The Fourth Trimester

Bodhi is three months old. He is visually targeting and purposefully grasping objects around him. He smiles liberally and laughs often. There is kindness in his eyes. He has a playful and relaxed spirit. He screams incredibly loud.

Apparently, he has an opinion on politics.

He has been to every major American and Canadian city on the west coast. Begrudgingly, he has grown to tolerate his car seat. He made his second trip to Orange County last weekend for his aunt’s baby shower. Not surprisingly, he loves his cousins.

We sing made-up songs to him. He appears particularly entertained by the soulful jam, “I’m a little baby with poop in my pants,” and he just cannot resist the pop genius of “I like to eat bologna sandwiches for lunch.” The pre-bath power ballad, “Now you’re nude,” leaves him calm and engaged.

I have unearthed lifelong ambitions buried for years by excuses and fear. I feel compelled to realize my every dream so that I may be an example to my son that anything is possible, that he can do or be anything he can possibly imagine.

Baby Talk

Much like my comrade over at the Media Grab, many of my friends would tell you that my man card has long been revoked – a charge I only sometimes try to deny.

In my defense, I do drink whiskey and do not own even one *NSYNC track.

And whenever I film Bodhi, I do my very best to speak normally and avoid incomprehensible, embarrassing baby talk. But dag nabbit, when that kid smiles, the falsetto fights its way out with fury and there’s just nothing I can do about it. Please do forgive me.

My New Teacher

When our meditation instructor told us that babies were the greatest mindfulness teachers, I stashed it away as another abstraction, a possible subject of reflection at the end of a long day of changing diapers and writing briefs. I did not realize how spot on she was.

I have long aspired to “be here now,” to silence my mind’s incessant chatter and purposefully pay attention to the present moment. Unfortunately, my intentions are usually drowned by the flood of anxious projections, dreamy visions and idle thoughts that rage through my overly active mind.

But Bodhi literally makes me be more mindful. Since he has been a part of my life, being present went from an unreachable ideal to a basic requirement for survival. It is essential to a peaceful and rich relationship with the little guy.

When I am devoting single-minded attention to Bodhi, his body is limp and relaxed, our eyes regularly connect, he smiles liberally and even talks to me with soft hums and goohs. He stares at me and grins out of ones side of his mouth like he’s known me forever.

The second my mind drifts to work or sports or anything else in this world besides him, he literally barks at me. He writhes around, scrunches up a rapidly reddening face and barks.

I can think of no more an effective anchor to the present moment than the threat of unbridled baby wrath.

The Man Speaks Truth

Watch Barack’s speech detailing his plan for Iraq, foreign policy and national security.

Blogged with the Flock Browser

Galavanting and Grinding

The sun was out in full effect. We strolled a few blocks from our hotel to a string of beaches lining the west shore. Walkers, bikers, roller bladers and sun bathers packed the sea wall promenade. It seemed as though the whole city of Vancouver made being outside their top priority. It was a Monday afternoon.

Entering the temperate rain forest of Stanley Park, the crowds and noises thinned and we were swept into another world.

I could not believe I was just a few feet away from a buzzing metropolis. So beautiful, so peaceful. Enormous firs, spruce and hemlocks shaded lush, verdant lawns and radiant flowers. For the B-man, it was prime lay on back, pump legs and look at trees territory.

We rode a steam train through the woods and I felt like I was a kid again. Bodhi was engaged the whole time and seemed to enjoy watching the sun’s rays pass through the trees.

Kate thought is was cool, but I was straight giddy. One of the things that excites me most about being a dad is the opportunity to relive the magic, awe and wonderment of being a kid again. The opportunity to live in a world where trees talk to bunnies and elves make toys . It’s a sort of enlightened naivety where, if you can imagine it, it exists.

Within moments of leaving the park’s tranquility, we slipped back into the crowded current of commerce, floating through concrete canyons at a frenzied pace.

Before heading home, we stopped at a “Japa Dog” hot dog stand to sample the famed Terimayo – a dog (veggie for us) adorned with fried onions, teriyaki sauce, wasabi mayo and japanese seaweed. It was fantastic.

The next day we climbed up an incredibly steep mountain in North Vancouver. It was a grueling 2800 foot elevation gain over 1.8 miles of rocky, near vertical trail.

Having a two-month old infant strapped to my chest augmented the challenge, but forced me to be mindful, carefully dedicated to the intricacy of every moment, every step. Me with a baby, Kate with a heavy backpack, we were proud to reach the summit safely and enjoy these astounding views. Happily , we had conquered the Grouse Grind.

Capping off the day was a trip to Lynn Canyon and a shaky walk along a suspension bridge.

The reason you don’t see Kate in this video is because she basically ran to the other side when the bridge began to sway. “This is NOT cool,” she exclaimed as she scurried out of site.

What is cool is the city of Vancouver, B.C. Most of my life, I have delighted in making fun of Canadians but, at least here, they seem to have it all figured out.

From the City of Roses to the City of Glass

We left Rogue River on the morning of Independence Day. Dozens of American flags lined the bridge over the river and all along the town’s streets. At the Chevron, a friendly gal filled our tank while telling me about her kid and delighting in ours. We drove over some hills and through the woods and by midday we stumbled into Powell’s Books in Portland’s Pearl District.

It’s a pretty famous bookstore, most likely due to its unusual size. Calling it mondo would probably be an understatement. We went up and down stairs, down long halls, into secret rooms surrounded by stories, art and ideas.

Afterward, we grabbed a slice at Rocco’s, then strolled around the neighborhood’s brick lofts, modern parks and stylish cafes and bars. It was like Soma or Soho but with short buildings and less pretense.

We checked into our room at the Kennedy Elementary School. Definitely one of the coolest places I’ve ever stayed. McMenamin’s turned an abandoned 1915 elementary school into a hotel and restaurant with three bars, a movie theater and a heated, saltwater soaking pool. The rooms are in former classrooms and feature original chalkboards and cloak rooms. A sweet, funky restaurant occupies the old cafeteria and there’s a brewery where the girl’s bathroom used to be. There’s even a “detention bar.” Beautiful art adorns the broad halls alongside black and white photos of the kids who attended the school ninety years ago.

After a quick nap and photo shoot, Bodhi slipped into some Little Swimmers that were way to big for him and happily floated around the gently heated pool.

Aiming to avoid the Fourth of July crowds, we opted to view the colorful explosions from atop a hill, at the Rose Garden in Washington Park. A short drive from the school, Washington Park is a thickly wooded forest east of town, with a Japanese Garden, some museums and a birds-eye view of downtown Portland and the Wilamette River.

The 1.5 mile, winding road to the Rose Garden was closed for the evening so I convinced Kate that it would be a good idea to walk. On the way back, after an underwhelming pyrotechnic display, I began to doubt myself slightly. It was pitch black, 10:40 pm, in a forest of towering firs.

We befriended a nice, god-fearing family who made a similar choice and accompanied them along the walk to the merriment of their mom who consoled her scared, frustrated and overweight daughter. “God put us here with Katie, Brody and…Katie’s husband for a reason,” she surmised to my amusement.

The next morning, we headed to the Portland Saturday Market and meandered through crowded rows of art, custom clothing and miscellaneous tchotchkes. A festival feel with live music, colorful, friendly folks and international food, it encapsulated what I discovered makes Portland so cool – a big-city vibe with small town charm.

We got back in the car, drove over some more mountains, through some more woods, then through downtown Seattle, departing the United States of America while listening to Eckhart Tolle talk about ego and presence.

Yesterday evening, we checked into our home for the next week. A sylish and modern condo on the 28th floor of downtown Vancouver’s tallest building. Floor to ceiling windows with jaw-dropping views of the skyline, snow-capped mountains and shimmering ocean. This is the view from bed.

Vancouver is the perfect city. The people are friendly, the restaurants are fantastic, there are beaches downtown and a 1000 acre forest a few blocks away. We ambled around town today taking in the sites from our condo in the West End, through Gastown, Little Amsterdam and China Town. With so many more sidewalks and trails to explore, I am very excited for the upcoming week.

A Week that will Live in Infamy

My hard drive crashed Monday morning. On it was a brief I had been working on for the past couple of months.

It was not backed up.

That afternoon, Bodhi had four innoculations. Watching him wince and hearing him scream made me unspeakably sad. I had to turn away and ultimately leave the room and, in the bathroom, I cried harder than him.

The next day we spent too much money on some software designed to recover data on crashed hard drives. It didn’t work. All of my work and all of my research was gone and it is due next week. I need some fresh air. I seek solace in my garden and quickly slice my hand on a wood post, embedding splinters deep below an open wound. I later find out that Baron Davis bolts Oaktown for La La Land. Still no big man and now no point guard. I love Baron Davis and now he’s a Clipper.

Salt peppers my wound.

I wait all week for a silver lining to emerge so that I can write about it in a reflective way, waxing philosophic about how all these horrible things are connected, cosmically orchestrated to propel or reveal something positive in my life. But no silver lining emerges.

I say goodbye to some lost files (most were backed up) and labor tirelessly to rewrite my brief. I curse Apple and their hipster image and wish I could be the PC guy in the next Apple commercial so I can punch Justin Long in the face.

The splinters are still in my hand. Kate packs the car and takes care of Bodhi and starts calling me “wood hand.” We buckle our seatbelts and drive due north. Now, at this very moment, I am in a Best Western in Rogue River, Oregon. Bodhi is hiccuping and wearing a custom onesie with a bodhi tree on it. Family Guy is on. My wife is beautiful and kind and an incredible mother. Silver lining? Of course there’s a freakin silver lining. The week from hell is over. And we are on vacation.