When Zoe Arrived (Part 2)

That April Fool's Day was a classic spring day for our area,  clear with a brisk north wind.  We went to our friend's home, which was somewhat closer to the hospital in case we had to rush.  We took a walk in a walnut orchard to try to keep AW occupied and possibly move things along, but the wind was blowing so hard that I was concerned a tree branch might clobber us.

Our friends were gracious hosts and tried their best entertain us.  Carter was 12 years old at the time, so as the contractions got closer together and the time to go came, he stayed back with our friends and their two sons.

We checked in to the hospital around five in the afternoon.  I wish I could recount exactly how many centimeters the cervix was dilated and how far apart the contractions were on an hour by hour basis, but for me after six years it is more a blur.

I do remember that AW would breath and calm herself, and then get psyched up for the next contraction like a fighter heading back into the ring.  She was totally focused and composed throughout.  She fought hard through those evening hours and I held her hand, got her what she needed and did what I could until our midwife, Lisa showed up about 8:30 pm.

Lisa recharged the room and got AW ready for the final round with her "Let's get this thing done!" attitude.  I was very happy to have the help.

One of the things we had discussed in baby class, and that I had also read about, is the stage of labor known as "transition."  This is the point when women apparently hurl expletives at everyone around them, especially their spouses.  Transition is when you hear things like, "I can't do it!"  and "Give me the f---ing drugs right now!" and so forth.  Of course this occurs when it is pretty much too late to do anything about the pain.

It was at this point that AW's true nature showed itself to me.  She was going through the very worst of the process.  I remember the look of absolute determination on her beet red face.  Veins were popping up across her forehead and along her neck and throat.  Her jaw was clenched so hard the muscles were rippling on her cheeks and tears were squeezing out at the edges of her eyes.

As she gripped my hand so hard it was hurting, our eyes met and I did all I could to be with her in the moment.  Finally it began to subside and she said to me, "Oh baby.  Are you Okay?  I'm so sorry!"

She was worried about me?  At a time like this?  That's AW.

Minutes later she was allowed to push, and not long after that Zoe entered the world with a shriek.  We didn't know if it would be a boy or a girl, but for some reason we just felt pretty sure it would be a girl.

Never once did she ask for drugs.  Never once did she doubt herself.  I'm not saying that everyone should be like my AW.  Everyone has to make their own choices and travel their own journey, but I stand in awe of my AW for her guts and determination.

When Zoe Arrived (Part 1)

April 1, 2004, a little after ten at night.  Zoe finally showed her face to the world.  It had been a long day and AW was now completely and totally exhausted past any point I can imagine.  But finally our baby was here!  A perfect little peanut of a baby girl, only about six and a half pounds.

Zoe in January 2010

AW is really one tough customer.  She decided early that she was going to "experience" this birth, and that is exactly what she did.  I knew before we were married that she was mentally tough.  I remember early in our relationship AW donning  her running shorts and shoes and setting out from the house.  Three minutes after her departure, the sky opened up.  I expected to see her scurrying back within a few minutes, but instead she finished the run, trotting in 45 minutes later looking like a drowned kitten, complete with a smile.

But until AW was put to the test, I couldn't be too sure how bad this labor and delivery thing would be for her.   After all, I had also seen a case of the stomach flu make her wail as if she were about to die.

My previous wife, Carter's mom, did not enjoy the birthing process one bit.  After the birth, she swore she would never go through that again, and that is one vow she has kept.

AW's pregnancy with Zoe, as with the other two, went along smoothly as planned, with few concerns and much joy.  About 2 months before the due date of April 10th, we decided to make one last trip, just the two of us, to Seattle.  We caught the Amtrak Coast Starlight heading north.

AW had been having many small contractions recently, so we deliberated about the wisdom of taking this trip so late in the game.  In the end I remember saying, "Seattle has hospitals, right?" Right.

The next couple days we walked all over the city, taking in the sights and even a hockey game.  We had dinner up in the Space Needle (cheesy, I know) and it was there that AW began to feel funny.

The walk back to our hotel was many blocks, but we made it back before things got too bad.  AW was having irregular, painful contractions and just felt generally awful.  We weren't sure what was happening.  It didn't seem like classic labor, but it certainly wasn't right, so we hopped a cab to Swedish Medical Center.  (We couldn't find Seattle Grace;) )

As it turned out, AW had a case of the flu that had triggered pre-term labor.  We spent the night in the hospital, which was a wonderful place I might add.  They took good care of both of us and we found ourselves wishing we could deliver the baby there instead of at our rural, local hospital.

I tell this part of the story because, after the experience in Seattle, I was a bit more worried about how AW would fare during labor without the aid of an epidural or drugs.  The labor pains she had dealt with during the pre-term contractions had her screaming bloody murder, and in my small male mind I wondered how much worse the real thing would be for her.

We travelled home once AW was able, and stayed put at home to await the big day.  On March 31st, we went to Costco for supplies.  I ran into an old acquaintance and was chatting while AW went to use the restroom.  When she returned, her face held a strange expression, one of excitement and fear.  "I think I lost my mucus plug!"  She whispered.

"Well lets go back and look for it!"  No I didn't really say that.  I think it was more like, "Whoa."

As it turned out, we had an appointment with the midwife the next morning.  If there was one thing I knew about giving birth, it was that the process has no regard for the value of sleep, so I resolved to try to get a good night's sleep for the coming day.  AW did not get much sleep, as the contractions were coming every 10 minutes all night long, but bless her heart, she didn't tell me until morning.

At 9:00 am we were in the midwife's office, hoping for progress.  She slipped on the rubber glove, did her thing and said, "Oh yeah. You two are having a baby today!"

Click here to view these pictures larger

Kidless Days

Zoe is a great climber

I have spent several days in Fresno over the past few months.  A charter client has had business there on several occasions, leaving me to spend the day there in peace and quiet.

The first few times I was content to take an extended run, circumnavigating the airport property.  The good thing about this run is that it is a six mile loop in which I can't get lost.  On the negative side it is flat, has lots of car traffic, and it is not scenic in the least.

After completing my run, I usually get cleaned up and spend the rest of the time at a nearby Starbucks reading and writing on the computer.  This relaxing time is an amazing luxury that I simply can't enjoy within 20 miles of home, and I'm getting paid to boot!

This past Friday I decided to do something different.  I realized that I had never seen a Giant Sequoia tree, and that King's Canyon National Park was only about 50 miles away.  So I arranged a car rental and headed east out of Fresno on Highway 180.  It didn't take long to leave the valley farmlands and start the climb up the grade.

My First Giant Sequoia

The nearest grove I had seen advertised was just inside the park entrance.  This turned out to be at an elevation of about 6,000 feet, and although the road was dry, there was several feet of snow on the sides of the road.  The parking lot for "Big Stump" trail was clear so I hopped out to look around.  As the name implies, there aren't many big trees here, just big stumps.  The area was logged in the 1890's, before it was part of the park.

Ironically, one of the main attractions here is the "Mark Twain Tree Stump."  I took a picture of it, but it is not worth posting.  This very large tree was cut down in order to take back to the New York Natural History Museum in 1891, presumably to be put on display.  Ah, how times change.

The Sawed Tree  --  Note the scar

The other cool sight was the "Sawed Tree," which for some reason was given up upon by the lumberjacks and it has healed and still stands.

I trudged the entire two miles through snow that I sunk knee deep into at times.  It was almost as good a workout as my usual run.  I'll leave you with this artistic shot.  Cool, eh?

Playing

Independent Daisy

We stayed another night in the house by the sea, playing and reading and doing all the things you do when you have no internet, television or even a newspaper.  Zoe, Teddy and Daisy have all been healthy and happy and even loving toward each other.  We are truly blessed.

Swinging Teddy

Late Saturday we cleaned up the house, loaded back into the car for the drive up-coast to Eureka, AW's hometown.  AW's siblings live there with their families, which makes for a grand cousin's reunion.  Pictured below is my just turned 3 year old niece, who is so darn cute I can hardly take it.  She has the personality to match.

So cute it should be illegal

A Few Days by the Sea

Runnin' wild on the North Coast

I have had a difficult time posting of late.  My hard disk of 75GB has filled up and I purchased an external hard drive to offload photos and music.  As a result any time spent on the computer has been trying to get straightened out and organized, and I have been failing thus far.

Today, however, I am away on a charter flight with a few hours to kill.  I just finished a 6 mile run and I have some quiet time.

The President's Day weekend was five days this year, so despite the adverse weather forecast we planned to travel to our cabin on the coast.  Normally we fly the airplane, which reduces the 6 hour drive to one hour, but with all the winter weather we decided a road trip was in order.

We took our time and stopped several times, stretching the journey out to 7 hours, but finally pulled in to the driveway in time to put the kids to bed as the sound of rain, wind and waves rattled the rafters.  I started a fire and AW and I unwound from the busy week and the long drive.

The next morning broke gray and overcast, but no rain.  With coffee in hand I walked out to the deck to find the normally blue Pacific a grey and white torrent, rolling into the cove with mighty force.  I took a walk up the hill and took some photos.

Big Waves Breaking

Today was not going to be a beach day for the kids.  I had an errand to do anyway.  We keep an old car at the cabin to use to go to the beach, a 1986 Suzuki Samurai.  I needed to get the thing smog checked so that I could keep it registered in our beautiful state.  This entailed driving it over an hour away on wet mountain roads to the nearest town with a smog shop.  The route took me through a pretty redwood grove, so I stopped and took a photo.

Coast Redwoods

Fortunately, the little rig actually passed the test, so triumphantly I returned to the cabin to continue our day.  The weather was improving, so I proposed we take the newly legal beater down to the beach for some climbing on our favorite rock.  There is a spectacular black sand beach close by, so we loaded up and bundled up for a refreshing outing.

Black Sands Beach

Normally our favorite climbing rock is a hundred meters from the ocean waves, well above the riptide that we don't let our kids near.  This day, however, we found quite a different sight.  As we walked down from the parking area, I was shocked to see our favorite rock was engulfed in white water.  

We all stood in awe from the bluff above, along with a small group of people, finally deciding that the beach was no place for kids today.  We hiked around the bluff area and then headed for the playground for a while.

Our Normally Kid Friendly Climbing Rock

Dancin'

The lighting in Zoe's dance studio makes photography very difficult.  I used a slower exposure and no flash for these artsy pics.

Play Dates

This week had us hosting school friends to play after school.

On Super-Bowl Sunday the weather cleared just in time for the annual Paskenta bike ride.  I snapped this photo looking west at the coast ranges and Mendocino National Forest.

No, thats not the infamous Jimmy with Daisy Daddy, but he is a friend that goes back just as far into my childhood.  The scenery in the NorCal hills looks a bit like Ireland this year.  Lots of rain gets the green grass growing.

Arrested (Part 3)

AW and the kids.

The old man glared at us, squinting to better focus on our quivering faces.  He looked at the cop, and then back at us.  Slowly his head began to shake. "Nope, they were taller," He said.

The flood of relief that Jimmy and I felt was like a wave of pure joy.  My knees went weak as I smiled and held back tears.  The deputy turned us both around and we trotted down the stairs and out the door.  Fresh mountain air with the scent of pine filled our nostrils.

"Looks like you boys are off the hook!" Our ungracious host quipped.  We loaded back into the squad car for the trip back to Quincy, where we retrieved our bikes and gear.  As we got our things secured and got ready to ride off into the sunset, I asked the officer one last question. "How much did that old man claim was stolen from him?"

The officer replied, "Five bucks."

Later, as Jimmy and I rode along, having gone over the experience together a few hundred times, still not believing it had actually happened, Jimmy said, "Do you think we should maybe find a pay phone and call our parents?  Maybe we should let them know what happened."

I said, "Nah.  We'll be home in a couple days, we can tell them in person.  It's over now.  We don't need anybody freaking out."   We agreed.

We never found out if they caught the perps, or if the crime actually happened.  I doubt that it did.  But whatever happened that summer day in 1979, it gave Jimmy and me a memory to last a lifetime.  And finally, after thirty years, I wrote it down.

Arrested (Part 2)

The two officers had a conversation while I waited and Jimmy sweated in the car.  Now our exchanged glances made sense to each other.  We both shrugged our shoulders and shook our heads, but it looked like we were headed "downtown" so to speak.  The cops had us stuff our bikes into the trunks of the two patrol cars, we were loaded up and headed for the jail, located at the county seat,  Quincy, California. (Pop. 1,800)  The bikes and gear didn't fit in the old cruiser's trunks.  They hung grotesquely over the bumpers as we made our way further into the mountains.

I don't believe we were ever read our rights.

Once we arrived at the station, Jimmy and I were ushered into what looked to us like an interrogation room.  They locked us in and left us together to contemplate the situation.  Tears welled up in Jimmy's eyes as we finally got the chance to speak to each other.  "We're screwed.. we are screwed!" was all he could say.

The only thing I could think of was that someone was trying to frame us.  Someone must have seen us that morning at the store, and decided to pin a crime on us. "Their trying to frame us, Jimmy!  But why?"

Of course we hadn't even considered the fact that we had been taken into custody and detained without being read our rights.  We hadn't been given the chance to call our parents.  We were only 14 years old, a long way from home and scared to death.  We hadn't asked for anything, and nothing had been granted.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cop opened the door.  This time we were loaded into the squad car together.  Our bikes had been placed in storage at the station.  He drove us back out of town.  I asked, "Where are we going?"

He replied, "Back to Plumas Pines.  The victim is there waiting to identify you boys."

It was about a thirty minute drive.  Jimmy and I sat in silence.  On one hand, if this was a case of mistaken identity, then we would soon be cleared and released.  But on the other hand, what were the chances that two boys, about our age, riding bikes like ours complete with packs, were at the store at about the same time as us?  Surely this was a frame up, and as Jimmy said, we were screwed.

The shores of Lake Almanor came into our view, the afternoon sun glinting on the blue water.  The patrol car slowed on the highway to make the right turn onto a deeply wooded side road leading to Plumas Pines.  As we descended into the green forest and the rustic buildings and rusty trailers of the settlement came into my view, my heart began to beat wildly in my chest.  My mouth began to water as the pit of my stomach turned over and over.

We pulled into the gravel parking lot, and the deputy got out, leaving us once again in the vehicle.  He disappeared inside a side door on the same building as the general store.  A few minutes passed, and he came out of the door, not accompanied.  It wasn't hot this time because the car was in the shade, but still Jimmy and I sweated profusely.  (Have you ever noticed that sweating is the only thing people ever do 'profusely'?)

He walked towards us and opened up our door. "Okay, boys, this is it."

We marched towards the door like doomed men to the gallows.  Once through the door, we had to blink to adjust our eyes to the darkness.  The smell of stale cigarettes and mold filled my nostrils.  The only way to go was up an old creaky staircase leading to what appeared to be two second floor apartments situated directly above the store.

As we climbed the stairs, it felt as if the walls were closing in around me.  My heart was pounding in my ears and time seemed to slow down.  I looked over at Jimmy, but his eyes were downcast and his expression lifeless.  We reached the top of the stairs and continued on the landing past the first door.  The hallway ended at the second.  The officer paused, gave two short knocks and turned the knob.

There was a bit more light in the tiny room in front of us, coming through tattered curtains above a rumpled old bed.  There was a filthy wash basin in the corner of the room, and trash was strewn about the place interspersed with clothing and cigarette cartons.  Smoke hung in the air.  The smell was mostly cigarette smoke, but also stale whiskey mixed in with the odor of unwashed humanity and dirty socks.

As my eyes focused and darted about, there seated on the greasy bed was a scraggly old man, shirtless, with wild gray hair and empty, bleary eyes.  He had a cigarette between his lips.  He took the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger and pulled it from his mouth, exhaling thick smoke in our direction.  As the smoke cleared his lips, I could see his brown, rotting teeth within.

The man said nothing. He just looked at us.  The officer spoke first, "So, here they are.  Are these the boys?"

(To be continued)

8th Graders Arrested for Robbery

This photo makes me think of a cold war incident from the 1980's.  Some guy in a Cessna two-seater flew low across the iron curtain to Moscow and landed the airplane on Red Square.  Obviously the bee is the Cessna landing on the nose of the Russian Bear.  What became of the bee?  Anyone know?

The following is a story from my childhood.  Either times have changed, or I had an exceptional level of freedom for an eighth grader, but my friend Jimmy and I were on a week long bicycle camping trip in the Sierra Nevada mountains.  We were touring, meaning we carried all our provisions and equipment on our bicycles.  We were well in to our trip, traveling on a sunny day down State Route 70 through the scenic Feather River Canyon.  And that is where this story picks up...

Jimmy and I had packed up that morning on the shores of Lake Almanor and had already made about 50 miles on our ten speed bicycles.  The route was more downhill than up, and the canyon walls on both sides had provided cooling shade for most of the morning, but now the sun was overhead and burning our necks.  Occasionally we passed through dark tunnels, bored through the granite walls of the canyon.

Over the past week we had gotten used to speeding traffic and logging trucks squeezing us to the gravelly shoulder, so neither of us glanced backward as the sound of fast tires approached from the road behind.  Then the pitch of the sound changed as the vehicle slowed.  Still we didn't look back.

A siren chirped and a voice came over a speaker, "Pull over, boys."  We looked over our shoulders to see a local sheriff's deputy, lights flashing.  What did he want?

We found a wide spot in the road, shadeless.  Leaning our bikes on the guardrail, the officer walked toward us with his hand on his Colt 45.  I think both Jimmy and I were expecting a lecture from him, warning us of the foolishness of riding our bicycles on this highway.  Perhaps he would tell us some story of how a logging truck had run down a cyclist last year, dragging the poor sap for miles before discovering the gruesome remains.  We were prepared with our "Yes, Sir.  We will be careful sir." response.

Instead, he said, "Boys, I have some questions for you.  First I need you," pointing at me, "to sit in the car."  He led me to his car, opened the rear door, and I got inside.  Another sheriff's car pulled up behind us.  Back-up.

I looked through the window at Jimmy, and his eyes met mine, as wide as saucers.  As the officer questioned Jimmy, I had a good view of Jimmy's face though the window.  What in the world could have happened?  I told myself that whatever this was about, a quick questioning would reveal we knew nothing about it.

As I sat there, the inside of the car quickly got very hot.  Instinctively, I reached for the handle to roll down the window.  No handle, no door latch.  I was imprisoned in a little cell that was quickly exceeding 120 degrees in temperature.  I watched as Jimmy answered questions, and each time he spoke, the look on his face became more and more grave.  I kept thinking that he would smile, and then they would both laugh as the misunderstanding became clear.  That wasn't happening.

Jimmy walked to his bike with the officer and unzipped his pack, pulling out his knife.  It was one of those awkward camping knives with a fork and a spoon included in the many accessories.  I chuckled at the absurdity of it.  I had been giving him a hard time about the silly thing.

Now Jimmy was shaking his head as he spoke, sweating, and holding his lips in the peculiar way he tended to do when accused of some wrongdoing.  What in the hell was going on out there?

The officer now turned to me, opening the car door and letting the cooler air wash over me.  It was now Jimmy's turn to fry.  We exchanged looks.  Jimmy looked defeated.  He seemed to tell me with his face, "Don't tell him anything!"  But we were innocent and knew nothing. What could I possibly tell him but the truth?

So now it was my turn for questioning.  The officer began, "The reason I split you two boys up was to see if your stories match."

I Gulped.

" So, where did you boys come from this morning?"  He asked.

"The Plumas Pines campground."  I replied.

"Did you stop anywhere this morning as you left Lake Almanor?"

"We stopped at the Plumas Pines Store to get some provisions"

"What time did you stop at the store?"  The officer asked.

I told him, "About 8 o'clock."

He asked me a few more questions regarding the stop at the store.  Finally I gathered the courage to ask, "Sir, what is this all about?"

He replied, "At about 8 o'clock this morning, at the Plumas Pines Store, Two boys robbed a man at knifepoint, then fled on bicycles with red packs.  It would appear that you boys fit the description and can be placed there, by your own admission, at the the time of the crime."

My head began to spin as I considered what he had just said.

(To be continued)