The Heart of Rock'N Roll Is Still Beating

I'll try to keep this brief. I know most of you don't really care about this stuff.

U2.

It. Was. Awesome.

And I didn't bring my camera. Molly that I am, when Ticketmaster told me no cameras were allowed, I took them at their word. No matter that EVERY OTHER PERSON in the entire building (all 70,000 of them), except, of course, for MommyJ, Josh, or CPod, brought a camera. We had to make do with sub-par camera phones. And those pictures are not even worth putting on here. So. I have no proof. Only memories.

While U2 was fantastic, the awesomeness did not begin with them.

It began with these guys:


That's right, folks. Muse opened for U2. This was a huge bonus, since opening bands for the Atlanta concert were not announced until a few months ago -- long after we bought our tickets.

Now. The last time we saw U2, Gavin Rossdale's short-lived venture Institute opened. We were not impressed -- more like disappointed since both CPod and I had been fans of Bush for a while. Let's just say the difference between studio recording and live performance was . . . significant.

Not so with Muse. They were absolutely spot on in a live venue. Go see them! It was a fantastic performance.

Enter U2. Talk about huge. Take a look at this:

I have never seen a concert set like this before. Between bands, we watched all the tech people take their places on the set. I'm talking dozens of follow spots, camera operators, and guitar wranglers, many of them perched precariously on tiny chairs high above the audience, harnessed to the giant claw of a stage.

It was a spectacle, worthy of the price of the tickets, and impressive in it's sheer size and scope: excessive, larger than life, grandiose, self-indulgent, and absolutely one of the most fun experiences I have ever had in my life.

They played, and played, and played some more. Inexhaustible. They changed up their set list enough to keep us guessing even though we (read: CPod) are total nerds and thought we knew what would come next. We heard old stuff, and new stuff, and rare stuff (Stuck in a Moment, acoustic version, thank you very much!) and the greatest stuff. Can I say it again? It was awesome.

And I have some notes.

The Edge -- you are amazing. You are a quiet, bald Irish dude and in ordinary, every day conversation, people refer to you by the coolest nickname anyone has ever had. But man, you can play yourself some guitar. I am never disappointed by what I hear emanating from whichever of your dozens of instruments you have picked up. In fact, I have decided that you may actually be the biggest reason I love U2 so much. Some part of me responds to the iconic strains of The Edge playing his guitar, and I will never stop loving it.

Larry Mullen, Jr. -- oh, my. The arms. Drummers should NEVER wear long sleeves.

Adam Clayton -- I think they must keep you around because you're a pretty cool guy. At least, that's how you look on stage: unruffled by all those people, just playing your bass as though you're the only person in the room.

Bono -- I'll be honest: sometimes I listen to U2 in spite of you. Love the lyrics, and you're quite the showman, that's for sure. But I think the ego required to do what you do on stage must make you a pretty difficult person to live with the rest of the time. Bless your wife and family!

So, if you're jealous, and you should be, then you should watch the live video stream from the Rose Bowl concert on October 25. It will be awesome, and as Motherboard said, you can wear your pajamas. I'm all about the pajamas these days -- they're the only clothes I have left that fit me! You MUST see the set to believe it. It's amazing. Here's the preview:



I'll be watching!

Dear Babysitter

I've already written about the glorious child-free weekend CPod and I enjoyed recently.We were fortunate that Whitney, our favorite babysitter, was home from BYU for the summer and finished with her EFY counselor gig. For some reason, ConMan called her Apron for two days. We're still trying to figure that one out. But everyone was still alive when we got home, babysitter included, and, really, what more can you ask? I'm pretty certain, though, that Whitney/Apron will not be having children of her own any time in the near future. And by near future, I mean, like a decade. She may be scarred for life. Without further ado, here's what the babysitter needed to know to get through 28 hours with our brood, minus lists of food they can eat and ways to entertain them.

Dear Babysitter,

I can't tell you how appreciative we are . . . you're putting both your sanity and your desire to have kids in the future on the line here, and we're very grateful!

A few things you'll need to know:

1. The toilets WILL look like you've mysteriously been transported to a truck stop before 24 hours is up. Do not let this concern you -- seriously, it's CPod's job to clean them, as it's his job to correct aiming problems.

2. G-Dog is highly allergic to mosquito bites. I can't keep him from getting them, so we give him allergy medicine to prevent the reactions, but it still won't be a lovely sight if he gets one. Don't let this worry you, either -- just put a band-aid on it to keep him from scratching and make sure it stays clean. It seriously might make his entire leg swell up if he gets one, but it won't kill him, so don't worry about it.

3. Sometimes my kids talk about body parts. Don't be alarmed. Also, the big boys will need you to wipe bums if necessary. This is usual. BE ALARMED if ConMan doesn't ask you for help when pooping.

4. Sometimes they refuse to eat whatever dinner you put in front of them. If they do this, no treats. And don't worry -- they won't starve to death. Just be prepared for them to eat a lot of cereal for breakfast the next morning.

5. Feel free to administer time outs as needed. But -- they should always get an explanation for why they're being disciplined.

6. Bedtime: 8PM or thereabouts. No bath required tomorrow night -- we just did it. Clean diaper/"empty tank" (potty), jammies, teeth, hands & faces, family prayer (they will fight. I need to make a chart. If they're really arguing, just let everyone say their own prayer.), hugs, kisses, and dreams. Just ask each one what they're going to dream about tonight. G-Dog's will be totally off-the-wall, ConMan's will be about Fire Mario, and MayDay's will be about an assortment of Marios. Lights out (pull the chain on the overhead light in the twins' room), doors closed. Mason will probably want a drink of water. That's fine.

7. All three have been stung repeatedly by wasps and/or hornets this summer. This has made them wary in a BIG way of playing outside. If you can persuade them to go outside, please do. Use the "picnic blanket" (sunflowers, in the corner in the living room) and take lunch outside to sit in the shade under a tree; engage them in tricycle races down the driveway or relay races in the cul-de-sac -- anything to get them some Vitamin D. They are especially leery of the playground because the wasps keep building nests inside it. Check it out, and if it's still clear (you'd be amazed how quickly those nests go in) play pirates with the boys. They love this. They also love to pretend the bottom part is an ice cream stand. They love playing with the hose, too -- they call it a snake monster. Our wading pool has a big hole and, sadly, can no longer be inflated. It will be hot, though, so if you want to just hose them down, you can. They are also welcome to play with any of the neighbor kids whenever.

8. I don't care if you feed them snacks all day long and don't do a one of the things I've listed here. As long as they're still alive when I get back on Saturday, I'm good with it. One day of different routine will not undo the whole system!

(And here are some things I should have included, but didn't occur to me until later.)

Please be advised that we have recently come to suspect that the house across the street from us, which is now vacant, was, in the not too distant past, a marijuana grow house. We're not certain, but when your neighbors who've been renting suddenly up and buy a house triple the cost of the most expensive one on your street, and when you smell pot whenever you are near the house, it's not so hard to put two and two together. And since the grass is so tall, there are certain to be snakes. Do I need to tell you to stay away?

I'd like to tell you that every night after the kids go to bed, I'm super industrious and get all of the cleaning done so we can get up the next morning and start the day with a neat house. But I'd be lying. Because mostly, I collapse onto the couch and hardly move until I finally drag myself to bed. And I will not fault you one bit if you decide to take exactly the same course of action!

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Sincerely,

InkMom

PS We'll leave you with keys to our van, just in case you need/want to leave the house. Or you feel like running away. But please call another babysitter first, and let me know where I can pick up my car.

Highlights

You will NEVER guess who I saw this weekend.


That's right. The decidedly upscale hotel at which my husband and I stayed this weekend was infiltrated, nay, infested with NWA (National Wrestling Alliance, to the uninitiated) Legends Fans, all there to meet their idol, the greatest wrestler of all time, Ric Flair, the very Nature Boy himself.

Except he's a lot older now. And a bit fatter. As are most of his fans. Fatter, I mean. And balding, except for the mullet. And toothless. And rude. And -- do I even need to say this? -- single. I'm not kidding even a little bit. I sincerely hope that the conglomeration of people at the Hilton this weekend was not typical of the NWA audience. But I suspect it might have been.

We were childless, which goes a long way to improve the attitude, don't you think? Say what you will -- we did some really great people-watching this weekend.

But our hotel was not the only place we got to scan an interesting crowd.

No, friends, our wrestling experience was overwhelmingly eclipsed by the real reason for our trip -- these fellas:


Stumped? How about now?


Okay, I'll admit that my pictures are not clear or, even, recognizable. But trust me. Coldplay in concert was worth every penny we spent -- one of the best shows I have ever been to. (I speak with zero authority here, since my concert history, excluding big-name classical musicians, consists, in its entirety, of: New Kids on the Block, Tony Bennett, Chicago, Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2, and, now, Coldplay. But CPod's pedigree is more impressive: REM twice, Metallica twice, U2, Chili Peppers, Pearl Jam twice, Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Toad the Wet Sprocket, twice . . . I could go on. He's much cooler than me. And he thinks it was one of the best shows he's ever seen, too. So there.)

CPod and I went with MommyJ (my sister) and her husband, Josh:


We had a blast. We sang along. We danced. They were FANTASTIC. I have loved Chris Martin for a long time -- that dude can play him some piano.


There were huge yellow balloons bounced through the crowd (during "Yellow"). There were millions of pieces of butterfly confetti:


There were three stages, and acoustic music, including a fantastic cover of "Billie Jean". There were lasers. There were mellow drunk people (instead of the usual obnoxious drunks . . . a nice change). A good time was had by all. Even my little pregnant belly. She was dancing, too!


I took a few videos that will do nothing for any of you, because they're NOT good. And because I was having too much fun to stand there holding my camera in the air for longer than 30 seconds at a time. But if you want just a small taste of what we experienced on Friday night, this YouTube video will not even come close, but it'll have to do.

Peace out.

Some fireworks a day late . . .

How was your holiday weekend?

Mine was great. I'm serious.

My entire family went camping. And by entire family, I mean all of the people I lived with growing up and all of our respective spouses and children. 21 people in all.

Wanna know how crazy it was? 11 of those people are 8 or younger. Baby brother has no children yet, but the shakedown works like this (my kids in purple; MommyJ's kids in green; Jared & Mel's kids in blue): 8, 6, 5, 5, 4, 4, 4, 2, 2, 2, 4 months. All boys except for little Lucy. Oh, the energy!

We ate. We swam. We reveled in the cool weather -- no warmer than 80 degrees. Heaven. We watched fireworks. We laughed. We ate some more. We slept on the ground. Well, I slept on the ground. My parents slept on a double-stacked air mattress. Their tent looked like an actual bedroom, complete with handmade quilts and throw pillows.

And now we're home. And clean. The campsite had flush toilets, but no showers, so for two days, no one bathed. I smelled like a Mexican restaurant dumpster. When I finally showered this afternoon, as I bent over to scrub the "dirty burt", as my mom calls it, from under my toenails, my already washed hair swung into my face and it still smelled like campfire smoke.

My kids are all sleeping. Which means it's time for me to turn in, too. Yes, I know it's only 9:15. I promise to be a real person, with some real posts about some interesting things I've been thinking about lately, very soon.

Love you all!

Ten Things I Learned at Walt Disney World

Long post alert. We've got lots of ground to cover here, people!

You can't beat flowers like this in January.

Me and cutie ConMan after day two at the Magic Kingdom.

The Mickey Family Portrait.

1. Next time, I'll prepare for the trip by learning how to say "excuse me" in 17 languages. I'm serious. I would bet that English-speaking Americans were in the extreme minority while we were there. If I learn how to say "excuse me" in 17 languages, I won't feel so bad about running over people's toes with my large, conspicuous, where-did-you-think-I-was going-with-this-thing double stroller.

2. You don't have to be American to look like a redneck. Just when I thought I had someone pegged as a good old boy, out they'd come with a "Cheerio, old chap" and I would scratch my head. That's what I get for stereotyping.

3. You should only wear clothing printed with phrases in languages you know. You wouldn't believe the number of t-shirts I saw printed with nonsensical English. For example, "It Maximum Authoritized". I thought about this for a long time trying to make sense of it. But it doesn't make sense. And the cool looping script over a really awesome graphic will never make it make sense. I don't even think "authoritized" is a word. So . . . all of you out there with the Chinese character for "harmony" tattooed on your (fill in the blank with some embarassing body part) . . . exactly how sure are you that it doesn't mean "dog-faced" or "idiot"?

4. If vanity is a reason to not live somewhere, Florida has just been stricken from my list. Because if we lived in Florida, I would be faced with the prospect of never ever again having a good hair day, and I'm just not sure I could live with that.

5. Something nefarious has happened to Daisy Duck. She is absolutely absent from the Magic Kingdom. She is not in either parade, she is not on the merchandise, and she is not mentioned elsewhere in the park. For a sassy, speak-your-mind kind of girl like me, this absence is disturbingly conspicuous! Are they trying to put down the one who says it like it is? The one who tells her boyfriend what to do? Was there some Disney patron focus group that reflected unfavorably on the notorious duckette? I will get to the bottom of this!

6. The Haunted Mansion ride is not appropriate for toddlers. The last time I rode The Haunted Mansion, I was 9. And it was great fun -- harmless ghosts, gimmicky special effects that were easy to see through, and a lot of laughs. I expected it to be exactly the same. Turns out, Disney actually updates their rides every once in a while, and The Haunted Mansion is waaaaaaaay scarier than it was (ahem) 23 years ago. Don't worry, though -- CPod told the boys we were in a Scooby Doo movie and they were cool with it.

7. I could live on French toast loaf (from the Main Street Bakery) and Dole pineapple whip (from the little ice cream stand in AdventureLand). Except that only covers two of my four major food groups (fruit, bread, cheese, chocolate). Guess I'll have to supplement with turtle cheesecake.

8. DisneyWorld is like the Vatican. They own every part of their compound. They maintain their own roads, they have their own police (I actually saw a car with lights on top and a siren blaring down the road), and Mickey is the pope. Disney OWNS the southwest part of Orlando. You can't fly a plane over it, you have to show ID all over the place, they recruit employees from all over the world, and they have more money than . . . well, probably the Vatican. I rest my case.

9. My kids will eat anything shaped like Mickey Mouse, or remotely related to any Disney character. They'll eat food from a Mickey-shaped plate, drink water from a Mickey-emblazoned cup, and eat carrots from a Mickey Mouse bowl. They will eat Mickey-shaped chicken nuggets and mouse head noodles in mac & cheese. I tell you, they're geniuses of catering to children down there. I should have taken notes.

10. Any place where even the bad guys are willing to dress up and walk in the parade at the end of the day has to be the happiest place on earth. And that attitude seems to be pervasive while you're in the Magic Kingdom. People are happy to be there. Kids are wide-eyed and enthralled by all they experience. And in general, people are helpful and pleasant.G-Dog actually said, "Mommy, I want to stay here forever." And no one steals your stuff. We hucked our stroller all over that park, and it was always exactly where we left it, with all of our gear still inside, after every ride. Where else does that happen?!?

And also, FastPasses rock. ROCK!

We lost ConMan for about 5 minutes. CPod took the boys one direction while I went the other to pick up our stroller. ConMan saw someone he thought was me and ran after her, and before CPod realized what was happening, he was gone. I found him standing in front of Mickey's house, holding hands with the Disney employee in charge there. He was not crying, but I could tell he had been . . . and some strange lady who looked like me had consoled him and taken him to a safe place. We are lucky, I know . . .what a relief! The happiest place on earth, indeed.

You can stop reading now if you don't want to see more pictures.

Yes, I know, my child is the same color as the cement. CPod prefers to describe his and our kids' paleness as "fair and delightsome". I think maybe MayDay is the color of fine marble, and Michelangelo would have coveted such lovely skin. MommyJ's Sam calls MayDay "Mayonnaise". Yeah. Nice.

(I must interject a side note here, because this is the only pool picture in the bunch. Since we stayed in a house with a pool, and I didn't want to shave my bikini line every day, I waxed right before we left on the trip. Next time, I'll get an epidural first. I mean, my Brazilian sister-in-law said it wouldn't hurt a bit! Maybe she'll be able to deliver her babies naturally should she have the opportunity to in the future, but I'm a pain wus. Who loves epidurals.)

There are lots of free or cheap things to do at the Disney resorts. The boys rode ponies at Fort Wilderness. (G-Dog is with CPod's dad.)


G-Dog spent a lot of time entertaining his cousin, SpecialK. We were worried he would love her a little too hard, but it turns out, he's one of her favorite people.


Dinner at Chef Mickey's. I thought it was way overpriced, but the kids LOVED it.


G-Dog unofficially adopted UncleC, who was such a good sport that this is how he saw the Magic Kingdom: with a parasitic organism attached to his shoulders.


ConMan volunteered to drive the boat on the Jungle Cruise. Our cute little guide let him drive for most of the trip, and then gave him a little Mickey Boat Pilot's license after we finished. I think I'm going to have to get it laminated.


3-D glasses for Mickey's Philharmagic. Too cute. My kids love glasses of all kinds, and wear sunglasses regularly. Wonder where they got that?!?

Where they really belong.

At the end of the day, everyone fell asleep, even in all the noise of the great exodus that occurs after the fireworks. Can you tell CPod and I both wish we were the ones sleeping?

Mickey Talk

For your reading pleasure, here are just a few of the random conversations we've had with our kids this week.

I. Where are you from again, son?

Mickey's Philharmagic is a 3D show in FantasyLand. My kids loved it, especially ConMan. He has this strange accent that sometimes sounds like he's from Long Island and at others, like he's waaaaay more southern that either of his parents. We'll just call him the dialectic chameleon.

So, we're sitting in the theater watching this little 3D movie, which is chock-a-block with Disney characters from Disney movies of every Disney decade. Suddenly, Peter Pan appears on screen and my little linguistic wonder says, "Look, Mommy! It's Pee-tuh!" in perfect mimicry of the uber-British dialect prevalent in the original film. So funny.

II. Hey Mickey

We resort-hopped today, utilizing everything free we could find, and one of the best free things at Disney is the African savanna that extends from the guest rooms at the Animal Kingdom Resort. To get in, you have to show a photo ID to a guard who wears a Disney uniform.

G-Dog: Mommy, is that guy a Mickey policeman?

Me: Yep. He's a Mickey policeman.

G-Dog: Does he take Mickey bad guys to Mickey jail?

Oh, yes, son. In a world where everything from ice cream sandwiches to road signs are shaped like that ubiquitous mouse head, it only makes sense that the jail has mouse ears, too.

You're So Vain . . . and other tales of the highlands

This past weekend, my sister and I and our spouses took a long-anticipated, greatly-appreciated, totally relaxing backpacking trip to the top of Mt. LeConte in the Smokies. Relaxing, you say? Hiking in the rain and cold, round-trip 13.3 miles, up steep inclines and across scary-because-there's-nothing-underneath-you cliff faces was absolutely, completely and totally rejuvenating on so many levels -- yes, relaxing. Because, see, at the top of Mt. LeConte are a lodge, some cabins, and even a few flush toilets (wo-hoo!) -- yes, primitive, without electricity and somewhat Little-House-on-the-Prairie-ish, but they cook delicious meals for you and they keep you warm, and there is no noise -- no exaggeration here -- at all. It's like the mountain just absorbs any noise the other guests make and you are insulated from the world (no airplanes, cars or trucks, televisions or radios, no phones, unless you are as tall as my husband and you align yourself like an antennae while standing in the one spot on the mountain that gets any signal). God bless our family -- Mom kept MommyJ's kids, and our little brother and his new wife kept my little ones. (The news is good -- Gramma doesn't want to have anymore children, which is good because, well, she's 56; and The Newlyweds still want to have children even after spending two days with mine!) A good time was had by all.

MommyJ and I are the vain ones. Both of us got up early Friday morning and fixed both hair and makeup before we began our trek up the mountain. Josh totally made fun of MommyJ for "smelling too good" and making an effort to be attractive on the mountain. Who you trying to impress, right? I mean, this is the man who didn't even bring a clean pair of socks with him. Strangely enough CPod refrained from haranguing me. If you know him, you know this is odd. No comment on my perfectly coiffed curls? No poking fun at me as I applied makeup in the car, driving in darkness through the curvy roads of the Smokies? Nay, not even a look askance, nary a word was spoken. I am convinced it's because he's seen how ugly I looked in the pictures taken when we were at Mt. LeConte earlier this summer, and if he is to be allowed to post them on his Facebook page, I have to look good (my requirement, not his), and until he changes his password, I will keep removing photos! I think maybe I'll let him use this one:

We hoped for some great views of fall colors, but with our rainy weather and serious fog, it just was not to be. Instead we ended up with fantastic sunset and sunrise, and some pretty cool shots of people next to Nothing. (You'll see what I mean.) All in all, a great trip -- and we plan to repeat it ever year that we possibly can, and when our kids are big enough that we trust them to not fall off a cliff, we'll bring them with us.

Side note: many of you who have known me for a very long time (cousins, college roommates, high school friends, and such) may notice my wild woman curly hair. I know, you're thinking, "Her hair isn't curly! She must have a perm." I assure, I don't. MommyJ will vouch for me -- she is insanely jealous of the curls and would be the first one to give me up if they weren't natural!

And now for the slide show . . . and a brief explanation for each image.

See, I told you . . . totally Little House. I mean, when you check in, they give you a key to the flush toilets (they have latrines for the non-paying riff-raff who just do a day hike or stay in the AT shelter up above the lodge) and a pail with directions to the hot water tap!

Me and MommyJ in front of our totally awesome sunset . . . the lodge was completely socked in by the clouds, so the hike to Cliff Tops was a bit of a gamble, but we were rewarded for our efforts.

People next to Nothing. This is why Mom can't ever do this hike. She might be hyperventilating right now just looking at the vast expanse of space beyond the edge of the rocks.

Sunrise wasn't bad, either. The best part about it? It didn't happen until 7:45AM, which is just perfect when you took a loooooong nap the day before, and then stayed up until the unbelievable hour of 10PM playing Yahtzee and Trivial Pursuit by lamplight the night before.

On the way home, we started out above the clouds, then hiked through them, and then finally emerged from the mists and finished below the clouds. We also sort of hiked through the seasons -- we had snow flurries on top of the mountain (high of 48, low of 28 when we were there), beautiful fall leaves through the mid-elevations, and a lot of green at the trailhead. Beautiful! We saw at least 4 distinctly different ecosystems, varying by elevation, proximity to water, and exposure. Just amazing. Now you go do it!

For more images of this trip, and a different perspective, visit MommyJ's blog. Or don't. I may have bored you to death!

A Day at the Beach

We had such a good time at the beach this past weekend that I have to do a photo essay to illustrate. So, here goes.

The weather wasn't great, but at least rain clouds make for interesting shots. G-Dog spent a lot of time trying to throw everything back in the water. You can't see it in this picture, but he's actually holding a shovel and trying to dig up sand to toss back to old Poseidon.


I found a rock that looks like a grand piano, keys and all. G-Dog was not allowed to throw that one back into the deep! (I am absolutely alarmed at how many lines I have across my hand. What am I, like 140?)

Lil' Maa-Maa sucks his thumb. This is him showing me why he couldn't do it.

A rare moment of trilateral cooperation.


ConMan and G-Dog played in the surf with their cousin, K, the last day we were there. They held hands with her to keep her from running back before the water got to them. Eventually, she got into it, too.


Lil' Maa-Maa tried to bury his daddy in the sand. At least we know if all else fails, he has a future as a gravedigger.

There's Something Magical About Boys and Water

We're here at the beach, and if I'm being honest, I was a little worried about this trip. My boys are, shall we say, energetic, and I just wasn't sure if, A. we would be able to handle them in the face of such adventurous temptation, or B. they would find the adventures all that tempting. Turns out, I had nothing to worry about on either account.

Every moment we are here feels like a perfectly scripted and staged Hallmark movie, except the people are real and actually related to each other, and the events depicted totally resemble real life on purpose. Scene 1, the boys chase the surf and collapse into a laughing heap in the sand, hair windblown and cheeks flushed with the excitement of new experience. Camera pans out for a wide angle shot of whitecaps and orangey-purple sunset, scans over to proud papa standing with hands on hips, abject devotion as plain to see in his face, even in his stance, as the gulls soaring on updrafts overhead. Scene 2, daddy and boys work together to build a sand castle from a bucket that closely resembles a giant chess piece. They count to three together, upend the bucket to reveal their perfect fortress, cheer for the sheer joy of creation, then demolish it because only then can they go through the whole process again. Scene 3, little boy fights back at encroaching tide by throwing sand into the surf and yelling, "You can't get me, ocean!" as if he could, in all the blustery confidence of 3 1/2 years old, stop the constant rush in and suck back of the ever-powerful, all-consuming ocean.

Oh, how I relate to that little one. I think he knows he can't keep it at bay -- that he cannot turn the tide with his tiny handfuls of sand. He can see neither the beginning of the shoreline nor the end of the water, but still he must try to make progress against the relentless pound of sea against sand. He can see the pulverized shells that have been cast up from the depths, can see what such power can do to things that seem so hard, so indestructible . . . and still, he must try. Because, really, what are we, if we don't keep trying? If we just let the sea roll over us and drag us under without putting up a fight, kicking and screaming against the undertow? He gets this, I think -- on some deep, genetically-programmed level, he strives to make his voice heard above the roar of the surf, above the whip of the wind that would steal his words before he even says them. I hope he never stops. God help any of us when we decide to stop trying.