,” “Let’s go straight to Harry’s. We’ll check into the hotel later,” “Why don’t we go to the hotel first and check in, then we can take a cab to his place. If we need to go anywhere, we’ll use his car,” Nancy shrugged. “I just don’t want to delay too much,” “We’ll be fine,” After they landed, Nancy looked out the window in the direction of the air traffic control tower. “Everything’s going on as normal. Harry said she would have been working today,” she began to cry.

Chapter three, smudges

Kelley — Fri, 30 May 2008 06:53:18 GMT

Edie came back. She had a duffle bag over her shoulder and a smaller bag which Harry recognized as her ‘doctor bag.’ “I called to check on the status of things with the examination over at Moffitt-Long,” she said. “What exam at where?” “Remember yesterday at the hospital where you filled out the information and I was able to get somebody I know to arrange for Julianne to be examined at UCSF?” Edie said. “Oh, the autopsy,” “Sorry, do you want to talk about this later?” “Are they done?” His voice was flat. “They will be done this afternoon. The report will likely be done within two days,” “Do I have to go there?” “Oh no, unless you want to. I can get it for you and I can read it. They can email it to me, too.” “Hmm. Do you think it will make a difference?” “As your best friend, or as your best friend who happens to be a doctor? I think I might have different answers,” “Say Julianne was your patient,” “Harry, technically she was. I think it’s very important to know for a lot of reasons. For you, there will be important reasons now; perhaps the mystery can be understood. There may be other reasons, too,” “Like what?” “Let’s just wait to see what the pathologist says,” “Like what reasons?” “If there’s anything congenital that we should know about,” “Oh,” She kept quiet. “Have you eaten?” She asked. “No,” “Here, have a sandwich. I picked it up from your place. They said they’ll cook up some meals for you and the kids,” “OK,” He unwrapped the sandwich. He didn’t feel like eating. “Are the kids asleep?” “Darby’s asleep. Will’s still watching TV, I think.” “I’ll go check on them,” “How am I supposed to figure out the funeral?” “We’ll start making those calls after your parents get here,” “Who do I call?” “It can wait a couple more hours. Just eat.” He went over to the washing machine and looked at the top rack. He remembered the glass from two days ago. She was thirsty and wanted cranberry juice and he remembered that she had just put on lip balm. He couldn’t kiss her lips at the hospital. There was tape holding the breathing tube in place. He found the glass. He took it out and looked at the outline of her lips against the glass. He brought the glass back to the table. He picked up the cigarette pack from the tabletop and lit up. He took a drag and felt a rush of nausea and dizziness. He coughed and felt like he was going to throw up. “You can’t smoke!” Will appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Edie was right behind him. Harry put the cigarette out in his coffee mug. “Sorry,” “Can I use the computer?” Will asked. “Your computer?” “Yeah,” “Go ahead.” Will left the kitchen. Edie sat at the table. “He seems normal,” Harry said. “He’s trying to be normal. Darby’s fever’s increased so I’m going to give her some Tylenol, all right? And I really think you shouldn’t smoke. Just eat the sandwich,” “I think I should take a shower,” “Just eat,”

And next, juice boxes and fruit roll-ups

Kelley — Fri, 30 May 2008 03:44:59 GMT

Tonight my dinner consisted of a peanut-butter and banana sandwich drizzled with honey on wheat bread. This has got to be one of those flavor combinations that is the epitome of childhood carried forth to the present. Now, if I added a carton of milk and sliced carrots, I could recreate some random lunch from 2nd grade; nevertheless, to remind myself that I'm 36, I had a large Americano. After recess, where hopefully the yard duty teacher won't bust me . . .

Chapter three, more

Kelley — Thu, 29 May 2008 06:19:45 GMT

The sound of something splashing woke him. He focused on Darby lying next to the edge of the bed. Her head was perched over the side. “What was that?” “My tummy hurts,” He got out of bed and came around to the other side, Julianne’s side, and looked at the puddle of vomit on the floor. “OK, let’s go wash your face and brush your teeth,” he picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. He heard the door open and for a moment imagined Julianne walking in. She would announce her arrival in part to find out where everybody was. He would have called out their location in the bathroom. She would have come in and looked at both of them. Darby sitting on the counter brushing her teeth, her dad perhaps doing the same, or shaving. Julianne would have made a comment, usually involving a wish for a camera in that very moment. “You never had that camera,” he said. “What?” Edie asked him from the doorway. “Oh, nothing. Hey, she’s sick,” he pointed to Darby. “What’s up?” “I forgot that yesterday I picked her up from school because she threw up and she just threw up again. Oh, where’s Will?” “He’s in the living room, he wanted to watch TV.” Edie squeeze past Harry and looked at Darby. “Do you have that thermometer I gave you a while ago?” Harry pointed to the cabinet drawer. “I suppose you don’t have the sterile sleeves for the tip?” She ran the tip under the faucet and then placed it in Darby’s mouth. “Just keep it there for a little bit, sweetie.” Edie proceeded to perform a quick physical exam. Harry leaned against the doorway and watched. “Well, my diagnosis is that she just has one of those usual childhood bugs. I don’t think she’s eaten since last night. Let’s just make sure she eats and keeps up her fluids,” “I think the same goes for me,” The phone rang twice and Harry heard Will answer the phone. “Dad—it’s for you. It’s Auntie Melanie,” “Please bring me the phone,” “Hey, how are you doing?” his sister began. “It’s horrible,” he went down the hall to his office. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what time it is,” “It’s early for both of us. It’s 4:30 AM Honolulu local time. Anyways, Cami and I are confirmed on the 2 PM flight; even if it’s full, we’re going. I’ll go jumpseat if necessary. We’ll rent a car, or Dad said he’ll pick us up. Is there anything you need us to bring?” “Are you sure you want to bring Cami?” “She’s already out of school and she can help out. Plus I think it will be good for her to be with her cousins; she’s a good baby-sitter,” “Yeah, that’s a good point,” “We’re going to be there soon enough brother, just hang in there and know that we love you and we’re going to be there for you and the kids,” Edie popped her head in the door to his office. “Hey, I have to run home for a while to get some stuff and change. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Just call me if you need anything and I’ll be right back. I’m going to bring back some pediatric electrolytes if Darby gets worse. Do you want me to bring you something for sleep?” “Yeah, why not? We’ll be fine for the moment,” “I know you probably don’t feel like it but you need to eat something,” “I don’t feel like it, but I’ll try,” “OK,” she walked over and gave Harry a hug. “I put Darby in bed and she fell asleep. She’s probably going to be out of sorts for a day or two; she has a slight fever but nothing too worrisome.” “Thanks doc,” Harry made coffee and then went to the living room and sat on the couch. Will watched cartoons. Will turned to Harry. “Auntie Edie said I could get waffles with whipped cream this morning, Miss Elise said I could have extra whipped cream,” “That’s good.” “Are you going to work today?” “I don’t think I’m going to work today,” “That’s because mommy died, right?” “Yes Will, that’s exactly right,” “Daddy, will we get to see mommy?” “How do you mean?” “Do we get to see her again?” “Like how?” “Before they put her in that box and put her in the ground,” He fought the urge to ask how he knew that. “Yes, you’ll get to see mommy before then.” Will turned back to the TV. Harry stared at the bookcase next to the TV. He looked at the family photo taken six months earlier at Christmas time. They were sitting together on the beach on Oahu. Will sitting in between Julianne and Harry, Darby in Julianne’s lap. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want any more reminders.

Chapter three, next segment

Kelley — Wed, 28 May 2008 07:02:22 GMT

Darby started hitting the mattress with her fists, “I want mommy!” Will started crying as well. Harry pulled them both toward him, “Mommy’s gone, mommy’s gone.” “Where is she?” His daughter tugged at his shirt. Harry looked at Edie, now sitting on the edge of the bed trying to comfort the children. She looked like she wanted to cry as well. “Mom died yesterday. She had an accident and she didn’t get well and she died. This means you won’t see her anymore,” “Is mommy in heaven?” Will asked. Harry patted his stepson on his head. Darby put her head against Harry’s chest. He held both kids in close. He started to cry. Darby pulled away to get a look at her father. She gave him a confused look. He looked back at her and saw Julianne’s eyes. The phone rang. Edie picked it up. She introduced the call with “Parker residence.” She listened and looked at Harry. She asked him if he wanted the restaurant open today. He shrugged. Then she asked if there was anything they could do for him today. He shrugged. She told them to call back later. A couple minutes later, the phone rang again. “It’s your mom,” Edie handed the phone to him. “Hi,” he tried to compose himself. “Oh Harry, we’re so sorry. Your father and I will be up by mid-morning. We’ll take a cab to your place,” “Thanks mom. Who knows?” “I called the relatives. Your sister’s coming in tonight and she’s bringing your niece to help out with Darby and Willie. Is there anything you need us to bring up?” Darby tugged at his shirt again, “Who are you talking to?” “Your grandmother,” he patted her head. Then patted Will’s head again. They were nestled in close to him. “What time is it?” He asked. “5:30 AM,” his mother said. He thought back 24 hours earlier. He looked at the dresser across the room and saw Julianne’s things on the top and how she always left one drawer ajar. “Twenty-four hours ago, we woke up and she was going to be late for work,” He started to cry again. “We’ll be up in a few hours. Your brother’s coming in tomorrow; he’s in court today and can’t get out of it,” “OK,” he hung up. Will got up off the bed and walked over to the dresser. He took down a photo of Harry and Julianne on their 1st wedding anniversary. They were holding a baby. “That’s me,” Will said to Edie, pointing at the baby in the picture. Edie came over to him, “I know. You were ten months old.” “When was Darby born?” he asked. “Three years ago,” “How old are we?” “Do you mean, how much older are you?” “Yeah,” “Two years older,” “She’s two?” Darby sat up, “I’m not two. I’m three,” then she cuddled up again. Edie looked at Harry who had leaned back against the pillows with his eyes closed. He needed sleep. Darby stayed close to him. “OK Will, why don’t we get you washed up and go to the restaurant to get some breakfast,” Edie offered, “It looks like your dad still needs sleep,”

Back to my musings on notebooks and journals

Kelley — Tue, 27 May 2008 05:15:10 GMT

The usual kinds of journals / notebooks / diaries people keep The Dear Diary (Today I was rebuffed by Mr. Darcy; he’s an ass. I shant speak with him forever more.) Dream journal (Mr. Darcy had the wings of Pegasus and a body like a cross between a Griffin and a common donkey; he sang to me the songs of Mel Torme) Meditation journal (One, inhale, exhale . . . two, inhale, exhale . . . om . . . ) Project journal (Day one: buy stuff; Day two: try to put stuff together; Day three: hire somebody else to do it) Baby journal (Day one: ooops, that wasn’t the plan; Month six: This is going to be weird. Month 8: Should I tell him, he’s the daddy?) Wedding journal (I’m really hoping we can have ice sculptures of swans in flight; then we can also have real swans in flight) Divorce journal (If we didn’t spend all that money on those freakin’ swans . . .) Wine journal (This 2008 Boone’s Strawberry Hill is fruity with a hint of grape reminiscent of the 2007 Thunderbird) Food journal (If you can’t super-size it, fuck it, it shouldn’t be called food) Travel journal (On Wednesday we continued north. The countryside changed dramatically. There was less graffiti.) Calorie intake journal: 2 sprigs of parsley, one sunflower seed, one peppercorn does not make a salad. Journals people could keep, but usually don’t Best fried chicken survey journal Donuts that are unrivaled Coffee: one cup per page (must include at least one drip or mug ring per page) The “If I were in Prison right now, I’d be thinking this” Journal Dreams I had but I was too embarrassed to admit Thoughts I had but I was too surprised to admit Places I’ve been but really shouldn’t admit Crushes I’ve had that nobody would understand

Chapter three, oh well, here we go

Kelley — Tue, 27 May 2008 03:46:25 GMT

Harry closed his eyes. They stung. He sighed and then picked up the cigarette. He inhaled. While some part of his brain registered the vestige of a habit, he hadn’t smoked in 5 years. Tonight he wanted to smoke with abandon. He exhaled out the window so the kids in the room down the hall wouldn’t get too much. He flipped past the first pages of the small black bound journal; the volume he kept for “special” occasions. He couldn’t look at her handwriting. He couldn’t stand to smell her scent left in the house. Her perfume, her skin crème, and just her smell. No reminders. He scribbled on a blank page. June 6. J. gone. “The kids are finally asleep,” He turned towards the voice. Edie Hatfield stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Oh, they’re asleep?” He sighed. She came over to the table and took a seat. “Yeah. They wanted to stay in the same bed. They know something’s wrong.” “Thanks for taking care of them,” “What do you need right now?” She put her hands on his. “I don’t know.” He tapped the page with his pen. The fountain pen left a spray of ink each time. “I’m going to stay here tonight, OK?” she offered. “Yeah. Thanks. My mom’s coming up tomorrow. My sister’s flying in tomorrow night. I’m not sure what the hell to do. I never imagined this would happen,” “I don’t know either,” she said softly. “What happened?” “Oh Harry,” Edie came over to him and put her arms around him. “Everything’s gone?” “I’m so sorry,” “I don’t even know who to call,” “Did you call her friend Nicole?” “No. Should I?” “Maybe in the morning.” “What time is it?” “Midnight.” “We never planned for this.” He lit up another cigarette ignoring the other one still burning. “Do you want something to help you sleep?” Edie offered. “No thanks Doc,” “You should sleep,” “I don’t want to sleep in that bed,” “You can take the couch and I can take the bed,” Edie offered. “I wish you still lived across the hall,” he said flatly. She smiled and hugged him again. He stood up. “She’s gone, isn’t she?” “Yes, Harry. She’s gone.” “Do the kids know?” “Yes. Will asked.” Harry rubbed his eyes. Edie took the cigarette out of his hand and extinguished it. “Did little Darby ask?” Edie winced, “She asked ‘is mommy at work’? I nearly lost it,” Harry lit up another cigarette. He sat down. “Do you want to talk about it?” Edie asked. “What part?” “What to do next? I can take some days off,” “Would you?” “Absolutely,” She took the cigarette from his hand and extinguished it. It was the third time she’d done that in the last half-hour. “She doesn’t really have any family left. Her mom’s dead, her dad’s dead. There are some cousins on the east coast I should call,” “Do it all tomorrow,” “They want to do an autopsy,” Edie sighed, “I know. It’s good to know,” “Either way, she’s dead. Doesn’t make much difference now,” “Harry, don’t worry about that right now.” “This morning,” he paused. He felt like crying but he stopped himself. He hadn’t cried since leaving the hospital. “It was normal.” “Harry, I want you to take one of these and sleep,” Edie handed him a pill. He looked around the room. Darby was nestled in next to him. Will was on the other side of the bed. Something felt out of place. He felt like his legs were tied to the bed. He scooted himself to sitting up. “Where’s mommy?” his daughter asked him. “What?” “Where’s mommy?” She was now sitting up staring at him. “She’s not already up?” “She’s here?” Her voice lifted. “No! She’s not here!” Will said sharply. “Wait—“ Harry began. Edie came into the room. “Need some help?” “Mommy’s not here,” Harry continued. “I want her now!” Darby scrunched her face. Her fists were clenched. Harry looked at Edie with a look of bewilderment. She returned the look. “Mommy’s gone,” his voice faltered. He inhaled. “Mommy isn’t coming back,” “Where is she?” Will demanded. “Your mom is gone. In heaven.” “I want my mommy,” Darby began crying.

Do Not Disturb

Kelley — Mon, 26 May 2008 18:42:34 GMT

With the summer travel season underway, here are some suggestions to the hotel industry for the ubiquitous Do Not Disturb Sign. 1) You really don’t want to see this. 2) Go ahead and try knocking. 3) Hey, I’m paying by the hour. Thanks. 4) Unless you’re here to service something . . . 5) Currently hibernating. Check back in spring. 6) Dreaming in progress. 7) Just because it’s quiet . . . 8) I didn’t know you then and I don’t want to know you now. 9) Only you can prevent forest fires. Me, I’m sleeping. 10) These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.

Chapter two, the final segment

Kelley — Mon, 26 May 2008 03:56:32 GMT

He heard his name called. He looked up towards the locked door between the waiting room and the ER. A woman had called for him. She wasn’t a nurse or a physician. She didn’t wear scrubs. Everybody wore scrubs except the social workers and the admissions people. He was hoping she had questions on how to bill this visit. He walked toward her. She asked him to follow her to a private room. The doctor would speak to him there. “Are we going to a family room?” he asked. “We’re going to a private consultation room,” she replied. “It’s the same thing,” “The doctor will be with you shortly,” “Can you tell me what’s going on?” he felt something escape from him in that breath. He knew the answer. What was to follow was going to be only confirmation. The social worker opened the door to the family room. It was occupied. A family who looked Latino sat close together on couches. They all seemed to be huddling on either side of an elderly woman who cried out long passages in Spanish. Everybody stared at Harry and the social worker. The social worker quickly apologized in Spanish and moved Harry to the next room. “Here, please have a seat and the doctor will be in shortly.” She paused at the door, “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Harry was numb, “Is there a chaplain here? Preferably a priest?” “Catholic?” “Yeah,” “Yes, let me arrange for one,” He knew this was all a set-up. Some part of him was able to imagine in some curtained partition, or perhaps an actual exam room, Julianne was there. He tried to picture her awake, talking. But he couldn’t. He put his head down. On the table in the family room were magazines. He looked at the cover of one. There were tips on how to beautify a neglected back-yard. The cover photo showed an outdoor gathering under lanterns. Everybody looked far-away. Looking at his watch, he couldn’t figure out the time since he arrived. He took out his phone and looked at the display. Three voice mails. One from Edie, another from the restaurant, and the third from an unknown number. Then he waited. A half-hour later, there was a knock on the door and the priest entered. He was older, Filipino, and he looked tired. “I’m Father Guzman, you asked for a priest? May I sit down?” Harry motioned for the priest to sit. “My wife was brought in. I don’t know her condition. I know it’s bad because I’m sitting in here. People are only brought in here when somebody’s dead or it’s really bad. Either way, I’m here.” “Would you like me to find out what’s going on?” “Please,” The priest patted Harry on the shoulder and exited. The priest returned with a physician and another social worker. “I’m Dr. Gupta,” he extended his hand. He looked serious. Harry felt his pulse increase. He felt like he was going to fall over. “Your wife was brought in over an hour ago. She was very ill—“ Harry interrupted, “She’s dead,” The doctor sighed, “Mr. Parker, I regret that your wife did not survive,” “What happened?” “We’re not sure. But it appears she suffered a major cerebral hemorrhage, possibly from an aneurysm. From what I can tell, she likely died instantly. When she arrived, she was in full cardiac arrest and we could not resuscitate her despite all our efforts. I’m very sorry. There is one more thing we should talk about,” “Go ahead and use whatever you can, she’s gone now.” “Mr. Parker, I will have some forms for you to fill out for donation, we’re very grateful—“ “Thank you, you have your job to do,” The social worker had the forms for him to fill out. He didn’t read them. He just signed. The priest sat down next to Harry. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” “I would like to see her now,” he said to the physician and social worker. “You should come along,” Harry said flatly to the priest. “Yes,” “OK sir, follow us,” Harry looked at his watch. 14:15. He pictured her in her car driving home. “She would have been on her way home now,” Walking through the ER, everything was a blur. They brought him to the exam room and led the way in. He looked at her. She didn’t look like herself. Her body looked tired, stressed, and thin. Everything was still hooked up—IV’s, monitor leads, breathing tube. But there was no sound. He leaned over her and kissed her cheek. Then he put his arm over her and put his face into the pillow, his head next to hers, and let out a howl. Then the sobbing.

All Aboard*

Kelley — Sun, 25 May 2008 06:14:06 GMT

Along time ago, I used to love railroads. For those of you who know me and my 'thing' for airlines, I had a similar thing for trains up until I was around 15 years old. Once, around 2 years old, I escaped from my parents house in an attempt to head up the street to see the railroad tracks. I nearly made it over the fence to railfan freedom except for some inability in my poorly myelinated nervous system that resulted in my hanging from my foot upside down. I was freed from the chainlink fence by a passerby and returned to my mother who was surprised that I was missing and hanging from a fence but not surprised that I wanted to run off in search of the rails. Fast forward to age 36 and I'm sitting on the upper-level of an Amtrak Capitol Corridor car riding from Emeryville to Sacramento in order to visit . . . the California Railroad Museum. My first impressions of Amtrak--since I've not ridden on Amtrak since the late 1980s on the San Diego--LA route--was 'Hey, this isn't that bad." Then the rest of the pax boarded and took places in the seats around me and my buddy. Ah, a cross-section of society, or a stratified sample to use that statistics term. I wasn't much in the mood to feel like I was at work (as a child psychologist) so I was already a bit miffed. Then our conductor came for our tickets. I shall not describe our conductor except to say that this individual was rather gruff, mean, bitchy, and unfriendly to the extent that I thought (a) this person should go work for an airline or (b) go back to working at the DMV. Not nice. Initial Amtrak impression #2: not good. To add to this, the PA system was volume setting #11. Granted, the volume maxed out at 10. But this one . . . went to 11. (Impression #2a: not good. I had to resort to reading lips and sign language for a few minutes after each PA announcement). Now, what do most people associate with passenger rail travel? That is, what is usually said? Like the "Play Ball" in a baseball game, or the Michael Buffer "Let's Get Ready to Rumble" in boxing, pax rail travel has its own battle cry: All Aboard. Was this cried out by the conductor standing in the doorway of the coach? Was this announced over the PA? Well, just once. But in the same way that BART (for our SF Bay Area readers) riders here, "Doors are closing" (I suppose most Metros are like that). So, third Amtrak Impression: still not good. On the other hand: scenery and a smooth ride = Amtrak Impression #4, good. We moved onto the cafe car which offers fare similar to what you'd pick up in a 7-11 or AM/PM mini-mart. But what should one expect? It's not a dining car; it's no Hiawatha of the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul, and Minneapolis Railroad, or City of St. Louis, or California Sunset of the Southern Pacific; it's more like a step above Greyhound with a snack bar. Amtrak Impression #5, so-so. The coffee wasn't bad (impression #5, a bit better). But the club car was quiet despite the wafts of microwaved french fries. And it was relatively empty. Impression #6 + the scenery = not bad at all. Did I mention that looking out the windows at the passing North Bay and Delta scenery was superb? Amtrak Impression #7 + not having to drive = pretty cool. And the trip didn't feel like two hours = really? That's not bad either. We arrived on-time at Sacto and headed off to run around the Railroad Museum like a couple of ten year-olds with digital cameras and the energy level of a couple of near 40 year-olds. *all aboard appears to be a statement from another era, no longer used, obsolete.

Chapter Two, pulse

Kelley — Sat, 24 May 2008 06:26:06 GMT

He unlatched the buckle on the car-seat when his phone rang. He ignored it and pulled Darby out of the car seat. She now felt like she had a fever. She made a sound between a groan and a whine. The cranky sound. He carried her up the stairs. His phone rang again. He didn’t recognize the number. He let it go to voice-mail. Once inside the apartment, he put Darby in her bed and checked the voice-mail. It was a long message. He propped the phone against his ear while he looked for her pajamas. “Mr. Parker, this is Jim Thompson from Oakland Tower. Something’s happened to Julianne and she’s been transported to the emergency department at Summit Medical Center in Oakland. This happened about a half-hour ago. The paramedics told me that the hospital would try to call you once she arrived,” Harry walked towards the living room. He looked at the answering machine. There was no message. He selected the recent call menu on his mobile phone to call the tower back. The phone indicated it was dialing when the house phone rang. He looked at the caller ID: AltaB Med Ctr. He picked up the house phone. “Yes?” He already felt panic. “I’m calling for Henry Parker,” “Yeah—what’s going on?” The woman on the line mentioned something about her name and her position but he didn’t catch it. All he heard was that Julianne Kiernan-Parker was in the ER and that he should come there. She didn’t have any update on her condition. He was to let the front desk know that he was there to check on his wife. Then the woman asked if Julianne had any advance directives. “Just do whatever needs to be done,” he said. He started towards the door. “Shit!” He turned back to Darby’s room. He had to call his son’s school. He looked at his mobile phone. There was an active call. He put the phone up to his ear, “Hello? Hello?” a voice asked. “Who’s this?” Harry asked. “Jim Thompson at Oakland. You called here,” “Yeah, it’s Harry Parker,” “Oh, Mr. Parker. Julianne was taken by paramedic—“ Harry cut him off, “I know that part, she’s at Summit Medical Center. What the hell happened?” “I don’t know except she collapsed. I don’t know her condition,” “OK, thanks, I should go,” Harry said. “Good luck. If you get a chance, please give us a call. We’re all very worried about her too,” Harry hung up. He reached Darby’s room. “Hey kid, you got to get up. Daddy has to go. I’m going to take you to the restaurant where you’ll stay. OK?” “I don’t want to go there,” she said. “You have to,” He scooped her up. However he got from the apartment to the restaurant and however he instructed Tiffany behind the coffee counter to take care of Darby and however he got Elise, the hostess, to call his son Will’s school and to get him, and however he got in his car and remembered that Summit Medical Center was in Oakland and however he called his best friend, Dr. Edith Hatfield, he didn’t know. However he ran four red-lights without an accident, and however he made it across the Bay Bridge at 75 miles an hour, and however he found the ER, he couldn’t say. However his legs kept him moving, and how he was able to compose enough to calmly check in at the front desk of the ER and however he could sit still while the clerk checked and to what extent he could wait while he was told to wait, he would have no memory for this.

Chapter Two, continuing

Kelley — Fri, 23 May 2008 05:19:29 GMT

“The phone’s for you,” the hostess motioned to Harry. “Yes, this is Mr. Parker,” Harry cradled the phone against his shoulder. He was still flipping through the receipts from the morning looking for the un-rung tickets. “She did? OK. Her mom didn’t call back? How is she now? Do you want me to come get her? OK. I’ll be over in twenty minutes,” Harry hung up the phone. He explained to the hostess, “Sorry, but I have to get Darby. She decided that today was a good time to start throwing up at school although they say she seems fine now,” He dialed Julianne’s phone. It went straight to voice mail. “Hey there, hope you’re having a good day. Little D’s sick so I’m going to pick her up from daycare and bring her back to the restaurant. They say she seems OK now but she was throwing up. If she’s got a fever or something, I’ll take her home and stay with her. If not, she can nap in my office. Give me a call when you get this. Love ya,” Darby’s day-care was located near the corner of the Great Highway and Fulton Street. The Sunny Side Daycare seemed an ironic title; as if a wish. Harry thought it was a rather gloomy place always in the fog and usually too cold for the kids to ever play outside unless zipped up in coats. He knocked on the door and a woman came up and pulled back the shade. She looked at him expectantly. “Oh, hi. It’s me, Darby’s dad,” “Hello, Mr. Parker. Can I see your drivers’ license?” Harry had forgotten the routine. He put his license to the door and the staff member examined it. He thought it was strange that even though she knew his face, his name, even his business, she still went through the procedure of cross-checking his ID against the binder of parents, nannies, relatives, and other approved persons before letting him in. Apparently, there had been some kind of issue some years back. Darby sat in a red plastic chair that was supposed to look like an apple sliced in half. To Harry it looked more like a radish. She was sipping on a juice-box. When she saw him, she tipped her head slightly to one side and give him a look like ‘why are you here?’ Harry knelt down beside her and placed the back of his palm against her forehead. Normal. “Hello there,” he said, “How are you feeling?” “My tummy hurted,” “Does it still feel bad?” “No.” “Do you want to go with Daddy?” “Where?” “Well, let’s go home,” “Why?” “You’ll come back here tomorrow,” “OK.” She stood up and walked toward the door. Harry looked at her in her green jumper. Something was different from when he dropped her off a couple hours back. “Hey, where’s your jacket?” “You get it,” “I don’t know where it is,” The staff member handed the jacket to Harry. He insisted Darby put it on despite her wish not to wear it. On the ride back, he glanced at her in the rear-view mirror sitting in her car-seat looking out the window. She looked out the window. She was quiet. He knew she was sick. Usually she’d talk a mile-a-minute. Everything other phrase punctuated by “Why?” “You don’t feel good, do you?” Silence. “OK, we’re going home.” “I want mommy,” “Mommy will be home later,” “Where?” “At home sweetie, let’s take you home and put you in bed,” “Where’s brother?” “At school,” “Is he at home too?” “No,” “Is mommy there?” “Not yet,” He glanced again in the mirror. She now had her eyes closed. He knew if she fell asleep, and he woke her up when they got home, she’d throw a fit.

Chapter Two, continued

Kelley — Thu, 22 May 2008 05:26:10 GMT

Harry usually walked into the restaurant through the front-door. Doing so always kept the customer’s point of view in mind. He wanted to see it as they would. Was it inviting? Where were people seated? Were the scents and aromas appetizing or overpowering? When he stepped into the dining room, he caught the smell of espresso, baking bread, and something describable only as “breakfast food.” He was pleased. Two years ago he closed his previous restaurant, Le Bistro Clementine, after earning two Michelin stars. The combination of a falling out with his chef and a desire to move from everyday French food to everyday American food and to run a business model that was not as high maintenance inspired him to roll out Clement @ 25th. Breakfast and Lunch only. Closed by 4 PM. Still, there were 12 hour days for him. But he was always home by 5PM. It was the first time in twenty years that he was home in the evenings. He didn’t want his kids to grow up the same way he did in the restaurant business. He was glad he still made money and in comparison to the previous restaurant, things were cheaper to run. There was no more need for a chef, just for a couple of cooks with talent and creativity. There was no more station line with French titles: grillardin, plongeur, boulanger. In respect to the last, he kept his pastry chef. She and the former sous chef were the only ones to remain from the old bistro days. He sold his liquor license and replaced the bar with a café. He didn’t cringe whenever reviews indicated his “take on classic diner fare” and his “interpretations of family restaurant classics.” After changing from French food to American food, he needed to draw in different customers. But he didn’t care; he found it less complicated. The new customers were generally easier. “Morning boss,” the hostess, Elise, waved at him, “Your wife stopped by this morning. I like her new haircut,” He smiled and continued to look around the dining room. Business was moderate this morning. Most of the tables were occupied. The majority of the space was taken up by tables. In some ways, with the exception of installing a lunch counter, the dining room set-up was the same as the Bistro Clement. It was brighter. He decided against installing booths (took up too much space) and he decided against installing chrome or other clichés of 50s themed diners. There would be no jukebox. A couple of regulars waved at him. Harry stopped by their tables and made small-talk. Then he exited the dining room and crossed over into the next space which used to house the full bar but was now a coffee bar. The woman behind the espresso machine noticed him and she started on a triple espresso. He always had a triple espresso to start the day. In the café, there were a few more tables and more regulars. “Good morning Mr. Parker,” Tiffany the barista waited for the espresso to finish filling the cup. “How are you?” “OK, it’s been busy this morning. Hey, your wife came in to get an extra large latte. Did she change her hair?” “These are the kinds of things women notice, right?” She handed him his coffee, “It’s kind of built-in,” “Does her new hair style meet with your approval?” “It works for her,” “That’s a neutral answer,” Tiffany shook her head, “No, that means it’s good. That also means it wouldn’t work for me. See, my face is too round; hers’ isn’t so that short hair works for her. On me, I’d like a 10 year-old boy.” Harry took his coffee and walked back to the main dining room. He went behind the counter and looked at how things were arranged. Were the supplies neatly stacked, was the bus-tray empty, were the cooler doors closed? Across from the counter was the serving window looking into the kitchen. A bowl of grits and a plate of sliced ham sat on the stainless steel. Harry insisted that they would not use heat lamps, “The food should never sit there long enough to need a heat lamp.” He watched for a moment to see how long the food sat there. He counted to ten. When he reached ten, the cook noticed Harry’s staring at the food. The cook caught Harry’s eye, laughed, and tapped the bell on the counter-top. The waiter quickly walked over to grab the food. Satisfied, Harry walked into the kitchen. This was his daily routine. Making the rounds.

Chapter Two . . . beginning

Kelley — Wed, 21 May 2008 05:58:33 GMT

Julianne looked out the window of the tower cab at the aircraft below on the ramp. The same routine. Push back from there, taxi to there, it wasn’t a complicated choreography. She was unable to shake the sleep. She was onto her second cup of coffee since arriving at work and while it made her feeling irritable, it didn’t help her wake up. She glanced at her watch. She had another hour working ground control before she’d take a 15 minute break before moving to local control. Lately she was bored except when working local control; although she also took the opportunity while working ground control or clearance delivery to do things on semi-automatic. When she was able to work at the north tower, she enjoyed working with the general aviation traffic, in particular the student pilots. At least there was always the diversity working at Oakland. She couldn’t get bored which for Julianne Parker was a perpetual risk. For the second time that morning, she had a sudden headache. She took off her sunglasses and rubbed her eyes and then she rubbed her temples. “Hey, are you alright?” her co-worker sitting at the clearance delivery position noticed. “I think so but I have this incredible headache,” “Want some aspirin?” “I already took as much as I could this morning,” “Stress,” the local controller joked. She tried to smile but a wince formed instead. “Do you need to sit down for a moment?” the clearance delivery controller asked. In her ear, she heard something. A moment earlier she would have recognized the voice of an airline pilot requesting push-back from one of the gates. The sound made no sense to her. If she could describe the sensation in her body, she would have called it electric in her limbs and as if somebody were hammering the left side of her skull from the inside. Balance dissipated in a second. Then sight disappeared.

Water Rationing

Kelley — Tue, 20 May 2008 06:47:23 GMT

Well, it's just like 1991 all over again . . . We have to restrict our water usage here in Alameda County. I remember back in the day, as it were, the terrible expression "if it's yellow, let it mellow . . ." so to do my part in raising awareness around water rationing, I have the following suggestions: 1) use more cologne or perfume . . . it seems to work for the French 2) learn to bathe by grooming oneself like a cat, I especially prefer the 'lick-the-palm-and-rubbing-top-of-the-head' move 3) rather than taking a shower which uses something like 3 gallons per minute, use a spray bottle and spritz. It's almost like a sponge bath, except worse. 4) dry clean everything, including socks and underwear. This should only put you out a couple hundred dollars a week. 5) in order to get your lawn watered deeply, offer to hold a school or church car-wash on your lawn. Use your neighbor's hose. 6) replace your lawn with astro-turf and then build a mini-golf course in your front-lawn complete with windmill 7) hire a water-witch to use divining rods in your backyard, when the city water-main is discovered, hire a renegade plumber to attach a supply line that feeds your recently installed private well. 8) join a swim club and while you're swimming, wear all of your whites. Bingo, your whites are whiter, and you've done your cardio for the day 9) Hold a party and insist everybody brings you a 2.5 gallon jug of water. Use the water to irrigate your houseplants. Then use the rest to make sno-cones. 10) When all else fails, you could always move to Seattle.

Wanna get away?

Kelley — Mon, 19 May 2008 06:21:47 GMT

Flying solo It occurs to me that I might not have the resources available to take a long trip (nor do I really envision myself taking a long trip by myself) so I'm planning on planning a few weekend trips (3 or 4 days max). I don't mind flying, in fact, flying to a destination is part of the fun; but I think I'd like to keep things limited to 2.5 hours by plane. The following ideas have percolated: 1) 3 days in Vancouver BC, or thereabouts 2) 3.5 days in Hawaii (Kona-side) And that's it. I've run out of ideas. Any suggestions considering that I live in Oakland CA and don't necessarily want to go on a solo road trip to places around here although I'd like to spend some time in nature too. (Yes, me, for those who've known me for a long time and would find that surprising). Places I don't plan on going to: Tahoe Santa Barbara Carmel / Big Sur the Wine Countries Death Valley San Diego Lake Shasta Maybe I should go to Seattle and see the Boeing museum . . . PS: That Morroccan leather duffle bag's rather keen and I'd totally get it if it wasn't 189 pounds sterling (or $370 as of 5/19/2008)

Life's Important Question #5901

Kelley — Mon, 19 May 2008 05:15:04 GMT

What exactly is a grape nut? And why, pray tell, is it one of the few foods that even after soaking in milk (or soymilk in this instance) still retains a quality like gravel that nevertheless results in abrasions of the roof of the mouth?

Chapter One (the new novel) con'td

Kelley — Fri, 16 May 2008 06:50:47 GMT

She turned the light on and put her night-dress back on. “Do you think we’re getting too old for sex?” “I don’t think so,” he laughed. “Although we can certainly wonder if all the groaning is related entirely to pleasure,” She switched on her bedside lamp. “I can’t find my panties,” He reached down to his feet. “They were wrapped around my ankle,” He handed them back to her. “I have to work early tomorrow, well,” she looked at the clock, “I suppose later today,” “Really? Does that mean you can get the kids in the afternoon?” “Yes, although wouldn’t it be cool if we had a grandparent living nearby,” She said. “I was thinking more like an auntie or older cousin,” “Still thinking about Hawaii?” He nodded. “Seems like the kind of thing we’d either have to do soon, or entirely later,” “How’s that?” He asked. “The kids either have to be there now, or when they’re older. I’m a big believer in kids growing up in one place; it helps to give them a sense of home.” “They’ll end up talking Pidgin,” he intoned. “Oh well, they’ll have to attribute that to their Eurasian father,” Harry laughed, “You mean their Hapa, mixed plate daddy? Over there, I’d be called Hapa, and you’d get the rather derogatory Haole,” “What does that mean again?” “Something like ‘white like the blood’s gone out of you,’” “Will and I would be the how-or-whatever you call it, and you and Darby would be the Hapas?” “Nah, shorty doesn’t look necessarily all that Asian,” Julianne made a confused look, “Oh come on, she’s totally your daughter,” “Just a bit. She’s got my eyes, but the rest is so you,” “Funny, people don’t question that Will’s your son, though,” “Related is based on how we relate, right?” “I know,” Julianne sighed, “But sometimes I still worry that his father is still going to come around at some point and cause trouble. Maybe Hawaii is an even better idea,” “Let’s seriously look into it,” “OK, but I have to pee and then I have to seriously get some sleep,” she sighed. Julianne pawed at the alarm clock. “It’s too fucking early,” He looked at the clock on his bedside table, 5:25 AM. “What time do you start?” “Six,” “Guess you’ll be late,” he sat up. “Don’t get up,” she pushed against his chest. “Anyways, thank goodness I’m the supervisor, right?” She kissed him on the forehead. By six she was ready to leave for work. She calculated she’d arrive at work by 7. She already called the south Air Traffic Control Tower at Oakland International Airport and explained her situation about a sick kid and trouble finding day care. He followed her down the hall, “What? No coffee this morning?” “I’ll get some on the way from the restaurant,” she went towards the door. “Hey, your badge,” he picked her ID card from the kitchen counter. He glanced at it. He loved her bob cut hair in the picture. The photo was at least 3 years old when she was pregnant with Darby. “It’s too fucking early,” She stopped at the door. He handed her the badge. They kissed again. Then she left. He locked the door behind her and watched her walk down the hallway through the peep hole. He went to the kitchen and made coffee. The kids wouldn’t be up for another hour. He could use the time to do some book-keeping for his restaurant. He pictured Julianne walking into their restaurant three doors down from their apartment building. He imagined her walking behind the counter grabbing a to-go cup of coffee and telling the staff that the boss would be in by 8.