I awake Saturday morning to news that Kate started having contractions. They are irregular and moderately painful. I spring out of bed and I am ready to deliver a baby.
I have a lot to learn about birthing.
Kate rests. I am wired. I grab my bike and bomb to downtown Berkeley. I run every errand that needs to be ran. I loop “San Bernadino” by the Mountain Goats on my iPod. I think about holding my baby son, and chills run up my spine.
We make pancakes and wet scrambled eggs and fresh carrot juice and we pretend we’re at La Note. The contractions continue throughout the day. They continue through the weekend. Kate gently touches her belly and pauses. Breathes. She bears her teeth like a rabid dog and exhales rapidly. She is strong and she is happy. We take a Sunday evening stroll. It is warm and the air smells of jasmine.
She is one centimeter dilated, 95% effaced and 100% ready.
Yesterday, we decided to celebrate the return of warm weather with a hike at Bort Meadow. In a metropolitan area boasting redwoods, beaches, waterfalls and mountains, the meadow is an often overlooked, and surprisingly underrated geographical feature. When you really think about it, there’s nothing much that beats a meadow. It’s mother nature’s front lawn. A soft, expansive carpet of grass nestled between rolling hills of raw wilderness. Bort Meadow lies within Anthony Chabot Regional Park, which stretches through the Oakland hills, adjoining Lake Chabot Regional Park to the south, and Redwood Regional Park to the north. Its a nice, flat hike perfect for those of you who are 39 weeks pregnant. As you can see, the wildflowers were in full effect.
The meadow itself had picnic tables, barbeque grills and restrooms. Definitely making the list for unborn baby’s first birthday party. Kate, the rock star she is, waddled along the sun-drenched path with a smile.
Today, we walked to Frog Park with our neighbors (who have a four month old) to meet up with some friends and their babies, drink beer and enjoy the sun. A happy glimpse into our future. We were supposed to have dinner with a couple from our birthing class tonight, but they went into labor instead. Holy crap.
After a stretch of gloriously warm weather, the temperature suddenly plummets twenty degrees and it’s cold and often foggy. The dramatic weather shift takes its toll on my immune system and now my throat hurts.
The Supreme Court shits on the Fourth Amendment again. They say cops can justify what would otherwise be an unlawful search by arresting someone for an offense that state law says should be only handled with a citation.
Tim Duncan nails a frickin’ three to cap an improbable comeback and eventual double OT victory over the Suns in game one. Tony Parker dominates game two and the Spurs take a commanding lead back to Phoenix. Seeing Duncan’s lanky, awkward ass pumping his fist in the air (at the :58 second mark) blisters my paint and makes me want to watch hockey.
The Clinton machine wins Pennsylvania. This is no surprise, but I am still disappointed that so many Americans fail to appreciate what a rare leader we have in Obama and continue to buy the Clinton brand, pledging allegiance to a status quo based on special interests and lies.
Berkeley parking meter #D-2101 eats 80 cents of Kate’s money. Then, in the middle of brunch, she finds out she has jury duty.
What could all of this possibly mean? Clearly, the cosmos is not yet ready for our baby. In fact, our baby wants no part of this world. So he’s going to enjoy his womb holiday until, at the very least, the weather improves.
That being said, it is gonna be 78 degrees and sunny on Saturday…
Everyone, regardless of their economic status, “clings” to concepts or objects greater than themselves to elevate the accident of their existence with a sense of purpose and meaning. This is what it is to be human – finite, flawed and fallible. When we are stripped of rational, spiritual and material constructs, our empirical reality is pretty grim. Every single one of us will die. We scurry around a tiny spinning sphere, hurling around a big ball of burning gas, enveloped in an infinite sea of nothingness.
To satiate existential thirst with spiritual endeavors is not just excusable, it is beautiful. In confronting our finitude with community, creativity and, above all, humility, we approximate the infinite.
The unfortunate truth is that many people cling to divisive and destructive constructs to make themselves seem greater or more important than they are. Instead of harnessing the awesome power of unity and love, people singularly confront their own frailty by trying to overpower others, whether with a gun, or with antipathy to people that aren’t like them, or with anti-immigrant sentiment. Whether your collar is blue or white, this is a tendency fueled by hopelessness and fear. It is exacerbated by economic woes. And for it to be fixed, it has to first be acknowledged.
It was eighty degrees at Ocean Beach on Saturday. Those of you who know SF, know that Ocean Beach would be more aptly titled Fog Beach. It was really, really nice.
I open my eyes and see her face. Lips slightly curved upward, loose fist gently pressing her chin. Inside her, my son stretches his leg and burrows his head one inch closer to this world. Sun rays blast through the door, whitening my cat’s charcoal coat. I am awake. Cats yawning, flowers blooming and, any day now, I will be a dad. I sneeze. Multiple times.
The Clintons are aggressively spinning Hillary’s “snipergate” as a mistake – a mere misspeak occasioned by sleep deprivation and fatigue. This is not simply mispronouncing a name here – or putting the wrong emPHAsis on the wrong SYLlable. This is a detailed “war story,” scripted and recited again and again. It is a deliberate and elaborate lie strategically designed to perpetuate the P.R. myth that she is more experienced than she is. She is lying to support a lie.
I do not doubt that Hillary would be better than the nightmare of Bush. Her health care, education, crime and Iraq policies are progressive and well-intentioned. Bubba’s got her back. As a country, there is no doubt that we will be moving forward if Hillary were our president.
But she’s a politician. She takes money from corporations. She lies about her experience. She voted for the war. Her and her husband reek of old boy politics. They lack the sincerity of Obama, the earnest and heart-felt call for change. The freedom from corporate influence. The ability to inspire. Hillary is a great politician. Her harrowing sniper tale and ensuing spin are a testament to this fact. But Obama is a great human being, who has the ideas, intelligence and intention to inspire us all to create a better world.
The other night at a dinner party, someone declaratively asked me that I was supporting Obama. Perhaps I am that predictable. When I confirmed her conclusion, she inquired, “well, what do you think about his pastor who he refuses to condemn? Have you heard some of the things his pastor said?”
Working on my second Manhattan, I was enjoying myself at this point. I had no intention of polluting an atmosphere of togetherness with the acrimony of bourbon-laced political debate. I have learned that many of the people I love and respect the most in my life hold political or philosophical positions that I find to be morally offensive. But I also know that I keep company with the people I do, not because of their political philosophy, but because of the fraternity, kinship, love, and community that we share. I know that we are all imperfect, but we are all fundamentally good. And it is because of this goodness that I call someone a friend.
Barack Obama’s pastor voiced emotionally charged condemnations of the acts of his country, his government. “God Damn America” is incendiary to a fault, its harsh and offensive tone alienates those who love and have faith in America. Appropriately, Obama unequivocally rejected and disavowed his pastor’s comments. But he stopped short of rejecting and disavowing the pastor himself. Because he knows that his pastor isn’t the evil radical our shallow media makes him to be. While his choice of words and presentation were flawed, he was actually being pretty patriotic.
Somebody smart once said that dissent is the greatest form of patriotism. Rev. Wright was being critical of a government that undemocratically came to power, lied to its own people about imminent threat, preemptively attacked a weak and unarmed country, profited themselves and the corporations who support their party with no-bid contracts to rebuild the country they destroyed, killed hundreds of thousands innocent civilians and, in the process annihilated a once thriving economy. Among other things.
But that’s beside the point. The point is that Rev. Wright seems to want something better. He seems to be calling for a government that values and protects human rights, cultural diversity and economic equality. These are the fundamental values he shares with Barack Obama and the millions others who are embarrassed and appalled by the huge shit the Bush administration took on this world. The same values that probably underpin their friendship and spiritual relationship. Fundamental goodness. Love. Humanity.
And so, dinner party guest – yes we can – have a difference political philosophy and still be friends. Just like Barack Obama and his pastor. Perhaps I’ll answer your question now.
The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming and I am sneezing my face off. Kate gets more beautiful as the days pass and our son’s arrival rapidly approaches. He has already established a presence in our lives, delighting us with his strong and regular movement. He even hiccups. Kate wants him to bake until the timer goes off. I am ready now. Not really actually. I have a lot of work I need to do before he gets here. Precisely why I am blogging instead. Last night we had dinner at Larry and Kasia’s place. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. I should appreciate those friends of mine more. I like dinner party’s where the food is awesome. I can cook pretty damn well, and I am now motivated to have a dinner party myself. We had a 5 hour class yesterday on infant care. How to change a diaper, how to burp, how to pick up and hold your bay, how to swaddle and other helpful nuggets of information. Personally, I adhere to the “wing it” school of thought, but it certainly doesn’t hurt to learn some things beforehand. I have no anxiety or worry at all about my parental abilities. I know that I will be an awesome dad. It is my life’s calling and I will be driven by love. How can I go wrong?
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Yesterday, we decided to celebrate the return of warm weather with a hike at Bort Meadow. In a metropolitan area boasting redwoods, beaches, waterfalls and mountains, the meadow is an often overlooked, and surprisingly underrated geographical feature. When you really think about it, there’s nothing much that beats a meadow. It’s mother nature’s front lawn. A soft, expansive carpet of grass nestled between rolling hills of raw wilderness. Bort Meadow lies within Anthony Chabot Regional Park, which stretches through the Oakland hills, adjoining Lake Chabot Regional Park to the south, and Redwood Regional Park to the north. Its a nice, flat hike perfect for those of you who are 39 weeks pregnant. As you can see, the wildflowers were in full effect. 
A Series of Unfortunate Events
April 24, 2008 · Leave a Comment
Categories: Family · Law · Political and Social Commentarty · Sports