On changing daycares

August 28, 2008


We officially switched day cares today.

Technically. In reality, we have a week off in between where Sierra will not need daycare.

And though it was the right thing to do, we can’t help but feel a little trepidation.

It’s a big change. And how will Sierra handle it?

Most importantly – how will we handle it?

It wasn’t gross negligence that forced us to change – it was distance. Sure, a series of ever-present pet peeves brought it to the forefront, but my 45-minute drive to daycare and then to work wasn’t working out anymore.

We feel strongly about our daycare provider’s ability to take care of Sierra. She was good at it. And Sierra loved her. We couldn’t have asked for a better person at the time – a home setting, with Sierra being the only newborn, the only attention-grabbing baby, with plenty of love to give.

So it’s only natural that we still feel a little bittersweet about the whole thing.

After all, who was it that showed genuine love for Sierra, a love you don’t find in your typical center? Who was it that said to us, “Sierra has had more of an impact on me than any other child outside of my own?” Who was it that welcomed another child into her home, at eight weeks old, and treated her with the same gentle spirit we would have ourselves, who stood in for us when we needed to leave, who became a solid rock in the ever-changing life of a baby?

We tried to show her how much it meant, the time she put into helping Sierra grow into the bright, energetic one-year-old she has become. We gave her a gift, told her thanks, tried to brush it off as business-as-usual. And she did the same.

Those bonds are difficult, though, like the feelings a teacher has for his or her favorite students – a feeling of guardianship, of not knowing what their life will become after leaving your watch. Emotions are a bitch, it seems. They tie us together, even when we’re trying to get away.

I am fully confident we made the right choice. But that doesn’t help the feeling I have. It’s change, and as an overprotective father, who has nothing greater in his mind than the livelihood and future of his only daughter, I can’t help but feeling a little uneasy.

But I can always rest assured. If things don’t work out, her spot is still open.

That’s a relief. It’s a back-up. A choice. It’s not all or nothing; instead, it’s faith that no matter what happens, Sierra’s going to be in good hands, whether it’s at her new daycare or back at the original.

And that’s the best gift we could have asked for.

Tags: On..., Sierra |

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The first day of school

August 18, 2008


Sometimes it’s hard to believe I was there once, scanning my schedule one last time before I ran to my next class, anxiously memorizing the room number. Because let’s face it, there’s nothing dorkier than stopping in the middle of the hallway and checking your destination; nothing has ever so perfectly predestined a cruel de-booking, a cackle, an entire audience turning on a swivel, looking your way. Standing out like a construction cone.

But I was. Twelve years ago I started my senior year of high school. On a day much like today, I’m sure – a cool summer morning, hiding its intentions under a guise of ozone and cloud cover, waiting until noon to spring out and melt everything you had foolishly left on your vehicle’s dashboard; a wet trail of grass, beaten down by hundreds of new shoes, left wasted and muddy from the parking lot to the front door.

You’d sit down, a little melancholy, waiting for the bittersweet first bell. Summer, as you knew it, was over – seemingly over faster than last year, if you remember correctly. Yet, this was a time of adventure. You had no idea who would be in your class, how difficult your teachers would be, whether you’d suddenly realize you enjoyed a subject. It was the perfect clean slate. It was, for some, the best day of school all year.

Driving by today, I got that pit in my stomach again. The same one you’d get in homeroom, waiting for the year to finally start. At the stoplight, I felt strangely nostalgic as I watched the kids file from their cars, meet their friends, don their new backpacks and hike inside, across the same halls I once did, to the same lockers I once occupied.

Lincoln High School, the only alma mater I actually feel some connection to. The only time I had teachers who really inspired me.

And then the light turned green. I looked away, faced forward, and drove off. Toward what twelve years ago would have been considered the future. What, to me, is simply considered “the now.”

Tags: Career, Education, On... |

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Summer storms

August 12, 2008


Through the window comes the smell of disturbed earth. Like blown dust in a long forgotten garage, miniature specs of scent floating in through the screen, carried along by the raindrops as they crash into the sidewalk.

Each car that drives by sounds like paper ripping. The rain is like a prolonged applause.

Thunder shakes the house. I jolt awake, but settle back to sleep knowing that there’s nothing better than opening up the windows, wide, to their fullest opening ability, and dozing off to the sounds of a thunderstorm.

Midnight dark, damp, cool and breezy. The occasional ruff from Becket. The sheets pulled up tight to stay warm.

Nothing says summer more than that.

Tags: On..., Outdoors |

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On inclusion

July 28, 2008


Michel Gondry’s Be Kind Rewind is clever, integrating a series of movies into a movie. It’s the story of sweding. It’s got Mos Def and Jack Black. It’s not brilliant - it has it’s flaws. It’s exactly what you’d think it would be – creative, fun, at times subtle, completely off kilter.

And to me, it was touching.

The word doesn’t seem to fit. Touching? In a movie starring Jack Black? In a movie about re-recording video tapes because they’ve all been magnetized by some idiot in a junkyard?

Yes. Touching.

Be Kind Rewind’s premise is that an entire video store of VHS tapes has been ruined. Erased. And in order to keep the business afloat, a couple of guys take a camera and start remaking the movies. In order to fool the customers, they think.

What happens, though, is that people enjoy the remakes for what they are. They become very popular. They see the power of what they’re doing, and they start offering their customers a part in the process.

This is where it gets touching. This is where the true story is. The heart of the film isn’t a group of zany antics and goofy spoofs. Be Kind Rewind is about inclusion, about being a part of the scene. About not settling for what the biggest entities give you – about carving out your own little niche.

It’s what strikes all of those who strive to be creative, who embrace an art form and want to make it theirs. They want to be part of the fun. They don’t just want to watch movies –they want to be in them. To see them as real. To influence the direction, to cater to themselves and people like them.

It’s what has led to the blossoming of user-generated content. Blogs allow those of us who love reading the published word to become published. Just as video cameras allowed us to make our own films, just as affordable cameras allowed us to become photographers.

Because at one point, it was impossible to be part of the scene without extraordinary talent, without the right connections and knowledge and schooling and tools. Over time, the line between production and audience has blurred. To the detriment of the art, I’m sure some would say. To the benefit of everyone involved, I’d argue.

In the end, we all want to be included. We have the urge to be a part of something bigger than ourselves. It’s a desire that wrenches our guts, that leaves us wanting, grasping for a place. Most of us would gladly do it without much credit, without much notice.

We’d know. That for one moment, we could touch the silver screen. For one moment, we could smell the chemicals from the dark room, the dust from the printing press, the sounds of the editing room. We could make our mark, be noticed, leave a legacy, leave anything.

That’s community. Everyone involved. At once. In harmony. Included in the process. Amazed by the product.

Tags: Blogging, Movies, On... |

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The search for four

July 16, 2008


What’s the number one number these days?

That’s easy. Four.

As in, Four Dollar Gas. As in, gas stations are scrambling to locate their fours, digging through closets and ransacking their number bins.

Because think of it this way – most gas station number kits probably come with a standard number of fours. Maybe three, or four, or six at the most.

But what happens with gas reaches $4.40, as it has in New York? Well, according to the New York Times, you make do with a little creativity. You make more fours yourself.

With regular gas in New York City at a near-record $4.40 a gallon, station managers are rummaging through their storage closets in search of extra 4s to display on their pumps. Many are coming up short.

That’s why Vishal Nair, who runs the Lukoil station at Eighth Avenue and 13th Street in Greenwich Village, took another plastic number last week, turned it over and scribbled “4” on it with a black magic marker. The result was an obviously homemade “$4.47,” but it would have to do until he received the extra 4s he ordered months ago.

And here’s something you might not know – in New York, there are regulations regarding the size, font and clarity of gas station sign numbers, created by the Department of Agriculture and Markets. Handwritten numbers aren’t necessarily allowed, though the Department seems to have backed off a little.

“People are running out of 4s and 5s, so we’re allowing them to post makeshift numbers as long as they are the right size,” [Jessica Chittenden, a spokeswoman for the state’s Department of Agriculture and Markets] said.

Which means there are positive effects to this sudden gas hike. The companies that produce the plastic numbers for gas stations? They’re frantically producing fours, sending them out as orders and stocking up for the long run. Just like they did with the threes a year ago. And twos a couple of years before that. They’re experiencing a boom, and while others grumble about the rising gas prices, they are benefiting from the entire ordeal.

And this isn’t even taking into account older gas pumps - those with dials instead of digital readings - that were never created to even reach two or three dollars per gallon.

Has there ever been a seismic shift in need for one digit before? In any single letter, symbol or number, for that matter. Aside from creation of a new symbol, like the euro, I can’t think of a single time when something like this happened so quickly.

It’s a fascinating look at frequency, really. Unlike a word falling out of general usage, this is firsthand experience with a change in the culture of communication. Like when words are added to the dictionary. Or when an entire country adopts a new catchphrase. Language trends take decades to make themselves known – this is happening in a matter of months.

With talk about the tipping point on gas consumption and the need for fuel-efficiency and the drive for energy independence rushing at us in the wake of looming economic disaster, it’s refreshing to see some of the little things. The quirky things that lie below the surface of this gas mess.

Like the fact that, love it or hate it, we all need more fours in our lives these days. I think this might be the most interesting thing I’ve learned about today.

It’s a good time to be the number four.

Tags: On..., Politics |

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On antique photography

July 11, 2008


McKennan ParkEarlier this week, Kerrie sent me a link to a set of old photos from McKennan Park, a local park that serves as the landmark anchor and main appreciation factor for homes in our area. It’s the 100th Anniversary of the park this year, and the photos date back to the early beginnings of the park.

They’re old, cracked and sepia toned. They’re lovely, actually. This type of photography is always stirring, the treatment outlasting the images, with even the most awkward looking composition made better by age. They look great because they’ve lasted so long. They’re a visual representation of an abstract thought: history.

These images have weathered everything, both physical and historical. They’ve lasted through dust and The Dust Bowl, through cold and the Cold War. They’re vessels of memories, physical prints of personal achievement.

McKennan ParkOur favorite pictures were those of children swinging. The wooden swing set and period garb are in stark contrast to the post-production digital images we take with our new camera.

And when Kerrie wondered aloud how she thought our swing pictures would look in another hundred years, I got to thinking. Will they age in the same way? Will we ever see anything like these old McKennan pictures ever again?

With the advent of digital photography and sites like Flickr and Photobucket and Shutterfly, more and more people are simply moving their photographs from camera to Web, or at the very least from camera to computer. Fewer people are having their images printed.

Without this, how will pictures age? Without being exposed to the elements, how will we be able to enjoy the treatment of time?

I can add sepia tone to every image I upload. But it’s not the same.

So the question is, are we losing this aspect of photography? Have we eliminated the possibility of age?

Is it actually a good thing?

Tags: On..., Photography, Sioux Falls |

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Scanning the dial

June 12, 2008


When I was younger, I would lie in bed with my Sony Walkman and scan the radio stations.

The tuner was phenomenal. Whether by nighttime resonance or a fluke in manufacturing, I was able to pick up radio stations from thousands of miles away, as if my Walkman had been equipped with a guerilla shortwave function. I would listen to Seattle Supersonics broadcasts. I would pick up Southern Baptist sermons from Tennessee. All from my room near downtown Sioux Falls.

As my fingers rolled the dial, I would find myself transported into someone else’s listening experience, like uncovering a letter someone had meant to mail but thought otherwise.

I found it to be phenomenal at the time. I was traveling, picking up rogue signals from a place I had never realized existed. I was eavesdropping on someone else’s community, tapping into their signal and making it my own.

It didn’t matter what they were talking about. Just that they were talking, just talking into the air, hoping someone would pick up their comments, hoping somehow they would make a difference. And that I was listening, from where I was, a million gallons of air separating us.

Now, when we camp, we tote along a short-wave radio. At night, we often scan the channels, staring into the fire and reaching out to the world. We hear radio from Japan, from China, from France. The world is condensed and brought together in our hands, so that after several beers we feel like world travelers, leaning back and listening, just as I did with my Walkman, to so many voices from so far away.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s what we’re doing in the blogosphere. Some sites have signals that are a little stronger, so they’re picked up by everyone. Others, like this humble little site, are tripped upon by people wandering through my section of the dial.

Sometimes I wonder if people just stop and listen, even for a little bit, because they too are traveling throughout a world full of messages, though this time the messages are a lot clearer. A lot easier to find. Just as muddled, but pointed all the same.

And I do the same thing I did then. I’ll roll my thumb over the dial. I’ll land on someone else’s blog, read their thoughts, move on. Sometimes I make it back. Sometimes I don’t. Either way, I feel like I did back then, in bed, searching the airwaves for a different voice, something I could sneak up next to and experience from a different angle.

As a stranger. And as a traveler.

Tags: Blogging, On..., Vilhauer |

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