Sunflower

I spotted her making her way across the street again, and instantly felt that dread. She was one of those girls that forced herself upon you. I didn't want to talk to her, or be around her. I’d much rather help out dad with whatever it was he was doing outside; tinkering on the ’56, most likely. I remember she used to invite herself over to our house occasionally. I’m pretty sure since Mel was the closest in age, and female, she used to get stuck “playing” with Hillary the most.  I am also fairly certain none of us actually enjoyed her visits. Looking back, I feel a bit bad. Maybe I should have been more tolerant. Let's be honest though, I'm not exactly a tolerant person. 

Like a lot of my childhood recollections, the ones of Hillary are a sparse patchwork of mostly hazy images with one or two very vivid memories. She lived across the street, she was a bit older than me, may have had dirty blonde hair, and possibly a cast on her arm at one time or another. There was the time her and I were playing in Mel and Jess' room with some perfume maker toy, and she had that dirty cast saturated in vaguely flowery smelling water, holding it up to my nose and insisting I smell it. Then there was the sunflower incident. 

("I don’t want to play with her!") I was having a good time being outside with my dad, and I didn't want to have to entertain anyone, especially her. The downfall of being raised with manners, however, is that we were expected to be polite to guests. All I could do was watch her trudge across the street to come ruin my afternoon.  “Why don’t you guys go play in the back yard?” dad suggested. Ugh, I get it. I mean, he wasn't going to be able to get much work done if he had to entertain her too. Sacrificed for the greater good, I suppose. 

So I took dad’s hint and led her back to our back yard. We had a sandbox to play in, and a swing set. We also had this giant green bush with waxy leaves that scared the hell out of me as a kid. I didn't like to go near it because I didn't like bugs, and everyone knows bugs live in giant green bushes with waxy leaves. Hillary didn't mind the big bush though. That bush stunk too, if I remember right. I didn't like the smell one bit. It was a strong weedy smell like if you were to chop down a big milkweed. I hated it when a ball would roll under it (actually, under isn't the proper word. The bush was actually on the ground, so the ball would be swallowed up by it). If Greg didn't go in and get it, I would just as soon let that thing have my ball.

We were playing in the sandbox, and to be honest, I don’t know what we were playing. I was probably just wandering around feeling sorry for myself while Hillary played with whatever cool toys we had in the sandbox. That’s when I heard her exclaim “Hey, cool!” I looked up and saw her holding a faded plastic spinning sunflower thing with a rusted metal wire sticking out of it. I remember those being all the rage in the 80’s, and people would put them in their gardens. They were everywhere. This one had a faded brown center, and pale yellow “petal” blades. I’m not too sure some of the blades weren't broken off or missing. “Where did you get that?” I demanded. “In that bush” she replied, “and I’m going to take it home”. I was furious. Who the hell did she think she was, going to steal our sunflower? No way. There was no way I was going to let her get out of my yard with that thing. “That’s my dad’s”, I said, “You can’t have it”. Well, she was going to prove me wrong. She left the sandbox to go ask him if she could have it. Go ahead, I thought, there’s no way in hell he’ll let you take that home. False. “Hey Jeffrey, he said I can have it!” she called down to me from atop the concrete steps. Then she disappeared. Presumably back across the street with her new, stolen sunflower.

To say I was devastated would be an understatement. I was absolutely and irrationally crushed. I could not believe she stole our flower. That was bad enough, but the fact that dad let her steal it was beyond comprehension. Did he know that it didn't belong to her? Did he know that it was ours? Sure, she found it, but she found it in our bush. It was on our property. I remember coming to my dad with tears in my eyes asking why he let her steal our flower. I remember the bemused look on his face when he looked down and said “she needed it more than we do, son”.

I’m sure he thought it pretty humorous that I would get so worked up over a broken garden decoration that had been long forgotten and tossed into a giant stinky green bush with waxy leaves. And although I don’t think he meant to, he taught me an important lesson that day – there are always going to be people that come and steal your stuff…wait, no, that’s probably not it. I’m sure the lesson was to let other people have the junk you were going to throw away anyways because it’s free to give it away, and costs money to toss it in the garbage…nah, that probably wasn't it either. Well, either way, when I look back on that day I remember my dad being kind. Or he knew how to get Hillary to go home…that’s it! He was a genius! He knew she would leave me the hell alone and go back across the street if he just let her take the stupid broken flower. Wow, I can’t believe I didn't realize it until now….that’s awesome! Thanks dad! 

You Stay Classy, San Diego

One of the things I love most about the company I work for, is they are willing to send me to training classes for my job. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been afforded the opportunity to obtain certifications in my job field each year. Since I don’t much care to travel, I usually look for trainings in Reno, since it’s just a short drive. I like the convenience of staying at the hotel across the street from my training center so I don’t have to drive anywhere. 

This year, unfortunately, the certification class I wanted to take wasn’t available in Reno. The closest city they offered the training was San Diego. I was actually a little bit excited since I hadn’t been to San Diego since I was very young. The initial class I signed up for was for back in August, but got cancelled. The company offering the training rescheduled me for October 1 – 5^th. That was a minor inconvenience, but I just rolled with it. We were able to get my flights changed, but the hotel next door to the training center was already booked for that week. That meant I would need to stay in another hotel much further away. Since I didn’t want to deal with a rental car, I made the decision to still walk to my classes each day. It amounted to about a 15 minute walk, but it was worth it to me.  

My journey began Sunday morning. My flight was to leave Reno at 10:50, arrive in Las Vegas around noon, change planes, leave Vegas at 2:00, and arrive in San Diego around 3:00. The first hiccup occurred in Las Vegas. All flights going out were delayed for, what I’m told, the President being in town. I was finally able to leave Las Vegas around 3:00, so it was about a 3 hour layover. I landed in San Diego around 4:00, collected my bag and quickly found a shuttle service. There was a line of vans, and I just grabbed the first one I came to. The fact that I didn’t bother to take note of any details of that shuttle would prove to be a mistake later on. 

I was the only passenger on this particular trip, so I got to visit with the driver quite a bit. I told him what I was in town for, and he told me about the different local attractions in my area. As we arrived at my hotel, I paid him in cash, and he got out to grab my bag.  I thanked him for the useful information and proceeded to my hotel. I approached the front desk and gave the lady my name to check in. She then asked for a photo ID. That was when one of the worst feelings came over me as I realized I was no longer in possession of my wallet. Since I paid the shuttle driver with cash that was in my wallet, I at least knew I had it in the shuttle. I quickly ran out to the curb, but the driver was already gone. I did a quick search of the gutter and street in case I had dropped it out of the van, but it was nowhere to be found. 

I let the lady at the desk know what my situation was, and she graciously allowed me to check in without my ID. After I got checked in, I talked with the concierge who let me use their computer to contact the different shuttle companies. I couldn’t remember the name of the service, the name of the driver, or even what color van it was. The concierge contacted the surveillance department to see if they had any footage of the van. Unfortunately, the closest camera coverage was from inside the hotel lobby, and the only thing they could tell was that it appeared to be a dark colored van (the camera had a partial view of the front window). They could not, however, read the name on the shuttle. I went through the list of shuttle services and contacted each one to file a lost and found report. All I could do now was hope that the driver found it and return it to me, or that one of the companies would call me back. Until then, I was without cash, credit cards or ID.

Since my company had authorized me to charge incidentals to my room, I would at least be able to eat at the restaurant and charge it to my room. 

By the time I got done making all my phone calls, got showered and changed my clothes, it was getting a bit late. I hadn’t eaten anything since I was in Las Vegas, so I decided to stop by the restaurant. I approached the bar and explained my situation to the bartender. He was very nice, and told me it wouldn’t be a problem. He allowed me to order a much needed beer while I looked over the menu. I settled on the recommended brisket grilled cheese sandwich, finished my beer and ordered another. It was during that second beer that the bartender returned with a regrettable look on his face. Afraid he was going to tell me I couldn’t charge drinks to my room, I started chugging that beer before he had a chance to snatch it from my hands.  “Sir, I feel horrible to tell you this, but the kitchen has closed for the evening”. I began to ease up on my brew, but only slightly. The bartender appeared sincerely sorry, especially after I had told him this was the only place I would be able to eat until the morning. I asked if I could possibly nibble on some olives or maybe a cocktail onion, but I think he thought I was joking as he just chuckled and apologized again. After having had a few beers, genius struck me as it normally does after a few beers, and in an attempt to outsmart the bartender, I ordered a martini. It came with an inedible orange rind. By then, not only had I racked up quite a bar tab, but I was having trouble intelligibly communicating other drinks that may contain food, so I decided to pack it in for the night.  

On my way out of the restaurant, I noticed a small community had formed on the sidewalks up and down the street. There were tents, blankets, shopping carts, and most notably, homeless people. The restaurant was actually connected to the hotel, so the front doors weren’t more than 20 feet apart, yet somehow, in that 20 feet I met a vagrant. He politely asked me for change, and already having had my lips loosened by a few drinks, I proceeded to tell him my entire story, and therefore why I only had 68 cents in my pocket. I did give it to him though because…well, I hate having change in my pocket, and it wasn’t going to do me a damn bit of good. I’m sure the story took only a few minutes to tell, and my memory is a bit hazy after those drinks on an empty stomach, but it seemed like I was talking with this guy for quite some time. At the end of it, he offered me his roast beef sandwich. I told him I would be fine, thanked him just the same and returned to my room. 

I woke up Monday morning ready to go to class and reeling a bit from the drinks the night before. The continental breakfast no longer sounded appetizing, so I decided to skip it. I grabbed a quick shower, drank some water and set out on my 12 block journey to my training. The walk itself was actually a lot shorter than I thought it would be, and was not unpleasant at all. I arrived at the building, and reached the floor I was supposed to be on. Once I arrived, I notified the lady at the front desk I was there for my computer security class. There was no computer security class. I just laughed, and asked if I could take a look down the hall, which she let me do. I was able to find a server/datacenter room and asked the guy if he knew about my class. He said he didn’t, but he knew the company that was supposed to put it on. He called the company for me, and I was able to talk to the representative, who then says “Oh…you didn’t get my email? That class has been canceled”. I thanked him and hung up. I had no ID, no money, and now no training course. I began my walk back to my hotel room. 

The rest of the day was filled pretty much spent on the phone with my work as they were trying to figure out how to get me home without an ID. Annie’s boss did the research and found that since Annie had a passport, a social security card, and a birth certificate, she could fax it to the airport, and I would only have to go through additional security, but would be able to board the plane. It was actually really cool that my company was handling it like they were, and mostly that it was HR taking care of it. They were also going to wire me some more money. Things were starting to look up. I just needed to have the front desk print out the documents for me, and I should be home free.  

About then, my hotel phone rang. Thinking it would be the front desk telling me my documents were ready, I answered. A gruff voice on the other end spoke. The conversation went like this:

Me: Hello?

Voice: Jeffrey.

(Ok, not the front desk)

Me: Hey.

Voice: How are you?

Me: I’m doing good, how about you?

Voice: Are you sure?

(Oh no, did I give that homeless man my room number?)

Me: Yeah, not bad at all.

Voice: You didn’t lose your wallet?

(I told that homeless man I lost my wallet, this is the homeless man. Damnit, now he’s rubbing it in too.)

Me: Oh, yeah, I did do that.

Voice: Well, I have it.

(No! This is the shuttle driver! I can tell by his accent now!)

Me: You.have.to.be.joking.

Voice: Ha ha, not at all. I’m downstairs.

Me: I’ll be right there!

I got downstairs and noticed the man parked across the street. I ran across and he told me another passenger found my wallet. He went through it to see if there were any clues as to how to contact me. He then remembered me from the day before and dropping me off at my hotel. He must have called the front desk, and they transferred him to me. I opened the wallet, and everything, including all of my cash, was in there. I thanked him many times, gave him a 20, and hurried to let everyone know that I had my wallet back.

From that point on, everything went smooth. I was able to get on my plane, and made it home by 8:30 that evening.

When I returned to work today, I was greeted with this flyer: 

Healing Elixir

I'd previously written a short blog about, what is essentially the same story, just not in as much depth. I only revisit the story to explain my absence from what used to be one of my favorite hobbies. 

Much like a writers block, I feel like I've had a 'brewer's block'.  Unlike my writers block, however, it's not too hard to pin down the cause. The last time I brewed a batch of beer was, obviously, with my dad, and it was one of the best memories I have with him. We spent time out in his garage constructing what would be an untested and unproven brewing apparatus. Neither of us knowing if it would really work or not (it did), but (myself, anyways) not really caring either way. We were just having fun building something out in the garage. When it was finished, we tested everything out live - no dry runs for us. The style of beer to be brewed was initially to be an 'American Brown'. I wanted to tweak the recipe a bit, however, and make it a tad bit darker than the last time I brewed a brown - which was for wedding favors.

This wouldn't be a problem. I knew my styles, I knew my ingredients, and I knew my limits. We weren't going to over-hop it, and we weren't going to go with too much chocolate or black patent malt. I was shooting for the 'Brown', but a tad darker was fine. The whole brewing process was a complete blast. I'd never been able to explain the step by step process to anyone, and dad was eating it up. Watching him was like watching a kid at Christmas.  He was soaking in every bit of information as if I were going to be turning him loose on the next batch. He helped any time he could get his hands on a piece of equipment, and was there to offer the occasional words of encouragement. All in all, the process was over in the blink of an eye because I was having just as much fun as he was.  We ran into one little snag, however. The piece of equipment we built worked great, I just designed it with a minor oversight. It was a design flaw on my behalf, but it didn't ruin the batch.

 

While we were in the garage after having poured the wort into the lauter tun, a leak sprung in the new spigot apparatus we just made. The wort was a piping 170°, so trying to plug the hole with 170° liquid shooting all over my hands was a bit uncomfortable. We were able to get everything fixed though without losing too much of the liquid. It was because of that one little mishap that I will forever look back and laugh about how fun that day really was. It didn't go perfect, but it you couldn't tell by drinking what eventually be our 'Porter' (it was just too dark to call an American Brown anymore).

We brewed it, waited out the fermentation period, bottled it, and waited out the carbonation period. 4 weeks later, it was finally time to taste the finished product. I can, to this day, remember my dad's reaction to tasting the beer he had a hand in creating for the first time out of that frosty mug. If the entire process of making the beer wasn't perfect enough, watching him enjoy our hard work certainly was. Those that knew him, undoubtedly know the one word he said after taking that first drink. And outstanding it was. Smooth, but packed full of coffee, and smokey chocolaty flavor. It had decent foam retention, and the carbonation wasn't too much. This was by far the best batch I'd tasted since I stared brewing, so I was pleased.

To this day, there are still quite a few bottles of those beers at my mom's house. I'm not sure if they're any good or not anymore, but the one I had last year was still drinkable.  I just could never bring myself to drink them all. I don't know why, and I understand it's pretty silly...it just didn't feel right.

Since then, I've all but forgotten about brewing. It was what dad and I would talk about when we would smoke cigars. It wasn't something that I did on my own for the sake of doing it; it was something I did so that we could share it.

So here we are, a little over 3 years after he passed, and I have finally decided to blow the dust off of the equipment. I think this time around, I'm going to chronicle the process a bit better. I'll be certain to post my results when it's finished.

Letter to Liam

At long last it’s here. This piece definitely took me longer to write than any other that I’ve written. I don’t know that I’ve ever written and deleted so many lines from one of my writings before.  I must admit that I’d wanted to write this quite some time ago, but today was the day it felt like it fit. I definitely didn’t mean for the time to slip too far without having written this letter.  As we know, I’m getting older, and my memory isn’t quite what it used to be.  Liam is already 6 months old to the day today. He was born on Friday, January 13, and I am writing this on Friday, July 13. Once again, I’ve attempted to compile this story/letter completely from memory. There are times that my memory isn’t the best, and I end up remembering details a bit differently than they happened. That isn’t an attempt to purposely lie about the events, it’s just the way I remember them. I’m pretty certain Annie will have corrected any major discrepancies long before this hits The Unsound anyhow.  Again, knowing my son will someday read this is my motivation to ensure it sees the light of day.  Liam, enjoy your story. 

It should have been an early indication – everything will be exactly as it was last time, only opposite. Wait, what? Let me back up a little. 

By now, Lilah was a year and a few months old. She’d already developed her incredibly spunky personality that, I hope, she will never lose. Obviously this story is not about Lilah, but I wanted to highlight that fact so I may return to it later. Now that Lilah was over a year old, we’d started talking about trying again. We knew we didn’t want the two kids to be spaced too far apart, and we’d also remembered it had taken us a long time with Lilah.  We’d decided June or July would be a good time to revisit the idea, but fate had other plans. I’m told things happen for a reason, and certain things aren’t coincidence. I suppose I’m open to that idea, as this one was pretty strange.

We’d just finished another day at work. Actually, we’d finished another week at work. It was Friday evening, and we went to the store for some odds and ends.  We returned home, and I put Sesame Street on for Lilah (our regular after work/daycare routine), while I got on the computer to check my various regular websites. Annie had disappeared, but that was normal, as she normally changed after work. About 10 minutes later, she returned down the hall. Never the one to be subtle, she once again bluntly proclaimed “I’m pregnant”. This time it was about as matter of fact as if to say “It’s Friday”, or “I’m hungry”. “I’m pregnant”. I sort of just looked at her and laughed. I thought she was joking. I mean, of course she was joking. I may have even said “whatever”. Then I saw her face, and knew she wasn’t joking. Annie never has had what I would call a poker face. She is about as easy to read as a Dr. Seuss book. 

Now, if you’ll remember, we found out that we were pregnant with Lilah on the same day that my mom found out my dad’s cancer was to the terminal stage. That day? May 13^th, 2009. This particular day?  Friday, May 13^th, 2011. Pretty hard to make this sort of thing up, and I wouldn’t want to. Who would believe such nonsense? 

After taking a few minutes to wrap our heads around the extremely eerie coincidence, we decided to load up and go tell our parents in person.  They were the only ones we told (again) until after Annie was 12 weeks along.  

Annie’s pregnancy seemed to go about as opposite from her first as could be this second time around. She was plagued with constant nausea and heartburn from early on. During her first pregnancy, she experienced a constantly kicking, moving baby. This time around, she would have to push, poke and prod at her belly to elicit any type of movement.  It was fairly obvious from the beginning that this pregnancy was going to be very different from her first. We just didn’t know how much, yet. 

It wasn’t until August that we got to learn the gender of this particular baby.  Of course, I was going to be happy no matter what gender the baby was going to be. All I wanted was for the baby to be healthy. As long as our baby was health, I could care less what we were having. That was until we found out we were having a boy. Then I was ecstatic.  We were going to have a boy. Lilah was going to have a baby brother.  We were going to have one of each.  It just seemed so perfect to be having a boy this time around. 

Subsequent ultrasounds, however, revealed that there may be a bit of a problem. Nothing serious, we were told. Just something to monitor. It appeared that his kidneys were not doing what they were supposed to do; something about them being dilated.  We were told that it was nothing to be too concerned with, and that it was very common for boys, but something to keep an eye on. They said it was usually something that would most likely correct itself.  Later, we would also learn that Annie supposedly had gestational diabetes (we were and are skeptical that she ever had it in the first place).  That was mostly controlled with a strict diet, which Annie did wonderful with. 

Pretty much everything that could have been different from her first pregnancy, was.  We had constant checkups in Reno to ensure his kidneys were still doing ok. They never did return 100% to normal, but they did get better, and by the time he was born, pretty much back to normal. Because she was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, the doctor was worried the baby could get too big. Because of this, they didn’t want Annie to go too far past her due date, so they scheduled an induction for Wednesday, January 11^th.  

Yet again I waited until the last minute to finish painting the nursery. Since Lilah had her own room, I would prepare the spare room for the baby boy.  Little did I know what kind of a job I was in for.  The previous occupant of this house had a son themselves, and his room was this spare room.  They had, in their typical fashion, painted the top boarder of the walls with an oil paint stencil. This one was dinosaurs.  Not only did these dinosaurs run around the entire room, but there was glow in the dark paint on two of the walls and the ceiling.  I had no clue of the job I was in for. Those walls required multiple (like 4 or 5) coats of primer and paint to cover. The stencils weren’t so bad as the glow in the dark paint was. Just when I thought I’d had it covered, I’d turn out the lights only to see the glow through my fresh paint job.  Eventually I was able to get the paint to cover, and the furniture put together. We had a new nursery that would not be empty for long. 

The evening of the 11^th, Annie and I dropped Lilah off at my mom’s house to stay the night. We wanted to have one final good meal before going to the hospital, so we went to Mazatlan to have a nice dinner. After that we made it to the hospital, and Annie was given whatever medicine they give her. I was more or less occupied with work emails and the 49ers message boards. You see, Saturday would be their first appearance in the playoffs in like 10 years, so I had things to keep my mind off the waiting. Oh yeah, I was also keeping Annie company and doing husband things…or something. 

That evening was pretty routine. We watched a little bit of T.V., then went to bed, trying to get some sleep knowing it may well be our last evening of real sleep for a while. I didn’t do too bad, but I don’t know that Annie got much rest. They pretty much mess with her every half hour or so. She was a good sport that first night, though. I probably would have lost it on them multiple times, but she knew they were only doing their job. 

The next day was supposed to be the main event. In fact, I made sure to get up early enough to take a shower and shave real nice so as to look refreshed and clean for all the pictures with my new son. I knew that he would be born on Thursday, we would be in the hospital for the night, go home on Friday and get to enjoy the playoff game on Saturday. I had it all planned out. Someone forgot, however, to inform my son of said plan.  Thursday wasn’t spent having a baby. It was spent (by Annie, anyways) in pain and frustration. It was spent in what I like to call, for lack of a better word, purgatory.  There was no advancement on the baby’s part. So we spent it visiting with family, watching t.v., and monitoring my work emails and 49ers message board. Oh and being an attentive husband…or something. That evening Annie wanted me to get some real food, so I went by Susanville Supermarket and smuggled in some chicken strips, a salad and sugar cookies for her.  That evening was spent like the previous, until it was time to “go to sleep”. This time, the nurses decided they were going to work on what they could tell was our last remaining nerve by showing up every 20 minutes to poke, prod and “check” Annie.  The culmination of no baby, no sleep and constant harassment by the nurses finally pushed us past the breaking point. I think I may have snapped at one of the nurses, but by that time I was starting to live in a big blur. 

Friday rolled around, and when I woke up, I looked at Annie and said “Don’t worry, one way or another, our kid is being born today”. I knew this was taking an emotional, as well as physical, toll on her. It certainly was on me, so it had to be.  Friday was another long and trying day for us, as the nurses kept checking Annie to see if she’d progressed any. Finally sometime in the afternoon, the doctor decided she was far enough to break her water. This was good news for us, since that pretty much guaranteed we were nearing the end. We were only somewhat right. After he broke her water, it was still quite a long process (or so it seemed at the time) before she was in full labor.  The anesthesiologist came around and gave her the epidural, but it didn’t quite work like her last one. This time she was still feeling a lot of pain through it. They re-tried it, but still couldn’t seem to get it right. Eventually, she just ended up having to push through the pain (which she did, and did well I might say). 

It all happened so fast, but I remember holding her one minute, and the next she was telling me she had to push. The doctor made a dramatic entry just in time to catch the baby. Annie didn’t push but for a couple minutes, and before we knew it Liam Kade was born at 4:21 p.m. on that Friday, January 13^th.  There was no staging like last time. There was no theater lighting, and no breaking the bed down into a chair. It really did happen that fast.  

When Liam came out, my first thought was “Wow, he looks just like his sister”.  The doctor suctioned him out, got him to cry, and then the nurses took him over and laid him on the warmer bed to clean him up. By that time, he had stopped crying. I remember thinking that was odd that he wasn’t still crying. I stayed with him until he was all cleaned and wrapped up, and then took him over to Annie to meet her son for the first time. We wanted him to try to nurse as soon as he was born, which he did very well.  I was amazed that he still hadn’t cried much, but figured he was just happy to be out of there and getting some food.  

After he ate, our families got to come in and meet him. We also got to see Lilah for the first time since we dropped her off Wednesday night, which was quite a treat for us.  After a brief visit with our families, they moved us across the hall to our other room for the night. I was happy to be over there, because I knew we were only one short night away from being able to go home.  

We were ready for what we figured was going to be the longest night yet. After all, when Lilah was born, we got zero sleep. Lilah cried all night, and when she did fall asleep, the nurses would sense the quiet and come harass us/wake up Lilah. Surprisingly, however, that wasn’t the case.  Liam made it through birth, his first bath, and pin pokes without much more than a few fusses. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t at least a little concerned. It was just honestly so different from what we were used to. I even asked the nurses if we should be concerned, to which they laughed off as if I were joking, assuring me that he was perfectly healthy.  That night was probably the best night of sleep we had since we’d gotten to the hospital. The nurse was fantastic, and let us rest. Liam pretty much slept as much as a newborn baby can sleep on his first night. I woke up to breakfast being brought into the room, and started to panic that I hadn’t woke up before then. I felt guilty that I’d slept through the night and that Annie had to take care of Liam all night. That’s when she told me that she also got a full night’s sleep.  

After feeling refreshed and relieved, the doctor came in to give us the go-ahead to leave. It never felt so good to be home as it did that day. It had been a long three days, but it was well worth it in the end.

From the day he was born, Liam has been the exact opposite of Lilah. That’s not a good thing or a bad thing, but it certainly is nice to have two opposite personalities. Now that Liam is getting older, his favorite pastime is to lay around and smile. He doesn’t get too worked up, and is very content to occupy himself. One of my favorite things to do is watch Lilah interact with him. Sure, we can make him laugh, but not like his big sister can. She can merely walk into his line of sight, and he lights up. It truly is one of my favorite things to watch.  I can’t imagine what I did to be so lucky, but we certainly do have a perfect family.

Knocking The Dust Off

I can't believe I've left this blog stagnant for so long. I feel horrible for neglecting it. To be honest, I've had a serious case of writers block lately. I can't say an increasingly busy lifestyle hasn't contributed, if even only a little, but for the most part it's been my lack of motivation to actually write anything.

One of the main reasons I'm trying my hardest to break through that block is knowing I still have my letter to Liam to finish. When Lilah was born, Annie asked me to write a "letter" to her so that later, when she's older, she would be able to read the story of her birth. It's only fair that I do the same for Liam, of course. I've started the story, but encountered so many different blocks. I've started and scrapped it at least 3 different times now. My hope is that I can break through that wall by at least posting something.


So if nothing else, this post is to say - stay tuned. I will be posting the story of Liam soon. Now that I've decided to take the story and approach it from a different angle, I'm hoping it will become easier to complete. We will see...
 

Halloween Horror-Fest 2011

Since I received such a great response from everyone, I decided to move it to The Unsound for ease of tracking. I've taken note of everyone's suggestions, and will start my Horrorthon immediately. Since I've not seen a single one of the movies so far suggested, I'll list a brief review of each one as I watch them. I certainly wish I could contribute as many as everyone else has, but since I'm obviously a cinematic idiot when it comes to the horror genre, I don't have a lot. The few non-mainstream movies that I have seen aren't exactly 'Horror' in the classic sense. I tend to watch more of the independent thriller/creepy/disturbing movies or the violent/twisted dark comedy movies. Some were good, others were just terrible.

I've decided instead of individually assigning a movie to each contributor, I'll list the few noteworthy movies that I've seen, and continue my quest for the movie that will actually have a lasting impact on me.

With that all said, here is my short list of some of the movies I've seen that you may have missed.

Fido (Dark, funny and somewhat violent zombie movie)

The Evil Dead (Yeah, yeah, everyone has seen this. If you haven't, WATCH IT)

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon (Another dark/funny movie. Mockumentary of a serial killer, and a must see. Note: One of the greatest songs ever during the closing credits)

11:14 (More of a weird movie with twists than a scary movie. Reminded me of Crash)

Population 436 (This is more creepy than anything. Not violent or gory. No jumpy parts. Also, I like Jeremy Sisto)

Ed Gein: The Butcher of Plainfield (Based on the real life inspiration for Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Good violent slasher type flick, if not a bit cheesy)

Audition (Foreign - Japanese with English subtitles. Creepy and very disturbing.)


Now - Check back on this from time to time as I update it.

Edit:

First movie finished: Halloween (1978)

First I have to say how embarrassed I am that I'd never seen this film. It is obviously the pioneer film that spawned the slasher genre that was so popular in the 80's. I've seen all of the Nightmare on Elm Street films, and a few of the Friday the 13th films, but this was one set of movies I never checked out. I suppose what was so intriguing, was the lack of gore in this movie. Trying to put myself into the time when this was released, this had to be a terrifying film. Today we are almost desensitized by the copious amounts of blood that seem to almost be necessary to make a horror film. Where John Carpenter put this all on the viewer's imagination. Will I be having nightmares tonight? Unlikely. Did I enjoy this movie? Every second of it. Much like some of the other classic horror films I've seen recently, I can appreciate the affect the film has on today's culture, and forgive shaky acting, special effects and dialogue. All in all, a movie I'd had on my list for a while, and I'm glad I finally saw it. Thanks Mark!


Second movie finished: Hostel (2005)

I remember when this came out, and it didn't look like anything I would have much interest in. I figured it to be similar to the Saw movies, and in some ways it was. There were a few pleasant surprises, however. First, I noticed that Quentin Tarantino was an executive producer. Second, I noticed a cameo from one of my favorite horror filmmakers, Takashi Miike. The film itself contained very few surprises, tons of gore, and for the first 30 minutes or so I thought I was accidentally watching a late night Cinemax feature. All of which are a recipe for a great horror flick. Definitely not a movie that will make you think too hard, but satisfying enough in the end. Thanks for the suggestion, Annie (though I know you'll never watch it!). On to another Tarantino movie...

Third movie finished: Grindhouse - Death Proof (2007)

Only after having finished watching Death Proof, did I remember seeing the trailers to Grindhouse, but mostly only remembering the previews for Planet Terror. I suppose I didn't realize these were separate movies. Death Proof was the second part of Grindhouse, and a full 2 hour movie in itself (well, the extended version was). I don't think I've seen a Quentin Tarantino movie I haven't liked, and this was no exception. This movie had plenty blood, violence, subtle humor and action. I liked the dark feel, and as is always the case with Tarantino, the music selection. Not as many intense moments as the last movie I watched, but more than enjoyable. Thanks for bringing this movie to my attention, Sonja!

Fourth movie finished: Battle Royale (2000)

Yet another film I hadn't heard of. This was actually a great movie. I'm finding out lately that I really enjoy foreign movies with English subtitles. This movie was violent, bloody and had tons of action. The storyline was interesting, and was dark enough to keep my interest throughout the movie. Battle Royale came out in 2000, but I kept thinking I've seen a similar movie more recently. I would probably classify this closer to a thriller, but it definitely had a bit of a creepy factor to it. I'm actually looking at perhaps watching the sequel; something I rarely do. All in all, I feel like my time was well spent on this one. Thanks Lily, great suggestion!

Fifth and final movie finished: Night of the Living Dead (1968)

The final movie suggestion was a George Romero film. I opted for the original Night of the Living Dead. I can't believe I hadn't seen this movie either! Knowing this film was made in 1968, I didn't expect it to be overly gory, but I was actually surprised that a few of the scenes were a bit violent (for that time, anyways). Much like with Halloween, I tried to put myself back in the time this movie was made, and feel how terrifying it must have been when it was released. I've decided this is another series of movies that I will be watching the sequels. I certainly appreciate the recommendation, Diana.

I want to thank everyone for their input. You've certainly brought some great movies to my attention that I either wouldn't have seen, or have been putting off for a while.

It's Just a Ride

I feel a little bad that my first post on this page in what has been an extended period of inactivity should be a rant. In truth, this post should have died at the inception of the random idea in the first place. I almost just made it a Facebook post, but then I decided I could pad it with the usual nonsense and make slightly more worthwhile to waste your valuable time reading.

These last few days of hotel living has started to wear on me, and really put me in an intolorent
mood. Feel free to take everything I say with a grain of salt.


My rant kicks off with a wise ass list shown below.


Things considered carnival rides:
The Ferris Wheel
Tilt-A-Whirl
Gravatron
The Zipper


Things NOT considered carnival rides:
The Escalator
The Moving Sidewalk



The invention of the escalator and the moving sidewalk were not intended to be stood upon for the sole purpose of giving one a thrill. Sure, it may be a side product, but not the intended purpose. The intended purpose was to get the user to a pre-determined destination faster, and with less effort, than their standard stationary counterparts. Less effort not no effort. Now, am I guilty of standing on the steps of an escalator and letting it do all the work? Absolutely. I probably ride them more often than I walk on them. The reason, however, is usually because I'm blocked behind some thrill-seeker that is riding that bastard for all its worth, and concerned enough that it will buck them off, they find it necessary to hang on with both hands. Preventing anyone who may be a daredevil, like myself, from crazy antics like walking while the ride is in motion. Who the hell are you to look out for my best interest, sir?


There are other times that I will ride it just because I don't feel like walking. In fact, I'll ride it like it's a chore to even stand up. Often times leaning against the hand rail and all but hanging over the side. I do have consideration for other people, however. I will ride it, but stand so far off to the side that even the largest of non-lazy people can squeeze by me. I refuse to impede anyone from reaching their destination in a timely manner. I'm nothing if not accomodating to people in a rush.


/topic



This morning I was gently roused out of what was one of my better nights of sleep at approximately 5:04 a.m. by a sound that I can only describe as Chewbacca after a 12 pack of Pabst and a hit of acid (assuming Chewbacca was at least somewhat of a light-weight). At first I thought the noise was part of some strange dream. I then realized it wasn't a dream, and it was still dark out, and I had no clue where I was. After I was fully awake, I realized the noise was coming from the hallway and just outside my hotel room. I slowly got out of bed, and started to realize that the sound was that of a human. What the hell he was attempting to say was anyone's guess. As I peered through the peephole (through my bloodshot eye and bone-dry contact lense, mind you) I could make out a fairly large gentleman of about 35 in khaki shorts and a pink button-down shirt doing some sort of a dance directly in front of my door. The dance, I later came to realize, was his attempt to stay upon his two feet. This man was not drunk. He was completely blown out of his Birkenstocks and halfway out of his tube socks (oh, you thought his impeccable style quit at his pink shirt and thigh-high cargo's?).


He would side-step breifly out of my peephole view only to return twice as fast the other way. I was trying my hardest to understand what he was saying, but was only able to make out a few obscenities in his drunk/stoned/Chewbacca voice. I really do wish I could remember the phrase he kept uttering to himself, because it truly was humorous. It was just entirely too random and obscure of a phrase for even me to remember. Soon I heard him say, to no one in particular, that he would return later. If he did, he did so quietly.

I was only able to draw 2 conclusions as to why this man would have been yelling obscenities just outside my door at 5 a.m. The first is that he was not visiting this hotel alone, and his companion had dead-bolted the door when he didn't return to his room at a decent hour. The other, was that he was on the wrong floor entirely, thus his key wouldn't work in what he thought was his room. Either way, he provided me with an entertaining image to fall back alseep to.

Eat Up

About a week ago, Melanie and Rachel contacted me about doing a write-up for Rachel's business in Chico. I already do their website, and I love being able to exercise my creativity on such a public stage, so I jumped at the opportunity. The write-up was going to be a fun, new challenge for me to help spark my writing again. Here were my guidelines: It was to be no longer than 300 words, and would be published in a brochure style that would be placed at various restaurants around Chico. I'm not sure if any of you have seen these sort of things before, but the only place in our town I can think of that has something similar is Young Sing. It's something placed at your table to read while you wait for your food. The best part about this, is I was given a guideline, and also a deadline. I had roughly a week to work on it, so that made it even more fun. It wasn't something I could sit on and procrastinate with.

Other than the time and word constraints, the sky was the limit. Now...I'd never done anything like this before, and I had no examples to go off of. This was even better because it made me think. I was also writing these with a full understanding that I'm peddling a portable toilet business in a restaurant. Not a task to take lightly, I must say.

I decided to write three different rough drafts, each written in a different style. The first was a very standard, professional information-filled 'letter', the second was mostly bold, boastful and brash. It was tongue-in-cheek, funny and in your face. The third was what I considered a small combination of the two, but still more based on telling the history of the company. I was pretty happy with the way they all turned out, so I knew I gave the girls a broad spectrum to choose from. I sent out the rough drafts, and they loved them all. Unfortunately, they were only able to choose one. After multiple discussions with each other, they settled on the final product. The final product was a minimally edited second version (for the word limit) that I think turned out great, and I'm very proud of the fact that it will be used. I am in the process of writing a new "About Us" section of their website that should include a majority of the stuff we had to cut.

With all that said, I'm proud to present the final version for your viewing. Any and all feedback would be appreciated...positive or negative. Also, if any of you are ever in Chico, and happen to be eating at Denny's, The Oasis, The Graduate, or Forrest Ave Pizza & Pub, please take a picture of yourself with the brochure. I will hook you up with something cool like a urinal cake or have a Johnny on the Spot trucker hat made. Don't steal it though, I was kidding about that on my last post. I want people to be able to read it!

A quick P.S. before we get to the good stuff: All of the facts you will read are completely true. You just can't make that stuff up!

Congratulations! While you were sitting there waiting for your food to show up, you decided to flip through the provided literature and occupy yourself with a few entertaining facts on the Chico area’s most beloved portable toilet business around. “What can I learn about Johnny on the Spot Portable Toilets that I don’t already know?” you ask as you sip on your ice water. Plenty, my friend. For instance, Johnny on the Spot Portable Toilets is a woman owned business. Rachel Bartlett is the proud proprietor, and has been since she sold her ’78 VW convertible to buy her first truck and 8 used units back in 1998. That’s right, while you were cruising around rockin’ Savage Garden in your Dodge Neon, Rachel was busy establishing what would become the best portable toilet business in Northern California. Since then she’s built her stock to 350 units that include everything from wash stations to elegant flushable wedding units and even a unit on a trailer. You heard me Hoss, you’ll be the envy of all your friends when you roll down the road with a Johnny in tow. Whether you’re the loyal customer that has been using a Johnny since ’98, or you stumbled sideways into your first one at last year’s Soroptimist International of Bidwell Rancho Microbrew Festival, you’re well aware that the quality of a Johnny on the Spot is unmatched. So there you have it. When your date comes back from the restroom, you can boast your insider knowledge on your favorite portable toilet business over an order of seasoned fries.

Still hungry for information? I don’t blame you. Check out http://www.johnnyonthespotchico.com. Call them up and sing the first 6 bars of Truly, Madly, Deeply and see if they don’t hook you up with a discount. I’m serious.

Censorship

Unfortunately, this wasn’t going to be my first post of the year. My first post of the year was going to be a true tale that would have rivaled my dog story. It would have been complete with illustrations in a crude manner that only my Microsoft Paint program can produce. It was going to have you laughing, crying and shouting “OH.MY.GOD”. Yes, it was all of that and then some. It was the first time since I’ve been writing that a story was writing itself in my head at the same moment it was unfolding in front my blurry eyes. It was the first time in a good 7 months that my writers block was not just released, but totally destroyed.

Alas, upon arrival of my homestead, my dear wife and chief editor squashed the story before it could even be put on paper. She notified me that due to the nature of the story (which would have been told in such as way as to minimize the crassness of it), and the location of the incident, I was prohibited from posting it on such a public forum. Not being one to ever comply with any type of censorship, I’ve decided to author the story anyways, but compromise on the publication vehicle. Instead of plastering it on the walls of The Unsound, it will be available upon a personal request basis. Due to this minor setback, the story hasn’t been completed, but I assure you; it will. Not wanting to let even one detail escape my very vivid recollection of the subject event, I will be writing it soon after I post this. I will be taking my time with the illustrations, however. This is undoubtedly a story that can paint a picture on its own. But I feel it can further be immortalized forever in pastel colors in a way that not even my words can. This is not an empty promise, and I assure you, it will be well worth the hype.

Now that I’ve let you down gently, let me bring you back up. Also in the very near future (in the next 3 days) is my first piece of writing to actually be “published”. It will be a business write-up that will be circulating the greater Chico area restaurants featuring the best portable toilet service in the business; Johnny on the Spot Portable Toilets. I am very proud that Rachel and Melanie asked me to write it, and someone will have to steal me one from one of those restaurants. Until then, I can offer you nothing more than my most sincere apology.

Patience

I said tonight...

Letter to Lilah

Few times in my life have emotions taken away my ability to fully articulate my feelings in one way or another. Most recently that way would be on paper. I seem to have found my inner ability to channel my thoughts and feelings onto paper which, for better or worse, will be able to remain indefinitely. Frozen in the time I authored them. Few times indeed. One of those times happens to be the birth of our first child, Lilah. As I’m writing this, she is currently four calendar months and three days old. Technically speaking, it’s been seventeen weeks, four days since her birth, but I believe such measurements of age are really only important to mothers. After the first four weeks, she became “months” old to me. I could never understand the weekly counting anyways. But I digress. This particular writing isn’t intended to focus on the ways we tell people how old our child is. The intention is to attempt to write about what I have been unable to so far. I don’t think it’s been hard for me to write about her birth due entirely to emotional reasons. It’s been more about undertaking a task that is larger than I feel I could complete in a way which I would be satisfied. The fear of not being able to fully explain the circumstances, events and feelings that all went on at the time. Many of the intricate details of her birth were lost before they had time to take residence in my memory, so while some of events of her birth may not be 100% accurate, you can have peace in the fact that I’m writing them as I best remember them. I suppose my drive to finally take on this project is the fact that she will undoubtedly read this at some point in her life. When Annie approached me about writing the story for and to Lilah, I was a bit hesitant. Multiple drafts of this finished work have been created, edited and rewritten. Whether or not she’ll be able to make sense of my ramblings is another issue. Hopefully she will reread this multiple times over her life and take something new away from it each time she does. For every story I write, I write with at least one particular reader in mind. The particular reader in mind for this story is Lilah. Please enjoy, daughter.

I can’t recall the exact day we found out, but I do remember feeling particularly comfortable in bed that morning. Perhaps I shouldn’t be caught up in the timing aspect of such things, but as I’ve learned, timing is everything. I’ve always had a bad habit of staying in bed until the last possible minute necessary to still get myself ready and make it to work on time. I remember hearing the bedroom door hastily being opened and Annie yelling “Jeff!” I was able to pry open one sleep sealed eye and make out the vague figure of Annie dressed in her bright pink bathrobe with a towel on her head. “I’m pregnant!” she exclaimed. At this, I sat up in bed, still trying to make my eyes open but not having much success. She came over and we shared a brief embrace, and just sat there on the bed. I remember Annie was shaking as we silently stared at the positive test. Slowly the weight of the new revelation began to sink in. I was going to be a dad. We were going to be parents. We were going to have a child. It’s impossible for me to put into words the vast range of feelings I was experiencing at the time. Excitement, joy, elation, none of them can fully describe what I was feeling. All day, my mind kept returning to thoughts of raising a child. I kept thinking how excited my parents would be to find out that they would finally have a grandchild in town, and how excited Annie’s parents would be to find out they would have their first grandchild. One of the hardest parts was not telling anyone our great news. We decided we wanted to wait until after Annie’s first doctor’s appointment before we told anyone. So the hardest part of those first few weeks was keeping this a secret from everyone (save for our immediate family, of course), and only being able to talk about it with each other.

We decided to tell our parents the day we found out. This was our chance to come up with creative ways of telling them. For Annie’s parents, we wanted to go with a “fishing” theme, so we purchased a kid’s size lifejacket that our child would be able to wear on fishing trips with his/her grandparents. We took the gift out to them, and got to experience their joy as they found out they would be receiving their first grandchild. Of course they were as thrilled to learn the news as we were to be able to tell them.

For my parents, we opted for a simple baby bib. We found one that stated “Grandma never says no”. I remember the timing must have been shortly after Mother’s Day, since I was touting this gift as a late Mother’s Day gift to my mom. When we arrived at their house, my mom was downstairs working out, so we visited with my dad for a short while. Soon she returned to the living room where we gave her the gift. She seemed overwhelmed by the news and began to cry. Again, we got to experience their joy and excitement as they found out we would be having a child.

It wasn’t until two days later that I learned while we were upstairs visiting with my dad on that day, my mom was fielding what was undoubtedly the toughest phone call of her life as my dad’s doctors explained there was nothing more they could do for my dad, and he didn’t have much time left. I know that it had to have been a complete rollercoaster of emotions for her that day, but I can’t help but think our news’ coincided in perfect timing for a reason.

Throughout Annie’s pregnancy, I made a personal vow to attend every doctor’s appointment she had. I wanted to be there to hear the heartbeat for the first time, and see the ultrasound picture of my child for the first time. I wanted to be there when we found out if we would be having a baby girl or a baby boy, and I was. I remember getting to see that first ultrasound picture, and the technician pointed out where the head, legs and arms were. We even got to see the heart beating. She then asked us if we wanted to know the gender, which we did. That’s when we learned we would be having a little girl. From then on, I found myself continually thinking about all the things me and my daughter would be able to do together. From playing soccer out in the yard to working on the Camaro together in the garage (that’s right, just because she’s a girl doesn’t mean she needs to only play with Barbie dolls!).

Shortly after that appointment, we got to work on the nursery. We decided to turn our old “office” into a nursery. We cleaned it out and painted it. I’ll have to say, that was one chore that I dragged out as long as possible. I hate painting, and I’m not very good at it. Couple that with a wife that decided to change colors on me after I already started, the room took the better part of a month to paint. Annie was great about being patient with me throughout that, however. The due date was fast approaching, and I knew she had to be worried the nursery would never be done in time. I just like to cut things close, that’s all. After the room was painted, I put together the furniture, and we decorated the walls with collector Disney plates Annie’s grandmother had given her. The only thing missing from that room was our daughter, but the time was near.
Not long after we found out we would be having a girl, we decided on a name. We wanted to go with something fairly unique and something a bit old fashioned. There were multiple names we liked, but a lot of them were becoming more and more popular. We finally settled on Lilah Grace Honea (what we thought at the time would be a unique spelling of Lila). Her middle name was something that just fit so well, and it also happened to be my grandmother’s middle name. That was really only a bonus, as we didn’t set out to specifically name her after anyone.

In our typical style of keeping suspense alive and well with the pregnancy, we decided we would keep our daughter’s name a secret from everyone. Our friends Rob and Lily had done this with their child, and we loved the idea. There were a few different reasons for keeping the name to ourselves. First; we didn’t want someone to decide to undercut us and use our name before we could. It sounds silly, but it’s happened! Second; we didn’t want anyone inserting their opinions. It’s quite possible someone might not care for the name, and not everyone has the best poker face. That would lead us to second guessing, and one more added stress that we didn’t want, nor need. Third; the surprise element made it fun for everyone around us. Sure, we got badgered non-stop for a good 6 months, but it was generally fun for everyone. We found ourselves referring to her as “the baby”, even when we were at home alone. We wouldn’t even say her name to each other so we wouldn’t be in the habit and accidentally slip up in front of our friends or family. I’ll have to say, it felt a little weird to actually refer to her as Lilah when she was finally born! It just felt funny to say the name out loud.

Annie’s pregnancy seemed to go very well overall. I am a bit reluctant to brag about how easy of a pregnancy it was, due simply to the fact that I wasn’t the one experiencing it. She didn’t seem to have the morning illness effects, nor did she complain about much pain or discomfort, even into the later months. We stayed moderately active and even went on a trip to Hawaii when she was 6 months along. She did well to watch what she ate, and she researched everything an expectant mother should know about caring for her unborn child. As the father of that unborn child, I couldn’t be prouder of her.

Finally, after 9 months of waiting and planning…we found out we would be waiting just a little bit longer. Annie’s due date came and went. We went to the doctor for another checkup, and he decided he would set a date to induce her in 5 days. That would put Annie a week and a half overdue, but at least we would have a definite date; February 3rd. After the check-up, we decided we would continue to try all the wives tales in the book to send Annie into the throes of labor before our scheduled induction date.

On Sunday, January 31st, we continued our normal routine of waiting the pregnancy out. Annie even took a trip to her parent’s house to soak in the hot tub for a little while. All night she continued to have minor pains that she attributed to “Braxton Hicks” contractions. She seemed to power through those without much complaint. She went to bed that night, and I stayed up. I could tell she wasn’t very comfortable, because she kept getting up and alternating between baths and showers. I decided to try to get a little bit of sleep while she tried to keep herself comfortable in the bath. Before long, I woke up to her lying beside me in quite a bit of pain. She said the pains kept getting closer together, and growing in intensity. I asked if she thought she wanted to go to the hospital, and at first she declined. By the next wave of pains, she decided it might be a good idea. We got dressed, and got everything ready. I loaded up the suitcase and baby car seat, started the car and went back inside to collect Annie. When I returned inside, I found her on her knees with her head on the floor and rocking back and forth. I was pretty confident that this was the real deal. I let her ride out the current contraction, then we were out the door.

On the short trip up to the hospital, my mind was racing. I was skeptically hopeful that this would be the time. I was trying to stay as calm as possible, if not for Annie, for myself. I was a wreck inside, but there wasn’t any way I was about to show it. I must say, I’m a bit hazy as to the time we actually arrived at the hospital, but I am thinking it was around 4:00 a.m. As soon as we pulled into the hospital parking lot, Annie promptly exited the vehicle. The pain was so intense, it actually made her physically sick. Again we waited out the current wave of contractions, and continued inside through the Emergency Room entrance. On the way into the hospital, I assured Annie that we would not be leaving without our daughter in our arms. I know she was a bit worried that they would tell us to go back home until she was further along, but I was fairly confident she was ready to have the baby.

Once we got checked in, we were quickly led to a birthing room. The hospital staff was wonderful, and very attentive. Within minutes of our arrival, Annie was dressed in one of those jaunty hospital gowns and hooked up to machines. The nurse on duty at the time made a comment about the possibility of having to send us home due to a lack of space. That was, of course, until she checked how far along Annie was. She told Annie “You’re at a 5 (cm dilated). You’re not going anywhere”. To which Annie replied (and I’m quoting here) “I love you!” She then requested an epidural. Through the whole pregnancy, I never knew what the “glowing” a pregnant woman was supposed to show was all about. I suppose she could have been glowing for the past 8 months, but then again I’m not a very perceptive person. I can honestly say that after the nurse reported how far along she was, there was a noticeable glow about her. Perhaps it was the first time in the last few days I actually saw her look relieved, relaxed and genuinely happy. Whatever the reason, we were both extremely happy to hear our daughter would be here shortly.

After they got Annie hooked up to an IV, things started to slow down a bit. We each made our phone calls to notify our family what was going on. I remember just finally being able to relax a little bit. Everything had happened so fast, and now that we were here, it all came to a screeching halt. I remember sitting there at the time watching the clock. It seemed like an eternity of waiting, but at the same time, it seemed to be happening so fast. I know that’s a contradiction, but it’s the only way I can think to explain it. Our families arrived and visited in the birthing room for a while. We were glad our immediate family members would be there to share our special day with us. I also think it helped Annie to relax and take her mind off things for a little while. I’m not sure when the anesthesiologist arrived to administer the epidural, but I can remember Annie affectionately telling this man she loved him as well. Boy, she was just full of love today. I thought “This bodes well for me when it’s show time”.

Our initial nurse was replaced at shift change with another nurse, Cheryl. She was about as wonderful a person as we could have hoped for. She appeared a seasoned veteran in the field of labor, and her mere presence put us both at ease. Her calm demeanor, her confident manner; it was more than we expected and a true blessing. Teamed up with our doctor, Dr. Bratz, I can truly say we had the best possible care available.

Around 1:15, our nurse decided it was time to start pushing. I was amazed at how the relaxing birthing room soon transformed into center stage on Broadway. The dim ambient lighting gave way to a bright spotlight focused on what would be the center of attention. The once moderately comfortable looking bed was broken down into what looked like a big chair with stirrups. The spacious seating area was now occupied by various carts with neatly positioned medical equipment, drapes, and blankets. I was by standing by Annie’s side at the time, holding her hand and occasionally mopping up her sweaty forehead with a damp washcloth. Our nurse Cheryl took charge of the situation, and gave clear but direct instructions. I was to hold Annie’s left leg, and let her push against my shoulder for leverage. I was then given the task of counting out loud for Annie to push in 10 second intervals.

The entire process was more of a contradiction than that mentioned earlier. I was happy and excited, but in pain and agony. I hated to see my beautiful bride in so much pain, but I knew the end result would be a miracle larger than anything I’ve ever witnessed. I kept telling her how wonderful she was doing, and how strong she is. I kept repeating the same things over and over, knowing it was probably getting on her nerves, but not wanting her to confidence to falter, even for a second. I think I may have even been “shushed” a time or two, but I was unaffected. I wasn’t going to relent, and I knew I couldn’t. After another session of pushing, I heard our nurse say “I see hair. Look dad, there’s hair”. I looked down, and sure enough, for the first time I got to see my daughter. I saw a patch of dark hair showing through, and felt my heart jump into my throat. If it wasn’t real before, things suddenly got a whole lot more real, and quick. After a short while of pushing and with perfect timing, Dr. Bratz entered the room, and took a seat in the middle of the action. I continued to do my job, and let him do his. Dr. Bratz would update us on the progress in his usual calm, cool manner. A couple pushes later, I watched as our daughter’s head emerged into daylight for the first time. I watched as Dr. Bratz suctioned out her nose and mouth, and heard those first beautiful cries. I looked up and told Annie “She’s beautiful! You’re almost done! You’re doing it!” Another round of pushes, and I witnessed the most amazing thing in my life, as Lilah fully emerged. I couldn’t hold back the tears of joy as they cleaned her off. I was given the scissors and got to cut the umbilical cord. She was wrapped in a blanket and promptly placed into Annie’s arms. I was still overcome with joy, and just looked on as the two loves of my life got to know each other. Lilah was born the picture of perfection, and the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. After a short period of acquaintance, they took Lilah and placed her on the warming bed to clean her up. I remember seeing those large, alert dark eyes taking in the scenery of her new world for the first time.

The first time I held Lilah in my arms, I could do nothing but stare at her beautiful face and marvel at the miracle that just took place. I was finally a proud father, and I knew that looking on from beyond was another proud father; her grandpa Honea. I would be lying if I said the day wasn’t just a little bittersweet. I sure wished my dad could have been there, but I felt good in knowing he was there with me in my heart. That’s what kept my spirits positive and allowed me to fully enjoy the wonder of this perfect day.

The events immediately following Lilah’s birth were pretty ordinary. Our families got to meet her for the first time, and we got to spend our first night with her. I remember not getting much sleep that night, but that fact was due mostly to the night nurses who seemed unable to allow us even a little bit of privacy or peace. After we returned home with our new bundle of joy, things got progressively easier.

At the time of this writing, Lilah is changing every day, and developing a personality of her own. It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that she seems to be emerging as somewhat of a comedian. She seems to enjoy performing for us, and will usually give us one of those sly grins afterward as if to mark a punch line. It’s all in the timing.