358/365

breathe in these
moments as they pass.

we are here. together.
a unit, a little of the same

on this special night. too old
for letters and cookies: but the tree

twinkles, the gifts are wrapped,
food is prepped, reservations are made.

she carries the weight of expectation
as she does every year. a wink

a blink. a glimmer of light. here’s
to hoping we’ll get it right.

46/365

their bikes arrived

today, shinny
and wrapped in various
plastics, papers and bubbles.
bedizenned with lights
and a veneer of newness.

the old ones covered
in rust, dirt and decay
laid on top of each other,
chained together like a pair of dying dogs—
ferrel and ready to be put out of their misery.

the combination of the lock
had been forgotten,
so he removed the front tires,
to free them.
his fingers covered in grease,
the frustration building
the nuts would not loosen
the forks would not budge.

he becomes angry with
his limited mechanical skills.
he has given up on machines
since that first kite
he couldn’t make fly
with his father.

stringing words together
comes more naturally
or even a few chords
or movie clips.
ideas.
images.

he moves
the two freed carcasses to a corner,
unsure how to dispose of them.
 
he thinks of children
world wide craving clean water,
as he chains up the new bikes
and covers them to protect
the hand grips from the rain.

he contemplates a list of words
on the elevator back upstairs:

sacrifice
family
equity
poverty
entitlement
blessings
luck
gratitude

26/365

in his dark blue metallic mercedes benz
that glittered like a velvet jewel—
with its light coffee creme interior
and the top down
and the tape deck
and the automatic windows
in 1983
i was american.

in our shiny lime volkswagen bug
that grumbled like a broken neon sign—
with its walnut faux leather interior
and the sputtering exhaust
and the staticky speakers
and the hand cranked windows
in 1983
i was foreign.

he was hi fi
we were lo fi
he was guess and reebok
we were no name and no brand
he was steaks and restaurants
we were fesenjoon and picnics
he was american gigalo and blonde
we were bob dylan and john lennon
he was white carpets and girlfriends
we were shag and family
he owned
we rented
he was american
we were foreign.

perhaps we only feel
the post traumatic stress disorder
of assimilation
miles after childhood.

Toys

I don’t normally write my daily post this early, it is only 4:15, but the house is tame and we are out to dinner with free flow drinks, so I won’t be in any shape later to write anything decent, and seeing that this is a Christmas post, I owe it more than a few drunken lines.


The girls are so excited to take a bath. They are in the tub with dolls and bath salts, as if this simple act is the greatest thing they have done all year. We have a tiny tub in our bathroom and no one ever uses it, expect for right now and man are they excited.


Mairin is taking a nap poor thing. She has been working so hard to finish off the school year, keep our family afloat, make a great X-mas for everyone and writing a paper for her masters course, among a million other things. She has been a true champion and her down time today has been well earned.


But it’s not like I have been doing anything to pick up the slack as there has been little slack to pick up…our day has been mellow.


Late wake up, 8:30am both kids, and opening presents. Lots of big ticket items this year, but feels like it was all useful stuff. We are now the proud owners of an X-Box One- not sure how a new gaming console is going to play out in our house, in terms of screen time and what not, but we were due. So far a few simple games and the kids are excited about Minecraft. The console came with The Division, an M18 post apocalyptic game set in NYC; I am a bit nervous about how much of my time this might take. I will proceed with caution.


The girls played. Mairin watched Gilmore Girls whilst sipping Prosecco and I watched the Raider game. Oh boy. What a game. It was amazing to see them dominating for a while and then bam! Just like that Carr out indefinitely. Trying not to let the injury affect my mood, but man 2016- You’re really killing me. It’s a team sport and we have a great team, but McGloin will have to be a super hero to pull this off. Now we see what happens in the next few weeks.


After the game, the girls messed around with my new amp. Then I had a few strums. I am excited to have my old Gibson out and resting in a stand next to this little amp. Looking forward to trying to learn a few solos and upping my guitar game in 2017. Anyone have any tips: video tutorials you love, scales I need to learn, online courses etc…would be great. Joel, Mike, Jeff, Roderick?


That’s about it. Mellow day playing with toys. I know it’s not the material things that are meant to be the focus, but let’s be real, until we (our family) chooses to do things differently, it feels nice to have some things that we enjoy. I feel that we didn’t over due it with junk this year and that eases my consumerist anxieties. And now, we are off to spend quality time with friends and eat some great food and drink some good drinks.


All in all this has been a fabulous Christmas day. I hope that no matter where you are, you are warm and safe and happy and spending time with your friends and family and maybe playing with a small toy that gets you excited.

True Colors

Saw The Trolls movie today and thoroughly enjoyed it. Great music, cute, funny and a nice message about happiness and how and where to find it. Don’t want to give too much away, but the bad guys-The Bergens reminded me of Trump supporters. Just throwing that out there for when/if you see it.


Came home starting learning True Colors with Skye and Kaia. It is in a key scene in the movie and feels nice to sing with the girls.


Despite the joyfulness of said film, the Raisdana house was doused with a smidge of funk today. Not sure why, but we were all a bit tired and snappy.


Basketball, some time outdoors, Veganberg lunch, movie, a quick lesson in Poker and Black Jack, a few Skye melt down tantrums, some Supergirl and finally the deep deep sleep. We were functioning but not really feeling it. That’s the case some days- Families just misfire and sputter and fall.


This election is rotting my soul piece-by-piece and I don’t know if the climate of the country will change anytime soon. Either way is a bad case scenario. Trump wins will….I don’t need to say anything about that, but this vitriol will not dissipate much even if Clinton wins. Trump supports are just hearing their voices for the first time, I am afraid they will not shut up any time soon. I am not sure if my day-to-day life can handle much more of bleating.


I guess we must all have faith in the work toward peace. Focusing on the daily ways we try and teach a new generation to care and feel and love and move forward. Part of this work, must involve loving those who spew hate.


It can be difficult to do this work with our own hearts filled with hate, and Trump is so good at filling hearts with hate, regardless of whether or not you support him. Like an infection he burrows into your system and tears you apart. But we must internalize it and learn to transform it back into love to guide us.


I hope to wake up tomorrow, put on my clothes, sculpt the mustache, and help the people in my life live their true colors.

Voice Like A Lullaby

“Get away from that door.” My mom had just gotten home from work and walked upstairs.
I ignored her. If she really meant it she would try again.
“I said get away from there. You’re going to disturb her.” She was whispering forcefully.
I tried my luck one more time. I couldn’t look away. What was she doing in there under that sheet? With those beads? That ancient looking book? Is that a compass? Why is she muttering to herself? What is she muttering to herself? She stands up. Arms in the air. Kneels down. Forehead to the ground. Repeat.
“I said go downstairs!” The whisper was gone, her voice clear, her hand on my shoulder physically pulling me away. “Now!”

I saw my grandmother kneel down again, clutching a string of beads, her head to the floor one last time, before I gave in and slunked then trotted downstairs- two steps at a time, straight to the fridge for a banana.
“What is she doing in there?” I asked my mom ingesting half the banana in one bite.
“Do you have to eat like an animal? You’re going to choke.”
Finishing the second half of the banana, I asked, “No really, what is she doing in there?”
“She’s praying,” my mom had shoved me out of the way and was starting to dig in the refrigerator, pulling out an assortment of boxed and sealed left-overs for dinner.
“Praying? What does that mean?” I was perplexed. I had no idea what to do with information that my grandmother who had arrived from Iran late the night before, and was going to stay with us for six months, who I hadn’t seen since I was five, I was seven now, who had brought two massive suitcases that stood full and unopened upstairs, who was my dad’s mom, was upstairs praying.

I had out run my mom from the car earlier to set eyes on Maman Soodie, only to find her in a trance, under a sheet apparently praying.
“Why are you ignoring me?” I needed answers.
My mom was busy pouring an eggplant stew into a pot for warming and setting a pot to boil for rice.
“It means that she is talking to god, by reciting lines from the Koran.”
God? Koran?
“She will do that five times a day when she is here and I need you to not stand at the door gaping at her. It’s a very private act and she doesn’t need you disturbing her.” She started to cut some radishes like flowers and throw them into a blow of cold water to help them open up.
“I wasn’t disturbing her. I was just standing there, quietly watching.” I stole a radish and popped it into my mouth. I love the subtle spice. I stirred the stew and watched a few tiny bubbles begin to pop like a lake of molten lava.
“Can you not argue and just promise me that you won’t bother your grandmother? And go set the table. Your dad will be home soon and I want to eat as soon as he gets here. I am starving.” She handed me a stack of four plates.

Four. Not three, but four. It was so exciting to have an additional member added to our family. It had been just the three of us for so long that having another body in the house was a novelty and a treat. I didn’t know at the time how much I would learn from Maman Soodie and how long those memories would last.

“Jabiz Joon come here and let me hold you. I have missed you so much my heart has been broken.” Her voice sounded like a lullaby I recognized from years ago. She was out from under the sheet and heading toward the kitchen. Her face and her voice came rushing back to me from the time before we left Iran and came to America. From a time where we played together while she watched me when my parents were out. From a time that she was my friend, my story teller, my grandmother.
I ran to her as she sat in a chair at the dining room table. She scooped me up into her lap, hugging me tightly, rocking me back and forth.

She said a bunch of things in Farsi I didn't understand, like I was her liver, but I could feel were affectionate and then she said, “Oh how I have missed you. Tonight I will tell you the story of the Persian Prince Rostam.”
“Can you also tell me what you were saying to god?”
I noticed that she and my mom exchanged a quick look. It was fleeting, but I saw it.
“Let’s start with the fairy tales and move onto god later.”

A History Of Cars

The first car I ever remember is my grandfathers BMW. I think it was white. I was three maybe four, sitting on his lap as he pretended to let me drive it. The tiny round lights up front. Tan leather seats. Maybe a wooden gear shift knob.


Next, America. 1980. Our family owned a sparking metallic green Volkswagen Bug with brown interior. I loved the little side triangular windows and the way it never felt completely insulated. Gusts of wind entering from random empty spaces in the car. The engine made it feel like a rocket.


1986 Our first showroom floor brand new car- A Nissan Sentra. Silver and with zero perks. It was the base model and had no features expect maybe a fan, but that didn’t matter because it was our first new car with the new car smell and the pricing sticker on the window as we drove it home. Four doors and a trunk, we were moving up in the world.


I learned to drive with that car, my dad and I out near Handy Man and the Dump. Francisco Boulevard- our hood. It was a stick shift. One day he let me drive it into the city and somehow he forced me onto one of the crazy steep streets. And while I begged him to take over he refused. “If you really want to be a good driver, you have to learn how to handle this.” I used the emergency break and found the sweet spot on the clutch to get us home. I was terrified and sweaty, but now I am grateful for those hard lessons.


1991- I bought my first car. A royal blue 1979 VW bug. I was still in love with bugs. My parents agreed to match whatever I had saved, so for $1700 I had my first car. I will never forget the feeling of popping in the Appetite for Destruction cassette and heading toward Jason’s house. The feeling of freedom was intimidating. I knew at that moment that I could, if I wanted, drive away from home, never come back and go anywhere I wanted.


I abused that car. We jammed up to eight people in Ole’ Blue. I once almost drove it off a cliff after a party, damaging all four wheels. I left it on fourth street and drove home. In the morning, my dad asked me where my car was and I had no idea. After a while I remember, and when we went to get it, he nearly lost his mind with anger. The wheels were all shaped like squares. We had to have it towed to a shop.


In the end, I never once changed the oil or took it to the shop. I put gas in it and drove, until one day it stopped on the highway somewhere near Larkspur. I had it towed to the dump for $25 bucks and never saw it again.


Our family car lasted well into my high school years and actually drove me down to San Diego my first year of college. The whole family including my grandpa, who we dropped off in LA. We packed all my sheets and towels and stuff and headed south.


A few months after that, my parents finally threw in the towel and separated for good. I am not sure what happened to the car, but the next time I came home my dad had bought a new Eagle Summit. (Some kind of Dodge copy) I don’t remember what my mom was driving. I moved back in with my dad by X-Mas and he left for Iran shortly after that. He left me the car with the understanding that he would help me pay the payments if I could pay the insurance.


I had this car for a while. A few years. Driving it to College of Marin and La Petite and Bank of America where I work. Until I got too many tickets and had my license suspended. I couldn’t afford the insurance any more and couldn’t get a hold of my dad. I didn’t know what to do and the idea of selling a car was too much for me, so I drove it to the dealership, handed over the keys and I said I don’t want this car anymore, you can have it back. The guy looked shocked; I am pretty sure no one had ever brought a car back and said take it.


I walked home.


I didn’t have a car when I moved back to San Diego, but I used to spend a lot of time in The Red Wolf, Jeff’s truck. I have no idea what make it was, but we used to abuse that car too. It had a kick ass stereo and we played it pretty loud. One Halloween we dressed up like girls and drove it to Santa Barbara. The last night at Bob and Ari’s place, a fire extinguisher was set off and covered everyone and everything with green dust. For some reason this green dust stayed in the Red Wolf for months after.


Back home living in San Francisco my car was the Muni. Buses from Haight to downtown and the N Judah line trolley to SFSU. One summer we decided to buy a VW bus to drive across the country on a two month road trip. We painted forest green and lined the floor with black shag rug and purple velvet curtains. It made it to DC and New Orleans and finally back home. Anthony didn’t know how to drive a stick so I would get it started out of the gates and switch seats once we were in 3rd or 4th gear. Mary and Cortney never drove. I loved that car. We kept it for a few weeks after the trip, but parking was a pain the ass so we sold it for nearly what we paid for it.


Then off to Mozambique and back to NYC. No cars. Shapas. MTA, bus, train, feet.


In Malaysia we bought a tiny purple Proton. It got us around and my only real memory was the terror I felt driving Kaia home form the hospital in it. Sold it before we left.


Doha- we bought the car I have hated the most. A white Jeep Cherokee that was the biggest piece of garbage I have ever owned. Bought it from a lying Qatari and there was something wrong with it for three years. Sold it before we left.


Jakarta- Leased a big black Toyota van and actually had a driver. 75 year old, nearly blind Sunario. It was practical and roomy. Sunario was great with the kids. He barely spoke but he helped us get by in Jakarta or he ripped us off, hard to tell in Indonesia.


And finally, Singapore. We own a ten year old Hyundai Verna, which ironically is very much like our Nissan Sentra. It gets us around and is nothing special. We have to sell it in March because in Singapore you are not meant to have cars that are older than ten years. I wonder what car we will have next.


Each one of these cars has a million more stories, but this was just a start. Which car would you like to hear more about?


I didn’t mention the various Fords that Jason owned, but they too were near and dear to my heart, but that is another post as well.


Tell me about some of your cars.

So Many Boxes

What else is there besides this? What more do you want? What fantasies do you still concoct as you lay awake in the darkness or when you let your mind drift at the traffic light? What random memory do you crawl to, to try and leverage a future you feel you are owed? Why can’t this always be enough?


The light kiss and the long hug from your wife in the living room on a Sunday afternoon. The fist pump from your daughter as she sinks a basket at basketball practice. The tangy salsa in your breakfast burrito. The casual conversation with a friend about the trials and tribulations of parenting. The work you begrudgingly had to do to get back in the swing of things. It could be worse- you could be doing a job you hate. Something that is not your calling.


What else is there besides this? Sure, the minutes can trickle by at a pace that feels frozen. A routine induced boredom that you try and remedy with…what? Why can’t you enjoy the trips and the journey? The small moments in front of the mirror, admiring how you have finally grown into yourself. The look matching the mood matching the inner voice- the one that won’t shut up. The one that is never satisfied. The one that argues with itself and demands more, while begging to be grateful.


The lives of the characters in the novel you’re reading seem so desperate, but their familiarity puts you in a panic. What are your rituals? Where is your romance and bliss? Is the literature a mirror of your routines? A cliched mid-life episode? Is this all there is? Will I cherish this at the end? Am I doing enough? Living enough? Loving enough? Am I to blame for the ho hum, hum drum of these days as they pass? Am I the only one who sees them? Feels their weight?


Why don’t we talk more about our dreams?
At this point what the hell is your dream?


So many boxes already expertly checked: job. wife. kids. expat. travel. hobbies. friends.


What else is there to want? And if you can’t even name it, why do you want it so desperately?


As a kid from an inadequate family, why can’t you just focus on the one goal? Have you forgotten the promises of selflessness you made to your infant daughter, on those quiet dark nights in the glow of her bedroom, with the tender music, and her in your arms, perfect and precious, an empty vessel for everything they didn’t do for you, an empty bag waiting to be filled with everything you salvaged from yourself worth passing on. You vowed to erase yourself piece by piece on those nights, promised to ignore your selfish needs for the sake of your daughter and your wife and this family. And now what ten years later you are wondering about your needs again?


Where did they go?
What are they?
Why do they feel so trivial and obscene?


Your priorities are in front of you. No more lethargic days passing away in a slow drip. Tell her you love her more often. Thank her. Help her. Live your politics instead of tweeting them. Go to Ikea with a smile. Care about the curtains. Get excited about the parties and the holidays and the future and the present. Be more present. Play with the kids. Talk to them. Look deeply into their eyes so they can tie themselves to your ballast.


Slow Sundays in your head can be exhausting. This election is pulling on you like dead weight, forcing you to carry around its bile with every step. The videos. The words. The Tweets. The half-baked opinions of every idiot in a comment box. Why do you let them burrow into your heart. Your space?


What else is there besides this? You are a middle aged man: a father, a husband, a friend and a son who is doing his best. Although, this seldom feels like it is enough, you have to trust that it is.

Stretch of Hours

“She was tired of her journey through a day, the limitless moods contained in any stretch of hours.”


                                                                                                                                 Dave Eggers


There is the dread of waking- the act of being birthed from the darkness into more darkness shocks him every morning a new. Could this be the day when his body quits, the heart stops, the brain seizes and refuses to move forward?


No. This is not that day. His thoughts begin to churn as soon as the sleep is wiped away, and he checks his stats. A few emails. Some likes. A love. A text from Jason. A scan of Time Hop makes him feel good about his past wisdom. Maybe all his thoughts, ensnared and enslaved after all these years will amount to something resembling a body of work. Or maybe, he should put the phone down and stop thinking for validation. He clears the little red notifications from his phone and slogs out into the world.


He sets the table and gets the waters as his wife, who has been up for almost an hour, finishes making breakfast. He thinks about her devotion as a mother and wife and friend and quietly nurses his appreciation. He thinks that he should tell her more often that he loves and appreciates her, but even thinking about it makes him feel awkward. He will write about it tonight and hopefully she will read it. He knows this is not enough, but he has always felt more comfortable sitting behind the wall of words. He can write anything. Project it to anyone, but a simple thank you for making breakfast everyday to his wife, feels forced and strange. He is not proud of his behaviour. He tends his slight shame as he heads off to wake the kids.


They are tired and still sleepy, but they know the routine. They will sit at the table and need to be done by six-thirty for showers. He reminds them to eat or take a bite every 5 minutes while he gently strums his guitar. "This one could be a song," he says, finding a groove. His youngest starts to sing a melody and he is blown away by her love of music. It feels like this love was passed down from his father onto this tiny child and now it has exploded exponentially. He knows that even if he has done everything else wrong in the parenting of his children- they love music and books, and this is enough. Breakfast done. He washes the dishes and is off to the shower.


This is one of the only times in the day that he is alone. He takes time to enjoy the smell of the lavender soap and shampoo. He washes his face with peach facial scrub. The grit of the pit exfoliates his face. His face is often covered with black-heads. He wishes his face was cleaner. Perhaps a facial, but really he doesn’t care that much. He has started to wash his face and after forty-two years this feels like a feat.


Getting dressed, he is disappointed in his ability to shop. He wanted to buy a more expressive work wardrobe this summer, but his hatred of shopping made him ineffectual at the factory outlet stores. He puts on a pair of red Gap khakis and a plaid shirt. A pair of vans caps off the professional yet “young” look that he settles for. He wishes that he paid more time, money and attention to what he wears, but at this point in his life his wardrobe is a routine. Cargo shorts, T-shirt, flip-flops on the weekends. Khakis, plaid shirt and Vans for work.


Then he waits. The rest of the family showers and gets ready. He reads on the couch and waits to see if the little one will tantrum today. She doesn’t. She is in a very good mood and pleasant and the day starts on good note. They leave the house on time and no one is stressed by being late to a meeting. The car ride is quiet. No music. Little conversation. He admires the sunrise and the greenery on the Singaporean freeway. This really is a beautiful city he thinks to himself, as he curses a driver who refuses to acknowledge his turn signal.


At school, he jokes with some kids. Says hello to peers. Smiles. Prepares the mask and starts his day. He wonders if other people could be crumbling inside at any moment of the day. He is actually in a great mood, so the professionalism is sincere. In his room he lights the lamps and explores his calendar. This looks like a manageable day. No surprises. He covers a mentor class and has fun with kids. No matter what else might be happening in his life, he knows that the time he spends with young people will always nurture his spirit. There is nothing better than spending time with kids in a classroom.


He talks to eleven year olds about the Political, Environmental, Economic and Societal lens with which they might look at the events of their lives. He shares the stories of his life as mentor text, and they seem surprised by his honesty and vulnerability. He tells them about his parents divorce and his inability to make friends in middle school. He prides himself on his ability to cut through bullshit and say what needs to be said. He knows that we are all boomerangs of emotion on the inside and even within the hour we can be burned alive only to rise from the ashes.


Lunch is quiet and fast. Salad again. The giant bean sprouts add a crunch that he enjoys, but they do not take place of the Jalapeño peppers, the salad bar hasn’t had in a week. Lunch duty on the field. This might kill him. It is hot and humid and he fights to stay awake. The boys play soccer and he thinks about how much he hates that game. He would rather watch them do anything else. Running back and forth, how can they get so much joy from something so inane?


Back in his room, the lights are low and the music helps him get through a To-Do list- set this week’s meeting agenda, write the eBrief, create next week’s mentor presentation, start thinking about the parent coffee morning, answer emails. Check. Check. Check. This isn’t teaching, but he convinces himself that it is benefiting learning. He actually likes it. He likes it a lot. Could he be a principal someday? Is that something he wants? Is it too soon to think such foolish things? He’s pretty sure he is doing a good job. People tell him he is, but he is not so sure himself. Next class. More kids. He will find is flow. His balance.


After school, he designs an activity on Pages. Making sure that the colors look good and the fonts are right. He prides himself on making pretty, useful things. His daughter does her homework as fast as she can and then reads.


He knows he will not run today, even though he should. He promises himself to get started next week, or the week after, after all the craziness of going home settles down. Instead, he shares some fries, a coke and apple pie with his daughter on the way home. He feels gross, but filled with joy as they drive home.


On the bed….rest the eyes a bit. oh no. Get up. Set the dinner table. Eat. Everyone is pleasant and has had good days.


This is life. This is family. This is all there is and it is more than he ever dreamed he deserved.


Bed time goes smoothly. Kaia is working through sleep issues, but has a good night. He finishes off a few things from the to-do list like a machine. Copying and pasting, opening and closing tabs, creating- emails, agendas, presentations. Click. Click. Write. Done.


And now…Iron and Wine feels too slow for the pace of his clickity clackity fingers, but the AC is blowing sweet cool air and the one glass of wine taste perfect. He will go to bed before ten and read the latest novel by one of his favorite authors. He loves the language and the things that it motivates him to do.


Then he will live tomorrow.

Chapter One for Twinkle

I was never an orphan, but when I was fifteen year’s old I clearly needed to be adopted. I was a shy awkward kid who wanted to be accepted, loved and noticed. I had spent most of middle school on the periphery of a Marin world I didn’t really understand, and to tell the truth I didn’t really understand what it meant to be an American. I was an only child in an household filled with love, but also many silences and empty spaces. I needed more family than our three-member unit was providing.


It was summer before sophomore year and I had started hanging out with a little freckled kid named Anthony. Even now thirty years later, I can’t recall what brought us together, but we used to ride our bikes to Derek Thornhill's house to play football. This was a new world of mansions and country clubs for me. After several visits to the Thornhill place, we started going up to Margarita Drive to Jason’s house. We played hoops. Swam in the pool. Built friendships that would last for decades.


But this is not a post about friendship, it is a story about family. As soon as it became apparent that our visits were becoming more and more regular, often turning into weekend long sleep-overs, I was adopted by the Dohertys, and no one was more accepting, generous, hospitable and loving that Jason’s mom Karen “Twinkle” Doherty.


Twinkle passed away this weekend, and many of you have been so kind as to ask about the allusions I have been making to a special person in my life who has been suffering. Karen was like a mother to me. I often said that she was my second mom. From those early days of making us breakfast, making sure we were safe and making us laugh with her infectious and highly inappropriate sense of humour, to the last time I saw her looking weak and frail in the hospital, Karen has been a constant source of light in my life.


In life Karen was the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Her kindness and ability to transmit joy to everyone around her, were only surpassed by her unflagging strength and selflessness. She was a mother to all, not just me. She was a true matriarch. I have countless stories to share about her love of life and her ability to overcome obstacles, each one bringing me to tears at odd parts of my day, so I cannot write them all tonight.


I just needed this first post to announce her passing and make it real. To open the first chapter, so as to let the healing, grieving, honouring and celebrating to begin. At first I was nervous to write these words or even mentioned her name at all, because this is not my story alone to tell, but as I mentioned above, she adopted me and made me feel part of her beautiful and complex family. She gave me Christmas and Thanksgiving. Sunday night football. Nieces and Nephews. She gave me full access to her son and her family and their home and her heart. And for all of this I will be eternally grateful.


By being my mother and mentor and guide and role model, she has shaped who I am more than any other person in my life. I will miss her so much and it is simply too soon to understand what her loss will mean to my life, our family and the hundreds of lives she touched throughout her life. There is so much more to say, but tonight is not the time.


All I needed to say tonight was, "We miss you already Twink. I love you so much and thank you. I hope you are free of pain and resting. I will always carry you in my heart. I like you there to keep me balanced.

Lush

Walking in the shadows of a Redwood grove, as the sun falls gently, illuminating the green to an almost unbearable lushness. I am walking slowly in the back with Skye, “Today is a special day for me Skye. You want to know why?”


Sure.


“I am doing one of my favorite things in the world- hiking, in one of my favorite places on the planet- The California Redwood forest, with my favorite people in the world- you. My family.”


We walked on in silence.


I found the perfect trail. A few miles off the main highway and off The Avenue of Giants, we were able to hike for several hours in solitude and quiet. We passed a few fellow hikers, but for the most part, we enjoyed a perfect July day in the majesty of these trees.


“This is the only place on earth where these trees grow. And they have been here for more than two-thousand years. I am not sure if you are able to appreciate how special this place is, but someday when you come back and bring your kids it will make more sense.”


This was one of the last trips my parents and I made when I was in middle school. It was winter when we came and I remember all of us getting along. I remember the driving, the Eel River, I remember choosing REM’s Green album as my music choice, Mehran chose Mozart and Mahin passed on her turn. We stayed in some roadside cabins that I can’t seem to find for the life of me.


It is one of my favorite childhood family memories. I wonder how many of these memories will stick for our kids?


…


Every night, I want to spend the right amount of time writing and capturing these fleeting days, but usually I am well-spent and tired and ready for bed. Tonight is no different. We are all warm and safe in this nasty, smelly Best Western in Garberville. Tomorrow, we wake up early and hug the California coast, before we head inland to Bend, Oregon. It is a seven+ hour drive and I am looking forward to the occasional road side stop- either at the beach or some river side swim spot.


We are in Bend for five days, so it will be nice to set some roots and enjoy the backyard, hammock and hot tub.

Nature of Reality

We left Tassajara pretty early this morning, with my mom in tow, and headed to Monterrey. The day was spent in in the fog, at the aquarium, at the cheesy tourist shops, at the candy shop, eating cotton candy and Italian food.

It ended sharing a drink with my mom at the hotel bar talking about Zen and the nature of reality and how crazy it is that my girls are getting so big and that we are now in our 60’s an 40’s sitting in a hotel bar talking about the nature of reality.

Tomorrow we are up early, packing the car and headed back North to Garberville and a few nights in the Redwood forest. I wish I had more to offer from this day, but it was a long good one and after sleeping on a mattress in the cold at Tassajara, I am looking forward to a warm shower and a cozy bed. I am back online and ready to be back in it. 

What A Day

Last night was long and cold. I slept on a mattress on the ground with a sheet and when I went to sleep it was too hot to breath. I though I had imagined a blanket in the bathroom, but didn’t think twice about grabbing it. At some point in the night, I am guessing around 3am, I was freezing. My initial thoughts were to simply curl up in the sheets, as the thought of venturing into the darkness to grab the blanket felt like too big of a chore; I chose to suffer instead. I am not sure why this decision to allow myself to freeze felt like the right choice, but for at lead an hour I lay motionless in the darkness under a sheet freezing. Until of course, Kaia woke up and said she was cold. She was also sleeping on the floor on a mattress.


She decided to jump in bed with Mairin and Skye right after I got her the blanket. So finally, I was saved. I jumped back on my mattress and quickly allowed myself to be swallowed by it. I fell in and out of a shallow sleep until the morning.


What a day. We started with a nice breakfast and then we packed a lunch and headed to The Narrows- a thirty minute hike up the creek to a nice deep pool with a rock slide. The water was freezing, but the sun was so hot and perfect that we spent a large part of our day there. Skye was beyond adventurous and was always the first onion the water and even led the hike for most of the time. Kaia was a bit more cautious and was freaked out, I think, by the coldness of the water. I have rarely seen her so far from her comfort zone. Eventually, we all got in and had a good swim and delicious lunch. Alas, no photos as I was trying to be disconnected and device free.


A bit of down time and back at the baths. I was alone tonight, and although I only had twenty minutes, I took the time to walk down to the creek after the sauna and even fit in a quick mediation sitting on the deck by myself. These are the things I miss most about the states. The opportunity one has to be alone in nature. If we lived in the states, I would do so much camping and adventure nature stuff. Or at least, that is what I tell myself. Today was brilliant just walking along this creek with the the girls, my wife and my mom. All of us walking under the sun, skin toasted and brown, the gravel beneath our feet. Miles away from the chaos of the world with little to do but eat, swim, sleep.


It’s not all relaxing here however. Being at a remote Zen retreat with two young children can be nerve racking. There are an eclectic group of guests here, walking around in various states of quiet. So even room level conversations between two kids under ten, sounds a few decibels too high. There have been a lot of shushes and be quiets, but overall the girls have been great.


After dinner, they both went to the baths for a second time with my mom, while I attended a dharma talk by the head of this Zen Center. Her message was a simple one: when it feels like there are hundreds, thousands or even millions of things coming at you at once- don’t try to control any of it. We are the universe in its entirety. We are the freedom and the entanglement. So the more we sit and trust that the universe will work itself out, the more we will see that it will.


The mood of the talk was nice. Dim lights, robes, bells, chants and her calming voice in the semi- darkness.


Tonight I am armed and prepared for the darkness. Although it feels too hot to sleep, I will prepare not one but two blankest for the pre-dawn frost, I am certain will come. In the morning we will eat breakfast and get back on the crazy long road back to the coast and civilization. We will spend the day and one night in Monterrey with my mom, before we head north again.


I am just so proud of her for being here and living here and processing here. It is a special place and I am so happy that we made the drive and were able to experience it with her.


I am now thinking when in my life, I might be able to spend a substantial amount of time here. It might have to be years after the girls have grown up. I may have to wait for the rest of my life to present me with the opportunity, but I look at my mom and see how patient and persistent she has been, and I am hopeful.


Someday, I will come back and spend at least a few weeks here.

Fairfax Nights

Today is the 180th day of 2016. That means I have written 180 blog posts this year alone. One every night since January 1st. This barrage of posts has taken the Intrepidflame total is up to1002 posts since 2006.


Yup, I started the blog ten years ago and since then I have written 1001 posts. The blog has experienced nearly 200,000 page views and has had over 2000 comments. I have a few hundred posts on Intrepid Teacher as well, a few thousand words on a memoir and a few thousand more on a YA novel. So what does all this mean? Is any of it complete or done or feel finished? Not really? Does it need to? I hope not.


Most of the posts have been ramblings and explorations, but looking back it is nice to see such a growing body of work. Who knows where this is all headed or if I will every finish either of the books, but in the mean time the 2016 posts just keep coming. Who knows maybe a collection of these posts could be a book of their own. I will just keep writing. Thank you for reading.

…

Spent tonight in Fairfax with Josh and Lacey. Our kids played and kept themselves busy, while we drank a few pints and caught up. It was so cool to watch Josh and Lacey run court in their community in Fairfax. The sun was low and the streets a subtle golden hue. We ate dinner and walked to the local ice cream shop. I admired the Fairfax weirdness and enjoyed my vegan ice cream, while I watched our kids hang out with my friends. it is so cool watching them build these relationships with such old friends. Being an only child, this is the closest I will get to brothers and the kids to uncles and cousins from my side of the "family."


Earlier today, we were at the Doherty house, and it was so cool watching Kaia play with Thomas as Skyelar hung out with and hugged Twinkle (Karen).


It’s good to be home.

…

I started this post with some stats, but I will be off-line for a few days as we head down to the Tassaraja Zen Center to visit my mom. This is a Buddhist center a few hours off the main road down by Carmel. I am looking forward to watching the girls hang out with my mom. I look forward to some beautiful hikes and some mellow good zenness.


I hope to continue writing, but I will not be able to post until we are back in civilization in Monetary in a few days.


Summer time and life is good. The sky is blue. The days are long. And there is little that needs to be done

Bad Teeth

My teeth are killing me. They really hurt and have been hurting all day. My sinuses are not great either, and I suspect that the two are connected. It’s like a low-grade constant throbbing ache. All my top teeth, or at lest the ones in the back and up by my ears.


The Advisory Summit was good today despite my lethargy and pain. Nadine, Duff and I are having some great conversations about what our mentor program could or should look like. Getting some good ideas by looking at what other schools are doing. Lot’s to think and talk about when we get back.


My afternoon was not glamorous by any means, but exactly what I needed- Had a few beers at the after summit social. Came back to my room and laid in bed watching the entire two hour Democratic Debate. Rustled up enough energy to walk across the street for a falafel sandwich, some fries, a 7-up and three Krispie Kreme donuts. Yes, I know those are not vegan.


I watched Room after inhaling all the food, and then watched Samantha Bee and Amy Schumer on youtube. While being able to rest has been nice, it is lonely in this room and I am ready to come home. Being alone for this long really makes me appreciate my family.


Now it is time for sleep.