Ah, these little lessons of life.

Someone wise once told me to never say never. I think I was about 8 years old or so, and I said, "I'll never work in a fast-food restaurant." I worked for my father until I was 16 or so... when I struck out to get a job on my own. Guess what it was? (That's a rhetorical question for the sake of cynicism.)

Another never, it seems, is coming to a rather fruitful reality. It's hard to think that, the more effort we output to controlling our own lives... the more we avoid fatalism... the less control we actually feel. About a year ago, I went to visit my 8th Grade English teacher in her classroom back in my home berg of Buckeye. She meant an incredible amount to me as a teacher back in the day, and has remarkably meant a great deal to me as an adult friend, too. So, I have always viewed her advice and experience as valuable tools. Going there was a healing journey, really. My student teaching experience was not a good one. C'est la vie.

"Jokingly" as I left that day of my visit, I was "offered" a job by two different people. I put no serious thought into it. After all, I would never move back to Buckeye. Or anywhere even remotely related to the Valley of my youth.

Pesky nevers. They always come around and bite me. Nasty bitey biters and their biting.

How does one begin to summarize so many events of ill favor. Let's try this: 2008 has sucked big hairy monkey nuts for Tracey and me. Sorry for the image, but it's true. I won't go over it all here, just know that death, poverty and other general misfortune have hung heavy like acid clouds above our heads. We thought that Flagstaff might be just the ticket. Alas, we made a poor choice. We miss our home in Tucson. We miss our friends. We miss the simply pleasure of the fact that we chose it ourselves, for ourselves, and for no greater reason than making a decision for our collective wants. Unfortunately, Tucson may be too far behind us now for a return. Our move to Flagstaff -for comparative purposes- was not the same. We moved here reluctantly for the promise of better things for our child. Ouch.

We are making a choice again. We have a plan... and we have goals. I accepted a very real, non-joking, offer to go back to Buckeye and teach with the very aforementioned 8th Grade teacher that meant so much to me. It is an opportunity, as I see it, to gobble up some valuable mentoring in a district that is growing quickly and will make good use of my passion and excitement. That means, if you didn't put all the pieces together, that we are moving yet again. This time to the lands of my rapscallion past.

I hope I don't have to write another post like this.

Thanks to everyone, sincerely, that has sent kind words and thoughts. Tracey and I feel very fortunate to have such wonderful people supporting us and thinking of us. We have felt it, and it was good. Thank you.

Love to all,
Jed

...

I smash my head on clouds, and dive head first deep into the belly of the Earth. I feel the wind pull on me. I watch days go by. Nights are now watercolor. I fight. I fight. This wretched bubble in my heart.

The grass is still growing. The trees are still so selfish. The sun smacks my face so harshly. I can feel the world spin.

I am stone.

My brain is champion of my world now. My heart has fallen so far behind.

Why does it hurt so much to love something that is only a concept?

If you have not heard by now, we lost the baby. We are together, and we are moving forward. Everything else feels plastic.

Things I ponder. Or: How to categorize a gorilla.

This question has popped up in a few conversations lately: What is your spirituality?

It strikes me, because I used to work with a guy that would always ask people what their nationality was, when he clearly wanted to know their racial and ethnic category. It used to drive me bonkers. I wanted to explain it to him, but he was beyond help.

So, when people ask me what my spirituality is, I guess they are asking to which religion do I subscribe.

I have given this a great deal of thought lately. I have read many texts. I have sought enlightenment from nearly every talking toad I seem to happen upon. And I guess what I have decided is that you can't put a label on me.

I am an atheist, I suppose. But as one says that, gasps aplenty are heard to charge through the room. To them, morality and goodness MUST be tied to belief in SOMETHING. "How do you decide what's right and wrong?" (Actual question.) "I use my brain." (Actual response.)

I find myself fascinated by the fact that people can't simply except what IS. To me, that which is right there for us to witness is far more amazing and intricate than any one being could ever imagine - let alone build. But still, they seem to think that because I am an atheist, and that I don't believe in a supreme being, that I am simply void of any belief at all. Period. And that couldn't be dumber, to be frank. They'll say, "You must believe in SOMETHING, though, right? Like, doesn't some religion speak to you, at least a little." Yeah, some do. Right up until the parts with magic. Again, the reality, I think, is far more beautiful.

But, still, I've been thinking. And here is some of the fruit of such thought.

Do I believe in a supreme being? Nope. A higher power? Possibly. For, what is nature if it is not a "higher power" to which we all, for real, 100% truly will lose. We are part of it, we effect it, affect it, change it, and try to understand it... but ultimately, we are fodder for it's greatness. So, yeah... okay. I worship the majesty of the Earth.

Do you believe in the afterlife? Kinda. Not in the super pretty, all-white spectacle of Heaven. Or Nirvana or whatever else. But if you look at Anthropology, there is plenty of documentation for the possibilities of afterlife. But before you get all riled up, let me explain further... See, we all have ancestors, and we all have memories. And, really, there is A LOT that we don't know about our subconscious minds. Here is my hypothesis: The afterlife, including ghosts, spirits, angels, entities and whatever else we may name them, do exist. But, and here is the part that would be left out if anyone ever tried to use this quote again' me... They exist somewhere deep in our subconscious. Someplace we don't fully understand where we can remember things with such clarity that they are there and they are very real. Then what about random hauntings when we don't have knowledge of the "person?" Same deal, I think. I think that if a real double-blind study was conducted, we would see that people "see" ghosts only after hearing stories of their existence in a certain locale. Now, undoubtedly, someone reading this is already shaking their head... and that's fine. You're talking to (or reading a monologue by, really) someone that has "seen" and "experienced" unexplained phenomena. But, again, the tangible is so magnificent, that I don't spend a lot of my time with the rest. I am a skeptic... which isn't a bad word. It just means I'm from Missouri.

Can't you at least agree that religion has provided some good things in regards to kindness and morality? Sure. But that stuff pales in comparison to the legion of awful, horrible s**t it has also given us. I love the materials that "Picture a World Without Religion." They say it much better than I.

What if you HAD, like absolutely, to choose a religion or face death? Honestly... Patrick Henry already summed up my feelings on this... but I'll humor you. Probably Buddhism. That's most closely matched with my personal attitudes and feelings about kindness and virtue, and its only real deity is knowledge... I can get onboard for that.

So, what do you believe? A lot.

I believe that the sky is just about infinite, and the way that it makes me feel small is indescribable. Same goes for oceans.

I believe that sunsets in the Sonoran Desert are as close as I have ever come to truly worshipping something.

I believe that the fact that our physiology is basically autonomous and definite is scary, but also very empowering and beautiful.

I believe that knowledge is power. Specialized skill is a super power.

I believe that children are perfect, no matter how they come out.

I believe that the most powerful medicine ever created is love. And I believe that it's sad that saying that has become cheesy and weird.

I believe in personal responsibility, and that being able to cognitively grasp that concept is divine.

I believe that our politics, how we organize ourselves, is meaningless squabble when compared with our need to apply equal parts tolerance and compassion. (And our ability to know the difference.)

I believe that we should all worry a bit less on what others believe, and spend some time thinking about what we, ourselves find important.

Most importantly - and this may require some pondering of your own - I believe that its way okay that I sleep with a stuffed chimpanzee sleepy pal.

Anyway - I felt like writing, I guess. I hope everyone is well.

A bit o' news. We've been ruled out as candidates for home birth with a midwife. We are a bit bummed by that - but we think we have the next best thing.

Love and peaches,

Jed

Like opening a clam with a wet bus ticket...

I think it's funny, or weird, or interesting, or something.... that when I express my fears of being a father, people always respond with, "You're gonna do great." Is this the natural response? Is it auto-speech? Like this old thing: "Hey, what's up?" "Pretty good." Raise your hand if you've ever done that.

The other day, I ran into an old family friend and while shaking his hand, said, "Nice to meet you." He was a bit peeved, and said, "I was at your wedding." It sounded really cool with his thick Salvadoran accent... but I think he knew I had made a flub.

I digress.

Why, exactly, do people always hit me with the "you're gonna do great" school of thought? Now, I'm not fishing here, but what is it that makes people think this? Are they actually thinking something else and saying this? Are they actually thinking, "Oh, F**k? That kid's in serious trouble." What qualities have they ever seen in me which might translate into being a good dad? And then I sort of realize, too, that it's so subjective. What's a good dad? It must be totally different to everyone, right? I think my dad is a good dad in many ways. He taught me how to be a hard worker and to be really and truly tough. I wish he'd given me his mustache-growing genes... but other than that, I have no complaints. So, really, I just keep wondering when I'm going to run into someone that's like, "You? Really? Are you sure it's yours?" Or something like that. Maybe that last bit's a little harsh - but...

I can't remember who I was talking to, but they said that they were thinking about trying to have a baby. I responded with something about how the only difference I can feel now that it's real is that I went from being theoretically terrified to tangibly terrified. As an adult, we become relatively comfortable with the idea of our lives. We become comfortable with our thought process and even our emotional responses. I am continually flabbergasted by the way my brain now works... and a little nervous too.



Scenario: 4 months ago - I thought: Man. I really want to go to Nicaragua and learn hot rod super Spanish. That would be awesome. Tracey can come too.

About 7 weeks ago - I thought: Holy F**king S**t. Holy F**king S**t. Holy F**king S**t. (Roughly translated - We're gonna have a what?)

Now - I think: I really want to go live in Australia and learn to harvest the perfect digeridoo. Oh, and learn to play it, like, really really good. That'd be dope. And Tracey can study homeopathic medicine with aborigines. Man, that is gonna be awes- Oh, yeah... baby. Can't.

And I'm not saying that I'm resentful or that I can't really do that, even with a baby... but it's definitely more complicated. And that's taking me a long time to get used to. And what worries me is that I seem to subconsciously forget that our peanut is coming. This is real. I know the peanut is there... but it's like some blurry image at the end of a very dim hallway. And I feel like I'm staggering my way there, arms outstretched, trying to grab one of those water wiggle things.

I believe that learning to ride a bike is a great metaphor for learning in general. As children, and sometimes as adults, we want nothing more than to be able to ride a "big kid's bike." We want to know how so badly that we watch the older kids and we picture ourselves doing it and we ask our parents ad nauseam when they're going to teach us, and finally we get our shot and... Well the story is really different for everyone there. Which is like learning. And for me, I just got fed up with asking and hijacked my brother's HUGE bike... and rode that son-of-a-bitch. And I didn't fall..

So, for me... learning is really a solitary process. I have all the books, and I read them. And I ask questions. I devour anything I can find on the subject... and I know that this too will be like learning to ride a bike. An amazing complicated, levitating, jet-powered bike*, but a bike all the same. I don't spend all my time worrying... but I guess I wish I could jump on the "gonna do great" bandwagon... but there are just too many variables...



*Credit to DK.

Sabado de paz

cinnamon rolls.
fresh squeezed orange juice.
weird weekend npr.
patio.
dog at my feet.
lazy mountain breeze.
orioles eating week-old sourdough.
goddess to my right.
baby in her womb.
so in debt, but so alive.
no need for capitals.


A cheesy poet still resides in my heart. We have our first midwife appointment on Thursday - turns out we stumbled onto the same midwife that delivered your friend's baby, Emery. The universe is mysterious indeed.

Our lil' guest cottage is being renovated a bit. I am told it will be quite nice. My head still vibrates from sonic nail guns.

Love and luck to all of you.

Riding turbo,
Jed

New days.

So, we made it to Flagstaff with very little trouble. My dad arrived in Tucson at about 7 am Saturday morning, and he and I had the horse trailer loaded with our meager belongings in about an hour. He went on up the hill while Tracey and I did a few rounds and made sure we were making a decent load.

Driving a little GMC Sonoma for 4 hours will always have a special place in my heart. That's sarcasm.

As we pulled into Flagstaff, all was well. I believed we were going to make it in one piece, and just in the nick of time, too. The massive mountain sky was beginning to turn it's ominous shade of summer black. My dad had been in Flag for about 30 minutes by the time we got there, and we had arranged to meet at a gas station in Cheshire, near our new pad... then I'd lead the way in. By the time we got to him, however, the sky was falling at a phenomenal rate. And my truck does not have windshield wipers that function at 100%. C'est la vie.

So, it was awesome to HAVE the horse trailer, because moving trucks can cost several hundred dollars. The bad part, though, is that the rain was able to freely infiltrate the openings along the top of the trailer. So, unloading it took on an air more to the tune of ripping open wet boxes to salvage photographs and family 'airlooms.' (I prefer such spelling.) To date, we have found no major damage - I am amazed.

And now, here we are. We have a modest one bedroom guesthouse (with a murphy bed in a den, hint, hint). Gracie is loving her romps throught the woods with no leash. She's pooping everywhere. There is an elk bed in the woods near the house, and she loves to roll in their ever pungent poo. We are relaxing nightly on our tree covered porch, listening to the gentle breeze and watching it tustle our prayer flags. We are smelling the ponderosa pine and watching the Ebert squirrels frolic. We are listening to the horrid squawk of the nearby jays, which the setting seems to make musical. We are thinking new thoughts and feeling new feelings, and though we have small pangs of longing for what was left behind, we are home now.

Our phone numbers will remain the same for some time... give us a ring next time you're in the 'hood.

Here's our address, though our generation seems to boycott real mail:

3165 W. Forest Hills Dr.
Flagstaff, AZ 86001

Ahem.

Buffalo.

No really - just... Buffalo.  Look at it for a bit.  It begins to take life.  It is, quite possibly, one of the strangest words.  At least graphically.

Now behold:

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

Apparently a grammatically correct sentence.  (Which that <---- was not.)

Seriously.  Check it out.