Thursday 22 January 2009

Life's little lessons #5047

I recently took my 4 year old son on a hike, deliberately using his enthusiasm to get "all the way to the top of Tablerock!" as an excuse for me to get some exercise in cold crisp winter air. We left the car in the parking lot early (10:30am ;-)) on a sub-freezing morning, with a sandwich to share, a variety of snacks, a thermos full of hot chocolate in my fanny pack, and my camera equipped with the long lens (70-300mm).

As we're starting up the trail, I recall thinking to myself: "it looks kinda muddy, but we're not making any tracks in it, so let's continue up and see how it goes. " (if you've already figured out the mystery, keep it to yourself and don't spoil the ending for everyone else)


A 4 year old boy, no matter how enthusiastic about reaching the top, is not particularly focused on the climb, so we stopped at every bush, icy puddle, interesting rock, deer track, dog track, elk(!) track on the trail on the way up. We didn't set any land speed records on the ascent. In fact, by the time we got up close to the top, the sun had been shining long enough that the trail which "looked kinda muddy" was, in fact, muddy enough that you couldn't really climb it and keep your feet. He ended up developing some outdoor skills like "dad -- help me up!" to make it the last 30 feet of the climb and avoid the muddy trail.

Elk Track!

After 3 hours, 800 vertical feet and 1.6 miles from the car (thank you google maps for adding topographic information!), we sat at the cliff edge of the plateau, ate the sandwich and drank hot chocolate from mickey mouse dixie cups, while enjoying the view. *ahhhhh*


Then it came time to go back down.

Funny thing about water -- when it gets cold, it freezes to become a solid, but once heated it will melt and return to liquid form. This fact should have been "frozen" into my memory from childhood years of dealing with mud, snow and cold. What was a firm grippy surface for most of the hike up had become a sticky gooey quagmire that makes almond butter seem like a lubricant.

Those of you in winter climes understand that there is good snow for making snowmen, and there is bad snow for making snowmen. If there were such a thing as mudmen, this would have been the perfect mud to use! The last 20 yards of the trail, I had 4" tall mud-block platforms attached to the bottom of my boots, and Nicolas had 2-3" of mud on his shoes. I'm not particularly mess-averse, but we were muddy enough when we got back to the car, I stripped him down to his long johns for the ride home.

I am amazed that Nicolas made it all the way up and back, and in good spirits too! He was my "little truck" for the rest of the weekend.

rootie

Friday 16 January 2009

You have how many airplanes in your back yard?

I get a lot of urban legend email from friends and relatives -- the ludicrous or outrageous ones I'll go dig up some details to put them to rest. When I got a chain email with interesting pictures of airplanes in storage -- it was interesting enough I had to check it out. Well, maybe "storage" isn't quite the right word -- the email called it the "Bone Yard". Google maps satellite view shows it very well..

Take some time to zoom in and browse around on the satellite view. Helicopters, bombers, several generations of fighter jets stretched out in nice neat rows. Some of the bombers are in massive pieces.

From the military web site:
The 309th Aerospace Maintenance and Regeneration Group (309 AMARG) is a
one-of-a-kind specialized facility within the Air Force Materiel Command
structure. 309 AMARG provides critical aerospace maintenance and regeneration
capabilities for Joint and Allied/Coalition warfighters in support of global
operations and agile combat support for a wide range of military
operations.

elsewhere it indicates "more than 4,400 aircraft and 13 aerospace vehicles" are on that site. Here and I think it is cool to have a 2 car garage...

I'd love to have the opportunity to go photograph there. You could probably spend years working it as a subject.

I guess this one isn't just an urban legend that someone made up. :)

rootie
ps. Why have I included no pictures for this? I haven't taken any. Rather than dig up some internet images of questionable origin and unknown permissions or copyright, it is morally appropriate that I should direct you to sites you can explore for yourselves. There are a lot of pictures on the web.

Monday 12 January 2009

The moral and the right

Objectivism changes the way you think and see the world around you. My customized google home page displays quotes. I hadn't realized the degree of change in my thinking when this quote came up the other day:

"Never let your sense of morals get in the way of doing what's right."

-- Isaac Asimov



Such a simple quote with an embedded philosophy; an embedded way of defining right and wrong. The embedded philosophy of this quote is that what is moral isn't what is right; the moral isn't what is good.

There's just one little problem with this one-sentence philosophy: That which is "moral" is defined by that which is "right" or "good"; you cannot separate them.

To imply otherwise is to undermine the definitions of both terms, to destroy what is actually good, and tarnish the course of action which is moral.

rootie

Tuesday 6 January 2009

Giving Birth (a man's view)

I have had the good fortune to be present for the birth of both of my children. This is without a doubt one of the most highly impactful events of my life. Rational Jenn suggested doing a post on the experience, so here I go with a simplified slice through the complex 23 dimensional time-emotion-event-space-stream.

Helplessness...

"Never fear, Mr. Fixit is here! Have tools, will travel, what can I fix for you my dear?" There is nothing I can fix. There are no tools I can use, no drugs I can administer, no "real help" I can be in getting the baby out. At best, I am a lackey to an errand boy during these proceedings. A lackey trained to utter a few simple phrases:

1. Can I get you anything?
2. You're doing great, honey!
3. Nurse? Dr? (i.e. "fetch, Mr Fixit, fetch help")

Also a lackey with common sense *not* to utter a few simple phrases:

1. Is it supposed to look like that?
2. Holy s**t that's the biggest needle I've ever seen!
3. It can't hurt that bad.
4. Git yer hands offa my wife!

Cluelessness...

My son (kid #1) was 3 weeks early, a complete surprise to us. You should have seen me struggling with the forms, "you need to know the date of her last what?!?" "due date? well, it wasn't today", "grandma's maiden name? Who's having this baby anyway?" "oh damn, not my SSN, *her* SSN" Where's the nurse? We're gonna want an epidural! What do you mean it is too late? (in this instance, "too late" meant she went from 3-4 cm dilated to "we're gonna have a baby now, ok?" in the blink of an eye)

My daughter (kid #2) was happy being a warm little bun in the oven. We had time to "make reservations early to avoid the holiday rush" at the hospital and leisurely strolled out of the house that morning. Ok, so I was still a wreck "what do you mean we're leaving now?", but I had time to get her bags, my bag (I planned to overnight with her), the kitchen sink, a pocketable camera and a book I could read in case time permitted.

Shock...

In movies set any time before 1950, it seems that childbirth is something that is done behind closed doors, requiring lots of towels, shouting, and hot water. The father most definitely is not invited. In our modern enlightened view, "the man" can be present for everything. You can get the joy of having your hand squeezed hard enough that your toes turn purple, and hearing whatever it is that your sweet dainty polite innocent wife might utter.

(side note: speaking of utterings, for those who may be proceeding down this path, anticipate many highly hormonal, and emotionally charged situations during delivery and a couple months after birth where one or both of you are sleep-deprived, cranky, in pain, or just plain tired of hearing a bawling baby -- during this period plan to forgive absolutely anything said or done in one of "those moments" -- it will happen, and keeping an objective viewpoint knowing that it will happen makes it much easier to handle properly).

(back to shock) There are reasons deliveries were hidden behind closed doors -- in spite of any efforts at modesty, everything is "hanging out in there for the world to see". Every nurse, and doctor in the place seems to want to see how much they can get my wife to wince in pain -- "let's just see how we're doing here m'kay?" that and "you may feel a little pressure" -- I've been with this woman long enough to know "a little pressure" probably hurts like hell, without hearing a word from her.

The other reason for closed doors, is that giving birth is MESSY. There is no "oh look at this delicate, warm bun fresh from the over, isn't it lovely?", no this is the sort of bloody gruesome that makes horror movies pale in comparison, and leaves you wondering to yourself (don't you dare say it aloud) "is *that* supposed to happen?" Ok, so it isn't all that bad, but if you have a weak stomach for such things I'd recommend going back to the 1950's approach of pacing the halls.

The hospital staff in the delivery room was extremely adept at mess reduction and cleanup. Kudos to them for an amazing job on so many levels. (interpersonal, custodial, medical) Nobody yelled or panicked or dropped the baby -- all good attributes to have in a medical team.

Amazement...

There is a point during the delivery process when the doctor may look up to say "there's the top of the head -- want to see it?" If you get the chance, do it. ... Even now, I find myself in stunned silence just thinking about it. My mind was racing and my voice didn't work. don't freak out, don't freak out, wow that's our baby, don't freak out, look at all that hair, wow that baby really is coming "through there", don't freak out don't freak out, breathe, breathe, and it has hair too! This is about the point in the pregnancy where it becomes a lot more real for the father -- that first glimpse of what is to be.

Wonder...

Some time after that first glimpse of the top of the head, a slippery looking wet baby shoots out (only a man would use the word "shoot", but once a certain threshold is crossed, the baby seemed to me to exit rapidly) -- in any case, it is almost immediately wrapped up in blankets or towels, and set up for mom to hold, even before the umbilical cord is cut. The crying begins; oh those first cries -- for my son, he had such a cry that I'd never heard before, almost bleating -- I really wish I had an audio recording of it. My daughter was a much more normal crying baby sound. No, on second thought, this isn't a normal crying baby sound, this is the sound of a newborn. With a minor ceremony of daddy cutting the umbilical cord, baby is free for mama to hold. This moment, the culmination of well over a year of physical, emotional and interpersonal stress, can only be described as an emotional catharsis. Welling tears, a gentle glance between husband and wife, shared caresses between mother, father, and baby. Our eyes are locked on our new arrival.

In this space, surrounded by a frenetic phalanx of nurses and doctors, blood, sweat, tears, and all manner of medical instruments and medical debris, in this space, at this moment, we are in a bubble, an intimate family bubble and there is nothing else in the room but the 3 of us.

rootie

kidstuff: Mmmm, Gazelle tastes like chicken!

We watched Disney's The Lion King with Nicolas the other night. He has been a lion cub ever since.

We now pause for a *BIG PARENTING TIP* for anyone reading who hasn't already been through it: If your child is reluctant to do something, but they are in a state of active imagination -- if you can align your desire with their imagination, "NO!" will become "YES!" in the blink of an eye.

Dinner was to be chicken and mashed potatoes. Queue the loud 4 year old whiny voice: "I don't want chicken!" He was busy playing (surprise surprise) and didn't want to stop. Mom and I both know he eats chicken, it was mostly a matter of not wanting to stop playing. Earlier, while playing, he and I had chased imaginary gazelles and pretended to eat them (FYI: household cats can make a very good gazelle, fast and elusive when spooked) Thinking on my feet, in response to the refusal to eat chicken, "what about gazelle? Would you like some gazelle for dinner instead? I hear it tastes just like chicken..."

"No!" became "yes!" and dinner was served.

This same technique works at bath time for washing paws, mane or fins, scrubbing bugs off the grille (brushing teeth) of a pretend car, putting tires (shoes) on his feet, adorning a little space craft with "thermal shielding" (a winter coat) for going outside, etc.

The possibilities are limited only by your imagination.

rootie