Blues and Yellow

I'm on the job market again. In a turn of events that's become familiar this past year and a half, my most recent (and part-time) job came to an end a few weeks ago, and we're now living on a dwindling savings account while hoping for some unemployment payments and, far better, an interview. Kate's fledgling sign instruction business is still in the nest, and won't be fluttering along on wings of its own for a few months at least, I'd guess. So it's up to me still, for the short term anyway, if we're to get by. Losing this last job was both harder and easier to accept: I was fired for not being good enough. I foresaw the possibility, since I took a position somewhat outside my real career strength (surveying, data processing and seafloor interpretation) in straight GIS. (GIS = Geographical Information Systems: mapping and geographical data analysis. As an example, imagine a map of the United States, with data on the total population of each state, along with a breakdown of Republican, Democratic, and Independent voters. States where most voters are Republican are shown as red; where most are Democratic, blue; and Independent, light brown. That's a very simple example of representing geographic data.) So I took this job, knowing I was only marginally qualified, hoping I'd have the chance to learn on the fly quickly enough to keep it. I failed. That's embarrassing, but with no survey work available in the winter, it was my only opportunity. And hey, it's not like it was my first time ever being embarrassed. I did go to college and join a fraternity, after all.

Anyhow, I'm back to the anxious, vaguely hostile frame of mind which comes along with fearing for our family's economic wellbeing. Kate continually debates me on this: she's lived through bankruptcy with her mother and, as she puts it, "eating cereal for dinner", and stayed happy. I love both Kate and her mother, and I don't doubt a single bit of what she's told me.

That doesn't mean I'm eager to go through it myself. It's the kind of thing that Kate may never truly understand, in the sense of feeling the same impulse herself, but she's willing to acknowledge in me: my pride as an adult male, as a husband and father, that I not go broke and lose our home, but know that I've been able to provide for all of us. I acknowledge that we've gotten plenty of help in the last year, especially from Kate's mother, and had at least one stint (and possibly again now, though we don't know yet) on unemployment. It's simply a point of pride with me--a big one--that we not lose our home. Even if we sell and evacuate to an apartment, that's far better than being driven out by the bank. The possibility of foreclosure, and worse of not being able to pay for groceries or gasoline, puts me in a pretty savage state of mind.

Kate's inured to these kinds of concerns, so she tolerates my clouds of gloom with a certain amount of impatience. I realize that I'm letting fear keep me from living better. Like Eva learning how to crawl: putting away worry and fear isn't easy, and isn't done immediately.

And though she's a constant and unfailing support and source of solace and cheer, the fact is that Kate is a fellow adult, and is susceptible to worries like I am. Even if, in this case, she's worried more at the fact of my worry than anything else. Basically, I drag her down with me. Like every miserable fool (think Dr. Gregory House), I like company in my misery. (To bring up another TV favorite of ours: Kwang Chai I'm not. And I certainly don't own any sweet satin pajamas like he does.)

Eva's a great antidote. Not always: when she's crying over hunger, or fatigue, or from just waking up, or from boredom, or worst of all, something indistinct that we can't figure out, her discomfort makes me feel even worse. I do have exasperated moments of thinking with gritted teeth, "Why won't she just be QUIET!?" when Eva demands constant attention, and is unhappy even with it. When she doesn't seem too hungry, and is sick of all her toys, and is no longer entertained by pounding on the keys of my old computer keyboard, or gets bored of one of my songs (granted my voice is usually kind of scratchy)...yes, it's frustrating being a parent. I think of this squirrelly baby occupying so much time and attention, and my unfinished degree, and start to wonder if I'll ever really make anything of myself, other than a career wannabe.


But that's the worst of it, and it's easily solved by giving Eva a little more of myself. Who can possibly blame a baby for broadcasting her feelings? What's really wrong with her constantly wanting our company--it's the highest tribute the little baby can give. And if she's cutting a tooth, or feeling some other kind of discomfort (even hunger), how can she specify it? So of course, a moment's thought is enough to cool me down. But in my moments of frustration, I do need to cool myself down. This pack mule can handle only so much weight at a time, and he's carrying a lot already.

And the best of it...again, it's beyond Eva's conscious effort. Nearly everything about a baby is unselfconscious. Even when they cry and thrash in the effort to gain your attention, it's a wholehearted, honest appeal for attention. Or when she's devoting herself to something else, like leaning way over in her Bumbo to reach for a jar of spices on the counter or, as now, staring at the cat on a nearby chair, rocking back and forth, in the effort to reach him (and instead backing up). This is what I'd say we mean by innocence: there's no duplicity, no ulterior motive in a baby's actions. She's sincere, and that sincerity itself is irresistibly charming.

Babies have a subtle, quiet, and strong charisma. I've never known such a feeling of peace and happiness as in the moments following Eva's birth, when the whole room and the people in it were filled with gladness and admiration of the new little life. Much of that was due to the tremendous effort Kate had just made, the hours-long tribulation of pushing a 19"-long creature out of herself, and the feeling of relaxation she had in her own body. But Kate wasn't the focus, she was a participant. The tiny little bundle with the pink face with eyes sealed shut was the focus: this little being which made the barest squeaks and flexed only slightly through the towels which wrapped it. Even the midwife who was raising the alarm bout the incomplete placenta couldn't overcome our sense of peace.

That power doesn't go away as the baby grows. We call it cuteness, and maybe it lasts only as long as they can't walk, when babies become toddlers and start to lose their innocence. But for now, while Eva can't talk, is just learning to crawl, and shows pleasure mostly by smiling, gasping and thrashing her arms and legs, she has a wordless influence over her parents and many others. With so many things in the world unseen and unknown to her, even small things cause a big and endearing reaction. Her smile is so much more eloquent when not surrounded by words.

Whenever Eva is dominating a situation (and not complaining), it's very quiet. Babies in general, being so small and not very coordinated, are very gentle, and very deliberate in their motions. Eva reaches very slowly for toys (most of the time--she's getting much grabbier while being held), and takes hold of things gradually and delicately. And when she addresses a person, it's with wide-open eyes and an unsuspecting look. That look might brighten into a smile or shrink into tears, but there are times when simply the time it takes Eva to do something, and her silence throughout, have a calming effect on everybody.

Eva loves to go outside. It's a nearly daily ritual for me to load her up in the Snugli chest-carrier and tote her around outside for a bit. We did again last night, while Kate was at chorus rehearsal. Dusk was deepening to night, and I thought she might enjoy a little time outside. But there was one small problem: as happened to Kate and me last summer while Kate was still carrying, Jasper happened to be outside, and began shadowing me as I walked away from the condominium. Toward the end of the driveway it became clear that Jasper had almost never been there (perhaps only last year when he followed the two of us). His tail was bushy, he snuck along furtively from one point to the next, and he scanned obsessively on all sides as he went. I didn't want to induce a heart attack in the poor cat, or actually lose him to a car or the pond or some other chance, so I didn't go far: the dam and waterfall at the end of the condo's driveway.

The water rushes quickly down the slanted surface of the dam, with not so much a roar as a breezy rush, and the foamy boil at the dam's base isn't so much violent and turbulent as foam-laden and syrupy. It's a small dam, but enough to thrill little Eva, who went into infant-sized conniptions of joy, shaking her arms and legs while drawing deep noisy breaths. She's shy around other kids, to be sure, but just as surely, this baby likes action. She's got a busy mind which is comforted by busyness. For this reason, and for her general love of going outside, I'll be learning my trees, flowers and bugs, for the purposes of long walks with my little girl.

Today was another small milepost. She had her first swim class, not so much a lesson as a half-hour of guided time in the pool, where babies start to learn what it is to be wet and surrounded by water. I'll always be glad that I wasn't working, and was able to see her go into something bigger than a bathtub for the first time. The YMCA instructor laid out the whole class plan, showed the parents how to hold their children in the water, and demonstrated the series of activities (emphasizing things like kicking and moving their arms in front of them).

Now, leading up to this, Kate of course went shopping for Eva's bathing suit. Kate now likes shopping for her daughter almost as much (probably more) than herself, but it's not like seven-month-olds are making fashion statements (at least, not outside of Hollywood or Fifth Avenue). She just wanted something with some style that would have a chance at fitting our little giant until September (good luck). She settled on your basic black-and-white, polka dot/jailbird theme, accented with a touch of bright yellow (canary yellow is Eva's color, without a doubt). It is, of course, adorable. But one thing surprised me: the diapers.

Nobody wants babies doing their business in a pool, of course. This very YMCA pool was once shut down three afternoons in a row by a small boy puking in the water. I'm no germophobe but hygiene is important. And it came as a surprise to me (and I'm impressed at how Kate always seems so informed about things...but it is her nature to do her homework and cover her bases...and even invent more bases of her own)--only a momentary surprise, that there are waterproof diapers made specifically for swimming babies. No water gets in or out. (Baby equipment is a real racket--better than cookware, pet gear and golf schwag) So Katie had all the right stuff for Eva's first foray into the pool.

I tagged sullenly along, griping that I'd miss the noontime basketball league since our class wrapped up before 11 and it would be pointless to wait. But I also secretly knew that I'd love seeing Eva go in the pool, so I volunteered to do a bit of video work, grabbed a quick workout while Kate got our little girl ready, and then met her in the pool.

Three mothers, three babies. I was unsurprisingly the only father there. The instructor complained playfully when she noticed the videocam running, but Eva, as usual, grabbed most of the attention. She was in the class with two boys--both older and smaller than she is, which is nothing new--and she was so eager to touch the water that she nearly launched herself off of Kate's lap. The boys sat placidly while Eva was bouncing up and down and flailing her arms to reach the water. Even at seven months, I love this girl's spirit. My mother told me--possibly exaggerating a bit--about how, as a child, at the end of the summer's day she'd crawl up the steps to her home, sobbing and covered with dirt from having played herself to exhaustion. I hope Eva's like that.

Once in the water, with Kate drawing her along through one exercise after another, the little girl never panicked or cried. She didn't smile or show great pleasure--it was strange and disorienting enough to keep her serious--but our baby girl was equal to it. Only twice--when the instructor used Eva as a demo for one exercise, and took her away from Kate, and later, when I was holding her, and she dunked her own face in the water--did her mouth form the shape for crying--but she never did.

It's a courageous little girl we've got, one whom we'll probably have to frequently save from herself. And there are many times, when her sense of discovery and joy feel to me like life's greatest gift.

Rhymes with Diva

So we have this daughter, who's gaining personality, coordination and size by the week (day-to-day it's a little harder to notice changes, with one notable exception I'll describe later).

Eva's devotion to the lens of a camera is known to anyone familiar with our family. I got an annoying sample of it yesterday, when I was trying to get some candid photos of her attempts to crawl. Kate had left Eva on the bed and gone to do some chores, so I stayed by to keep an eye on her. Right away Eva did what she constantly does now when on her stomach: planted her hands and knees, lifted herself off the bedspread, rocked herself back and forth a few times, then rose up on her toes, only to collapse on her face with a muffled exclamation.

Babies are cute in general, of course, and as an even stricter rule, parents are hopelessly drunk with their own baby's cuteness. A parent, however responsible and law-abiding, would still find something cute even in his or her child dropping a lit match and starting a housefire. If obsession with your own baby's adorableness is nothing more than an evolutionary psychological instinct, then it's overpoweringly strong.

So of course, I dote over simple and foolish things. Like how she seems to enjoy giving up on her attempt to crawl, and launches herself onto the bed with a cry, even before her face touches the coverlet. It's becoming a game to her, I think, where she just gives up and says the baby equivalent of "Bah!" while taking a dive onto the bed. She never faceplants on the floor. Kate and I both believe this is deliberate.

I wanted to get some action photos yesterday of her, rocking back and forth, up on her toes, and facefirst on the bedspread, but Eva wouldn't let me. As soon as she saw the camera, her rear end was safely down on the bed, her hands were splayed before her and her head was raised high, what I call her boardroom pose. Then the aggravating kid would smile. She wouldn't let me take a candid photo.

If I hid the camera, waited for her to rock up onto her knees again, and then nipped the camera out and quickly took a picture, by the time the stupid digital camera had beeped and actually taken the shot, Eva was back in her pose. She was too quick for the machine. Maybe next time I'll have to hit the button while the camera's still hidden, and then bring it out only at the very last second, and take my chances that I've aimed it somewhat correctly. But that might not work either, since she can hear it, and she also gets suspicious. Once she'd seen me do the hide-and-seek routine a few times, she was much less prone to get to work crawling.

It's a little distressing sometimes to see her stalled out at the same point, for nearly a week now: up on hands and knees, or even hands and feet, but unable to make her legs move independently, and start the crawling motion. It's a big change, and I have trouble with simple motions sometimes too, as anyone who's seen me try to do a dolphin kick would know (two of my minor life's ambitions are to do a triathlon and to learn the butterfly). At times I see Eva with her legs straight together, and wonder if she doesn't have any coordination in her legs. (Run-of-the-mill paranoid parental thinking. I'm getting used to it.) She'll be crawling very soon.

But it's fascinating to see how slowly, bit by painstaking bit, babies gain abilities. From being a mostly inert bean seven months ago, Eva is now on the verge of zipping all over the condo, and turning the place upside down. I missed two months last fall while up in Alaska, but by December, Eva was able to raise her head for a few seconds at a time. Soon she had the arm and shoulder strength to heave her upper body off the floor, hold her head vertically, and survey the area--her boardroom pose. For a while, that was all she could do, but she kept gaining stamina.

And size. She started out pretty middling for a newborn--19", 6 lbs 11 oz--then lost 4 ounces (within normal loss range for the first week), and then ba-BOOM! Since early October, she's outgrown her home bouncy chair, her infant carseat, and clothing meant for 1-year-olds. She's big enough now to tip over her Bumbo seat, which you might call a modifed beanbag chair for infants. It's a kind of soft, semi-resistant foam cockpit seat which holds the baby in an upright position, but isn't rigid and hard like straight plastic. They're one of those handy little inventions that make you momentarily grateful for the sprawling commercialism of our modern world. Eva loves to lean waaayyyyy over while in the Bumbo and stretch to reach things a few feet away, and she's capsized it at least once. Not for much longer can she use the little Bumbo. She's also about to outgrow our little chest-mounted baby carrier. The straps are as loose as they'll go and still it's kind of tight around the little girl's ribcage.

Just watch. Eva will be taller than I am. And we'll probably have a midget son.

So Eva's been stuck at the verge of crawling for a little over a week now, and after five or ten minutes of trying to move, she starts to cry. But once she figures it out...and it won't be long until she does.

Communication has been similar. Eva began gooing and aaahh-ing four or five months ago, and she still makes lots of odd sounds. But now there's some articulation in the sounds, with consonants appearing with the vowels, and syllables repeated several times. At times, these syllables don't sound random: they feel articulated, more like directed remarks. She often looks the listener in the eye now when speaking, with her high, almost whisper-soft voice.

Now for that sudden change I alluded to in the opening paragraph. Last weekend we drove up to Maine to visit Kate's family. We spent a few nights, as usual, at her mother's house (where I generally come down with a serious case of satisfied drowsiness). We also visited her sister Cori's house, where the kids rule: three daughters ranging from two and a half to eight years old, and a newborn son 12 days older than Eva. Needless to say there's plenty of noise and action there, and babies like Eva and her cousin Daniel are frequently confronted with small girls a few years older, who want to manage them somehow. Sit the baby up, or lie it down, or bring it a toy, or carry it to the toy. (There's never anything quite as disruptive as an overly solicitous family member.)

Now, Daniel's used to this kind of treatment, and he takes it all pretty stoically. The kid's pretty happy, in general, and very rarely emits a cry. He's kind of the baby version of the friendly family dog that the kids can maul, and will just lie there and never seem to get upset. But Eva...well, she's a little more sensitive.

Eva is easily confused and frightened by lots of noise and action around her, and tends to start crying. Living with Kate and me--and though I have my boisterous moments, I tend to be pretty quiet most of the time--Eva's learned to live in a quiet environment, and she doesn't try to fill the silence up all that often. Surround her with lots of activity, and she's suddenly disoriented.

After that visit, we dropped by Kate's father's home, quiet like our own. And then Eva came to life. In her tiny, quiet way, but still, to her parents who know her best, the change was sudden and immense.

After an initial crying spell--she'd been drowsing in the car on the ride over--she quieted down, sat up, and began talking. Nonstop, just looking me, Kate, Kate's father and his wife Jean in the eye, repeating "da-da-da-da-da-". Eva's eyes were wide open and smiling like her mouth, and she kept talking.

This wasn't like the indistinct little howls she'd been making into space for months. She was directing a few specific sounds to people she was paying attention to.

Eva has begun to talk.

Kate expressed some playful jealousy that Eva was saying "da-da" before "ma-ma", but I'm still not sure what the word means to Eva, if anything at all. What I can say is that, when she looks at me and says "da-da", well, I fall in love with my own kid all over again.

Makes sense, I'm an orally expressive kind of guy, that this is what would get me in my own kid. And it has.

Eva hasn't reprised her hour-long stream of babble since then, but does at moments. Like today, when I loaded her into the chest carrier for a little walk outside in the mist to see the swans (but Eva was more fascinated with the passing cars). Once we got away from the road and it was quieter, she treated me to several more bursts of remarks, all kinds of sounds. But her speech has more the character of syllables now, not just floating vowels. Whatever ideas might be in her head to express, her voice is slowly gaining the ability to enunciate them.

Not long ago, this afternoon, she looked at the cat lazing on my desk and said, "doi". Jasper then looked up at me and walked away. I get the feeling I'll be referring to the cat as "doi" from now on. I'm an impressionable fool. How could I not?

At the Movies

This winter, with money being tight (though we sprang for a cinema film tonight--more on that later), Kate and I have watched lots of movies at home. Partly due to her sister Cori's inspired Christmas gift of a Netflix membership (which we've extended), and partly due to getting to know our local Blockbuster.

One of the things I really enjoy about Kate: she despises chick flicks as much as I do. Corny, tearjerking, they-were-just-meant-for-each-other sapfests are a drain on my life force, and apparently on Kate's too. Our love of Kill Bill and similar blood-themed oeuvres is on record and known to anyone who talks to us. So we've seen lots of pulpy, darkly comic, bullet-ridden flicks since I came home from the dusty frozen northwest (and Alaska is dusty. On a windy fall day you can see the dust clouds rising above the mountains. The air is tinged brown). Eva doesn't seem to mind them much either, though in general, she doesn't like noise. So we keep the volume down when things get loud, but she definitely pays attention for at least part of the film.

One of this week's Blockbusters was Slap Shot, the 1977 Paul Newman masterpiece about a minor league hockey team, the Chiefs, based in western Pennsylvania. I'd read so many things about the Hanson brothers that I knew someday I'd have to see it. I was finally motivated to pick it by reading a blurb in the news somewhere that the present-day Chiefs, the real Pennsylvania minor-league hockey team on which the film was based, have been sold and are moving. The film depicts their final (fictitious, this being 33 years ago) season, as the iron indsutry was in decline in that part of the world, and the city steel mill was closing, dooming the local economy.

Paul Newman is the player/coach, an old-timer who's not so hot on the bench either. He learns that the team is going to fold and starts cooking up ideas to save it--i.e., convince the owner to sell it.

Enter the Hanson brothers--hired on because they're three wild thugs who assault all opponents on the ice. And, presto! The Chiefs start winning, start energizing crowds, and the team rallies around their three new thick-as-bricks emotional leaders.

The film is a wistful comedy, with a realistic and not lovey-dovey ending, which makes it even more enjoyable. And the characters are capable of some skullduggery, not all of it necessarily good-natured. I haven't seen many Newman films--the Sting (sort of, though the video tape was all warped and messed up), Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid, and the Life & Times of Judge Roy Bean. Newman's at his best when he plays an impish hero. His blue eyes twinkle with mischief or maybe worse, and he winds up acting nobly in spite of the majority of his instincts.

One of the things which makes Cassidy & Sundance such a legendary film is the chemistry between Newman and Redford. Just like Newman, I need to get to know Redford's films much better. Last fall in Alaska I happened to see Three Days of the Condor, and was pretty much awestruck at how he could hold a screen. From what I've seen of his characters, they tend to be more serious than comic. But there's comedy in him, particularly in how he fences verbally with Cassidy, or whoever else he's on-screen with.

Newman was paired with Tom Cruise in the Color of Money, and that was bad casting. Cruise isn't much of an actor. He's intense, and back when he was dancing to Bob Seger in his underwear he was considered hot, but he's not much for nuance or comedy. (Talentless actors usually wind up in action flicks, if they survive at all. It's no mystery Tom's now putting out nothing but action flicks where all he has to do is show intensity.) A far better pairing dramatically for Newman, to bring a script alive, to make scenes sparkle with humor? Brad Pitt.

Pitt, like Newman, is an actor with some depth but whose true talent is comedy. In a role like the stoner in True Romance, you might almost think he didn't need to act at all--the director just told him to toke up, gave him one or two lines to remember, and planted him on a couch. He apparently created his own accent for Snatch. The accent wasn't nearly as weird the second time around, and of course his mother dies during the film, but otherwise, Brad's gypsy character was the same bouncy, smarter-than-he-looks-but-not-by-much throughout. Even in Ocean's Eleven, where Brad's character is much more sophisticated, he has an it's-only-life attitude which gives the movie its spring.

It's just too damn bad he wasn't teamed up with Newman at some point for a movie about gambling. He's pretty much the same age as the lout Cruise. It should've happened. Maybe the chemistry wouldn't have been as good as it was between Newman and Redford, since Redford's greater seriousness was probably a better counterpoint to the devilish Newman--but I think the movie world should've had the chance to find out.

Back to Newman. My favorite scene in Slap Shot, I can't describe in detail because this is a family-friendly blog. But Reggie Dunlop, Newman's player-coach character, has an edge over the opponents' goalie, Hanrahan. In the game's critical last moments, a tie late in the third period, Reggie unleashes a series of taunts that drive Hanrahan berserk and cause him to desert the goal--allowing the game-winning score--and attack Reggie. Newman's joyful delivery of the taunts--especially the first--is exquisite.

So, tonight, for something completely different: a computer-animated flick about monsters. Specifically, dragons: How to Train your Dragon. What drew me to this one was the distinctly catlike look and demeanor of the main dragon, this not-so-big black thing with green feline eyes. Since I'm buds with my own cat Jasper, I figured I should see this one. So we decided to splurge on tickets and even tried to bring Eva along.

A note on that. The volume at times plainly bothered her, so we brought her out of the cinema during the biggest action sequences. And she got tired and ornery, so it's now clear: if we go see any more movies, we need a babysitter. Little infant Eva made it through Fantastic Mr. Fox last fall, but now, no way. She's much too young to engage in a film, and old enough to cause a disturbance. (Though this didn't stop her from spitting happily all over me, grabbing my 3D glasses and trying to suck on them when I brought her out at one point.) So, no more babies in theaters.

The film, being for kids (and really for kids--not over-the-kids'-heads-and-really-for-adult-fans like Fox was), had a very warmhearted, everyone-is-happy ending. But that didn't spoil the plot. The film's gimmick--making the dragons seem like genuine, idiosyncratic, responsive living beings--worked. Just like Finding Nemo was mostly about the variety and vivdness of the marine world, and Wag the Dog was about the creative principle in action, this movie was about dragons as living, sensitive beings. The plot in each of those is kind of secondary. In this case, Ye Standarde Olde Redemption Plotte fit nicely, the visuals (if you see this flick, see it in 3D!) were spectacular, and the dragons were even more fun than I'd been expecting.

So, the Sutherland family's review (Kate and I discussed it on the way home): two thumbs up, a third thumb soaking wet from saliva.

Goulash

So it' April 1st, happy fools day, blah blah, whatever.

I did get an e-mail from my sister Julie this morning, describing an alarm clock that went off at 3:20 AM, spices in the medicine cabinet, and the old classic, switching the salt & sugar. I pulled that one on my parents once, and I didn't really get much of a reaction, just a wry thanks from my mother. Still, it makes me glad---even though she's still just a baby--that we have a daughter, not sons. (I should add that that I do want a son as well, so we'll likely be getting this form of treatment ourselves, at least once or twice, at some point down the road.) Of course, in true sisterly style, Julie's note ended with health advice, since she'd read my post about health care and my blurb about my guts. Ah, sisters. Never too busy for the occasional dollop of advice.

Rhode Island has just emerged from a historic rainfall--nearly 16 inches in two days, and over 20 for the month of March--and is still recovering from even more historic flooding. Route 95, the main interstate thoroughfare, has been closed for over a day. President Obama declared Rhode Island to be in a state of emergency and dispatched FEMA. There are pictures all over the internet--from news sites to Facebook--showing parking lots flooded up to the windows of cars. The Warwick Mall was submerged under three feet of water, as was a Toyota dealership not far from here. The damage is easily counted in many millions of dollars. North Kingstown isn't a valley, and is close enough to Narragansett Bay that the rivers drain with reasonable efficiency, but one local road was underwater. Annaquatucket Road, which follows the (normally tiny) Annaquatucket River through the woods, was still closed last night. The river discharges into a lagoon right alongside this condominium, and features a large pond, impounded by the causeway supporting Route 1A. Thanks to the main road, and the small drainage culvert, the pond overtopped and covered Annaquatucket Road. I went wet-wheeling through it Monday night before it was closed, and was momentarily worried that I'd lose traction, land in a ditch and total the car. At least that didn't happen.

So Rhode Island is still drying out, and will be for several days. Many have lost their homes. It's possible that some businesses won't recover. This was a hurricane without the wind, and in fact, rainier than many hurricanes. Some of the worst hurricanes in history have overwhelmed areas more with rainfall than wind: Galveston in 1900, Camille in 1969, Andrew in 1992, Mitch in 1998. The rainstorm just past wasn't nearly as intense as those monsters--16" in two days, as opposed to 24" in one--but it was no ordinary April shower.

Now Julie's advice had to do with stress management, which is a smart approach. There aren't many people I know--and I'd have to think--who don't have a degree of stress in their lives. Stress is a human instinct, like all of our other mental conditions. Stress motivates us to do stuff. The brain can also become hyperanxious, and have what you might call a mental allergic reaction to things that are comparatively minor. It's a warming from our brain, often by means of physical symptoms. I've felt plenty of it in the last year over finances and employment. Then, sometimes I get wigged out because the Celts can't find a decent backup power forward (or, some nights, a starter). Stress is a complicated phenomenon I couldn't pretend to explain fully. And Julie's sisterly concern that I might need help managing mine is welcome...I've never tried accupuncture. I'm game, though we can't even afford our weekly jaunt to Starbucks right now. So we'll see. For all the idiotic right-wing cries of the end of freedom as we know it, Obama's health care reform isn't nearly socialistic enough to get me accupuncture right now. So I'll just rely on the usual methods: Kate, Eva, Jasper, a little gym and singing time, and making plans.

Since I've been a kid, I've loved to draw maps and come up with groups and organizations that did stuff. Every Thanksgiving, Uncle Jack, Aunt Pam and our cousins Jessica and Evan would come over. For several years running, Jessica and I would set up a little office in the basement with card tables and foldable chairs. I'd ransack a filing cabinet down there for neat-looking documents and forms (all from Dad's past business dealings, mostly Able Shipwrights, which he'd been required by law to keep for 7 years...since he never complained, I'm supposing those 7 years had expired). And Jessica and I would set up our business: International Bank Branch, or IBB. (So named because Dad was VP of a local bank branch at the time, I guess. I won't bother to defend my childhood ideas, any more than I will my current ideas. Either you're on board or you're not.) And we'd shuttle family members through, making loans, taking deposits, all the things bankers do...right?


And of course, aside from Thanksgiving, there were all the obligatory secret spy maps with hideouts and headquarters and weapons of various types. Just things I liked to do.

So I think it's no great mystery that I've settled on cartography--mapmaking--as a major element of my career, and also that I'm getting a bit entrepreneurial about it. I'm making plans to establish a non-profit group to scientifically investigate coastal and offshore archeological sites in the Near East. Now that I'm deeply into writing the business plan, I'm discovering whole new pools of enthusiasm in myself I'd forgotten all about. For on top of being a sales pitch and best estimate as to expected performance, a business plan is a questionnaire for the entrepreneur, an opportunity to explain his or her goals, methods and expectations. I'm having lots of fun with it.

So that's one thing, but of course it doesn't pay the bills--and wouldn't for quite some time, anyway--but it keeps me smiling through the other mundane issues which spring from having only a part-time job, but full-time expenses. Kate, who might never post another entry again, has just started her sign language instruction business. It's really not my tale to tell, so I won't go into details, but she's basically a franchise owner for the Signing Time instruction company. Kate is younger--in some cases, by a couple of decades--than the women she's working with and advising. In those cases where these women have advanced degrees, Kate, who has yet to finish college, has to overcome quite a bit of trepidation. And there are plenty of times when she can hide turmoil behind a quiet face. I've gotten much better at divining the turmoil, but Kate can be anxious at all times of day. She's told me about the anxieties of starting her own business, while not feeling fully qualified, and I can identify. I think that we're both somewhat in the same position--entrepreneurs with ideas, also being aware of holes in our knowledge--is a great common point of experience. Kate sets about managing a staff of teachers older and in some cases more lettered than she is, and I set about looking to raise a hundred grand or two to fund my Indiana Jones jones.

Hey, at least I've got the jacket and the hat! No whip or gun, though. But I do want to learn karate.

Kate has said many times that she'll feel wistful once Eva's no longer a baby, but graduates to toddlerhood. She cherishes Eva's helplessness (and before long will probably start hankering for a replacement baby, so I'd better go full-time soon, huh?). It's a thrill watching the little girl gain the ability to express herself and do things. She's gotten noticeably stronger, and when you're holding her and not looking out, she can grab a lip and pull pretty hard, or nail you in the eye with an inadvertent fist. She regularly beats on Kate while nursing. She just flails away with her free arm while sucking contentedly.

Another trend is vocalizing. She's got a larger vocabulary, so to speak, of whines, yelps, cries and coos, and one I love especially: a good, old-fashioned "ppphhhbbbtttphbbbtpphhttbb!". Only Eva's are particularly wet and sloppy, and will leave a trail of dribble down her chin. Maybe I shouldn't be encouraging her in this, since she now does that more than almost anything else. She's my daughter, she already passes enough gas for 3. Perhaps I shouldn't encourage her in even more socially indecorous behavior. It used to be that if I made that sound back to her, she'd stop and stare at me if I'd just dropped an F-bomb (only she doesn't stare that way when I really do drop an actual F-bomb...but, moving along). Now, she smiles and says "pphhhbbtttbbphhbt!" back. It started out as more of an expression of frustration, when she wanted something or felt confined in her chair (since we still strap her into her bouncy chair at home). But now it's become more of her running stream-of-consciousness commentary. Kate will bring her downstairs in the morning, and Eva is spitting away happily. I don't really care. It still makes me laugh, so I won't be trying to make her stop any time soon.

(Kate I'm sure thanks me for this.)

But more exciting is the progress Eva is making toward crawling. Several times now we've seen her in the company of other babies. With the exception of her cousin Daniel (son of Kate's sister Cori), who's just indescribably huge, Eva dwarfs every other infant she's around. (Truth be told, she's longer than Daniel, but that kid is built like a defensive lineman.) Eva is larger than almost all of the 1-year-olds, but is still immobile, and relatively oblivious to her surroundings. It's a bit painful to watch her sitting there like a lump, while smaller babies crawl and walk all around her, pursuing toys or even paying attention to her, and she grows scared and frustrated and begins to cry (especially if one of them stumbles across one of her feet). Even at this very early stage of life, when none of the kids can really do much, I have to remind myself repeatedly that she's generally younger than the other kids. In time she'll have the strength and muscle control to move around and play with other children. But not yet.

She's nearly crawling, though, and as friends balefully tell us, our lives will be (even more) over once she starts. Right now, Kate puts her on a rug or on the bed, and places a toy in front of her a foot or two away, and challenges Eva to go get it. Eva's staring straight at the toy, plainly wants it, and starts pumping her legs a bit, but moves nowhere. After a while her arms get tired from holding her upper body off the floor and she collapses facefirst. Eva might lie there for a moment or two, or turn her head to the side and look a us piteously, before trying again. She can't quite get her hips off the floor and her knees under her yet, but she's coming closer. Her latest acrobatic feat is to coil both legs up and then kick them both at once, launching herself a few inches forward onto her face. She's getting there.

Just like Kate and me.