Since it has been so long since I have written anything, be it meaningful or pointless, I won't even attempt to backfill you in on the story of the last few months, year, whatever. Instead I'll jump right in and describe the present day happenings that are shaping my world. The point tonight is just to write. Write.
Today is the fourth day of October, the first Monday of the month, and also notably a month with five Fridays that will provide me with three paychecks. Tomorrow is my father-in-law's birthday, a fact just gleaned from witnessing a moment of near-hysterical panic between my wife and sister-in-law as neither one of them remembered to send a card. Emma is four months old. As I write this, at 7:55PM on a typically cool evening in Santa Rosa, she is starting to squawk from her yellow-pastel IKEA bedazzled bedroom letting us know that no, oh no, she is not quite ready to call it a night. Although we try to share the load as evenly as possible, at times I am simply less suited to soothing our daughter due to my lack of mammary glands. Such is life.
The weather is starting to shift, and although I realize this winter will not feel like a Boisean winter I am yet looking forward to the change. I am unsure if leaves even change here in Santa Rosa. I do know the rains begin and for the next month or so the ubiquitous oak forests will give birth to another wave of flora and fauna not yet seen by this Idaho transplant. The country/terrain here in Sonoma County is reminiscent of the Northern coast of Spain, and with Spanish suenos nearly a decade old yet still fresh in my mind I am scheduled to accompany some friends on mushroom foraging adventures near the coastal towns of Jenner and Stewart Point.
The dog sleeps beneath the desk, beneath me, snoring like a lumberjack; sprawled loose-boned and loose-jawed on her matted and flattened bedding. She has adjusted OK to Emma, warming up slowly though ever-conscious that this little creature is stealing time, attention, food, and love away from her. Give it a year; Emma and McKinley will be best friends. We envision Emma hurling bits of foodstuff like a rotary sprinkler while the dog darts around, circling the high chair like a ravenous piranha in the Amazon. Of course the proffering of food will be accompanied by hands eager to pinch and miniature teeth eager to chew on whatever bit of furry labrador they can grab... but they will still grow to be friends.
We are pouring love into Emma. That is our mission right now, our life mission. During the work week I wake up at 6:30 and make coffee, iron my work clothes and when Emma starts cooing I head in, pick her up, give her the first hug of the day, change her diaper and take her in to Mom. I lay back in bed with them and stare in dumbstruck awe, taking in the tiny hands, feet, the hair that is growing so fast, the rotund arms that have tripled in size in just a few months. Then I head to work. It is extremely hard to pull out of the driveway. I work until 4:30 then race home, getting to play with her and Mom for about two hours before the wind-down begins and she's off to sleep once again. We read books and watch bicycle races on Universal Sports and I play all sorts of obscure music for her. I am proud to say she is a fan of several different music genres; she is also quite tolerant with our inability to sing in tune.
We went to see a concert on Saturday evening in Petaluma, an artist by the name of Jamie Lidell. Mr. Lidell has played to sold out crowds in much larger venues, but somehow no one "got the memo" about this show and it ended up being an intimate performance - maybe 30 of us listening to he and his four-person backup band in the quaint Mystic Theater. Goosebump music. Nice for Lauren and I to get away (Lauren's sister watched Emma that night). Lauren and I hadn't hit a concert in about a year... it almost feels like things are settling into some (gasp!) type of normal rhythm once again.
See? No real flow, no real point. Just a snap shot. Good night.
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