Owen shares his favorite holiday gift -- Whale Rescue Unit.

Here we find a lovely moment. Owen engages in imaginative play with his new favorite toy -- Whale Rescue Unit, complete with "guys," a helicopter that nets said injured whale and Coast Guard type boat. Brian noted that it even comes with "hot eco chick." Luckily, Owen will save this orca from the Japanese blubber industry!

Feeling Groovy

A few weekends ago, we threw a bash. We contrived a reason for the party -- celebrating bell peppers, invited many of our friends and family and reveled in the details. T-shirts were created to signify in matching coordinates that we were Team Just, purveyors of all things capsicum.

Our guests seem to have enjoyed the off-beat theme. I enjoyed more than anything those few minutes of singing alongside my dad and some dear friends. Anyone who has known me for any real length of time knows that I seriously enjoy music. I seek it, and during my younger days, I drank it. I swallowed up those lines and chords, those riffs and backbeats. But, I have been a shy performer until recently. And boy does confidence do something for one's soul (which in turns does something for one's voice, I think -- well, of course, it does metaphorically, but I'm talking 'bout my pipes here).

When Paul laid out his many harmonicas before us, I knew we were in for a good jam. Of course, I know all my dad's tricks. I knew we'd be attempting to harmonize on Gram Parsons' "Sin City" or affect a British accent on The Kinks' "Waterloo Sunset." But, what was fun for me was playing "Frankie and Johnny" on my B- rated Martin (yes, Martin has its low end, too) and having folks chime in on the lyrics. Why that surprised me, I don't know.

Each year, I throw a party or two, and each year I wish for a dynamic, spontaneous outpouring of great live music. People humor me by bringing their instruments, but few actually play for long. I can see their awkwardness as a shadowy aura. I refill their steins and plastic cups with hope. Then, there is always that one ruddy-faced guy who seizes the guitar with fervor but who races through his song in a frenetic mimicry of a modern pop-rock "classic." I'm happy that he is validated but I long for a quiet evening with some serious folks who will have the patience to work on those harmonies with me.

Ah, this crazy life...

Here you see Owen Arthur Just, my 18 month-old son, running by the turtles at the Naples Zoo in Florida (not Italy). Watching Owen and Frankie over the past year has been joyful indeed.

We're a busy family. Probably too busy. With Brian all over the map working on improving bell peppers for a seed company, and with me devoting 20+ hours a week to administering a program for faith development at the liberal and non-creedal Unitarian Universalist Church of Fort Myers as well as teaching the odd online lit or comp course, I often find myself making hurried and anxious decisions about the course of each day. Is this my time for the big "ah-ha" moment? Am I working out this essential thing called balance?

The kids are central to our love and happiness and we strive to give them the time and attention they need each day. I look to the families I know with older kids and I try to take stock. Some of these kids are too far gone into the mindless video game netherworld; some of these kids just seem angry, too. I worry that I will fall short as a parent and the result will be one of the above or something worse. But I flip flop. Call me John Kerry then. I flip flop.

I know that we do a great job with the kids! I know that they are loved fully and treated with respect! Their lives are full of enrichment and exploration! So, to quote the Harry Potter instructor, "Constant Vigilance!" There's my Stoic reflection of the year! (Want to see another exclamation point!)

My Core

"Laughing Song" by William Blake

When the green woods laugh, with the voice of joy
And the dimpling stream runs laughing by,
When the air does laugh with our merry wit,
And the green hill laughs with the noise of it.

When the meadows laugh with lively green
And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene,
When Mary and Susan and Emily,
With their sweet round mouths sing Ha, Ha, He.

When the painted birds laugh in the shade
Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread
Come live & be merry and join with me,
To sing the sweet chorus of Ha, Ha, He.

New Year Guffawing

Ha! I can undoubtedly say that this is the first time that the close of an old year and the opening of a new one has brought me to the point of teary-eyed reflection. How many times have I heard family and friends murmur in breathy tones, "Well, things change when you have kids." In my pre-reproductive days, I found this sentiment to be condescending and dismissive of my adolescent episodes. My lens for seeing the world was so myopic, despite my travels and self-prescribed worldliness. Boy did I have a lot to learn. Boy, do I have a lot to learn.

Since parenting is generally agreed upon to be one of the most difficult and most important tasks floating out there in the universe, I'll spare you the woes and just say this: my kids give me cause to smile every day. Every single day. Today, Frankie leaned in close with her nappy hair rubbing against my arm and gently (without that toddler manipulation that so frequents our household) whispers, "I wuv you, Mommy." It's so darn simple, isn't it? Just hearing her squeaky little voice and those cherished few words truly gives me a warming sensation. I feel bad for Frankie when she hands me that apple because I go gooey and want to kiss her up and down and squeeze her like Steinbeck's George does in The Grapes of Wrath. And then there's Owen. Who knew that a baby could communicate so much love (and need)? Why is it that his porky little face with his weird stubby tongue can melt me like a crayon on a Florida sidewalk? There is nothing funnier than seeing him bang on the toy piano like he is channeling Jerry Lee.

(This is what is referred to as annoying parental gushing.)

Let this entry be a testament to my kids. Thank you for showing me the world from your perspective. I had almost forgotten about innocence and awe.

Another Irony

Ironically, I began this blog with the opposite of my intention which was to write light-heartedly with "merry wit." Instead, I darkly leaped into complaint, a familiar land whose hills and valleys I've tread upon year after year.

So, I suppose my next challenge is to find something amusing and simultaneously intelligent for my "squat pen" (from Seamus Heaney's poem "Digging," 1966) to scribble about.

Green with Irony

Incredulous. That's the feeling I have when I peruse the most recent contents of the altar for all stay-at-home moms: the Target dollar bins. As one such group member, I often chuck a few goodies in the cart as "treats" for special occasions. These items usually include goofy socks or cheap plastic toys which are carefully coordinated in colors so as to trick the consumer into seeing the products are really well-made, valuable items for a steal of a price. And, I'm the first sucker in line for any new products placed there.

But today, I found myself huffing at what I found. Notepads labeled "Eco Girl, " and kelly green bandanas adorned with a calico-like smattering of miniature peace signs. Barrettes and hair ribbons proclaiming one's allegiance to all things environmentally friendly.

What's wrong with this picture?

If consumers really want to promote a healthier planet, the best strategy is to not purchase mass-produced propaganda for chic, fashionable self-labeling (in much the same vein as people do when they purchase Ralph Lauren's little polo player atop a horse or Coach's signature lettered handbags). The rub is that these bins and bins full of cheaply made stuff is an ironic farce against the true movement to reduce waste and consumption--the ultimate tricks to promote a healthier living.

The "Green" movement has legitimacy and importance, but now that ad execs and marketing gurus have tuned into it, the principles of the movement are subjugated to the power of profiting; it's all a bit like a circus. I am reminded of a Billy Wilder film starring Kirk Douglas called Ace in the Hole (1951). The premise of the film is that a fame-seeking journalist exploits a tragedy of a man who fell into a mining hole. Tapping into public interest, Douglas (the journalist) capitalizes on the man's situation. Douglas' character helps to create not only a media circus around the rescue effort but an actual circus full of nosy, American onlookers who voyeuristically camp out at the hole awaiting daily updates about the man's condition. Ultimately, Douglas influences the rescue effort and becomes responsible for his death--all the sake of fame.

Perhaps this example is loosely connected to my strong feelings of disgust at my sacred Target bins, but perhaps not. In both cases, large-scale greed trumps decency.