caleb chronicles: day care

This feels important. I don’t think it’s a privacy concern to share in this space that Young Master Caleb’s birthday is October 14. He turned two on a grey, rain-soaked Friday, the first of the season. We had celebrated his birthday the weekend before with friends and family in our home. The actual day wasn’t meant to be anything out of the ordinary – save for one thing. Emmelle and I both took the day off from work to visit his new school (day care) with him prior to transitioning fully the following Monday. We intended for the day to begin with a visit to his new Montessori day care and conclude with birthday cake (or “cape” as he calls it). Like many celebrations, it was a day for ends and beginnings. We also meant for it to be void of surprises and emotions. Whoops. Before I share any further, I’d like to go back a year (since of course, I don’t actually document anything on this blog). During a frenetic September/October 2015, we sold our condo in West Oakland and simultaneously moved to a single family home further east in the Oakland Hills. Fortuitously, a Montessori school resides just a block down the road from our new home. Emmelle immediately placed a deposit to secure a spot for Young MC for when he turned two. Montessori schools are extremely highly regarded for young children. These activities felt like things that good, caring parents would do - moving away from the hipster confines of West Oakland into a more suburban neighborhood, looking forward to advancing his educational prospects. We discovered a vacant spot at another nearby day care for Young MC to spend his next year. Miss Jenny, the only nanny he ever had, said her final goodbye shortly after we moved. It was not a difficult decision; she had expressed that our new home was an arduous trek each day and Young MC had reached an age in which it became more difficult for her to effectively care for him as her expertise resided with younger babies. He did not seem to harbor explicit notions of attachment either, perhaps simply a symptom of how young he still was at the time. In short, this first move did not feel like we deprived him of anything he truly cherished. ………. I remember the first day we escorted him to his new school – just a quick visit to acclimate him to his new surroundings, not unlike what we intended to do on his second birthday. We sat our little munchkin at the meal table with his new friends for snack time, and he immediately took to the activity. It was a great relief, it was incredibly adorable, it was his new life for several hours a day. That is not to say that the transitional phase was void of difficulty. We certainly experienced our fair share of crying during morning drop offs and endured the pangs of guilt that all parents do. It’s difficult to recall that he had not taken his first steps by this point. Young MC, ever the cautious fellow, had physically developed long before this time to stand on his own – and possibly inch one foot forward. But he chose not to, not until he reached 14 months. Instead, he would immediately squat down and position himself back to what was most familiar. And as “good, caring” parents should do, this guarded personality would alter how we thought about his transition. He quickly grew comfortable at his new school and found comfort with one teacher in particular - Miss L. Over time, he sought her out in the mornings. Young MC would practically shoo me away as long as he had Miss L close by. She texted us pictures and videos. At school, he giggled, he learned to wipe his nose, he ran in circles with his classmates and squealed cheerfully. He established his full appreciation for anything with wheels - trains, trucks, buses, airplanes and tractors. I'm certain he came home with a couple of bite marks on his arms because that appreciation was a little too strong and selfish =). The seasons passed all too quickly. During an arid Indian Summer, we debated sending him to school in tank tops. As fall turned to colder months and a harsh rain, Young MC caught every cold possible – for what seemed like months and months. He healed and grew stronger. The rains gave birth to a warm spring. The kids played outside; Young MC left day care each day with a handful of playground sand in his shoes as evidence. He came home with food stains, art work and the occasional Ouchie Report. Then came the summer and his first official “summer break”. And then fall. A year passed. ………. We arrived at the Montessori school on Friday morning. The school, a converted home in our neighborhood, rests behind a heavy wooden gate facing the street. We walked inside to find a colorful playground and outdoor toys to the right – large dinosaurs and trucks. On the left, up a small flight of stairs is the patio leading to the school. The patio is jammed with shoes, kids’ outerwear of all sizes into personalized cubbies. On this rainy day, there were rain boots and jackets adorned everywhere. Amidst all of this, I found a hand-written cubie with Young MC’s name on it. Once the teachers admitted us inside, Young MC carefully watched older children participating in a variety of activities – most commonly in self-contained environments. A couple of children cried. The teachers explained that they were newer students, only having been at the school for “two to three weeks”. I had been mentally preparing for about a week of hardship in the morning drop-off. Perhaps it would be much worse. Young MC clung to his mom tightly and would not budge without the confidence of knowing she would be right next to him. More than anything else in his first two years, we’ve learned that he is an introvert. It takes a series of interactions for him to develop a comfort with anyone. So how could we really alter his routine? We left in less than an hour and drove a short way to his school. We joked uneasily in the car ride about how difficult the following week would be. We both silently wondered how much stress this would put on our little guy. He rubbed his eyes in his car seat, already tired from having woken up so early in the morning. I felt sad knowing what he didn’t know. Today would be his last day with Miss L and his familiar environment. Young MC refused to walk down the corridor, and we carried him down the hallway to his classroom. Miss L greeted us at the door, and he reached out for her immediately. She picked him up and squeezed him firmly; he rested his tired head on her chest and rubbed his eyes – an intimate move he perhaps does only with his mom. Miss L gave him a kiss, believing this to be the very last time she would be doing so. She handed us a wrapped package. A birthday gift. I stepped back and walked down the hallway, fighting off a sudden burst of emotion. I couldn’t pinpoint it to one thing but a confluence of factors. The feeling that tugged at me most was this growing dilemma that Young MC was unknowingly saying goodbye to somebody whom he truly loves. And no matter how limited his cognitive and emotional abilities are at age two, it's undeniable that he understands want and loss, Emmelle finished her goodbyes and caught up to me towards the front door. She had tears in her eyes. We stepped out and briskly walked back to our car with the rain steadily pouring down. Emmelle wept. I fought back some tears. She wondered out loud if she should run back inside and plead to retain his spot. Plans change. Emmelle resiliently darted back into the school to reverse course on a decision we’d been working toward for a year. We were not concerned about losing the security deposit, only to ensure the optimal environment for our son. Moments passed and I watched as my wife walked slowly back toward the car, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh no, we are too late”, I thought to myself. It turns out these were tears of relief. Thankfully, the daycare principal immediately assured Emmelle that Young MC would be welcomed back with open arms. We sat in the car silently for a moment, listening to the soft rain fall on the roof of the car. It was one of those moments as husband-and-wife in which you can have a silent conversation. Score this day a win for good parenting. We drove to a nearby diner and reflected on the morning over a hot cup of coffee. In the grand scheme of all things, this is merely a blip on the radar. But on that day and even looking back in retrospect more than a week later, it feels important. We understand that we can’t shield our son from all discomforts throughout life. But we can bring pause every so often. He is still of a tender age in which shielding and guarding feels synonymous with helping him to grow and develop. I’m sure parental books say otherwise. I actually don't care beyond the grinning toddler that we see in front of us. Lo and behold, his new day care allowed us to defer the transition for another year. Security deposit not wasted and honestly, the best possible outcome. But yes, we will be going through this again next year. For the record, we stopped by one of our favorite bakeries in the area and picked up a Tres Leches cake. He blew out two candles. And then he did it one more time. Happy Birthday, son. Omma and Ahpa love you. It’s been a long time since I’ve written this: Thanks for stopping by.

caleb made it to one

There are a couple of monumental things that have happened in our life since my last post and this one will screw with the chronology of it all, but c'mon, our son turned one! Here is a quick synopsis of what the past year has been like.  Kudos to the ever-warm, always-motherly Emmelle and happy birthday to our dear son. Thanks for stopping by.

happy father's day

My first Father’s Day came and went. I find the holiday pretty much nonsensical – unless of course you are a male parent raising your child(ren) on your own. In my first eight months as a parent, I can say without hesitation that dads serve as much utility as this blog. By this blog, I mean, this blog. Certainly, parents will carve out a day-to-day rhythm with distinguished responsibilities. But take the father out of the equation and everyone will comfortably survive (thrive) to the next day. And the one after that. The other way around? Anarchy, destruction, complete chaos. I don’t know about you but I can’t envision domestic anarchy without visualizing a kitchen faucet run amok and potato chips splayed across the counter. Devastation! Its what would happen if Emmelle exited stage GreensandBrowns for more than a night. Its hard to fathom the thought. Perhaps I am being excessive in my critique of our (collective fathers everywhere) value. There are a couple of tasks that fully rest on dad’s shoulders…literally.  Any jobs that are becoming of a mule or sherpa; these are great responsibilities for dad. And for hauling luggage from one location to the next, we celebrate dads everywhere. How did I celebrate? We couldn’t get the timing right for a lunch reservation and ate quickly at a (our future) neighborhood bakery. With Young MC in good spirits, we went grocery shopping. Yes, yes – big things on this day. He fell asleep in the store, and I guzzled a frosty pale ale in the parking lot, wrapped around a pair of cotton shorts we'd purchased for him earlier. It was perfect. Happy Father’s Day to you. Happy Father’s Day to me. And most importantly, Happy Father’s Day to Emmelle. Thanks for stopping by.

caleb chronicles: who are you

The purpose of this blog, the main purpose, was to document some of my life's joys and blessings as they happened in a semi real-time format. So that, years down the road, I could complement any amount of videos, photographs, holograms (?) with my actual thoughts. Putting pen-to-paper once every six months doesn't seem to jive with that intent, especially if these last six months coincided with months two through seven for our young son, Master Caleb. Our son is almost seven months old (!), and the intent of this post has changed a bit. At original time of writing, he was just one month old, and we still knew very little about him. Since then, he has revealed quite a bit of his personality. He seems to be fairly mellow with some very quickly escalated bursts of rage. I am generally very scared of him. He gives away smiles fairly quickly (too easily) to strangers but that has changed very slightly in the last couple of weeks as the concept of "Stranger Danger" seems to play a more integral role in his disposition. But what I originally intended were some things that are secondary thoughts, and mostly concerns. Its easy to pick out elements of his personality that he'll likely retain for life. But what about things that don't reveal themselves for much longer? And the things that I'm fretting about are a laundry list of questions such as "Will you have back problems like your father?", "Have I passed on any unhealthy ailments?". All fully out of our control, and all that much more worrisome. Nevertheless, by virtue and hard work of his mother, he is a happy, well-fed baby. His curated photo album below: Master Caleb, who are you? Master Caleb's Flickr Page Thanks for stopping by.

caleb chronicles: i'm so tired

Please do me the courtesy of hitting the play button on the YouTube embed before you start reading this. Much like the last thoughts shared about Master Caleb, there's plenty of words to draw upon from our rock heroes of the past. At time of writing Master Caleb has just fed, has a fresh diaper strapped and stands (or lays) a couple of days shy of four weeks. In between sentences, my eyes shift over to he and his Mamaroo where I can see him fully approving of the gadget's calming rhythmic movements (he is sleeping). Four weeks! I'm learning quickly as a new parent that there are an infinite amount of non-milestones and achievements to celebrate. But let's be clear, this one is a win for his parents, mostly Emmelle. Four weeks of keeping him alive. That feels like something significant considering where we started weeks ago. The beginning of all of this? Well, Emmelle's contractions began in the wee hours of a Monday morning - midnight to be more precise - and from that point until we rushed to the hospital after 9am that day, we individually dozed off for about 20-30 minutes. After admittance into the delivery ward, the waiting game began. We waited. And waited. I received a suggestion over text from my sage sister, Colonel Mustard, to get some shut eye as it would be a long night. Too much anxiety, anticipation and adrenaline. Impossible. Fortunately (and much more importantly), Emmelle did in fact snooze for a bit. And then we waited some more. And late on Monday - perhaps around 11pm - the delivery began. Monday left us and turned over to a new day of week, a new date on the calendar to perhaps call Master Caleb's very own. 12:52am. He arrived. There are tears, laughter, joe, awe (There's a whole lot of this, but I want to talk about how tired we are). A few hours pass before we are finally admitted into our room. It is after 5am now and the nurse offers to take our youngling off of our hands for a couple of hours so we can get some sleep. We gladly accept, and sleep finally comes - just about 30 hours after the labor began and roughly 45 hours since our last material sleep. And little did I realize that would be our rude and abrupt introduction into parental tiredness - relentless and seemingly everlasting. Everyone tells us it gets better. It will, it must?? The real sacrifice, as with all things as parents, comes from Emmelle. She is the one at home with the littly guy for four consecutive months. She is the one that can provide sustenance in the middle of the night and soothe his growing needs. And she is the one that does this around the clock. I, on the other hand, have been back at work for the last couple of weeks and have to miss one or two feedings per night, depending on how mischievous he chooses to be with us on that given night. When I am at my most useful, I will take young master downstairs so Emmelle can have some short but continuous sleep, void of his small cries and fussing. But there's a rub there too. Unless we have specific bottle feeding plans during that block of time, I quickly usher Master Caleb up the stairs to his food source right when he demands it. Like I said, abrupt. There is no lead time, there is no warning. All of your nerves are tested in those moments. "I'm so tired". So tired. There is another Beatles lyric that comes to mind right now: "It's Getting Better All the Time". Right? Thanks for stopping by.

caleb chronicles: is this love that i'm feelin'

While nothing may feel more comforting than a couple hours of snoozing, I'm fighting the urge for a few minutes as the need to record some of my fresh thoughts on all that's happened over the last couple of weeks (and beyond) takes precedence. I figure these sentiments will hold a lot of value in future years. And may it be a reminder, as gentle as an anvil dropped on top of my head, of how difficult these first two weeks have been with precious Master Caleb in our lives. You know, just in case silly notions of repeating this activity may occur in the future. Tonight, two weeks in, I wanted to touch quickly on the notion of love, attachment and responsibility. In short, I'm finding that they can be mutually exclusive as easily as they are intertwined. And for me, its been very much my sense of duty and devotion to Emmelle, far greater than feelings of affection for our newborn, that have driven me to be a responsible parent. This has been an interesting revelation for me - I've thought through the entire pregnancy that I would immediately be infatuated with our bundle of joy. Don't get me wrong, I am elated at his arrival. But at this stage of his life, I derive much more satisfaction in mundane task-oriented activities that I know are supporting Emmelle (and indirectly Master Caleb), rather than staring into his pudgy little face for minutes on end. In fact, I am a little lost during those rare moments his eyes come alive and tries to make sense of his surroundings. I am not disappointed by this; it all makes perfect sense. I am in the beginning stages of my relationship with my son unlike Emmelle and all mothers who have the opportunity (and the grave sacrifice) of fostering a nine month courtship in the womb. I watched Emmelle seamlessly transition from anxious expectant mother to a confident parent, full of pride and love for her own flesh and blood. It has been the most rewarding experience of everything so far, and again, is a true driver for me to be a good father - still trying to figure out what that means.  So Master Caleb, hopefully when you are not so much a baby one day and can read and comprehend your old man's words - I am comfortable with you understanding that our relationship began with a sense of responsibility and love...for your mother.  Son, I love you today, but perhaps not the way that I had anticipated. This might sound negative to some. I disagree. Its perhaps a testament to the promise of the bond to come. I'm really looking forward to everything.  Thanks for stopping by.

caleb is here!

There is a very good reason my updates have been so sparse in recent months. I've been diligently observing Emmelle incubate her very own child (inside of herself) and have found minimal interest in writing about more trivial matters. I deliberately use the word "observing" because I'm pretty certain I did little else during these past nine months. Meanwhile she has been a total champ, enduring all of the discomfort and hardship that come with pregnancy. So, fast forward nine months and lo and behold, our little Caleb - Yong Hwa in Korean - arrived in the first hour of Tuesday October 14, 2014. I write this roughly a week into Caleb's arrival. In the little time I have left of paternity leave, I hope to document some of the thoughts and experiences in the early going. Overall, it has been incredibly challenging, eye opening beyond belief (i.e., how can parents go through this multiple times?!) and all the while, little Caleb occasionally reveals some of the true joys of our life together that are about to come. Thanks for stopping by.

baby adeline growing up

I'm sure I'll look back in a few years and regret not having posted more about the first couple of years of my beautiful niece's first couple of years of life. In fact, it's been over a year since the last one (her baptism). She is roughly 18 months now, and I wonder if this handful of months represents the greatest disparity between understanding how things work and an inability to act/react due to immature motor skills. It is humorous for now (see the video), but a sobering thought when you realize that a similar disparity exists when your body deteriorates. Not sobering, mildly depressing. But let's stop there. This is meant to be a celebration of young, budding life and all of the discovery and achievement that comes along with it. One other point. I recently acquired a new reader. He shall go nameless for the time being. But he gave me some feedback that my posts are generally too lengthy. I am not reluctant to admit I enjoy the written word from time to time, but these more recent posts - mostly in video form - are a direct response to that criticism. Please enjoy. Thanks for stopping by!

baby adeline's baptism

Baby Adeline celebrated her 100 days and baptism all in one momentous day this past Saturday. Congratulations to the Mustards on the blessed events. Nice touch by the parents matching tie and dress. These aren't my photos, but I took them. I rage with jealousy over my brother-in-law's camera equipment. Thanks for stopping by!

teach me how to text

A couple of months ago, I added Emmelle to my cell phone plan that I have been sharing with C-Monster for several years. Getting on the same cell phone plan is a momentous occurrence and probably deserves to be commemorated independently, but I will focus today on our first full billing statement under the shared plan.

Here are some usage stats during January. I'm not sure if it's more laughable that I text roughly twice per day or that somebody on the plan sends over 50/day.

Thanks for stopping by!

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susan & yosup wedding reception presentation

Back in August, Mean Miss Colonel Mustard and her beau (we don't know his name yet) wed. Their wedding was filled with white flowers and what not.

But the three reception speeches presented by their three dear siblings were easily the most compelling and lasting moments of a truly special day. After laughter and tear-filled speeches (and song) from the Best Man and Maid of Honor, I took my (unwelcome) turn at the mic. It should be noted that Emmelle suggested that we cancel my presentation due to being behind schedule for nearly the entire day. But that was the fault of the priest and his terribly long ceremony. "Wouldn't it be better to trim the First Dance and cake cutting tradition?" I challenged.

And you know what? The Best Man (Togna) and I had so many gulps of blended whiskey before our speeches (to best prepare ourselves to slur our words and take forever on stage) that by the time the late night activities commenced, I was not in any mental state to remember a First Dance or cake cutting. Alas, all great things are overly planned, eagerly anticipated...and vanish.

The presentation below is slightly modified from the original, as I had to compensate for some PowerPoint animations that cannot be viewed on SlideShare.

Susan & Yosup wedding reception presentation

View more presentations from GreensandBrowns

Thanks for stopping by!

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the yusan wedding

Preview clip from videographer. Congratulations to the happy couple; it's always life affirming to see two people who clearly belong together, come together.

Susan and Yosup // SDE from N Compass Cinema on Vimeo.

Thanks for stopping by!

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nearing the quarter mark

Dear reader,

We hope you are well. It goes without saying that it certainly has been awhile. Blog postings have been sparse (read: almost non-existent) since Mr. GreensandBrowns and Emmelle tied the knot and returned from their sublime honeymoon. Our editorial team certainly expected to update these pages frequently with all sorts of quips and anecdotes about Year One of life as Mister and Misses. We’ve missed the mark, but there is still so much time! Plus,we offer an extremely vague excuse here.

Without going into any detail whatsoever, we can assure you that the two are currently engaged in all manners of mischievous scheming. Just the first phase of planning has consumed unthinkable hours and it’s about to become much more complex. Unfortunately, there are minimal photographs, videos, few content pieces of any kind for posterity to direct you to at this moment. But know this. They are plotting in the shadows. Inconspicuously mapping out their plan to establish their empire and pillage, plunder and conquer the world (or at least their own household). Just wait.

Until then, we are grateful for your patience.

Stay tuned for updates on Mr. GreensandBrowns latest adventures and musings. Until then, thanks for stopping by!

Sincerely,

The GreensandBrowns team

the yusan or susup wedding

I'm not sure why I haven't done this before, but I will try to going forward. I'm talking about live Tweeting people! This past Saturday, the parentals got together for the Colonel Mustard and General Mustard wedding.

Anyway, I've decided to use the following hash tag for anything related to their wedding planning. Can't wait for actual tweeting at their wedding! Good repository for their children.

#yusanwedding

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the return of the shin - thirtysomething (part 3 of 3)

The Return of the Shin

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Editor's note: The first draft of this entry was short, much too brief for my liking. If you can't be long-winded, why say anything at all? Thus, I have sprinkled in some un-thruths throughout just to make things more interesting (and longer).

October marked the one year anniversary of this blog. Thank you all for showering yours truly with gifts and well wishes. It's always great to hear devoted readers' share how my words are changing lives, healing relationships, and making this world a better place. I do what I can.

During a recent writing sabbatical, I found myself scanning some of Year One's blog entries while mentally comparing my life as it is now with where it was last year. GreensandBrowns has become another mechanism in my life to measure time. In the past year, some days and weeks were painfully slow, while months seemed to blow by much too rapidly. Same with the blog. A mishmash of thoughts and anecdotes quickly grew into a full year's worth of my life.

Bottom line, life and time inevitably inch forward. The newly forming wrinkles on my face remind me, the intermittent strands of grey hair remind me, occasional bathroom accidents remind me, this blog reminds me.

I tried to recall what's changed since October 2008. Not much I tell myself (and I will review this more fully at the end of the year). The most significant changes occurred more recently - Emmelle and I purchase Altimas Prime and C-Monster moved to southern California. Colonel Mustard turned 30.

Happy birthday, Sister Bear and congratulations for reaching this milestone. I rewarded this achievement with the greatest gift of all, by being handsome at her and Emmelle's recent party. Awwwwww! (see above). It's always great to hear passersby comment on how my handsomeness is changing lives, healing relationships, and making this world a better place. I do what I can.

Now, does a 30th birthday alter life in any tangible or meaningful way? Yes and no. As time passes, we all (hopefully) release ourselves from the bitter taste of insecurity and come to grasp our niche in life. It's similar to crawling to stumbling to walking to hitting full stride. That is a significant transformation. Of course, this process is evolutionary and takes place over time; it doesn't happen when you're 30. But we certainly can celebrate it at that age.

And celebrate it we did!

As the party became more raucous, Colonel Mustard disappeared for a few hours. We searched for her and finally saw her coming back down to the lounge from Potrero Hill with a slow and deliberate gait. As she approached closer, we noticed that she had traded in her black dress and heels for a grey cloak, a witch-like hat, and lesbian sandals (they looked like Birkenstocks). More noticeable was the long white beard she had grown and ethereal eyes that sobered us immediately. Her appearance was so captivating that we didn't notice the two stone tablets she effortlessly carried in each arm until she was very close.

An intense silence swept over the crowd as we eagerly waited for Colonel Mustard to speak. She slowly turned her head from side to side to consume all of our faces as her impressive beard flapped slightly in the gentle breeze. She placed the stone tablets on the pavement and undid her robe, unveiling a magnificently stunning white robe which momentarily blinded all of us and pierced our souls. Some cried. She claimed that she was "Professor Colonel Mustard the White". A low murmur swept through the confounded audience. Mustard is yellow; she was clearly going senile in her ripe age. She grew frustrated with our lack of understanding and reached into her side to reveal a short, crooked wand, striking it to the ground while bellowing, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" This seemed reasonable; we were all interested in getting back to the party anyway.

The crowd quickly filed back into the lounge. What a party!

A 30th birthday doesn't require documentation to keep fresh in the memory tank, unlike some of the outlandish (fleeting) topics I like to write about. But I did want to acknowledge that time constantly changes us...for the better. 30 years ago, Colonel Mustard arrived in this world and learned how to open her eyes and recognize her family. Years later, her parents gave her a stuffed animal for her birthday, and she learned to nurture her companions. Years ago, she received a set of car keys and tried her best to chauffeur her siblings to and fro. Years of experiences and gifts played key roles in who she is today - ferocious lawyer, doting sister, loving daughter, troubled prophet of the ancient world...the list is longer than what is appropriate on this page.

What gifts from her most recent birthday will have major impacts on her life going forward? I'm not sure, but seeds have been planted and are being nurtured. As I watch Colonel Mustard stroke her long silvery beard, I smile knowing that fantastical things happen when you turn 30. I am sure of it. I have seen it. I am looking forward to it.

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the return of the shin - tales of a thirteenth grade nothing (part 2 of 3)

The Return of the Shin

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

C-Monster commenced her collegiate career at UC Irvine in late September and now heads the southern California chapter of the Shin Empire. The Empire periodically receives light-hearted anecdotes and thoughtful updates, all pointing to a girl that has adjusted seamlessly to life as an undergraduate. We couldn't be more proud.

All the years C-Monster spent in teenage angst, vacillating between mild frustration and abject abhorrence to parental tyranny, vanished in the weeks leading to her Orange County trek. As expected, the parentals and she reached the apex of their appreciation for each other during this time. It's a natural evolution that takes hold of any household. Ironically, it's that very moment when harmony has been achieved, that parent and child must part ways.

My parents consciously avoided the feelings that they knew would strike them: “Today I lived without you for the first time. And after a full day in your absence, you still be gone when I awake tomorrow morning…” They would endure that burden once the young one left. While their daughter was still with them, they chose to celebrate the moment. Their youngest child had finally learned to appreciate the support her parents had showered her with over the years, a nurturing that exceeded their individual abilities and means. This sublime pleasantry was life-affirming.

And then the day came, the morning we packed C-Monster's necessities and departed for her new home. The parents were not traveling with us and were required to say goodbye in a restaurant parking lot. Tears flowed. And flowed. And bellowed. The Lady Shins' cry was a vocal manifestation of their collective bodies' ache. Real physical pain. It was agonizing to hear and experience. The weeping only ceased when they tacitly agreed to carry on silently, away from each other.

We hit the road. We sat in traffic. We looped the same CDs over and over again (Ingrid Michaelson, Iron and Wine, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs). We arrived at the dorms. We unpacked. We ate at Olive Garden. We fell asleep in a Marriott. We ate in a dining common. We said goodbye. More tears. We parted. We drove home with less weight in the car. We thought about each other from our four corners. Days passed. Weeks passed. Life moved forward as it always does. Life is good...

In the weeks proceeding C-Monster's departure, I make a conscious effort to visit my parents more frequently (made easier by Altimas Prime) as my parents were clearly afflicted with Empty Nest Syndrome. Every time I stay at my parents' abode, I make camp in C-Monster's old room, the vacant room. Every time I turn her television on, I am momentarily surprised to see ESPN as the first station that displays on the screen - only because that's the channel that was played during my last visit. The room goes unused. Or almost completely unused; my mom uses C-Monster's old computer each morning. To the left of the desk on which the computer sits are a handful of framed photographs of C-Monster. These photos collect no dust. And each time I go home, I'm certain these frames change position ever so slightly, as if somebody picked one up for a moment and tried to set it back in its proper place.

------------------------------------------------

For posterity’s sake, I’m sharing this video from LiNK, a non-profit organization committed to liberty of the North Korean people (please don’t confuse this group with PiNK – Punishment in North Korea, or BLiNK – Bad Luck in North Korea), ((I’m going double parentheses here – why is everyone so obsessed with acronyms?)). Anyway, skip to the 2:57 mark and follow the girl with the #25 above her head.

If you're too impatient to view the entire video, the basic premise is that the organizations' current initiative is to rescue 100 refugees. C-Monster represents the 25th of those who will be uplifted from suffering. That seems like a lot of pressure. Doesn't this mean that she will immediately feel a kinship with Refugee #25? Will she go out of her way to meet this person? To befriend this person? What if they actually got to talking? It would probably go something like this:

C-Monster: I portrayed you in a campaign that we did to raise money and awareness.

Refugee #25: I haven’t eaten in four days.

C-Monster: Yeah, you are number 25. We made you a jersey.

Ok, I’m going to stop…feeling insensitive.

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the return of the shin - altimas prime (part 1 of 3)

The Return of the Shin

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

When an idea pops into my head, my usual blogging routine goes something like this:

I'll jot down some notes either on my laptop or sometimes on my cell phone, spend some time pounding away on a keyboard and walk away from it to uphold a more 'objective' review at a later time (it's the best thing to do without a real editor, a position which Emmelle has jockeyed for on numerous occasions). I'll return to to the material hours or days later, gut it and revamp before finally publishing for public consumption.

It’s really a process in place to serve as a checks-and-balances if you will. Since the inception of this blogging endeavor last year, my greatest fear has always revolved around writing something completely asinine or worse, attempting in vain to be funny. Regrettably, this has prevented me from posting as frequently as I would prefer. Over the last three months, I’ve abandoned several drafts that I spent too much overthinking, eventually losing all interest. I've started, scribbled, erased, tired, and thrown my hands up in frustration repeatedly. I can readily identify these creative dearths as they unfold, but am helpless nonetheless. It's quite vexing. Ultimately, writing became arduous and ideas eventually waned.

I'm trying rather unsuccessfully to explain how difficult it's been to update in over three months. Let's just chalk it up to an involuntary hiatus and now I've come back fully refreshed and inspired.

There were some downright meaningful events that occurred over the last three months. I’ve boiled them down to three events that I'll share over the course of three individual posts. The first occurred in early September:

Altimas Prime

Emmelle and I purchased a new car, a Nissan Altima, to replace her loyal and trusty Honda Civic. I traded in my beer bottle opener key chain for the Nissan smart key that has enough bulk and weight to serve as the key chain itself (appreciate the rich symbolism). Altimas Prime has now been in our lives long enough to escort us across 3,500 miles of Northern California road, and has shortened the San Francisco-San Jose distance that separates us during the weekdays.

Prime was a last minute, but sound, purchasing decision proceeding several weeks of Acura TSX-hunting; luxury can wait a few years. The buying cycle was frustrating and time-consuming although some highlights were sprinkled in throughout the process (e.g., Emmelle’s dad telling a car dear he was “shit” to his chubby face).

I, for one, am extremely pleased with Altimas Prime. Sure, she looks "shiny and new / like a virgin / Hey!", but that's not what tugged at my heart the moment we signed on the dotted line, and the vehicle officially became our property. I couldn't help but think about how this car will steer us through seminal moments of our early years together (a friend also mentioned semenal moments, but I don't even know what that means).

I’ve never felt an emotional connection with a car, but I do now. Prime will transport us to life-changing moments and emotional journeys. It will usher us from today to tomorrow, serving as a conduit for us in the present and us in the future. Five years from now, we’ll complete payment on the car. Over the next five years, I expect the car to carry us to wedding, births and perhaps even tragedy and death.

Altimas Prime will be the ultimate confidante on our car rides – a silently active participant in our intimate conversations, a good-natured companion of our inside jokes, and a comforting seat to catch our most private of tears, both happy and sad.

I'm not trying to appear overly dramatic, but stating that this vehicle is a reflection of where we are and what we are surrounded by in our late twenties/early thirties. One day when it's time to give up (on) the car, I will give it the most sincere bear hug, remembering the moment we brought her home, recounting how Emmelle and my life had gotten better in the years that followed.

Thanks in advance, Altimas Prime.

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double the fun

An historic event occurred this past Saturday at HP Pavilion in San Jose. ML and I went on our first double date with Saebom and The Death Starez.

While the younglings will not be challenging our crown as the preeminent power couple in the GreensandBrowns universe, it was a pleasure to spend some time with them.  My only regret is that the Kiss Cam never found these two love birds. I am still very much interested to see what would have transpired had the two appeared on the jumbotron during that break. Would they have succumbed to the auditory pressure of 17,000+ fans? Or would they feel the heat of my eyes boring holes through their heads? 

Just for those in attendance last night: We witnessed something that rarely happens in NHL games.

D-Star, welcome to the G&B experience.

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