Dear Spike:
Snow today. Lots of it.
Unfortunately, you and I were stuck inside for most of the day, as I chased a breaking story and you played hide and seek with your stuffed cat, Chairman Meow.
But tomorrow, my little friend, is another (snowy) day. And I think we're overdue for a snowman!
Love,
dad
Showing posts with label snow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label snow. Show all posts
Monday, December 8, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
WARMING THINGS UP
Dear Spike:
The mercury tipped above 80 yesterday, which was a little bit strange because we hadn't even had a 70-degree day yet this Spring.
And then today we had a blizzard, which isn't strange at all for Salt Lake City in mid-April, except for the fact that YESTERDAY IT WAS FLIPPIN' EIGHTY DEGREES OUTSIDE!
If there's one thing you can count on not counting on in this world, it's the weather. And that's a real nice thing, because it always gives you something to talk about with people on the bus, in line at the grocery store or while stuck in an elevator.
"Some weather we're having. . . " is all you've got to say. And with those four words — BAM-O! — the ice is broken.
Some folks say everything is part of God's plan. If that's true, I'll bet She created the weather just to get us all talking. And if that's the case... well... way to go God.
The world can be a cold enough place without us being cold to one another. The weather is a pretty good place to start warming things up. Where things go from there is up to you.
Love,
dad
The mercury tipped above 80 yesterday, which was a little bit strange because we hadn't even had a 70-degree day yet this Spring.
And then today we had a blizzard, which isn't strange at all for Salt Lake City in mid-April, except for the fact that YESTERDAY IT WAS FLIPPIN' EIGHTY DEGREES OUTSIDE!
If there's one thing you can count on not counting on in this world, it's the weather. And that's a real nice thing, because it always gives you something to talk about with people on the bus, in line at the grocery store or while stuck in an elevator.
"Some weather we're having. . . " is all you've got to say. And with those four words — BAM-O! — the ice is broken.
Some folks say everything is part of God's plan. If that's true, I'll bet She created the weather just to get us all talking. And if that's the case... well... way to go God.
The world can be a cold enough place without us being cold to one another. The weather is a pretty good place to start warming things up. Where things go from there is up to you.
Love,
dad
Sunday, March 23, 2008
GIVEN A CHOICE
Dear Spike:
Your Uncle Eric came up for a visit this weekend. We spent Thursday at the Jazz-Lakers game and Friday snowboarding at Brighton. The day was beautiful and the snow was amazing and we had a wonderful time.
I was amazed by many things on the mountain, but perhaps most striking was the number of kids up there.
And when I say "kids," I don't mean it in the same way that I have of referring to anyone who is more than a day younger than I am as "kids."
Oh no. I mean kids. Four. Five. Six years old. Kids.
These little rascals were tearing it up. Totally fearless. Doing things on a snowboard that I know I'll never, ever, ever be able to do — as though they were born with a board strapped to their feet.
And I suppose a lot of them nearly were.
Our little family is fortunate in a lot of ways, not the least of which is that we live less than a half-hour away from several world-class ski parks and "the greatest snow on earth." That being the case, I suppose, you may end up a lot like those kids I saw at Brighton. Indeed, I can almost picture you in a pair of baggy snowboarding pants and a bright snow jacket, turning tricks on the half-pipe, tearing it up.
Or not.
See, I'm tying to set some boundaries for my expectations.
A few things are non-negotiable: You will work hard in school. You will treat your peers, teachers, neighbors and elders with respect. You will eat well and exercise every day.
Then there are those things that you've got a choice in, things you mother and I hope that you will do but won't force you to do (not repeatedly, anyway.) I'd like you to try your hand at snowboarding. Your mother likes the idea of speed skating. We both want you to learn an instrument and a foreign language — preferably one that you actually might one day use (sorry, Esperanto teachers of the world.)
And then there is soccer. Your mother insists that, like any other recreational activity, you should be given a choice in whether you want to be fanatical about The Beautiful Game. I disagree. I believe it is possible to be forced to love something, and still end up truly loving that something (take siblings, for instance.)
I suppose I would still have to love you if you don't love soccer. But let's just keep that a hypothetical, OK? And if not, it would help matters if you were a totally rad snowboarder.
Love,
dad
Your Uncle Eric came up for a visit this weekend. We spent Thursday at the Jazz-Lakers game and Friday snowboarding at Brighton. The day was beautiful and the snow was amazing and we had a wonderful time.
I was amazed by many things on the mountain, but perhaps most striking was the number of kids up there.
And when I say "kids," I don't mean it in the same way that I have of referring to anyone who is more than a day younger than I am as "kids."
Oh no. I mean kids. Four. Five. Six years old. Kids.
These little rascals were tearing it up. Totally fearless. Doing things on a snowboard that I know I'll never, ever, ever be able to do — as though they were born with a board strapped to their feet.
And I suppose a lot of them nearly were.
Our little family is fortunate in a lot of ways, not the least of which is that we live less than a half-hour away from several world-class ski parks and "the greatest snow on earth." That being the case, I suppose, you may end up a lot like those kids I saw at Brighton. Indeed, I can almost picture you in a pair of baggy snowboarding pants and a bright snow jacket, turning tricks on the half-pipe, tearing it up.
Or not.
See, I'm tying to set some boundaries for my expectations.
A few things are non-negotiable: You will work hard in school. You will treat your peers, teachers, neighbors and elders with respect. You will eat well and exercise every day.
Then there are those things that you've got a choice in, things you mother and I hope that you will do but won't force you to do (not repeatedly, anyway.) I'd like you to try your hand at snowboarding. Your mother likes the idea of speed skating. We both want you to learn an instrument and a foreign language — preferably one that you actually might one day use (sorry, Esperanto teachers of the world.)
And then there is soccer. Your mother insists that, like any other recreational activity, you should be given a choice in whether you want to be fanatical about The Beautiful Game. I disagree. I believe it is possible to be forced to love something, and still end up truly loving that something (take siblings, for instance.)
I suppose I would still have to love you if you don't love soccer. But let's just keep that a hypothetical, OK? And if not, it would help matters if you were a totally rad snowboarder.
Love,
dad
Friday, December 21, 2007
A SUDDEN CONNECTION
Dear Spike:
Snowing again today. Nine inches, maybe more.
The roads haven’t been plowed yet, so your mother decided to walk to work. We’re upstairs watching this amazing white world from the window in my office (which over the past few months has come to more closely resemble your office.)
A few short and random thoughts on this beautiful winter morning:
• Over the past few days, I’ve spoken to or corresponded with several friends whom I have not seen in some time. I’ve made an effort this year to reengage those friends with whom, for whatever reason, I have lost contact — and there’s a long list. I’m glad I’ve done this. It’s been especially rewarding to share with them your story and to hear about their lives, their families and their journeys.
• I think I may have made a new friend in Kenya this week. He’s a fellow journalist who wrote me in response to an article I penned regarding America’s use of Third-World mercenaries to defend its military and diplomatic bases in Iraq. Seems we’ve got a lot in common and we’ve begun to correspond.
• A song comes to mind... “Make new friends but keep the old,” I think it goes.
• I heard on the radio this morning that machete sales are up in Kenya. And though I’ve never even met my new friend in the flesh, I felt a sudden connection to that place, where candidates for parliament and the presidency have been stirring ethnic divisions in an attempt to win more votes.
• I’ve had similar experiences when reading or hearing reports from many of the places I’ve traveled and many more where I have friends. It is often a woeful experience, but I feel very privileged to be connected to this world in this way.
• Another song comes to mind (and probably won’t leave my head all morning now) “it’s a world of laughter, a world of tears, it’s a world of hope and a world of fears.”
• Outside it looks as though someone has shaken a snow globe, with tiny flakes swirling about in the air up, down, left, right. The trees look like cotton bushes. The street is like a long, flat sheet of white paper.
• It looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas. And so will those we know and love in places like Herat, Afghanistan; and in Frankfurt, Germany; and in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
• Yes, it’s a small world after all.
Love,
dad
Snowing again today. Nine inches, maybe more.
The roads haven’t been plowed yet, so your mother decided to walk to work. We’re upstairs watching this amazing white world from the window in my office (which over the past few months has come to more closely resemble your office.)
A few short and random thoughts on this beautiful winter morning:
• Over the past few days, I’ve spoken to or corresponded with several friends whom I have not seen in some time. I’ve made an effort this year to reengage those friends with whom, for whatever reason, I have lost contact — and there’s a long list. I’m glad I’ve done this. It’s been especially rewarding to share with them your story and to hear about their lives, their families and their journeys.
• I think I may have made a new friend in Kenya this week. He’s a fellow journalist who wrote me in response to an article I penned regarding America’s use of Third-World mercenaries to defend its military and diplomatic bases in Iraq. Seems we’ve got a lot in common and we’ve begun to correspond.
• A song comes to mind... “Make new friends but keep the old,” I think it goes.
• I heard on the radio this morning that machete sales are up in Kenya. And though I’ve never even met my new friend in the flesh, I felt a sudden connection to that place, where candidates for parliament and the presidency have been stirring ethnic divisions in an attempt to win more votes.
• I’ve had similar experiences when reading or hearing reports from many of the places I’ve traveled and many more where I have friends. It is often a woeful experience, but I feel very privileged to be connected to this world in this way.
• Another song comes to mind (and probably won’t leave my head all morning now) “it’s a world of laughter, a world of tears, it’s a world of hope and a world of fears.”
• Outside it looks as though someone has shaken a snow globe, with tiny flakes swirling about in the air up, down, left, right. The trees look like cotton bushes. The street is like a long, flat sheet of white paper.
• It looks like we’re going to have a white Christmas. And so will those we know and love in places like Herat, Afghanistan; and in Frankfurt, Germany; and in Grand Rapids, Michigan.
• Yes, it’s a small world after all.
Love,
dad
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
JUST AS CONTENT
One day left to vote in Spike's Thanksgiving poll (to the right and down a bit.) And don't forget to write a Spiku for someone you love. (It's just like a Haiku — five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables — you can find some great ones to the right and down a little less bit.)
— Spike's Dad
Dear Spike:
The snow came today. It was nearly a month late but, like a good friend, no one minded once it was here.
That was particularly true as it began to look as though it would be sticking around for a while. Here, we’ve learned not to count the inches that fall to the ground, but rather those that stick to it. And today the snow is sticking.
This is your first snow, and although I wanted to keep you warm as I took you to the car this afternoon, I couldn’t help but pull back the blanket in which you were wrapped so that a few flakes could fall on your nose and your cheeks. You flinched and sniffled and giggled. And then you smiled.
And then you cried. Too wet. Too cold. Too strange.
Later, your mother took you on a walk, knocking the frost from the neighbor’s bushes as she went so that you could watch the leaves turn from white to green. I watched from my office window as you tromped through the powder together. You didn’t look particularly happy, but it was clear that you were interested in all the ways the world had changed.
Your mother, on the other hand — I’ve never seen her happier than she was as she marched you in circles and zigzag patterns through our yard. And for me, it was such a joy just watching you two play.
I sometimes wonder how many of the things that we do for you we’re really doing for ourselves. When we dress you, we choose outfits that we think you look cute in, though you’re just as content in a pair of socks and nothing else. We try to keep you entertained with a variety of toys, but you’re often more fascinated by a handful of your mother’s hair or the buttons on my shirt.
Still, I’ve noticed that you seem happiest when we feel happiest. Our relationship is symbiotic in that way, even if it is a bit illusionary.
And that’s OK, I think.
The things that make us happy don’t have to make sense. They simply have to make us happy.
Maybe that helps explain the snow. Because really, you know, you’re initial observation is right: It’s wet and cold and strange.
And yet it makes so many of us so very happy.
Go figure.
Love,
dad
— Spike's Dad
Dear Spike:
The snow came today. It was nearly a month late but, like a good friend, no one minded once it was here.
That was particularly true as it began to look as though it would be sticking around for a while. Here, we’ve learned not to count the inches that fall to the ground, but rather those that stick to it. And today the snow is sticking.
This is your first snow, and although I wanted to keep you warm as I took you to the car this afternoon, I couldn’t help but pull back the blanket in which you were wrapped so that a few flakes could fall on your nose and your cheeks. You flinched and sniffled and giggled. And then you smiled.
And then you cried. Too wet. Too cold. Too strange.
Later, your mother took you on a walk, knocking the frost from the neighbor’s bushes as she went so that you could watch the leaves turn from white to green. I watched from my office window as you tromped through the powder together. You didn’t look particularly happy, but it was clear that you were interested in all the ways the world had changed.
Your mother, on the other hand — I’ve never seen her happier than she was as she marched you in circles and zigzag patterns through our yard. And for me, it was such a joy just watching you two play.
I sometimes wonder how many of the things that we do for you we’re really doing for ourselves. When we dress you, we choose outfits that we think you look cute in, though you’re just as content in a pair of socks and nothing else. We try to keep you entertained with a variety of toys, but you’re often more fascinated by a handful of your mother’s hair or the buttons on my shirt.
Still, I’ve noticed that you seem happiest when we feel happiest. Our relationship is symbiotic in that way, even if it is a bit illusionary.
And that’s OK, I think.
The things that make us happy don’t have to make sense. They simply have to make us happy.
Maybe that helps explain the snow. Because really, you know, you’re initial observation is right: It’s wet and cold and strange.
And yet it makes so many of us so very happy.
Go figure.
Love,
dad
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