Teriyaki friends

There's a lot I miss about living in Seattle, like the teriyaki chicken restaurants that seemed to be everywhere. I went to the Mall of America for lunch today because I was craving teriyaki chicken and knew of a place that served it there. What a disappointment. Chewy, fatty chicken, bland sauce. It seems impossible to find good teriyaki chicken in Minneapolis.

I also miss the friends I had in Seattle. It's hard to maintain friendships when you move around as much as I do. Did. You probably notice the absence of many other people in the pictures I post. (There wouldn't be room for them anyway, seeing how my shoe is in every other shot.) I know a few people here in the twin cities, but not well enough to call up or do the pop in with. I've got a large extended family nearby, and that is super-fantastic-wonderful. But not the same as having good friends.

How does a forty-year-old man go about making friends? Join a softball team? Writers group? Church functions? Take up electric guitar lessons and join a Motley Crue tribute band?

Maybe I'll make a lot of money and then buy some friends.

And then I'll also have fresh teriyaki chicken flown directly from Seattle at least once a week.

Or maybe I'll just keep taking pictures of my shoe.

Brit's

It's been a dickens of a week.

I called up the guys and asked them to meet me at Brit's Pub for a pint and to watch Aston Villa get spanked by Manchester United. I don't care how impetuous Rooney is, he's worth the grief.

One of our favorite places in town to catch a good soccer match, I left there feeling renewed and ready for whatever the weeks ahead may bring.

Training

Yesterday I spent the day in the cocoon of a video shoot. The outside world fades as all our attention is focused on getting the shots on the script before the talent has to leave. We had no crew to speak of, just my boss and me. Another training video.

Annie trained Silvi to use the toilet with M&M bribes. It worked stupendously. A few days ago while we were at the park, Silvi got a faraway look in her eyes, then sprinted toward the bathroom without taking a look back to see if I was following her, which I was.

Ian, it seems, will be crawling any day now. He is able to get up on all fours and rock his way backward. We are much more careful now about leaving him on our bed alone.

It seems we are all involved in some kind of learning - training - these days. I have been teaching myself 3D animation during down time at work with the hopes of using it in an upcoming project. It's comforting to be able to create a world that responds to all the instructions I give it. Control... the ultimate elixir.

Church, two books and some video projects

This morning we had breakfast at Patrick's Bakery, a cafe that is located inside of a greenhouse and serves terrific French pastries. I tried to take some pictures of Silvi against some of the colorful flowers, but she has become camera shy lately. I think I did manage to capture one or two shots without her in flight away from the lens.

During the kid's nap time, I bought two books - Notes on the Making of Apocalypse Now by Eleanor Coppola and The Beginning and the End by Russian philosopher Nicolas Berdyaev - at Magers and Quinn, a must-browse bookstore if you're ever in the Uptown area of Minneapolis.

Yesterday we went to the Saturday evening service at church, then had supper with my parents at the Perkins down the road, which stayed with me into the wee hours of the morning. It's only been a month, but going to church feels right for the first time in, well, ever. Guess I've made my peace - for the most part.

This week at work I'm editing an hour-long training video for a large medical company and am working on another project on the side using my own gear. It'll help to pay off some of the debt I incurred when I bought all the video equipment for my company.

The weekend

I had wanted to leave work early on Wednesday for a few hours with the family before boarding a plane for Peoria, but I had a late meeting with a client in the edit suite. The flight down was quick, the ride in the cold, clear night aboard a twin propeller puddle jumper smooth. I sat alone, my traveling companion a few seats ahead. He is a year older then me, an independent contractor, a middle-man who negotiated the details of this particular job.

The airport in Peoria is small - intimate. Deserted. We rent a car, find our camera equipment, search for our hotel in the darkness. A few wrong turns.

I am alone in my room, which has a small kitchen. It is unbearably hot. I lie in my boxers on the bed, only to realize I have left all my toiletries in the car. Rather than locating my co-worker, I fight with a vending machine for a bottle of shampoo.

I stay up late watching a movie that makes me so angry that I watch all the credits to determine who directed the film. Romeo is Bleeding is such a bleak and violent and numbing film that I vow to write a letter to the director when I get home. (I looked him up, but now just pity him, based on his track record.)

I wake often, as is the case when I know I must be somewhere early. We meet our contact at 7am in a Bob Evans restaurant, where the pancakes are so ridiculously big that I cannot finish them with a clear conscience. Our contact is about my age, thin, a company man. Wears a jacket, hat and belt buckle sporting the company logo.

We drive to the facility where we are supposed to get shots of large pieces of equipment in motion. Most of the day will be spent shooting in a large aircraft hanger-sized "shed" instead of out in the cold, which I have no problem with.

Our first task is to outfit the equipment with new logos. We find some scrapers to remove the existing logos and chip and scrub and paint. We prepare the shooting location by planting a huge tree stump in the dirt floor of the "shed." We film a piece of equipment demolish the tree stump in a flurry of wood chips and smoke and dust. We film another machine as it grinds up a huge concrete slab we have buried in the red dirt. I am sweating, yelling directions to the operator.

Lunch. Four hours until we fly back home. We pound down the food and rush back for the remaining hours, fixing broken machines, shooting outside, demoing some simulators, getting shots from up high in a cherry picker.

It is time to go. We say a quick goodbye and are back at the airport fifteen minutes later, where we quickly board the flight home. We have the same stewardess, who remembers me.

There were a few moments during the shoot where I stood alone in the enormous "shed", surrounded by noise and machines and shouting people when I wondered if God was in the moment, was present, cared. Did what I was doing matter?

I got home at 9pm and was greeted with "Daddy!" from Silvi's room. She was jumping up and down in her crib; what a wonderful greeting. Needless to say, she slept in our bed that night. She was entirely too excited go back to her room.

Friday morning and I was back in the edit suite early. I had an 11am deadline to get a 10-minute video up on our FTP site for the client to review with the powers that be. It was a race against the clock, and I finished with only minutes to spare, while have to cut a few corners.

I went to lunch with a few of the guys at work, only to receive a frantic call on the cell phone from my boss, saying they were having problems downloading the video on the client's end. I talked them through it over the phone; Friday's are Chinese buffet lunches and I wasn't about to interrupt that for a trip back to the office.

The client called at two and questioned the shortcuts I had taken. I explained that the final video would be polished and that I had already addressed the issue. A few other changes, and I put the final video back on the FTP site. I started another project, a dvd with a complicated menu that I must program. But I am exhausted from the shoot on Thursday and leave work early.

I stop on the way home for pizza and three movies from Blockbuster; Who is Camus, Anyway?, When Nietzsche Wept and Oceans 13. I watch the Nietzsche film first and end up fast forwarding most of it. It is based on a book by the same name that I really liked, and is a melodramatic mess and disappointing. I start the Camus film while Annie is feeding Ian and fall asleep halfway through.

Saturday is wall-to-wall activities. Annie and her sisters are decorating cookies at her parents, and so I take Silvi for one of our cultural outings. One of my greatest desires for her is that she will experience different cultures. I take her to a mixed neighborhood which is comprised largely of people from India and the Middle East. We eat in a wonderful deli that is part grocery store and is frequented by immigrants from the Middle East. Rice and curry and potatoes and passion fruit and yogurt with a soap opera in Arabic blaring in the background. A prayer room and call to prayer over the loudspeakers. Silvi seems to enjoy these outings. I hope they stay with her.

Nap time, and then a walk to the church up the street where Silvi is practicing for her part as a lamb in the Christmas pageant. Her costume is adorable. She is shy and does not want to participate at first. But after a few songs, she forgets about the larger kids with staffs that are being swung about like lightsabers.

The Christmas pageant is in the Episcopal Church where Annie works one day a week, taking care of the children and helping make ends meet. It is the perfect part-time job as it is only a block away and Silvi and Ian can accompany her and have fun playing with the other kids.

After rehearsal, we drive over to Annie's parents for supper and an early celebration for those who will be out of town over the holidays. The house is overrun with screaming kids, who love to run the loop from the dining room, through the kitchen and into the living room. Over and over and over. Each lap louder than the previous one.

We eat the decorated cookies and have leftovers from Thanksgiving. (surprisingly good for being frozen so long) Then home for the night, where I try to finish my Camus movie, to no avail. The title is very misleading, since it is a Japanese film about the youth culture, which would have been fine but I thought it was a documentary for some reason. I fell asleep around 8:30.

This morning was the rush to get to the church for the pageant, where we were met by my parents and Annie's brother and sister and her husband and kids. Silvi did great for most of her "performance" and I got some excellent video footage of her with her finger halfway up her nose. Numerous times. Annie finally went up and motioned for Silvi to come down off the stage as it was evident that she was DONE and the stage director(s) were having a hard time continuing to convince Silvi to stay.

She was definitely the cutest girl up there, nose picking and all.

Lunch down the street at Famous Dave's BBQ. Naps. We all slept in our bed this afternoon. Even George, our cat, slept at the foot of the bed.

Then another daddy-daughter date. I took Silvi to see The Golden Compass, which she seemed to really enjoy, "mean monkey" and all. I debated not taking her because I knew it would have some scary moments, but she seems to be taken with scary things. I was watching Jurassic Park one day and she wandered through and absolutely loved it. (I fast forwarded the more gory scenes.) Another one of my desires for Silvi is that she will develop a love of different viewpoints and perspectives. I had heard that The Golden Compass was kind of the anti-Narnia; the film is based on the best-selling books by an outspoken atheist who, according to the news article I read, has a strong aversion to C.S. Lewis' stories and perspective.

You might be surprised at the questions a two-and-a-half year old will ask. "Daddy, why was the monkey being mean?"
"Well, some people are just bad."
"Why?"
"That's a good question, babe. Some people are hurt inside, so they act bad to try to keep from being hurt anymore."
"Why are they hurt inside?"

You can see that her young mind was really stretching her dad's ability to answer some of life's most difficult questions. I need to read the books to understand what the author is asserting, but the representation of organized religion in the film were both accurate and caricatures in the same breath. I enjoyed the film, and will have to mull it over before commenting further.

I'm at the coffee shop around the corner from our place. Jazz is playing on the speakers. I just had a chai latte. It's 9pm on the dot, and I'm going home to watch Ocean's 13 for the first time.

Night.

What do I want to do when I grow up?

These last two days in bed allowed me the time to nearly finish the book With Their Backs to the World: Portraits of Serbia by Asne Seierstad. Incredible book filled with beautiful, and tragic, stories.

I've mentioned this before, but ever since my trip to shoot a documentary in Kosovo following the war in 1999, I've had a fascination with the Balkan region. The Balkans are to Europe what Israel is to the Middle East, a spark in a bone-dry pile of tinder. I doubt many others are following the recent news on this part of the world, but Monday is the deadline for talks to decide whether Kosovo will remain part of Greater Serbia or will attain independence.

The Serbian government is again threatening possible use of force. Or sanctions. Or closing it's border with Kosovo. Russia is upset with NATO. It's a huge mess, and is years away from any resolution.

Which brings me to the title of this post. After days like today, where I spend my hours in a studio shooting videos for XYZ corporations that have so many resources and huge budgets, I get so discouraged with my current occupation. I really want to be back over in the thick of things, shooting stories that change lives, that makes the world a better place for maybe just one or two families. Or five, or twenty. I love being completely lost in new cities, or crossing the border at midnight, dogs barking, armed guards demanding to see my papers. Walking in field only to come to a sudden stop when I hear a metallic "clink" under my shoe, and the relief of finding a piece of barbed wire instead of a landmine.

In the picture above, my wife and I had just explored the bombed out Serbian administrative headquarters, seen in the background. A bunker buster bomb had drilled a hole straight through to the bottom of the building. Who worked there? Where are they today? Can they forgive those who bombed them or will their children take up arms to continue the battle?

I wish I could make my living finding the answers to questions like these. That's my gripe on this snowy day. Annie says that I always start complaining about my life when winter roles around.

I guess I should be thankful for winter... it's been the springboard into all sorts of mischief.

Seige: Day 2

Have you ever tried to turn a Styrofoam cup inside out?

I can now relate with the cup.

I don't know if I qualify for the medical term "flu" but whatever was in my stomach yesterday is now free, making a new home somewhere in the Minneapolis Waste Disposal System.

As Sgt. Miller said to Private Ryan, I now say to the bugs that have found new freedom via the porcelain god, "Earn this."

Happiness is...

I wrote in my journal yesterday that I have achieved none of the goals I set out for myself when I was younger, but that I am happier than I've ever been. (And yes, I have a journal apart from my on-line musings. Sorry if you feel like I'm cheating on you.)

Why does life have to be so danged contradictory all the time?

Four hundred little bits of me

I just realized that my last post makes it an even 400 entries on this blog-o-mine. A few years ago I wrote about why I called my blog Narrow Ridge (taken from a quote by one of my favorite philosophers, Martin Buber). I think nows a good time to repost those thoughts for any of you who are just tuning in:

My daughter, Silvi, will be born any minute now. At the risk of being a stereotypical new father, I feel this huge, almost overwhelming, desire to change everything about myself, and the world, to ensure that Silvi is safe and loved. As someone who tries to control the chaos of life, I realize just how much there is that can come between that safety and love. Life is dangerous, and love even more so.

I have chosen to call this journal Narrow Ridge because I believe that I must walk along the narrow ridge in this world. I must live between hope and despair, between certainty and doubt, between laughter and tears, between community and solitude. Truth be told, I am not very good at walking the narrow ridge. It is all too easy for me to slide into a life of despair and doubt and sadness. And solitude.

As my daughter joins our family, I realize that I will live a life observed. Lately, I've been feeling as if I'm about to meet my inlaws for the first time and they will be staying with me for a week. I got rid of all our old coffee mugs because none of them matched. We now have six new matching coffee mugs. I sold half of my books. I took three carloads of clothes and lamps and old furniture to the thrift store. The closets have been straightened, the dishes done, laundry washed, floor swept, carpets vacuumed, and we're buying a new coffee table this week. And I bought a soccer ball to lose the spare tire(s).

None of those things, of course, address the real issue. I want my daughter to look up to me, to respect me, to love me. And there's just so many things about me that are, well, unfinished.

This journal is an attempt to share just a little of a life well-lived along the narrow ridge.

Noises

We live in an apartment. An older one, but we love the neighborhood. It's the kind of place where your daughter can leave her coat at the playground and it's still there the next day. Not that my daughter will ever do that.

It took me a while to get used to all the noises in our place. The ticks of the water pipes seem to be louder on these cold mornings. We have thick walls, so the neighbors don't bother us much. And the lady across the hall who was always getting arrested was evicted last year.

We live in the flight path for the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport. We have become expert lip readers, although I can't figure out why every time I ask Annie what time we're eating supper she says, "Sex." I mean, I know I'm all that, but c'mon, let's eat first. (And yes, I stole that last bit from Seinfeld.)

We have a cat - George. A royal name, and I think he knows it. He likes to have us watch him eat and has learned to use the toilet. I'm glad he doesn't like us to watch the latter. He has long white fur that perfectly matches the color of the carpet. He's gotten much quicker since moving into this apartment.

Our refrigerator is getting old. One of it's belts is loose, and so it squeals every so often. The sound it makes is almost identical to the little squeaking sounds Ian makes when he's sleeping.

With all the noises, I'm bracing for that "perfect storm" situation, the day when the fridge squeals at the exact moment a jet passes overhead and I leap to check on Ian only to trip over George, who is blending perfectly with the floor beneath me.

I wonder how George would feel about becoming a brunette?

Milestone

I feel like our family has passed a milestone in the last few days.

The four of us went out to Stillwater on Saturday, a gorgeous fall day that felt more like summer than October. The town was packed as is often the case, especially when the colors of the changing trees are at their peak. Ian took in all the new sights and Silvi ran and jumped, more fascinated by the spiders along the river than anything else. We stayed until it was dark, watching the river boats, lit up like Christmas trees, make their way up and down the St. Croix river.

On Sunday we attended the Buddy Walk, a last minute decision - literally. I'm not big on gatherings and Annie was afraid that it would be too much too soon, but at 10:30 we decided to attend the 12pm event. We didn't participate in the 1-mile walk. We ended up parking nearly a mile away, and Ian was screaming for food when we finally arrived. While Annie found a secluded spot to feed Ian, Silvi jumped in the bouncy castle and stalked the clowns, giggling. The event must have been attended by over 1000 people.

And so the milestone is this: Life does not end with a Down syndrome diagnosis. Our family time by the river on Saturday was just as meaningful with a son with Down as it would have been otherwise. Seeing all the children playing and laughing at the Buddy Walk gave us a glimpse into a possible future for Ian.

Life is good.

Now I've gone and done it

Pictured on the left is the actual 4-foot longboard that I bought on Craigslist last night. Fine. I've thrown in the towel. I'm in the middle of a full-blown mid-life crisis. But at least I'm not cruising Used Car lots, sitting behind the wheel of blindingly red sports cars, right? Or hitting on the bewildered waitress at our Applebee's restaurant? Cut me a little slack.

And you know what? It really does work, this reverting to your youth thing! Silvi and I drove out to buy the skateboard last night from a guy who moved here from California. It was a dripping wet humid night after a big thunderstorm, just like the ones in Florida when I was young and thin and could ride my skateboard around the deck of our pool for hours in a hundred percent humidity. As Silvi and I drove home in the dark, the music up loud, windows down (out of necessity; air conditioner is on the fritz), the longboard in the front seat next to me, there were exactly three whole minutes, the length of a song, when I felt exactly how I felt on those warm Florida nights.

(For those not familiar with soulboarding, check out this video on Youtube. Or you can look for the fat guy lying in the grass gasping for breath down at Lake Harriet.)

Three weeks

Who was I three weeks ago, anyway?

I don't even remember that guy anymore. Will the "pre-Down's diagnosis Tom" make another appearance, or, like New Coke and Michael Keaton, is he gone forever?

This "new" Tom knows only that he needs to keep writing, to frame these days lest they evaporate as quickly as Britney Spear's career. (I'm in the mood to write analogously today, if you haven't noticed)

In the last three weeks, I've:

• been introduced to Down Syndrome, really for the first time in my life (other than half a day spent filming a Special Olympics event for a science program nearly 15 years ago.)
• experienced the shame of feeling relieved that Ian was asleep when I introduced him to my co-workers. He looks "normal" when he sleeps.
• learned that the word "normal" is a loaded and imprecise word.
• had to face all my insecurities about standing out in a crowd.
• been introduced to a new and insightful group of online writers who share many of my feelings and experiences.
• been dismayed by lack of fathers who write about their experiences raising a son or daughter with Down Syndrome. Come on, dads, it's OK to be a bit mushy when it's your kid; your wives dig it when you show some emotions from time-to-time. Trust me on this one.
• felt like a project. "Tom and Annie need our help. They need our prayer. What must they be going through?"
• been incredibly grateful to so many people wanting to offer us their support. To the people who cooked us dinners, sent us money or cards or cards with money (always a favorite), stopped over to see Ian, and even gave us a second car. (More later on how funny it is to see my wife driving a 1992 Buick Park Avenue. Sorry to all the environmentalists out there, but doctor visits trump CO2 emissions these days.)
  
• experienced more jealousy than when I was dumped by Trish in the 10th grade. "Why do they have a "normal" baby?" (There's that word again.) "I would be a much better dad than he ever could."
• experienced shame because of jealous thoughts.
• been avoided by some people at my work who now seem afraid of me. I'm not going to break if you talk to me, people.
• avoided talking to some people at work because they are now giving me sad, puppy dog smiles all the time.
• tried not to pay too much attention to Ian at the expense of spending time with Silvi. Then have felt guilty for spending too much time with "normal" child at the expense of showing affection to - what do I call Ian - my other child who is a child first (I've been reading, can't you see?) and happens to have been born with Down Syndrome which is NOT a disease but is just a wee extra chromosome that just happens to muck up just about every part of living a "normal" life. Sorry. I started feeling sorry for myself again.
• met my new son and have fallen in love with him. (That's for my wife, but I happen to mean it.)
  

Making Life Decisions

Man, I've got to shake this off! Yesterday was my "pity party" day. Poor Tom. Moping around, throwing tantrums, little fits that would make my two-year-old daughter proud. Reading depressing poetry. Blogging about it. I'm resolved to not blog when I'm in one of those moods again.

I'm blessed. I've got an amazing wife of 14 years, a beautiful little girl and an incredible new son. No more pouting.

That said, I wonder if anyone has some advice about making life decisions after learning your child has Down Syndrome. The reason I ask is that, even though it's only been two weeks, I've found that I've lost some interest in abstract philosophy, which is rather unfortunate being that I've just started a company to teach philosophy.

The day after Ian was born, I, not knowing the first thing about Down Syndrome, googled the condition. I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but I didn't search for medical information or living with a "disability", etc. I researched Ian's potential ability to grasp abstract thought. One of my dreams has always been to share a deep appreciation of film, music, Story, theological and philosophical discussions with my children. One of my favorite things to do is to sit in a cafe and talk about the Big Questions.

Ian may never be able to participate in these kinds of interactions. I'm OK with that - now. I really am. But it leaves me in a quandary: What will I care about in the coming weeks and years? Now that I want to experience life with Ian and Silvi, to share in the things that they enjoy.

I was just wondering how life with Down Syndrome changed what you care about... and how it will change how I view life and the things that matter.

Bike ride

I rode my bike around Lake Harriet last night. It was just an incredible night when everyone was out enjoying the final month of summer. I haven't figured out how yet, but I want to include a scene in my video series based on a moped ride around the lakes at dusk.

Between

I just finished two HUGE projects at work, so this week will be a good respite. My sister and her daughter, Emily, come to visit on Friday; it'll be good to see them again. It has been a bad couple of years for my sister since Hannah died. I hope that she'll be able to rest out here.

I've been struggling with the outlines for my scripts this weekend, but feel like I've made some progress. I'm planning to divide the series into two parts so that I can sell the first part and hope that it will allow me enough finances to fund the second part. Going slowwwww....

Silvi spent the night over at my parent's this weekend so Annie and I went to see the latest Die Hard film, which was very enjoyable. The perfect film to help me forget all about ontology and dualism.

Mid-life skateboard

I hit forty next year, and I haven't been out looking at the latest BMW or hitting on the waitress at Applebees. I have, however, been looking on Craigslist for a used skateboard.

I'm pro-midlife crisis. The mid-life crisis is a kick in the pants, a reassessment of values and habits, a panic button that screeches, "WAKE UP!" I'm excited about this coming decade. I've developed more discipline, and finish more things that I start. I've learned that quantity time is more important to Silvi than quality time, as quality time is an offspring of quantity time. I'm able to let more slide off my back. I don't take it quite as personal when a client says that they hate my selection of music or graphics. It still stings, but I usually don't take it home with me.

And I'm learning that I'm not in charge, but God is, and that this is a good thing.

Three months from now our son will join us. I can't wait to teach him how to skateboard.

Have a good Memorial Day Weekend

Here's where we plan to spend our weekend. (Click on the picture for a closer look.)

Surfing Lake Superior

These guys are hardcore. Below zero wind temp and the water is around 33 degrees. A little north of Duluth, Minnesota this past winter.

Head knowledge vs. lived knowledge

"My observation is that knowledge is only useful insofar as it reshapes how we live. I love learning and love knowledge, but honestly, if it doesn’t reshape life then it isn’t worth a pinch of poop."

Andrew Hamilton
Backyard Missionary (on hiatus)