Took a windjammer cruise today with Bella and Jack. Julia stayed home. She gets seasick. So does Jack, but he’s OK with it probably because he hasn’t fed the fish yet. He just turns green in the gills and looks awful. Julia feeds the fish. She stays home.
I don’t get seasick. Neither does Bella, of course, because she has Usher syndrome. Rocking and bobbing and up and down and side to side don’t bother her in the least.
We got the harbor right around 10:00 AM when most of the windjammers are boarding. We were fortunate in our timing and found ourselves as the only passengers on a two hour tour of the harbor on the Lazy Jack II with Captain Sean. Two hours alone is more than enough time for Jack to feel right at home, especially on a vessel that shared his name and one of the more apt descriptions of him.
As we cruised the harbor, Jack lounged on a padded bench right near the helm. Since we were the only passengers he could stretch out. He kicked off his shoes and chatted up the Captain. They had a lot in common. Captain Sean was a Loony Tunes connoisseur and they discussed their favorite episodes complete with Yosemite Sam quotes.
After about an hour, that ship was as comfortable as Grammy’s lap to Jack and he began to, um, loosen up. The First Mate was a martial arts black belt about to ship out to Marine boot camp named Ethan. Jack decided to call him Slick. Luckily for Jack Ethan had a sense of humor.
Halfway through the trip, we made a sharp turn to head for home. It was a sailboat and the day was mild, so it was quiet enough for Bella to join in the conversations. As we turned the Captain made a comment about rough seas. Jack pointed out that he got seasick. Very seasick. He told a story about a particularly unpleasant Whale Watch where he looked as green as a leprechaun. But, he noted, Bella never got seasick. In fact, Jack said, she can spin around forever and not even get dizzy.
Now the Captain and Ethan were intrigued. They asked why.
“Bella has Usher syndrome,” Jack said matter-of-factly, “That’s why she’s deaf.”
Bella looked a little sheepish, but she deftly took a couple of follow-up questions from the crew, explaining her implants and her balance issues. There was an uncomfortable moment or two.
Then Jack farted. Loudly. Sailors like flatulence apparently, because Captain Sean and Ethan broke up laughing. Then Jack brought out the elephant jokes.
“What’s gray underneath and black and white all over?"
"What?" asked Captain Sean.
"An elephant in a zebra suit.”
Ethan groaned.
“What’s gray and goes ‘flip-tzzz-flip-tzzz?"
"What?" asked a less enthusiastic Captain Sean.
"An elephant making pancakes.”
Ethan stopped smiling.
“What’s the difference between and elephant and a plum?"
Silence as Captain Sean pretended to scan the horizon.
"Elephants are gray.”
The Captain sighed heavily. Ethan took out his knife.
“What does Tarzan say when he sees a herd of elephants?"
"What grade are you in, Jack?" asked the Captain.
"Wrong! He said 'Look, a herd of elephants.'”
The Captain looked a little green. Ethan sat down between Jack and Bella and sharpened his knife.
“Hey! Nice knife! What does Jane say when she sees a herd of elephants?"
No response from anyone.
"Look, a herd of plums. Jane is color blind.”
Ethan raised his knife and cut a strand of thin rope off of a spool.
"That's it. No more elephant jokes," I declared.
“Hey, what are you doing with that, Slick?” Jack asked Ethan.
Ethan smiled and put away the knife. He took out a tool used to mend sails and began working the line he had cut.
“I’m making a bracelet for Bella,” he said. He held up his wrist and pointed to a stylish bracelet, “just like this one.”
And he did. Back and forth he weaved. After a few minutes, he had Bella hold out her wrist. Then he spent a half an hour tightening it and tying it. It was mesmerizing. Well, not to Jack. He kept yammering away with Captain Sean about Spongebob and Pokemon until the Captain began to make up chores he had to attend. Ethan finished the bracelet just as arrived at the dock.
Bella had a beautiful bracelet to match that of the black belt marine sailor. Jack got his hair ruffled. I got to put $40 in the tip jar. Someone had to cover for the invisible passengers. It didn’t begin to cover the value of the gift from the tough kid with the soft spot for the little girl with Usher.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Flying Beavers
Bella’s eyesight is not so good. Neither is her hearing. It comes with Usher syndrome and often creates some pretty interesting conversations. Take yesterday. I was sitting on the dock looking across the lake while Jack fished for trees and Bella stared at the dog through binoculars turned backwards. Suddenly there was this big ruckus from the opposite shore. Three bald eagles were having an argument, screeching and twisting and winding through the treetops.
As a quick aside, there was a time several years ago when I mentioned to Bella that a bald eagle was my favorite bird. It probably came during one of those twenty questions sessions when I had to name my favorite Spongebob character and pick my favorite number. Anyway, she’s never forgotten and every few months or so I receive some sort of bald eagle trinket from her; a keychain, a painting, a cutout from a magazine. Something like that. It was something special we shared. With her eyesight fading I was really excited that she had a chance to see one live, in it’s natural habitat, flying free.
I called her to come quickly with her binoculars so she could see the eagles. She scurried down to the dock as the eagles threatened to bolt to the horizon.
“Look at the eagles!” I said.
“Beagles? Where?”
“No, no. Eagles. Across the lake. Look quick.”
She squinted.
“With the binoculars!”
“Oh,” she raised the binoculars and started broadly scanning the horizon, “I don’t see them.”
“There,” I pointed, “Right there! Across the lake.”
“Where? In the water?”
“In the wa…? No! Eagles! Eagles! In the sky! Look over the treetops.”
“In the sky? You want me to look in the sky?”
“YES!! They’re eagles. Where else would they be? They’re right there…oh, wait. Their gone.”
“Oh,” said Bella, “Were they cute?”
Everything is scaled in cute with Bella.
“Yes,” I said, “They were cute bald eagles.”
“They were bald?!” she looked shocked.
“No, no,” I said, “Not really bald. They were bald eagles. You know, white heads, white tails,” I pantomimed big wings flapping, “you know, bald eagles.”
“Ohhh!” she said, a light going on, “I thought you said beavers. I thought you were joking about bald beavers flying above the trees.”
Yikes. Flying bald beavers. That’s a head slapper right there.
Now there are no eagles where we live so it was disappointing when she only saw invisible flying bald beavers. I kept my eyes on the skies, though, and later that evening I saw something circling above the trees again. I called to Bella who once again came running with her binoculars. I pointed out the shape floating lazily above the trees and this time, she focused right in.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s an eagle,” I said.
“No it’s not,” she replied.
I took another look. What I had believed to be an eagle circling on a breeze had remained stationary in the air. It also looked kind of rectangular. It was not an eagle.
“I think it’s a kite,” I said.
“I think it’s a plane,” said Bella.
“I think it’s an alien,” said Jack.
Given that the object floated above heavily wooded conservation land, I decided it seemed unlikely it was a kite. Where would they stand? It was all tall pines and no roads. It wasn’t bigger than a suitcase, so it wasn’t a plane. That left only alien on the table.
This was disconcerting when the object seemed to stagger then grow bigger. It was falling from the sky. It floated earthward, like a piece of paper dropped off a table. Within a moment of two it has splashed down on the surface of the lake near the opposite shore. Jack gathered up a second pair of binoculars and joined Bella in the search for answers. Julia appeared on the porch.
“Did you see that thing fall in the water?” she asked, “I think it’s space junk.”
“It’s an alien,” Jack replied.
“I think it’s a beaver!” Bella declared.
“It’s not a beaver,” I said.
“Yes it is,” said Bella, “It’s brown and it has a face.”
“Aliens have faces!” said Jack excitedly.
“It doesn’t have a face,” I said.
“Yes it does,” said Jack, “Wait. It’s not an alien. Bella’s right. It’s a beaver.”
“It’s not a beaver!”
“Whatever it is, it’s swimming this way,” said Julia.
She was right. It was moving across the lake in a straight line aimed right at our cabin.
I squinted and mumbled, “What is that?”
“Beaver,” said Bella.
“Beaver,” said Jack.
“I think it’s a beaver,” said Julia.
“Right,” I spit, “It’s a sky diving beaver. Maybe he’s part of an invasion force.”
“Well what else could it be?” asked Julia, as if flying commando beaver was the most obvious answer.
“It’s got something red,” said Jack.
“That’s it mouth,” said Bella.
“Wow. That’s a big mouth,” said Jack.
“It’s still coming right at us,” Julia said nervously.
I’d had enough. “That’s it, we’re getting the kayak and rowing out there.”
We ran up to the house and put on our life vests, snapping the straps with a purpose like a movie hero gearing for battle. There was a hint of tension, a tinge of apprehension in the air. Julia protested that the kids should stay on shore where it’s safe from the skydiving alien commando beaver with the giant mouth. I said it was coming for us anyway. Better to row out and meet it on our terms. To make her feel better I promised to club it with my oar Jimmy Carter style if it threatened to attack.
Bella and I took the two person kayak. Jack followed in a single person, careful to stay close to us but not too close. You know, it case the alien commando beaver attacked.
We rowed out to meet the invader. It never flinched off it’s course as we set out, never veered from the threat. It came right at us with a singular purpose. We drew closer and closer. The kids chattered nervously. Julia called a barrage of ‘be carefuls’ from the porch. The attacker began to take shape. It was indeed brown and about the size of a beaver. And it had a face! It really did. And it was carrying something red. Oh my God! It’s….it’s…it’s…
A semi-deflated monkey balloon. More specifically, it was a balloon shaped like a smiling monkey carrying a red valentine heart that read “I love you’. In other words, it was a love monkey from outer space and those are even rarer than eagles.
So things turned out pretty good in the end. Bella and I didn’t share the sight of a majestic eagle in flight. We shared something even better.
As a quick aside, there was a time several years ago when I mentioned to Bella that a bald eagle was my favorite bird. It probably came during one of those twenty questions sessions when I had to name my favorite Spongebob character and pick my favorite number. Anyway, she’s never forgotten and every few months or so I receive some sort of bald eagle trinket from her; a keychain, a painting, a cutout from a magazine. Something like that. It was something special we shared. With her eyesight fading I was really excited that she had a chance to see one live, in it’s natural habitat, flying free.
I called her to come quickly with her binoculars so she could see the eagles. She scurried down to the dock as the eagles threatened to bolt to the horizon.
“Look at the eagles!” I said.
“Beagles? Where?”
“No, no. Eagles. Across the lake. Look quick.”
She squinted.
“With the binoculars!”
“Oh,” she raised the binoculars and started broadly scanning the horizon, “I don’t see them.”
“There,” I pointed, “Right there! Across the lake.”
“Where? In the water?”
“In the wa…? No! Eagles! Eagles! In the sky! Look over the treetops.”
“In the sky? You want me to look in the sky?”
“YES!! They’re eagles. Where else would they be? They’re right there…oh, wait. Their gone.”
“Oh,” said Bella, “Were they cute?”
Everything is scaled in cute with Bella.
“Yes,” I said, “They were cute bald eagles.”
“They were bald?!” she looked shocked.
“No, no,” I said, “Not really bald. They were bald eagles. You know, white heads, white tails,” I pantomimed big wings flapping, “you know, bald eagles.”
“Ohhh!” she said, a light going on, “I thought you said beavers. I thought you were joking about bald beavers flying above the trees.”
Yikes. Flying bald beavers. That’s a head slapper right there.
Now there are no eagles where we live so it was disappointing when she only saw invisible flying bald beavers. I kept my eyes on the skies, though, and later that evening I saw something circling above the trees again. I called to Bella who once again came running with her binoculars. I pointed out the shape floating lazily above the trees and this time, she focused right in.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s an eagle,” I said.
“No it’s not,” she replied.
I took another look. What I had believed to be an eagle circling on a breeze had remained stationary in the air. It also looked kind of rectangular. It was not an eagle.
“I think it’s a kite,” I said.
“I think it’s a plane,” said Bella.
“I think it’s an alien,” said Jack.
Given that the object floated above heavily wooded conservation land, I decided it seemed unlikely it was a kite. Where would they stand? It was all tall pines and no roads. It wasn’t bigger than a suitcase, so it wasn’t a plane. That left only alien on the table.
This was disconcerting when the object seemed to stagger then grow bigger. It was falling from the sky. It floated earthward, like a piece of paper dropped off a table. Within a moment of two it has splashed down on the surface of the lake near the opposite shore. Jack gathered up a second pair of binoculars and joined Bella in the search for answers. Julia appeared on the porch.
“Did you see that thing fall in the water?” she asked, “I think it’s space junk.”
“It’s an alien,” Jack replied.
“I think it’s a beaver!” Bella declared.
“It’s not a beaver,” I said.
“Yes it is,” said Bella, “It’s brown and it has a face.”
“Aliens have faces!” said Jack excitedly.
“It doesn’t have a face,” I said.
“Yes it does,” said Jack, “Wait. It’s not an alien. Bella’s right. It’s a beaver.”
“It’s not a beaver!”
“Whatever it is, it’s swimming this way,” said Julia.
She was right. It was moving across the lake in a straight line aimed right at our cabin.
I squinted and mumbled, “What is that?”
“Beaver,” said Bella.
“Beaver,” said Jack.
“I think it’s a beaver,” said Julia.
“Right,” I spit, “It’s a sky diving beaver. Maybe he’s part of an invasion force.”
“Well what else could it be?” asked Julia, as if flying commando beaver was the most obvious answer.
“It’s got something red,” said Jack.
“That’s it mouth,” said Bella.
“Wow. That’s a big mouth,” said Jack.
“It’s still coming right at us,” Julia said nervously.
I’d had enough. “That’s it, we’re getting the kayak and rowing out there.”
We ran up to the house and put on our life vests, snapping the straps with a purpose like a movie hero gearing for battle. There was a hint of tension, a tinge of apprehension in the air. Julia protested that the kids should stay on shore where it’s safe from the skydiving alien commando beaver with the giant mouth. I said it was coming for us anyway. Better to row out and meet it on our terms. To make her feel better I promised to club it with my oar Jimmy Carter style if it threatened to attack.
Bella and I took the two person kayak. Jack followed in a single person, careful to stay close to us but not too close. You know, it case the alien commando beaver attacked.
We rowed out to meet the invader. It never flinched off it’s course as we set out, never veered from the threat. It came right at us with a singular purpose. We drew closer and closer. The kids chattered nervously. Julia called a barrage of ‘be carefuls’ from the porch. The attacker began to take shape. It was indeed brown and about the size of a beaver. And it had a face! It really did. And it was carrying something red. Oh my God! It’s….it’s…it’s…
A semi-deflated monkey balloon. More specifically, it was a balloon shaped like a smiling monkey carrying a red valentine heart that read “I love you’. In other words, it was a love monkey from outer space and those are even rarer than eagles.
So things turned out pretty good in the end. Bella and I didn’t share the sight of a majestic eagle in flight. We shared something even better.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Teach a Kid to Fish
Taught the kids to fish yesterday. I didn't think they'd enjoy it, but they really did. I also thought that I would enjoy fishing. I didn't. They spent five hours fishing. I spent five hours undoing tangles and pulling lures out of trees.
Here's a sample of how it went:
Bella nearly takes my nose off with her backswing then casts about six inches in to the water. Somehow in the process of casting to the edge of the dock she manages to tangle 375 feet of line. She looks like she's got a possum clinging to her rod. While I track down a machete to hack through the knot, Jack starts screaming excitedly that he's caught something. He has. It's a maple.
Fix the tangle. Catch and release the maple. Jack immediately goes double mocha latte with a shot of expresso bananas because he's caught something. He has. It's a rock about twenty feet from shore. Bella tangles her line again, this time netting the dog in the cocoon. With the rod strapped to her back the dog looks like a giant black caterpillar hanging from a twig.
Free the dog. Get the kayak and row out to catch and release the rock. While I fight with the line and curse under my breath, Bella bounces her lure off the kayak. Twice. I'm taking heavy fire. Fortunately her weapon jams when she tangles it again. I free Jack's line and he instantly reels it in while the lure is still in my hand. He goes triple Christmas morning with happiness because he's caught something. He has. It's my thumb.
Bella gets frustrated with my delays in fixing the tangle and insensitive bleeding. She decides to fix the tangle herself by shaking it really, really hard a few times. When she's finished it looks like she's holding a wad of cotton candy.
Row to shore. Administer first aid to myself. Take a quick blood transfusion then get to work on Bella's line. Jack casts and immediately begins to squeal with rapture. He think's he's caught something. He has. It's my sweatshirt. Fix the tangle. Catch and release the Under Armor.
No luck with the lures. Try worms. Add the bobbers. Change the hooks. Jam on the wriggling, slimy worm. Jack coos over how cute the worm looks then launches him. Bella refuses to fish with that on her line. Remove the worm from Bella's hook. Remove the bobber. Replace the lure. Feel the slap of worm against my cheek as Jack winds up to cast again. Nearly lose an earlobe in the process.
After about a half hour of bonding with a soggy half dead worm, Jack is having second thoughts about using live bait. He starts to cry over the worms suffering. Catch and release the worm.
While Jack releases all the live bait in the woods, Bella finally has a strike. Pull the line in by hand because she's tangled the reel. It's a trout. It's little, but it's a fish. Bella thinks it gross. Jack thinks it's an injustice that he hasn't caught a fish and starts to cry. Catch and release the fish.
Bella throws gas on the fire by trying to make Jack feel better. Jack is red and soggy with jealousy. Then he gets a strike. Check the tree, the rock, the dog, my shirt, my thumb. Nope. It's a fish. It's really a fish. Reel in a bass. Jack beems. Remove the hook. Catch and release the fish. The kids bicker about which was bigger. Jack claims bass are better. Bella says she caught hers first. The sun goes down. Daddy doesn't cast once.
And they say fishing is relaxing...
Here's a sample of how it went:
Bella nearly takes my nose off with her backswing then casts about six inches in to the water. Somehow in the process of casting to the edge of the dock she manages to tangle 375 feet of line. She looks like she's got a possum clinging to her rod. While I track down a machete to hack through the knot, Jack starts screaming excitedly that he's caught something. He has. It's a maple.
Fix the tangle. Catch and release the maple. Jack immediately goes double mocha latte with a shot of expresso bananas because he's caught something. He has. It's a rock about twenty feet from shore. Bella tangles her line again, this time netting the dog in the cocoon. With the rod strapped to her back the dog looks like a giant black caterpillar hanging from a twig.
Free the dog. Get the kayak and row out to catch and release the rock. While I fight with the line and curse under my breath, Bella bounces her lure off the kayak. Twice. I'm taking heavy fire. Fortunately her weapon jams when she tangles it again. I free Jack's line and he instantly reels it in while the lure is still in my hand. He goes triple Christmas morning with happiness because he's caught something. He has. It's my thumb.
Bella gets frustrated with my delays in fixing the tangle and insensitive bleeding. She decides to fix the tangle herself by shaking it really, really hard a few times. When she's finished it looks like she's holding a wad of cotton candy.
Row to shore. Administer first aid to myself. Take a quick blood transfusion then get to work on Bella's line. Jack casts and immediately begins to squeal with rapture. He think's he's caught something. He has. It's my sweatshirt. Fix the tangle. Catch and release the Under Armor.
No luck with the lures. Try worms. Add the bobbers. Change the hooks. Jam on the wriggling, slimy worm. Jack coos over how cute the worm looks then launches him. Bella refuses to fish with that on her line. Remove the worm from Bella's hook. Remove the bobber. Replace the lure. Feel the slap of worm against my cheek as Jack winds up to cast again. Nearly lose an earlobe in the process.
After about a half hour of bonding with a soggy half dead worm, Jack is having second thoughts about using live bait. He starts to cry over the worms suffering. Catch and release the worm.
While Jack releases all the live bait in the woods, Bella finally has a strike. Pull the line in by hand because she's tangled the reel. It's a trout. It's little, but it's a fish. Bella thinks it gross. Jack thinks it's an injustice that he hasn't caught a fish and starts to cry. Catch and release the fish.
Bella throws gas on the fire by trying to make Jack feel better. Jack is red and soggy with jealousy. Then he gets a strike. Check the tree, the rock, the dog, my shirt, my thumb. Nope. It's a fish. It's really a fish. Reel in a bass. Jack beems. Remove the hook. Catch and release the fish. The kids bicker about which was bigger. Jack claims bass are better. Bella says she caught hers first. The sun goes down. Daddy doesn't cast once.
And they say fishing is relaxing...
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Paradise by the Yellow Bug Light
The first day of the vacation did not look promising. The four hour ride took five hours in a driving rain. It ended with a long crawl down an unlit dirt road that shrank by the minute, the trees moving closer and closer, until if felt like we’d have to get out and turn the car sideways to fit. It finally ended at a hut. Uh-oh.
We’d already been warned that there was no television at the cabin. In the near biblical downpour and encroaching darkness all it lacked were crashes of lightning to turn it horror movie creepy. With two kids, a dog, and a civilization loving wife crammed in claustrophobic quarters there was a good chance there would be blood on the walls.
But it turned out it wasn’t bad at all. First off, it only looked like a hut from front door. It was actually quite roomy inside with three bedrooms, and a big kitchen with newish appliances. There was even a coffee maker, the only antidote that keeps my wife from turning in to Mr. Hyde. The living room was downright huge with a giant stone fireplace and rickety French doors that opened out to…to…
Paradise!
Holy cow, outside the French doors was a beautiful little porch and not two steps beyond the porch was an idyllic lake. At least it looked like it would be idyllic if it ever stopped raining. Right then it looked more gray and heavy. The lake was small enough that even in the sheets of rain the other side was visible. There were no lights anywhere. It was like we had the lake to ourselves. I saw this as rapture. Julia saw this as Freddy Kruger and went inside to hug the coffee maker.
A car full of young ladies, family friends who planned to spend the weekend at the cabin, arrived shortly after we did. There was a bunkhouse next to the main cabin filled with three bunk beds. The three young ladies each planned to share a bunk with a family of spiders for a couple of days.
The dog looked very, uh, relieved to spend some quality time in the trees. On the ride up she had given me the ‘you’re kidding, right?’ look when I offered to take her for a potty break at a rest area. She’d been paying the price for the last couple of hours. Suddenly the rain didn’t seem that bad to her any longer.
We all unloaded our stuff and shook off the rain. We found dry wood under a tarp and quickly sparked a fire. Then we spent the evening playing board games before the fireplace and looking for extra blankets. The young ladies returned to the bunkhouse and swept the spiders out of their beds. We tucked the kids in under a pile of blankets and climbed in to a slightly small but comfortable bed. Everyone quickly forgot about Freddy Kruger and horror movies.
I don’t really have an Usher connection to this story beyond the fact that it started out looking Blair Witch Project bad then friends arrived and we settled in and it ended up surprisingly less miserable. In fact, if you squinted really hard, you could almost make out paradise through the raindrops. That seems a pretty apt metaphor for Usher.
We’d already been warned that there was no television at the cabin. In the near biblical downpour and encroaching darkness all it lacked were crashes of lightning to turn it horror movie creepy. With two kids, a dog, and a civilization loving wife crammed in claustrophobic quarters there was a good chance there would be blood on the walls.
But it turned out it wasn’t bad at all. First off, it only looked like a hut from front door. It was actually quite roomy inside with three bedrooms, and a big kitchen with newish appliances. There was even a coffee maker, the only antidote that keeps my wife from turning in to Mr. Hyde. The living room was downright huge with a giant stone fireplace and rickety French doors that opened out to…to…
Paradise!
Holy cow, outside the French doors was a beautiful little porch and not two steps beyond the porch was an idyllic lake. At least it looked like it would be idyllic if it ever stopped raining. Right then it looked more gray and heavy. The lake was small enough that even in the sheets of rain the other side was visible. There were no lights anywhere. It was like we had the lake to ourselves. I saw this as rapture. Julia saw this as Freddy Kruger and went inside to hug the coffee maker.
A car full of young ladies, family friends who planned to spend the weekend at the cabin, arrived shortly after we did. There was a bunkhouse next to the main cabin filled with three bunk beds. The three young ladies each planned to share a bunk with a family of spiders for a couple of days.
The dog looked very, uh, relieved to spend some quality time in the trees. On the ride up she had given me the ‘you’re kidding, right?’ look when I offered to take her for a potty break at a rest area. She’d been paying the price for the last couple of hours. Suddenly the rain didn’t seem that bad to her any longer.
We all unloaded our stuff and shook off the rain. We found dry wood under a tarp and quickly sparked a fire. Then we spent the evening playing board games before the fireplace and looking for extra blankets. The young ladies returned to the bunkhouse and swept the spiders out of their beds. We tucked the kids in under a pile of blankets and climbed in to a slightly small but comfortable bed. Everyone quickly forgot about Freddy Kruger and horror movies.
I don’t really have an Usher connection to this story beyond the fact that it started out looking Blair Witch Project bad then friends arrived and we settled in and it ended up surprisingly less miserable. In fact, if you squinted really hard, you could almost make out paradise through the raindrops. That seems a pretty apt metaphor for Usher.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
This Stinks
We noticed a nasty smell in the house last night. We assumed it was my son. He’s taken to wearing the same pair of underwear every day. We’re going to have to scrape them off of him like paint from a window. Needless to say, Julia and I are not on board with the whole ‘wear the same pair of underwear until it decomposes on you’ stunt. In response, we’ve been ordering him to show us his skivvies every morning to ensure that he’s actually changed.
This led him to change tactics. He still didn’t change. He just kept layering each new pair of underwear on top of the old. My wife figured it out when he could no longer buckle his pants. She peeled off five pairs of fruit of the looms, like he was a tighty whitey onion.
Anyway, turns out the smell last night wasn’t Jack. It was sewage. We hope that being mistaken for a sewage backup will be enough to discourage future perma-undie adventures from Jack, but that’s not the point. The point is we had poo in our basement and we were unhappy.
The poo was overflow from the septic tank. Hold on for a quick septic tank lesson. We have a septic tank where everything flows from the toilets, sinks, washing machine, and showers. The water from all those devices flows out of the tank and in to a pumping chamber while the septic tank keeps the (ugh) solids. That pumping chamber in turn pumps the disgusting water up in to the leach field where it gets cleaned by sand, gravel, and other stuff before seeping back in to the soil. The system works great unless the pump in your pumping chamber isn’t pumping. Then it becomes a poop fountain and seeps back in to your basement where you mistake the terrible smell for your seven year old son.
I learned all about the workings of the septic system from Frank the cesspool professor. Frank was tattooed and sweaty and he smelled like my son only I’m pretty sure he changed his underwear regularly. He came to rescue us and he was a breath of fresh air. Well, maybe that’s not the best way to put it. He did have flies circling him. How about he was refreshing? Um, no, no. That doesn’t work either. The flowers wilted in his wake. Let’s just say we were happy he was there and not just because he stopped the poop.
See Frank loves his job. Seriously. He likes explaining how septic tanks work, interacting with people, and occasionally saving them from one of the worst experiences a home owner can have. He figured out that the pump was broken, pumped out all the nastiness, set up a repair appointment, then gave us a $30 off coupon. And he did it all with a smile while casually acknowledging that he understood our anxiety and that we were not alone.
So what does this have to do with Usher syndrome? Well, like sewage backup and my son, Usher syndrome stinks. And like our septic problem, it’s just about he worst experience a family can have. Yet it’s amazing what a smile and a positive attitude can make it seem much better. I mean, when Frank left our house still stunk. He didn’t clean the basement and the pump was still broken. But we still felt better about our situation. We felt like it was going to be OK.
We could go a long way with a roomful of Franks.
Of course we’d need open a few windows.
This led him to change tactics. He still didn’t change. He just kept layering each new pair of underwear on top of the old. My wife figured it out when he could no longer buckle his pants. She peeled off five pairs of fruit of the looms, like he was a tighty whitey onion.
Anyway, turns out the smell last night wasn’t Jack. It was sewage. We hope that being mistaken for a sewage backup will be enough to discourage future perma-undie adventures from Jack, but that’s not the point. The point is we had poo in our basement and we were unhappy.
The poo was overflow from the septic tank. Hold on for a quick septic tank lesson. We have a septic tank where everything flows from the toilets, sinks, washing machine, and showers. The water from all those devices flows out of the tank and in to a pumping chamber while the septic tank keeps the (ugh) solids. That pumping chamber in turn pumps the disgusting water up in to the leach field where it gets cleaned by sand, gravel, and other stuff before seeping back in to the soil. The system works great unless the pump in your pumping chamber isn’t pumping. Then it becomes a poop fountain and seeps back in to your basement where you mistake the terrible smell for your seven year old son.
I learned all about the workings of the septic system from Frank the cesspool professor. Frank was tattooed and sweaty and he smelled like my son only I’m pretty sure he changed his underwear regularly. He came to rescue us and he was a breath of fresh air. Well, maybe that’s not the best way to put it. He did have flies circling him. How about he was refreshing? Um, no, no. That doesn’t work either. The flowers wilted in his wake. Let’s just say we were happy he was there and not just because he stopped the poop.
See Frank loves his job. Seriously. He likes explaining how septic tanks work, interacting with people, and occasionally saving them from one of the worst experiences a home owner can have. He figured out that the pump was broken, pumped out all the nastiness, set up a repair appointment, then gave us a $30 off coupon. And he did it all with a smile while casually acknowledging that he understood our anxiety and that we were not alone.
So what does this have to do with Usher syndrome? Well, like sewage backup and my son, Usher syndrome stinks. And like our septic problem, it’s just about he worst experience a family can have. Yet it’s amazing what a smile and a positive attitude can make it seem much better. I mean, when Frank left our house still stunk. He didn’t clean the basement and the pump was still broken. But we still felt better about our situation. We felt like it was going to be OK.
We could go a long way with a roomful of Franks.
Of course we’d need open a few windows.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Cool Hand Puke
Last night I watched Cool Hand Luke. I don’t think I’d ever seen it all the way through. I really only watched to hear ‘What we have here is a failure to communicate.’ I feel drawn to the phrase given that I have a deaf daughter fond of letting the batteries run out in her cochlear implants.
It was a good movie, but wow, depressing. The futility of Luke’s efforts to escape was not what I needed to see at this point. Not when I’m feeling like all the effort we’re putting in will come to naught for Bella. I dreamt about Cool Hand Luke all night. Well, at least until the point where the dog threw up. There’s nothing like a good dog barf to break the spiral of depression.
This led to some cussing and the realization that I only have one deaf kid. Jack hears everything. Before the kids went to bed and I turned on Cool Hand Luke, Jack and I had watched the Spongebob episode called Sailor Mouth. That’s the one where Spongebob and Patrick use a swear word disguised by the sound of a dolphin chirping. Very funny. Mr. Krab’s tells them they should never use that word and that, in fact, it is number 11 on a list of 13 dirty words.
I tell you that because as I’m cursing the dog at 3:30 in the morning I hear Jack call out ‘Uh-oh! You just said number 11!’ This was good, because I had probably used a half dozen on the list and he only recognized the one. That’s good parenting right there.
It was a good movie, but wow, depressing. The futility of Luke’s efforts to escape was not what I needed to see at this point. Not when I’m feeling like all the effort we’re putting in will come to naught for Bella. I dreamt about Cool Hand Luke all night. Well, at least until the point where the dog threw up. There’s nothing like a good dog barf to break the spiral of depression.
This led to some cussing and the realization that I only have one deaf kid. Jack hears everything. Before the kids went to bed and I turned on Cool Hand Luke, Jack and I had watched the Spongebob episode called Sailor Mouth. That’s the one where Spongebob and Patrick use a swear word disguised by the sound of a dolphin chirping. Very funny. Mr. Krab’s tells them they should never use that word and that, in fact, it is number 11 on a list of 13 dirty words.
I tell you that because as I’m cursing the dog at 3:30 in the morning I hear Jack call out ‘Uh-oh! You just said number 11!’ This was good, because I had probably used a half dozen on the list and he only recognized the one. That’s good parenting right there.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Roughing it in the backyard
We camped out in the wild on Saturday night. Actually, we camped out in the backyard but I convinced the kids it was the wild. I didn’t feel like loading up the car and trucking out in the woods to be eaten by mosquitoes so we had a ‘staycation’. It sure tasted like the wild after the kids got through roasting their hot dogs on a stick over the fire and grinding them in the ashes. It was like eating a stogie. We made smores, too, so the kids stuck to their sleeping bags like gum in a Ziploc.
The nice part about camping in the backyard, aside from avoiding a four hour ride in traffic to camp next to an RV with the engine running and the television loudly tuned to Big Brother, is that bathroom breaks did not involve fighting through spider webs and unidentifiable gunk on the floor. The bad news came when we went inside to brush our teeth before heading back out to the tent. Bella could not see a thing. Not even with a flashlight.
My son was great, though. He’s three years younger but he offered her and elbow and led her across the yard to the house. Of course, she instead took a shoulder and grabbed on so hard that they were fighting like cats in a bag by the time we got inside. I think it’s time for some mobility training for Bella.
The nice part about camping in the backyard, aside from avoiding a four hour ride in traffic to camp next to an RV with the engine running and the television loudly tuned to Big Brother, is that bathroom breaks did not involve fighting through spider webs and unidentifiable gunk on the floor. The bad news came when we went inside to brush our teeth before heading back out to the tent. Bella could not see a thing. Not even with a flashlight.
My son was great, though. He’s three years younger but he offered her and elbow and led her across the yard to the house. Of course, she instead took a shoulder and grabbed on so hard that they were fighting like cats in a bag by the time we got inside. I think it’s time for some mobility training for Bella.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Shellfish
My son Jack is seven and has just started using the phone regularly. I got a voicemail from him at work today. Bella had a couple of friends over for the afternoon. In amongst other incoherent babble about Pokemon and Star Wars, Jack said that Bella and her friends needed to be punished because they were being shellfish.
Shellfish?
For the life of me I could not figure out what that meant. Were they doing a play? Some sort of Down by the Waterfront adaptation where they all dressed up like lobsters and shouted ‘BELLA’ like a crustacean version of Marlon Brando? Were they playing in the pool and pretending to be the clam that ate Pittsburgh? Were they singing ‘We are Family’ as the Oyster Sisters?
He sounded distraught about it, too, which made me wonder why he was so upset at them being shellfish? Did they smell bad, like a snail left in the sun? Were they pretending they were crabs and pinching him? What could a shellfish possibly do that would upset him?
Of course, maybe he meant they were eating shellfish. Given that we’re on a forced diet of salmon twice a week, just the thought of a seafood dinner turns everyone’s stomach.
I called home but there was no answer, which left me with the vision of Jack and his Mom locked in closet with giant oysters snapping at the door.
When I got home, I found out the problem: my hearing. Bella and her friends were being selfish, not shellfish, which was decidedly worse in Jack’s mind. He thought they should be drawn and quartered for it and Bella thought Jack was a meddling twit. It all melted down like butter and ended in a fight. Typical day at Oyster Flats.
Shellfish?
For the life of me I could not figure out what that meant. Were they doing a play? Some sort of Down by the Waterfront adaptation where they all dressed up like lobsters and shouted ‘BELLA’ like a crustacean version of Marlon Brando? Were they playing in the pool and pretending to be the clam that ate Pittsburgh? Were they singing ‘We are Family’ as the Oyster Sisters?
He sounded distraught about it, too, which made me wonder why he was so upset at them being shellfish? Did they smell bad, like a snail left in the sun? Were they pretending they were crabs and pinching him? What could a shellfish possibly do that would upset him?
Of course, maybe he meant they were eating shellfish. Given that we’re on a forced diet of salmon twice a week, just the thought of a seafood dinner turns everyone’s stomach.
I called home but there was no answer, which left me with the vision of Jack and his Mom locked in closet with giant oysters snapping at the door.
When I got home, I found out the problem: my hearing. Bella and her friends were being selfish, not shellfish, which was decidedly worse in Jack’s mind. He thought they should be drawn and quartered for it and Bella thought Jack was a meddling twit. It all melted down like butter and ended in a fight. Typical day at Oyster Flats.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Trans Fat
I spend most of my life trying to lose weight. At least three times a day I feel guilty about what I’m about to eat. Then I eat it anyway and promise myself that the next meal will go better. For a glimpse in to several months of this, click here to check out the blog our family did for a recent fundraising road race for the Decibels Foundation. We were told it would help us raise money if we gave people some insight to our (cough, cough) training regimen. What a mistake that was. We survived the race but our egos were forever squashed by the utter futility of the effort. It made for humorous reading, however, so it’s worth checking out.
The point is I eat poorly. I like junk food and I have a sweet tooth that would kill a hummingbird. The biggest problem, though, is that I eat as a coping mechanism. And since I have a child with Usher syndrome, my life is about coping. In fact, I coped an entire bag of Garden Salsa Sun Chips and a giant bowl of sherbet for lunch yesterday. I had a sandwich, too, of course. I do eat healthy food at each meal. I just enhance it with mountains of coping.
My greatest fear is that I’ll drop dead, a hoagie clogging my arteries, just before there is a cure for Bella’s eyesight. Now I worry not only about her vision but also about my belly. That only adds to my anxiety and my prolific, um, coping.
My latest method to combat my rampant coping is to write down everything I eat. So expect culinary updates on occasion and, unfortunately, expect them to involve Little Debbies snack cakes.
The point is I eat poorly. I like junk food and I have a sweet tooth that would kill a hummingbird. The biggest problem, though, is that I eat as a coping mechanism. And since I have a child with Usher syndrome, my life is about coping. In fact, I coped an entire bag of Garden Salsa Sun Chips and a giant bowl of sherbet for lunch yesterday. I had a sandwich, too, of course. I do eat healthy food at each meal. I just enhance it with mountains of coping.
My greatest fear is that I’ll drop dead, a hoagie clogging my arteries, just before there is a cure for Bella’s eyesight. Now I worry not only about her vision but also about my belly. That only adds to my anxiety and my prolific, um, coping.
My latest method to combat my rampant coping is to write down everything I eat. So expect culinary updates on occasion and, unfortunately, expect them to involve Little Debbies snack cakes.
Monday, August 10, 2009
And Here We Go...
I suppose there should be some sort of introduction to this soon to be horribly embarrassing blog. I am the father of a ten year old little girl who has Usher syndrome. Usher is the leading cause of deaf blindness in the United States and Europe and it’s a nasty disease. Bella, my daughter, was born deaf and is now slowly losing her vision to retinitis pigmentosa. She’s effectively night blind and her vision is slowly constricting on the periphery like she’s looking through an ever smaller tube. Right now there is no cure and no proven treatments for Usher and if things don’t change, she’ll most likely be blind by the time she reaches college. It's a bummer.
That’s where the bad news ends. Oh, wait, not quite. Usher kids also have poor balance so Bella sometimes staggers like a sailor on shore leave and it will only get worse as her vision deteriorates.
Now that’s really where the bad news ends. Here’s the good news. She’s got a great sense of humor and she’s the most adventurous person I’ve ever met. She also has a wonderful little brother named Jack who is a character in his own right and loves her like the sun and the moon. She has a mother who was so inspired by her daughter that she set up the Decibels Foundation to help kids with hearing loss and changed careers just to help kids like her daughter. She also has two dogs that like to puke in the middle of the night and who usually smell like wet hushpuppies. And she’s got me. OK, so maybe that’s more bad news, but still…
The point is that having Usher stinks but it’s just part of Bella’s life. It doesn’t consume it. Mostly she’s in to dolls and horses and drawing and horses and writing stories and horses and singing remarkably loudly and out of tune to her iPod. Did I mention she likes horses?
When I tell people about Bella’s condition, it usually dampens the conversation like a heavy fog. You can practically hear the funeral dirge in the background. But it’s not like that. It’s mostly sunshine and daisies with a few days of heavy rain. In short, it’s just life. Hopefully this blog will help shed some light on what life with Usher is really like.
Unfortunately, her chronicler is me so I’ll apologize in advance to Bella and the rest of my family for everything that will follow. Let the humiliation begin!
That’s where the bad news ends. Oh, wait, not quite. Usher kids also have poor balance so Bella sometimes staggers like a sailor on shore leave and it will only get worse as her vision deteriorates.
Now that’s really where the bad news ends. Here’s the good news. She’s got a great sense of humor and she’s the most adventurous person I’ve ever met. She also has a wonderful little brother named Jack who is a character in his own right and loves her like the sun and the moon. She has a mother who was so inspired by her daughter that she set up the Decibels Foundation to help kids with hearing loss and changed careers just to help kids like her daughter. She also has two dogs that like to puke in the middle of the night and who usually smell like wet hushpuppies. And she’s got me. OK, so maybe that’s more bad news, but still…
The point is that having Usher stinks but it’s just part of Bella’s life. It doesn’t consume it. Mostly she’s in to dolls and horses and drawing and horses and writing stories and horses and singing remarkably loudly and out of tune to her iPod. Did I mention she likes horses?
When I tell people about Bella’s condition, it usually dampens the conversation like a heavy fog. You can practically hear the funeral dirge in the background. But it’s not like that. It’s mostly sunshine and daisies with a few days of heavy rain. In short, it’s just life. Hopefully this blog will help shed some light on what life with Usher is really like.
Unfortunately, her chronicler is me so I’ll apologize in advance to Bella and the rest of my family for everything that will follow. Let the humiliation begin!
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