Bike Ride on a Beautiful Morning

I registered to ride in the Tour LaFitte next weekend. My distance choices were 10, 27, 40, 50, or 62. While I have ridden my bike as many as 75 miles in a day, that was several years ago. I haven't ridden more than 15-20 in quite awhile. So I chose the 27 mile ride. I told Bob I needed to make sure I could still do that distance, before I attempted the ride in public. This morning offered the perfect opportunity. The boys were in Dallas all weekend on a band trip. And the early sunshine beckoned us. A stiff breeze from the west challenged the first half of our ride, but we didn't mind, knowing the wind would be at our backs on our return. Honeysuckle seemed to bloom overnight and scented the air with spring sweetness. Bluebirds, cardinals, and jays crossed our path, singing and playing in the brush along the roadside. Vultures pecked at unidentifiable roadkill. Somewhere between our house and Sulphur, we stopped at a boat launch with a charming gazebo. A green gecko pranced across the rail, back and forth, flirting, and showing off his lovely orange throat. A fascinating large white spider-like flower grew along the water's edge. Does anyone know what this flower is? I wished I'd had my camera. Pollen puffed through the air in golden clouds, making our noses run. And no bike ride is complete without a few dogs chasing us down the road. Though the couple canines today were hardly menacing. With all that beauty, the miles passed quickly. I'm ready for next weekend. All I need is someone to ride with.

Census Trivia

Sorry, but this is pretty much all I'm thinking about lately.

• The first U.S. Census was conducted in 1790.
• Approximately 47 million housing units do not return a questionnaire to the Census Bureau.
• The government hires approximately 650,000 around the country to perform the task of collecting unreturned questionnaires. This is the largest peacetime workforce assembled at one time.
• 360 million questionnaires have been printed. Stacked one on top of another, a pile of these forms would stand about 29 miles high — more than five times higher than Mount Everest. Stretched end to end, these questionnaires would circle the globe three times. That's a lot of paper. And that's only a fraction of the forms. You should see my dining room, transformed into my "office." Piles of forms everywhere.
• The above questionnaires weigh 11.6 million pounds and used 295,259 pounds of ink.
• Taxpayers would save 1.5 billion dollars if everyone completed and mailed back their census questionnaire. Receiving census forms by mail is much less expensive and saves taxpayers approximately $85 million for every percentage point increase in the national mail participation rate.
• It costs the government 42 cents to process a mailed-in questionnaire and an average of $57.00 if a census worker must go to the home.
• The national percentage of households who have returned their questionnaires as of today is 69%.

The Tent Event

First Presbyterian Church of Lake Charles is hosting a Tent Event this weekend. We got off to a good start this evening, and we're looking forward to a great day tomorrow. From 10 am - 8:00 pm, there'll be music, worship, fun and fellowship. We'll have hot dogs, popcorn, cotton candy, and drinks. For the kids, there'll be crafts, games, and giant inflatable jumpy things. Throughout the day, members of the congregation will share their talents by offering a myriad of interesting workshops; guitar and accordian lessons, legal advice, real estate advice, photography tips, a quilting demonstration, job and business advice, gardening, conversational spanish, answers to medical questions and blood pressure checks, financial and investing advice . . .

This event is entirely free to the public. So come visit us on Country Club Rd., one block west of Nelson. Check out our website for more information and a schedule of the day's events.

It's a Government Job

I began training this morning for my new job -- crew leader for the US Census Bureau. I'm not real good at sitting for that many hours, and for someone who doesn't like paperwork and filling out forms, I have to ask -- What did I get myself into? My day was occupied with page after page of paperwork, printing, signing and dating my name dozens of times. Repetition, redundancy, tedium -- a mini-microcosm of what we already know about federal operations. But it's only a temporary gig -- eight weeks. I can do anything for two months, right? I was sworn in, taking the oath of office, just like a soldier, or the president, and I am now ready to defend my country from all enemies, both foreign and domestic. At the end of the day, I was fingerprinted. Twice. Making it official. Tomorrow, and each day this week, my black ink-stained digits and I will return to continue prepping.

If you haven't yet filled out and mailed your census form, do it soon. It will make my job easier.

A Blessed Easter

I wish you all a blessed Easter. The boys and I have been visiting family and friends in Pennsylvania, and having a great time.

This time last year, as many of you might remember, Eric was in Texas Children's Hospital. I remember attending church Easter morning, with that perpetual brick in the pit of my stomach, at Christ Church Presbyterian, a wonderful Houston congregation who took us under their wing. I remember the Easter baskets, candy, and stuffed animals that came into Eric's room. What a difference a year can make.

In December, Eric started playing his trumpet again. Last month, he resumed playing soccer. And a week ago, he flew to Pa. in an airplane, without complication. In eleven months since his discharge from TCH, Eric has accomplished everything the doctors told us he couldn't or shouldn't ever do again. He's starred in a theater production. He sings in our church choir. Last month, Eric spoke his testimony at a Christian youth conference. He wouldn't tell me what he said, but I heard it was mighty powerful. To quote Eric on a day relatively early in his hospitalization last February, "God answers prayers."

He is risen!

Home

Eric, Andrew and I caught a plane home to Pennsylvania yesterday. On average for the three of us, it has been two years, more or less, since we were here. Simply looking out the window, as the plane descends, at the rolling hills and rivers warms my heart. As we exit the Fort Pitt tunnel, "our city!" as the boys used to chime as toddlers, splayed out before us, welcomes like a dear old friend. Andrew pumps his fist in the air. Eric gazes out the backseat window. I get a lump in my throat every time.

Typical, I suppose, of late March, the landscape remains drab, draped in hues of chestnut and sepia, brave forsythia the only bright spots. At least the snow has melted. Mom tells me to look closely and I'll see buds on the trees. With warm weather, up to 80 degrees on Saturday, predicted for this week, the brown may burst into spring green before we leave next Monday. Lots to do before then, many friends and family to visit. The time will pass too quickly.

Parenthood

Something new on the blog today-- I'm welcoming a guest blogger, my good friend D.B. Grady. D.B. wanted to write to my (loose) theme of transition, but except for a stint in Afghanistan, he's lived his whole life in Baton Rouge. So he's writing on a transition of another kind. Take it away, D.B.

It's a thrill to write for Angie's blog today. She is truly the Obi-Wan Kenobi of freelance writers, thoughtful and generous in word and deed. Her guidance led to my first paying gig, and she continues to inspire with assignment after assignment. She's written for more magazines than I've read. (And I am late in submitting this piece to her, so clearly I've still got a lot to learn.)

After mentioning the Red Planet Noir virtual book tour, she was kind enough to offer her website for me to scribble on. She suggested the topic of transitions. It soon became very clear that there's been only one real transition in my life, and that is to fatherhood. Everything else was a warmup act.

I don't remember much after my daughter was born.

Amelia is fifteen months old. She may as well be fifteen years. Everyone's heard, or said, "Oh, they grow so fast." They're understating things. Amelia is like a runaway stagecoach. One day, she could roll. One day she could sit. Then she was crawling. Standing. Cruising. Walking. Dancing. "Mama." "Daddy." "Dog." Baby food. People food. She presently chatters endlessly in her own secret language. I remember the first time she laughed, but don't remember why. I remember the first tooth, but don't remember when. Sometimes when she's tired she'll give me a little kiss.

A couple of months after she was born, I dropped by my old office. Everyone commented that I'd lost weight. I hadn't noticed. I hadn't been eating. It never even occurred to me. There wasn't enough time. (I've since made up the difference, and then some.)

I didn't sleep for a year. That's how it felt, anyway.

Nothing can prepare one for parenthood. It's binary; there is Before Baby and After Baby.

Before Baby, I noticed every screaming child within earshot. Now I go to Chuck E Cheese and it barely registers that I'm not at the library. It's as though I've become a Zen Master. Like there's an IV of Halcion dripping into my bloodstream.

When Amelia was born, I wondered why she was crying, or why she wasn't sleeping at night.

Then I started worrying when she didn't cry. Why she was sleeping for eight hours. I started waking more than she did.

After becoming a father, so many things start to make sense. Life is clarified, and the important is put in perspective with the truly important. And this is the most important thing I will ever do. I work from home, and am grateful for that opportunity. To watch her grow, learn, think and figure things out. She explores the house -- no cabinet is safe. When she finds something of interest, she usually creeps toward me with hands outstretched, not for permission, but for approval. "Look what I found, daddy! This is the new best thing in the world."

Fatherhood is a tremendous responsibility, but it is never a burden. When I grow frustrated, it is always at myself, for not knowing what to do. She is learning faster than I am. There is no resting on my laurels, no kicking my feet up and taking the week off. Every day brings a new discovery, for her, and for me.

Recently, I met an old friend and her husband for lunch, and we brought the babies. (Are fifteen-month-olds still considered babies? I don't even know that.) She is an artist in Washington DC, and works from home. She lamented that she would do anything for a daily, four-hour block of uninterrupted time with her craft. I'm a writer; I know the feeling. Then she said, "But it'll only be like this for five years. Then she'll be off to school, and I will never get to spend the whole day, everyday, with her again."

As Amelia fed herself Apple Jacks from a ziplock bag, I did the math. Three and a half more years. And I felt terribly sad.

They grow so fast. I'll never catch up.
--

D.B. Grady is the author of Red Planet Noir.
He can be found on the web at http://www.dbgrady.com/.