In Russia: part 2

From where I sit in the Harrisburg Int'l Airport, I can observe travelers getting in line for the security checkpoint. They seem to emerge mysteriously from behind a giant Christmas tree decorated in ornaments of blue, red and gold. From there they melt into line, dutifully check in their bags and head off toward their gate. I will soon join them. The boarding pass in the pocket of my fleece dictates that my journey will culminate in Russia.

Of course, it will not be my first trip to Russia, maybe not my last. But it is the first trip any of my family will make to a Russia without Shannon. Even though over the past 6 years we have learned to associate Shannon with Russia, and Russia with Shannon. This is the same for everyone who knows Shannon, who knew her - they all understand that Russia was the greatest part of her passion and her pursuit - and most of her life. This trip is intended to aquaint us with her family in Russia - those with whom she worked closely, the people whom she loved and who loved her in the same way we did - as a sister and daughter and aunt.

The remaining five of our family have dreamed of such a trip as this, but not under these conditions - and perhaps it is only these conditions that could unhinge us from our lives to such an extent as to make this trip possible.

In Russia: part 1

The first thing about Ulan-Ude, Siberia is the cold. We stepped off the S7 airliner into negative 39 degrees Farenheit. On the first breath in, the hairs in your nose freeze together. On the second you give a little cough. If you've brought enough clothes, the problem is not so much staying warm outdoors as it is, how do you cool down when you go indoors with 4 layers on? It seems like we spend half our time taking clothes off and putting them on.

The second thing about Ulan Ude is the fog. The city's heat is pumped all over town out of a giant coal burner. You can regulate it by opening the window in your bedroom. All the coal burning makes the air hazy and the snow a dusty gray. But if I lived here, I'd rather have the coal dust than no heat.

The third thing about Russia is that Shannon is not there. This trip is tough. My family goes because something is absent and missing - kind of like exploring the crater left by a bomb. We want to connect with what was and no longer is - in hopes of creating something bearable for the present.

Too Young, Too Old

It is a frosty December morning - Maggie (17 months) is walking on the sidewalk from the bustop to home because she is getting so good at walking and I'm getting so bad at carrying her weight. She is stopping to look at every little thing - part of a leaf that blows by her foot and gently scrapes the cement, a distant flock of geese cavorting about the sky - things that my eyes are too old to notice anymore. A tiny puddle of water enchants her and she crouches down to investigate, touching it gently with her finger.

I begin to realize why she prefers to walk these days, on our jaunts through town. To walk is an ultimate freedom - freedom to explore a vast world of mysterious objects. I am too old to understand this freedom, and too young.

It is a chilly December evening. We have eaten our fill of a holiday banquet and played silly reindeer games. We are standing around in our winter coats (dry-cleaned for the season, the cleanest they'll be all winter) when I get the chance to talk to Miriam who can no longer walk and for whom swallowing food is a daily miracle. Her eyes delight and disturb me at the same time. I get the feeling that there is so much I don' t know yet, am not old enough to know and have no right to know - about loss and freedom. Yet her beauty gives me hope that I may yet find it - that perhaps one day I'll know again how truly free I am to be able to walk on out into the night, under a cold black canopy that goes on forever, stepping lightly on a ball floating in space.

Someday Never Comes

I think that probably the reason I listen to this weird college station on the radio is that amidst all the random genres of music, there comes these elite moments when the music fits perfectly into my prismatic life.

so it's been like, forever, since I've posted and I'm sure you're dying to hear my laments.

I suppose what really draws us to great art and literature is simply that we discover people, real human beings, who have somehow managed to find the time and courage and sense of individuality to pull out of existence its beautiful and potently formative forms - the things we struggle to create ourselves in the 10 minutes per week we are allotted for contemplation and reflection.

I've been back on the hunting trail for meaning in life (ok, I've never left) but back again with heavier steps. what is it precisely that gives life meaning? finding wealth, a home, raising a family, ok fine. these things can be found. but finding contentment? now there's a treasure that one buys a field to find. this is what I think of when Jesus says "narrow is the way, and few there be that find it."

wringing, wringing, the drops of life

out of my bones

On Building a Family

Last weekend we met up with my family at Cook's Forest State Park. There was a lot of rain, a few hikes, mixed emotion and a couple games of "Catan". For better or for worse - these people are and forever remain my blood family. We all know we don't get to choose our relatives - and we don't even get to choose how long they'll be with us.

My wife tires of all my regretting, but maybe it's one of those grief stages I'm stuck in. Regardless, much of my rumination of late revolves around how do I make the most of my limited time? At the end of the day (when all is said and done) family remains. We grow up in one, we leave one, we create one and we grow up all over again in our new one.

Our families know us (for better or worse) all too well, it's hard to fool them for long. But they also know us well enough to be able to give us really good advice. Our memories and our past will always connect us deeply, no matter how far away we go. Our sorrows are shared sorrows, our joys, shared joys.

As we cycle through the years, as new faces emerge and others disappear, I hope for moments of connection - moments of beholding ourselves within each other and true caring. I hope our arguments and tiffs dissolve more quickly than the times we've hiked in the rain, discovered old pipelines in need of repair, taught Dad a new strategy game, played "beat the Landlord", ate salty crab and cheese salad, and got yelled at by the prickly couple walking their poodle.

I know building a family is hard work - and so much of it happens while we're not realizing it. We have to learn as we go and deal with our own stuff along the way. Camaflouged bathroom or not, I'm very thankful for this weekend with my very own family.

How it is to be a First-Grader

Tonight Lyric drew this on the computer and asked me to help her save it in her folder of drawings. When I asked her what title to give it, she said without hesitation, "How it is to be a first-grader." She also drew the following picture, titled "The Sprinkle Explosion."

Earlier in the day she asked, "You know what I want for Christmas?" "What?" I replied. "My very own blog!" she said excitedly. "ok, we'll see."

My Little Robot (and other poems)

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I Have a Little Robot

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I have a little robot

made 'specially for me

it follows me around the house

and keeps observing me

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it watches all my actions

and everything I do

but instead of copy-catting

the reverse is always true

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the things i try to put away

the robot takes them out

the toys I take within the hosue

the robot takes without

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I put things in their rightful place

and then without a doubt

the robot turns the drawers on end

turns cupboards inside out

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the food I place within the dish

is dropped upon the floor

the socks I slide upon the feet

end up beside the door

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the water I put in the bath

goes seldom down the drain

the laundry that I neatly stack

is taken out and stained

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I've thought to take my model back

for something less deficient

a robot that could actually help

my time be more efficient

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but then she smiles up at me

her hair all curled and bright

and waddles round the house to some

unbearable delight

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I guess I'll keep her on a while

and see how things will go

she's only one year old and so

there's probably room to grow

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The Well-Wisher Dragons in Flagons

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dragons in flagons

and whispery beasts

all shut in their shells for the night

-there is peace

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but wait, oh just wait

with a crack and a groan

out from their hiding

they rustle and moan

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they're moving and slinking

and shifting about

they're yawning and stretching

they're all getting out

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but I'm done for the day

i don't want them here

I don't want them ever

but now they are near

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I'll wrestle and scream

I'll figure them out!

I'll lay every which way

and flopping about-

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I'll kick them aside

and batten them down

I'll empty the trash can

on top of their town!

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until I am done

my muscle all spent

my brain all in tatters

and torn like a tent

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about to collapse

exhausted and lame

but still they all whistle

and chant out my name

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I listen, cu-ckooing

and bickering go

back to my sleep

for I know that they know

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they have me, have won

have snickled my gizzard

they've walloped me sore

and snookered my wizard

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so back to their flagons

and back to their shells

these dragons and snivels

and well-wisher-wells

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bid me goodnight

with a flick of their tails

but its morning and daybreak

it just never fails

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To Those Who Mourn

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I would not that

ye slip into the grave

the watery rain-slipped

sorrow - muddy

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think not forever

about tomorrow

nor yesterday

be transfixed upon

this day

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climb up, climb out

climb as you might

take in this wretched

mournful ball

of earth and stone

and its airy

drapes, moist cloaks

and wraps

its grisly hair and

its knotted brow

feel heavy upon it

walk upon feet

which you possess

claim it as

your own and

forget not

the heights

and depths you

have known

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sorrow yet another day

and yet one more

but forget not

your footfalls

your breath

your gentle,

empty rest

Try This at Home

It was the day I ran the farthest ever in my life. In order not to rush to an early death, I started out my first marathon " conservatively" with the 3:30 pacer who was supposed to be running 8 minute miles. When he ran the second mile in 8:20, I started to lose confidence in the man. Besides, this felt like jogging to me. At mile 3 I bid the 3:30 pack adieu, tucked in my tail and began to tempt fate with 7:30 and even 7:00 minute miles. I met my family at mile 10, which ended up being the 2nd best feel good part of the race. Last year in the half marathon, I had such a hard time finding my family and just ended up catching a glimpse of Dawn, so this year I was bound and determined to search them out. Lyric was on the top of the list because she periodically likes to ask me why I didn't see them or hear them or see the sign that they made. I was going to stop and sort through the crowd by hand if need be in order to make sure I found Lyric. Well - there they were so I waved and gave Lyric a hug before tearing off and then suddenly remembering I wasn't half done yet. It was metaphorically uphill from there. Miles 13 through 17 were pretty mundane and mental energy began to lag. For a few miles I even lapsed back to the horrifying 8 minute pace! After 20 miles I could begin to envision actually finishing this thing. There were runners who had stopped to walk at this point and I don't remember if that was discouraging or encouraging at the time. But -

Glory! Glory! There it is! I'm downtown and the ramp into the stadium! There's a guy running just in front of me as I turn into the stadium - I blow by him and I can see the finish! Some primal beast tries to leap out of my skin and I clutch at his hair just in order to hang on. I hear my family yelling and I'm sprinting like a maniac, trying to stay abreast of the hairy beast. What exultation is birthed here? I must have ran right by the guy who was supposed to shake my hand after the finish because no one shook my hand. I got my medal and a water bottle then walked over to lean on the fence. I cried for five minutes, laying Shannon to rest and exulting in the freedom I found in running. I walked off the field, threw up my water and was met with congratulations from my family.

When can I do this again?

Official Results: time 3:20:27

split average 7:39
place in age group 16/151

place in overall men 75/976

my thumbs up at mile 0.

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giving Lyric a hug at mile 10

Dawn holds the blue "flag of Buryatia", a piece of

cloth from Russia given as a gift by Shannon

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.just after seeing my family at mile 10

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. Lyric listens to the anthem right before her fun run

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Lyric (and Mommy) run!

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It's over!

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Photos courtesy of Darren Byler. For more photos of a maniac finishing a marathon, visit http://www.runphotos.com/

select Akron Marathon and enter my lucky bib number 777

I Must be Running a Marathon

I must be running a marathon soon. I'm working on my second pair of running shoes for the year and I've been wearing a "hydration belt" along on my runs that can carry 40 oz of fluid. There are sweat-soaked pieces of clothing constantly drying in the laundry room and my wife has had it up to here with descriptions of running aches and pains, misgivings about how well training is going, etc. My 6 year-old daughter asks questions like, "is today a running day, Daddy?" and there are phrases on my workout calendar like "2 mile warmup" and "easy 8 miles". There are also more obvious phrases like "22 miles LSD" (long slow distance). (does the 22 miles really need this clarification? it's not like I'm going to run 22 miles at a 10k pace or something) Fortunately there was only one of those phrases on the calendar.

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So it must be true. I'm hoping to still run my first marathon (26.2 miles for the uninitiated) in 7 days on September 26. I made this decision back on June 7th, nigh 15 weeks ago. My health has been stellar, my usual shin pain has even been kept under the radar - no complaints for me. That is, until yesterday when a frustrating 6 mile run revealed its true cause later in the evening with a sore throat and possibly (hopefully) a case of strep throat. How can I have trained all these weeks and 484 miles just to be taken down in the final stretch by a measly infection? I was miffed and went to bed without washing the dishes, just to show this infection a thing or two.

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But if I remember why I'm running, maybe how I run won't matter as much - maybe. When I decided to run this marathon, I wanted to run it in honor of Shannon's battle with cancer - and I'm still running it for her, but now it will also be in her memory. Dawn tells me that even if I only run part of it, or have to run it slow, running it will still be great. She's right, but I want to run it fast. I was first inspired to run in middle school when Shannon started running to the end of the road and back. I started to run with her and decided that running track would be cool. When I was too depressed in high school to run track anymore, she encouraged me just to run for God. One track season we made a healthy eating vow for 3 months of no sugar or sweets that we kept together. (man that was tough) When I started running half marathons a couple years ago, she was thrilled. When she started being treated for cancer and got weaker and weaker, she gradually stopped being able to run, and then even to walk. After her treatments she was back out on the road, building up her strength with short walks. I wanted to run this marathon for her - for the times when she couldn't run. I wanted her to experience through me the joy of running, hard and fast. And I still will - there will just me more tears on the road.

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Things I've learned while training for a marathon:

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1. running 22 miles in a row feels just as bad as it sounds
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2. running more than 15 miles without bringing along something to drink is really dumb (in medical circles they refer to this as dehydration)

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3. long distance running is really just a way to make insanity look organized

(but it works)

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4. the first two hours out on the road are relatively easy, then it comes down to guts and passion

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5. long hair doesn't have to be a problem, with enough sweat the hair will sweep back over your head nicely and pretty much stay there

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6. if you're going to run 500 miles in a summer, don't be surprised by a steady stream of sore, tired, aching bones and muscles throughout your body

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7. the most meaningful things in life don't cost money but aren't completely free, they take discipline, sacrifice and dedication

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8. running a marathon is a family sport - they all have to make a sacrifice to give you so much time to yourself

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p.s. wondering about the picture? it's my "sweet" coat that I found at the salvation army. after buying this coat for 7 dollars and a pair of nice corduroys for 3 - I announced proudly to my wife on the way home that I have decided to only buy used clothing from now on - the prices are wonderful and the clothing has so much more character. then I did some reflecting and realized that I've already been doing that for the last 8 years. so it wasn't that great of an idea after all, although I'm even more enthused about buying and wearing really unique clothing. yes! Matthew's true character returns!

p.p.s. if you want to join my family in watching a fun marathon event and remembering Shannon (and watching me do organized insanity), then join us on Saturday the 26th at Akron

Our Time in Its Beautiful Way

when my fingers trace the shape of you

along your face

with its softened skin

I sense you far beneath

down, down below the surface

deeper and deeper

beyond my knowing

beyond my sleepless stare

my eyes watery and washed

drowning in great salt waves

heaved from their burning ocean of tumult

thundering and dissolving my world
our world together

until I am undone

unmasked and mistook

aimless in my convictions
harrowed in my night

harrowed in my night

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our time in its beautiful way

like ice crystals completely shattered

sprinkled in a graceful arc

across mountains and deserts

and all the empty air

all the empty air

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a great loss is thrust upon me

piercing my chest to bursting flesh

its cavity scraped, scoured and blood-let

excised of its beatings

its hormonal angst

its pure love

its devotion

its haste

my splintered ribs clutch

at their barren vacancy

for entrails discarded

scattered into four winds

and many secret places

many secret places
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walking the night along its ruddy breezes

its tempest breathing in and out

scalding me with ambivalence

pressing into my face the unimaginable

the unquenched path

and its unforeseen end

undeniable

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your footfalls in the darkness

I walk towards you

and away again

towards you

and away again

a circling search

of a place I can know again

of a time I can remember

how to be

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I watch for your shadow

undulating among the trees

among the slanted slopes

I touch your hair

and remember you

where you had once been

once ruminated and embraced

and died openly

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empty, I float away

above the earth and this time

above my mumblings

my disdain, my reproach

secretive and bubbling sweet

a silky dream

tucked in a crevice

like a coiled web
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I await your returning

and vow to wait

to sink back with the rain

into the low-lying puddles

and muddy spots

collected

trickled down and distilled

remade and undone
remade again

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memories in gentle roundabout currents

swirl me along the dotted earth

replace my disgrace
rearrange my disguise

upend my brimming heart

convolute my silence

and my hope

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I've been bitten

down deep

where I cannot go

where I cannot go

to stop the bleeding

flowers I picked for Shannon with her scarf

More Insight

We as a family agreed to an autopsy to investigate the cause of Shanon's death. No cancer was found in the body. However, a "pinhole" was discovered between the adjacent walls of her heart and stomach. This pinhole allowed air to leak from the stomach into the heart. These bubbles traveled to the bloodstream, lodging into the blood vessels of her brain, thus causing the stroke-like death of the brain.

The doctors at Cleveland Clinic have never seen this kind of pinhole develop in a person like Shannon, who had completed her cancer treatments several months before her death. When this type of pinhole develops, it is fatal within days. We as a family recognize and accept that the ways of God are mysterious. We believe that the doctors acted as wisely and prudently as was in their means and that this was simply Shannon's time to go. As usual, she surprised us all.

Olivia's Thoughts at the Funeral

I first remember Shannon as the intimidating, opinionated, oldest sister of the man I wanted to marry. It didn’t take long until I was filled with admiration for her sheer force of will. Shannon was like a tornado when she got an idea into her head.

Last November, I remember going to the doctor with Shannon when the concerning esophageal mass that was causing her swallowing difficulties was first discovered.

Ironically, he and I both assured her that her chances of having cancer were next to nothing.

We all know what happened in the ensuing months. Shannon—not one to be intimidated by limited chances—faced her treatments with an iron resolve.

Only the people closest to her know intimately about the battles Shannon had to face this past year--battles that are so hard to talk about--like chemo, surgery, radiation, vomiting, and depression.

The last few months were the hardest, I think. It was like watching a wild and beautiful animal get penned into a shrinking cage. We had invested so much hope into fighting cancer, and hadn’t thought about what would happen when the fight was done. Shannon had outsmarted death, but needed to learn how to live again. Our fierce and determined older sister struggled with the simplest of decisions. The God she knew so well was silent. She had even lost the desire to return to her beloved Russia.

As we watched her life ebb quickly away a few days ago, we joked that Shannon would have gotten a kick out of stumping the world’s best Neurologists with her case. But I had to wonder…

Snatched away from Russia, did Shannon die like a Siberian husky would die if taken away from the snow and ice? Like a wild and untamable animal thrust into the zoo?

Matthew tells me of his pet songbird that he left at home for three months when he backpacked through Kazakhstan with Shannon. Unable to tolerate its master’s absence, the bird died.

Over the past few months, was Shannon unable to tolerate the silence of the God that she had communed so deeply with in previous years?

Did she know, and was she afraid to tell the rest of us?

We have so many questions, but I am reminded today of the beauty of an untamed and free life. I am reminded of the privilege of belonging to a family. I am blessed by the memories of a sister, aunt, and friend. Thank you, Shannon, for the gifts you gave us with your life and now, your death.

Links

here is a consolidated list of links for Shannon

obituary and guestbook

slideshow of pictures in Russia

video prepared by Shannon's team

blog post by Leif & Jami

My Only Words

On our boat from Vladivostok to South Korea, summer 2000

Dear Shannon-

How I miss you! I keep seeing your face in the intensive care – your lips dry and puffed up by the hideous ventilator. Your head sagging to the side because you were so sedated. Your stiff, short hair and all the needles in your skin. I wish I could have picked you up and carried you off and away to some summit in the mountains, or some grand adventurous place, the kind of place that I know would make you feel alive again. I would have laid you on a mountain peak and we would have been sunburned in happiness together.

I comb the mountainsides of my mind
Looking for remembrances of you
I hunt avidly for your memory
So to piece together
Some semblance of you

We sure had some grand adventures together – we sure did. I didn’t realize at the time all the wonderful gifts you were giving me. I’ll miss those times – stomping around those Russian train stations, trying to figure out where and how to go next – getting on an old boat bound for South Korea, not realizing that it was going to pick up 100’s of cars along the way.

Climbing mountains was the best part – they made you so happy. When we got lost and couldn’t figure out the silly maps we had, you couldn’t have been happier. There was no thrill for you like the thrill of challenge and adventure – the thrill of a mountain peak to climb, or a waterfall to find.

We got lost plenty – looking around for the trail and taking wrong turns – but we always seemed to find our way – we always got to where we were going eventually.

Now, this time, I can’t go with you. Before I could even think, you’ve slipped around the corner – so quickly you’ve vanished. There must be a waterfall around the bend that I can’t see yet – to me it just looks like a dead end.

I want to go with you, just like I always did, but I can’t. For now this waterfall is just for you to enjoy. You must be basking in your pleasure – you’ve reached the ultimate summit and the most beautiful waterfall of all. And you’ll feel God’s presence again just as much as you ever longed to feel as you climb around on the rocks and drink up the wildness of it all.

It’s just not the same, hiking without you. But I’ll keep trying to find the way – just like you always taught me. I’ll keep trying to find that waterfall too. And I’ll just keep thinking of you out on some grand adventure – looking back every so often, just to see when we’ll catch up.

Our Broken Beautiful Shell

Dear Friends:

Just wanted to inform you of the incredible whirlwind of activity that we have been caught up in that last 36 hours. Unfortunately, my dear sister Shannon has slipped away from us in an altogether sudden and unexpected way.

She was diagnosed with esophageal cancer approximately 10 months ago and bravely pushed through her first round of treatment and surgery with flying colors. Her cancer was eradicated and her prognosis was good, especially for someone with her relative young age of 37. Post surgery and during her second round of treatment, her personality seemed to shift and her mighty spirit seemed to flag. She gradually became more melancholy, anxious and at times unable to make simple decisions. It seemed she was just really worn down. However, she made it through all her treatments, began a complex eating schedule with her new patched esophagus, began building her strength with short daily walks, and was on the road to recovery. Her blood counts and other tests revealed normal levels.

Last Saturday, approximately two months after her last treatment, my mother became concerned by Shannon’s lethargy, fever and trouble with memory loss in the afternoon. Shannon was taken to the local ER and admitted. She was also coughing up some blood. A GI assessment was planned for Monday but as the family was about to leave on Sunday night, Shannon had a seizure and was intubated. This prompted her helicopter ride up to Cleveland Clinic where she was admitted for a battery of tests. On Monday morning they lost Shannon’s pulse for about five minutes but were able to resuscitate her.

Olivia and I received word of Shannon’s “turn for the worse” on Monday morning. I was in the middle of a 17 mile run so I ran obliviously for over two hours while Olivia made frantic arrangements for a possible emergency trip out to Ohio. When I arrived home I called my Dad and we made made the decision to pack up the family and head out.

We arrived at Cleveland Clinic around 7:00 where family and some friends had congregated. It appeared that Shannon had some faint response in the morning on Monday, and was able to wiggle her toes in response to visitors. However, this response as well has her basic neurological function appeared to continue a rapid decline over the course of the day. She was never to regain consciousness after her after her initial seizure on Sunday night.

The doctors were scrambling for information but it was clear that the inter-cranial pressure in Shannon’s head was climbing to dangerous heights and was difficult to control. She also continued to experience periodic seizures, fever and swelling despite sedation and strong medication. Theories included some type of aggressive infection such as meningitis as well some type of trauma to the brain. Neither were ever confirmed although there was evidence of a “fatty embolism” or large blood clot in the brain. The origin of this clot remains a mystery.

I stayed overnight at the hospital with my brother Marty on Monday night. The rest of my family had been up most of the previous night so they tried to get some sleep at a nearby hospital. I checked in on Shannon periodically and about 3:00 in the morning, the fellow doctor on call continued to reiterate that everything they were trying to do to treat the “symptoms” was simply not working and that the underlying cause of Shannon’s condition remained outside of their grasp of knowledge, and therefore, untreatable. A second CAT scan that night further confirmed that there was continued, extensive swelling throughout Shannon’s brain and it was very clear that there was already extensive brain damage. It was time to begin making decisions regarding how aggressive they were going to continue treating Shannon.

As a family we agreed to begin backing off of the “medical care”. Mom, Dad, Marty and I gathered around Shannon for two hours from 4 to 6 in the morning – we sang, prayed, reminisced, cried and said goodbye. As the medications stopped, Shannon’s vitals, blood pressure and inter-cranial pressure reached critical levels and we felt that she had “spiritually passed”. All that remained of Shannon was her beating heart and a ventilator’s raspy breath.

A conference with the attending doctor at 11:00 a.m. confirmed that Shannon’s brain activity was likely gone and he felt she had passed some time during the night. The ventilator was removed around 12:00 and we said our final farewells to Shannon’s body around 12:30, her technical time of death.

Our sister Dawn was en-route from China and we picked her up later that night at 11:00 at Cleveland airport. She had missed being able to see Shannon by about 12 hours.

The suddenness and mystery surrounding Shannon’s death are terrifying and stunning. Sometimes it is hard to breathe. It is difficult to comprehend how the her 9 month struggle with cancer in her esophagus and apparent victory, was to end in a sudden whirlwind of neurological breakdown lasting only a few days. We had grown accustomed to and accepted her battle with cancer. But none of us could expect or be ready for this.

This is my first experience with this kind of loss. It is a deep, deep chasm of pain and darkness that feels unable to be crossed. I don’t know the way across, and I simply don’t want to do it. Yet it must be crossed – and we must cross without Shannon.

Beach

we took our vacation to Assateague Island - saw a few ponies and played on the beach alot. Lyric danced with the waves and I bought a boogie board and hoped for the time to come when I might try surfing. Maggie ate sand and skipped 90% of her naps. I realized while being on vacation with two small children that being on vacation has changed since I was a wee lad. I don't remember there being so much sand in the car, or so many things to carry to and from the car, the motel room or the beach. I don't remember there being so much stress to try and forget about in order to enjoy the vacation. I don't remember babies screaming in their car seats. But when it's all said and done, there are priceless memories - worth a million trips to and from the car, hours of driving amidst chaotic and bored children, and a million soggy diapers changed hurriedly on the run. Bravo to all you young parents out there for braving the elements with your children! It's not an easy job.