Jumping Through Generations

It wasn't the strands of bright silver hair that did the trick, startling as they were to see in the mirror the other morning. No, what did the trick was a three year old boy with a handful of pebbles.

I've known for a while that I'm technically a grown-up. I'm 31, living in a different time zone from my parents, and engaged. I work full time and pay taxes. Now in Santa Cruz, I even pay for garbage and water, and if that isn't a hallmark of being grown up, I don't know what is. But I know all this and still feel like a kid most of the time. I don't feel that much different than I remember feeling at 10 or 20; I just drink a little more.

Tonight I walked to Dig Nursery after work for a pop-up supper club dinner with Marina and her sister, mom, and nephews. After we got wine, Marina, Valerie, Boden and I stepped outside into the courtyard. After a few moments, I found myself apart from Marina and her sister, standing next to Boden as he scuffled in the stones. As I watched him pick up handfuls of pebbles, only to let them waterfall back to the ground--except for the random stones that vanished down his sleeves, much to his consternation--I thought to myself, "How do I herd him back to his mother?" But then I thought, "No, let her have a conversation with Marina. You can watch the kid for a bit."

The significance of this didn't hit me until my third glass of wine, while I was sitting at the long makeshift banquet table. In reflecting on that moment, I suddenly reframed my universe and saw myself as my uncle must have seen himself when tending to me when I was young. All of a sudden, I was in a different generation, my parents' generation, watching over a nephew, and the silver hair on my head took on a subtly different significance. Not a bad significance, or even necessarily a disturbing one, but definitely one of those snapshot moments that you would see in an art-house movie about growing older.

All of a sudden, there is someone younger than me. I no longer can see myself as the young kid; I'm in the generation that can be an uncle. It's an interesting shift in perspective.

Santa Cruz: It Just Keeps Topping Itself

Surfing is big in Santa Cruz. I mean, really big. I'm talking cetacean big. That's right, even whales and dolphins come out for the Santa Cruz surfing.

Here's another example of the ridiculousness with which this new home keeps setting the bar high for idyllic moments, only to raise it still higher: on our daily stroll after work, we walked along West Cliff Drive towards the lighthouse where the Coldwater Classic surfing competition was happening. As we neared the crowds gathered along a promontory, Marina grabbed my arm and pointed out beyond the kelp beds, beyond where the surfers gathered to begin their runs. Flashes of gray and silver arcs, up and out of the water, a pod of dolphins frolicked. That was pretty exciting and soothing, and my feeling of well-being, a feeling that has settled on me ever since the move, was strengthened. Seriously, a five minute walk from home and I'm seeing dolphins? Can't tell me I'm not a lucky boy.

And then, five minutes later, as we were watching the wet-suited surfers corkscrew their way along the ridges of water, two big spouts maybe fifty yards from shore, two big backs sliding out of the water. Whales, close enough to see, as close and as vivid as I remember from my childhood experience in Fort Ross, when I remember seeing a pod of migrating whales from the cliff. The difference is, my childhood memory must have be playing tricks on me, because I wasn't that close to the whales. My imagination filled in the details. This moment today was very real. It became clear that there were several whales just off shore, and the frequent spouts transported me to a childlike joy.

I say this as someone who has actually touched a grey whale from a panga; this was every bit as special a moment. When you answer calls all day for work, when things are crazy and intense and there is barely a respite, it all becomes worth it when you can walk outside and worship at the altar of the ocean, which does not require active worship, really, but a passive acceptance, like a flower turning towards the sun.

Santa Cruz, Chapter One

Sitting here on a bench on the wharf, eating take out fish and chips, drinking a canned Corona and listening to the sea lions, I realize I was born in the wrong time and place. I would have been a great sailor on a trading ship across the ocean . . .if only I weren't so afraid of drowning.

From The News

House Republicans, in continuing to defend the Defense Of Marriage Act after the Obama Administration announced it would no longer do so, is citing a recent poll that found that more than half of all Americans accept same-sex marriage. That's right; they say that because a majority accepts gay rights to marriage, gays are no longer entitled to safeguards against laws that would deny them those rights.

This is the conclusion they draw, rather than concluding that the will of the people, as indicated by the poll results, is that they should not continue a foolish and inevitably doomed position of discrimination.

You can't use poll results to support your argument in one context but completely ignore the same information in a different context. Well, you can, but you had better be prepared to be called a hypocrite.

The Space Between Life

It is a moment of solitude. Marina and I are sitting in a cabin in the mountains as snow falls steadily. We are drinking coffee before a fire, listening to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, and eating cinnamon rolls. This afternoon we attending the mountainside wedding of a long time friend-no word yet if "White Wedding" will be played. One week from today, we will be settling in to our new life in Santa Cruz. Today, then, is a break from the frenzy of packing and setting up to telecommute, and a chance to send a friend off to a new life.

A deep breath, and we move on. Congratulations, Christy!