I've slept in my bed once in the last two weeks. As I write this, I am sitting in an airport somewhere around the Rockie Mountains waiting for another plane to take off to another place. I'm told travel is supposed to be exciting. Mostly by people who don't have to do it very much. They are stuck in their time zones and want nothing more than to escape. I understand this.
This is "It's a Wonderful Life", where George is jealous of everyone who gets to go someplace other than Bedford Falls. His brother is off at war and it seems exotic and cool. But if the hero of the story was Harry and not George, the story line would be a lot different and I'm sure Harry would rather be back home than he would going up in a plane everyday and trying to kill people before they killed him. Both story lines are understandable to us. The desire to escape. The desire to return. The Lord of the Rings is all about that... the urgent need to leave the Shire, followed by two books of wishing they could be back in the Shire. And no, Mandy, it doesn't make be a geek because I referenced Lord of the Rings in a blog. Ok... maybe just a little.
My wife described her week ahead to me. "Drive here, do this, do that..." on and on. And she didn't sound very happy about it. It is a lot of moving from point A to point B, all in the service of someone else's schedule. There is cooking and cleaning and laundry and work and concerts and a large variety of other things that go on in the Shire that are the same as every other week. Her storyline has her trapped in this time frame forever... like Groundhog Day. "It will never change!" she wails. But it will, and then she might even miss it.
I know this travel stuff will change eventually. But for now it is my storyline. It is a little like the middle section of War and Peace. So I keep telling myself. If I slog through the doldrums for long enough I will get to the end of the book and it will feel worthwhile. It gets to a point where the place and the time are all relative. I'm not sure if I'm two time zones ahead? Or one behind. Or if I'm supposed to be eating lunch or dinner. You get up when the sun rises and work until it is long gone. And the beautiful and exotic things that surround me remain hidden as I never escape the terminal. There is a purgatory aspect to this sort of life. A myriad of faces, none of them known. None of them familiar. And so this hero in this story at this moment wishes for nothing more than familiarity and my own pillow.
They changed my gate again. Off to track down my next leg.
Over and out.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Invisible Fences Make Good Neighbors
My dog has an Invisible Fence... a wire that runs around my property and is buried under the ground. He wears a collar and if he gets too close to the line it beeps, and if he ignores the beep... it gives him a shock. This sounds cruel, but I live on a busy street and with three kids running in and out, there was a good chance of him getting out and getting hit. Once we had the fence installed, he did get shocked a few times. But only a very few. They put flags up to warn him where the border was and he learned in a day where his territory was. It has gotten to the point where he doesn't even wear his collar much anymore. He just assumes that his border is what it is... and he is content in his box. And he runs madly around in that box to the point of wearing a path through my front yard... right where the line is.
Having spent much of the last year watching the unfolding drama of various celebrities... John Edwards, Tiger Woods, Jesse James, and Tiki Barber... to name the obvious... I am struck by a sea change of the male/female dynamic. I am not naive enough to think that these men are a new phenomenon. The sea change is, however, in how these men are portrayed in the press, and by the public in general. In many cases prior, much of the blame was wrongly placed on the woman... the succubus who come for seduction and are completely irresistible to even the strongest of men, willing them away from their chosen mates. But the sea change is that in these latest cases the men are portrayed as the offenders and the women, as innocent victims of the man's sexual appetites. I don't really know what went on in any of these cases... and neither do you... as much as you think you might. In all likelihood there is guilt on both sides of the aisle. But that doesn't make for as good of a story.
But how does this relate to Invisible fences... you ask.
Well, if I didn't buy my dog an Invisible Fence... he would undoubtedly be running around the neighborhood in a bacchanalian frenzy, screwing everything in sight... girl dogs, boy dogs, children, legs, trees, fire hydrants... etc. There are many dogs in my neighborhood... and many real fences... and some of the dogs ignore their borders and dig under the fences and bound around, breaking out of their boxes and breaking the rules. It isn't until they get hit by the car that they realize that this probably wasn't a good idea. However, those with fences that shock provide some pain beforehand to deter the inevitable frenzy to occurs. I wonder how many of the above mentioned men would have strayed if they were given the painful shock of embarrassment and family ruination that comes after the fact.
It is easy to sit on the sidelines and judge others... and I realize that none of us are completely to blame... nor completely innocent. My dog follows his nature. His nature is to sow his seed far and wide. As more evolved... we humans are supposed to live by a code which uses rules and morals to provide the Invisible Fences around us. Our big brains allow us to think into the future and to see the destruction our actions will cause... both to ourselves and to those around us. Yet the big brain is often overridden by the little brain of our libido.
Perhaps we all just need to wear collars that provide us a jolt of electricity when we begin to get too close to the line.
Having spent much of the last year watching the unfolding drama of various celebrities... John Edwards, Tiger Woods, Jesse James, and Tiki Barber... to name the obvious... I am struck by a sea change of the male/female dynamic. I am not naive enough to think that these men are a new phenomenon. The sea change is, however, in how these men are portrayed in the press, and by the public in general. In many cases prior, much of the blame was wrongly placed on the woman... the succubus who come for seduction and are completely irresistible to even the strongest of men, willing them away from their chosen mates. But the sea change is that in these latest cases the men are portrayed as the offenders and the women, as innocent victims of the man's sexual appetites. I don't really know what went on in any of these cases... and neither do you... as much as you think you might. In all likelihood there is guilt on both sides of the aisle. But that doesn't make for as good of a story.
But how does this relate to Invisible fences... you ask.
Well, if I didn't buy my dog an Invisible Fence... he would undoubtedly be running around the neighborhood in a bacchanalian frenzy, screwing everything in sight... girl dogs, boy dogs, children, legs, trees, fire hydrants... etc. There are many dogs in my neighborhood... and many real fences... and some of the dogs ignore their borders and dig under the fences and bound around, breaking out of their boxes and breaking the rules. It isn't until they get hit by the car that they realize that this probably wasn't a good idea. However, those with fences that shock provide some pain beforehand to deter the inevitable frenzy to occurs. I wonder how many of the above mentioned men would have strayed if they were given the painful shock of embarrassment and family ruination that comes after the fact.
It is easy to sit on the sidelines and judge others... and I realize that none of us are completely to blame... nor completely innocent. My dog follows his nature. His nature is to sow his seed far and wide. As more evolved... we humans are supposed to live by a code which uses rules and morals to provide the Invisible Fences around us. Our big brains allow us to think into the future and to see the destruction our actions will cause... both to ourselves and to those around us. Yet the big brain is often overridden by the little brain of our libido.
Perhaps we all just need to wear collars that provide us a jolt of electricity when we begin to get too close to the line.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Touch
The fire has died down to embers. The quiet descends as a shroud, covering us in a canopy of muted and tranquil depth. Shadows cover shadows until the eyes strain to uncover the deep grays from the deeper blacks in a futile attempt to divide and parse the world with the weakest of the senses. But while one sense fades, others rush to take its place. The burning wood stings the nose, overpowering the musky pine and loam. But not the fragrance of your hair... so close. The last crackle of the wood spikes the hearing, until the deep rumble of a train, miles away, returns to prominence. Thump, thump, thump.
The moon is full behind the swiftly moving blanket of clouds, and through the trees, the blanket thins for a brief moment and shadows chase themselves until the darkness envelopes us once again.
Your body shifts against me. It is solid and real and full of substance. For a moment, I had forgotten that we were two, but your subtle movement in the crook of my arm is a gentle reminder of our separateness. I can feel your breath against my neck, your hand tightening slightly over mine. The touch is casual. Familiar. Should all other senses fail me, it is touch that will buoy me and keep me afloat on the vast ocean of nothingness. It is touch that connects and combines those things that are unique and separate. It is filled with the raw emotions... the violence of anger... the trembling of fear... the gentleness of love. But the easy manner in which your hand finds mine and gently strokes the hair on my arm speaks volumes more to me than the obviousness of the others.
It is music to me, a melancholy air played on the strings of the heart. The impermanence of now. The moments and touches and feelings and emotions that co-mingle into the sense of being alive. The sense that can be raucous and jovial... tearful and heartbreaking... or, like now... calming and infinite.
I know not what goes through your head... or your heart... but only that you are here. Because I can feel you.
The moon is full behind the swiftly moving blanket of clouds, and through the trees, the blanket thins for a brief moment and shadows chase themselves until the darkness envelopes us once again.
Your body shifts against me. It is solid and real and full of substance. For a moment, I had forgotten that we were two, but your subtle movement in the crook of my arm is a gentle reminder of our separateness. I can feel your breath against my neck, your hand tightening slightly over mine. The touch is casual. Familiar. Should all other senses fail me, it is touch that will buoy me and keep me afloat on the vast ocean of nothingness. It is touch that connects and combines those things that are unique and separate. It is filled with the raw emotions... the violence of anger... the trembling of fear... the gentleness of love. But the easy manner in which your hand finds mine and gently strokes the hair on my arm speaks volumes more to me than the obviousness of the others.
It is music to me, a melancholy air played on the strings of the heart. The impermanence of now. The moments and touches and feelings and emotions that co-mingle into the sense of being alive. The sense that can be raucous and jovial... tearful and heartbreaking... or, like now... calming and infinite.
I know not what goes through your head... or your heart... but only that you are here. Because I can feel you.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
An Analog Boy in a Digital World
I was in film school at the dawn of the digital revolution. The talk then was all about the difference between film and video... how to shoot it, light it... This was in the years when if you turned a video camera and pointed it directly at a light you could burn out the tubes inside and ruin the camera for good... and these weren't the cheap cameras... they usually ran about $40K. So we were all very careful. My area of interest was as a cameraman, and I was rankled to have to fit my "art" into the confines defined by a video engineer. I was hardly alone in this and because of it, the look of video has never really taken off for professional projects. And except for a few "video" classes everything I shot was shot in film.
Even today a majority of television shows are still recorded on film. Editing was a different story... the digital revolution was massive for film editors. The silly practice of physically splicing film together was replaced quickly and nearly universally by digital editors. But except for some advances in true digital photography, film for shooting still rules as a recording mechanism in movies and TV.
Why this remains so is hard to describe to most people. But I guarantee that if you saw the results side by side, you would be able to tell. Even the best digital camera has a different way of light capture than a regular film camera. But things are changing quickly as we become more and more accustomed to the "look" of digital. HD TVs are so ubiquitous as to make "regular" TVs seem like dinosaurs. And digital still cameras have made film SLRs seems ancient for home use, and increasingly for professional use.
I've been thinking about all of this of late because I got a Kindle for my birthday. I had been oohing and aahing over a few friends who had gotten one for Christmas, so one magically showed up from Amazon for my birthday a few months later. As a man, I like me some gadgets. But as a well known bibliophile, I also love the feel and smell and touch of books. As with film, it is hard to explain to a non-believer why one would miss the feel of a book. But you do.
The logical part of my brain, which thinks about things like sustainability, knows that it is wasteful to cut down trees to continually make new books and magazines and newspapers, when it is faster and cheaper to deliver words digitally. And I have to say, it is pretty f-ing cool to be on a phone call with someone listening to them rave about a book and download it and start reading it before the call ends. I've done that twice already in my two months of Kindling. It is also cool to have 50 or a 100 or a 1000 books in my backpack without walking around like Igor.
Likewise, shooting family stills has gone by the wayside in a digital world. The photo chemical industry is in the toilet. Which is not a bad thing unless you are in the photo chemical business. Our kids will no doubt be so used to the look of digital that films and TV will eventually go that way too. And it is just a matter of time until e-book readers become so universal as to make hard copy production obsolete. The nay-sayers may say "NEVER"... but the writing is already there, and like all such sea changes, we end up looking like dinosaur hold overs from a different age... laughed at and mocked by the new generation.
And despite logic to the contrary, I will remain nostalgic for the analog world. I will remember the many hours spent changing film with my hands deep inside a light-bag, my hands touching the reels, and carefully and blindly feeding them through the camera. I will remain nostalgic for the look of grain in a world of discrete pixels... of lighting with your gut, and knowing that it was, at the very best, a guess... instead of a sure thing. And I will remain nostalgic for the book stores and libraries that will fade away by the time I die... and the feeling of being surrounded by the works of generations... a feeling I don't get when I hold the thin Kindle in my hand... even though it holds a whole shelf of books already.
Logic does not play well with nostalgia. Nostalgia is smells, and touches... heartbeats and fragments of memories. It is the emotion that we turn to when the antiseptic cleanliness of logic fails to move us. And after all, living is about being moved. And even while they laugh at me now for my nostalgia, the next generation will have their own list of things which will make them nostalgic, I'm sure. At least, I hope.
Even today a majority of television shows are still recorded on film. Editing was a different story... the digital revolution was massive for film editors. The silly practice of physically splicing film together was replaced quickly and nearly universally by digital editors. But except for some advances in true digital photography, film for shooting still rules as a recording mechanism in movies and TV.
Why this remains so is hard to describe to most people. But I guarantee that if you saw the results side by side, you would be able to tell. Even the best digital camera has a different way of light capture than a regular film camera. But things are changing quickly as we become more and more accustomed to the "look" of digital. HD TVs are so ubiquitous as to make "regular" TVs seem like dinosaurs. And digital still cameras have made film SLRs seems ancient for home use, and increasingly for professional use.
I've been thinking about all of this of late because I got a Kindle for my birthday. I had been oohing and aahing over a few friends who had gotten one for Christmas, so one magically showed up from Amazon for my birthday a few months later. As a man, I like me some gadgets. But as a well known bibliophile, I also love the feel and smell and touch of books. As with film, it is hard to explain to a non-believer why one would miss the feel of a book. But you do.
The logical part of my brain, which thinks about things like sustainability, knows that it is wasteful to cut down trees to continually make new books and magazines and newspapers, when it is faster and cheaper to deliver words digitally. And I have to say, it is pretty f-ing cool to be on a phone call with someone listening to them rave about a book and download it and start reading it before the call ends. I've done that twice already in my two months of Kindling. It is also cool to have 50 or a 100 or a 1000 books in my backpack without walking around like Igor.
Likewise, shooting family stills has gone by the wayside in a digital world. The photo chemical industry is in the toilet. Which is not a bad thing unless you are in the photo chemical business. Our kids will no doubt be so used to the look of digital that films and TV will eventually go that way too. And it is just a matter of time until e-book readers become so universal as to make hard copy production obsolete. The nay-sayers may say "NEVER"... but the writing is already there, and like all such sea changes, we end up looking like dinosaur hold overs from a different age... laughed at and mocked by the new generation.
And despite logic to the contrary, I will remain nostalgic for the analog world. I will remember the many hours spent changing film with my hands deep inside a light-bag, my hands touching the reels, and carefully and blindly feeding them through the camera. I will remain nostalgic for the look of grain in a world of discrete pixels... of lighting with your gut, and knowing that it was, at the very best, a guess... instead of a sure thing. And I will remain nostalgic for the book stores and libraries that will fade away by the time I die... and the feeling of being surrounded by the works of generations... a feeling I don't get when I hold the thin Kindle in my hand... even though it holds a whole shelf of books already.
Logic does not play well with nostalgia. Nostalgia is smells, and touches... heartbeats and fragments of memories. It is the emotion that we turn to when the antiseptic cleanliness of logic fails to move us. And after all, living is about being moved. And even while they laugh at me now for my nostalgia, the next generation will have their own list of things which will make them nostalgic, I'm sure. At least, I hope.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Waiting for My Real Life to Begin
Any minute now my ship is coming in...I'll keep checking the horizon, and I'll stand in the bow.
It is dark and the lights below rise to meet me. When the door opens, I repeat the steps that I've repeated over and over. I move because moving is expected. I walk fast because walking fast make me appear to have purpose, and it is important to keep up appearances. Even if there is really no one watching. The stores are all closed for the day, the gates pulled down, and the place is mostly empty. But still I walk fast.
And I'll check my machine, There's sure to be that call, It's gonna happen soon, soon, oh so very soon... It's just that times are lean.
While I walk, I try to remember how it is I got... here. Not necessarily the physical here... but the timeline here. I retrace my footsteps in my head, and visually connect the moments. But it is like a morning dream. An amalgam of dreams of the whole night. Disjointed snippets and images which, combined, make no sense. We make due and weave our stories together in ways that tell a narrative. But often the writing isn't as good as we hoped.
And you said,"Be still, my love. Open up your heart. Let the light shine in"
I think it is inevitable that the cheerleaders in our lives grow out of the uniforms eventually. The skirts and pom-poms that once looked so fetching, now look absurd. That is the definition, I suppose, of the end of love. When the new stories in our lives sound so much like the old stories in our lives that those that once believed, can no longer rouse themselves off the couch for long enough to feign interest. I wish for that voice to say... "Be still." But all I hear is the echoes from long ago.
Don't you understand? I already have a plan. I'm waiting for my real life to begin.
First it was film. Then writing. I could go through a whole laundry list of them. Something... anything creative that allows the world not to view me as just another poor sot. Anything but the corporate hustle to make other people money. But we put our energies where they need to be to stay employed. The helpful adages of "do what you love" become replaced by the realism of "do what pays the bills". And find those things that keep you going in other places. And instead of waiting for others to cheer... cheer yourself instead.
And so I move. Walking fast, and waiting for my real life to begin.
It is dark and the lights below rise to meet me. When the door opens, I repeat the steps that I've repeated over and over. I move because moving is expected. I walk fast because walking fast make me appear to have purpose, and it is important to keep up appearances. Even if there is really no one watching. The stores are all closed for the day, the gates pulled down, and the place is mostly empty. But still I walk fast.
And I'll check my machine, There's sure to be that call, It's gonna happen soon, soon, oh so very soon... It's just that times are lean.
While I walk, I try to remember how it is I got... here. Not necessarily the physical here... but the timeline here. I retrace my footsteps in my head, and visually connect the moments. But it is like a morning dream. An amalgam of dreams of the whole night. Disjointed snippets and images which, combined, make no sense. We make due and weave our stories together in ways that tell a narrative. But often the writing isn't as good as we hoped.
And you said,"Be still, my love. Open up your heart. Let the light shine in"
I think it is inevitable that the cheerleaders in our lives grow out of the uniforms eventually. The skirts and pom-poms that once looked so fetching, now look absurd. That is the definition, I suppose, of the end of love. When the new stories in our lives sound so much like the old stories in our lives that those that once believed, can no longer rouse themselves off the couch for long enough to feign interest. I wish for that voice to say... "Be still." But all I hear is the echoes from long ago.
Don't you understand? I already have a plan. I'm waiting for my real life to begin.
First it was film. Then writing. I could go through a whole laundry list of them. Something... anything creative that allows the world not to view me as just another poor sot. Anything but the corporate hustle to make other people money. But we put our energies where they need to be to stay employed. The helpful adages of "do what you love" become replaced by the realism of "do what pays the bills". And find those things that keep you going in other places. And instead of waiting for others to cheer... cheer yourself instead.
And so I move. Walking fast, and waiting for my real life to begin.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Love & Dinner
Taken from the actual dinner conversation at Chez Mobi last evening.
13YO: SOOOOO..... I have NEWS. I have a new boyfriend!
Me: (mid bite) What happened to what's his name?
13YO: He is too much of a girl.
Me: (chewing slowly) He was too much of a girl so you broke up with him?
13YO: Yes... A is much better. And taller. And generally cuter. And smarter.
Me: (swallowing carefully) How did this come about? This whole "being your boyfriend" thing?
13YO: At lunch.
Me: He asked you at lunch?
13YO: No... he sent his wingman... who talked to the girls I sit with.
Me: Wingman? How do you even know what a wingman is? So there was no direct contact. Just brokers?
13YO: Yep.
I chewed some carrots pensively.
8YO: I have news too... C is dating B now.
Me: Dating? What does that mean exactly? Aren't you 8? And didn't C say that he liked you, like, yesterday?
8YO: Yes... but that was yesterday.
Me: Ouch...
8YO: Yes... but I was too good for him anyway.
Me: Double ouch. Remind me to keep close tabs on you when you get older.
11YO: I have news too...
Me: Not more love news...
Now the 11YO has been "with" his girlfriend for two years... an eternity for this family. And while the other people use brokers to parlez, the boy was always very straight forward... sending cards, buying Valentines, going to birthday parties... girl birthday parties. And he never caught cooties. So if this was about his love life.. it was news.
11YO: M is moving to Dubai in a few months.
ALL: WHAT????
11YO: It's in the Middle East.
Me: I know where it is. Why?
11YO: Her father got transferred.
Me: Wow.. that sucks buddy.
11YO: (philosophically) Yeah.
Much quiet chewing for awhile as my hair grayed more.
11YO: Dad?
Me: Yes?
11YO: Can we get Skype?
13YO: SOOOOO..... I have NEWS. I have a new boyfriend!
Me: (mid bite) What happened to what's his name?
13YO: He is too much of a girl.
Me: (chewing slowly) He was too much of a girl so you broke up with him?
13YO: Yes... A is much better. And taller. And generally cuter. And smarter.
Me: (swallowing carefully) How did this come about? This whole "being your boyfriend" thing?
13YO: At lunch.
Me: He asked you at lunch?
13YO: No... he sent his wingman... who talked to the girls I sit with.
Me: Wingman? How do you even know what a wingman is? So there was no direct contact. Just brokers?
13YO: Yep.
I chewed some carrots pensively.
8YO: I have news too... C is dating B now.
Me: Dating? What does that mean exactly? Aren't you 8? And didn't C say that he liked you, like, yesterday?
8YO: Yes... but that was yesterday.
Me: Ouch...
8YO: Yes... but I was too good for him anyway.
Me: Double ouch. Remind me to keep close tabs on you when you get older.
11YO: I have news too...
Me: Not more love news...
Now the 11YO has been "with" his girlfriend for two years... an eternity for this family. And while the other people use brokers to parlez, the boy was always very straight forward... sending cards, buying Valentines, going to birthday parties... girl birthday parties. And he never caught cooties. So if this was about his love life.. it was news.
11YO: M is moving to Dubai in a few months.
ALL: WHAT????
11YO: It's in the Middle East.
Me: I know where it is. Why?
11YO: Her father got transferred.
Me: Wow.. that sucks buddy.
11YO: (philosophically) Yeah.
Much quiet chewing for awhile as my hair grayed more.
11YO: Dad?
Me: Yes?
11YO: Can we get Skype?
Friday, March 12, 2010
Since Last We Talked
I haven't really felt like writing all that much. I've been busy, yes. But that wasn't really it. I just didn't have anything to say. Nothing witty. Nothing profound. I've been waiting. Waiting for my job to close down. I've been fretting about this and that. Mostly things I can't really control anyway. But I managed to shepherd my flock into something in the way of a happy ending, which was definitely better than the alternative which consisted of cliffs and nooses and what not. Anyway...
So now I'm off on the next adventure, which, in the end, is just the same adventure... just with different faces. This adventure entails less control, more stress, and lots more travel... which isn't really that hard since I didn't travel at all before. Chez Mobi is in quite the uphevel dealing with the various ramifications of this.
11YO: I'm glad your traveling... at least you aren't sitting home playing games on the computer anymore.
8YO: Does this mean you can't do my homework anymore?
13YO: You realize this means that Mommy is going to be in a bad mood for the next year?
Travel to all of them is exotic. "OH... you get to see cities!" They don't realize that all the cities look the same when you are in an office all day long. "Oh sure... you get to eat out, while I have to slave away cooking every night." They don't realize that the food all tastes the same in Seatlle as it does in Providence. "OH... you get to stay in cool hotels!" They don't realize that it is harder to sleep alone.
There are people that are built for the road. Who enjoy squishing themselves into an airline seat every Monday and jetting off to someplace new. I can handle it in finite pieces. But it is real drag after awhile.
To them it is either an adventure, where I will get to see new and exotic places... like Detroit. Or more often, it is just an excuse to be away from home duties... like running people to lessons or dance or hockey.
It would be nice just once to have them say... "thank you... I realize what you are giving up."
So now I'm off on the next adventure, which, in the end, is just the same adventure... just with different faces. This adventure entails less control, more stress, and lots more travel... which isn't really that hard since I didn't travel at all before. Chez Mobi is in quite the uphevel dealing with the various ramifications of this.
11YO: I'm glad your traveling... at least you aren't sitting home playing games on the computer anymore.
8YO: Does this mean you can't do my homework anymore?
13YO: You realize this means that Mommy is going to be in a bad mood for the next year?
Travel to all of them is exotic. "OH... you get to see cities!" They don't realize that all the cities look the same when you are in an office all day long. "Oh sure... you get to eat out, while I have to slave away cooking every night." They don't realize that the food all tastes the same in Seatlle as it does in Providence. "OH... you get to stay in cool hotels!" They don't realize that it is harder to sleep alone.
There are people that are built for the road. Who enjoy squishing themselves into an airline seat every Monday and jetting off to someplace new. I can handle it in finite pieces. But it is real drag after awhile.
To them it is either an adventure, where I will get to see new and exotic places... like Detroit. Or more often, it is just an excuse to be away from home duties... like running people to lessons or dance or hockey.
It would be nice just once to have them say... "thank you... I realize what you are giving up."
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