Keeping down with the Joneses

July 1, 2009


Before we purchased our house, we snuck a peak at the average utility bills for the family that owned it before us.

They were astronomical. And we knew we could do better.

The reasoning was twofold. First, we knew we couldn’t afford an electric bill that ran nearly three times that from our old house. Second was a matter of pride – that we are able to watch what we use. That, despite our inklings otherwise, we’re armchair conversationalists.

We were lucky enough to see the problem immediately – electric baseboard heating in a very cold basement, connected with its own thermostat, was used more often than needed with two pre-teen boys playing video games non-stop during the winter.

And, we were lucky enough to have something to compare to.

If you knew what your neighbors were using, would you work otherwise? If you could see how you shaped up on average – for example, if you were using less than the neighborhood average, or if you were using more and saw the cost differential – would you make arrangements to change your habits?

According to an article in The Atlantic, energy companies are betting that yes, you would.

It’s being tracked by a company named Positive Energy, and it a new wave of controlling costs through guilt or competition. According to the article:

”In Positive Energy’s reports, a once-intangible bit of social information—how much energy you use relative to your neighbors—is made tangible. Now you can find out not just what people in the same city are doing, but what people in your neighborhood, living in the same-size houses, are doing … but also with customized tips on how to do better.”

Will it work? So far, it has.

”…in Sacramento, where Positive Energy began its pilot program with the Sacramento Municipal Utility District in 2008, people who received personalized “compared with your neighbors” data on their statements reduced their energy use by more than 2 percent over the course of a year. In energyspeak, a 2 percent reduction is huge; with the pilot sample of 35,000 homes, it’s the equivalent of taking 700 homes off the grid. And the cost to the utility is minor: for every dollar a utility spends on a solar power plant, it produces 3 to 4 kilowatt-hours; for every dollar a utility spends on the energy reports, it saves 10 times that.”

So, I say this to my local electric and gas companies: Go ahead. Guilt me into cutting back. Make me prove my ability to conserve.

It sounds like the type of challenge that we all could handle.

Tags: Home, Politics |

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On the loss of innocence

June 27, 2009


Craig is a co-worker of mine, his daughter Addyson born just three days before Isaac. The proximity of time and vocation connected the two births, and had connected the two pregnancies, beginning in November when we first found out.

I went to Addyson’s funeral today. She was nine days old.

The proximity of the two births made her passing so jarring. So close. It’s clouded my thoughts since it happened, my mind imagining what I’d do if it was ours, my heart bruised from questioning why it had to happen to someone so cool. So genuinely caring. To someone who, despite my knowing only on a work level, had quickly become a friend.

Let’s be honest. There’s nothing more heartbreaking than the funeral of a baby; the white casket wheeled in, padded and adorned with teddy bears, small enough to leave nothing to the imagination. There is no doubt that we’re all there to mourn the death of a child. There is no question that it’s going to be hard.

Through the beveled walls and wooden pews, a wave of sadness quieted the room. Nothing – nothing at all, not a single word – can comfort a parent during this. There is only time. And as time hadn’t made its way into their lives, we could only sit. And hope.

Because so few in attendance knew Addyson on a personal level, I suspect we were all thinking the same things. About how horrible it must be to be in that position – to say goodbye to your own daughter, to attend the funeral of a person you had nurtured and raised through the womb, finally to meet her, only to see her taken away before you ever got the chance to know her.

And we were all thinking about what we’d do in that position. During a video of Addyson’s short life, I had to bury my eyes, squeezing back emotion. During a congregation-wide singing of “Jesus Loves Me,” I had to stay silent. I might have been as torn up as the family – not because I was close to Addyson, but because I’m so close to my own children. Because I don’t know what I’d do if they were taken away.

Do we feel worse about the death of a child because of the life we knew? Or because of what we never had the chance to know? When we ache over a young life lost, is it because of what we had discovered – the love we had found while they were still alive – or because of the potential love we could have shared?

It’s the innocence of parenthood – and the innocence of a newborn – that makes everything so difficult. No one believes their child will be taken – after all, in a karmic world, a newborn hasn’t had a chance to learn right from wrong, their innocence shielding them from judgment.

There are times I feel guilty. Though there’s no correlation, I can’t help but feel guilty. Isaac and Addyson were connected, though only through chance. Isaac survived. Addyson didn’t.

But that’s not fair – to us or to Addyson’s family. It’s not about who’s left, but who’s gone – it’s about losing a love before it could even be stoked, finding a soul mate only to have him or her taken. It’s about knowing what could have been – to be within reaching distance – and seeing it disappear.

So I sat, quietly, a whirlwind of feelings – concern, empathy, sorrow. Staring at the ceiling, fighting to keep it together, one person put everything in perspective. Kaiden, Addyson’s brother, a little boy who barely understands the magnitude of the event, looks up at his crying mother and tries to crack a joke. He laughs. I can only imagine a flicker of a smile passed by, a flicker Kaiden picked up on and, loudly, with innocence, asked his mother if things had passed.

“Are you better now?”

Probably not, Kaiden. Especially not now.

But who knows? In time, all of this will pass. Until then, though, it will weigh on our hearts – yes, even ours, those who only witnessed a fit of love so strong it filled the funeral home with emotion despite our distance – and it will continue to remind us of what we have in life.

To never take things for granted. To cherish each hug. Now, and until the end, whenever that is. So that if we’re ever put into this position, we can say with confidence that we’re crying for everything. The past and the future. Each day of a child’s life, and each day yet to come.

Feeling pain for both for what we had and the potential of what could have been. And lamenting the loss of innocence.

Tags: Friends, On... |

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On adapting children’s books: replication vs. recreation

June 24, 2009


Found a great article on The Bygone Bureau by Tim Lehman regarding the remaking of two of my favorite children’s books: Where the Wild Things Are (trailer) and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs (trailer).

From the article:

Turning a 40-page book, half-filled with pictures, into a feature-length movie is daunting, and judging by recent attempts, fraught with failure. (The Cat in the Hat, The Polar Express, and Curious George immediately come to mind, though I have admittedly not seen a one of them.) Matt Kirby identified the main pitfall of the process when he wrote, “Picture books are an art form altogether different from other types of literature. For me, they are an alchemy of story, poetry, and image, almost impressionistic works.”

I tend to agree with every point of the article. While I understand the difficulty in adapting books this short, there has to be a certain level of consistency.

In this case, both books take a different approach to adaptation – Wild Things’ trailer is steeped in the same imagery and soul that made the book such a beautiful exercise in imagination, while Cloudy’s trailer shows a ham-fisted attempt at recreating The Incredibles, only this time with food.

(I’ve already made it known which one I’m most excited for.)

What made Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs so iconic – and cemented its legacy as, hands down, my favorite children’s book of all time – was the art. The hand drawn illustrations, looking more like a Wall Street Journal staff picture than the typical children’s art, showed great detail in documenting something so implausible, yet so creative.

It’s a wonderful article for those who love both books, highlighting how one film replicates the feeling of the book, while the other recreates it.

Tags: Books, Literature, Movies |

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This is not breaking news

June 22, 2009


Seriously?

Let’s be honest. You undermine your position as a Breaking News source the second you post “JON AND KATE FILE FOR SEPARATION.”

And let’s continue to be honest. You undermine your need for privacy by going public in every aspect of your life. Contracts aside, the solution is simple: if you are having trouble with your marriage and you’re going to use the undying devotion of paparazzi stalkers as a main excuse, you should probably consider not allowing a constant crew of camera operators to document every move.

Of course, let’s put this all out there. Jon and Kate jumped the shark two years ago, so we should have expected this. It took itself too seriously. It tried to change lives, when all it ever turned out to be was documentation of a failing marriage. It was destined to either crash or fade away.

Is it asking too much for this to become a harbinger of the future of family reality television? Can we all make the assumption that all the networks want is drama, and all the cameras and lights in the world can’t keep that from happening; no matter your security in marriage, no matter your desire to live a normal life in the fish tank of cable television, no matter your assurances that everything will go on as it always would.

It’s not news. It’s reality. So let’s not treat it like something that has never happened before.

Tags: Television |

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Isaac Joseph

June 18, 2009


I never meant to write a daddy blog.

It’s funny. Just when you think you know everything that’s going to happen, life smacks you behind the ears and reminds you otherwise.

I thought I knew this whole childbirth thing. After going through it with Sierra two years ago, I proclaimed myself an expert.

Yet here I am, still surprised, completely in awe. Unable to do anything but think about being a daddy. Absolutely convinced that, no matter how hard I try otherwise, I can’t write about anything but being a daddy. A new daddy. To a little boy.

Isaac Joseph

Welcome to the world, Isaac Joseph.

Thank you for bringing another Y chromosome into the house. For promising a lifetime of work as Sierra’s foil.

And for reminding me that, despite all of my insistence otherwise – both two years ago and now – Black Marks on Wood Pulp is first and foremost one of those daddy blogs.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra, Vilhauer |

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Living in simpler times

June 15, 2009


We got to go to the balloon races this past Saturday. Though our friends were there, it was solely a family excursion. Just Kerrie, Sierra and me. Just like the zoo a few weekends before that, and just like every night in the backyard over the past month.

Last night, we followed it all up with a trip to Dairy Queen. Dinner led to dessert. Sierra’s constant repetition – “ICE CEEM COON ICE CEEM COON” – was both cute and disturbing, though we were convinced we should fulfill her wish. After all, it was only an ice cream cone, to that point only seen in pictures, only a distant reality in a children’s book.

And it was one of the last she could have in this situation. Just Kerrie, Sierra and me.

Sierra’s ice cream cone continued a vow we made to ourselves – never verbally, never consciously, but a vow all the same. To cherish these last few days alone with Sierra. To remember what it was like when our family was just three people and a dog.

I mentioned before that our time in our old home would be an experience that only Sierra could claim. Something special she had as the older sister – as our first child; a reward for putting up with our flailing attempts at learning parenthood.

Parenting may be easier with Baby Boy Vilhauer. It will certainly be more familiar.

But regardless of the benefits that come from being number two, Sierra will always hold one thing that Baby Boy never will – memories of a first home. Memories of a smaller family. Memories of growing up and teaching us how to love something more than life itself.

It’s not that much longer before Sierra is forced to share her life with another child. I know it will be a change, but it’s a change that she’ll accept. Because she cares enough for other people to understand what it means to have a little brother. It’s instinct with her. It’s the most natural thing I could imagine her latching on to.

Until then, we’ll look back on these simpler times with joy. With a touch of nostalgia, I’m sure – not because we don’t love what’s going on, but because we equally loved this point and can never get it back.

It’s funny. I’ve been tethered to the idea of nostalgia for years. Looking back and remembering the best is something I’ve stubbornly clung to, something I constantly fall back on despite knowing I should simply stop and enjoy the good times.

Like going out for ice cream. Just Kerrie, Sierra and me. I knew what I would miss at that point. But it didn’t stop me from enjoying every minute.

Sierra teaches me something new every day.

Tags: Isaac, Sierra, Vilhauer |

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16-Page Read: The Velveteen Rabbit

June 12, 2009


The Velveteen Rabbit By Margery Williams
The Velveteen RabbitTwo years ago, we read The Little Prince to Sierra.

She wasn’t born yet. It wasn’t an act of consciousness for her – simply a vehicle for getting her used to my voice: the second voice in her life, and the one she often heard when her mother’s was quiet. She didn’t pop out quoting lines from the book, and her propensity toward books is caused more by availability than some deep-seated memory of reading while still in the womb.

It doesn’t matter. We read it to her anyway. And with Baby Boy Vilhauer, we repeated the task – this time with The Velveteen Rabbit.

I understand that Baby Boy Vilhauer probably won’t remember a word from The Velveteen Rabbit.

But that’s not exactly the point, is it?

Really, we read it for ourselves. We both rediscovered the simple joy in making something real – remembering our own Velveteen Rabbits, those childhood items that we loved more than anything, believing they held some kind of magic powers that keep us safe from evil.

Our minds flowed back to the innocence of youth, finding comfort, understanding that as we grow, our own cherished things become more fragile. Harder. Unwilling to protect us. I find no solace in an old clock, or in the cold sharpness of a family keepsake. But I do see that comfort in Sierra’s toys. As if they weren’t designed for play, but for protection from some unseen tragedy. Designed to keep people young, to preserve that innocence.

More than that, we understood that, by reading The Velveteen Rabbit to Baby Boy through the constricting nature of the womb, we were reaching out to him. Longing to meet him.

The Velveteen Rabbit became, without doubt, Baby Boy’s book. That’s an important connection in our household – a story that will forever be connected to a time and place; laying in bed, Kerrie propped on her side, we went through all 33 pages in two nights, reliving the memory of a classic story, and introducing it to our next great discovery.

Sierra had that with The Little Prince. And, though I understand it’s all coincidence, she has grown to be a caring and peaceful individual, seemingly learning from the lessons of that book.

If our baby boy can move forward with his lessons – on accepting everyone, on loving without barrier, and on the importance of believing in yourself – we’re confident that his first book will be as meaningful to him, even if unknowingly so, as it is for us.

Tags: 16-Page Read, Books, Isaac, Sierra |

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