Mother's Day Weekend

I must say that it was a pretty awesome Mother’s Day weekend. On Saturday, we packed up Elaine and headed for Marymoor Park. This is a place that is outside Seattle, but is not the airport or a big box store like IKEA. Meaning that this is a relative first for us since we’ve been here. Saturday was Migratory Bird Day, and the folks at the park were holding birding events. Unfortunately, the events began at 2 pm, right in the middle of The Beautiful Time (Elaine’s nap time). So we went in the late morning, walked some trails, saw a few birds, had a picnic, and headed back home. I managed to not apply any sunscreen on myself or Elaine, so we both got a little pink. Later, we ordered pizza, and I popped the top on the first small bottle of my IPA. Lovely stuff. After Elaine went down for the night, Jill and I watched some bad television (season 2 of Heroes) and got to bed early.

Finding birds:


Sunday, I got up and got to work getting the house ready for a load of guests. We did Mother’s Day on Saturday so that I could devote Sunday to drinking and playing games. By 2 pm, several gallons of beer were on ice, the grill was going, and games were being set up. We hosted some friends in town (Josh, Jarrett, Miranda and Rachel), as well as some out of town guests, Jarred, Christine, Tim, Jessica, Jeremy, Josh, and Steven. Jarred, the guest of honor, is serving in Afghanistan as a contract officer in the Army, making sure supplies are allocated properly in the region. At least I think that’s what the job is. He’s a big fan of IPAs, which is what inspired me to make a batch. His crew was a fun bunch, and we look forward to having them back up again sometime.

People at the party:



The beer was very well received. One person said that he thought it might be the best IPA he’s ever had. Fresh beer can have that effect. I think next time, I’ll throw in an extra pound of malt, to raise the alcohol and sweetness levels. I drank it all day, and managed to avoid getting all sloppy like I do. I’m relaying Jill’s account here, as I’m no good judge of such things.

The dry-hopped fermenter, just before bottling:


I got to play Kingsburg, Ra, Imperial, and Carabande. The other table played Vegas Showdown and Pillars of the Earth. This was my second play of Imperial, and I learned a lot about using negotiation and alliances to get ahead in world domination. All in all, a fun weekend. Jill did a lot of behind-the-scenes work on Sunday, but she enjoyed her Mother’s Day on Saturday. She has expressed that she misses the real migration, back East. I’d have to agree--not much beats Magee Marsh for the migration.

Bottle reflections

I was listening to A Prairie Home Companion this morning whilst giving Elaine a bottle, and some woman sang Let it Be by The Beatles. I'd heard this song a few thousand times in my life, as a conservative estimate, and had puzzled over the lyrics. Given the popularity of the song, I assumed the lyrics must be rather profound to many people. I think that what had kerfuzzled my understanding was my perception of The Beatles as hippie spiritualists who, while not anti-Christian, were certainly pro-Eastern in their mystology. Yes, I just made up a word there, or at least spell-check thinks I have.

Let It Be mentions Mother Mary, a somewhat divisive figure. To some Christians, she represents the perfect response to God;"...let it be done according to your will.". Catholics, especially, overtly revere Mary for her obedient spirit. The overall concept of stepping out of the way to let God do his work without the interference of your needs and desires is a fairly universal concept in mainstream Christianity today. However, Mary also represents a battleground of sorts among Catholics, Protestants, and non-Christians. Part of the Protestant argument against Catholicism is the claim that Catholics worship Mary, which would be idolatry. This causes some Catholics to get a bit of a persecution complex about the Mary thing, and they claim her as a badge of honor and do whatever possible to flaunt her image. Non-Christians, particularly atheists, sometimes refer mockingly to Mary as a metaphor for blind devotion. I assumed that Lennon/McCartney meant the reference in the third sense, since that (the non-Christian perspective) is how I am used to encountering Mary in pop music.

The thing that struck me when listening to the song today, particularly after having been heavily involved in Catholicism during my last six years, was that they actually managed to get it right. The lyrics describe perfectly and respectfully what the believer gets out of a spiritual relationship with Mary. First, the concept that she's a mother, and so one can turn to her. Second, that she will be there, or come to you, in times of trouble. Third, that her lesson is always the same. Accept what is thrown your way. Live through it as best you can, and take what good you can from it. Finally, there's an affirmation that you will be rewarded for your faith with understanding, but you have to be patient. I found that the song presented these concepts without a sense of irony or judgement, but instead imbued them with beauty and grace.

I'm no longer a believing person, but I haven't lost respect for those I know who devote their hearts and minds to their faith. I know that it's not blind devotion, but rather devotion with intense self-scrutiny, discipline, and an intent to become a better person every day. So, I guess that I was struck by the song, particularly since it was written and recorded in one of the most tumultuous and divisive years in American history, 1969.

The other thing that I noticed while listening was that Let it Be was the musical ancestor to all of those really crappy touchy-feely, change the world anthems from the 80's. As if she was reading my mind, the singer launched into a few bars of We Are The World right in the middle of the song. I am not kidding. She actually thought that would be a good idea. Ah, well. Let it be, I guess.

Back at the lab

It's like I never left! I went in, spent the day surfing the internet (I had a scientific website open on an emergency tab), slept a bit, and went home. I feel as if I am one with the lab, and with science in general.

Actually, it was more like this: do paperwork, get lost looking for the Pathology office, fax something, read, read, read, scribble down a thought, read, read, refill my coffee, read, read, eat lunch, read (sleepily), read, read, meet with the boss, look up the bus schedule, go home. It's not the sort of day that one describes as "a great first day at work", but it's also not "the crap".

Elaine survived her first day with Rachel and Madeleine with only a few bite marks. She was actually pretty normal and happy when I got home.

Everyone vote nice tomorrow!

Weather's turning

Summer was a bit shorter here in the higher latitudes. I'm sure that our Edinburgh friends can relate. Of course, it's been officially Fall for over 3 weeks now, so there should be a change in the weather. Perhaps the temperature hasn't fallen much where you live, but I'm sure that the leaves are changing colors and winding up on the ground. Fall in Seattle means more rain and cloudiness. We've also had a drop in temperatures for the past month, to the point where 60 degrees F is a warm day. Fortunately, I can count on a relatively temperate winter, so I'm not in the near state of dread that I always had in Michigan this time of year.

And now, Elaine Pictures With a Vague Fall Theme!

First walk in the rain



Elaine adopts a worm



A leash makes things a bit easier on me

My dog ate my blog

So, yeah, I've been too busy for you lately. These are my reasons for neglecting you, my peoples:

-Job search: I've had some networking interviews that have led to some pretty sound advice. I'm on the verge of my third wave of resume submissions. As it happens, the biotech industry is in a bit of a squeeze lately, with plenty of jobs on the process end of things, but not a lot of movement in the basic research side. Post docs don't pay as well, but provide an opportunity to expand my skillset/resume. I'm thinking that something is going to happen soon.

-Computer death: I'm typing this in Safe Mode, which is the only way that my computer will currently start. This has put a bit of a damper on my job searching. I'm working on (1) installing updated drivers, (2)troubleshooting hardware, and, if all else fails, (3) attempting to reinstall Windows XP. In the meantime, we're looking for my next computer.

-Netflix: We finally got hooked on Netflix, so we've been on a nightly kick of watcing LOST season 3. It's pretty fun television, especially blowing through 3-4 episodes per night. Cheesy dialogue, X-Files-like push/pull of revelation and obfuscation, some decent acting (and some gloriously crappy acting), and the imminent threat of death hanging over the most annoying character. This season focuses more on the Others' leader, Ben, and a new love-to-hate, convincingly scary female character, Juliette. Yay, LOST!

-Post-convention burnout: I watched both political conventions and then got into big internet fights on the Religion, Sex, Politics forum at Boardgamegeek. So all of my brilliant commentary went there instead of here. Then I realized that the more I posted, the more invested I became, and I started spending a lot more time thinking about these silly things than anyone really has a right to. It's not like anyone's mind is going to change, or anyone actually wins. So I banned myself from posting for a week, and regained some perspective. IT'S OK if McCain/Palin wins. What difference will it make? Palin is going to come back at the top of the ticket in 2012, perhaps with Bobby Jindal. Then, we will simply declare GAME OVER, and move out of the country.

Spending more time with Jill and Elaine: Jill's had some recent bad news about her blood markers. There's been an upward trend, after a long, steady decrease into the "undetectable" range. This, combined with some abdominal pain, has had us a bit more worried of late. Plus, she's had a cold, and then bronchitis, so she has had difficulty recovering from the chemo cycles. This means a longer period of time where I essentially get no help from her on the Elaine front. I think that, lately, Jill's illness has been hitting me a little harder. Obviously, she's one of the two most important people in my life, and I can't imagine not having her with me, but also...I really want Elaine to grow up with her mother around, and vice versa. (For those of you who are way out of town, I really wish you could meet Elaine right now, at this point in her life. She's just the best little kid. She's funny, strong, and affectionate, and you can see her imagination really going to work now. Come visit!) Anyways, when Jill is feeling better, like over the past few days, I tend to spend a lot more time with her when Elaine is sleeping.

The lesson, as always, is don't hate a playa. Hate the game. I miss you, too.

A day in the life of Cancer Guy

Dagnabbit. I told myself that I wasn't going to use this here weblog for these purposes, but it's kind of consumed my recent life. Thus, here is this.

4:38 am Elaine sort of whimper-cries a few times. It is pre-dawn, meaning that it's not pitch dark out anymore. That's just not right, but I did choose to live closer to the North Pole. I have to pee, but I go back to sleep anyway.

5:05 am Elaine sort of whimper-cries a few times. "This one's for real", I tell myself. I tiptoe to the bathroom, hoping to pee before she loses it completely, waking Jill up.

5:07 am Not a peep from Elaine, so I tiptoe back into the bedroom (which is pointless, since every damned board in the floor squeaks and pops at 5am). Elaine sort of cry-whimpers. I freeze, listening. I decide that she's probably waking up, but hedge my bet by tiptoeing back to the kitchen.

5:10 am I decide to get a pot of coffee going, since Elaine has fallen silent again. I place a bottle near the sink, ready to make and shake as soon as she starts up again.

5:14 am Hardly believing my luck, and forgetting that this is not really a victory, I pour a cup of coffee and plop myself down in front of my computer.

5:17 am Having checked my email (nothing new since 6 hours ago), and most anything else that I find interesting, I begin clicking on my various webcomics, sports sites, and Boardgamegeek.

5:50 am Dregs of coffee are cold. I get a warmup. Since I'm up, I pee again.

6:20 am Elaine begins babbling in some foreign tongue. I ignore her until she starts complaining in the universal tongue.

6:22 am Shaking up a bottle, I go to greet the Queen of the Morning. That first hug is indescribable.

6:42 am I admit to myself that Elaine is not likely to go back to sleep after her bottle. We head for the living room where she crawls around hooting at things. I sit on the couch, feeling the irresistible tug of sleep calling to me through the caffeine.

7:15 am Change poopie diaper #1. Change Elaine into actual clothes.


Cycles of eating and sleeping ensue, broken by trips to the store/oncologist/Jill's job/etc. Someone from Jill's work shows up at a predetermined time with a banquet-sized portion of food. I attempt to make room for this in our refrigerator and freezer. (Dishes/laundry/vacuuming) (gets/does not get) done.

7:55 pm Elaine gets put back into pajamas, and maybe gets her teeth brushed and face washed.

8:05 pm Elaine and I dance around the living room to something funky.

8:10 pm Final kisses from mommy

8:12 pm I start to read a book to Elaine, generally "Goodnight, Gorilla".

8:13 pm However, she knows about the bottle. So it's lights out and bottle time.

9:00 pm She finally conks out, completely against her stated wishes. I leave her room like a thief.

9:01 pm I open a beer and do some more dishes, focusing on getting bottles prepped.

10:20 pm Vegging in front of the computer ensues.

11:45 pm Go to bed.

2:08 am Have to pee.

I hope that this gives you a better idea of what I've been going through lately. If anyone has any suggestions for improving my life, I'd be glad to evaluate them publicly.

Just Flotsam

Like a father to a child, scattering toys and candy out in a dazzling array in the hopes of a distraction-free televised sporting event (I give you...Parenting!), I offer you these less-than-filling leavings:

A link! It's a Yelp! review. This place is about three blocks from my house. It's a monolithic white building with a little "reading room" in front.

Here's more info on their religion.


An observation! Here in the Pacific NW, there are almost no shrimp. Anything larger than cocktail shrimp (or Calabash, as we called them in SC) are called prawns. Growing up in Michigan, I had always thought prawns were something like crayfish, and would only be found in bayou country or something. Then, restaurants in Ann Arbor of a certain class (the class that puts an elegant "24" next to the blue cheese-topped, rosemary buttered Kobe sirloin; not "$24", never "$23.95") began to feature dishes with prawns. This subtle change made these cheap, fleshy, aquatic bugs seem like something that you hunt at great personal risk. I think this trend in nomenclature is referred to as Manhattanization. However, the universality of this local usage leads me to believe that it is long-standing and genuine. I had Curry Prawns from the Thai delivery place tonight.

A cute picture!

Remember me?

Gah. I'm having a lot of trouble finding the time for this lately, in case you couldn't tell.

Here's a promise for a Fresh New Post on Wednesday...

Will I explain how I'm the world's worst Puerto Rico player?

Will there be discussion of the one, true Seattle cuisine??

Will I shamelessly pimp the local radio station yet again???

Might I brag about our homebrew, my daughter, or our BRAND NEW COUCH????

Could there be room for discussion of the best LPs of this year (in the world of English-speaking rock/indie/electronic/pop)?????!

Crows!!!???????!

***************

I'll probably get to some of that...

Cheerios underfoot: an Elaine update

We are in the process of turning a corner, as Elaine begins her finger-food stage. We can pretty much give her a pile of Cheerios, chopped bananas, chopped avocados, or stewed apple chunks and she'll gamely attempt the all-important pincer maneuver. It's a pretty complex task, actually. Anyone who's played one of those crane games, where the grabber gets a stuffed animal and has to hold on as it is hoisted up and moved to a far corner of the box, can understand. Often she picks up the item with her right hand and does a transfer to the left, then examines her acquisition as if it was a rare jewel before attempting to stuff it, and most of her hand, into her mouth. It's kind of heartbreaking to see the little Cheerio escape just as she chomps down onto her hand.

We also can play a little chase game of sorts. Despite my best efforts to not make a big deal out of it, she knows that I really don't want her messing with electrical cords. So now, when she's not confined to the baby jail, she crawls around casually until she gets near the tangle of cords connected to my computer. Usually, I begin to pay closer attention at this point. Then, with a mischievous squeal, she sprint-crawls towards her quarry, lunging at the last instant before I sweep her into the air. Then, I place her back on the floor, facing back into the living room, and drop to all fours myself, saying, "I'm gonna getcha!". Another squeal, and laughter as she streaks away from me. Man, those laughs are great.

A bit of good news regarding my time. We met another nice couple, thanks to the board gaming hobby, and they are in a similar situation as us. Josh works a lot, and Megan is trying to finish up her Ph.D while staying at home with a 7 month-old. Madeleine and Elaine get along wonderfully, and are completely cute together. Best of all, Madeleine really likes me, and Elaine really likes Megan. So we're going to swap babysitting duties a few times a week to give each other nice blocks of time to get some work done. This is a huge relief.

Finally, the Vagabond Gingered Dark Ale (recipe in the Complete Joy of Homebrewing) turned out great. Well-carbonated, bitter coffee flavor with sweet malt, slight hoppiness on the nose, medium-bodied, and a clean, dry finish. Absolutely no sourness or mustiness. And it's only going to get better over time (although it's our only brew right now, so it probably won't last long!).

Chit and Chat

We had a fantastic time on Saturday playing Puerto Rico with Jim, Sonja, and their housemate, Vic. I posted a hopelessly long session report on boardgamegeek.com describing the experience, and I'm just going to post the link here instead of the whole article.

Man, we've been having a nice run of good weather here. I haven't seen any rain in over a week, and it's been sunny and in the 50s for much of the time. I've been warned that Seattle has a number of false springs, which is probably what we're experiencing now. I'm not complaining.

Elaine is cutting her first tooth, so she's been a little cranky, but mostly she's been good-natured about it, like most things. Her little personality is really starting to emerge--she's a lot of fun. She's also getting to be more mobile, so we're trying to baby-proof the house now. More pics and videos to come.

I still haven't found that signature regional beer. Most of what I've found that is remotely tasty appears to come from Oregon. I liked the Hale's Winter beer, but that's seasonal, so it doesn't count. There is one very nice local beer called Mac 'n Jack's Amber Ale, but you can only get it in kegs at this point. Once that becomes more widely available, I think that I'll have located my Washington Oberon. Ah, well, there's homebrew carbonating downstairs that'll be ready in three weeks or so. Mmmmm....

Some images from Saturday:

The view from Edinburgh



The view from Seattle

They're here!

EVERYONE has been clamoring for more pictures of Elaine, and of our basic situation. Well, not anyone here, exactly, but there were many people.

If you click on THIS, you will experience a slideshow treatment of photos and videos from the 3rd and 4th month of our daughter's life.

If you click on THIS, there will be more of the same from November thru January.

If you click HERE, you will be amused.

If you click HERE, you will be disturbed.

I could go on.

Who's a cute girl?

To wash away the unpleasantness of the politicos from yesterday, here's a fresh video of a Girl and Her Frog.



I had a cute video of Terry trying to entertain a fussy Elaine, but the sound was dominated by me, offscreen, explaining the premise behind The Order of the Stick to Visco. I'm such a dork.

Look Who's Poopin' Now!

Such a big girl!

WHO'S A BIG GIRL????

Babies are weird

I’m talking really little babies. Our darling princess is four weeks old yesterday, and she is the data point for today’s discussion.

Her innocence makes her ignorant, which then makes her fearless, yet she cries at the slightest provocation. What is it with the crying, evolutionarily? How did we ever survive with that siren wail declaring Hungry! Too cold! Too hot! Somewhat uncomfortable! Lonely! Gas! Oh, the gas! I mean, it’s shocking to watch a little one like that get wound up. I once (or twice) tried to see if she would just wind down on her own, as I had run out of options (see the previous sentence). No dice. When they’re this small, they do not, I repeat, do NOT cry themselves out. She started with the hitching, moved on to the hitch-wail, then the full wail, the tornado siren, and closed it off with the enraged, guttural sound of breaking glass that she carried through the last ounce of air in her lungs before she took another desperate breath and repeated. It’s really horrible to behold. Such unquenchable fury in that little face, with her little beet-red fists punching at the air, and her legs spasming out uncontrollably.

Now, picture me standing there gaping in shock at the mountain of rage that she had mustered.

Now, picture my wife coming in the room and demanding to know why I wasn’t trying to do something about it. (She already knew about the thing where little babies don’t cry themselves out, it seems. But I digress. )

Back to the evolution question, how is it that giant birds didn’t just swoop down and haul off our offspring, as they shrieked, “Here I am!” at the top of their lungs, lo those many years ago, in the time of the mighty mammoth? Perhaps giant birds can’t hear. At any rate, it appears as if babies have no survival instincts at all, unless you count crying for food, or being so damn cute.

Take my daughter, for example. She knows the instant my hand is momentarily occupied, and takes that opportunity to spit the pacifier onto the floor, or to kick out and arch her back and fling back her head as I’m carrying her down the stairs. She wiggles like a fish, seemingly to evade my grasp, but then when I try to reposition her, she goes from a coiled spring to a wet noodle, so that suddenly I’m on the verge of giving her whiplash.

How did parents do it, back when the giant sloth ruled the jungle? How did the hunters hunt, or the gatherers gather, after going through every-three-hour feedings?

I can hear my wife now. “She’s just a baby.” Of course she is. She’s young, innocent, and ignorant, and tied for the best thing that ever happened in my life. And as long as I live in her house, I’ll have to adjust to her rules. At least until she’s four or so.