Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Naomi: You know, mom, I don't enjoy singing so much as I used to.

Me: Really?

Naomi: Yeh. Ever since I cried that time on stage it isn't so much fun.

Me: I'm sorry to hear that. Singing is something you really enjoyed and I'd hate for anything to ruin that.

Naomi: Yeh, mom, but change is part of life.

What's The Carbon Footprint Of That?

At a gas stop in western Nebraska this week I looked over to see a Greyhound Bus sized RV with a full-sized hummer in tow. The big, silver tube in the background is a fuel truck. I think the RV might consider taking that in-tow, too, based on its fossil fuel needs. I had to snap a picture to make sure I wasn't stuck in a nightmare.

My brain hurts to imagine the eco-karma this driver, or his/her kids, might suffer from later in life.

Increased Laughter = Increased Joy

Summer reading lists rarely sing the praises of fluff. When asked "so, what are you reading?" I always want to sound like an NPR correspondent. I like thoughtful commentary and gut wrenching sad plot-lines as much as the next person...but occasionally...I get the itch to blaze through a clever but predictable text.

Feeling that itch last week I knew Sophie Kinsella could scratch it. I'm in the middle of The Undomestic Goddess and having a lot of fun with it. Kinsella authored the entire Shopaholic series (which was charming and clever for about 2 1/2 books) and she topples anyone else on my Authors I'd Like to Party With list. Its a short list, really, but she's the best fit for me. Kinsella is clever without being a snob, she throws down endearing characters in hilarious situations and both the author and reader have a good time of it. Her texts occasionally inspire me laugh out loud which adds credence to my Increased Laughter = Increased Joy theory.

Thanks, Sophie! If you were in Lincoln or on Facebook, I'd buy you a drink (or two).

Energy Crisis Kvetch

Okay ... I'm feeling pulled in all sorts of directions today. Three articles in the same day:

• T. Boone Pickens' trip to Lincoln promoting his wind and natural gas powered car Energy Plan;
• A woman driving Lincoln's first an all electric vehicle. The article touts the 14 cent price tag for driving 25-40 miles at a single charge from the nearest outlet; and
• City administrators proposed cut of the LES rate increase of an additional 1%

Beyond the local issue, which conjures my obvious bias, the juxtaposition gives rise to my belief that we're pretty schizophrenic when it comes to any meaningful discussion of energy prices. Because energy (oil, gas, electricity) have been so affordable for so long we want to force it back into their nominal price mold. We also want to save the planet. We also want alternative fuels.

I'm a self-serving-solipsistic person at heart. Ask me to deprive myself of anything and I'll wince. But on this one I don't think we can have it all. We can't refuse to raise electrical rates AND hope to plug our cars into the nearest outlet. We can't create natural gas cars and infrastructure without also seeing significant costs for home heating and electrical generation increase. There is no Walmart or bargain basement deal when it comes to energy prices. You pay what you pay or you figure out how to use less.

My thought? Don't drain your savings to pay your gas bill. Carpool or use mass-transit, moderate the thermostat in the short term. Use your savings to make more lasting solution oriented changes such as buying a more fuel efficient vehicle, upgrading to an Energy Star furnace, adding insulation to your attic.

Because, straight-up, over time energy prices are going nowhere but higher. Sure you'll see some peaks and valleys. As prices get painful enough the blow to the pocketbook will inspire people drive less/moderate their thermostats and prices fall (a little); and surge again as demand increases globally.

Olympic Games

Is anybody else still stunned by the Beijing Opening Ceremonies? The clips I've seen are just exquisite.

Los Angeles hosted the 1984 Olympic Games when I was eleven. I sat inches from the television screen and watched the entire Opening Ceremonies. Music, fireworks, the procession of athletes onto the field, the torch run featuring some guy I had never heard of.

I took particular interest in Mary Decker's 3000 meter run against a bare footed Zola Budd. The media hype leading up to the event was intense but neither woman actually won the race. Decker fell on the field and was unable to continue. Budd finished seventh.

With the United States 1980 Olympic boycott coverage of the 1984 Games was as much about political vendettas as the actual events. Its hard for me to decipher whether I got caught up in the games as much as the allegory. In either case, my running efforts followed in the wake of the 1984 Games. I'd pull up my tube socks and sprint around the block. The lap closed as I landed in the kitchen for water and to check my time. The running route isn't dissimilar from my thirty-something efforts. The pace is slower but the route is relatively the same.

Naomi hit the ground running with the 2008 Olympic Games. Last night she wanted to know what fencing was. She was also curious why sand-volleyball players sport bikinis as their team uniform? The former question was pretty straight forward I have to confess the bikini-thing doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me either.

The Olympics, for me, conjure a sense of awe. I don't mean to over dramatize the situation and idolize athletes: nor do I mean to trivialize their accomplishments. I file Olympic athletes among any group of the accomplished and uber-dedicated. The Games showcase not just their talents but years of acute focus and excellence. Its a type of focus I admire and have never fostered in myself.

Anyway, for the next 14 days, don't be alarmed by an uncharacteristic obsession I have with the sports page. Every four-years I prove to be an Olympic glutton.

A Camping Trip Deferred

Naomi led a week-long case of the stomach yucks at the McKibbin house. She landed in the Emergency Room Thursday in a somewhat delirious state only brought to full-consciousness by waves of writhing stomach cramps. Pretty ugly stuff.

All things digestive were still a muck as Naomi tearfully called her cousins to decline their invitation to trek over to the neighbor's backyard, pitch a pup tent and spend Saturday night under the stars. Movie night with Naomi's parents sporting Pepto-Bismal and a heating pad fell a far distant second to the camping excursion.

At one point I thought we were making the best of things. We played a couple of board games. McKibbin and I offered to take Naomi camping next weekend. We agreed to select a camp site near a lake for swimming. Her favorite comfort foods were abundantly littered all over the dinner plate. Drying our eyes about 7 pm we started the Naomi movie marathon. Brent ducked downstairs to make a bowl of popcorn.

After the opening credits we paused the movie to wait for the popcorn. I took on that shrill impersonation of Mary Poppins I do whenever my kid is disappointed; Naomi interrupted to look me in square in the eyes and say "they're probably eating hot dogs and roasting marshmallows over the camp-fire this very instant."

Worst of all it was probably true.

Unlisted Number

N: Does it hurt when a baby comes out?

Me: Yes.

N: Did you get hurt?

Me: A little. You and I worked hard when you were coming out. But everything healed up.

N: How come we had to stay at the hospital?

Me: We were both pretty tired. We stayed in the hospital two days so we could rest. During that time the nurses helped me learn a little about being a mom.

N: So kind of like mom lessons?

Me: Yeh, kind of. I learned how to feed you, how to give you a bath...

N: Is that where you got the Tooth Fairy's phone number? From your mom lessons at the hospital?

Me: Mmm-hmmm.

N: I thought so.

Heat Wave

If you can't stand the heat, don't tickle the dragon
-- Annonymous

The weather dictated my weekend. If outdoor chores, like weeding the garden or vacuuming out the backseat crumbs that cling under Naomi's child seat, were undone by 10 a.m. the task was rendered unbearable.

The heat similarly dictated my schedule almost a decade ago. It was unusually hot that first summer I moved to Denver. My studio apartment in Capital Hill didn't offer the creature comfort of air conditioning. With any semblance of a cross breeze drawing dust and fumes from the alley the place was uninhabitable by 11 a.m. I lived the life of an conditioning squatter that summer. Pulled the blinds closed, and left the apartment in search of climate control. The public library offered me refuge. Similarly I frequented free Saturdays at the Denver Art Museum. Its best not to ask, and I refrain from naming how many times I toured Molly Brown's house.

At thirty-five I reside in an air conditioned box known as a house. In contrast to my response to unbearable weather as a twenty-something which was to go out, my resolve this time was to beat the heat by staying inside. Naomi and I pulled closed the curtains, turned down the a/c and played board games. We read some silly books and sang karaoke like we were rock stars. Our tongues yelped this noon from all the frozen fruit popsicles we'd eaten.

The heat wave, McKibbin informs me, is supposed to break mid week. I'll be glad for the freedom cooler weather allows but, like that first summer in Denver, I have enjoyed the search for cooler climates.