Moonlight and time.

My oldest, Joe, went for a sleepover to his Grandmother's house.  Things transpired, as things usually do, and the phone rang at 10pm with a little voice on the other side telling us he wanted to come home.  He had that little tremble in his voice, so we didn't press him much and told him that I'd be there shortly.

The sky was clear, and he was quiet in the back seat until he looked up at the moon.

HIM:  Papa.  Why is the moon so bright?
ME:  (Trying to be as honest as possible, and thinking it would all make sense.) Because the sun is shining on it, man.
HIM:  (Immediately irritated.) No.  The sun is asleep, papa.
ME:  Not on the other side of the world.
HIM:  No.  That's not right.
ME:  (I've given up on giving him any truthful information, and consider my next move.)
HIM:  So?  Why is it so bright?  Really.
ME:  Well.  It's a kind of magic.  (He lets me continue.) The Man in the Moon needs to see what's going on down here, so the magic light shines from his face on nights like this.
HIM:  Whaaaat?  A Man in the Moon?  That's not right, either, papa.
ME:  Yes huh.  Look up there.  Don't you see the eyes and nose and mouth?  And anyway, what if there was no light?  We couldn't see anything at night.  (I look in the mirror and see him smashing his face into the glass to look at the moon.)
HIM:  Hm.  A face.  Okay.

You see it too, don't you?

 

(from L. Frank Baum's "The Woggle-Bug Book" at Gutenberg.org)

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A writer whose work I was quite familiar with died suddenly last week.  During the days that followed many of his peers offered their condolences, and one in particular had an impact.

"We made another of our long-standing pledges to 'get dinner soon,' and of course we never did because we always assumed there'd be more time later. Let that be your takeaway from today, as it is mine: if there's someone you admire or respect, someone whose laugh you'd miss if it were suddenly gone, someone who inspires you, pick up the phone right now and let them know. Don't wait. Time is the enemy of all living things. Use yours well..." 

-Mark Waid, as taken from Comicbookresources.com   

So I wrote a few simple notes this week to people telling them various things I should tell them more often.

Well, hello there.

The Denver Nuggets are irrelevant, and have been since 1994.

Yes, 1994.  The year they beat the top-seeded Seattle Supersonics in the first round of the playoffs.  Don't get me wrong:  we've had good teams.  Hell, they've been in the playoffs for the past seven years.  Imagine being a basketball fan in Minnesota, Memphis, Washington, or Toronto.  Things have been bleak for many other clubs for many, many years.  But, does the likelihood of a playoff appearance imbue a team with relevance?  Not really.  The only thing that should matter, in a market like Denver, is whether they can contend for a championship.

And sadly, since Mr. Anthony was drafted, this team has never had a chance.  They've had one glaring weakness that no championship-caliber team can do without:  Dominance in the paint.  (No, the playoff run of 2009 doesn't amount to much, either.  They finished without a title.)

Hard workers, brilliant scorers, and great leaders have all helped to bring some luster back to the franchise and fill seats in the Pepsi Center.  However, they've only been pieces to a puzzle that won't be complete any time soon.  I'm not doubting the ability, character, or intelligence (well...there's one guy on the roster who still doesn't get it), of any of our current or recently-removed Nuggets.  I'm just stating the obvious.  The current iteration of Nuggets are relevant only for news sidebars and personal interest stories. The last big man to make a difference in the paint for the Nuggets was born in Kinshasa in 1966.

Until we have another beast like him in the middle, consider me unimpressed.
==========

The next one has been much tougher to answer.  Should the St. Louis Cardinals pay The Machine the money he's asking?

Cons
-It's $300 million dollars.  Honestly, I have no idea what that much money would even look like.
-He (reportedly) wants a 10-year contract.  That would put him at 42 when the contract expires.  For a baseball player, that's "getting the early-bird dinner at 3:00pm" old.
-It (along with one other severely bloated contract) could ruin the Cardinals payroll structure and prohibit them from doing virtually anything to build for Pujols' future seasons.
-It is fiscally irresponsible.

Pros
-From a numbers standpoint, he's established himself as the best offensive player in the game for the past ten seasons.
-Barring injury, he will continue to produce.
-He is a draw for attendance.
-The big What If:  What if he can stay healthy and be a dangerous hitter into his late thirties and early forties?  Wouldn't that be worth it?

I'm sure I've left out some more elegant elements of the entire saga, but I think I've finally come to an opinion.  They have to let him go.  As good as he is, I'll stand by the time-honored baseball cliche:  Pitching wins championships.  With Pujols and Holliday being paid what they would be, there would be little left to form a long-term, stellar pitching staff.

In short, Matt Holliday's contract hosed this entire thing up.
==========

I'm quite happy with the progress I'm making on my current story about two men who hate one another but are forced to travel to the same place to tend to something important.  Yes, there's a supernatural element to it, and I imagine it will be done and sent out within the month.

Then, I have one more short story to wrap up before I get to work on the book.
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I wonder if this would be updated on a more regular basis if I thought of it like a newspaper column.  Dedicate myself to writing something once a week.  The problem is, I usually don't have much to say.  And those columnists all get paid for thinking of things to say, so there's that.

A book, a goal, and a temper.

I was in the mood for a good Western.

It might have been some kind of personal record, reading 850 pages or so in a week.  I would have finished in a matter of days, had that pesky work not intruded on Lonesome Dove.  I'd heard my father speak fondly of the television mini-series, was familiar with Larry McMurtry's name, but was rather ignorant of the novel.  This should be required reading for anyone who fancies themselves 'a reader.' 

And it's not a subjective thing.  You'll finish and agree.  It's size is intimidating, but once you're in, you'll be surprised at how quickly everything moves.  Dove is original, heroic, tragic, and devoid of any Western-Gunslinging-Male'centric' cliches.  McMurtry's women are independent, intelligent; the men, young and old, are immature and flawed.  The players are incomplete and therefore completely believable; there wasn't a landscape I couldn't imagine in my mind or a loss that didn't hurt.

Please read this book.  However, skip the author's introduction.  McMurtry includes a sentence or two about the book's conclusion which dampens one of several surprises.

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Several beginning-of-the-year writing goals include finishing three new stories by mid-year and spending the second half of the year working on one long story, that will, most likely, turn into a novel.  Should any of the stories (unwritten or those three currently waiting with fingers crossed) be accepted anywhere, I thought that might be a reasonable occasion to create a damned Facebook page already.

But, then again...I might not.

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Lastly, there's been an interesting development with my youngest son, Jack, which I'm certain I haven't detailed.

Little ones get frustrated quite easily.  Either us foolish adults can't understand what they want, they don't understand our rules and regulations, they don't like the way our food tastes, don't feel like being tickled at such a serious time, or there are times they would just rather be difficult.  They'll cry, collapse on the floor, throw things, attack, slam doors, etc.  But not our little Jack.

He growls.

No, I'm not kidding.  He throttles whatever action figure he's holding, and you can hear the anger build in his chest and burn up to his throat.  Then, he'll stare us dead in the face and growl.  Like a wolverine.  Here's a sample:

US: What, Jack?
HIM: mumble, mumble, mamapapajoejoe.
US: Buddy.  Do you want a snack?
HIM: Face turns red, and he looks cross.  No words.
US: Milk?
HIM: Grinds his teeth and the growl bursts loose.  He is trying to rip the action figure in two for no apparent reason.
US: We look at each other and wonder if we should laugh or be afraid.  And from another part of the room, the older brother jumps in to help.
JOE: Jaaaack.  What's your problem? A giggle.

Jack turns on his brother and the fighting begins.

Fun times!

End of the Year Things

The Best and Worst Things of 2010, as decided by me:

Film
My wife and I spend less time at the theaters now due to 1.) Cost and 2.) Babysitter availability, so we research and discuss and plan our next adventure with extreme caution.  Thankfully, due to several trusted websites and reviewers, we avoid many of the most rotten movies, but also miss out of some of the better ones.  The only potential for change lies in "The Best" category, with True Grit and The King's Speech being the final two we'll see this year.

The Worst:
Valentine's Day

The One That Made Me Laugh Enough To Make My Stomach Hurt:
The Other Guys

The Best Surprise:
Unstoppable

The Best:
Inception

Books
The One I Started Twice But Found I Wasn't In The Mood For:
The Grapes of Wrath
-I know, I know.  Classic.  I'm a terrible person.  It'll get read in 2011.

The Best Short Story:
The Whisperer in Darkness
-The first thing I've read in quite some time that kept me from sleeping well.  Seriously.

The Best:
Watership Down
-I am so thankful to have read this.  Absolute perfection.

Other
Worst Day:
The adventure of temporary daycare.  The boys had spent several days with their new daycare provider and seemed to be enjoying themselves.  They took walks, played with gentle dogs and cats and turtles, were eating and sleeping well, and felt safe.

So, we get to The Day.  It was a Wednesday, if memory serves.  Everything about that Wednesday was rather forgettable in its normalcy.  Conversation, breakfast routines, music, whatever...all as it should be.  Yet, when we arrived at the house and walked to the door, there was a definite change in everyone's posture.  We were...tense.

My youngest, Jack, began shrieking the moment he left my arms, and the oldest, Joe, seemed resolute with his Brave Face.  We squeezed one another tightly there in the doorway, and he moved off towards the toys, stopping with every other step to turn and wave goodbye and say 'I love you.'  I heard the sudden panic crack in his voice and as he turned one final time, everything fell away and he ran back to me, sobbing and pleading.

I stayed a few minutes to calm and reassure, but that was an awful several minutes.  I will say, though, the woman who cared for them was a marvel.  Compassionate and friendly, she genuinely cared for them both and kept them safe and loved.  Thank you, Stacy.

Best Achievement:
Running the half-marathon.  Holy crap, did that hurt.

Jack's Best New Word:
"Co-co."  Short for "cookie."

Biggest Cry About Anything:
The finale of Lost.  I talked about it here, so I'll not repeat.  I was a mess.

==========
Please have a memorable, merry Christmas full of smiles, love, good food and drink, and magic.  Thank you to any of you who happened to read some of the words I've put down this year...I greatly appreciate it.

Some Catching Up

There have been numerous forces prohibiting me from updating this quiet little space for some time, and for that I apologize.  Between Thanksgiving and Christmas preparation, work schedules going a bit wonky, a new story developing steadily, and reading like a maniac, I consistently lost track both of time and The Great Things I'd planned to write about.

But, no matter.  I'm sure the two or three of you reading this weren't that heartbroken.

==========
Albeit a month ago, it seems I was quite right about the path upon which Mr. McDaniels was treading.  I imagine once the season is over we'll hear about a new 'organizational structure' with a true GM and another Executive in Charge of Player Development kind of thing, followed by a few years of mediocrity.  I'm sure it will take quite some time to untie the mess that Mr. McDaniels knotted, redefine everything about the Broncos, and start winning again.

Good grief.

==========
The new story is about a courier.  He delivers troubling things for a company (about which he knows very little) to troubling places inhabited by shadowed, troubling individuals.  But, he gets a regular paycheck, free room and board, and doesn't let it trouble his sleep.  Until it does.

No news on the other strange stories that are being passed to and fro out there somewhere...hopefully someone enjoys one of them enough to pass it along.

==========
As mentioned, I went through a reading frenzy for about three weeks, and finished three books.  The Left Hand of Darkness, Old Man's War, and The Hobbit (for the fourth time) were all enjoyed thoroughly moved to their new place amongst the "finished" pile.  The "unread" pile is finally getting thin, with the exception of two enormously fat volumes that consistently dare me to pick them up.  But I'm saving those for some other day when I'm brave.

On a somewhat related note, in the next few weeks, I'll probably include some of my Best Things from 2010 here.  Anyway, off to the roof I go.  These Christmas lights aren't going to put themselves up...

Miscellanea from the week.

Some thoughts from the last several days:

-A personal aside: I'd long considered the implications of such a decision, but I'm fine with it now: I no longer care about the 'someday' release of George R.R. Martin's forthcoming A Dance With Dragons.  I was a huge fan of the series, but the five year gap between stories, for me, eroded all interest.  I'll not criticize Mr. Martin's writing practices, as his words and plans belong distinctly to him to use as he sees fit, but I will say the long wait has been...disappointing.

-The power went out and my mind wandered and somehow tripped on this one:  Jim Carrey and Matthew McConaughey confound me.  I consider several of their movies fantastic: great stories, great acting, but I leave the theater wondering, "What the hell is going on here?  Why can't they do that all the time?"  I just don't get it.

-Finished the first volume of H.P. Lovecraft (Penguin classics edition), and I'm in desperate need for more.  Such is my adoration of the stories that I hope someday to visit the Brown University library (with an appointment, of course) and see what primary sources of Mr. Lovecraft's yet remain.

-The second episode of 'The Walking Dead' was quite a drop-off from the pilot.  An irritating C+.

-I think I'm finally watching the beginning of the end of Josh McDaniels' term of service.  It may not be this year or the next, but this relationship isn't going to be a lasting thing.

==========
A lovely, yet heartbreaking-because-I'm-a-parent chat I had with my oldest son, Joe, yesterday morning as we walked out of the store.  I was surprised that the answers were natural and just sat there in my mouth, waiting for the next question .  I was holding one of his hands, his other was on the white paper bag which held his precious Wednesday doughnut:

(This is was yesterday, and as close to verbatim as I can get.) 
HIM: Papa, will you always love me? 
ME: Of course!  Forever and ever.  And then forever some more.  No matter what. 
HIM:  Even when I go up to Heaven? 
(I pause for a second because a huge lump of emotion is choking me.  Dammit.) 
ME: Of course!  Will you always love me?
HIM: Yes! Forever and ever.  Even when you go up to Heaven. 
ME: Well, thank you. 
HIM: Papa, will I go up to Heaven by myself?
ME: No.  You'll never be alone, buddy.  I'll always be there. 
HIM: Papa, when I'm in Heaven, will God and Jesus be there to talk to me? 
ME:  I'm sure they'll be there to say hello and talk for a while.  I'm sure they have a lot to do up there. 
HIM: Yeah.  Papa, you and mama and the puppies will all be up in Heaven when I'm there, right? 
ME:  Absolutely, my man. 
HIM: Hm. Good.
ME: Okay.  Let's stop the Heaven talk because that's a long ways away.
HIM: Can I have my doughnut now, please?

Good grief.  Nothing like a nice little chat about the afterlife with a four-year-old on a snowy Wednesday morning, huh?

==========
Congratulations to Troy Tulowitzki and Carlos Gonzalez for their first Gold Glove Awards...here's to many more!

==========
One last thing.  Most of us have lists of things in our heads that I'll call 'Other Things I Should Be Doing With My Time Right Now.'  I don't like them.  Please do me a favor and make sure that whenever you stop and think about the current moment that you are doing precisely what you want to be doing.  If you're not, get up and go and do whatever you really should be doing with your time.

Don't put things off.  Otherwise, you may find vast, maddening gulfs of your life have been spent doing 'Other Things.' And that's no good.

Another wonderful idea from Mr. Gaiman...and some other things

The big boy turned four this week.  There was a party, good food, laughs, and his hoard of action figures grew exponentially.  As difficult as his four-year-oldishness can be some days, I must say that I have never been more proud of anything in my life than I am of him (and someday his brother, I'm sure...he's just not old enough to know what the hell is going on).

==========
The Most Valuable Player awards for this season have yet to be handed out, but our Carlos Gonzalez just earned two of the most impressive awards possible in his first full season with the Rocks.  Earlier in the week, the players in the NL voted him the most outstanding player. Yesterday, his peers continued to recognize his excellence, and he was voted player of the year for the entire league.

The "major" awards for the 2010 MLB season, the MVP and Cy Young, are determined by sportswriters.  As a collective, I'm sure they've all forgotten more baseball than I'll ever know, and due to their breadth of statistical and comparative data, I'm sure they get it right when it comes time to cast their votes.  But for young CarGo to get such high praise from his peers...it's quite an accomplishment for a player who will be a huge name in baseball for years to come.

==========
The cold autumn has arrived.  The icy fall winds have eliminated most of the leaves, so the cold weather running begins.  I bundle and wrap myself in various colors and fabrics and look a bit absurd.  The tears cement at the corners of my eyes as I go.  Snot gets wiped on sleeves and cuffs and so they are crisp when I return home.  Sometimes, the snow and ice blow at my face and it all sticks to my hood and I look like a ragged gypsy popsicle.

And ordinarily, I'm not that tough.  I'm quite pitiful when I'm ill, or when the library doesn't have what I need.  But running in the cold...it's an hour that lets me feel like maybe a small part of me is made of tougher stuff than the other guy.

==========

My favorite modern author, Neil Gaiman, had another wonderful idea.  Read about it HERE!  I plan on participating in such things.  You should, too.

Please find a way to have a strange, frightening, and curious Halloween.  And, should you have a moment, raise a glass to the master of all things terrifying: