127 Hours

It’s difficult to describe the sound. I’ve tried. It’s more than a loud snap. But I know it when I hear it.

There’s no mistaking the sound a bone makes when broken.

And this was the most cringe-worthy scene that came from watching the movie, 127 Hours. This is the film staring James Franco as the hiker from Utah who cut off a section of his arm to escape from a boulder that trapped him deep in the canyons of Utah for 127 hours.

127 Hours Trailer

I read reports of movie goers passing out in theaters due to the amount of blood in the film. It wasn’t the amount of blood that bothered me, but how voyeuristic I felt knowing this happened to a man who survived to tell his story. We know he lived, and that fact gives the story ample substance.

But it’s not the blood or the slicing of skin I’ve been thinking about since I left the theater. It’s that sound I can’t adequately describe. Of course, Ralston couldn’t just cut through his arm. He had to break it first, and that’s the part of the movie I had a difficult time watching. I closed my eyes but not my ears, and when I heard it, my stomach hit the floor.

The sound brought me back to a day in June many years ago. I was two days from finishing 7th grade. Baseball practice was winding down. I decided to stand on a bench and rock back and forth. When I lost my balance, I tried to brace my fall with my left arm still clenching my Wilson glove. When my arm hit the long grass, it stopped while my body slid forward.

For months, I could not get the sound of my arm breaking out of my mind. Even today the thought of that fall still makes me shudder.

You may think I didn’t like the movie, but I loved it. It’s not depressing nor does it attempt to make a hero out of a man who had two choices: die in a rock crevice or take action, no matter how drastic.

He chose to act. Would you have done the same?

Wooden Car Carrier

After goofing around with my kids at the Children’s Bookshop in Kent, we decided to buy this wooden car carrier for Kai’s birthday.

It’s made by Melissa & Doug which makes me imagine a brother and sister team building sacksful of wooden toys from their parent’s garage. But Kim tells me they make quality toys which is another way of saying they are more expensive than they appear.

So far the car carrier has been a success and we haven’t lost any of the cars down the heating vent. I may go back and purchase one for myself. I’m serious. Last year I bought a set of Monkey Benders and took them to work.

You Write A Blog?

I met someone I knew from high school a few week ago. We shared experiences that have taken place over the 20+ years since we last spoke along with the usual, “Have you kept in contact with so and so?” questions.

We talked for a few more minutes. She showed me a picture of her family. I had left my iPhone, that contained a number of pictures, back at the office. So I said, “I have a few pictures of my kids posted on my blog” and gave her the URL.

“You write a blog?” she said. I could tell from her reaction that she was surprised. Maybe realizing how I might take that, she quickly added, “It’s just that…I only remember you being into sports”.

I didn’t take offense. Probably because this identical conversation has taken place at least a half dozen times over the past couple of years. And partially because most of my time in high school was focused on sports. That’s all I gave people to remember me by.

What few of my friends knew about me back then was that I enjoyed writing. I began keeping a journal at 14 years old and continued to jot down my thoughts until I returned from Germany. I returned from Germany having added over 300 pages to my journal during one of the busiest times of my life. I often wrote while sitting on trains crossing the German countryside or by flashlight late at night while trying not to wake my companion.

Over time, I became more confident in my writing skills. I purchased a thesaurus and spent hours looking up words I’d never spoke or written before. I fell in love with the Far Side comic and the way Gary Larson selected words that were intrinsically funny. The cartoon below is one of my favorites. The picture itself is goofy, but the word, ‘vigorously’, is what makes me laugh out loud each time I read it.

Comic writers have so little space in which to get their humor across that each word must be precise and carefully selected. Larson would be a pro at Twitter and texting.

I no longer have to pull out my thesaurus or dictionary. With the internet, almost every tool I need to write is a few keystrokes away. One of my favorite Google Chrome extensions is Google Dictionary which gives me the meaning of any word I double-click. I still reference an online Thesaurus when a word eludes me.

But nothing replaces sitting at my computer and writing. Don’t wait for the perfect topic to pop in your head. Just start writing and you’ll find that topics and themes will come to you more easily and more often than when you’re staring at your monitor. It doesn’t hurt to read books about good writing. This is my favorite such book I read this past year.

And the next time someone acts surprised when I tell them I write a blog, I’m going to saying, “I needed something to fall back on when the Yankees didn’t draft me”.

My Nikon D-40 Is Dead

Well, it’s not really dead. But it might as well be. It sits next to my desk in a LowePro camera bag waiting for the next planned photo shoot that never seems to come along. It’s easy enough to carry around, and weighs no more than a couple of pounds. It’s the best camera I’ve owned.

But it has one major flaw.

It doesn’t have built-in Wi-Fi or 3G or even Bluetooth. That means it doesn’t have a way to connect directly to the internet. Not that those were features I looked for in a camera when I purchased the Nikon two years ago. Today, I can’t imagine purchasing a camera that ignores the internet.

I used to make fun of camera phones. They were a joke. And then I bought an iPhone. It didn’t (and some would say it still doesn’t) come with a great camera. But it continues to improve with each iteration. Best of all, it’s always with me.

The old adage is true: the camera you carry beats the fancy model at home.

All four of these pictures were taken with my iPhone at times I wouldn’t have thought to carry my Nikon. Had I taken them with my Nikon they would have looked better, especially at higher resolutions. But they look good enough to share with friends and post to Facebook. Even a lower quality pictures trumps no picture at all.

Yet, I doubt Nikon or Canon care about people like me. Instead they focus on selling to professionals who will, in turn, purchase expensive lenses and accessories. Then again, when I see these same Nikon and Canon models sold at Costco I wonder if their customers will eventually force them to acknowledge the existence of the internet.

Once I owned a phone with a camera, I began looking for reasons to take pictures. Like the time Kim sent me to pick out a dress for Luca’s baptism. When I found two that matched the description she gave me, I took a couple of pictures and sent them to Kim’s iPhone. The ability to snap a couple pictures took only a few seconds but saved me a return trip to the store. The iPhone was the first camera phone I owned where the pictures looked “good enough”. The apps made them easy to share. That was the tipping point feature for me.

I have over 15,000 pictures of my hard drive. Many of them are better quality than what I can create on my iPhone. But they take greater effort to share. In the time it takes to launch Photoshop on my desktop PC, I can run a picture I took on my iPhone through a filter and post it to Facebook. Speed matters. Ease of sharing matters even more.

The gap between what I can create on my Nikon compared to my iPhone is shrinking with each phone Apple releases. Of course, a digital SLSR will always take better pictures in the hands of a professional. But for many casual photographers like me, the iPhone (or Android or WP7 phones) are plenty good for the majority of shots.

One reason I’ve enjoyed taking pictures with my iPhone is the fun programs that enhance my shots. Two of my favorites are Instagram and Camera Bag.

How about you? Are you taking more pictures these days with your camera phone, or are you carrying your favorite camera around?

Leaving Home to Find Home

I don’t remember the exact day Seattle became my home. But it doesn’t matter because I felt comfortable on my first visit.

It was nearly midnight when I steered a clumsy U-Haul across the 520 bridge that connects Bellevue to Seattle on my way to the University district where I’d live in a studio apartment across from the University of Washington. Although I hadn’t visited many large American cities, I’d spent a couple of years making my way around larger German cities. I was able to make my way around Frankfurt and Koln, so how difficult could Seattle be?

I’d soon find that out that building a city surrounded by water makes GPS a necessity.

I was 26 years old and nearly 24 of those had been spent in Utah. It wasn’t that I was dying to leave Utah after graduation. I more or less stumbled across a job that took me from Salt Lake City to Rock Springs, WY and finally to Seattle. When I accepted the job, I knew there was a chance I’d be transferred to Seattle or Denver. I would have accepted either.

But there was something about Seattle. A bit of aloofness. Political, but not in an annoying way. Ken Griffey posters outnumbered only by Starbucks logos. Or maybe it was Pearl Jam which a friend had recently introduced me to. The song that hooked me was “Black”.

Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin round my head
I’m spinning, oh, I’m spinning
How quick the sun can drop away

Thoughts were spinning for sure. So was my life, but moving to Seattle gave me a glimpse of hope. Each border I crossed, I left a portion of my old life behind. Utah, Idaho, and Oregon. There was plenty to go around, and when I reached the 520 bridge and looked over the edge into glimmering moonlit water, I had no doubt this would be my home for a long time.

It’s difficult for me to understand why so many people decide to live their entire life in one city or state. I’m sure they have their reasons. Maybe their job or family keep them from leaving. Or they are content to stay put. But I’ll bet many fear the unknown. The notion of leaving the familiar for the foreign doesn’t sit well with them. Reminds me of the song, “Taking the Long Way” from the Dixie Chicks.

My friends from high school
Married their high school boyfriends
Moved into houses in the same ZIP codes
Where their parents live

And yet, I understand why people stay close to their roots. Especially when children show up on the scene. I never lived more than 30 minutes from my grandparents. They were part of my life in a way my children will never experience.

Yet, I look back on my decision to leave Utah, which was made during the most tumultuous time of my life, and can’t help but smile. I wasn’t smiling back then very often because I had no idea better days were just around the corner. That turning point is indelibly tied to Seattle.

I was raised in Utah. But I grew up in Seattle.

—photo by S x 2

Speak to Me

Most parents I know want their children to fit in. At school, at parties, at church and with friends, fitting in is important. Standing out from the crowd is OK too as long as it’s for the right reasons. One can see this in school when one student is clearly better at soccer than her classmates. Or at the talent show where a young boy plays Mozart instead of lip-syncing to the Jonas Brothers.

Every parent wants his child to feel accepted. A child’s ability to act and communicate appropriately within context plays a big part in this.

I’ve taken this part of raising children for granted. Our first three children spoke early and often. It wasn’t until the fourth child came along that I realized we were in for some challenges in this area.

Our youngest son, who will be three at the end of the month, has trouble communicating with children his age. To be honest, he has great difficulty communicating with anyone besides his mother.

He tries to speak. In his mind, his is speaking. But other than a handful of words here and there, he’s unable to string a sentence together. He speaks with inflection which tells us he is frustrated when others cannot understand him. That Kai recognizes others do not understand him provides us with hope because that’s a step in the right direction.

We’ve learned that each child develops language on his or her own timeframe. It does little good to compare our son to his three older siblings and their rate of speech development. Each one is different. But, by the age of three, he should be further along than he is today. That we know.

We’ve discussed his situation with our pediatrician. The State of Washington provide speech therapy for children of pre-school age, and we’ve been blessed to live in an area where such skillful counselors and therapist can work with our son. I know many people have his best interests in mind and are working to help him make progress so he’ll be ready for Kindergarten.

But it’s still painful to watch. Especially when his frustration mounts and he lashes out physically. This makes him stand out for the wrong reasons.

I tucked his sisters into bed tonight, and then his brother. When I came to Kai, he pointed at his bed and said a few words I could not understand. I asked him to repeat what he said, and this time I understood the last two words: “by me”. He wanted me to lay next to him like I’d done with his sisters.

So that’s what I did. He wedged himself next to me and gently touched my nose and cheeks. He stared at my face for a while without saying anything. I believe his touch is a way of communicating with me. I wish we could converse. We know he has a long road ahead of him. We pray his speech will improve. Not just so that we can converse with him but so he’ll fit in with children his age.

But for the time being, I have to look for alternative ways of communicating with my son. Like allowing him to help push the lawn mower with me. Or watching his face light up when I toss the baseball before he smacks it across the yard. This is the first time I recall him asking me to lay next to him. I stare into his eyes and wonder what he’s thinking.

“I love you, Kai” I tell him before I kiss him on the forehead and turn off the light.

Kai just looks at me and smiles before leaning over, grabbing my neck and giving me a slobbery kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t have to.

The Many Hats

I have a difficult time keeping track of all the hats I’ve inherited.

For example, I wake up as a father, but must smoothly switch over to my manager hat at work. And then revert back to father and husband when I arrive home.

At times, I wish I could focus on one role, perfect it, before being asked to fill another. But there’s no time for that because I’m a teacher each Sunday while trying to be a friend to someone who needs that part of me, at that moment. And that doesn’t cover the times I’m supposed to be a brother. Or son-in-law, coworker or neighbor.

Too many hat and accompanying responsibilities to keep track off.

And not enough time to transition from one to another. Occasionally, I’ll catch myself trying to manage my children when I should walk through the door as their father, not their boss.

Juggling different hats isn’t easy.

Yesterday, I scheduled a day off work to accompany my daughter on a school field trip. I boarded a bus full of fourth and fifth graders and sat next to the window because Luca likes the aisle seat. The cushy vinyl covered seat grinds into my knees because this bus was not built for anyone over five feet tall. But none of that matters because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Having the opportunity to spend a few moments with my daughter without distractions is rare.

Without seatbelts to keep us attached to the bus bench, every bump in the road sends us bouncing up and down like the gopher in Caddyshack.

We eventually made our way to the riverbank where two women taught us about the life cycle of salmon. We learned about the five varieties in salmon found in the Seattle area (Coho, Chum, Pink, Sockeye, and Chinook). The kids were able to walk near the river’s edge and see a group of Sockeye swimming near the shore. The children talked in hush tones as to not frighten the fish. Even the adult chaperones were mesmerized.

Before we boarded the bus, we had lunch. Luca and I sat on a log and ate our lunch. I drank my Diet Coke and Luca munched on her salt and vinegar chips. There was so much lush scenery to take in that we didn’t say much to each other. But every so often, I heard a notification that an email had arrived.

That dang beep entices me to remove my father hat. It will be a quick switch, I tell myself. Just one email and I’ll tune back in. Luca won’t notice.

But I fought the urge and only pulled out my phone to capture the picture below from where we were sitting. Small gusts of wind sent leaves raining down from the giant maple trees. The sun began to poke through the tree trunks as we finished our lunch and walked back to the bus.

It’s not always possible to keep hats from overlapping. There are times when personal life will interfere with work and vice versa.

But yesterday was a good reminder that I’m a father first. And on those occasions when I get that right, all the other hats seem to fall into place.

Veering Off Into Unchartered Territory

When Kim pulled the van into the driveway, I could tell by her expression that something was wrong. She was returning from taking our boxer to the vet.

But her words didn’t sink in.

Until I took my oldest daughter for a drive later this evening. I waited until we’d passed through our neighborhood before saying anything. She’s old enough to know when something is wrong.

“Elka is sick”, I tell her.

“I know”, she replies.

I veer off the exit heading towards HWY 18 and into unchartered territory as a father. How do I tell my child the that only dog she’s ever owned has a brain tumor? We brought Elka home a few months before we found out we were expecting our first child. That child now wants to know what’s wrong, yet I sense she doesn’t really want to know. Because she already knows.

“How long will she live?”, she asks.

That’s the unknown. Nobody knows how long she will live. We know the tumor has grown enough that’s it’s making her right eye bulge. But that’s it. It’s like someone gave me a grenade to hold. I know it’s going off. I just don’t know when.

Elka was about 1 years old when this picture was taken with Kim.

I try to keep my composure. I take a deep breath. And then another. I know what I want to tell her but the words will not come out. And if they do, I know my emotions will drown them out. The last thing I want to do is upset my daughter. In my mind, I repeat what I want to tell her.

I’m glad it’s dark so she can’t see my face.

“I don’t know how long she will live. The vet will tell us more on Tuesday”, I say as I look straight ahead.

I don’t know what else to say. My head is spinning and my mind is numb. I understand this is part of bringing a pet into our lives. The first few years are spent training and getting acquainted. Those four to six years after that are some of the best. She knows us and we know her. She knows our routine, and there are few surprises. She’s young enough to rough-house with our young children. Of course, they adore her.

But I wasn’t prepared for this past year. Watching her avoiding going up or down steps. Stretching her stiff limbs and retreating to a quiet corner of the house when the kids get too rowdy. And then the grenade handed off to us tonight by the vet.

We find out more on Tuesday, but her prognosis does not look good. We knew that tumors hit boxers as often as any breed. We signed up for that.

When I returned from racquetball tonight, I looked up towards our living room window. Elka was there waiting to greet me. Her body shaking back and forth. Like she’s done hundreds of times.

All I ask God for is a few more.

Learning by Breaking

I learned about computers by breaking them.

Not intentionally. But by experimenting. Which lead to breaking them.

I bought my first computer in 1993 from a mail order business called Zeos. It didn’t come with a soundcard. So I bought one and tried to install it. I did the same with a CD ROM. Neither installation went well. Luckily I have an uncle who is a computer whiz.

Have you ever disassembled a washing machine or another appliance and you get to that point where you’re less concerned in fixing the problem as much as you are about getting it back together?

I was well past that point with my computer. I had wires and cables and cards littering my PC case. I didn’t dare plug it in because I figured there was a high probability it would explode.

My uncle is very methodical. He’d place my computer on the table. Then he’d begin removing those parts that were not in the right place. Once that was done, he’d read the directions for the items I was attempting to install. I know that sound crazy but it always worked. He never made me feel stupid. Maybe he enjoyed the company. But I always come away from those visits with a lot of newfound computer knowledge.

Over time and after many mistakes, I could repair most problems my computer tossed at me. I enjoyed building a new system every few years. From picking the motherboard to researching which chips I could overclock, it was not just fun but educational. Even today, when I interview a candidate for a technical position, I ask, “Have you built your own computer?” That often leads to an interesting discussion. If you’re a nerd.

But things have changed, and I blame the iPhone.

Well, maybe age has something to do with it. Or having four children and less free time on the weekends. But the iPhone shoulders some of the blame.

Let me explain.

Until I owned an iPhone, a day didn’t go by when I felt like tossing my phone against the wall. I’ve owned phones from all the major brands, and they made a day at the dentist feel like a vacation in comparison to using even the phone’s most basic features.

I’ve never owned a Mac. I was a iPod laggard who finally jumped on the bandwagon when the fifth generation iPod arrived. But out of sheer desperation, I bought an iPhone before giving up on all phones.

And that’s when things changed. I no longer had to tinker with dozens of complicated geeky settings to get it working. I wasn’t looking back to the manual to see how to retrieve my voicemail. I just plugged it in, and it WORKED. And not only did it work but it was fun to use. It had personality. It had flair. It didn’t require me to reset it every 30 minutes. What do you mean all the available applications are neatly housed under the iTunes umbrella? Get outta here.

My problem is now I expect other gadgets to “just work”. As much as I learned by installing my own soundcard, I’d rather spend time watching my daughter kick my butt in a game of Boggle or Angry Birds. I understand that Apple is a “closed system” but I don’t care. If the end result is my device works, then that’s a trade-off I’m willing to make.

Apple’s success with the iPhone has encouraged competitors to pick up their game and offer comparable devices. Google’s Android phones are selling like crazy. RIM devices are still loved by those who compose a lot of email, and Microsoft is on the verge of launching Windows Phone 7 which looks great and has been garnering good reviews. The smartphone market is still young with fewer than 20% penetration in the US.

With a number of high quality phones being offered today or around the corner, we as consumers are the big winners.

Planes to Catch and Bills to Pay

There was no chance that life could get any more hectic.

I attended classes at the University of Utah for six hours before running off to work at a law firm for another four to six. When I wasn’t in class or at work, I had my head in a book. Or maybe I was typing away late at night on a term paper due the next morning. No way could my life get any busier.

And then I got married and took a job that required a lot of travel. The few days I had with Kim were spent celebrating my return or preparing for my next trip. We also managed a small apartment complex, and Kim worked full-time. And then church callings came and I found myself sitting in an early morning meeting every Sunday on the only day I had to sleep past 6 am. Saturday morning was out because we had to show apartments to potential tenants. Life was hectic, and I couldn’t imagine it becoming any more so.

And then we purchased a home, added a dog and had four children. What we were thinking?

I look back on those years in college and as a newlywed and they seem carefree and relaxing compared to today. There are times when it feels like there’s little room to breathe between school activities, piano practices, fund raisers and diaper changes. There’s no such thing as a commitment-free weekend anymore.

Kim and I decided years ago that we would not pack our kid’s days full of of extracurricular activities. Our children would like to join more soccer teams and take more dance or piano lessons, but we simply can’t allow that and still maintain our sanity. In addition to church and school, we’ve decided that one commitment is enough for them right now.

I can see how some fathers dive into work and never come up for air until their children are well into their teens. There’s always someone else to raise my kids. There’s always tomorrow, right?

There are days when 5 pm rolls around and I think to myself, “Should I stay later and read my favorite blogs in peace?” The choice isn’t always clear when the alternative is to leave work and join the circus at home that’s already in progress with no signs of slowing down.

My mistakes are there for my children to see. They are impossible to hide regardless of how hard I try to keep them hidden. But I believe my children would rather I was present, mistakes and all, than not around at all. Reminds of Harry Chapin’s “Cats in the Cradle”

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon
Little boy blue and the man on the moon
When you comin’ home dad?
I don’t know when, but we’ll get together then son
You know we’ll have a good time then

And yet, when such thoughts arise, something happens that reminds me how wonderful this time in our lives really is. Like last night when I put Kai to bed and he grabbed my cheeks and gave me an aggressive kiss to the nose before turning over and falling asleep. Or Luca asking me to rub her sore feet. Or Lincoln sneaking up behind my chair at the computer to proudly show me his latest math test.

Before I had children, I would have laughed at the above. They seem like small almost insignificant activities. But they are what bind us together and make the rough times more palatable. String a number of these events together and strong family ties are created.

I figure if my children can approach me today, there’s a better chance they will approach me in the future. When the topics of discussion turn from basketball to boys.

And everything in-between.