Fractions

Fractions - an interesting topic for me to write about here. And though it might sound a bit random, you'll soon see the relevance. Especially here. 

After dinner tonight, as the last of the strawberries in whipped cream with dark chocolate shavings (that Orit quickly threw together - bless her!) disappeared, the topic of fractions came up. Mathematical fractions we're talking about. Little man uses fractions in his vocabulary and did so again tonight, prompting the discussion. He said something to the effect of having "half of a square or three quarters of a triangle..." in regards to something or another, which of course all I remember of now is that it made us laugh. But, I wanted to get him to understand what it really meant. What a fraction really is besides the 4 that he already knows  (1/4, 1/2, 3/4 & 1) and uses properly, I might add. So while Orit and I stepped into and over each others attempts to come up with a proper visual aid in the lesson, the idea of what a fraction is in it's simplest form hit me after almost 39 years. One. Parts of one. Only need one sheet of paper. And unlike Orit's attempt with a messy aid... no cutting. Just folding. All in tact. So we have one sheet of paper. Torn out of a magazine, a random page, which later becomes part of the story in it's content (perfection!). Meticulously, as with Origami, fold paper in half. We get two sections that add up to make the one whole sheet. Simple, but the beginnings of a profound never ending concept. Starting with one-half sections or two halves. Fold again. Make the creases nice and noticeable and voilà, quarters. "Theo, what's next?"  All you educated adults can see where it's going. Little man deduces the pattern to eighths, sixteenths, 1/32, 1/64, 1/128, & 1/256. The math was done all in the head, with a bit of back and forth trial and error, but man, that little head of his is sharp and has a real thing for numbers. Our visual aid, with every fold and re-fold (to make sure the crease is distinct) was opened to make sure the amount of sections match the math. Yes. And as we moved deeper and deeper into the process, Orit and I could see another moment of what I've described in the past as "the assimon fell!" Those not familiar with the Hebrew coin/word/expression, it means moment of clarity when something is just understood. Look further back into the blog if you want it's origin. Not everyone is able to turn an opportune moment into a lesson to a 6 and a half year old child, after dessert. This is where tonight, I succeeded in my small, but significant achievement. And besides the fact that today was mostly a day of chauffeuring with some other self satisfying/gratifying moments, this was the one that I found writable.

As for why it should be a topic of relevance other than a good story in-itself on the blog, with my writings, my work? My Theo-roids, that capture fragments throughout the whole of little man's life thus far? Or the make-up of the Progress Report in it's grid form of 12 single Theo-roids? Or in the single frames that make up a Polarama? Or a pinpointed image that is but one part of the story in a Wood piece? You see, fractions/fragments/sections/moments/images are much more than just the lesson of the evening. Fractions are thematic to my life and work. That little man gets it, and me, is priceless. So I say to myself, as Hilton Garden Inn seems to want me to know - WELL PLAYED.

 

Theo Progress Report 08/25/10

Mud Run

So it all began a few months ago. Through Christy, Orit found out about this mud run event and it sparked an inner flame that started burning. The burning for a challenge and getting dirty was compelling. She told me about it and in so, had made the decision to do it. Forget the fact that she can't run without getting what we later found out to be called "stitches" A common problem with people cramping cause of not breathing properly. People have been telling her that for years, it's just that apparently no one has actually shown her a technique to correct it. I'll step in and say a word about this here. About one year into our marriage of 11 years, we made an attempt to go jogging together. I specifically remember saying "in through the nose, out thought the mouth," and showing her. She does not recall, so ultimately that's what goes. Here, this is my blog. I tell MY objective truth. Anyway, we are stronger than any one small disagreement, so we move on. She will do this thing and she will get past the "stitches." And I say, go for it - get dirty! So the decision was made. The team of women was organized and the training began. Kickboxing has become more of the routine for her of late. The plan - to step it up in stamina through kickboxing and introduce running in between. Squeeze that between being a mother, wife, photographer, and caretaker of all and hope for the best. But most importantly, it's about having fun. And checking one off the bucket list (skydive - check, shave head - check, run a 5k mud run - now I'm getting a little ahead, but check, not at liberty to mention others...). Hell, i wanted to join. Registration is open till  the day of, but my bum knees. Bummer! I've been in pain from my torn meniscus. I'm sure the inevitable day will come you will hear about my knee surgery. For now it's just a source of anxiety. Just went through the whole surgery thing with little man. Back away from me for now. Mud. Individually and as a group, they stuck to the plan as much as their daily routines allowed. Did I mention the "stitches" are no longer an issue. Not that she remembered what I claim to have said 11 years ago. Thanks to a trainer (husband of team mate) that showed her what I claim to have shown her 11 years ago. Again, I say here, we are stronger than any one disagreement (and by the way, if you are able to do that, the disagreements don't pile up or linger - chew on that for a bit. There's more advice if you want it...). Bottom line is, she's over the stitches and she can run now. Problem solved. There are walking breaks, but there is a definite building of gradual stamina. She went running on the beach the other day. Yet another benefit of Southern California life.
Today was race day. The much anticipated day finally arrived. Christy is staying with us for a few days. The ladies woke up early and went to the event to begin the process of signing in, getting their numbers, yata, yata, yata. Orit wakes me up to say goodbye and adds, "Theo is making batter, make him crepes. Goodbye." Now those of you who know Orit, know her crepes. And there is nothing else that needs to be said. Those who don't know her crepes, don't have any idea what you're missing and there's nothing I can say to get descriptive enough in what it does to people, especially little man. He can live on them every day, twice a day. And he has this control over his mom in getting her to make them for him at any given moment (almost) and with the shortest window of time. She has them down to an art form in speed, finesse, but mostly taste and texture. With that said, this morning... I get up after finally little man wakes me up a second time with a "crepes?" and a smile. I get up and walk to the kitchen and see the blender and batter in it, ready to go. Mom's expertise has not gone unnoticed by little man. He just needs me to do the pan-to-fire negotiation. So off I go, heat the pan, get it ready... "Theo, does mom use anything in the pan?" He answers, "butter, only on the first one." Ok. So I make them (I've learned from seeing Orit as well, though I'm better at this part. Glad little man can make the batter). He tells me they're ok and eats two with Nutella. And we quickly get our shit together to see mom race, and possibly, possibly, join the kids race at 11:45am. A half mile obstacle mud run. So armed with all I think is necessary gear, we went. Of course not as well prepared as mom would have been. But nothing, a quick stop at Starbucks wouldn't fix (water and a snack for a growing boy and an ice coffee for me). And I won't mention I remembered to bring a towel, and extra clothing, but forgot the flip flops to wear after the muddy shoes. Whatever. Builds character and callouses, walking barefoot. We made it to the race just as they had started and found our spot to wait to see mom and her team as all the hard core of the 5000+ people expected, began to pass by at the second of as it turned out only two mud baths in between some obstacles and marked off areas around the property of the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. We waited. We were quite in awe of the whole spectacle. A few polaroids. And there she is. Running in a sea of wet, muddy people, some in costumes, running through a strange situation.

We exchange our yells of acknowledgment and encouragement and moved on to the next  position of viewing the runners. It's hot. And we've had a taste of a little mud as it splashed us by the runners and I could see little man had his head and his eyes on the fact that he was gonna do this too. One more vantage point as they snake around their path for little man to high five his athlete mom. Then we saw her crawl through rows of hoola hoops, run over what should be a slip and slide, kick her way through beach balls and go off into the distance around the stadium property, back around the other side, over hay stack stairs and there we got one more high five opportunity and off to the finish line over there yonder. Well, we didn't actually see the finish, cause we were running around looking for the place to register him for the kids race in time. But Orit finished proud and strong in 1hr 27secs and made her way to see little man numbered and ready at the starting line for his race. And off he went. Over a few little traffic barriers, around a turn, in through the mud bath, over some more walls, another turn, hoola hoops, slip and slide, turn and straight away. Half mile. Was that really half mile? I don't know how many ran in his category of 4-7 year olds. I was too hot and concentrated on him to notice. He ran the whole way. Good stamina. Fifth place, not that anyone (except him and I) are keeping score. And that was that. A few more polaroids. And the mud run was done. 

He and I headed home via In-N'-Out Burger. little man gets the meat, cheese and bun only. I decided this time to go purist as well and forgo the sauce, lettuce, tomato, onions... There is something to be said about about a burger that tastes good in it's absolute purest form. No dressing, no fries, no nothing. I may have been converted to the less sophisticated, more simplistic palate of my kid. Made it home just a bit before the dirty girls came home. We all took a nap today. Woke up for dinner. Tonight, we have breakfast for dinner. And a walk of our collective dogs (Christy has her dog Toki with her and she's pals with China and Roody). The ladies are exhausted. Orit fell asleep watching a movie officially at 10:00pm or so, but unofficially we lost her already at around 8:15pm. She was floating in between. I asked her at this point how much she actually ran of the course. Her answer was about half. Run, walk, run, trot, walk... I know she's proud of herself and had fun. I know she's already planning on checking off the list the larger Camp Pendelton Mud Run next. I am proud of her and Theo. They know it as do you all now too. Proud of Christy and all the other crazies having fun out there too. Speaking of Christy, she manages to let work lure her to her portable office for a few more hours of a workaholic fix. But that light went out too now. And that is the story of the LA 5k Mud Run 2010.  A vignette into the story of a mom (and a kid) taking on a challenge, by a writer who is taking on sort of a challenge of his own. The writer is always the one left awake in the middle of the night. I fear to see and hear the aches and pains the ladies will experience tomorrow. Not worried about little man. He didn't think his challenge was very hard. So why am I the one with ice on my knee? Goodnight. New Theo Progress Report coming next... 

Crossroads

I suppose I've reached a crossroads in my new public writing thing. There is no one tying theme to write around that is so encompassing at all times to keep me churning in on the keyboard as I've grown accustomed to over the past two weeks. The surgery is in the past. Well, there are still the looming bills that will soon start to trickle in from the hospital, the doctor and the who knows who else will try to ride the collection train. And the insurance EOB's or lack of B's (is more like it) will not match, and the correspondence will begin back and forth and we'll have it all wrapped up in 8 months or so. But that's just the bureaucracy side of it. Not an interesting topic, dealing with pencil pushers. All that's left of the actual procedure is a small remnant of the froggy voice. Still not the old sounding little man, but he may never be exactly that way. His airflow is different in his throat and nose and as a result his voice too, works differently. Soon enough the old voice will no longer be in our memory and the new one will be the old one. But that's it. Nothing else to mention about regarding tonsillectomy and our experience. Topic done. There lies the crossroads. What now - to write about? Need to find another umbrella to write under and have the ideas trickle down like a steady rain. And like lightning, a flash seeped in and a seed was planted. Just keep going about whatever, mix it with whatever and serve it as whatever... Now I need to nurture it into a discipline, until it starts to flower... This is a blog after all. Everything goes. It's my blog and I'm just doing my thing. You chose to to ride along or not. I try to keep my life interesting enough to keep you interested enough.

Ventura, CA 08/19/10

I needed a break from writing. We all needed a break from my writing. You need it too.

Follow-up

A couple of days have past. I've been here and gone, working and not working as are the waves of my world. The boy that once was before the Tonsillectomy and Adenoidectomy is now, once more. Doing and being as he did. At full throttle. With exception to the breathing, the oh so important reason for the whole damn thing. Quiet. Silence. Stillness. I can't emphasize it enough. Those of you who have had the pleasure of either having us as overnight guests or vice versa, have witnessed the grandfatherly sounds that have come out of little man going back to him being little raisin. Amongst friends, these "sounds" have been a source of laughter. In reality, I've had to get up at 2;30am, get dressed, go downstairs and out of a NYC hotel, walk down Broadway a block and a half to a corner market and get earplugs to bring back to the room for Orit and I to get some sleep. Man. Even then, over the plugs, I put on my Bose headphones with a little music. Just one sample. We're well traveled and have had our fair share of close sleeping situations, worthy of several stories  Well, no more. At least not snoring stories. We'll continue the travels. The past, preserved as memories and on film (and digital), are where those sounds live now. And here, lives silence. I'm slowly getting used to it. Don't get me wrong, I've appreciated the silence from the moment he took his first post-op sleep. It's taken a bit longer to get accustomed to it. As he lays asleep next to me now, both of us laying parallel to each other and laying across his full size bed (the opposite of normal) - my head leaning on wall, back on mattress and feet on ground. Little man on his stomach takes up the whole width of the bed as his legs bend and touch the wall near my head. I don't hear him. The fish tank filter is louder. The crickets are louder. My thoughts are louder. I have to stop writing, excuse me... And put my palm on his back to feel the beautiful up and down rhythm of life. And so it goes, up and down, as a symbol and metaphor of life.
Little man has enjoyed me reading him these stories. He listens attentively and corrects me or emphasizes at things he  likes. It's been cool. He gets to re-live a moment, just a day or two behind and this time through my language. Same with Orit who's been the final sounding board to each post (as she's been my sounding board for all other writings and everything else of the past 12 years). And the rest of you out there that have responded with interest and with kind words. I enjoy hearing feedback and that it's even interesting or entertaining is welcoming. It's got me going. So I'm going.
Another night of sleep for all of us behind us and today another busy day (for little man). I'll confess today I've been beaten by the heat and my body is fighting gravity with every step. Retroactive fatigue, I am taking a day of rest. Dead weight on some soft cushiony surface. Me and the dogs are one today. On the agenda for those active in the household; Theo is spending the day with friends, starting the morning with art at Edie's and moving on to swimming at Rowan's. For Orit, we have running on the beach on the menu as a starter course for this weekend's 5k mud run she's participating in and dinner with a girlfriend.  I'm looking forward to the mud run (and no, it's not a precursor for mud wrestling, though I'm ok with that too). So as you see, the secret to a happy household, is a well balance of family members doing something fun, personal and completely separate (at times...).

Healed

I've had another full day trip to the Bay Area. It's sort of been my commute the last few weeks as it's the 3rd time this month. That was yesterday. Another day of waking up and leaving before the family opens their eyes. Getting on a plane, rental car doing what I do and coming back. All in a days work. This time I made it back before little man was asleep and got to see him finish off a day of good health and good spirits. And after the silent breathing began and little man was drifting into the deep sleep his body deserves, I got the run down of the day from his mom (i'll explain "his mom" In a bit). A good day, she said. I called in the morning when I landed in Oakland and little man answered the phone. A few seconds of fumbling and then his "hi." He tells me he's at karate. I'm surprised he's picking up the phone in that case. He continues to say he's not doing it, but his mom is (he calls her "my mom" to me sometimes and it cracks me up - I'm like, dude, I know it's your mom - she's my wife!). Orit does kickboxing where he does karate, so he was hanging out with his buddy. I asked him later if mom looked sexy kicking and punching the bag in class. He said he didn't watch. Ah, the 6yr. old mind. Anyway, after class, the two of them saw a movie, ate and little man went to his first karate class since the operation. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the marker we've been waiting for. The sign. Or maybe much more definitive than a sign. Maybe the ribbon at the finishing line that was broken by the knife hand with the first KEEEAAAYY! Patient no more. The rebuild of the healthy boy routine may commence and our lives can continue to move forward. Today, Theo went to a bowling birthday party. He ate pizza, cupcake, bowled a strike, screamed out loud (apparently really loud) and was lost in the moment. Exactly where you want him to be. Now they're back. Orit and little man are taking down his old art from the walls, making room for new material. Starting fresh. And in the moment. Breathing easily...