I am happy to report that I have nothing of consequence to report. This was the first weekend in a while that we spent at home without anything important to accomplish. It wasn't quite the gosh-we-have-nothing-to-do-so-should-we-see-another-movie-or-instead-light-my-farts-on-fire-? laziness of pre-child days, but it was still pretty easy.

On Saturday afternoon we drove down to Palo Alto to go swimming with another family. I spent a fair amount of time in the pool with my daughter, Daisy, and this other five year-old boy. I believe they permanently etched the phrase, "LOOK AT ME!" on my eardrums.

Boy: Look at me! I'm hopping on one foot!
Daisy: Me too! I can hop on one foot!
Me: Remarkable.
Daisy: Now look at me! I'm doing a trick! No, wait, it didn't work. I'll try again....No, wait...keep looking....oh, one more time...LOOK!
Boy: I'M SWIMMING! LOOK AT ME!!
Daisy: I'M SWIMMING TOO! LOOK AT ME!
Me: I've alerted the media.
Daisy: Daddy! You're not looking at me!!

I took a brief break at one point to go try and swim a couple laps in the adult pool. I'm a horrible swimmer, so swimming an entire lap is rather tiring for me. After I finished 2 laps (forward and back is 2 laps, right?), some stranger came up to me and felt obligated to give me swimming tips. "I was exhausted just watching you," he clucked, "you'll swim a lot faster if you keep your head in the water."

Ahh, advice from strangers. Always delightful. I wasn't sure what the correct response was. Would Miss Manners suggest furiously splashing the know-it-all or merely giving him a titty-twister? Etiquette is hard. Instead I nodded my head and admitted that although I understood the theory, in practice I wasn't good at it. Then, I made a hasty exit, sans titty-twisting.

That evening we strolled down to an ice cream parlor that serves about a dozen different flavors of Daisy-friendly ice cream. She was delighted to be stymied by such a selection. Dairy-free ice cream is hard enough to find, but to find an actual ice cream parlor that'll scoop it onto a cone (a damn vegan cone!) with sprinkles to boot is quite a find. Bless the good people at Maggie Mudd.

Today was mostly chores and pushing Daisy around on swings. Meanwhile the wife did "special projects". I hope she doesn't get laid off from this wife gig.

Kiss kiss.

A telemarketer called today. We had this idiotic conversation:

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring

Me: Hello?
Telemarketer: ....
Me: HELLO?!
Telemarketer: Hello, I'm calling from Earthlink and blah blah blah

At this point I set the phone down on the table for about a minute. When I picked it back up there was silence. This was foreshadowing of our upcoming conversation.

Me: Pardon? What was the question?
TM: Earthlink blah blah blah. So, our DSL package is only $20 a month.
Me: ....
TM: ....
Me: Do you have a question for me?
TM: Sir, our DSL package is no more than you're paying for dial-up.
Me: That's not a question.
TM: ....
Me: ....
TM: ....
Me: So, are you going to ask me anything?
TM: Sir, I've explained our DSL offering.
Me: Yes, but, this is where you're supposed to ask me things.
TM: ....
Me: Look, I don't mean to be rude, but let me explain how this works. Telemarketers, that's you, are supposed to go through their speech and then end it with some question like, "Would you like to sign up for DSL?" or "Are you interested in high-speed Internet access?" or even "How does that sound?". That's what makes this conversation continue. So, do you have a question for me?
TM: ....
Me: ....
TM: How does that sound, sir?
Me: No thank you!
TM: Thanks for your time today, sir. If you have any questions about Earthlink blah blah blah.

And that's how I saved the telemarketing industry. Normally I don't like to support these folks, but it seemed like this guy needed some tutoring.

One thing I don't miss about being on the cruise was the constant translating. It wasn't that we were visiting exotic locations where no one spoke English, it was that my parents often don't hear what was said (Disclaimer: Family, I love you).

With my father it's because he's somewhat hard of hearing. If there's any background noise, it's difficult for him to make out what someone is saying. To a lesser degree, I suffer from the same ailment.

My mother's hearing is a different matter entirely. I think what she has is some sort of Alarming Filter installed in her brain. She has the uncanny ability to change a single sound or syllable in something you've said, so that the gist gets changed from something benign to something mortifying.

For example, if you say, "I'm tired.", she'll reply with, "YOU GOT FIRED!?!?"

Or perhaps the phrase, "Daisy is quite a dancer" turns into "DAISY HAS CANCER?!?!"

And for god sakes, don't bring up your neighbor, "Mister Ectomy" or that club you went to called "Mubonic Plague". Nothing good will come of it.

So, when my entire family gets gathered in some public place (say, a cruise ship, for an example off the top of my head), it's rare when a complex thought gets communicated without someone stepping in to clear things up. That person is usually me.

Conversations on the ship often went like this:

My Sister: (turns to our dad) That's a nice shirt.
Dad: (scrunching up face, demonstrating the pain of being hard of hearing) Huh?
My Sister: That's a nice shirt!
Dad: (deeper scrunching)
Me: (loudly and clearly) Dad, she likes your shirt.
Mom: DAD GOT HURT?!?!

We played this twisted game of telephone a hundred times. It was exhausting.

I don't usually have to play this game with my wife's family. With them I just really have to explain things like what I do for a living or why we don't have any phone books in the house (it's the same reason why we don't have a cotton gin either).

Like I've said, I LOOOOOOOVE my family, but it's nice to be in this house by ourselves again.

It began three weeks ago.

We started off with 4 days in Maryland visiting my wife's father and step-mother. From there it was off to Florida to spend 8 days with my parents and my sister. After a brief 4 days at home doing laundry and preparing, my mother-in-law arrived with her longtime beau for a 6 day visit. Those 6 days included multiple visits from my sister-in-law as well as hosting the entire clan for my daughter's birthday one afternoon.

(Begin disclaimer)

Now, our families are pretty damn easy to get along with. My wife's family made for both good hosts and good guests. Meanwhile my family did a dandy job of being travel companions. That being said...

(End disclaimer)

Oh, sweet Jesus, it's good to have the house to ourselves. Finally, I can relax and let the natural scowl return to my face. At long last the only sounds in the house are the blaring of the children's TV programs or the sobbing of my daughter frustrated by her piano practice. Ahhhhhh, pinch me.

On an unrelated note, we spent a little time this afternoon playing with one of my daughter's birthday gifts, a Dance Dance Revolution game for our XBox.

Are you familiar with this game? It's an arcade-style game where you compete by dancing. A song plays while arrows quickly fly across the screen indicating where your feet should have been.

This is a travesty. Video games used to be the sort of activity in which even clods like me could feel competent. I know everyone is up in arms about the part of Grand Theft Auto where you can see cartoon characters having sex, but at least in that game you don't actually have to be good at sex to win.

Meanwhile, my daughter enjoys playing Dance Dance Revolution with me. She takes responsibility for half the mat and I'd do the other. This is pretty much the definition of physical comedy. You've got an adorable six year-old girl violently stomping around one side of the mat while her computer programmer father clumsily and effeminately flails around on the other side. My wife, who can actually dance, was in stitches watching this.

Thankfully, the rest of our extended family wasn't around to see this. I can scowl in peace.

We celebrated my daughter's sixth birthday this weekend. We threw a party for little Daisy in Golden Gate Park and, ignoring the bipolar weather (It's foggy! No, it's hot! Argh, my butt-cheeks are frozen together!), it went pretty smoothly. Apparently all you have to do to make a kid's party go well is run around like crazy for several days beforehand. My wife cooked and baked all sort of yummy egg-free, dairy-free, nut-free treats for the guests. The guests didn't really require that menu, but my daughter did, and it seemed rude to serve foods at our daughter's birthday party that she was unable to eat.

My contribution to the birthday party planning was running to the supermarket 5-6 times in the 48 hours before the event. It's not a glamorous job, but it's one that I can't screw up too badly. Wifey makes the list and I buy items on the list. Ta dah! Lookit me shop like big boy!

I even know how to buy a ripe pineapple (now). Wife told me to step away from the pineapple display and go find a grocery employee and ask them to help me. Me big boy! Me hug pineapple! Ow!

The party itself went smoothly. About a dozen kids attended, mostly girls. I enjoyed hearing some of the girls discuss some of the boys who were attending:

Daisy: I can't wait until Jimmy gets here!
Girl X: Ewwww! Jimmy is gross!
Daisy: I like Jimmy.
Girl: No way. Jimmy is gross.

Ahhh, it brings me back. Seems like just yesterday that my wife told me I was gross.

I also got to hear another one of Daisy's instant songs. She was walking along, holding hands with her best friend, Kate, at the time.

Daisy: Want to sing a new song with me?
Kate: Sure!
Daisy: Ok, it goes like this:
"Oh, we are a married couple,
walking together,
holding hands,
Yes, we are a married couple..."
Kate: I don't want to sing that song.

Ok, so same-sex marriages aren't for everyone.

The party took place near a playground, so the kids mostly entertained themselves. We did, however, at Daisy's insistence, have a pinata. I hate the pinata tradition because some kids end up with tons of candy and other kids end up with scar tissue. I understand the need for survival-of-the-fittest activities in a child's development, but maybe John Scopes and Clarence Darrow aren't the best party planners.

Sure enough, Daisy and at least one other small boy were near tears because they sucked at gathering candy. Nearby parents hovered, ready to rectify the situation with a dose of candy communism. Soon, all the tiny mouths were filled with unhealthy sweets, a happy ending for kids fast and slow.

Happy birthday, babe.

When I was growing up, there wasn't a lot of music in my household. I recall a bit of classical, a smattering of folk music, and then some cheesy stuff like John Denver and Neil Diamond. Musical appreciation at our house basically consisted of toe tapping, and frankly, my skills in that discipline were unimpressive. To no one's surprise, I did not become a musical virtuouso.

My daughter, however, has developed some rather unique musical skills at the tender age of 5 (almost 6!). Sure, she sings and dances a little, but her appeal there is only half technique. The rest is all adorableness.

Where she truly distinguishes herself is in song composition. She is, without a doubt, the finest pre-first-grade lyricist I will ever meet. I do not say this mockingly.

She asked me the other day, "Dad, would you like to hear my new song?"

"I would!" I heartily replied.

"It's called 'Snap On Those Ol' Western Boys'," she explained bafflingly, "It's about a bunch of girls who like a bunch of Western boys!"

Then, she launched into song. It was kind of a bluesy number with some soulful finger snapping and a fair amount of wailing about wanting the aforementioned Western Boys to come back to her.

I do not know where she gets this stuff. There has been no song, to my memory, in this house that sounded the slightest bit like 'Snap On Those Ol' Western Boys'. Ignoring the hopefully unintentional sexual notion of snapping on some sort of boy, the song is now my current favorite. The previous champion was her country-western masterpiece called, "My Heart Is Not A Two Week Old Steak". That was a more melancholy number that centered around a 16 year-old girl whose mother had died and whose father had left. Now it was her 16th birthday and she was unable to use the computer to send out invitations to her party. Thus, only 10 kids attended.

It was a heartbreaking little ditty, sung with surprising authenticity.

I know all kids have wacky imaginations and say the cutest/strangest/most-alarming things, but this has been interesting to me.

In no particular order, here are some of my favorite vacation memories:

1) The music director for the cruise had an odd sense of humor. I kept hearing songs that seemed inappropriate for a ship like "Bridge over Troubled Water" and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald". Had this been any other place than a cruise ship, I would have credited it to a black sense of humor.

2) One night at dinner, a guy in a pirate costume and a photographer visited each table. The pirate posed with pairs of people, making a traditional pirate "Arrrrrr!" face, while the photographer snapped a photo. (These photos were later available for purchase for about $15.) I watched as couple after couple smiled sweetly in their picture with the fake pirate. When he got to me and my wife, I amused myself by ruining the picture by making an "Arrrrr!" face along with the pirate. Days later, when I went to check out the pictures, I was charmed to find that my wife, unbeknownst to me, had done the exact same thing in the photo. In a wall full of pirate pictures, ours was the only one where adult passengers had made a funny face. I bought the picture.

3) On the first night of the cruise my father announced that thieves had raided his luggage. Although he had locked his main suitcase compartment, my father had apparently hastily thrust two old swimsuits into an unlocked side pocket while packing. The rest of the family, myself included, assured my father that no one wanted his 20 year-old swimsuits and that he had made a mistake. He steadfastly insisted they had been swiped.

We mocked my father about this for the remainder of the trip. We regaled each other with tales of ruthless bands of marauding pirate swimsuit thieves, desperately plundering the summer fashions of 20 years past. My father took this in good humor, coming up with various reasons as to why someone might have taken his ancient swimsuits. We got tons of laughs out of this, warning my father to keep an eye out at the pool for his swim trunks, lest he spot the thief enjoying his spoils.

On the final night of the trip my mother informed me that my father had found his swimsuits in another pocket. I'm not sure whether this ruins the story or is the punchline. Or maybe the thieves were done swimming.

4) One of the annoying aspects of the cruise was that we had to dress up to eat dinner in the dining room, including two semi-formal nights. Midway through the cruise my wife noted that she had consistently been wearing cleavage-baring outfits. "I hope your family isn't sick of my tits," she warned, putting on a slinkly little number.

Babe, if I may speak on behalf of my family: Nope.

5) My daughter and I walked into the ship store one evening to buy some candy. The cashier let out a mighty yawn just as we walked up.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she apologized.
"No, WE apologize for being boring customers," I reassured her. I pointed at my daughter and commanded, "Daisy, dance for the cashier!"

My daughter then launched into an impromptu dance, utilizing her typical combination of ballet and irish jigs.

I don't know at what age kids get too self conscious to do crap like this, but I'm dreading the day.

6) One morning before the cruise, when we were still in Maryland, staying at a not-so-fancy hotel, we came downstairs at noon and asked the lady at the desk where we could go find some coffee.

"Oh, we've got coffee right here!" she said, eagerly pointing at an hours-old urn of coffee.

I looked at my wife, pleading with her to help me get out of this without sounding like a snob, but she wasn't quick enough.

"Uh...We're hoping for some faaaaancy coffee," I said, hoping that the emphasis on 'faaaancy' correctly conveyed that I knew I was being a douche-bag, "You know like a latte. Is there a Starbucks or something like that around here?"

"Oh!" piped up another clerk, "There's an Exxon station down the street!"

We weren't in San Francisco anymore.

7) Our last island excursion was to Cozumel, Mexico. It was a hot day and one of the umpteen gift shops we encountered had popsicles. I bought a couple of them and proudly presented these allergen-free treats to my wife and child. My wife daintily took a couple slurps and then said, "What about the water in Mexico? I don't think we should eat these."

"Oh, it'll be fine." I said, while my daughter and I eagerly gobbled down some more. However, after a moment of reflection, I realized that I didn't want to be the cause of Montezuma's revenge (vicious diarrhea), so I threw away the unfinished popsicles.

Very early the next morning my wife crawled out of bed to the bathroom. She spent about 20 minutes in there, flushing the toilet repeatedly. I eyed her as she came back to bed, not meeting my gaze.

"Don't talk to me, popsicle boy!" she whispered fiercely.

Apparently my wife, who had eaten the smallest amount of popsicle, was the only one in our family to become afflicted with the...uh...repercussions. And, to add insult to injury, there's no innocuous way to get Pepto-Bismol on a cruise ship. Due to previous outbreaks of gastrointestinal diseases sweeping through entire cruise-ship populations, you can only get diarrhea medicine if you report to the ship doctor (Doc!), and fill out forms from the Center for Disease Control. I navigated those waters for the wife as penance for the popsicle sin.

8) The flight home was about 5.5 hours, but we put our daughter in a row with her two cousins and the three of them played and chatted quietly throughout the entire flight. It was, without a doubt, the most remarkable flight I've ever been on. I hope to fly Cousins Air again.

For most of the days on the cruise we were docked at one island or another in the western Caribbean. We (meaning "my wife") had planned an organized excursion on each one of the islands in advance, going on information we found on various websites. These excursions ended up being...uh...interesting. And hot. Mostly hot.

The first port of call was a place that our cruise line referred to as Labadee, Hispaniola. Sounds nice, no? You almost want to sing the name. And, in fact, it's a beautiful place. It has lush vegetation, beautiful beaches, and warm clear water. There's really only one problem with the place. It sort of doesn't exist.

Labadee is actually a chunk of land on a peninsula of Haiti. However, if the cruise line had told us that we were going to coup-ridden, violence-fraught, and corruption-filled Haiti, perhaps they wouldn't have booked quite as many passengers. So, the executives at Royal Caribbean decided to buy this piece of Haiti and remove all those pesky poor people and unscenic gun-toting soldiers. After a bit of scrubbing and rebranding, TA DAH! Labadee labada!

The activity we did at Labadee was play in the water park, which consisted of a bunch of floating inflated structures, on which one could bounce and slide. It was here that I first postulated Mike's First Law of Caribbean Activities, which, in layman's terms, merely states that any activity undertaken in the Caribbean will be more dangerous than the corresponding activity in the U.S..

I discovered this law after climbing to the top of an inflated "iceberg" structure and noticing that the slide down to the water had several hard and sharp objects poking out of it. I cut myself twice in about 1 second going down the 10 foot slide. That was an owie-per-second rate that went unsurpassed for the remainder of the trip.

We spent the rest of our time in Labadee just splashing around in the water. When one kid saw a tiny jellyfish, I had to spend the next 20 minutes trying to convince my daughter that everything was ok, and that she wouldn't get stung by the jellyfish. I pointed out all the people, up and down the beach, who were happily playing in the water, none of whom were getting stung.

Several minutes later my sister's daughter got stung twice by jellyfish. Thankfully my daughter was out of the water at the time and never learned how poor my advice had been.

On the plus side, however, note that Labadee was the only place we visited where we weren't bussed to gift shop after gift shop.

The next day we visited Jamaica which is, apparently, a real place. Much to the consternation of the cruise company, we viewed actual poor people coming out of their ramshackle abodes during our excursion. The main activity we did in Jamaica was to climb up the Dunn's River waterfall.

They've got a beautiful waterfall there, that cascades over large boulders, while dropping about 900 feet in elevation. Tourists then pay money to go to the bottom of the waterfall and fight their way up the waterfall, for about half a mile, against the flow of water, trying not to slip and fall on the rocks. If your balance is good and your legs are strong, this is not too difficult. If, however, you are a clumsy computer programmer dragging along a five year-old kid, then it merely cements Mike's First Law of Caribbean activities. We bailed out about halfway to the top.

Incidentally, Mike's Second Law of Caribbean Activities can be explained as, "Environmental concerns?? Eh."

In Jamaica we were directed through 2 gift shops and a gift mall.

Our next stop was in the Grand Cayman Islands, where we took the stupidest tour ever. Our driver told us which fast food restaurants were on the island, what the major supermarket chains were, where large corporations and billionaires were buying land, etc. Our first actual stop on the tour was in a place anecdotally referred to as "Hell". It consisted of a small field of irregularly shaped limestone rocks and a gift shop. We spent about 20 minutes there which was about 25 minutes too long. I was astonished to later learn that nearly all island tours there stop at this damn gift shop. Is there no culture on that island?

My family tried to think of what the equivalent tourist stop would be here in the San Francisco Bay Area. It would need to be some inconsequential natural oddity with a crappy gift shop. I coudn't think of something cheesy or crappy enough to qualify.

We also visited a turtle farm where we were encouraged to pluck sea turtles out of their tanks and pose with them for pictures. Mike's Second Law shone through. Nothing dangerous happened although I was vigorously splashed by an ornery turtle. There was also, of course, a set of gift shops by the turtle farm that we were herded through.

Our final tour was in Cozumel, Mexico, where we took an "all-terrain" eco tour that, surpisingly, discussed saving the environment rather than letting us trample on it. That was weird. Our truck ride to the park, however, cruised along at around 40mph in a windshieldless vehicle. If you didn't keep your mouth shut, you'd get little bits of the ecosystem buried in your teeth and eyes. I guess that was the dangerous part.

Also, one gift shop and another gift mall.

And that, my friends, is the Caribbean.

Many years ago I recall my high-school friend, Michele, making a comment about roller coasters. She reflected upon the absurdity of humans needing to construct complex and dangerous machines to launch them up, down, and in loops, all in the name of entertainment. She wondered if we're really all so jaded that we need to be hurled through the air just to avoid a few moments of boredom.

There wasn't a single day on my cruise vacation when I didn't think about Michele's comment.

Anyway, the deal was that my mother's 70th birthday is coming up this summer and she decided to celebrate it by taking her family (kids, kids' spouses, grandkids, and husband) on a Caribbean cruise. The selfish wench was undeterred by the fact that she was frittering away my inheritence, so off we went.

Frankly, I was unconvinced that a cruise vacation was my thing, since I'm a pretty hip and edgy guy (hush, this is my blog), but I made the supreme sacrifice for my parents and agreed to come along.

As it turns out, the ship was pretty damn nice. And absurd. Unimaginably absurd. It would appear that at some point, after years of careful study, a vacationologist came to the conclusion that people need the following things VERY nearby in order to be happy on vacation:

A swimming pool
A casino
A climbing wall
A gym
Another swimming pool
An ice skating rink
Several, let's say three, theaters
A basketball court,
A shopping mall
A running track
A spa
A handful of jacuzzis
Heck, one more swimming pool
About 5 restaraunts
The biggest dining room I've ever seen that seated about 1000 people

And then he concluded that that kind of sucked, so he decided to...uh...make it...um....FLOAT! AND THEN HE PUT GODDAMN PARADES ON THE FREAKIN' THING!

Finally the guy realized that he was only missing one thing: obscene amounts of expensive booze, so he put about a dozen bars with various themes on the ship. There was the Pool Bar, and the Schooner Bar, and the English Pub, and the Frankly I Can't Even Tell If I'm Puking From The Booze Or The Seasickness Saloon.

It was crazy nutso huge. I'm forced to conclude that whoever designed this ship must have had a microscopically tiny penis.

It was really nice though. The ship itself was new and gorgeous, gleaming with so much marble and hardwood, I can't believe it floated. Additionally, the staff on the ship was ridiculously friendly and competent. There was about 1 crew member for every 2 guests (around 3600 guests and a staff of 1500) so they had enough time to be extremely attentive. When the waiters weren't busy cutting up my daughter's meals for her, they were performing magic tricks to keep the kids entertained. I've never been in a restaurant before where a head waiter came to our table before a meal and asked if anyone had allergies or dietary restrictions he should know of. Since our daughter has several serious allergies, this was music to our ears.

Meanwhile, while all this is going on, our stateroom attendant was turning down our beds, and folding towels into cute animals. Unreal.

It's unimaginable to me how much this whole thing must have cost my parents. I hope they saved some money for her 80th birthday.

Finally, here's the damn picture of me during the lifeboat drill that I failed to successfully send from my cell phone.

I'm finally back on U.S. soil with access to email on my cell phone.
Ahhhhh, smells like civilization.

The cruise was pretty damn good and lots of amusing crap happened, but
I look forward to arriving in SF, unwadding my clothes, and blogging.
I missed you.

I suck at computer thingees.

A Picture Share!

Here's me during the lifeboat drill. I didn't drown at all.

We leave Maryland tomorrow afternoon and fly down to Florida in the midst of preparations for Hurricane Dennis.

I know a guy named Dennis. He's totally nice. It's hard to get worked up over a hurricane named after a nice guy. Now, Hurricane Attilla or Hurricane Hannibal, that would have me in a tizzy. If we need a D-name, let's go with...oh maybe....Dubya?

Things here in Maryland went pretty well. Overall I've been super pleased with my daughter's ability to put up with the boring parts of the trip. I was a bit concerned when she slept in quite late the morning we were due to depart from San Francisco. I woke her up and she said, "Dad, I feel different this morning. I feel very ENERGETIC!"

"That's super, baby," I encouraged, "Now, take all that good energy and cram it deep down inside your body for the next 12 hours while you sit very still on airplanes."

I'm good with the...what do you call them?.... Words! I'm good with the words!

Anyways, wish me luck with the Hurricane. It appears that we'll be visiting the islands that it has recently destroyed. That should be fun. Rubble makes great souvenirs.

High up on my list of fears is Alzheimer's. It may not be my #1 fear, I mean what if I got a really yucky bug in my mouth? That's creepy. But, it's safe to say that my fear of Alzheimer's is pretty far up on the list.

So, today we went to go visit my wife's father who is far down the Alzheimer's path. His wife, who is some kind of saint, cared for him at home for many years, but eventually was unable to provide the 24-hour-a-day care that he required, so now he's in a facility that specializes in Alzheimer's.

I've met the man a few times before but I never really got to know him before the disease began to change the man. Each time I've seen him over the last decade he's been in a slightly worse state. These days he gets a lot of help doing simple things like eating or walking. He speaks a bit, but it seems to be more from a knowledge that syllables are what's expected rather than an actual ability to converse.

His new home is a pretty nice place that is well-staffed and seems to provide the assistance that he needs. Still, his life is immeasurably improved by the daily visits that his wife makes. She gets him to exercise, makes sure that he eats, and gives him the attention and affection that paid attendants can't really provide. I can't be certain that he knows who she is, but he surely seems to appreciate her visits on some levels.

Similarly, although he couldn't have recognized his granddaughter (or me) he smiled widely when she danced for him and displayed her usual energy and exuberance. He was a dancer and a choreographer back in his day so seeing a small cute girl doing twirls and jumps brought him some sort of pleasure.

My wife handles these visits with an impressive strength and calm. She does her best to reach out and bring her father comfort. She and her step-mom do a remarkable job of bringing smiles to a man who gives few clues as to what he's thinking. They're both inspirational to me.

I'm still fairly terrified of getting this disease myself, or having one of my loved ones afflicted by it, but it was useful for me to see that there are people stronger than I am, and that there is still a bit of joy to be found even in the throes of Alzheimer's.

Ok, here's me blogging from my cell phone.

We're in a crappy hotel in Maryland for the next few days, so I'm just
a scooch cranky. Unusual for me, no?

As we were frantically getting ready to go to the airport yesterday my
dad called to see if I knew the address of the hotel where we'd all be
meeting up on Friday. I reminded him that he had sent it to me in an
email a week or two earlier. I then cut him off in midsentence as he
began reciting the address to me.

I surely love my parents, but, man they have been inundating me with
"reminders" and information for months now about the cruise. I'm a
big boy now! Some might even say a grown-ass man!

My favorite is when my parents send me an email and then call me an
hour or two later to tell me that they sent me an email. I encourage
them to follow that up with an in-person visit, a telegram, and then
some smoke signals.

That is all. Typing on a cell phone keyboard bites.

The last time I went on vacation with my parents and my sister was over 20 years ago. I don't recall the specifics of that particular trip, but I'll go out on a limb and suggest that I was both annoyed and annoying. Now that I'm all mature and crap, we'll see if it goes more smoothly.

Tomorrow, my wife, daughter, and I depart to go visit some of my wife's family in Maryland. After a few days there, we're off to Miami to go on a cruise with my extended family. It's gonna be one of those big-ass ships with shopping malls and ice skating rinks and mid-sized moons orbiting around it. There will be much to mock. And I will have my laptop. Oh, there will be mocking.

So, for the next week and a half, remote blogging! Maybe even a guest post from Isaac the bartender or Vicki, Captain Stubing's daughter. Better yet, guest star Charo.

Wish me one of them Bon Voyages.

Really, I couldn't have asked for a more compatible wife. She likes games, she speaks geek, and she laughs at (some of) my jokes. Additionally, she has skills that I do not possess like being able to fix things, and cook stuff. Also, she has sex with me. So, it's clear that I married a goddess and I'm not going to complain.

That being said, allow me to complain.

As I've mentioned before, I'm a crappy sleeper. Sometimes it takes me a long time to fall asleep. Other times I wake up in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep, and often I just wake up too damn early. It's a constant battle to get enough sleep. My main opponent in this battle is my brain. It likes to take these nighttime hours to think about work, or unpleasant projects that need attention, or things that are going awry in my life. I hate having my mind race, trying to solve problems, while I'm trying to fall asleep. Totally frustrating.

So, long ago, I made a decision that once I climbed into bed, I didn't want to hear any bad news, or any review any projects, or discuss parts of the house that may be falling apart. The bed was to be my special happy place, free of all issues requiring thought.

This has kind of been working for me, except for one teensy-weensy problem. Let's call this problem, "Wife".

"Wife" has the opposite approach about going to bed. She likes to review everything going wrong in her life right before rolling over and clocking 8 hours of non-stop sleep. As near as I can tell, her preferred sleepytime routine is this:

1) Get into bed.
2) Sigh dramatically
3) Stare into space, conspicuously thinking and solving problems
4) Get out a pen and paper and construct a to-do list. It usually has a stunning mix of short-term projects, long-term projects, and mystery items on it. Like this:
- Replace sandals
- Replace backyard deck
- Husband?
- Exercise more
- Solve world hunger
- Buy tampons
- Arsenic!
5) Contemplate reviewing list with me. (She knows that I hate this, but sometimes she just has to share)
6) Pick up one of the following:
- A book about some project or serious world-issue
- Some puzzle (e.g. crossword, scrabble puzzles, etc)

Then, boom! Assuming that I'm not pawing at her, she goes right to sleep. It's totally inconcievable.

Even just seeing her construct her to-do list drives me nuts. I have to hide my eyes from it and be sure NOT to ask what she's writing. Must! Avert! Gaze! No good can come of me seeing The List. Every once in a while, she'll actually pop out of bed to go perform one of her action items. Mind boggling! I have to restrain myself from asking what she's doing because that's invariably leads into her talking about her to-do list which invariably leads to me staring at the inside of my eyelids for hours on end.

Aside from that, she is a top-notch wife.