Off the grid

September 7, 2008


This past week, I sat in the cabin of Kerrie’s uncle’s yacht.

(Seriously. A yacht.)

We sped across the Chesapeake Bay on our way to the island of St. Martin, scooting to the left of Hurricane Hannah for long enough to enjoy a handful of local stone crabs and a pitcher or two of Stella Artois.

It sounds luxurious, but it was short. Hannah decided to rear its windblown head in our direction, and we had to high tail it out before the waves became too choppy.

We hit some wind, the spray from the Bay coasted into the boat, and I found myself gently caressed by salt water, not quite soaked but certainly not dry. I inhaled the breeze, enjoyed the speed and relaxed. I was off of the grid, with no worries, no connections, and no responsibility. I was just living life.

Similarly, I was off of the Internet, too.

Aside from checking my e-mail once every two days, I had no contact with the Internet during my entire vacation. Ten days.

I enjoyed it.

No offense to the handful of people I call my “Internet Friends” – those who I feel I have some kind of odd connection with due to constant Twitter updates and flickr longing and blog reading, but haven’t actually ever really met in real life – I just didn’t miss you that much. (I still like you – wait…why are you un-following me on Twitter? No!)

There’s an urge to constantly update your life on the Internet, to keep creating, to keep pushing yourself out further and further until you can’t go back – until the very idea of disconnecting from the Internet is frightening.

And there’s a logical answer: we only remember what we find interesting. If you hold up for a few months and come back to the Web, you’ll find yourself forgotten, for the most part. It’s part of being a member of the exciting world of Internet Creativity – for good and for bad.

So I’ve always felt a twinge of regret when I don’t write for Black Marks on Wood Pulp, or if I forget to check up on my favorite blogs, or if I lose track of some connection in the world wide web. I feel as if I’m missing out, like those guys who get the Season Ticket package and feel they have to watch every single game. It’s part of my obsession with being a completist.

This past week, I was able to let it go. And it felt good.

I still had ideas that needed to be burst forth. My Moleskin was never in the right place at the right time. I had lost the spontaneity that I love, the idea that my thoughts can be put on the page RIGHT NOW and people will read it, immediately, without worrying about time constraints or publishing windows or any of that annoying shit.

But I suppressed them. I collected them, until now, when I’m back at the computer, catching up on some things, letting others go, feeling completely at ease with creating a gap in the continuity of the Internet life.

Think of this when you’re feeling overwhelmed with the amount of information available. Take yourself off the grid. You don’t’ have to go nearly charging through a hurricane to do it.

You just have to be willing to sit back, let someone else take the wheel, and breathe in the air.

Tags: Blogging, Travel |

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I’m back…

September 7, 2008


Chances are, you haven’t seen me around for a few days.

There’s a reason. I’ve been on vacation, in northern Virginia, where Kerrie’s parents now live. It’s about an hour west of Washington D.C., and right in the heart of historical Virginia, where the streets are all cobblestone and the shops all consist of the same warped windows that have lasted through two of the country’s most recognized wars.

But more than that, I’ve been on a mini sabbatical, a rest from the world, respite from my constant wordsmithing. I’ve been recharging, as they say, and I won’t lie – I feel it.

I feel like I’m bursting with inspiration, my mind ready to take on the challenges of writer’s block. I feel like I’ve got things to say. Weekly and monthly columns to get around to. Books to pretend I actually read.

And, I feel relaxed. Probably for the first time since I stayed home with Sierra during my paternity leave. Relaxed, and thrilled about it.

With this relaxation, with the utter lack of responsibility and no need for critical thinking, I made some incredible realizations. Realizations that might seem banal, too simple to be revelations. But revelations all the same.

I realized that Washington D.C. isn’t a tourist paradise, but a legitimate amazing feat of urban design, mass transit and epic history. I realized that even the most hardened cynic can feel patriotic around the Lincoln Memorial. And I realized that after three years I still haven’t come to full terms with my grandfather’s death, a veteran of both the Vietnam and Korean wars, two wars memorialized in D.C. and located in close proximity for the maximum in emotional drainage.

I realized that history is unchanging, and that no matter how many layers of paint or remodeling jobs you do the ghosts of history still stand, watching you, Civil War caps tipped to the right, bayonets sagging under the weight of their ammunition, thousands of lives wasted for a quarrel, their remains creating the landscape that we trod upon.

I realized that 350+ pictures is probably enough.

I realized that a beer at noon tastes better than any consumed at night, that seafood pasta at home can reach restaurant like excellence and that the only thing you should do while on vacation is eat and drink and eat some more.

I realized that a week can easily be wasted just watching your daughter grow up.

Most of all, I realized that time off is necessary. That it’s healthy. That the problems of travel and close quarters and weather and delays and rising tension and lost productivity mean nothing when matched to the sheer expanse of soothing catharsis that comes from a few hours away from the grid. Or a few days. Or a week. Plus.

That’s all in the past, though. I’m back, and I’m glad.

Tags: Blogging, Grandpa Boyer, Meta, On..., Outdoors, Travel, Vilhauer, Writing |

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On changing daycares

August 28, 2008


We officially switched day cares today.

Technically. In reality, we have a week off in between where Sierra will not need daycare.

And though it was the right thing to do, we can’t help but feel a little trepidation.

It’s a big change. And how will Sierra handle it?

Most importantly – how will we handle it?

It wasn’t gross negligence that forced us to change – it was distance. Sure, a series of ever-present pet peeves brought it to the forefront, but my 45-minute drive to daycare and then to work wasn’t working out anymore.

We feel strongly about our daycare provider’s ability to take care of Sierra. She was good at it. And Sierra loved her. We couldn’t have asked for a better person at the time – a home setting, with Sierra being the only newborn, the only attention-grabbing baby, with plenty of love to give.

So it’s only natural that we still feel a little bittersweet about the whole thing.

After all, who was it that showed genuine love for Sierra, a love you don’t find in your typical center? Who was it that said to us, “Sierra has had more of an impact on me than any other child outside of my own?” Who was it that welcomed another child into her home, at eight weeks old, and treated her with the same gentle spirit we would have ourselves, who stood in for us when we needed to leave, who became a solid rock in the ever-changing life of a baby?

We tried to show her how much it meant, the time she put into helping Sierra grow into the bright, energetic one-year-old she has become. We gave her a gift, told her thanks, tried to brush it off as business-as-usual. And she did the same.

Those bonds are difficult, though, like the feelings a teacher has for his or her favorite students – a feeling of guardianship, of not knowing what their life will become after leaving your watch. Emotions are a bitch, it seems. They tie us together, even when we’re trying to get away.

I am fully confident we made the right choice. But that doesn’t help the feeling I have. It’s change, and as an overprotective father, who has nothing greater in his mind than the livelihood and future of his only daughter, I can’t help but feeling a little uneasy.

But I can always rest assured. If things don’t work out, her spot is still open.

That’s a relief. It’s a back-up. A choice. It’s not all or nothing; instead, it’s faith that no matter what happens, Sierra’s going to be in good hands, whether it’s at her new daycare or back at the original.

And that’s the best gift we could have asked for.

Tags: On..., Sierra |

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Sierra at 12 months

August 26, 2008


Our friend Scott Johnson took Sierra’s 12-month photos the other day, and - surprise! - she’s just as beautiful as we thought.


Sierra looking into the light

Sierra playing with a car

Always curious

These are my favorites of the bunch. They’re being posted here because: #1 - they weren’t taken by us, so they don’t belong over at Much More Sure and #2 - BMOWP loves Sierra!

Tags: Baby Pictures, Photography, Sierra |

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16-Page Read: If You Give A… series

August 25, 2008


If You Give… series By Laura Numeroff (Illustrated by Felicia Bond)
If You Give a Mouse a Cookie

If you give a daddy a good children’s book, he’s going to want to read it.

When he reads it, he’s going to enjoy it. You should watch out – he’s going to want a computer to type on.

He’ll write and write about how cool the book is. He’ll be so happy with it, he’ll want to show everyone, which means you’ll have to get him a printer.

A new printer never comes with a good ink cartridge, though. So of course you’ll need to go to the store.

When you go to pick up the cartridge, he’s going to want to go with to make sure you get the right one. And naturally, he’s going to want a new box of pens, too.

If you buy him the pens, he’s going to want something to write in. A Moleskin, maybe. So you’ll need to go to Barnes and Noble.

When he finally gets his notebook, he’s going to start writing. Eventually, though, he’ll run out of things to write about.

He’ll think about what he does best.

And then he’s going to ask you for a good children’s book.

(Previously reviewed: 16-Page Read: If You Give a Pig a Party)

Tags: 16-Page Read, Books, Sierra |

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The CSA: Weeks 12 and 13

August 25, 2008


Tomato soup. BLTs. Salad garnish. Toasted tomato and basil with mozzarella. Sandwich toppings. Straight tomatoes with salt.

Last week’s CSA and this weeks are nearly identical – corn, potatoes, cucumbers, zucchini, peppers, carrots. Each bag shows up with a wide display of colors, each week a promise of more freshness. Oh, and tomatoes. So many tomatoes.

Raw. Broiled. Sliced. Whole. Tomatoes are coming out of our ears. With our garden exploding in a fireworks display of green, orange and red, and with the ol’ CSA ramping up its collection of actual usable vegetables, including, of course, tomatoes, we’re nearly drowning in the Fruit that Would Be Called Veggie.

They’re the crown jewel of the growing season, in most cases – a perfect combination of ease, versatility and taste. We have several different kinds throughout our garden – Roma, full, three different types of heirloom – and we have a cornucopia of tomatoes spilling out on our counter; red, orange, yellow, green, like a terror alert scale gone wrong. Unfortunately, one that’s nearly always peaking on red.

And here’s the paradox. I’m greedy. I want them all. I don’t want to give any away.

Oh, don’t worry. I’m forcing myself to part with some of them. I know I couldn’t possibly eat them all, and our family is only so big. We could have tomatoes for every meal and still make an unidentifiable dent.

So we’ve been handing them to our family, offering them to friends, always with my hands over my eyes, my fingers crossed behind my back, unable to believe the words coming out of my mouth. “What am I doing,” I find myself saying afterwards. “These are royalty, these tomatoes, the most valuable vegetables in the stash!”

I get over it. Eventually. I only hoard because I understand that, when we’re out of town, the garden will be picked clean. Family will arrive like vultures to snatch away the forgotten fruits. We welcome this, but I can’t help but think that everyone would be a lot happier if we’d just go away on vacation for a month or so, leaving the garden wide open, free for the taking, simply lousy with tomatoes and the people who love them.

Don’t ask. We have too many tomatoes. Yet, it never seems like we have enough.

Tags: Food, Sioux Falls |

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Much More Sure

August 20, 2008


“I hate cameras. They’re just so much more sure than I am about everything.” -John Steinbeck.

It’s been quiet around these parts for the past week or so. And with good reason. I’ve been hard at work, giving my newest hobby an outlet, creating a special place for all of this photography I’ve been spitting out.

Instead of ruin the quietude of Black Marks on Wood Pulp with image after image of Sierra or some random line of chairs, I’ve gone ahead and done the next best thing - I’ve branched off of Black Marks on Wood Pulp, into another blogging foray.

That blog is Much More Sure, taken from the brilliant quote by John Steinbeck - a quote that sums up everything I feel about photography; its stark realities, its unflinching eye, its clear look at the world and, how ultimately, we’re all bound by its power. A power that, no matter what, shows nothing but truth. (Barring a Photoshop skill or two, that is.)

Much More Sure. The new domain will be www.MuchMoreSure.com, but for now you can access it at photo.blackmarks.net.

Visit. Subscribe. Enjoy.

Tags: Baby Pictures, Blogging, Meta, Much More Sure, Photography |

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