The Core Dump

Midsummer’s Eve is arguably the biggest holiday in Sweden, and definitely my favorite—there’s no flag waving and no gift buying. It’s all about enjoying the longest day of the year, the lushness of Sweden at its finest, and eating good food.

So I was incredibly happy to be able to spend Midsummer in Sweden and partake along with my daughter.

The holiday requires nubbe—chilled akvavit—so there was quite a line at the state-controlled liquor store the day before.

Inside Systembolaget (the Swedish state-controlled liquor store). Click for larger version.

A large part of the tradition is the raising of and dancing around the midsummer pole. As you can see, the phallic nature of the pole was disguised by Christian missionaries with the addition of a cross bar which was then subverted with the cunning use of wreaths. You can use your own dirty mind to figure out what the wreaths resemble. Clever of the heathens, I say.

Midsummer pole. Click for larger version.

After the pole was raised, traditional dancing ensued. Andrea was a bit confused but happy.

Traditional dancing. Click for larger version.

Another important tradition is to eat outside. Dagnabbit, it’s the middle of summer, so Food Shall be Consumed Out of Doors. As is also customary, rain was threatening, so it was a bit touch and go on that part.

Eat outside you want, eh? Click for larger version.

But never say die, so we set the table on the patio.

The table getting set up. Click for larger version.

The most important items are already on the table: the herring and the nubbe. Everything else is gravy.

Fortunately, the weather gods relented, and we were able to dine al fresco.

All in all, an excellent Midsummer’s Eve.

It’s getting past 11:30pm, and my parents and daughter are asleep—I’m sitting in my parents’ living room gazing at the dusk outside, the sky a deep magenta as it patiently waits for the sun to return. Gabriel and Dresden play in my headphones and a glass of red wine sits on the table.

This, my friends, is what vacation is all about—had a great day with my parents, ate a good dinner, listened to the rain fall on the roof, and now there’s only the music from my headphones and the never-ending light coming through the windows as I watch the red wine darken.

There are many things I want from life, but being able to sit watching the midnight sky while my family sleeps trumps them all.

Many happy returns.

Swedish pennant under a blue sky. Click for larger version.

Andrea and I are safely nestled at my parents’ house after a long journey from Phoenix to Sweden.

We had stop-overs in Chicago and Copenhagen, both of which were short and sweet, even though the time between flights was way too chintzy in Copenhagen and we ended up running through the airport with me carrying Andrea and our luggage, blitzing past flight monitors that had our flight status as “closed.” A wee bit on the stressful side, but we made the puddle jumper from Copenhagen to Gothenburg with our stomachs in our throats.

Andrea was a complete champ through the trip. I think it’s that she’s six years old now, and really gets what’s going on as we hop from aluminum tube to aluminum tube.

We landed in a Sweden from some other dimension, with clear blue skies and warm weather.

At this point things have cooled down a bit and the clouds are threatening rain, but it’s still really nice and the summer light is incredible—even though I grew up here, it was still amazing when Andrea and I woke up at 4am the morning after we landed to find it light enough to go outside and read the newspaper.

I understand there are worse ways to spend the month of June.

Our conspicuous consumption, let me show you it:

Acura TL 2008. Click for larger version

The wife’s 1997 Honda Civic with 146,000 miles needed $2,500 worth of repairs to stay road worthy, so we decided it was time to bid it adieu and move on into a vehicle from this century.

And boy howdy is it ever. From this century, I mean. This is one tight driving machine.

You might be wondering why we would go overboard with a luxury car instead of sticking with a Civic or the like, and the simple answer is that we plan to keep the thing for a minimum of ten years, and for that kind of time frame, why not get something really nice?

The same reasoning applies to why we didn’t avoid the depreciation tax by buying one coming off a lease—we plan to drive it till the wheels come off, so it makes sense to have a vehicle we know has been properly taken care of and gently driven.

Meanwhile, my 1997 Accord with 126,000 miles on it is still trucking along…

What’s blowing my mind is that if everything goes to plan, the vehicle in the picture is the one Andrea will use to learn to drive in ten year’s time.

My parents’ dog Pompe passed away this week, riddled with lymphoma.

Pompe. Click for larger version.

Naturally, it’s difficult for my parents, who have poured infinite amounts of time and love into the little being for the last seven years.

As a true schnauzer, he didn’t show any symptoms until it was much too late for anything to be done. On the last day my dad walked him, he went to the corner, did his business, and then laid down and couldn’t get up, so my dad had to carry him home. After that, it was the vet hospital and death.

In a selfish way I’m really upset too, as I was looking forward to walking him when Andrea and I go to Sweden this summer. Pompe and I spent many a happy hour together walking in the woods around my parents’ house.

He is missed. Godspeed, little guy.

When I was growing up, my dad used to refer to me as a “guest in reality,” due to my sometimes astonishing feats of distraction. For instance, we would visit my grandparents, who live in a city about an hour away, every few months for my entire life. And then, when I turned 18 and was given the opportunity to drive to the visits, I had no idea how to get there. None. It just hadn’t been important to pay attention to the road.

And today, February 29, is the manifestation of perhaps the most egregious example of my absent-minded-professoritis: It’s my engagement anniversary. Yup, me and the wife got engaged on Saturday, February 29th, 1992.

My cunning plan was that we would get engaged on the last day of February, since that was around the time when we had our first date, and would be easy to remember.

Brilliant.

So the day after we got engaged, I called my parents to share the happy news and my dad goes, “Congratulations! That’s great! But, uh, you got engaged on February 29th?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“This is a leap year.”

“Uh, right.”

“February 29th only comes every four years.”

“Aw, hell.”

My only defense is that my wife didn’t think of it either, so I guess we deserve each other.

Oh, and happy anniversary, honey! We’ll do it again in four years.

Here we are then, on the last day of 2007. Hope it was a good year for you, and that 2008 will be even better.

All the best.

We decided that we’re spending way too little time and money on our cats, so it was time to adopt yet another one in order to make their herd a proper coven. Called the vet, and they had a female ready to be adopted.

Athena Fairy Princess. Click for larger version.

Ah, yes, the name… I wanted to continue naming the cats after goddesses, but Andrea naturally suggested Fairy Princess as her name, so we decided to make things simple and call her Athena Fairy Princess.

She’s 3 months old, extremely lovable, has a loud purr, and is currently trying to figure out how to coexist with her two new sisters. Who are not thrilled whatsoever about this new addition to the household.

Andrea is in Kindergarten now, and is apparently enjoying the experience, so I thought as she’s entering school, it would be a good idea to write down the different ages of a child from a father’s perspective before amnesia takes it all away.

So, the story up to five years of age.

Pregnancy: As a dad-to-be, your job is to shut the hell up and support your wife. There is obviously no other task for you. As long as she’s not doing anything to hurt the fetus, you have nothing to say, and you shouldn’t. It is your fault. Deal.

Then you bring your newborn home and realize that you have absolutely no idea what you are doing. None. Nada. Zilch. All first-time parents will have that moment when you come home from the hospital and put your sleeping bundle of joy on your bed and start hyperventilating as it hits you that you are totally out to sea without a compass or a chart.

It doesn’t matter how many parenting books you’ve read, or how many parents you’ve talked to … none of that has any bearing on what you’re doing right at that moment.

But then, somehow, you figure out what you have to do. Just listen to the little voice in your head and you’ll be okay. You will never go wrong if you listen to that voice.

And then, the first year is a relentless marathon of sleep deprivation, anxiety, and worry.

Oh, yes.

You will think back to your childless days and wonder how you never properly appreciated things like sleeping and eating in peace and quiet. So, if you found this while googling around as your wife or girlfriend has just informed you that you’re going to be a father, my most heartfelt advice to you is to enjoy every day as much as you can. Go to movies. Go to expensive restaurants. Play video games. Go see the game. Whatever makes you happy. Because if you’re going to be any kind of father you can say goodbye to that for several years once the baby is delivered. Oh, and also, sleep a lot. And wake up with a smile on your face because there are no diapers for you to change or bottles to boil. Just enjoy.

The first year is actually very hard to remember. This is how nature makes people have more than one child. Trust me, even if you went through Navy SEAL training, this will be harder, because it never stops, and it’s also much more important.

Some highlights my hormones haven’t managed to erase include:

• Waking up with a start as soon as the baby monitor goes quiet. SIDS will always be at the back of your mind. I mean, seriously, babies can just stop breathing. Just stop. And die. Including yours. Really, the thing that has become the center of your universe can just stop breathing while she’s sleeping. Yeah, that will keep you from deep sleep, trust me.

• According to scientists, a chimpanzee and human baby are the same, behaviorally, up to about eight months. This means your child will not be able to communicate in any kind of way apart from screaming. Is the diaper wet? Are you hungry? Are you tired? Or what? You’ll never know.

• The first smile will melt your heart. So will the first time your child crawls. And then you will want to hog tie your child, because they get really, really fast. No more putting the kid down and folding some laundry. Oh, no.

The Second Year: This is the year when all you do is try to keep your offspring from killing herself. She’s mobile and will get into any kind of danger her environment will allow. Sitting down and relaxing is just a happy memory that seems like it happened to somebody else.

There are highlights, though: Watching your child walk for the first time is incredible. And when the first words come out and she can actually tell you what is bothering her is a relief that will seldom be matched.

The Third Year: They’re called the Terrible Twos. There’s a good reason for that. Most of your time will be spent hearing “No!” and “Me do it!”. No matter what kind of horrible roommates you may have had in the past, your floor will never be more gross with essentially every liquid you can name at some point finding its way to ground level. And unless you’ve lived a particularly damned life, you have never lived with a more negative and annoying human being. One who has zero compunction about waking you up at night.

The Fourth Year: This is what I like to call the “dwarves on acid stage.” Your child is coming into her own, is interacting with the world and making connections in her head. Many of those connections will be, from a grown-up perspective, completely insane and often hilarious.

But it’s good. She can eat by herself, she can tell you what’s bothering her, and above all, she’s developing her very own personality.

I myself consider this a turning point year—it’s when your child goes from a bundle of needs and screams to a little person you can have a meaningful interaction with.

The Fifth Year: At this point it’s all about the personality development. Every day brings new ideas and thoughts at an almost scary rate. There are plateaus, of course, but in general the uptake rate is incredible. Having that many new ideas around the kitchen table leads to a lot of really interesting conversations.

Soundtrack: “White Unicorn” by Wolfmother

Today marks 13 years my lovely wife has put up with me.

The 13th wedding anniversary. Wow. I remember being 13 years old.

Here’s a toast to many more!

Click for full-size image.