Oscar Meyer or Ball Park Franks

Last night my dad woke up in his chair, looked me straight in the eye, and in the clearest voice said "HOT DOG!" For the past few weeks, his speech has become very labored and difficult to understand, but last night he appeared very coherent - his voice strong. Jennifer has been caring for him around the clock and she came over to the chair where we were. He was looking straight at me and said it again "HOT DOG." Everything in me was ready to comply with his request. My mind began working on where I could pick a hot dog up fast rather than making one from scratch. I knew we had no hot dogs in the house. As I began to reply "Ok, Dad... I'll go get one at Costco" my sister interceded and said "No Dad. Its late. Lets have some ice cream instead." She was right. It was past 8:30 and my mom was already asleep in bed.

For a second though, I let myself believe that he was fine and that there wasnt any sickness in his body. For one second, I let myself hope. His voiced seemed so unburdened and confident and reasonable. His eyes were not tired and confused. He really seemed like my dad again.

Jennifer went into the kitchen and Dad's eyes looked straight ahead at the tv- resuming that cloudy stare. Then he barked in my direction "TOMORROW."

Goal for today: bring Dad a hotdog from Costco... maybe two.

Hard Times

Dad had a rough day yesterday.
He was taken to the emergency room late, last night and was finally admitted at around 5am this morning.
Mom and Jennifer had a long night at Tri-City. They are home resting now.
Dad is ok. He is being hydrated and has been given medicine to help him rest.
We are calling hospice today.

Another Story from Puerto Vallarta - but Not a Nice One

This story is one Ive thought of countless times in my life. Im not sure why, cause it ain't pretty. For some reason, it is lodged in my mind.

When we were five, my family would roam the cobblestone streets of Puerto Vallarta exploring the coastal town. We'd window shop, investigate the smells and sights of the large, covered markets and hang out in the plaza by the crown topped church. One evening we were all out walking and my parents decided we'd buy some bread at a panaderia. Pandulce and coffee is a common dinner meal for many Mexicans and when we were in Mexico we would often practice their custom. After a long day walking, my sisters, parents and I found ourselves in a populated panaderia and began choosing our dinner treats.

At panaderias, there are racks and racks full of fresh bread and pandulce. On this night, my parents allowed my sisters and me to serve ourselves using the oversized tongs and circular, metal trays. Normally this would be awesome, but on this day it posed a problem for me. Even though I had eaten pandulce plenty of times, I was not overly familiar with the different types, styles and flavors presented in the store. In the past, someone else chose the sweet bread for me and I either ate it or didnt. There were definitely types I didnt like and I wasnt really sure which ones they were. My sisters didnt seem plagued with the same insecurity I felt. Ultimately, I followed their suit and chose one or two I thought looked good.

Once outside the store we began to snack on our pandulce, but when I bit into mine I didnt like it. Just as I feared I chose poorly. For some reason I was very ashamed of myself and didnt want to tell anyone. I reached my hand back into the bag, picked out what looked like a normal piece of bread and began eating it. Boy was it good! The bread wasnt fancy looking so I must have thought it wouldnt be missed. I was wrong again. The bolillo I feasted on was Dad's and he was mighty pissed that I had biten into it. He began yelling at me outside of the store and my dad rarely lost his cool. It takes a lot for him to lose his temper and/or patience and on this day he did both. His irritation caught me off guard and Im ashamed to admit that I began yelling back at him. I think I was either in 8th, 9th or 10th grade. My parents can both attest those were not my best years.

Twenty some years later, the facts if this incident, which made a big impression on me at the time, have altered. When this incident happened, I took my Dad's anger very personally. I felt very attacked and ashamed that I had pushed him to his breaking point, but that awareness didnt stop my bad behavior. For some reason I didnt admit the blame and just say "Im sorry." Now when I think back at that night, I believe there was a lot more "psychology" going on than what appeared on the surface. As I said earlier, my dad has the patience of Job. It was out of character for him to lose it on me about something so small. Actually, that is not true. Dad's temper rarely flared up at people. Instead it was directed at smaller things - things my mom, sisters and I deemed insignificant. The big stuff he took in stride. The reason this memory is stuck in my head is because I believe it was one of the first times his fury was solely focused on me. I made him angry. He wasnt upset at the dog or the sprinklers not working or the baseball game on the tv. His anger was focused on me and I did not like it. There might have been other extenuating circumstances too. Maybe he was tired that day or the heat and humidity had gotten to him. Maybe he was hungry and had plans for that bolillo once we got home. Maybe there was extenuating tension with my mom or me or my sisters that I was unaware of. Its possible I had been doing things to annoy him the entire night and me eating half of the bolillo sent him off the edge.

Or maybe, I was a selfish, spoiled 14 year old who hadnt learned to be responsible for her own actions. I think maybe that was it. :)

There's Always Sunshine after Rain.

Dinner in Puerto Vallarta, 200?

When I was in middle school my parents bought a time share in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. We have been making weeklong, summer visits ever since. I have so many wonderful memories of PV: meals together; ChiChis; the Gigante supermarket; horseback riding in the jungle; banana boat out on the ocean; drinks by the pool; shopping in town and venders on the beach. My head is flooded with so many memories that I cant decipher the years anymore. There are memories when my family as only five and now I have memories that include Matt, my sons, Barry, Elijah, Abbey Road and Dama Shan.

Dad loved PV... he really, really did. At first I believe my parents began going there because of Mom, but my Dad loved it there just as much, maybe more. It makes me sad that he wont be able to experience the warmth and smells of Puerto Vallarta one more time in his life. It makes me sadder that the next time I go there, Dad wont be with us.

My father would totally chill out and do nothing in Puerto but relax for days. He would take naps in the afternoon and rarely watch tv. I can see my dad now like it was yesterday: he's sitting on the balcony of the room in his bathing suit - something with a tropical print and mildly worn. Dad always sat out on the balcony; he didnt like the air conditioner inside. There's an orange or royal blue towel under him on the chair and in his hands is a James Patterson book. Next to him on the table is a drink. Dad never bought drinks from the hotel. Instead he'd head over to Gigante across the road and buy grapefruit or pineapple juice and tequila. He loved that combo.

I remember one time in Mexico, we were both out on the balcony sitting together during a rain shower. Dad had his music with him (he often brought his own music to Mexico in the form of several cassette tapes) and we were discussing how the ambient, guitar laden songs of Dire Straits were a beautiful soundtrack to the rain and electrical storm we were experiencing. We sat out there as the day turned to night, quietly enjoying the music and the rain together. I felt so content in that moment.

I Think We're Alone Now...

Finn at Mom and Dad's pool - 8.18.11

Yesterday I randomly saw my cousin, Mike, surfing at the beach in Carlsbad. Both Mike and his brother, Jeff, were taught to surf at a young age by my Uncle Tom. Now its part of their lives. They surf whenever they can - often, daily. I envy that. I envy having an activity that's good for me, communes with nature and allows me some solo time. After I picked up Dad from his treatment this morning, I told him how Id seen Mike and shared how seeing him made me wish Id asked him earlier in the summer to teach Seamus and Finn to surf. Dad remarked "Its a little late for that now." He's right in one respect: its literally the last days of summer for us. My boys will be up to their ears in school in just a few days.

I couldnt shake the feeling of wanting alone, meditative time - preferably doing something that is good for the body. If I crave that kind of outlet, surely my sons would too, right? Surely, they would benefit from that kind of activity later in life. At the pool this afternoon, watching how much the boys love being in the water, my thoughts drifted back to surfing again. I told the boys how I wish I had asked Mike to teach them to surf and Seamus replied:

"Ive never really wanted to learn to surf."

I ignored him and continued on:

"Yeah... but there's something really peaceful and centering about being alone, out in the vast ocean with the waves rocking you gently."

Seamus started at me blankly, clearly confused by my persistence. Then Finn piped in with dead pan response:

"You lost me at alone."

Oh my God, did he give me a good laugh when he said that. I laughed out loud and generously for about 15 seconds.

Finn hates being alone.

Photographs and Memories

Photo of Dad and Mom in San Francisco Bay.

One of the things Ive been grappling with lately is that I have taken very few pictures this year. Since the kids have been born, I have been obsessed with photographing my family. What happened this year? I think there are a few reasons. One, Ive kind of fallen out of love with my camera. My camera is not new. I dont know how old it is, but its an older digital camera model. The most obvious mechanical problem I see with it is that the photos arent as crisp as they used to be. I used to take pictures using auto program (just push the shutter and the camera does everything) and the photos were sooooo clear and sharp. That rarely happens now, even with my best lens. Ive also noticed that when Im taking pictures, it wont snap as quickly as it used to. I wouldnt say that there is a delay, but if Im taking lots of pictures in one setting, the camera will stammer and stop enough for me to be totally annoyed. These mechanical issues (and a few others I havent mentioned) have prompted me to slow down dramatically in taking pictures - even during holiday and family events. I am normally a fairly patient person (a trait I inherited from my dad), but the camera drama has become a serious pet peeve of mine. I dont like feeling and acting like a stubborn old man, so Ive avoided using my camera whenever I can.

Another reason I havent taken many pictures in the past couple years is that I miss being a part of the action. When you are the photographer in your family, you often find yourself on the outside looking in. I have always felt this way, but in the past when the kids were younger it didnt bother me as much. There have been countless trips to Joshua Tree or Palomar Mountain where Matt inferred to me that I leave the camera at home and instead just enjoy our time together. For the record, taking pictures never precluded me from enjoying our time together. It did, however, frequently interrupt the flow of whatever activity we were doing. I guess after 10+ years of being the family documentarian I wanted to be more present in the moment.

Lately, I have been struggling with all these excuses. With my dad so sick, I have felt so haunted by all the photos I COULD HAVE taken, but didnt. This past Easter and July 4th I took a total of 35 pictures. That number includes photos of both holidays. What was I thinking? Where was my head? Why didnt I take photos of all of us together? For that matter, why didnt I snag more pictures of him alone? Why didnt I make that time?

A couple nights ago I was explaining this inner conflict to Matt through agonizing tears. Its funny the stuff that can get me crying these days - enough for its on blog post Im sure! Matt told me that even if I havent taken many pictures this year (or last, or the year before last) I still had dozens of pictures of my dad. That fact calmed me for a moment, because Matt is right. Life has not passed me by unnoticed, even if the past few months feel that way. I have a good 10 years of pictures that document pretty much everyday of my life. My dad is in many of them and for that Im grateful. I have a feeling that those images are going to be of great comfort in the coming weeks, months and years.

On My Mind...

This weekend, I got to spend some much needed time with some old friends. I have been very lucky that way. I have life long friends: people who have seen me grow and still love the person I am. One cool thing about having lifelong friends is that time is not an obstacle - in some ways, its an ally. We can go months (years?) without talking, but when we see each other again its like no time has passed. We fall right back into our familiar groove, but without any discomfort or guilt that time can often create.

I have woefully neglected this blog and instead of apologizing about it and Im going to treat it like an old friend. My life and that of my family has changed profoundly this past year and I think this blog might help me deal with the adjustment. I have really needed a place to put out all the emotions and feelings that seem to daily overwhelm me. Im hoping this blog will be that place.

For now, I leave you a picture of my dad on the Fourth of July. He is constantly on my mind.