Camp Cullen has my son

In the past forty-eight hours I have developed a new Internet addiction. This isn't a normal Internet addiction like posting photos of cats with grammatically incorrect captions or Myspace or porn. This Internet addiction will be short lived yet for the rest of this week I imagine that it will populate my history like no other site I visit. My Internet addiction is to Camp Cullen's online photo gallery page as, for the first time in his life, Colin is away from home at summer camp.

Melissa and I drove Colin up to camp on Sunday. I can't say the trip was easy and uneventful as it was the opposite of that. We had to drop off Melissa's old bed with our friend Brandi, who needed a bed, and return my parent's Tahoe, which we'd borrowed for the move all before we got on the road to Camp Cullen. On top of that, my car's AC was on it's last legs and while it ran fine at sixty miles per hour, it turned into a heater in any serious traffic.

Still, we pressed on and tried to keep the needle over the sixty mark. As we approached Huntsville I did a mental checklist to make sure we were not forgetting anything and I realized that Colin's sleeping bag wasn't packed. A quick call to Chelsea confirmed this and left us with very few options on how to replace it. Melissa and I had to stop at Wal-Mart for a sleeping bag. It was my first trip to a Wal-Mart in six or so years and two for Melissa. We both refuse to shop there however when Colin needs a sleeping bag the choice between Wal-Mart and driving thirty miles back to Conroe is pretty easy. Twenty bucks later, we were back on the way.

Colin was nervous and a bit apprehensive about going to camp, but I knew he'd love it. Colin is attending the same summer camp I went to twenty-nine years ago when I was his age. He's in the same cabin I was in the first year and he will be walking the same trails and swimming in the same pool and canoing the same cove of water I did. Camp Cullen had a huge impact on my life and as I drove my son there I felt the same level of excitement that I used to feel as a child going there.

From the summer of 1979 until sometime in the spring of 1990 I found any way I could to get to Camp Cullen. I was a camper there for six years and spent two weeks every summer there. When I was too old to be a camper I was a CIT. When I was too old to be a CIT I was a volunteer and from there I moved up to a paid member of the staff. While I was in college I would drive over to Cullen on the weekends to lead trail rides or work on the ropes course. I looked at my college options with the idea of working at a camp like Cullen as a profession.

Camp Cullen was a magical place for me. It was a place where I felt loved and found it easy to make friends. The camp was filled with counselors who showed us how to be good people, friendly, happy, loving , supportive and overall, decent. I learned how to tie knots, canoe, waster ski, ride horses, shoot arrows and guns and sail a sailing boat. My head was filled with the skits, games and songs that make up the somewhat crazy world of summer camp and to this day I can still recall most of them. As a CIT I can remember my first summer romance at Camp Cullen (she had braces and it didn't last long). I learned how to be a good person at Camp Cullen and for that I am very thankful. My mind is filled with memories of the place and for the most part, they are all good.

Sure there are bad memories mixed in with the good, but looking back on it I learned lessons from the bad memories. When I had a counselor who I didn't like I learned that it was better to make the best of the time I wasn't around him rather than focusing on ways to get back at him. I learned that bragging on yourself was the fastest way to lose respect from your peers. When I was a volunteer I was there for a scholarship week and I learned a lot about what it is to be poor.

We dropped Colin off at Camp at three-thirty. The check in process was so fast that I was disappointed. We checked Colin's name off two checklists, gave a counselor his footlocker and showed him to the table for his cabin. When we left Colin looked a little overwhelmed with the scene. The dining hall was filled with kids and at the front of the room were six counselors leading the group in a crazy camp song. I know within a few days Colin will get used to that; the real trick is not missing it for the other fifty or so weeks of the year.

I wanted to spend more time there. I wanted to show Melissa this place that still has a hold on me. The check-in process was so smooth that within fifteen minutes of arriving we were back in the car and driving off for home. As we walked to the car I felt my eyes water up; not because I was sad that Colin was leaving, as a divorced parent I'm used to that. My eyes watered because I didn't want to leave. I wanted to figure out a way to spend one more summer week of my life at Camp Cullen. I wanted to be a camper again just to experience all those things that I so loved as a child.

I am sure that Colin will love his week at camp. I have no doubt in my mind. The photos on the camp website may not always show him smiling, but it's camp; how can it not be the most awesome week of his summer? I hope Colin learns about himself while he is there. At eight he is more and more his own person with his own struggles and strengths. The lessons he can learn being away from family are so important to him being a good person when he is older. If he comes back a different person then I am sure that the changes will be good for him.

Most of all I hope that Camp Cullen becomes as important a place for him as it did for me all those years ago. I hope that he still sings silly camp songs thirty years later when he is approaching forty and is able to smile at memories of a place on Lake Livingston that for a week or two each summer was the best place in the world.

Wherefore art Thou?

Has it really been a week since I last scribed a post on this blog? For shame, for shame. I should have posted earlier in the week, but alas, I had a busy week.

Taking a sweat soaked shirt off for the umpteenth time on Tuesday evening I sighed with relief. The long weekend was over and I looked forward to returning to work in the morning. I tossed the shirt into the pile that I'd been building over the past few days. My shirts piled up in the corner smelling of the sustained effort I put forth this weekend. I looked on them and smiled.

There is a feeling that I get after doing a lot of physical work that is a bit hard to explain. Sure there is the satisfaction that the job has ended, but there is also a romance to using nothing more than your mind and muscles to accomplish a task. Moving is one of those activities that gives me a lot of satisfaction and always has. Moving closes a chapter on one part of your life and opens a chapter on another.

This weekend Melissa and I, along with Colin, moved into our rent house. We've been moving since last Friday, and it has been a huge amount of work. Not only did we have to clear out Melissa's apartment of all it's content, but we also had to move loads of furniture and the like from my house. Furniture that has remained essentially in the same place for eleven years had to be loaded into trucks and driven the seven miles to the new place. The record breaking heat of May didn't make things easier, but it did make things more satisfying.

The main issue with moving for me is that my dust allergies really take it upon themselves to make the experience one punctuated by sneezes. Cleaning my house out really set them off as I was entering closets and grabbing things of shelves that haven't been disturbed in over a decade. I try not to let the sneezing bother me too much and to focus on getting things done as quick as can be. That way I can get out of the dust sooner. It sure seems to bother other people though as they just can't understand how I can sneeze ten times in a row and not be annoyed.

This move was made easier by the wonderful help that Colin provided. He not only carried a lot of things into the car for me, but he also helped me to navigate some of the larger pieces of furniture into the car including two Cargo beds, a love seat, two dressers and a lot of Legos and other toys. With his help I accomplished a lot more than I thought I would and for his efforts he was rewarded with a trip to Target for some Indiana Jones Legos. We also saw the new Indy film on Saturday, and it was enjoyable; especially with Colin and Melissa at my side.

Chelsea wasn't around for the main part of the weekend. She went off camping with friends and left the three of us to make headway on the move. Her help would have been nice, but the Memorial Day camping trip has been a yearly thing for her for years and we were not about to put the kibosh on it. Even without her help we were still able to accomplish a lot. When she returned on Monday she got to work helping her mother pack the remaining items at their apartment as Colin and I took load after load to the new house.

My parents have flown off for England and my Grandad's funeral. Before they left they came over to view the house and drop off the Tahoe, which has been a great help. While they were visiting we walked to the park in the neighborhood and watched as Colin played. My parents seemed to like the house and the neighborhood. I suspect that they're a little unsure as to what the plan with Wildwood is going to be, but they're in good company on that front.

Things are slowly settling down back to normal for the four of us now. There is still moving related tasks to do, but for the most part we have past the major hurdles and are enjoying the house immensely.

It's My Move

Tomorrow Melissa and I get the keys for the lease house and the moving starts. I can't decide if I'm excited or nervous, probably a combination of both. Moving into a house together, with our kids, is a big step towards our dream of having a big happy family. It marks a significant change in all four of our lives and a part of me worries that the change will have adverse effects on the relationships within our little clan. A family living together can be tough in the best of circumstances; merging two families together isn't going to be as easy as it was in the Brady Bunch.

Still, I am excited about the place. I think that Colin and Chelsea are going to really enjoy the neighborhood. The house is on a fairly quiet street that ends at the neighborhood park, which is a long thin park connecting two larger community parks with pools and playgrounds. We're all going to be able to take walks to the pool or tennis courts or community events and ride our bikes all over the place. Additionally the neighborhood is filled with a lot more kids both Colin and Chelsea's age. I'm sure that in no time they're going to make friends around the neighborhood and the house will be filled with the sounds of kids being kids. I look forward to this, because it feels like how a childhood should be and I want Colin to have that.

There are also going to have to be concessions made between our two families due to living together. When I stay at Melissa's place I try to be conscious that the apartment is essentially theirs and I am a guest. I don't always act in that way, but we all have our off days. When we move to the new place it will be all of our place and with that we're all going to have things that we want from our new place.

I, for example, don't want the kids using the master bath. When I grew up my parent's bathroom was probably the least frequently visited room in the house by us kids. We hardly every had any need to be in there and that room was for my parent's exclusively. At Melissa's I can't tell you how many times I've come home from work and wanted to sit down only to find the restroom smelly and the seat wet because the dog was drinking out of the toilet. At least that's cleaner than when Colin uses the bathroom. At the new house I want the master bath to be both dog and kid free; we'll see what I get.

Another issue that Melissa and I are going to have to face soon is establishing some parameters for parenting each other's kid. With Colin I'm not too concerned because Melissa already does a great job with Colin, but he's eight and doesn't fuss too much. With Chelsea the situation is totally different. In a few months she's going to be eighteen, but that doesn't change the fact that she's going to be living in our house. The lines of parental authority are already being tested by Chelsea towards her mother; I suspect that any parental authority that I need to assert will not go over well. I may be needlessly worrying though; Chelsea is a really awesome young woman and we get along pretty well. I'm lucky in that Melissa will be there to help me figure things out.

There are going to be a million little things that change when we all move in together. I have confidence that the vast majority of these changes will be welcome changes for all. That tiny percentage that aren't welcome will need our attention and patience to smooth over. I hope that in a few months the gears of family life are all turning effortlessly in Mill Point but if they aren't, I'm committed to doing what needs to be done to fix things.

The last concern that I want to jot down today has to do with my current house. The plan is to rebuild on my property giving Melissa and I our dream house in an area that I have come to love. I've lived in Wildwood, my house, for the past eleven years and the thought of tearing it down and rebuilding gives me a touch of anxiety. The house is old and doesn't meet our needs, but the lot if perfect so rebuilding is the best option, but still there are lingering doubts in my mind that the plan will go smoothly. I worry that the financial markets have already turned against the idea of loaning money for something like this and that Melissa and I will not be able to rebuild. Then what am I to do with Wildwood and more importantly, if the plan falls through how is that going to affect my relationship with Melissa?

There's a lot to worry about I guess. The next chapter in my life starts tomorrow and like all the rest of the chapters I've faced I don't know how this one is going to go. I worry that the future might hold more hardship for me, a pessimistic outlook for sure. I need to find that font of optimism and fill up again. I want the next twelve months to be a fantastic preview of the rest of my life and not a return to troubles past.

Moving and Disc Golf

This past weekend was one of those rare weekends that Melissa and I get to ourselves. While Colin is often at his mother's for a weekend; Melissa has Chelsea all to herself and it is rare that she is gone for the entire weekend. Usually when we have a weekend to ourselves we like to plan it out to make the most of our alone time. This weekend we couldn't plan anything big as we're moving starting on Friday and the house is in need of packing. So, for most of the weekend Melissa and I were either packing or resting and getting over packing.

Packing is something that I am good at up to a certain point. You see, I have an allergy to dust which puts me into a sneezing fit that can last hours if I get any of the damn stuff up in my nose. It's fine when one if just living in a place because the amount of dust kicked up by general living isn't that bad. When one moves though, all the dust goes flying right up my nose and I end up sneezing like the dwarf in Snow White. The sneezing fits are accompanied by a general desire to get the hell out of dodge and then the need to convalesce in an area free of agitated dust.

Needless to say, packing things like bookshelves of books that have hardly been disturbed since they were unpacked last year is exactly the type of thing that is going to kick up dust. By Saturday afternoon the I was disparate to get away from the apartment just to stop sneezing, so we went to lunch. Lunch turned into a trip to the liquor store, ostensibly for boxes, but we got a small bottle of vodka to lift our packing spirits and then back home.

In hindsight, the bottle of vodka was a bad idea. After focusing our energies on packing and sneezing for the better part of the day Melissa and I were in no shape to be drinking anything. The effects of the alcohol quickly put both of us under for the evening. Melissa went to sleep and I ended up watching Casino Royale on the TV until a bit after nine when I went to bed too. When I woke in the morning I found that Melissa had done an additional four hours of packing during the middle of the night; she's crazy.

On Sunday we had our big weekend plans. Our friends Carl, Chris & Lisa all drove out to Jack Brooks Park in Hitchcock Texas for a round of disc golf on the park's excellent course. Melissa needed some encouragement as she was worried that we were way behind schedule with the packing. I was persistent though and a little after eleven we were off to meet the other three.

Disc Golf has quickly become Melissa and I's favorite weekend activity. Initially we started playing because both of us recognize that as we approach middle age (not there yet!) we need to be a bit more active. Disc golf provided us with the type of exercise that suits us (long walks) without costing us lots of money (discs are as little as $4.75 each). We are also lucky to be located near a number of truly excellent courses including 18 baskets at Jack Brooks park, nine baskets in Seabrook and two full eighteen hole courses at Tom Bass park.

The sport, if you've never played it, is just like regular golf except you have to get your disc into a basket. A player carries multiple discs and each disc meets a specific need; driver, mid-range and putter, so instead of using a bunch of clubs to hit one ball, you instead throw different types of discs to get into the basket. Baskets are usually between two and five hundred feet and often incorporate trees and other obstacles to make things more difficult.

Over the past five months Melissa and I have managed to play six different course in the Houston area and one in Port Aurthur, but mainly at Jack Brooks Park. Our skills have improved too. When we started playing our discs would fly off in all sorts of directions but now we're both pretty accurate and our distance is also getting better Neither of us are anywhere near competition quality, but that's fine; neither of us keep score either. We both look at it more as a fun past time than anything coming close to competition, and we have a long way to go before either of us gets anything close to the course par.

The best part of the game is the fun we've had taking family and friends along. Disc Golf isn't something that a lot of people have played, but we're quickly making converts. We've been joined on various occasions by fifteen different people and I think that most of them enjoyed it enough to want to play again.

On Sunday Chris and Lisa joined again for a game and Carl came along for his first attempt at the game in a long time (the promise of no water hazards was required). We had a glorious time on the course, which was pretty deserted when we arrived. The weather was perfect for the game; hardly a cloud in the sky and not too hot. Of course, after some of the long baskets without shade we were ready to rest, but overall no one had any complaints.

Chris's game is improving solidly. He's got a great throw in the works and when he has accuracy and a bit more power he is going to be a real threat. Most of all it is Chris's enthusiasm for the game that makes him so much fun to play with. Lisa had her second game with us and she had a number of really nice throws. I think she would improve with a disc more suited to her throwing style but until then she's neck and neck with Melissa. Carl didn't really get comfortable with throwing the disc until halfway through the game. Along the back nine he had a number of great throws that show a lot of potential.

I felt personally frustrated with my game on Sunday. I had a number of shots get away from me and felt that I picked the wrong type of throw too often. My driving is still my best shot with some really exceptional shots off the tee on nine and ten. My putting was terrible through out though and a good reason why I felt my game was off. Once we get unpacked and the disc golf basket is set up in the new yard I'm going to get my putting under control.

After our game ended we went to Clifton by the Sea and had a great meal on the side of the bay. The sangria was amazing and it was nice to hang out with our friends. When we left I didn't want to leavr. The next two weekends are going to be packed to the gills with moving, so Melissa and I really both needed to have one last day for socializing.

Neil MacGregor :: 1915 - 2008

Dad called me this morning to let me know that my grandfather, his father, had passed away. This wasn't completely unexpected as Grandad was 93 and we'd been notified that he was failing fast earlier in the week. I didn't expect the end to come so soon though, I really expected that my parents were calling to let me know their month long motorhome jaunt to California was over and that they were home.

Dad told me that Grandad slipped away peacefully surrounded by family including my aunts and cousins. They had spent the past few days going through photo albums and sharing memories with him. Grandad was unable to speak but they could tell by his eyes that he was participating in what was going on. Dad told me that they showed him photos of Colin and William, his two American great-grandchildren.

The news of Grandad's death sunk in as Dad shared other bits of news from the family. He was in an amazingly upbeat mood and I didn't know if it was for my benefit, or maybe a sense of relief that his father was at peace. Grandad's quality of life was certainly not what it once was, and he always claimed that he wanted to die at home in his own bed. Still, I do not think that I would be able to muster such a positive attitude were I passing similar news about my Dad to Colin.

We closed up the phone conversation, I was aware that he had a number of other people to call. I offered to send my brother a text message to call my parents, who don't know how to text yet. Rob, being a teacher, can't really receive calls at work. I hope he was able to get in touch with them.

I got off the phone and a wave of emotion hit me; sadness, grief and regret. It had been nearly fourteen years since I saw him last, on the day of my wedding to my ex. It was the last trip that my Grandad was able to make to the US as his age had caught up with his globe trotting capabilities. We talked on the phone, but it isn't the same. Colin never had the chance to meet his paternal Great-Grandfather, and the guilt of this weighed on me. I never made going back to England, the country of my birth, a priority and now it is too late.

Being a child of a family who emigrated halfway across the globe I have always felt envious of people who are surrounded by family. Other than my parents and my siblings we had no immediate family in Houston. My Grandad would visit us every other year and we'd go back there every three or so years. Because of this I don't have a close bond with my aunts and uncles and cousins. The connection I feel with them is mainly based on their relationship with my parents, but my grandparents were different.

I attribute my sense of humor to my Grandad MacGregor, who was always ready with a good pun or to play a prank. He was a mirthful man with a knack for physical humor. He enjoyed amateur theatrics and would occasionally have roles in local drama productions. He was also a very proper English gentleman who did things the way they were meant to be done. For example, he always wore a suit to the bank and weighed his letter to make sure the postage was always correct.

Grandad was a good card player, a croquette player with a touch of a mean streak (a good streak to have in our cut throat family matches) and a good archer. One day he amazed me by setting up an archery target in the back yard for he and I to use, which we did for hours. Another time he made stilts for all his grandchildren to enjoy.

Grandad enjoyed games and was celebrated with his brother at their sports club for maintaining their weekly squash game together for the better part of forty years; they only stopped when they were both in their eighties, too old to continue. I asked him about the squash games and he told me that when they started they would often try just to maintain the volley, then they got good and competed against each other, but by the time they were in their seventies they were back to just trying to maintain the volley and had come full circle.

Grandad liked to read and had a large collection of books piled onto shelves all over the house, like all the other houses in my family. On the landing of the second floor they had a few of the James Bond novels in hard back, and I remember being excited to read a Bond adventure in it's first printing while there. I don't know if he wrote, but I suspect he did because both my father and I like to.

Memories of visits to England often revolve around my Granny and Grandad's wonderful house Whinmoor; a three story brick house located off the main road just above Stockton-Heath. Visiting Whinmoor as a child was magical; the house had a play room filled with toys my father played with, and the back yard was huge. My sister and I would always make for the back yard as soon as we arrived at Whinmoor to see the garden, check on the pond, swing on the swing, enter the playhouse, follow the trail through the wood at the back and then finally back into the house proper breathless and happy.

They moved from the first Whinmoor into the second about ten years ago, the big house was too much for a pair of octogenarians. In the past few years Grandad had a number of mini-strokes which decreased his ability to speak. His squash playing brother, my Great Uncle Jock, passed away less than a month ago, and was the older of the two. I guess that was why the news this morning took me a bit by surprise. Uncle Jock held on for years after his stroke that left him unable to speak and I thought the hearty MacGregor blood would keep my Grandad going on. Apparently not as the news that he was failing fast turned out to be accurate.

Death has this annoying habit of taking the people you love away from you before you're ready. It has colored this day a shade of gray for me. I can not focus on work and even writing this now has made my eyes moisten again for the umpteenth time. I feel envious of my cousins in England who were able to spend far more time with him and the regret that I didn't take my son across the pond to meet my great grandparents is palpable.

The living have to go on and move forward. Initially it sucks and at any moment grief can flood your mind but over time things get better. Fourteen years is a long time to go without seeing your grandparents; but now I will never see my Grandad again except in my memories and my dreams.

The funeral will be in June and my parents are planning to fly to England for it. Colin and I will not, but that's OK. I have my memories of him.

Fear with Child

Last week I touched on the topic of the paranoid parental fear that seems to be gripping the country. As a parent of a young child I am constantly being told by friends, family and even people I hardly know that the world is a very dangerous place for my child and that only through constant vigilance will I assure my child will reach adulthood without being kidnapped, molested, murdered or bludgeoned. Even the TV news gets in on the stoking of parental fear
by making any case of a missing child or worse the lead story of the night's broadcast (they even have a quaint name for this).

To all this I say poppycock, which is a old fashioned way of calling bullshit on the culture of parental fear. I've read books on the subject of the exploitation of fear (The Culture of Fear by Barry Glassner) and one of the things that I have learned is that reality is not as dangerous a place as we are lead to believe. The crimes that most parents spend countless hours worrying about are at historic lows and statistically, our children are safer now than they have ever been in the history of our country.

Kidnappings are at a historic low. Sexual abuse of children by adults have been declining also. It is a fact that children today are less likely to be molested, kidnapped or killed than their parents were thirty years ago, and the odds of these things happening have continued to decrease generation after generation. And yet we, as a society, think that letting our kids go to the park or take the subway by themselves is akin to neglect and abuse. Again, poppycock. This is what kids need.

What we are doing is raising a generation of children unable to take charge of their own lives because they are so accustomed to having their safety managed by an adult. If a child doesn't have the chance to get into scrapes and little bits of trouble when they are young then they will have no capability to deal with scrapes and trouble when they are older. This is what childhood is for; it is a relatively consequence free period of life where you learn the cost of mistakes and how to deal with them productively. A child who doesn't get into little scrapes as a child will get into bigger scrapes as an adult.

Pitting the facts and logic against this culture of fear is getting harder and harder to do. As a father who has custody of my bi-racial son I read articles about how this fear gripping our society is affecting men and I worry. I worry about a father in Boston who is investigated by police for telling his daughter to 'please be quiet' while on the subway because I have told my son the same thing many many times in public. He and I don't share the same skin color and in the back of my mind I do often wonder if other people look at me and my child and let their fear run away with them. Do I set off the ‘stranger danger’ alerts in parents?

This fear of being labeled a threat to children actually makes our children less safe. I firmly agree with Hillary Clinton's premise that it takes a community to raise a child. We all have to look out for children to protect them, but what happens when one lives in a community overrun with illogical fear? Do we create men like Clive Peachy who did not stop to help little Abigail Rae because he was worried that people would think he was an abductor? Is that where we are going with this fear? Would you, put into Mr. Peachy's place, have stopped to help Abigail?

Now, there are things for parent's to fear in our communities. This Venn diagram that I came across last night is a good illustration about how we are directing our fears towards the wrong things. Statistically our children are less likely to encounter a molester at school, but far more likely to encounter a man who will actively stalk them, lie to them and once trusted by our children, send them off to a strange country where their lives will be in danger. Why do we fear the long shot and allow a greater threat to our children unlimited access?

People tell me that it is a dangerous world and that kids these days are growing up faster than before. All this attention and protection aren't helping. As Tim Gill, author of the parenting book No Fear, puts it, “our fear of [stranger danger] is magnified so dramatically, we deny our children the basic freedoms and experiences they need to grow up.” We are raising children in a protective shell who will be ill-prepared for the harshness of life.

The experiences we offer our children in childhood set their expectations in life. If a child grows to adulthood without experiencing the wrong side of a swindle, then they will grow to be an easy mark. If a child grows without criticism then they will not be able to handle it as an adult. As a parent we have to give our children the space they need to inoculate their character against the hardships of life, or they will remain a child forever.

Colin complains about the troubles in his life on occasion. He will voice his frustration by telling me “it isn't fair Daddy.” He is right, life isn't fair. Life is hard, and for long periods everyone will suffer through hardship and loss, money will be tight, expectations will not be met, and then there's high school. I try to instill in my son the tools he will need to make the best of life, hardships and all. Part of my job is to let him learn a lot of these things in little ways, now that he is a child.

I do not want my son to grow up miserable and unhappy. I want him to have the skills he will need to make the most of life and find happiness in the face of all the uncertainty and unfairness of the world. I want his expectations of life to match the realities and if that means bucking against the culture of fear then that is what I will do.

Houston Weekend Activities

Houston is the fourth largest city in the United States with a little over 2.1 million people calling the city home. If you don't know two million people, it is a pretty staggering number. If Houston were not just a city but instead a state then it would be the thirty-sixth most populace in the United States, between Nevada and New Mexico. If Houston were a its own country then it would be the 141st largest country in the world. If you included all 5.6 million people in the greater Houston area then our city has about the same population as Nicaragua.

With 5.6 million people you are going to find a lot of different walks of life; not just oil men and cowboys thanks very much. Houston has a vibrant and diverse population with a thriving and diverse museum community (including local oddities like the National Museum of Funeral History) and a theater community that is second only the New York City in terms of artistic scope and number of seats. People outside our city may think that we're all George W. Bush loving Christian conservatives, but once you experience the many unique attractions of the city, you'll see how misinformed that opinion is.

Take for example the weekend that Melissa and I enjoyed just these past few days. It was a weekend of cultural oddities ranging from a lowbrow dinner on the side of Galveston Bay to the relatively highbrow attendance of the Houston Ballet's performance of Madam Butterfly and what happened in the middle is certainly unique to Houston. What happened? Well, let's start with Friday night...

On Friday afternoon I left work and high-tailed it to Galveston Island to meet Melissa for her office happy hour. The drive to Galveston late on a Friday was nice and quick and I didn't encounter any traffic to speak of. I've been listening to the biography of Ian Fleming in the car for the past week and the tale of this fascinating man, who was born one hundred years ago this month, kept my attention. I made it to Melissa's office a little after her quitting time and waited around for a bit, but we were still in good time for the happy hour.

I wish I could say that happy hour on Galveston was worth the drive, but it was not. Instead of being a lot of fun with karaoke and lots of new people to talk to, the happy hour ended up being a small handful of people standing around in a muggy bar talking about interoffice politics that I had no insight nor opinion on. I honestly tried to strike up conversations with Melissa's co-workers but I quickly got the impression that they were not receptive to outsiders and I ended up playing a game on my iPhone while nursing a beer in the one cool corner of the bar.

You might think that driving away four gallons of precious fuel would put me in a bad mood, but it didn't really. I brushed off the disappointment and talked Melissa into leaving the island and going north towards home for dinner. Thirty minutes later we were pulling up into the parking lot of Clifton by the Sea in Baclif, Texas. We were seated on the wood deck with a grand view of Galveston bay to our left and a small stage featuring an acoustic cover band to our right. Our dinner there was superb. We started with a creamy, thick cup of crab bisque, served hot enough to require a slow eating pace. That was followed by an assortment of fish and crab tacos, the crab being the better tasting of the two, and the potato boats, which were scooped out baked potatoes baked with cheese, chives, bacon bits and sour cream. All of this was washed down with an absurdly heavy pitcher of fresh sangria.

After dinner we retreated to the house and kept things low key for the rest of the night. Low key for Melissa and I can be as simple as a bottle of wine, some music and a trash-talk filled game of Wii Sports, usually golf. The visions of karaoke will have to wait for another night, and besides, Saturday was going to be a big long day so an early retreat to bed was a good idea.

On Saturday we woke up slowly and got ready for the grand day out. Melissa, Chelsea, her boyfriend and his sister and I were off to watch Houston's Art Car Parade as it ambled down Allen Parkway. The Art Car Parade is something of a tradition for my family; usually we meet my mother and father with wines and cheeses to celebrate Mother's Day. This year my parents are still off motor homing across America so instead of meeting my family we met Melissa's sister and her Bulgarian friends. Toward the end of the parade my friend Carl met up with us too.

The Houston Art Car Parade is the longest running celebration of art cars in the United States. Art cars encompass a wide range of styles and tastes. One of my favorites is a Honda Accord that has been completely covered in mirror shards; another is a dragon car that is well over a hundred feet long. Some of the cars are little more than decorated vehicles with colorful paint, other vehicles are hardly recognized as once being cars, but they move. The majority of the cars look they way they do all year round and are houses in Houston's Art Car Museum; the 'decorated cars' (cars that can be returned to their normal appearance after the parade) are in the minority. Healthy amounts of scorn are heaped on any vehicle that is more advertising than art; for example the Ronald McDonald shoe car is usually booed when it passes for not being art.

The parade started in 1988 with forty decorated cars and has grown to what it is now; the best parade in the northern hemisphere. This year there were over two hundred cars and spectators number around a quarter million people. Anyone thinking that the city of Houston is lock step behind Bush would have been surprised to find a number of art cars specifically used as platforms to call for his impeachment (including the Code Pink M-Peach-mobile).

The Art Car parade is first and foremost a people's parade. It is a locally organized event started by volunteers and entry into the parade is open to anyone with a imaginatively festooned vehicle that can make it up and down the short parade route. Prior to the parade you can walk up and down Allen Parkway and talk to the owners of the assorted cars and during the parade the lines between spectator and participant are often blurred.

Our Bulgarian frineds, Iskra and Itzo, were enthralled with the spectacle of the parade. I can't imagine what someone from the former Soviet Block Bulgaria would think about a parade featuring all these decorated cars. I wonder if they thought Houstonian's crazy for celebrating those who forsake resale value in an effort to make the world a more unique place. Knowing Europeans I imagine they would see the parade as I do; that there is hope for our crassly commercial society after all. I think that the parade helped to show them that Houston is a far more complex city than our reputation leads one to believe.

After the parade ended we slowly gathered up our chairs and coolers and walked to our respective cars. The next stop of the day was to go to Star Pizza for the best pizza in Houston. I've been dining at Star Pizzas for almost twenty years and I have never once had a meal there that was less than stellar. Melissa and I have been there a number of times but our Bulgarian friends and Chelsea's boyfriend and his sister had never been, so they were in for a real treat.

We ordered three large pizzas and settled in for the always-worth-it wait by discussing the NBA finals with Itzo and the cultural difference between Bulgaria and Texas with Iskra. I always enjoy hearing the opinions of others about the state and city I've adopted as my own and their impressions of Houston as being the friendliest and most economical city in America was certainly interesting to hear. As Iskra said, in Houston one can always find work and a place to live.

The final event of an already event filled day was to go to the Miller Outdoor Theater for a showing of Madam Butterfly. The Bulgarians and Carl opted out of this part of the day, but the rest of us could think of nothing better than sitting on the lawn at the MOT and listening to the opera. But it wasn't an opera; Melissa had made a mistake. Instead of an opera we were treated to the ballet version of the story. This made no difference to our group. We had cheeses, crackers, olives and some left over sangria to enjoy so we settled in for a great show.

I have to say that I was impressed with the ballet. I am not a big fan of the more traditional arts; preferring the DIY nature of an art car to the somewhat stuffy formality of a ballet, but this was an interesting story and the performances were expressive enough to tell the story. The free aspect of the MOT also helped me to enjoy it. Most of all I enjoyed it because I got to spend the day doing things I enjoy doing with the people I love to be around. The only thing that could have improved the day in any way at all was to have had Colin along. He missed the entire adventure because it was his mother's weekend. Maybe next year the Art Car parade will move away from Mother's Day weekend and I'll be able to take him to the parade again.

By the time we got home on Saturday, around eleven in the evening, everyone was worn out. We said good bye to Chelsea's friends and retired to sleep feeling stuffed with good food and filled with good memories.

I am stuffed.

This weekend we went to the art car parade with cheeses and crackers, then to Star Pizza and finally to watch the ballet perform Madam Butterfly at the Miller Outdoor theater with cherries, cheeses and crackers and wasabi ( わさび ) almonds. I'll tell you about it in more detail tomorrow. This video above is pretty much how I felt this morning after breakfast when I decided to put an end to this festival of gastric delights and go back to avoiding foods I don't like anyway.

Melissa and I are now going to check on the dewberries at the park down the road.

Bearing Good News

Friday has arrived and you find me in a good mood. My day has been close to perfection so far from the moment that consciousness wrestled me from sleep. I''m telling you, it's been that good.

In no particular order, let's review the events leading up to this perfectly wonderful end of the week.

1. The rent house is ours!
   After five days of worry and trepidation Melissa and I got word yesterday that the house we wanted to rent will be our home away from home for the next twelve months as we tear down and then build our dream home Wildwood. The rent house is amazing; even the hopelessly amateurish photos the realtor took can not fail to make this house look good. On top of that we've worked out a deal where we will be reimbursed for any plants we buy for the garden, which is currently a blank canvas, and we're getting a new range on the island in the kitchen. I can not wait to have guests over to the house for gatherings.
   
   
2. Barak Obama has taken the super delegate lead!
   With the defection of a former Hillary super delegate and a new endorsement Obama takes the lead in super delegates by two. Now my main man Barry has the popular vote lead, the pledged delegate lead and the super delegate lead. Of course, these three metrics will still probably not be enough to get Hillary to drop out of the race. She seems to judge the race by a criteria that consists of moving the goalposts every time that Barry takes on another win. In addition to all this, the final numbers in Indiana show that Hillary won the state by less than an percentage point and many are pointing to right-wing sycophant Rush Limbaugh's Operation Chaos as responsible for seven percent of Hillary's support. Does it feel nice to win because of the actions of Rush Limbaugh Hillary?
   
   
3. Happy hour tonight!
   Tonight after work I am heading south to Galveston Island to join Melissa at her office happy hour. We're going to a bar that I used to do stand-up in, but it looks like it is under new ownership now (which I feel will be a good thing). The happy hour theme will be karaoke and I love me some karaoke. Tomorrow morning I'll probably be hoarse from belting out such ditty's as 'Old Time Rock-n-Roll' by Bob Seger and 'Proud Mary' by CCR.
   
   
4. Art car parade tomorrow!
   The best parade in the entire northern hemisphere is happening tomorrow. Melissa and I are joining a contingent of Bulgarians, friends and family to enjoy the parade. The tradition of mocking corporate art cars like the McDonald's shoe car and it's ilk will be continued. Usually this is my Mother's choice for the family Mother's Day gathering, but this year my parent's are trekking back from California and will not be able to make it. Melissa and I will do our best to maintain the gourmet levels of cheese and wine at the event and Chelsea will be attending with her boyfriend. Last year I got to meet George Clinton at the parade too!
   
   
   
   
   
5. This Blog is a week old!
   I should probably start telling people about it. For the past week I've been dropping hints to Melissa that I'm blogging. I've helped her to add AdSense ads to her site and her Google Reader shared items too, but none of this has spurred her to ask how I've become so familiar with the new features of Blogger. Heck, I even told her the name of this blog again, but no bites on these hints.
   
   The main reason that I haven't told her about this until now is that I wanted to have some entries for her to read, so Melissa, when you get to this point in this post, surprise!
   
   
6. I had a wonderful morning!
   Seriously folks, there's nothing better than waking up next to the person you love. A close second, which I discovered this morning, is having a fresh Desert Gallery oatmeal raisin cookie before you shower.
   

The Last Person to Know

A few years back my ex-wife announced that she was going to move out of the house we'd lived in for eight years leaving me at home with Colin to get a hang of being a single parent. Our marriage had been having troubles with both of us finding ourselves unhappy with the way things were going. I'm not going to go into all the details about how my marriage fell apart. Millions of people divorce every year and each marriage breaking down has it's own tales of heart ache and anger. I like to think that things like that are in my past now, even though I have to deal with repercussions from the divorce all the time.

During the months between her announcement and her moving out things were difficult to say the least. I was little more than a vessel for my grief, overwhelmed by the changes in my life. I went to work and spent most of the days in my office emotionally dealing with the crisis. I clung to the memories of happier times and told myself that I would fight to make things better between us.

My friends were another story. While I was busy living in the past and trying to figure out how to get back there, they could see all the signs of what was really going on. My ex's late nights at bars with her co-worker was obviously more than just a friendship. The lies and accusations that she hurled at me in arguments were given to justify her actions to her self. Even her claim to need “time to think” wasn't believed by the support group that had come to my aid in the times of trouble. They all told me that she was cheating on me and any time I brought up the matter with my ex she assured me that she wasn't cheating on me and that she had no interest in her co-worker, to whom she is now married.

Inside my head I clung to the hope that my ex really just needed time and that everyone's suspicions were groundless. I was happy to ignore all the evidence that pointed to the fact that there was an affair and it was the reason for her moving out. When I came across a note from her to this guy I steadfastly refused to read between the lines. I was so far in denial that I was the last person defending her against the accusations of her affair. My friends felt pity for me, hanging on like I did.

It wasn't until I saw the two of them leaving her new apartment one morning that I gave up hope that things were going to end well. On that morning, after seeing them leave her place with him locking the door with his key, I made the decision that I had to get ready for a divorce and I stopped turning a blind eye to her activities.

Looking back at my actions now I wonder to myself why I didn't act sooner about the affair. I think it is because the affair was completely opposite from what I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe that she just needed time to think and I wanted to believe that we were going to get through the separation and come back together stronger and happier. No matter what the harsh reality of the situation was showing, I was in a fantasy world where my desire to get things back to where I wanted clouded my judgment.

I think about how I acted and thought as my marriage fell apart and find myself seeing similarities with Hillary Clinton's campaign. After last night's results were posted in North Carolina and Indiana the writing on the wall for Hillary's aspirations to be the 2008 Democratic candidate is even clearer. There is no chance for her to win the nomination and we've known this since March. Her campaign is over and now she is a figure that more and more people are feeling pity for. When will she see that her campaign is as futile as my attempts to gloss over and defend my ex's actions? Reality is reality and we all have to deal with bad news eventually.

After I dealt with the realities of my ex's infidelity I set on a course of action to make sure that I came out of the divorce with what I wanted; primary custody of my son and my house. The path was a difficult one and it tore me up to go to my lawyers office and deal with the hard realities of a divorce. Eventually the divorce was over and I ended up getting what I wanted. I made the most of a bad situation and turned the loss of my marriage into a divorce on my terms.

Hillary has to understand that the longer that she remains in a futile race the more damage she is doing to herself and the legacy of her husband as President. There is still a chance that Hillary will look at the cold facts of reality and make the decisions that she has to make, but taking that path means admitting that she was wrong, and it doesn't look like she can do that.

For the past eight years we've lived with a President who makes decisions based on what he wants to be true, and not reality. Our current President also has difficult time admitting that he was wrong, and as a nation we have suffered tremendously under this type of leadership. Hillary's decision to continue a failed campaign shows me, more clearly than anything else that she has said or done on the campaign trail, that she is not the right person to be our next President. She is too much like George W. Bush in her refusal to accept the facts about her campaign and make a good decision on the right course of action.

Barak Obama may not be your ideal cup of tea for a President but you can not argue that the man doesn't admit when he is wrong. When facing difficult decisions as President I want someone who will make a decision based on the facts and not based on what they want to be true. Sometimes that takes maturity to admit that you were wrong and to change direction and that takes courage. I hope that Hillary can show her courage to admit defeat and then become an Obama supporter. If she does that then when she runs for the President again, and I'm sure that she will, then I'll be more inclined to vote for her. Otherwise I will continue to view her as being a dangerous person to hold the presidency, another person who can not see the facts for what they are; the truth.

When was the last time you jumped out of a swing?

This morning I came across a Flickr group of people leaping out of swings. As I flipped through the photos in the group (and tut-tutted at the photos that were obviously not swing jumping related) I remembered how much fun it is to launch yourself into the air from a swing.

When I was in elementary school I can remember being a good swing jumper was a badge of honor. Jumping from a swing asserted that you were a kid of action and adventure. Swings were not just for swinging; they were for launching imaginative flights across the universe.

I wasn't bad at swing jumping, but certainly not the best in my age group. The more athletic and daring kids were able to jump much higher than I did. I usually liked to try for the longest distance and not the highest height. Still, I can remember the rush of air as you disentangled from the chains and flung yourself free of the seat as if the last time I jumped from a swing was yesterday.

There was a certain mental process that I had to go through in preparing for the jump. You can just decide to jump in the middle of a swing, you have to get ready for it. First off, you have to make sure that you're not going to leap into someone because you might get hurt. In elementary school this was a challenge because the playground swing set consisted of eight swings all hung from bars in the shape of a large octagon, and we all swung inward.

Once your flight path was cleared there were some body contortions to attend to. You had to move your elbows so that they were inside the chains. Most of the time when you're swinging your elbows are outside the chains to give you more power in your swings, but in order to leap you need those elbows in to clear the chains, otherwise you're not jumping off the swing; you're falling out of it.

The most important part of the jump was timing the release. As I mentioned above, I liked to go for length of the jump and not height. To assure that your jump is going to cover a lot of distance you have to let go of the swing while you're moving forward more than moving up. Somewhere around a 40° chain angle is about optimum, but it is hardly a precise sport. If height is what you want then you should release before the peak of your swing.

I don't know if Colin jumps from swings. As his school is brand new and needing playground equipment I don't even know if he gets to swing at school. I can't imagine elementary school without swings.

There is so much that my son has in his life that I didn't at his age, and there are many things that I did at his age that I can't see him doing now. This is partially a generational gap of nearly thirty years and partially because there are many different activities that are available to Colin. Swings just can't compete with Nintendo DS and Wii or even the computer itself.

But that isn't the only reason that Colin doesn't have as much swing time as I did. We live in a culture of fear and parents these days are told that the most dangerous thing on a playground is the predator waiting to snatch your child. It is this fear that drives parents to put limits on what their children can do. The Daily Mail ran an article talking about how children's roaming limits have decreased to almost nothing in just four generations.

When I was Colin's age my mother wouldn't think twice about letting me tear off the driveway on my bike to who knows where. I don't recall having a time to come home either. Returning home wasn't something I did until I was hungry. Only on occasion would my parent's look for me. My bike offered me miles of places to go to and I was always happy to hop on and take off.

The rent house has a neighborhood very similar to the one I grew up in and one thing that I want to instill in Colin is the joy of exploring. He's a smart kid and I'm sure that if he runs into trouble that he will be able to find his way out of it. After all, he's my son and when I think of all the scrapes I got into as a kid I can't imagine Colin doing anything more dangerous.

East of Jesus

Yesterday morning I woke at nine, which isn't an odd thing for a Saturday morning, and got right out of bed and into the shower, which is an odd thing for a Saturday morning. After showering myself I chivvied Melissa unmercifully to get out of bed and in the shower too. The reason for such an uncharacteristic display of alacrity on a weekend morning had to do with an appointment that Melissa and I had with Mary Ann, our house hunting realtor, at ten.

We've been looking for a house to rent for two months now. The basic plan for the future is to move into a rent house and then have my house demolished and a new place built in the lot. My house sits on a wonderfully wooded lot with a number of large trees including three 200 year-old plus oaks. It's the kind of yard that you just can't find anymore, but the house is closing on fifty years old and it's been rode hard and put up wet by previous tenants, gravity, the roots of said trees and the march of time.

I'm not too worried about knocking down the house I've owned and lived in for the past eleven years as ever since buying the house in 1997 I've always thought that the lot cried out for a bigger home. The lot is about a third of a acre, on the corner of two streets, with the 1800 square foot house sitting in the back corner, leaving a back yard of about nine foot by 30 foot. Great yard in the front, but nothing in the back. Because of this I have always dreamed about a nice two story house with a big front yard and a big back yard filled with a family.

Melissa likes the idea of building our house there and she's signed on for the hardship we're going to have to take on to get ourselves there. We're going to have to get a loan for a nice big sum of money and then manage the rebuilding process, and we're going to have to do it in a year. During that year, we're going to live in a rent house, hence the odd morning wake up.

Our searching has been aided by and in many ways made much more interesting by Mary Ann, our realtor. Mary Ann is a bit hard to describe to people because she is one of a kind. If I had to guess her age I'd say she's in her fifties, but she's had so much sun and partying that she looks older than my parents, and they're in their sixties. She's stick skinny and has the types of arms that lack any sort of muscle tone, they're like floppy sticks. Finally, rounding out her otherwise stick like body are two bags of silicone that jut out of her ribs in the manner of a college co-ed. Picture a cross between the old lady in 'There's Something About Mary' with the personality of Roller Girl from 'Boogie Nights' and you're getting close. Mary Ann isn't the best at what she does but Melissa and I stick with her if for no other reason than to hear the next outrageous thing she says. Let me share a few of my favorite quotes:

"If I don't sell a house soon I'm moving to Vegas and becoming a prostitute." To Melissa as we enter the third house that we'd seen that day. Followed up with an aside to me "Do you think I'd stand a chance?"

"I gotta drive out to East Jesus today." East Jesus will now replace BFE in my parlance.

"Oh honey, this shower is made for playtime." To both of us on entering a master bathroom.

Not to mention her stream of stories about partying here or there late into the night. She's often looking like she just woke up when we see her for these house visits. Her wardrobe seems to favor the single bar crowd for the over fifty set. One one house hunt she arrived in white Capri pants, and black and white striped shirt and a black beret. It was like house hunting with a mime who didn't get the whole don't talk part. Another time we met her the top she wore was so loose fitting that I worried one of her boobs would pop out. Finally, yesterday she arrived on scene wearing only the white Capri's again and a red halter top that went up around the neck. It was obvious form nearly all angles that she wasn't wearing any undergarments.

She's a bit rude and gruff, but Melissa and I are really attached to her. We've developed an affection for our hard scrabble, hard partying ways and her cynicism for people looking for homes. Her slightly abusive manner and insistence that she is never wrong might grate on others but we both tend to over look the flaws.

We met up with Mary Ann at ten and looked at three houses. The first was huge - the biggest house we've looked at in our price range. The second house had charm, but not in quantities great enough to overcome the deficiencies. The third house was perfect in so many ways and the location really sold it to us. We're going to be half a lock from the park and not far from my property. We put down the deposit and now we're on our way to getting the lease done.

After house hunting we picked up Chelsea and her boyfriend for a round of disc golf in Hitchcock. That's for another time though as I'm going to wrap this up.