Old memories of adventure travel in Mexico emerge during a bedtime story with Chloe.  It's no lie.

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So.  Yeah.

My old friends Russ and Andy dictate the Annual Adults Only Weekend in April.  They force us all to pass our spawns to the nearest grandparent willing to take them for a whole weekend, then we go drive some long, bumpy dirt road to a campsite.  We build a fire, fill the glasses, and talk about the old days and tell aggrandizingly sentimental stories about our children.

It might get loud.  It might get cold. We love it.  These are the pictures from our last outing in April 2009 that are suitable for the public.

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Chloe wants to tell you, dear reader, Happy Easter. Here's to egg hunting.  We went to a local farm this morning and scored some candy and face paint.

Oh yeah . . .

Chloe, who is now two-and-a-half years old, has the Ludwig Bemelmans book Madeline (website).  She likes me to read it to her at night before bedtime.

I mentioned she's two-and-a-half years old, right?  Yeah, so she'll hardly sit still through three pages before she'll say, "I WANT SOME MIWK" and that's aside from her squirming and wiggling around looking for the "cortner" of her purple blankey to swish against her nose.

To keep her on task, I've dug deep into my training as an English Major and pulled out this technique perfected by poets and jazz drummers alike: the caesura.  My instructor at ASU admitted that she just liked the way the word sounded as it slid from her mouth.

Let me illustrate how I exploit caesura as I read to Chloe.  The first lines from Madeline:

In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines,
lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.

In two straight lines they broke their bread,
and brushed their teeth, <caesura>

I wait for Chloe. As she sits on my lap I can see the side of her chubby cheek rise from a smile. "and went to BED!" she finishes for me.

If I just pause and let her finish off a random rhyme here or there, she'll pay more attention and maybe stop her squirming.

Toward the end of the book there's a page with an open air bus, [SPOILER ALERT] 11 of the girls are riding it to go see Madeline who just so happens to be in the hospital with appendicitis.

And one night last week Chloe pointed at the bus and asked, "Are dey widen da bus?"

"Yes, the are.  Where do you think they're going?"

"Are dey goin to Mexico?"

Did you notice that Chloe's geography skills are a little poor? Riding a bus from Paris to Mexico?  I doubt it.  But she seems to know where the fun places are.

She hit a soft spot with me. 10 years ago this June, I had a friend drive me and two other friends to Mexicali where he dropped us off with our backpacks, and we boarded a bus bound for Baja. We traveled down the peninsula, over to Mainland, down the Pacific coast and worked our way home through Copper Canyon after some three weeks.  "I think so." I said.  "Do you want to ride the bus in Mexico with Papa?"

"Mm-hmm.  Can Mama come too?"

***

Tomorrow, we're going to load up into the truck and drive down to Sierra Pinacate Biosphere Reserve in Sonora, Mexico.  We'll camp in the broad, wild desert and locate a quiet beach camp.  We'll cook fresh shrimp fajitas and wake up to the whispering tide.  We'll talk about taking a bus trip through Mexico, too.

For fun, here are two pictures from Chloe's first trip to Mexico when she was seven weeks old.  The Mexican ladies down there had a ball with her:

Just look at that little face...
They've got nice hats, huh?

You're going to find me despicable. This, my confession, is supposed to be a preemptive measure so The Universe goes easy on the Karma tomorrow.

When I picked up Chloe from her GiGi tonight, Chloe didn't want to go. Naturally.  She's two-and-a-half.  NO NO NO NO is her trademark phrase for me.  I have my devices to deal with this.

Brooke and I kicked off 2010 by driving up to her mom and dad's house with Chloe and a her little Tinkerbell duffel bag packed with just enough necessities to get her through a night.  After we knocked on the door, we took off running and left Chloe there with a note taped to her forehead: I want cookies, ice cream, candy, and juice PWEEZE.  You don't want to experience my carnal scream.

photo courtesy Greg Taylor
And after that, the two of us drove to Celebrity Theatre for the Roger Clyne and The Peacemakers New Year's show.  Brooke purchased us some "Section A2" seats, which means they're pretty sweet.  Right in front of the orchestra pit.

Celebrity Theatre, though, is a theatre-in-the-round (one of two such unique theatres in Arizona) with a mechanically rotating stage and seating for just 2650 kindred souls - making every seat a good one.

But we had a problem. Brooke thought she scored two tickets that were separated by two other seats.  We thought, "No prob, we can get somebody to swap or scoot down or something." That wasn't the problem, though.  The problem was that as the usher was showing us our seats, we realized that we weren't two seats apart, but two rows apart.  Ugh.  We're happy people though.  We sat down in general seating instead and enjoyed every moment until the intermission.

At intermission, an usher walked over to us.

"Don't you have reserved seating tickets?" He asked point blank as if he knew. We told him our silly story.

He looked over his shoulders one at a time, leaned in closely and said, "Okay, this is my New Year's gift to you. You want to go down to the front row?" (He told us not to tell anybody, so don't tell anybody that I told you . . .)

For the second half of the show, that's right, we got to hunker down at the front of the action in the reserved seating section.  When the stage spins around, you see, you get to see the side of the drum kit where the magic happens - four limbs burning some 3,000 calories every minute doing the typically thankless job of keeping time and locking the band together while making it look easy.  After watching P.H. going bonkers with the sticks on Mekong, Brooke says, "I have a lot more respect for you drummers after seeing what he just did."

That's the condensed version of our New Year's Miracle.  And I think that's a great way to begin a year - with a miracle.  Or small moment of joy.  Call it what you may.

We're going to do waht we can to enjoy every moment
I'm looking forward to other great things in 2010, here's a quickie:

Travel & Adventure:

• Sierra Pinacate of Northern Sonora (January) - Hiking the sand dunes and camping on the beach with some good friends
• New Mexico Backroads (March) - Some little known dirt roads, small towns, and big vistas await
• Southern Utah (April) - I'm thinking Capitol Reef or the Maze District.  I'll take any of it.
• Baja Sur (June) - ferry across the Sea of Cortés from Guyamas or Los Mochis and hang around on remote beaches for a week or two.  Chloe should enjoy the ferry ride.
• It's time to tie into the rope and climb some vertical rocks again
• Backpack a segment of the Arizona Trail

Writing:

• Personal Goal: One hand written journal entry per day
• Professional Goal: Publish one essay per quarter
• Remember what Malcom Gladwell penned: "Good writing . . . succeeds or fails on the strength of its ability to engage you, to make you think, to give you a glimpse into someone else's head - even if in the end you conclude that someone else's head is not a place you'd really like to be."

Photography:

• Tell the story
• Keep focusing on the eyes

Parenting:

• Like it or not you're going need to develop consistency in discipline, pal

Flashlight art on New Years Eve
As 2009 creeps to the horizon, I'm taking a moment to think back and hand pick 20 photos that sum up my 33rd year on planet Earth.

I'm talking about the memories and stories here - if you find technical prowess in the photos, it's just coincidence because I picked these for multiple reasons. We managed some superb trips and massive memories. Brooke trained for, and competed in, her first triathalon. I managed to make this website a reality. At the top of the "2009 FAIL" list: Chloe, our 2-year-old, isn't potty trained yet. It's not for lack of trying.

Music sure is magical, isn't it?
We're giving that purple blob of felt a run for his money. If you've ever been at your wits end with those Barney songs and your child's unwavering request for said songs, this one's for you.

Look at the way she looks at me while contaminating the evidence, my carrot stolen right out of my hands. What's next the car keys?

She's got nearly every aspect of the criminal's craft down pat. It started with lying.

Another gem from the annals of daily fatherhood - where we get surprised and enlightened at the smallest comment from our offspring who, despite our trying, have learned to read and think.  Enjoy this one.