R.E.M.

Just woke up from the strangest dream I've had yet. I'm trying as hard as I can to retain it, but it's getting difficult. My waking brain keeps trying to impose logic on the crazy and the details get fuzzier the longer I'm up. As far as I can remember, there were huge surreal buildings everywhere but one in particular was where all the action happened. The walls, floors, and ceiling were predominantly yellow, and people were keen to avoid the yellow-ness whenever possible. Damn it, I'm losing it. It was far easier to hold onto the details of dreams before I had kids demanding attention in the morning. I remember the whole dream had a running soundtrack based entirely on They Might Be Giants. Everyone was very compliant and worried all the time. After multiple attempts to get them riled up, I finally found out why they were so sedate; if you instigate trouble a giant face appears in the yellow space and forces you into submission. I'm trying to remember the rest of it, but it's been too long. I remember running from the faces avoiding yellow like there's no tomorrow, the whole time being serenaded by the dulcet tones of TMBG. It was a race to the ground floor and supposed safety. It came down to me and one other guy barreling down the the last flight of stairs and into the foyer. I made one last desperate slide into the front doorway while a plexiglass barrier slammed down in front of the other guy, dooming him to a yellow doom, of doom. Relieved to be free of the faces, I step outside and see yellow everywhere. Then I woke up. There was way more to it, but I've lost it now. Suffice to say, it was intensely strange, even for me.

If I wrote for television

    Raise your hand if you've ever seen CSI, Criminal Minds, or anything in that vein. I expect most of you have your hand in the air (at least, you would if this were a live conversation and I could actually see you).

This doesn't count

     Me too. I enjoy trying to figure out the patterns and motives and all that jazz. I even like it occasionally, rare though it may be, when the killer/psycho/bad guy wins. Call me sick if you want, but there are times when a depressing denouement can be satisfying. I've seen episodes where the victims fight back and sometimes get away, but they always do it so inefficiently, and usually after the villain has gotten the better of them already. More often than not, after a crime spree or series of dead bodies has been finished, the villain gets caught at the end and is either brought to justice or is killed in a confrontation with the heroes.

     Yay for the good guys, you got your man/woman, whoopie.

Although ~this~ is pure awesome


     What I'd like to see (and it may already exist and I just haven't seen it) is this; the evildoer has broken into another home to murder or steal or whatever his modus operandi is and it turns out he's picked the wrong people to mess with. Honestly, if I'm by myself, in another room, and I hear a window shatter, the first thing I reach for is something to beat the living hell out of whoever just broke in. I'm more than willing to lodge a steel T-square in someones skull to protect my family. 
     Picture if you will; a man with a wicked looking knife breaks into someones home. Just another kill in his state wide murder spree. Cut to the kids, sleeping peacefully in their beds, blissfully unaware. Back to the intruder, creeping through the back room, knife at the ready, inching ever closer to his objective. Now cut the the mother, lying in her bed, her back to the door. Onto the man with the knife again, licking his lips in anticipation as he navigates the darkened living room. He slowly turns a corner to face down the hall and finds the husband standing at the other end, halfway in the door. He knows he's been seen and rushes towards his prey before it can run away and gets a chestful of buckshot courtesy of the homeowners shotgun that he had kept hidden behind the door. End of bad guy. Someone calls 911 and the rest is credits. Don't misunderstand, I don't advocate killing or vigilante retribution. And I would never shoot someone unarmed or in cold blood, but in self defence?

Hells yes.

     You may not agree with me, but I would like to see it, or something like it. Bad guy never saw it coming. Justice is served, after a fashion, and the family is safe. Yeah, it's a bit of an anti-climax, but it would be a scene that makes you shout "Yeah!" and pump your fist in the air. Just my thoughts on the matter, you can choose to disagree. But you have to admit, it would be dramatic.




P.S. When I picture that scenario in my head, the would-be victim turned savior looks an awful lot like my father. I can't imagine why... ;)

Jillian's first ER experience

As some of you may know, Belinda and I have spent the last two evenings in the ER with our daughter, Jillian. She woke up, 5am, Wednesday morning, vomiting. Good thing I happened to have a bucket on hand. All day, nothing would stay down in her stomach, not even the smallest amount of water. Pretty soon, the nausea was joined by it's good friend, diarrhea. Good thing we happened to have some leftover pullups that still fit her. We kept trying to keep her hydrated, but to no avail, everything would just come back up or keep going down. If you've met Jillie, then you know that she's boisterous, talkative, and a veritable ball of energy. Not anymore. Listless and pallid, she just layed on the couch with her glassy eyes glued to the middle distance like a zombie that had given up on the after-life. We decided it was time for the professionals to take a look at her. I stayed home with little brother Gavin while Mommy and Tia took big sis to Saint Vincents pediatric ER. The doc checked her out, and decided it was time for intravenous fluids. Unfortunately, she was so dehydrated that the veins in her arms weren't easy to find. They tried both arms while Bel and Christina held her down, kicking and screaming and finally got the iv into her hand. Poor baby, crying as hard as she could, but without even enough fluids to produce tears. They gave her some anti-nausea meds in the iv and she started to get some pink back in her cheeks. Bel called me to let me know how everything was going and put me on speaker to talk to Jillian. She started to cry and ask for me, "I want my daddy!" My heart broke.
After the iv was done, she was feeling good enough for a Popsicle and some water and she finally had enough in her that she had to go pee. They packed her up and brought her home around 11pm. She slept between Belinda and I, no way were we leaving her alone for the night. In the morning she woke up not quite as chipper as usual, but better than the night before and informed us that she was "all better now" but we were still going to take it easy. The diarrhea was still present, but she was keeping fluids down now, a little bit at a time, and Popsicles were the best thing in the world. In the afternoon, she said she was hungry so we gave her some toast and saltines. We figured that was pretty innocuous a menu but a few bites in, it all came up again. She also had started complaining more adamantly that her stomach was hurting, more so than the day before. By about 6 that evening, we decided to take her in again to rule out (hopefully not rule in) appendicitis. Mom and Dad come and picked up Gavin so I could go too and save Bel some of the heartache of watching her sick baby get poked and prodded. Fortunately, it was a much better experience this time. No iv this time, thankfully, and a definitive diagnosis of Gastroenteritis. They gave us a prescription for anti-nausea meds and a recipe for home made pedialyte (on our way home, we stocked up on Popsicles). She slept with us again, but she slept soundly.
Today, we've been taking it super easy. Three CC's of water at a time, popsicles as desired, no-puke-pill as often as prescribed and all the cartoons she can watch. Jillian is doing much better. She had an appointment with her pediatrician this morning and he said we should see and improvement soon. She's more talkative and interactive, but still not the loquacious lightning bolt she usually is. We were told this thing's been going around and that it usually runs it's course in about 4-5 days. We're on day 3 so hopefully on the downward slope of this. It's going to be a weekend of healing at the Hamilton household.

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Thanks For Everything

I am grateful for my past; the good, the bad, and the inbetween.
Every commendation, every insult, every moment of mediocrity,
All that has come to pass is culminated in who I am.
The sum total of a persons past leads them to the now;
That glorious moment, ever changing, ever constant,
As minuscule as a second, as infinite as forever.
The now perpetually flows into the past, is drawn from the future,
And is the eternal present.
All the love and hate and joy and sorrow that has come and gone
Shapes who we are in this nanosecond of the now
And without the now... there is nothing.

So be thankful for your history, every little bit of it.
No matter how you may despise it, no matter how blindingly brilliant it may be,
Regardless of the pain it may have caused, or continues to
Because without it, you would not be you, and you
Are awesome.

Vote for Jillian!

It's Red Head Round-up time! The Lincoln City Visitor and Convention Bureau is having a celebration of all things Red Head, and one of those things is a number of photo competitions. We entered our daughter, Jillian, into the "Curliest Red Hair" category. She has, hands down, the curliest hair of all the compeditors and needs your vote! The voting is done via Facebook, so if you have a Facebook account, here's what you do;

Sign into Facebook (duh) and go to http://www.facebook.com/LincolnCityOregon?sk=wall. "Like" their page and then go to their photos. Open the Red Head Round-Up 2011 Photo Contest album and click on Jillian's picture. It looks like this.

"I'm Jillian Hamilton, and I approve this message"

Then "Like" her picture to vote for her! The picture with the most "Likes" is the winner. That's it, your vote has been cast and the world is a better place for it. You gotta admit, that hair is pretty damn curly. And that's all natural, baby.So get out there and VOTE! Thanks!

Me+Sleep= A love/hate relationship

Let me begin by informing you that, as I begin this entry, it is after midnight and I'm lying in bed, begrudgingly awake. Figures.

The sandman and I, we have issues. I love sleep, and I think the main reason I love it so much is because I don't get enough of it. I yearn for a good nights sleep, yet I am consistently disappointed. The problems that keep me from sleeping are manifold. I think I'll address them like a films cast; in order of appearance.

Those of you who know me, know I'm one of those creative types; artist, actor, singer, puppeteer, didgeridoo player, etc. As such, I have an incredibly difficult time falling asleep. I simply can't seem to shut off my brain. So most of the time, I'm up late sketching or writing or even just brainstorming various ideas. Then, when the fatigue of the day can no longer be ignored, I shuffle off to bed only to lay awake while a cavalcade of different thoughts and ideas parade through my cerebrum. Unfortunately, by this point I'm so tired that when I try to take hold of a passing fancy I can't keep a good grasp and it slips through my fingers. Bye bye, so long, another will come by soon enough only to be fumbled by sleepy metaphorical fingers again.
Finally my brain has shuts the gates and is not letting anyone else in. Closing time, you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here. Now we come to the next hurdle to a good nights sleep; Restless Leg Syndrome.

 Also known as RLS, If you have it, you know how much it can suck. My legs just can't get comfortable. Positions that normally would be perfectly acceptable, have become torturous. My knees ache and calves twitch, causing me to toss and turn in vain attempts to find some magical position that doesn't make me want to chop off the offending limbs. Apparently I've had it for a while; about thirteen years ago, while sitting in bed at two AM I wrote "...like I woke up with a new set of legs and the knees are still deciding which way to bend." Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes relatively quickly, but somehow, It eventually subsides.

Brain's quiet, legs are under control, but the biggest (and most potentially dangerous) problem has yet to rear it's ugly head. Shortly after falling asleep, I begin to snore in great roaring bellows of glottal vibration. I have horrendous sleep apnea. That doesn't just mean I snore bad enough to wake the dead. Sleep apnea is when you stop breathing in your sleep. My airway just closes up, no warning, and I sputter awake just enough to open it back up until it closes again and we repeat the cycle. The danger comes if you don't wake up in time and die which is a serious possibility According to the sleep study I took a few years back, I have sleep apnea at a level equivalent of a man more than twice my age. Damn. So, to combat this, I was given a CPAP machine. CPAP stands for Continuous Positive Airway Pressure. Basically, it consists of an air pump with a little humidifier connected via a hose to a face mask that I strap to my head and wear over my nose. It does just what it says; continuously pumps air into my airway to keep it from closing. It doesn't pump so hard that I can't breath out against it, but it is slightly more difficult than normal. Suffice to say, the goram thing is damn uncomfortable. At least it keeps me alive, keeps me breathing. That is, it would, if I wore it. I know, I know, I should be wearing the piece of equipment that holds my airway open, but the reason I don't wear it is also the next reason sleep is but a fond memory.

I've written before about my son Gavin's inexplicable ability to make pacifiers vanish into thin air (for reference, see http://jaxxonblogspot.blogspot.com/2011/01/having-children-means-never-sleeping.html and http://jaxxonblogspot.blogspot.com/2011/02/gavin-great.html). Because I have to get up repeatedly in the night to re-bink the boy, it's really rather pointless to wear my CPAP mask. But my daughter, Jillian, gets in on the act too. We all know kids climb into bed with their parents in the middle of the night; Jillie does too. And, in stereo-typical fashion, I wind up with knees in my kidneys, arms in my face, and tossing and turning kicks to the groin. Then there's the hair. Jillie's hair is a near perfect genetic split between mine and Belinda's; it's red like mine and curly as all get-out like my wife's. And, like Belinda, when it's pulled back in a hair tie it looks something akin to a bath pouf. It's very cute, but when she rolls over and it winds up in my face, not so much.

There you have it. The sad state of affairs between me and the land of Nod. Someday I'll visit again, someday I'll get a good nights sleep. When that will happen, one can only guess. Until then, I guess things will continue apace. Sleep and I, star crossed lovers, drawn to one another, yet doomed to be kept apart by the forces that be. Goodnight, sweet prince. Parting is such sweet sorrow!

Gavin the Great!

Let it be known that my son, Gavin Oliver Hamilton, is a freakin' WIZARD! I kid you not, the boy is like the Houdini of pacifiers. He'll have one in his mouth and two seconds later it's nowhere to be found; believe me, I've looked. It's not on the floor, not on the couch, not in Jillians room, GONE! Into thin air! Three hours later... Voila! The binky magically re-apears in his mouth! Astounding! How ~does~ he do it? In the middle of the night; abracadabra binky be gone! No trace. It's evil sorcery I tells ya. Change his diaper in the morning and lo and behold, the binky has been magically transported to the heel of his footie pjs! Last night, he pulled off his most amazing trick yet. I hear a fuss from his room and expect the usual disapearing act and what to my wondering eyes should appear? Our little magic man, sitting up with a binky in his mouth, one in each hand, and one in his lap! And there was only one in the crib to begin with! He just sat there, with no idea what to do with himself, there were simply too many binkies for him too deal with. Bravo child, bravo. I need to get this kid to Vegas. I could make a fortune. Abra-ca-binky!

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