Late this morning as I was walking to my favorite local coffee shop for a workish meeting and a ridiculously good iced mocha a guy driving down the street in a landscaping truck sneezed loudly three times. I turned away from my phone (on which I was chatting while I strolled) and yelled “BLESS YOU!”

I think I startled him more than his sneeze attack as he nearly slammed on his breaks before realizing what I’d said. I told myself to keep my incredibly loud courtesy in check. While the post sneeze bless you is super important to me, it doesn’t matter to everyone and, I suppose, can be very rattling when hollered by a stranger who is strolling down the sidewalk.

But it’s such a lovely day. And the sun is shining. And the birds are singing their lovely little songs. And I was smiling. So aggressive kindness took over.

Which is probably why I screamed “Your backdoor is open!” at the delivery truck I saw zipping down the street on my way home.

I don’t think it was appreciated.

My dad’s birthday is coming up – less than a month away. As it’s his first birthday in Portland, and the first birthday on which I’ll have the chance to see him in more than 15 years, I wanted to do something special. I’d been racking my brain trying to come up with it and Sunday night peering down at the field from the stands I realized the perfect gift. Better than perfect! Right! I’d take my dad to a Portland Timbers game! It was brilliant. I patted myself on the back, emailed my mom to make sure she wouldn’t want to go too, and checked the schedule for the right game. I had it all figured out.

Until I was informed that it wasn’t so much that my dad doesn’t care about soccer, he doesn’t like it.

I mentally scratched my head, I actually pictured myself scratching my head. I was confused. Soccer is one of the few sports that I really do enjoy. It’s the high spirited pace of the game. The clear rules. The colorful fans. And the fact that scoring system really is super simple.

Each goal is a cause for wild celebration. Applause, cheers, high-fives, songs, and even kisses in the stands as the team celebrates on the field. And if it’s a good match those goals don’t happen too often and everyone waits with baited breath to see if a goal will be scored at all! Apparently my dad likes higher scoring games. After all these years and I’m only now figuring it out.

This is true of so much of my life.

a tiny two day old cami kaos...

I was born shortly after 8am on a Tuesday morning. By all accounts it was a quick and easy birth. I was a little early, but nothing at all to worry about and my parents were in the hospital less than an hour before I came quietly into the world. Oh, for all I know I was screaming. A terror. But I always heard it was such an easy birth and I’m sure much louder more fearsome things occurred on that day, even that moment. So for the purposes of this telling I let out nary a whine. Besides, I’ve had plenty of time to make up for it.

It was a few years after the first consumer computers hit the market. A little less than a year after the Apple I was released. Though the technology for the remote control did exist, most folks had to get up to turn the knob on the television to change the channel. Phone-calls were made from home, or you could pop a dime in a payphone. In-home video game units weren’t a big thing, yet. So if you wanted to play you went to the arcade. You listened to music on the radio, a record player, or if you were on the go a tapedeck, but a lot of cars still had 8-track players. Popular interior design was overcome with gold, rust, and avocado. Elvis was still alive and free to wolf down peanut butter banana sandwiches. Farrah Fawcett had the very best hair. And George Lucas and his team were putting the finishing touches on a movie called Star Wars that would change the face of Science Fiction film.

This Friday I’ll be celebrating my 36th birthday and as I look back on what has gone on in the world and my life in those years I have some things to celebrate. Some things to reflect upon. And still a good many things to learn. But it seems that I have officially reached the age where people must assume I would rather be younger than I am today, as mention of my birthday is met by most with a humorous nod to me being in my 20′s. While I’m in no way offended by this gentle reminder of societies thoughts on aging, it’s given me pause to reflect on what it means to be the age I am. While there are many parts of my life I would work to change, to improve, to grow, or even to hide from at times… my age isn’t one of them.

I feel like my birthday should be a celebration of who I am and where I’ve been, not a mourning day for what once was.

And also? All about me…

In an attempt to clean things up I’m once again going through the posts that, for some reason, were never posted. Some of them are little stories, specific incidents, brief trains of thought. Others, like the one below from December last year, are like a long form vague tweet that months later not even I can guess at their catalyst…

There are times that you figure something out.  Either because it magically dawns on you after trying so hard to fit the pieces together or because you’re presented with an additional snippet of life, experience, or information.  That moment of discovery.  Of realization?  It can be so intense that the consequences of the knowledge are briefly blown away and the fact that you finally have it figured out is fucking magical.

Until it sinks in that you can’t undo the knowing.

Wondering can be pushed aside.  Uncertainty can be reasoned with.  Pain can subside.

Knowledge though, knowledge is a powerful thing.  Once you know something you can’t unknow it without intervention… like a sharp knock to the head or a degenerative brain disease.

I’m not up for either of those so my only option is to look at things the way they are and think.

But the thinking?  Makes me a little sick to my stomach.

There are a lot of things one might expect to see, to do, and to learn at a comic con. Largely I believed they were about comics, horror, super heroes, sci-fi, or the human capacity to endure having their toes stepped on and torso bumped into in a crowd.

I expected to see super heros, anti-heroes, super villans, really scantily clad women, men in spandex, comic takes on characters long loved, and characters I’ve never dreamt or heard of. I also expected to find comics, videos, toys, clothes, posters, accessories, and so much more in the way of merchandise. I even expected I would purchase some of it. And I did. I saw it all and I even got cute little caricatures of my daughter and I and a she-hulk t-shirt.

But there was more. Something I didn’t anticipate.

I didn’t expect that both my daughter and I would walk out of there with a life lesson.

After our initial wander around the place to get the lay of the land and a read through the schedule to make sure we could make it to our photo ops (yes… we did) and a couple of must do panels we wandered over to a Q&A session with the one and only Arthur Fonzarelli. Yes, the Fonz. And yes I know his real name. And yes I know the impressive list of credits he has built up over the years as a writer, director, producer, and children’s author. I didn’t know he’d written a book on Fly Fishing but other than that I was well aware that Henry Winkler had made an amazing career for himself out of his leather jacket. What I didn’t realize was that the man is a philosopher. Sitting through the 45 minute session he delivered so much inspiration and so many pearls of wisdom that we walked out of his session feeling like we’d been to a particularly effective intensive self help session.

The piece that struck home, the advice that very well might change how we deal with self doubt and negativity in our home?

“Never put a period on the end of a negative thought.”

He followed it up with a big laugh. He punctuated it with silliness. The crowd ate it up. But it wasn’t silly, and it’s how I think I’d like to deal with things.

Like most people I’m not a fan of waking up to the sound of a buzzing, ringing, or beeping alarm clock, but still those damn things are so very much a part of our lives. I remember as a kid winding my pale pink bell alarm clock each night. Checking to ensure it hadn’t wound down prematurely. That the time was right. There was something soothing in the tactile experience of holding the round clock, the smooth finish under my fingertips, feeling the rapid clicks as I twisted the key in  back.

I dreamt of weekends when I didn’t have to wakeup to the horrible rapid bell. I hoped, as an adult, I would not be slave to the shrill ringing dictator. I basked in the summer when for months at a time it was just the warmth and brightness of the sun that would wake me.

But I never dreamed that I would have have a tiny personal computing device that took all the guess work, worry, and winding out of the equation.

I know I’m not alone in being attached at the hip, or more correctly the brain, to my smart phone. It contains and is responsible for smoothly running huge portions of my life. It wakes me each morning in time to get my daughter to school. It stores pictures and videos representing both wonderful and horrific memories. It reminds me to pick my kid up. To send out a weekly newsletter. It talks to my calendar and reminds me of lunches, meetings, deadlines, birthdays, and classes. It streams entertainment directly to my face. Entertains me with games. Reports the news. Keeps me in contact with my friends and loved ones. Allows me to check my bank account and pay my bills. Introduces me to new people and new ideas. Records my thoughts. Helps with my health goals. Lets me see where my friends are. Tells me where I’m going. Gives me advice. Does math. Tells me how to spell (or misspell) millions of words. Increases work productivity – or decreases it, depending on what I’m doing.

It is a world of its own. My world. And each day begins by performing the simple task of waking me from slumber, just like my old bell alarm clock. But much like a cd can’t duplicate the warmth of  a record, the sound it makes is never the same.