"Someday Everyone Will Have to Live Like I Do."

My dad passed away from a brain tumor 12 years ago. My siblings, our children and wives and my Mom gathered in Southern California to visit his grave and celebrate his legacy. I'm thankful to have escaped the Orange Curtain; the Bay Area is a (mostly) good fit for me ideologically. I love my family, even (especially?) those who voted for Bush each time and McCain this past election, but I'm a better fit up here in diverse Obama-land.

It's clear from the actions and attitudes my family takes that my dad's legacy is one of service. There's also an undercurrent of thriftiness. We reuse and recycle and generally are horrified by gluttony and excess. Both Al "buy something new to go green" Gore and post 9/11 George "go shopping and save the economy" W. Bush don't have messages that sit well with us.

I had a wonderful, frank conversation with my Mom. She's been curious about solar electricity for a while. As I described how the best candidates for solar power are people who are living massively consumptive lifestyles, she shook her head.

"My electric bill is about $12 per month," she said. "I heat with lumber from my part of the forest and I have to fill my propane tank a couple of times a year. I'm on a very limited income, so I don't buy much. I think about how much stuff there is to buy and how many people's jobs depend on selling more and more new stuff, and I know it just can't last. I imagine someday we'll all live as simply as I choose to, but out of necessity because everything just came apart."

Recently, her power went out and she cooked in her fireplace. "It was inconvenient but I was just heating soups or such so I wasn't in danger of burning myself."

I'd enjoy taking her to Cuba, where they've already transitioned from an oil economy, and are finally doing quite well, thank you. If I wanted to pick a fight with her, I'd point out that her political party of choice is largely responsible for our gluttonous oil-energy based economy of ever-greater-consumption, but we'd end up talking about taxation and Al Gore and I just wanted to visit.

Snow Day

Nicholas' school had an in-service day, so I decided to take him up snowboarding. In a bizarre twist of synchronicity, Xena called me up.

"Bob, the dishwasher is overflowing. What should I do? And, the garbage disposal is backed up. Isn't there a reset button on it, somewhere?"

How come plumbing issues arise whenever I take a break? Does the house know whenever I have left for some "me" time? When I check in, this doesn't feel like my life lesson. So I am going to ignore it until it becomes obvious that it is, or isn't.

BTW, staying the night before at Joe and Mary's on the way to the snow really helps settle me out from my regular life. The snow was amazing. I had a huge amount of fun, having never experienced powder conditions before. Up on the lifts, I reflected how amazing my life is: as I left home, huge batches of chocolate chip cookies were coming out of the oven ("Here! have a few for the road!"), as I drove up I spent less than $10 on gas, I got to talk middle-aged married people stuff with Joe and Mary, I borrowed great equipment and my muscles and reflexes were in great shape for the runs.

Life is yummy.

A stroll in the moonlight

Liz and I piled a few people into our cars and headed off into the local hills for a moonlight walk. The local parks have a 10:00 curfew, but we didn't let that stop us. However, when we finally stopped at a likely trailhead, the two police cars parked there gave us some pause.

"Closed at ten o'clock, folks," they told us, waving us on.

So we drove to a different place and parked on the street and walked in.

The moon was lovely, the path relatively free of roots, and the night warmed in a way that only East Bay nights seem to after a cold afternoon. Jori fell off the path. A bit later, he jumped out from behind a tree, roaring, frightening his friend Isabel and falling into a hole, dragging her along after.

He's not a quiet young man.

Liz, on the other hand, reached a natural altered state and playfully danced with her moonshadow, quietly infused with the magic of the moment.

We eventually made our way to a labyrinth there. They way down looked especially treacherous in the dark. I thought of the people my courageous brother rescues quite regularly from their bad choices, and carefully considered the course of the next several minutes. Out of the moonlight, my eyes adjusted to the deep shadows and I saw the path rather more clearly. Everyone else went a stupid way, so I hurried to the base of the cliff they were approaching from above and waved them off.

More accurately, when they finally heard me below them, they realized that the other way down was better.

Betsy, Jori, Nicholas and I left everyone else in the labyrinth and came home. I wasn't really done being out, but I'd had a sufficiency, and all four of us realized we weren't willing to sacrifice functionality the next day for more fun in the night.

Betsy and Jori are such a welcome part of our community. We know they are traveling, and sometimes we get preemptively sad thinking about their departure sometime in the middle of 2009. Xena summed it up nicely: "We're their summertime."

I wonder if Summer looks as fondly on our delight, we who celebrate her warmth and freedom, or as wistfully at our eagerness for the joys of Autumn.