Les Miserables

The cast and production were magnificent! We had great seats for our last show together before Daughter One moves to Florida to resume her career with Disney. And it was worth every penny, of which we spent many.

I’ve seen some great shows over the years, including Wicked,  Joseph,  Ka,   One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, the list goes on. But this one was special.

All these people – the performers, the lighting and effects folks, some truly fantastic musicians, the production staff – everyone plied their skills to give us a truly wondrous experience. We know something about the years of commitment on the part of each of these folks that allowed them to come together last night to provide us with a moment together that we  could have gotten in no other way.

Standing ovations have become de rigeur at high school productions these days. But it’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen an audience actually brought to their feet.

Whoever you are and whatever you do, do that thing as well and with as much passion as these did these performers last night, and the world will be better off.

To each and all of you involved in this production, seriously thank you!

Bonus: To love another person is to see the face of God. Quite possibly my favorite line of all time.

No winners?

So, the trial is over and the big time football coach stands convicted of heinous crimes against children. I won’t use his name here, because I don’t want to provide a metatag that brings crazies to my little blog. But I’m guessing you all know the case to which I refer.

I’ve read several accounts, ever aware that you can only seek out so much information before that in itself becomes a sort of squeamish form of voyeurism. And that’s a third rail I really don’t want to touch.

Several commentators have echoed the old saw that “there are no winners” in a case like this. And I suppose there’s some truth to that. After all, clichés become clichés because they contain a measure of truth.  Or at least, they resonate with folks.

So I know I’m about to swim against the tide a bit. Here goes: I think there are winners in this case.

First, a predator is off the streets and removed from a position he habitually used as a lure for his victims. That’s a win for every kid he won’t molest in future.

Next, this is a major win for 10 young men who’ve been told this week that ultimately, their personal safety and privacy is more important than a famous man’s reputation or freedom.

We all win by reinforcing the principle that adults owe safety and security to children. Any adult, any child, period. And adults who step outside that principle deserve our censure.

 We win when a university president and head coach who knew or should have known what was going on are forced out in dsgrace.

We win when we as a society display an appropriate measure of balance. We do not grant a free pass to predators simply because they’re really good at playing a game. Or because they’re politicians, or entertainers, for that matter.

Personally, the one disappointment  for me – other than the fact that this happened and to so many kids for so many years – is that the criminal’s conveyance to jail was so calm, mild even. He was handcuffed in front, wearing his nice jacket and was courteously escorted and instructed on fastening his seat belt.

Come on, folks! This wasn’t a disagreement among gentlemen. It wasn’t a peccadillo.  This guy is a child molester. Those two words convey horror. This is the beast among us who has finally been brought to heel.  He should be surrounded by shouting, spitting townsfolk carrying torches and brandishing scythes. The air around him should be filled with shouts and shaking fists, rotting vegetables and lumpy spittle.

He should be drug through the streets with a sign around his neck and his hair shorn, bleeding at the knees and with fear in his eyes. But he won’t be.

We don’t do that sort of thing, even to our most egregious offenders. And for very good, well-settled reasons.  We won’t drag him through the streets in disgrace. We won’t lop off his wanker or throw him down a deep hole or consign him to Coventry. As satisfying as those actions might be to some of us, we hold ourselves to a higher standard in how we treat even the worst among us.  Too bad, but necessary if we are to be who we claim to be.

But there is some satisfaction to be had in a simple fact – one of the worst will never again walk among us. For this at least, we’re all winners.

A certain quality of light

Walking from the bus this evening, I was taken aback by how gorgeous the weather was. It had been raining cats and dogs last evening and spitting on me while I waited for the bus this morning. On the ride home, I got into my reading and between that and my iPod, didn’t look around much. But then I was walking the block home and realizing I didn’t need my hoodie.

After letting the canines out of doggie jail, I sat in one of the Adirondacks to watch the dogs play. And looking around, I realized it was one of those special days.

When it’s been raining and then stops, I swear the light is special. I know the grass is perked up by the nitrogen and the scud is out of the air. But I would swear the light is different.

It’s yellower, or something. And clearer. And you just sit there and drink it in.

It was a good evening. 

Photo of a dog

I don’t know why it’s true but it is a fact that people who love dogs tend to define their lives through the dog’s eyes.

There’s a photo that’s been sitting on my nightstand for just about ever. It’s the snapshot that a guy from work took of “Bruno” so he could bring the photo to work. See, he and his wife had rescued the mutt from the pound but found they couldn’t keep him and now were leaving for a vacation in the UK.

Bob was frantic to find a home for Bruno, because the pound from which they’d rescued him was full beyond capacity and Bruno had already been slated for euthanasia when they’d adopted him. Admitting defeat and returning him to doggie jail was simply not an option.

Bob and I weren’t particular friends and while Mary and I loved dogs, it wasn’t the best timing for us to take on the responsibility of a new pet. But, well, the picture said it all.

Bruno is standing there next to Mrs. Bob, his tail down but not as a cur – he’s simply not sure of what the future brings. He’s holding some unidentified toy in his mouth in a way that suggests he’s not at all sure that if he puts it down, it won’t be taken away. So he just holds it. And waits patiently.

He’s asking a question but not about himself. The question is whether I, the viewer, am up to the task of guaranteeing his future. Bruno is as ready as ever a dog has been to be loved by a family that will return his trust.

Swear to god this is not me waxing poetic. It’s all there in the picture. If you’re a caring person, the decision to take home a dog that will be with you for – in this case – a decade has more to do with judging oneself than with judging the dog.

I took him home for what was to be ten days and of course, became ten years. In his first hour with us, ‘Bruno’ became Sam and Sam he would be until the early morning years later when Daughter Two would cradle his head while he drew his last breath.

When I look back on the years he was with us, so many of my memories revolve around him. I recall the big earthquake when I was alone writing with Sam at my feet and he was calmer than I during the rock-and-roll adventure. There was the big November snowstorm that involved all the neighbors coming together to help each other through six days with no power but for which the defining memory for me is trudging for blocks around the neighborhood after the escaped and frolicking Sam until he tired of the game and not being able to really be mad at a dog delighting in his first big snow dump.

I frequently call to mind the image of Sam trying to bury a live squirrel and the look of disgust on his mug when he realized I did actually expect him to let the poor thing go.

And of course, I can’t let go of the look he gave me that let me know I had to man up and wake the family for his last ever trip to the vet. We didn’t think we’d have a dog for awhile after that night but it wasn’t long before ‘Midnight’ came home with us and became Odin, followed by ‘Daisy’ who became Zoey.

And our lives today are defined in large part by how we interact with these dogs. Our rhythms are defined by their needs.  Feed them, let them in our out, put them in the run. Building the run was a project that represented our largest expenditure that year in terms of both money and physical effort. It involved cutting down and stumping out three major trees, digging out and laying a foundation of the rubble left over  from our friend Bjorn’s erstwhile patio, installing the fencing, shoveling eleven tons of pea gravel, building the deck for the doghouse and the house itself. In short, a big job. You do what you need to do to keep your canine buddies safe and out of mischief.

We’ve learned not to leave oven mitts out lest Zoey chew them up. And we have to mop up water after Odin drinks and drools water like a dredge clamshell as he walks away.

It’s not all labor and annoyance. The dogs provide security when a daughter is home alone and guard Mary’s bed each night when I’m on business travel, which is often. And they’re ready to play or be patted at a moment’s notice.

Dogs can be a real pain in the caboose. And I can’t imagine a life without them.  They’re part of the fabric of our lives.

The photo on my nightstand gets covered in half-read books and spare change until I get industrious and straighten up. And every time I see the picture of then-Bruno emerge from the clutter, I see the question in his eyes and I know we passed a test as a family.

Some definitions relating to a commencement ceremony

Sublime: The knowledge that your offspring is surpassing you in so many ways.

Cold: The wind in Ellensburg yesterday.

Butt cold: The wind in Ellensburg yesterday after the first hour in the stands of the stadium.

Effing ridiculous: The bite in the wind in Ellensburg as we walked back to Daughter One’s cottage after the ceremony.

Mighty fine: The live music provided by the orchestra.

Satisfaction: Enjoying the ceremony with Mary and Daughter Two.

Amusing: Watching Daughter One and her buds struggle to retain their mortarboards in the gusts.

Insufferable: The commencement speaker, who only wanted to talk about herself.

Inspired: The student speaker- if it couldn’t be our daughter, this guy made it all right.

Generous: Mary’s decision to be the driver on the way back. We were both thoroughly whomped by then.

Wonderful: Leaving Daughter Two for a slumber party with Daughter One and her college buds. They needed the seester time.

Gleeful anticipation: Our feeling about the Bjornbecue planned for tonight with Bjorn, Susan, Daughter One and also, Daughter Two.

Mixed: Our feelings about Daughter One going off to Orlando to begin her life.

Profound: The respect I feel for Daughter One.

Changes

I guess I’m in a Phil Ochs frame of mind; hence, the title of today’s missive.

Daughter Two arrived home from college last night and of course, after hugs and tears and whirling, spinning dog greetings, we settled in with her favorite coconut cream pie to chat for a bit. We’d been looking forward to time with her for every day of the months since we’d last been together.

The thing is, she looked like our daughter and her voice was familiar. But the young woman sitting on the love seat trying to talk around chunks of crust and coconut shavings wasn’t the girl who left here for Boston.

Yeah, I know, it’s to be expected. We knew she’d have new insights, a more evolved self-image. What we didn’t – couldn’t – expect was that her way of framing her self-image has changed. She’s examining her intent and motives and progress in a way that we could never have helped her realize. And the level of her introspection is truly impressive.

It sort of illuminated for me a truth that we didn’t learn yet with Daughter One, who went to college close by, allowing for quite frequent visits. One has grown incredibly over the four years that will culminate in her Saturday graduation but as a parent, you’re less aware of changes that appear gradually and so she’s still entirely familiar.

Two has grown outside our range of vision and therefore, the changes are more jarring, if no less welcome. And with One going off to begin her career with Disney in Florida, henceforth we will know both daughters more from occasional snapshots than from a real-time motion picture.

I actually think I like this new mode of knowing them. It’s so much more revealing. If only it could somehow include actually seeing and touching them more often.

An interview

Mary and I were engaged and I was moving from San Jose to Fresno, where we intended to set up marital shop. Which meant finding a new job.

I was called to the L.A. headquarters of the company that was locating a printing plant in the Fresno area and needed a manager to set up all the new business relationships, manage the move, etc.  They'd called me in for a ‘360,’ meaning I went through seven interviews in six hours.

It was a grueling experience, but as I walked to my car at the end of the day, I felt the interviews had gone well, I wanted the job, but was afraid to be too confident.

The parking was across the street from the company offices and as I pulled out of the lot to head back to Fresno, I noticed several of my interviewers waving madly at me through the office windows. “Wow,” thought I, ” I must have REALLY made a great impression on them! Yowser!”

I waved back, which only caused them to gesticulate more wildly. Some of them were emphatically pointing at me, leading me to believe I had the job and they were thrilled to let me know I was the one.

I was tempted to bask in their whole-hearted acceptance and embrace. But just then, I got a break in traffic, so with a final wave and smile, I pulled out into traffic and made the right at the end of the block.

About that time, the cop’s lights behind me brought me back to earth. I pulled over and sat with my hands on the wheel while he got off his bike and sauntered up to my window.

“What’s the problem, officer?” said I, hoping I looked as mystified as I felt.

Without a word, he reached above the car, retrieved my briefcase and handed it to me through the open window, then turned on his heel and walked back to his motorcycle.

It was a long drive home that night.