Becky and Steve's Blog

Spanking? Yes or no?

2009-04-21T03:58:00.000-07:00

I hate the whole idea of corporal punishment, but that's exactly the low-foreheaded/cro-mag/19th century child discipline technique that I've employed.

Uly is a very strong willed child. I like that about him ... as long as it doesn't include hitting his infant sister, slapping his mom and other anti-social behavior. The problem is, these things happen a lot.

Anyway, I've found myself spanking him to try and get past these issues. The results are dubious. After I give him a warning he still goes ahead with the problem behavior. After that, I issue a time out. After the time out he acts up again and I spank. He finally relents, apologizes and stops, but the problem behavior is repeated later. Other methods do less.

Ideas?

Welcome Back

2009-04-20T14:31:00.000-07:00

Well, hell.

You may recall that I have a new site - Gold and Lead - and that I announced last November that I was shutting this blog down and posting there. GL needs work, so I'm back.

I'm sitting here in my car in front of my house with my son Uly. He's asleep — he wouldn't go down at his normal bed time, so here we are.

A lot has happened since November. Briefly:

- We applied and were turned down for membership at Church of the Sojourners in SF. It was no ideological or personal conflict. It was a matter of space (theirs) and timing (ours).

- Our daughter Abby Delores was born Jan. 26. She's happy, healthy and growing.

- Uly is deep into the terrible twos.

- Our friend Whit died in prison on April 4.

So, that's my update. Expect more, and more real posts soon.

New Blog! New Site! New Address! Please Bookmark :)

2008-11-29T07:05:00.000-08:00

Our blogging at blogspot is history.

All the old posts have been ported and new posts will be posted at:

www.GoldAndLead.com

See ya there!

- Steve and Becky, Uly and Abby

Post-Turkey Day VBlog

2008-11-29T06:23:00.000-08:00

After we arrived in Berkeley it began to rain hard so we hitchhiked with another dad and son we met in downtown Berkeley to a child/parent activity center in NW Berkeley.

2008-11-01T17:55:00.001-07:00

After we arrived in Berkeley it began to rain hard so we hitchhiked with another dad and son we met in downtown Berkeley to a child/parent activity center in NW Berkeley.

It's nice though not as nice as a Hamilton County park space. Six rooms with a small jungle gym and slide, dollhouses, a concert area and dance space. $7 for EACH of us (!)

Anyway, we had fun. The place is like Adar care where you have to stay with your kid. It necessary I guess if you're isolated by your affluence. These people don't think of themselves as wealthy but then neither do we.

There's a party --octoberfest -- tonight at sojourners we'll try to attend.

We walked (Uly in the stroller) from the activity center after 2.75 hrs of play. MpStopped at nearby chipotle for late lunch at 1:30. Uly slept after that all the way thru a 1 hr walk in the rain and while I browsed at an electric car dealership.

We're kinds soggy now and riding the train to its southern terminus to pass some time before the party.

Steve Novotni

There's apparently wifi on the bart subway system.

2008-11-01T17:54:00.001-07:00

There's apparently wifi on the bart subway system.

It is rainy so Uly and I are riding the rails today and will do the circuit of the bay area. He's in the stroller since daddy needs a break from carrying him.

I'm writing this from my iPod. It's the handiest tool I've yet owned. A real pocket net device. Returns like mine run $170 on apple.com.

Were going very fast under the bay right now maybe 70 mph.

We're eating a bunch of grapes I bought in the Mission. Some folks on the train are drinking some bud light. Looks good.

Steve Novotni

In berkeley

2008-11-01T10:48:00.001-07:00

There's apparently wifi on the bart subway system.

Uly and I are riding the rails today and will do the circuit of the bay area. He's in the stroller since daddy needs a break from carrying him.

I'm writing this from my iPod. It's the handiest tool I've yet owned. A real pocket net device. Returns like mine run $170 on apple.com.

Were going very fast under the bay right now maybe70 mph.

We're eating a bunch of grapes I bought in the Mission. Some folks on the train are drinking some bud light. Looks good.

Steve Novotni

Fun and challenging trip

2008-11-01T08:42:00.001-07:00

Having a good time with a lot of challenges. We're here in SF from Oct 29 thru Nov 5.

The idea is to give Beck a baby free week before the new baby comes.

Halloween was cool. Uly met the girl of his dreams--she was dressed as the cookie monster. :)

He finally slept thru the night last night. He is doing well--not missing mom top much.

Steve Novotni

Flight delayed

2008-10-29T05:26:00.001-07:00

Stuck in Dayton til 10am

Plane had navigation issues.

Uly is ok for now.

New flight via Chicago united air

Expect 3pm SF arrival

Steve Novotni

Sanibel day four: Phillip K Dick

2008-09-30T18:37:00.000-07:00

I'm 120 pages deep into Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and I prefer the book to Blade Runner. I consider Blade Runner a brilliant cinematic work.

I'm spinning a bit on how my own books, many of them half or a quarter or even less begun, will emerge. I want to--must do these and I've let these strange children vacillate in the fridge for so long.

I feel that I'm at the height of my powers (so far) and if ever I was going to, it's now. Simultaneously, I have some doubts (plenty, really) on how I'll weave together a proper storyline. My imagination, verbal rendering ability and pluck are firing. My story structure needs some work. (and where to begin?)

One thing I've realized is that, no matter when I start working on a story or what good ideas I've forgotten, it's okay that some stories are lost. For every Uly, there were millions of other possible children, all wonderful, lovable and joys in their own right.

But they don't exist. He does. The same is true of artistic and literary work. The possibles could have been great, too. But only a few make it through and become Velveteen.

The constant in the works is me, and that's okay in and of itself.

We'll be passing back through Gainesville on the way home. I plan to stop there as I did in that dream that was part of the MLK story I'm developing.

David True - if you read this, thank you for giving me VALIS! (another PK Dick book and the first I had heard of this author.)

- Steve

Sanibel Island Vacation Day 2: The Island Cow, Ate Some Gator

2008-09-29T16:37:00.000-07:00

Sanibel Island Vacation Day 1: Caught three fish!

2008-09-28T17:17:00.000-07:00

Novotni Family VBlog Sept. 16

2008-09-16T07:43:00.000-07:00

Uly and Dad say hi, sing a song

2008-09-15T17:57:00.000-07:00

Columbus to Cincinnati by Bicycle

2008-09-06T20:02:00.000-07:00

Even after sleeping an indulgent 11 hours at the Holiday Inn, my joints felt rubbery. My riding buddy, Thurman Allen, a teacher at Mason High School, was worse off--he was only able to sleep about five hours and was considering whether or not to get someone to drive him back to Cincinnati. We had come 64 miles by bike from Columbus so far, arriving at Xenia Station, the hub of Southwestern Ohio’s network of bicycle trails.

I’ve planned to complete an inter-city ride for years, but this was the first time I actually felt prepared to see it through. I trained all summer long, logging 50-60 miles a week on my bicycle in urban Cincinnati. Thurman had completed several other long rides before this one. Our bikes, Gary Fisher and Trek hybrids, were in tune and loaded with gear. We had lights, mirrors, food, water and a repair kit.

The journey began just north of Ohio State University campus. We left around 6 a.m. on Saturday and spun through Columbus’ fun network of commuter trails to Route 40 (Broad Street). Rain poured the night before our ride, so there was a graciously thick fog shielding us from the sun.

We completed 30 miles of road riding—Columbus to West Jefferson along Route 40 and then south on Route 142 to the southern leg of the Ohio to Erie Trail in London. The bike trail is a paved road that’s limited to bikes and walkers and is more than 70 miles long, stretching from Newtown to London. When it’s completed it will offer nearly 300 miles of contiguous, car-free riding from the Ohio River to Lake Erie.

Two years ago I attempted this ride by way of Georgesville, using winding rural roads and a mountain bike and I didn’t make it past London. The difference was profound. Thurman and I covered the entire distance between Columbus and London in less than four hours. Last time it took more than ten.
Drivers were really well behaved along the route we took this time. Everyone got over for us as they passed and nobody was rude. The farmland was gorgeous, lush and green. Horses, cows and llamas studied us as we passed. We stopped at a hardware store to replace a lost bolt on Thurman’s bike and later at a large power line junction to listen to the crackling of the electricity extending into the humid air.

Thurman’s legs were screaming when we pulled into London and we should have taken the warning and stopped there. I wanted to eat at a local place instead of fast food, Thurman didn’t want to bother stopping for water and the next stop was just 13 miles away, so we rode on. He was pretty beat up and dehydrated by the time we entered South Charleston, and we took a long break for lunch at one of the town’s few restaurants, The Blue Point Café. A motorcyclist in London recommended the fare—huge burgers that rival a Chipotle burrito’s mass.

The 19 miles to Xenia were pleasant and scenic with a flat, open landscape. We rolled through Cedarville and passed what was apparently a cornhole tournament. I broke three spokes and my rear wheel and it wobbled badly as we approached the midway point of our trip, but we found a bike shop in Xenia (K&G Bike Center) open late on Saturday that patched me up.

Thurman didn’t bail on Sunday morning. He told me later that he didn’t want to let me down and it was guilt that kept him on track. We started back on the trail at 9:30 a.m. and stopped in Spring Valley (74 miles into the trip) to adjust our seats. Oregonia was next at mile 86. We stopped for drinks and lunch before moving on. The nicely shaded outdoor patio is terrific at the Little River Café, a destination for cyclists and bikers.

We found a swimming hole in the Little Miami River at 91 miles into the trip and I dove in to cool off. The water was freezing, but still refreshing. The river was filled with canoes. Kids climbed an old tree hanging over the water, dropping 15 feet to make a splash below.

It was almost 3:30 p.m. and at mile 107 when we arrived in Loveland’s Nisbet Park, which is what most folks think of when you talk about the bike trail. The trail between here and Xenia has more trees than up north, so it’s always cool, even on very hot days. I was relieved to be so close to home and ready to finish. My rear was getting really sore and my hands were shaky, but I felt really alive—hyperaware and my senses keen.

Thurman and I jumped off the trail just south of there, heading through Indian Hill, Madeira and Kenwood before we reached home.

We covered a total of 124 miles on our excursion. My head reeled with images of the trip and I spent an hour or more silently studying shapes and light as I came down from the high of what we’d just done. Traveling this way impressed upon me how much energy it really takes to get from one point to another. It was incredibly rewarding and I’m looking forward to the ride to Lake Erie.

- Stephen Carter-Novotni

Renting out our West Side house

2008-08-18T09:33:00.000-07:00

Our current tenant has found a new space that fits him better so we're renting out Coronado.

I placed a simple ad on Craigslist for it—550 a month, noting all the amenities and that we wanted to do a six month lease since we want to sell it.

I asked folks to respond with a telephone number.

Responses without phone numbers are getting deleted.

Responses in all caps get deleted.

People emailing me from professional looking email accounts (ie Joan.Crawford@mgm.com) get called back before emails from silly named accounts (ie macdaddypimp@squaredance.com)

- Steve

Just for the record...

2008-07-05T13:41:00.000-07:00

Mullets suck. They always did.

People who wear them look like they have a nasty, phallic helmet on their heads.

I had a friend who said, "They were cool in the '80's."

No, Andy. They were not. And unfortunately, neither were you.

Steve

God's Wrath

2008-06-19T09:50:00.000-07:00

Civil is not religious and religious is not civil. Let's end civil marriage all together and have civil unions all around.

All these people want are:
- inheritance rights
- rights to visit their partner in the hospital
- benefits

Why should they be denied these things? I don't think gay's are morally wrong. You do. Well, there's plenty of things that I think are wrong but are legal (adultery for one). If you believe gay marriage is wrong and should be discouraged by the law then so much more so with regard to adultery (far more common that practicing gays). But the conservatives won't do that. Too close to home.

Here are some thoughts on this issue from CityBeat's John Fox:

If Republicans or any lawmakers were truly serious about the institution of marriage, they'd take one or all of these actions: make divorce illegal across the country, make adultery a crime, ideally a felony, and require a test of some sort in order for people to obtain a marriage license.

If you knew going into a marriage that you'd have to study how to be a proper spouse in order to pass a licensing test (like you do to get a driver's license), that you'd never be able to get divorced and that you'd go to prison if you cheated on your spouse, well, the institution of marriage would have some pretty dedicated members. It'd be as solid as the Marine Corps.

I think this sums up my feelings on the whole issue about Katrina/Nat Disasters and God's wrath:

From Dan Savage:

Homos are marrying in California as of this week (congrats to all), and should a tornado—or an earthquake or a meteor or the Incredible Hulk—flatten, say, San Francisco's City Hall during a big gay wedding, respected leaders of the religious right will rush to cable broadcast studios to insist that the tornado/earthquake/meteor/Hulk was God's divine judgment, His righteous wrath, the Baby Jesus's latest temper tantrum, wocka wocka wocka.

"I believe that the judgment of God is a very real thing," said the Rev. John Hagee, John McCain's ex-BFF, when asked about Hurricane Katrina, which struck New Orleans just before a "massive homosexual rally," aka an annual street party called "Southern Decadence," was supposed to take place in the French Quarter. "I believe that the Bible teaches that when you violate the law of God, that God brings punishment sometimes before the day of judgment. And I believe that Hurricane Katrina was, in fact, the judgment of God against the city of New Orleans."

And God got his way: By drowning little old ladies in attics in the Ninth Ward, God prevented that massive gay rally—for one year.

So how does a douchebag like Hagee explain away the tragedy in Iowa last week? A tornado struck a Boy Scout camp, killing four and injuring scores more, and the Scouts are famously antigay and antiatheist. Well, we need only to consult the same interview with Rev. Hagee to learn the answer: While all natural phenomena represent God's "permissible will," says Hagee, "it is wrong to say that every natural disaster is the result of sin... No man on Earth knows the mind of God."

See how that works? Not every natural disaster is the result of sin, you see, because sometimes natural disasters happen to us, not just to them, and when they happen to us, well, the Lord sure moves in mysterious ways, and no man on Earth knows the mind of God. But let a natural disaster strike San Francisco this week, next week, or ever again, and Rev. Hagee will be able to read the mind of God like it was a large-print edition of Highlights for Children.

Busiest time of my life

2008-06-19T09:39:00.000-07:00

So it feels these days.

There's little time for niceties, chit chat and laziness that are some of the best parts of summer, but that's okay. We're moving right along.

First, my leg is nearly healed. I rode 10 miles yesterday in an hour (ten urban miles) and I feel good about the progress. There's a bit of wincing pain but not much. Work on the houses continues. We have a new door, new paint and this weekend I'll be sanding the floor and putting in new bath and kitchen cabinets.

Uly is well. Speaking in short sentences and happy.

Favorite Uly-isms:
Penny and all coins = "Piggy"
Breadmaker = "Mokoko"
Strawberry = "Baybabay"

He won't be a baby for long.

Steve

Grisly Discovery

2008-06-16T12:27:00.000-07:00

... though it's not that grisly.

Broken femur. I think this doe was hit by a car and hobbled up to Dad's farm where it died.

- Steve

New Baby on the way; Farming; Busted Knee

2008-05-28T05:59:00.000-07:00

I have a great many things to report and much work to do, so I'll get right to it:

Becky and I are expecting our second child in January. We're really excited and have repeatedly asked Uly if he'd be willing to change the baby's diaper. He says, "No," and laughs his head off.

We are moving forward to obtain my father's farm in Northern Kentucky. That's exciting, too. Pictures are forthcoming.

I damaged my knee last week by falling between a dumpster and a wall at the Rumpke dump in Butler, KY. I most likely damaged my MCL. More on that here.

We are remodeling our apartment in Norwood and expect to have the work underway this week. Photos on that are forthcoming, too.

Steve

Meter Reading, sunny day, aggressive swans

2008-05-06T11:39:00.000-07:00

Today has been fairly uneventful. Becky and I have been reading water meters today. It's a pretty decent side gig and we end up being able to pay our mortgage off of a few (or four) days work. (don't be too impressed. That's a Cincinnati mortgage!) Drawbacks are that it's a really hot job in the Summer and bitter cold in the dead of winter. Today, however, was a perfect day to be doing it. Sunny and warm, but just enough so that we could feel the warmth of the rays. I think it's warmer now than it has been in recent years past. The sun seemed more powerful for May than I remember. Then again, I was listening to Al Gore on the radio. Perception or actuality?

Global warming naysayers claim that their winter was plenty cold or their summer days are plenty hot. That's like saying there's no hunger in the world just because you just ate a big mac. Silly.

One hazard of meter reading is the bird populations. Swans, geese and ducks are all over the properties and are very protective of their young. I don't blame them, but I do have to run from them some times. Swans are huge birds, btw!

Steve

Car died, more hitchhiking

2008-05-06T06:54:00.000-07:00

The idiot lights on the brown dog (my 92 corolla) didn't work and, sadly, during a 2-hour drive the engine overheated. It threw a rod.

I broke down in Columbus IN and had to hitch 150 miles home. It wasn't too hard. I asked folks at gas stations (four different stations and rides) if they were going my way and it got me all the way to 275 and winton. Muni hitching is harder so I got a ride home from my mother-in-law.

I ended up selling the rolla's carcass for $75.

Anyway, it's alright. We still have the 91 camry and that runs very well.

Steve

Getting reacquainted

2008-03-29T02:45:00.000-07:00

We reconnected with folks this week. My brother Robert was in town last weekend with his family. Adam and Laura met us this week, too and I saw my cousin Joe for the first time in maybe six or seven years.

You'll notice in the stories that I'm telling here that I'm withholding a bit. It's not for tax purposes. While I like to tell a lot about my personal life on here, I know that not everyone does. I try and respect other people's privacy while telling my story.

Robert was in town for work on our father's estate. That's progressing. There was a tree (two trees?) on the land that had root rot. At least that's how I've defined it. These two trees were apparently (meaning as far as I can tell and I know little about trees) some sort of pine trees and joined at the roots. They were tall — 40+ feet — and joined at the base so that they made, when they were healthy, a narrow "V". Anyway, one of these two started to lean before Dad died. I don't know how long. As of last week this one leaned over from vertical to maybe 30 degrees from vertical. Significant and I started to worry about the house and it hitting someone. Sometime earlier this week it fell over, killing another tree and flattening a section of fence. I'm happy to report that no people or things I cared about were harmed in the creation of this blog post or the falling of this tree. On Thursday I chopped down the companion tree. It took me almost two hours and my hands are still sore. Very satisfying, though.

Adam and Laura had chocolate and wine with us this week. These are our old friends (I've known Adam since high school) who moved to Raleigh NC last year. They looked well and we had a good time catching up. Uly warmed up to both of them.

My cousin Joe from Las Vegas was in town this week and I introduced him to Uly over at my Grandma's. It was good seeing him. We have nearly polar opposite political views on many things, but I can honestly say that he discussed these things as a gentleman without getting riled. Not everyone can do that. It sounds like he's having a good time with his family - his wife and two boys - and has his hands full, too.

There are two photos of my dad attached to this post. One is a photo from when he was a baby. I think he looks a lot like Ul.

- Steve

Earache Day Three

2008-03-18T21:42:00.000-07:00

I slept a few hours last night. The pain came back today and spiked high just before dinner. Less congestion, but what's there packs a whallup. (SP?)

Saw my primary physician today and got some antibiotics. Horse pills. Amoxicillan 875mg. Feeling stable and just discomfort now. Bed at 1:30am.

Saw Oceans 11 and 13. 13 sucks.

Steve

Ear clog part 2

2008-03-18T00:32:00.000-07:00

3:30 a.m. and the blockage is moving very slowly.

More pink stuff.

Using a humidifier to help open up.

Steve

Terrible clogged eustation tube and what I did about it

2008-03-17T23:19:00.000-07:00

Damn. I really screwed up.

You may have heard me raving about the wonders of the Neti Pot. This is the pitcher that is used to pour salt water into the nostrils and clean the sinuses. Sweet! How awesome. Does what modern science can't! Well, I modded this techniqe, using a squeeze bottle and a snub nose with a one way valve. If pouring is good, pressure washing is better, so I reasoned.

Well, for the past day and a half I've had clogged ears. The left got especially bad today. Painful earache and I was convinced that I had air trapped by mucous. Then I bent over and got a bad headrush (earrush?) Air doesn't do that. water does. It was water! I forced water into my eustation tube and it's stuck!

The phrase, "Only the penitent man shall pass" came to mind and I am in my office bowing in a variety of angles to drain the slop from my tubes. Some greenish yellow and pinkish stuff has come out. It's working, but slowly.

2:30am

Steve

Almost 200 posts in four years

2008-02-11T14:48:00.000-08:00

Really, it's been just under four years since we started this blog. 50 bits of stories each year for that long. What is it that makes up a life, anyway? Are most moments dull and drab and just a handful are worthy of telling about? Is it just how we see them?

These are questions that I have. I've also wondered if, when I'm writing, I'm missing out on living. One thing I am sure of, after asking these questions for two decades (that's about how long it's been since I was sixteen!) is that I spend too much time on surfing crap on the web, hanging out and (most of this next one is past tense) inebriated to worry about the entirely constructive activity of writing.

Dying to tell. That was what Mark Flanigan called this drive. Driven by it and away from it. The muse is a fickle mistress.

- Steve

Got Milp?

2008-02-05T08:40:00.000-08:00

So I'm getting out of the shower and Uly sees a pimple on my side and asks, "Milp?"

Then he points to my nipple and asks, "Milp?"

And I smirked and said, "Sure baby, come here and nurse from Daddy."

He looked disgusted and shook his head and ran away.

:)

- Steve

Floor Sanding, Home Stretch On Remodel

2008-01-28T20:31:00.000-08:00

Attached to this post are a few pictures, before and in-process of the work I've been doing on the floors at Mom's house. The wood floor - Maple I think - was pretty beat up. After working with Jim to fill in all the cracks in the walls and ceiling, repaint the ceilings, walls and trim, I'm now working on the floors.

Getting this floor refinishing job professionally done would have been more than $2500, My cost is around $500 in materials and about 40 hours labor. Not bad!

I rented a drum type floor sander from Schulhoff tool rental in Walnut Hills ($30) and bought sandpaper - 36 and 80 grit, 20 sheets each ($50). The sander is like a lawn mower with a cord that you pull backwards. It's very heavy and it is physically taxing work, but not at all hard to get the hang of. As a novice, I learned how to handle the machine in just half an hour, without doing any damage of note to the floors. You can gouge it if it stays in one place too long. The keys are 1)keep moving 2)work with the grain and 3) Change your paper often. I did two rough sands and one fine sand and it looks great. Photos of that later this week. There are lots of guides online. This would make someone a terrific side business. Wear a respirator, spend a few thousand on the tools and you could make cash hand over fist, I think.

I'm working with my friend Dan tomorrow morning to do the edging.

- Steve

A happy post in a sad week

2008-01-15T20:56:00.000-08:00

The 1992 Toyota Corolla base model is the medium brown dog of cars, a true bastion of mediocrity. It was exactly what we wanted, a $425, 200,000 miles on the odo replacement for our 2004 Toyota Camry V6 LE with 39,000 miles on the clock.

I inherited the Camry from mom. It was the nicest car I ever owned. It was hard to let it go, but we did, for $12,500. The day after I sold it, I sat down and paid $6,500 in bills. The IRS, student loans, the tax bill on my mom's house and more. All paid. It felt damn good. Better than a vacation. Better than a massage. The brown dog runs great and we're very happy with scaling down. I do have to say I miss keyless entry. 33mpg will make up for it.

Steve

Dad died.

2008-01-14T02:46:00.000-08:00

My father died last week. We're working out plans for his cremation and a memorial service. It will most likely be on Wednesday.

It was sudden, of illness he had for a long time.

More on this soon.

Steve

NICE photos from the Ferrell's NYE party

2008-01-02T08:16:00.000-08:00

Less than nice photos are posted below.

Just a quick caveat before anyone blows a cork

2008-01-02T08:05:00.000-08:00

The following photos were all taken in good fun and I mean well. Don't look if you don't want to see some of my friends making obscene gestures.

- Steve

Dangerous pictures below this point.

I warned you.

Last set

2008-01-02T07:53:00.000-08:00

2008-01-02T07:49:00.000-08:00

More NYE party pics

2008-01-02T07:47:00.001-08:00

Greetings from the Ferrell's New Year's Eve Party

2008-01-02T07:41:00.001-08:00

I love my friends. ;)

Contract renegotiations and more

2008-01-02T07:19:00.000-08:00

I'm in the midst of craptastic contract negotiations today on my side job. I hate haggling over money, but the cost of living has increased. I asked for 15 percent and was offered 7.5 percent, but only if I accept paypal payments. Paypal takes about 3 percent, so accepting means I get 1/3 of what I wanted. Refusing means maybe walking. We'll see.

Well, I'm glad that today's the day we brought the car to Kevin's shop. He's fixing some scratches and chips in the paint so that we can sell it. It's a really nice car, we know. It would last us forever, but if we had $13,000 sitting around, we wouldn't spend all of it on this car. So that's why we're doing it. Also, both houses 1114 (my mom's) and 1746 (ours) need work - furnaces, floor sanding and maybe a roof. You can do the math. We could buy an older car and have capitol to get a lot done. My work still does not require a vehicle and I don't expect that it will.

Countercultural aspects of car withdrawl
I have felt a good deal of popular resistance to the possibility of us going carless. Some folks hate the idea even though 1) we're just considering a carless life, though we'd like to do so pretty much for sure one day and 2) we're not asking anyone else to do the same thing. I have encountered some shock and even a little hostility at the mention. a - d - d - i - c - t - i - o - n.

related anecdote
During the '04 elections I was running a bit one night with Justin Jeffre (of boyband 98 degrees fame) and some woman was way into him and he wasn't so into her. She asked excitedly if he and I watched the Daily Show together and I told her, "I don't have a tv. I got rid of it years ago."

"What?!"

"I got rid of it. I don't watch television."

She shrieked, "Oh my god!" She turned on a tack and was gone.

- Steve

Christmas eve eve

2007-12-23T05:57:00.000-08:00

The first two days of work on Mom's old house are behind us. Jimmy (Beck's dad) and I worked Friday and Saturday and got most of the repairs and painting done in the living and dining rooms.
Jim will be moving in on the second week of January. The house is going to look pretty good. We still have to take care of the furnace issue, and that's going to be expensive.
There are still a few things up in the air today about what we'll be doing this week. I know that we're having dinner tonight with Mary Ellen and Ben and maybe that's enough.
Listening to Scott Joplin today (now). I heard a bunch of his music interpreted by another musician this week on old tape reels. I bought a $10 reel to reel player/recorder so I could transfer some old interviews. So today I downloaded a bunch of Joplin's music and I'm listening to it now. I think he plays too fast. The arrangements I heard seemed smoother. Tape has a warmth to it, too, that doesn't seem to be duplicated by mp3. I won't be switching back, I'm just saying.

One other thing. I'd like to show off our Christmas photo. I kept taking good pictures of Uly and Beck where I looked bad or good pics of me where they didn't look so hot. Anyway, I photo shopped the picture above, cribbing from two other pictures. I bet you can't see the cutline - it runs around the left side of Beck's head and through her shirt. The originals are shown in black and white.

Could I see a show of comments so I know who listens to me ramble? Just curious.

Steve

It's all pretty much the same to me

2007-12-20T07:54:00.000-08:00

I try to be no more a connoisseur than I am a fetishist. By that, I mean that cheap coffee is okay by me (at least the taste is, though I try and support fair trade products when possible. I'm just using this as an example, okay?) and so is cheap bourbon (there again, though, I have more or less given up drinking, so this is just an example). Likewise, a holiday is pretty much the same as another day to me, with the exceptions of time off for reflection and meeting with family and friends. I don't like the idea of fetishizing days of the year. We should behave one way, decently, all year round. I'm writing all this to say that I've had the sense from some people I know that they think I might be down because this is the first holiday without Mom. And, that's only true - it being harder around the holidays - if I thought better of those days than I do others. Which I do not.

- Steve

Christmas cards from the edge

2007-12-18T20:48:00.000-08:00

Becky and I were writing out and addressing Christmas cards tonight. (Oh, we're running soooo late!) We ran out of cards three-fourths of the way though and I went downstairs to my desk in the basement to find more blank cards.

First stack was some large promo envelope full of cards from the Abbey at Yalta or something and promised a mass in the name of the receiver. Not interested in promoting these folks in so shameless a way, so I threw that out.

Next was a box marked, "Traditional Assortment," and I thought that sounded fine. I start perusing this assortment and find cards that are sealed in envelopes and stamped, with addresses on them. Eleven of them. They use 33 cent stamps. Two of the intended recipients are dead, so I open those and I wince, sweetly, at seeing Mom's signature for herself and her dog Gussie (a rendering of his pawprint). These were cards she wrote and never sent. One was to my uncle Mike when he still lived in Cincinnati which I think was more than five years ago. (Mike and Sharon, how long ago was that?)

The impact — I'm paraphrasing something I heard recently — was difficult to speak of. The unexpected, improbable, impossible artifact of my mother's life was a meteorite and it was charged with symbols. I decided to disperse it. I decided that I should send the remaining nine and I left them as they were, in the envelopes with Mom's return address and wrote this brief note:

I just found this. It was sealed. - Steve 12/07 (and then my phone number)

One more set of Christmas cards. Mom loved Christmas. :)

- Steve

I am legend and how to pirate a movie, overcoming security detail

2007-12-11T19:20:00.000-08:00

Not me - Will Smith is, or at least that's the title of his new movie.

I saw it tonight and the line stretched on for quite a ways. I was surprised that so many were trying to get into the sneak preview. If we hadn't come so early, we (Jimmy, the father in law, Bill Williams and Thurman) may not have gotten a seat. At least not a good one. Bill likes down in front and that's always (really) fine by me.

There was security using metal detector wands and bag searches for cameras to prevent piracy. It occurred to me that there was an easy way around this. They don't search popcorn. Go to a movie at the target theatre, get a bag of popcorn and take the bag home. Put your video cam rig in the bag with the lcd screen pointed up. Make a false bottom above the cam and put a plexi window in it. Take this in a bag (like a purse or something fabric) to the theatre on the night of your target film's preview and buy another bag of popcorn. Go to the john, into a stall and close the door. Pour the new bag into the old bag and throw out the overage popcorn. Fold up the new bag for use next time. (Don't waste. Recycle! Reuse!) Toss the throwaway cloth bag or fold it up (better). Get in line and they'll look you over but not your grub. Go in and tear open a window for the lens to see and point it at the screen. Eat away the popcorn on top so you can see the viewfinder. Film the movie onto your dv cam and then stow the rig in the fabric bag and leave. Anyway, if I cared to make a living this way, it should work. How much money can you make at this anyway?

The film was jarring. Lots of good scares and shocks. I was glad to see downbeats in the resolution and in the core of the flick and Smith was good, but the film suffers from poor cg animation. Better that the monsters were unseen as to be seen in such a state. Good solo acting by Smith, but mediocre ensemble play. C+.

Steve

Our family media library

2007-11-11T17:44:00.000-08:00

My work on our family media library continues. What follows is the manifest that I'm drafting of the stuff I've recovered and digitized. Pretty substantial so far.

This is a list of the known contents of the Novotni Family Media Library, as compiled digitally by Steve Carter-Novotni.

You can read a more descriptive tale of my archiving journey Monday on the Renewal Blog.

Audio Recordings:
Christmas 1979
Fr Kennedy 3-20-00 and sojourners
Fr Kennedy 3-20-00
Fr Kennedy 2-7-00
Hazel, Ethel Steve
Novotni Family Christmas 1975
Steve and Carol Novotni 1978 (1)
Steve and Carol Novotni 1978 (2)
Steve and Carol Novotni spring/july 1978
20000327_frkennedy
Rebecca Carter album 1997 1
Rebecca Carter album 1997 2
Rebecca Carter album 1997 3
Rebecca Carter album 1997 4
Rebecca Carter album 1997 5
Rebecca Carter album 1997 6
Rebecca Carter album 1997 7
Rebecca Carter album 1997 8
Steve Novotni Feb 19, 1982
Steve Novotni Feb 19, 1982 pt2
Renewal Podcast Pilot
Cyndi Lauper Interview
Hazel Novotni 10-23-07
Hazel Novotni 4-19-07
Hazel Novotni 4-21-07
Hazel Novotni 10-2-07
Hazel Novotni 10-10-07
Hazel Novotni 10-17-07
How Mom Died Recorded Cut
Novotni Family 1976
Tori Amos Interview 1
Tori Amos Interview 2
XRay Magazine Ad – May 28, 2003
BOC interview snippet 1999
2007october Uly, Becky and Steve
mother superior - wrok on end
Journal 1998
Henry Rollins Interview

... more are coming. I'll podcast some of them before the new year. Stay tuned.

- Steve

Quick update

2007-11-11T13:43:00.001-08:00

The photos don't have a whole lot to do with this post, but I wanted to share them anyway.

Uly can be quite ornery around bath time and my grandma is still raking and mowing her yard at 87-years-old. That's all these are meant to illustrate.

In other news, my immune system worked really well this week as I miraculously avoided the flu despite Uly and Becky having a case of it. We've kept away from Grandma this week because of that. Uly likes raw green peppers as snacks. He's on his third this week.

More substantive stuff soon.

- Steve

Coming out of a funk

2007-10-14T09:25:00.000-07:00

I just finished wrestling the boy into and out of the bath tub. What a crab he's been today. I haven't been a whole lot better. I had a restless night's sleep - paranoia induced, I think, from my recent haunted house binge.

I've been working to organize the huge pool of writing, pictures and recordings I have made as well those I inherited from Mom. I'm going to make some serious attempts at trying to finish the fiction that's been burning holes in my mind and getting this stuff published. Time isn't going to slow down anytime soon, so I better speed up.

There are worse problems in life to have than too much to get done. Having nothing to do is a far worse fate.

Steve

Warm Indian Summer

2007-10-03T10:15:00.000-07:00

It's pretty warm for Fall. The temperature will be in the 80s this week. With any luck, Becky and I will visit the lake again before it gets too cold.

The temp has gone down enough that I traded an old lcd monitor for a full face helmet for moto riding. I have a nice black helmet with four vents and a clear visor from a guy whose fiance told him getting rid of his bike was a condition on them getting married.

I recorded my first Renewal podcast and I'm waiting for editorial approval to post the goods.

More soon.

Steve

Uly and Aunt Sarah

2007-08-18T09:44:00.001-07:00

Uly's Cosi Adventure

2007-08-18T09:39:00.000-07:00

We took Uly to visit the Center Of Science and Industry (COSI) in Columbus last weekend.

We had a great time. There's a whole section that's just for little kids to explore. The photos are of Uly at the water exploration table and hangin' with his aunt Sarah.

- Steve

Weekend house cleaning

2007-08-11T20:30:00.000-07:00

That's what we're working on tonight.

I was thinking tonight about how so much creative work - art - music - writing is done before folks reach 30. (I think it is anyway). Younger creatives aren't tethered by so much junk.

I want to free myself of the bonds of an old magazine rack, a suitcase I've never used and so much paper. They don't look too tough, but they sure can grapple.

How Mom Died Part 4

2007-07-25T19:34:00.000-07:00

The voice on the answering machine was halting. The message was short. Her messages had been getting more so every time she called. This one was the last.

The doctors had it in mind that they’d move her to Good Samaritan Hospital in Clifton. Different dialysis there – something – it wasn’t altogether clear to me.

“But – it’s probably – not going to work. It’s going too fast.”

I listened to that message several times after Mom’s death. I saved three or more others, too. It was like the friends who would call her machine a week or more after she died just to hear the message, but her voice was stronger on those. Uly likes to play with the machine and deleted these calls months later. Beck felt bad for letting him, but I think he did me a favor. That’s not the moment I’d like to relive, is it?

It was 9 a.m. when I sent the following letter to a handful of friends as a small update on what was going on with Mom. I don’t recall which six, but I guess you know who you are. It was just an hour or so after writing this that I received Mom's last phone call, asking me to come to the hospital.

~ ~ ~

Dear Friends:

This is going out to a handful of folks (like six) that I wanted to keep updated on my mom's condition and what's going on with my family. I thought that I'd keep track of my thoughts on this and share them with you in the email as, I guess, this is a bit too personal for the blog.

Steve

My mom has been looking progressively worse when I've seen her. It's not that there aren't parts of this stream that double back - she was in reasonably good spirits on Saturday night - but it seems to keep moving forward.

Mom - Carol to the rest of you - has stage four adenocarcinoma. Four out of five. I'm making the distinction because it seems that there are two ways of scoring cancer - 0-4 or 1-5 and a bunch of substages within. I don't know which substage her cancer is in. Suffice to say that she's pretty sick and could die tomorrow or could get a few more years. I don't think she'll get another decade, but one can hope. I guess I'll take whatever I can get and she will, too. Right now I'd be really happy if she lives to see Uly's first birthday. She deserves to hear him say, "Grandma."

Mom has been sick now for about a month. Rather, I should say, the cancer has been recognized for that long. She admitted herself to the hospital a month ago because she had a blood clot in her leg. While in the hospital for the clot, the doctors found that her kidneys and liver were operating at about 60 percent capacity. They thought this was due to blood pressure. Mom also had six liters of fluid in her abdomen. This was the reason she had been out of breath and had trouble eating in recent weeks. They drew out the fluid with a needle. (Her friend Mary called this, "Tapping the keg.") The fluid had cancer cells in it.

Mom told me she cried when she first heard the word. It took her several tries to be able to say it and several more days before she would tell me and Becky. "I didn't want to tell you this over the phone..." But, she told us, she was going to do whatever the doctor said and she wasn't afraid to die.

Mom left the hospital last week and had a difficult time at home. A hospital bed in the living room, a new lift chair and help of friends was not enough to keep her at home. She was too weak to get around - even around the house, so she checked herself back into the hospital on Friday.

The cancer is probably ovarian, but testing continues. It is being treated with Taxol, which is the strongest chemotherapy drug they have. She had one treatment on Friday. I went to see her that day and she looked very weak. She couldn't get out of bed. I felt that she might die that day. My feelings may or may not correspond to reality and in this case, they didn't. When I visited her on Saturday she was still very weak, but in reasonably good spirits.

Mom told me that she loved me and Becky and Uly and that, again, she wasn't afraid of death, but wanted to live. She expressed some regret over some of her choices, but overall she was at peace. I spent two hours with her, showing her photos of Uly and telling her stories. She laughed a couple of times. When I left I felt renewed hope. We could hear another patient screaming nearby. My mom told me that she didn't feel that way. She was uncomfortable, but not in pain.

The pain came last night. Becky and I went to see Mom, who hadn't slept since before I saw her on Saturday. It sounded like she'd been up for 36 hours. She was in pain. More fluid in her abdomen, pressing against her ribs, lungs and organs. They finally gave her some morphine and she slept. She's sleeping now. Her blood pressure was low yesterday - 95 over 43 or something like that.

I called this morning. She was stable and asleep, which is why I'm here writing instead of there. More later.

Steve

~ ~ ~

I remember putting my contacts in before I left and taking a shower, trying to look my best. I didn’t want to wear glasses. I wanted to see Mom with my own eyes.

Becky and I went together. It was around 11 in the morning. There’s a lot of this that reminds me of the birth: The labor began early in the morning, too, and we ended up at the hospital, surrounded by doctors, though, ultimately, the events would be decided by Becky’s body, not the medical professionals. That’s kind of what happened with Mom, too. A bunch of us surrounded her and stayed with her through the night as she gave birth to her soul.

When we arrived at Mercy West – it used to be called St. Francis - the task seemed to be mitigating the damage to Mom’s body. But really, it was more of that bargaining down.

Her blood pressure was dangerously low – 60 over 40? – it was something like that. This was only with the help of powerful vasoconstrictors that were wrenching her extremities like vices to force the blood back to the heart. Her kidneys were barely operating – in the time we were with her – more than 17 hours – she may have passed as little as 20 ounces of urine. Maybe less. Her body couldn’t take traditional dialysis and so they could only offer a little bit of traditional dialysis at a time. That was why the doctors wanted to move her to Good Sam. That hospital had a slow dialysis machine that could clean her blood over the course of days. The fluid backed up into her abdomen. I recall hearing someone speculate that she might have 12 liters in her abdomen at that time, which constricted her organs and made it hard to breathe. She also sounded as if she had pneumonia or a bad flu – I think her lungs were hemorrhaging from the fluid backup. I’ll explain why I think this later. When it came down to it, all they could do was administer a morphine drip to dull the building pain and discomfort.

And all of this, I discovered over the course of the day, slowly. I took notes, I asked questions and repeated back what I understood them to say, but it all came down to what one of her doctors, an Asian man with large hands and high cheekbones, told me: “Your mother is very sick. There aren’t good choices, only bad and worse.” He moves his hands while saying this, palms open, one taking while the other gives to illustrate the dilemma of robbing Peter to pay Paul. Her body was bankrupt. There wasn’t anything to move.

Black holes are good pivots in science fiction tales because they’re stand-ins for death. Nothing escapes. Nothing is known about what happens on the other side (if there is another side) The event horizon of Mom’s demise was looming. That’s how it all felt. Walls closing in and all that. It was like the reality of it all was a funnel.

Mom was clear in the head for a while. Most of the day. She welcomed a dozen or more friends who came to visit. She smiled and was happy to see them. Becky noted how hospitable and friendly she was right on through the end. My instinct, when they first came, was to follow along with the doctors, telling them no, I’m sorry, she’s just too weak and tired for visitors. But it was too late for that sentiment. That’s for someone who is trying to recover. That wasn’t what Mom was trying to do.

Our friends in San Francisco lost their friend, Jack, a few years ago. One of them said, quoting Jack, “A peaceful death is highly underrated.” I understand that now.

A kind Sister came and brought Mom her Living Will, naming me as the person to decide her fate, after Grandma. She brought mom a brown prayer shawl and told her that March 19 was the Feast of St. Joseph. Mom was excited in that childlike way.

“It is?!” She smiled. “St. Joseph is going to help me through this.”

The Sister told me that she had never seen anyone so prepared to go as Mom. That her happiness was amazing. This was from someone who watched people die every day.

In more difficult times, Mom repeated, breathlessly, “Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy,” which I took to be moments of excruciating pain – when I might have been cursing. I read later that this is actually a common prayer, one for centering.

The floor we were on was intensive care. We were surrounded by other cells with people dying or nearly so and so many were alone. This struck Becky and me as we were there. I remember an old man moaning one door over.

It became dark and rain was pouring. The finality of the day became clear to me over dinner with Becky. It was so gray in the cafeteria, so dark outside. Beck recently reminded me about the patron saints pictured in that cafeteria. I liked that. Not just some sailboat or barn, but a real picture – one of them was Martin Luther King – the same image that hangs in the kitchen of Emmanuel House in Memphis, the Catholic Worker House I visited in January, when Mom watched Uly for us. So many little strings that connect one time to another.

When we returned to the room the dialysis had begun. They had laced Mom with a half-dozen new wires and tubes and needles pierced her above her right breast, siphoning tainted blood and returning it clean. I remember asking her if she was sure she wanted to do this and she said yes. I thought less of that choice when I saw her there, softly sighing as her blood was pulled like taffy.

Her nurse, when pressed, explained that the best that could be done for Mom was to keep her in a feedback loop. The slow dialysis would extend her life, but what sort of life? One where morphine is needed constantly. She told me, if it were her mom, she’d let her go.

I called Dad, Mom’s best friend Mary, Mom’s brother Mike and Grandma called Mom’s brother Johnny. They raced to get there from Northern Kentucky, Dayton, Kansas and Nevada, respectively. Mary told me to tell Mom that she, “better God damn well not go anywhere until Mary gets there!” And I said this, in front of that kindly Sister and a priest. Mary told me she wanted Mom laughing at this. I think Mom cracked a winced smile. The priest just shrugged.

There was business to be done.

I tried explaining to Grandma what it would mean, withholding the blood pressure drugs and why I thought it was right, but she could only see what I was suggesting as assisted suicide.

“I can’t do that,” she insisted, tears streaming, “I don’t believe in that sort of thing, Stephen.”

And, who could blame her. She was the primary named on the Living Will, but this was also her daughter. There could be no interpretation of Mom’s wishes through the lens of this day, not for Grandma, so I asked Mom next.

I explained it to her – the futility of the treatment – twice. And she said, “I don’t know, Stephen. Ask Grandma. Ask her what to do.”

So, it was down to me, the seed sown to me.

I asked Adam to come to the hospital to help with the baby. The following is his account of what happened next.

~ ~ ~

April 17, 2007
So is Carol Novotni Entitled this way because it is following a piece entitled, “Kurt Vonnegut is Dead”)

Steve asked me to write out my experience of the recent death of his mother, Carol.

I had indicated to him that, on the night before her death, when I was summoned to the hospital to help Uly-wrangle, that I had felt like I was there as a witness. I wasn't quite a participant, but I felt like I saw important things, and said so. Steve wants a record, and not just from his perspective.

I asked how he wanted it written. He said however it felt right to me. So here goes...

9:30 on a Monday night, a couple of weeks ago, the phone rings. Laura's already in bed and I'm just waiting for the laundry to finish so I can get it started drying. Steve's on the phone.

[Background: Carol has been rapidly declining since a diagnosis of cancer only a few weeks before. Steve has been stoic, realistic, worried but focused.]

They're at the hospital and Carol is fast failing. Steve asks me to come help with the baby while they figure out what to do. I tell Laura what's going on and head out. It's a misty, warmish March night and I head for the West Side, wondering distractedly what kind of music is appropriate to listen to on the car stereo. I leave the current mix in and skip the songs that are too upbeat. John Lennon's "Watching the Wheels" and Semisonic's "Closing Time" take me most of the way.

It's past visiting hours, so I have to call Security to be let in through the ER. The guard is very nice and directs me up to ICU.

I can hear Uly wailing when I get off the elevator and follow the noise to the ICU waiting room. When I arrive, Carol's friend Paula is alone with Uly in the waiting room. I quickly introduce myself and take Uly from her and try walking him around. He quiets for a moment as he adjusts to the new person, but decides he's having none of it and resumes his screaming. Paula and I make nervous small talk.

Becky is the first one to come out. She greets me warmly, thanking me for coming, and takes Uly to feed him, which she says is the only way to pacify him (she's right). Carol's best friend Mary and her daughter Jenny arrive shortly thereafter, and then Steve comes out into the waiting room (Paula heads back to be with Carol). I give Steve a big hug and he fills us in on the situation: Carol is failing rapidly. Fluid buildup from the cancer has shut down her kidneys and is smothering her lungs. She's too weak for conventional dialysis - powerful blood pressure medication is the only thing keeping her heart rate up. They could transport her to Good Sam for a super-slow version of dialysis (which would last the whole week), but there's no hope of recovery at this point. Steve feels strongly that since Carol requested that no heroic measures be taken to prolong her life that the time will shortly come to take away the medication and let her pass peacefully. Steve is focused, matter-of-fact. I can practically see the emotion building, like flood water behind a dam, but he is in control. He wants to have a discussion with the principals - he and Becky, Mary, the family pastor and another priest who is a close friend of the family, the nurse in charge - with the exception of his grandmother, Carol's mother. In other words, he wants everyone to be clear and agreed about the course of action before taking it to Hazel, so as to avoid hurtful misunderstandings.

Uly mercifully falls asleep. We find a relatively shadowy part of the waiting room to place him in his car seat. I position my body to block the light from his face. Everyone else (with the exception of Jenny, who also keeps herself removed) gathers on the far side of the waiting room to discuss the situation. What follows looks and feels so much like a stage play that I catch myself framing it in that context, observing the blocking, the lighting, the language. I actively try to suppress this feeling, because I don't want to keep it at arm's length through this metaphor. I want to be as present as possible to witness what is transpiring. And a witness, in the formal, almost legal sense, is what I feel like.

The discussion is lengthy and detailed. Everyone seems hyper-articulate, carefully choosing words. Everyone is like Steve, clinging to a desperate kind of control. But they aren't in denial, they don't seem to be avoiding the emotions so much as delaying them while they talk. Steve is like a president or head-of-state, consulting his advisors. He has a difficult decision before him, he knows what is at stake. He has a position, but wants all possible input before acting.

It is quickly clear that everyone is in basic agreement - Carol's life is over. There is no hope of recovery, only of extension. But her quality of life has no hope of improvement from her current state. After a great deal of discussion about what constitues "heroic measures" and whether the blood pressure medication actually fits in this definition, Steve, Becky, Mary and the two clergymen come to the same reluctant position: the medication should be ceased, and Carol should be allowed to die in peace, with dignity, surrounded by her loved ones. They will hold off only a few hours to allow Carol's brother to arrive.

Once the decision is made, the eerie formality largely melts away and for a moment, everyone sags under the weight of the moment. Then everyone begins to move back into their individual paths, some going back into be with Carol, some preparing to talk to Hazel, some going on their way. The baby awakens, and needs to be changed and fed again. Steve needs his own blood pressure medication from the car. I linger, unsure of what to do. Steve asks me my opinion on the situation, and I hesitate. I am the Witness. It doesn't feel like my role to take an active part in the decision. I simply say that I don't feel I can add anything new to what has already been said. I try to provide some reassurance that I feel they have made the right choice. I don't know if I succeed.

There is one more awkward moment for me when Steve asks if I would like to go in to see Carol. I really don't want to. I'm scared of the ICU and the gravity of the moment. I'm scared to see her like that. I don't want to remember her in her final throes of pain. So I don't.

By this time, it's about midnight. I have to work the next day. Everything is under control, Becky and Steve have Uly covered. So I head for home.

~ ~ ~

I waited as long as I could, until half an hour after midnight, half and hour after Mom’s brother Mike arrived. The pollution in Mom’s blood and the Morphine muddled her thinking, she was barely conscious and I don’t know to what degree she recognized Mike, Mary, my Dad and the others, but I’m glad they were. I gave the nurse the order, finally, to pull the medicine and go on just a morphine drip.

By this time, Mom had already said, “I love you” to me many times and had asked for the foam sponge on the stick so that she could brush her teeth. “I prayed to God to let me leave this world with my mind and my teeth.” And she got both of those requests granted. She also became delirious and unsettled at points; At one time she started yelling, “I have to get out of here!” and ripped her hospital gown off. It was the only time in my adult life that I’ve seen my Mother nude. She was a pitiful sight, her body wrecked. She hadn’t the strength to go anywhere at all.

Her blood pressure and heart rate were clocked on a monitor overhead and the nurse turned it towards the wall so we didn’t have to watch, but, after a while, I turned it back. I wanted to see what it said. This, too, echoed the birth monitor that gauged Becky and Uly as she pushed and he was constricted.

My mind wandered through many things. I was exhausted, mourning, sympathetic, and part of me also wanted it to be over and I selfishly thought of my own discomfort and holding Mom’s hand became a weight in my palm. Becky shared the burden with me and that helped. I kept thinking of that scene in the Lord of the Rings where they form the fellowship to get the job done with that ring, the bit in Blade Runner where Ford’s character talks about his job, retiring the replicants just as I was retiring my own Mother, and, more than any other image, I kept seeing the last scene from Jesus Christ Superstar, at the end, where, after Jesus dies, they all get on the bus and leave town.

Prayers over her all night, from Paula and Caroline, Fathers Bader and Umberg, Deacon Tom. All through the night. We were with her.

At half past 6 a.m. or so, her breathing slowed to one or two a minute. Every one I thought might be the last. The blood pressure was barely registering. And then she gasped once more and thick, red phlegm came up and out of her mouth. That was what she had been choking on. It was done.

I felt, for some time after, like a specter myself, moving aimlessly from room to room in her shell of a house, the shell of her life. I felt religious ecstasy at the funeral, the way Bernini showed in St. Theresa’s eyes. Mom told Becky (and sometimes me) that she had regrets about the way I came into the world. Likewise, I have regrets about the way I helped her out of the world, though, most of all, I wanted to tell the story one last time and end it in my heart as well as in hers.

- Steve Carter-Novotni, July 25, 2007

It's been a while

2007-07-06T22:06:00.000-07:00

Uly's almost one.

Becky, Uly and I went on a vacation to SF and spent time with some new and some old loved ones.

I realized (thanks, Z) that all of my humor revolves around objectification (making fun of it) and that, we don't have to give up our biases and prejudice. All we must do are two things: Don't objectify people and don't exploit and oppress them.

Further, the lens of history that I prefer is the one that seeks the knowledge of people's deep, interior lives. The unconscious selves that are secret, even to them. Those are the stories I like to tell.

More on that and part 4 of the story about mom to come.

You can read my daily, professional blogging here at CityBeat.

Steve

How Mom died Part 3 – Regret springs eternal

2007-05-24T03:13:00.000-07:00

“Cancer isn’t a boogeyman,” I told Becky. (though I was really trying to tell that to myself.) “I mean, it’s something people live through all the time. It isn’t a death sentence. It’s serious and we need to look it at that way.”

Becky, I think, felt that way, too. We were doing our best to be helpful to Mom, caring and loving and that was what we could do.

After about a week and a half in the hospital, Mom was released. I picked her up in her car, which I’d been driving because mine was in for repairs. Grandma was with me and she was really nervous, edgy and more demanding than usual. I was trying to be calm and she frustrated easily. How mom would know we were there, ready to pick her up was a big concern for Grandma, even though I’d just told her that I had called Mom on the phone and she was on her way down.

It was windy and kind of cold that day. Grandma didn’t think I’d pulled the car close enough to the exit. She was in a wheelchair, so I felt it was all the same. Moving up would have been just another 15 or 20 feet and it was in the no parking zone, though I don’t really care about such minor legal business. I think I just wanted to say, “No, stop. I don’t need any more nagging or instruction from you.” Maybe I should have pulled up anyway. I don’t know.

They’d drained the fluid – six liters – from Mom’s abdomen. She felt better and could eat. I don’t know why that volume of fluid didn’t sound crazy to me at the time, evidence of something awful. I’m can be naive at times. I remember reading that babies spend much of their time in their interior world, in their imagination. Maybe most of their time. I kind of do that, too.

On the ride home we stopped at Burger King – Mom’s request and a hell of a bad choice as end of life meals go if you ask me – and picked up chicken sandwiches. That was the last time I’d eat with Mom. It’s funny how all these first and last times seem to take on some significance and importance that they’ve never really earned. Perhaps dramatists would be better off doing more flashbacks to scenes that really mean something, where something striking was learned or exchanged between the characters. Yet, as I sit here, your narrator, describing this and wanting to tell you of almost any meal other than this one, this last one, in a car with my Mom, the past is occluded nearly as well as the future. I feel that I’ve got to tell this before I tell the rest.

Anyway, not much happened. Basically, I dropped them off at her Mom’s house. I think I put in a new faucet for Mom while I was there. It was one among many projects around her house that I’d meant to work on for her but hadn’t gotten around to doing. A new phrase sprung to mind while she lay dying – that’s just more than a week away from where we are now in the story – “Regret springs eternal.”

Mom’s condition seemed to go downhill quickly. It was a day later that I witnessed her giving up her dogs to my Dad. It was quick. “I’ve got to say goodbye to my babies,” she said. It was a quick pat on the head and they were out the door.

She ordered all the gear she thought she needed to see this through and was prepared to battle the cancer. A hospital bed in the living room, a lift chair and a frame support for the toilet came that week. The back steps were measured for a ramp. This wasn’t all at once. Each modification to her home was in response to something that had happened.

One day she found she couldn’t stand up after sitting on the toilet. Grandma wasn’t strong enough to help her and two men from Mom’s church had to come in and lift her, using towels under her arms as supports. “Stephen, I’ve been completely humiliated today,” Mom said of this.

The makeshift, plywood ramp and the measurements for the proper ramp that would have been installed came because Mom couldn’t climb the back steps. She had assistance – people came over and actually lifted her legs with her so that she could get in the back door.

I visited several times that week, but the house was always busy with someone doing something new – it felt like a hospital, with caretakers and machines - or Mom was uncomfortable and exhausted. Visits were short. She could only take a few minutes she said, to talk with me. There was just so much that had to be done. She was digging in.

Grandma was driven and slept little. Mary, my Mom’s friend of more than fifty years, stayed overnight one evening to try and give Grandma a break. She didn’t want it. Grandma and I argued on at least one occasion that week in front of Mom, who pleaded with us to stop. She just couldn’t take it.

Mary Ellen stopped by with me on the night Mary was over. We had come with Mary Ellen’s boyfriend Ben to pick up a bookcase. Mom wanted unused furniture out of her house. It felt really important to her to get rid of it and Mary Ellen needed a bookcase, so there we were. They talked that night. I don’t know what about – probably just how Mom was doing – and I remember how compassionate Mary E. looked standing next to Mom’s hospital bed. I thought that, under better circumstances, they might have become friends.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Mary Ellen said on the way back. “Your Mom looks pretty rough.” Cancer, she advised, and chemotherapy takes a heavy toll on even young, healthy people. She wasn’t optimistic. It had been more than two weeks, maybe three, since Mom had even been able to shower.

“Is my Mom dying?” I asked Becky. “Surely not. That’s not what’s happening, is it?”

Neither of us knew.

Mom was back in the hospital on that Saturday. It was March 17, three days before she died. She’d fallen and couldn’t get up like in that terrible cliché line from that stupid commercial. Actually, she’d slumped. Mary described it to me this way: Mom was coming back from a doctor’s visit – one that seemed really unnecessary, as in they should have come to her – and she was trying to get up the back steps. She was able to lift one leg up one step and then she couldn’t go anymore. All she could do was stand there, supporting herself on the railing.

Grandma tried to help her and she couldn’t. She went and got something – a shawl or blanket to cover Mom – it was windy and still cold and then Mom’s legs just gave out. She slumped down and back and lay there, helpless. The toll of the cancer had reached a crescendo. She called 911 – she’d done so just a couple of days before for help with the same steps – this time she had them take her to the emergency room.

I visited with her that Saturday night. I brought my ipod to show her pictures of Uly and Jaesyn. She told me that she had sinned against her body and this was the result. This was her time in Purgatory. I told her I didn’t think dwelling on negativity was at all constructive. We felt differently about it.

I told her stories to make her laugh. “I’m worried about what’s going to happen to Grandma,” I said to Mom.

“Oh, Stephen, I am too,” she winced.

“It’s okay, though,” I said. Then I named a person neither of them could stand and said, “In have it all set, she’s going to move in with Grandma. “

“Oh, Stephen! Don’t you bring that woman in her house!”

And she laughed when I told her it was a joke. I got another smile out of her when I teased that an overly chatty friend would be staying the night with her.

It was after 11 p.m. and Mom noted the time, saying, “Stephen, go home. Becky and the baby need you.”

And that was the last visit we had together. It’s so thin, so paper thin. Not at all the feast a last memory should be.

How Mom died: Part two

2007-05-18T03:07:00.000-07:00

It wasn’t long after that wintery visit that what had been normal began to thaw. How did it start? I’m not sure, exactly, but, as I half listened on the phone, consumed with work and Uly and daily business, she told me she had a blood clot.

Her doctor had found a clot in her leg, just behind her knee and, she said, she had promised him that she would go into the hospital.

“I haven’t had a stay into a hospital since you were born, Stephen,” she’d say with a wince.

She hated hospitals. I remember how she would cringe when she heard a siren call down the street. It reminded her of Grandpa – her father – being taken away by the life squad. There was all that time in the hospital ten years ago, when we had that car accident in Delhi. But that was different, she said. It wasn’t inpatient for testing. It wasn’t so open ended.

In 1998, shortly after I’d purchased that albatross of a mini-van, I was doing something with mom where we had to ride out to Delhi, just a few miles from her home. I remember coming to a hard stop and halting her body’s shift forward with the flat of my hand.

I’m going to leave part of this out. You can ask me about it later and I’ll tell you. Suffice to say it’s a small bit of family business that I don’t want to print, but will be glad to say. Maybe you’ll guess at it.

This foreshadowed the accident yet to come. A few minutes later, we were headed North on Greenwell towards Delhi Pike. A large car – a Buick or something? – cut in front of use to turn into a business. My van cut a groove down the side of the car. It looked a lot like what that iceberg did to the Titanic. I was fine, but Mom shifted forward, her hand splitting the glass in the windshield and her leg smashing underneath the dash.

The injuries looked bad, but not too bad. Pain and bruising, but no broken bones. Mom cried out and the ambulance came. Her leg was bruised badly and, worse, the impact thrust a staph infection into her skin. There were many hospital visits and reconstructive surgery ahead. The infection left a golf ball sized crater in her leg down to the bone. They almost had to amputate. That didn’t happen, but she would never walk the same again.

So she ended up staying more than a week in the hospital. Was it two weeks? They found kidney and liver issues, too. And then there was the six liters of fluid they drew out of her abdomen. Mary, Mom’s friend of 50 years, called this “tapping the keg.” Mom loved teasing and it made her smile.

“I’ve never been poked and prodded with so many needles in all my life,” she said.

I wanted to draw the blinds open whenever I visited. She should have some light in here, I thought, but Mom was concerned that people could see in the window. She wanted her privacy. I kicked back, sitting near her, but more off in the corner. It felt casual. She was irritated at having to be there, but not scared. She had some kidney and liver issues – that was age, and the blood clot, as long as she didn’t move around too much, they would dissolve it and she would be fine. It just seemed like something we had to work through. So, I was there, and visited her every couple of days, but, in my mind, I was sort of absent.

“How’s Uly doing? I wish you could sneak him in here in a backpack or something,” she said.

She missed him more than anyone else. Sneaking him in just wasn’t a good idea, I said. But we’d bring him to see her when she got home. Of course, she’d seen Uly for the last time already. We just didn’t know that yet.

Then came the news.

“I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone, “ she trailed off.

“Well, just tell me,” I said.

“I have cancer.”

And the next step was this weird bargaining down process.

I hope Mom doesn’t have to use all this equipment – the lift chair, the hospital bed and everything – too long.

I hope Mom doesn’t have to be in the nursing home too long.

I hope mom makes it to the nursing home.

I hope mom lives through the summer.

Bargaining down with God. The life stock is decreasing in value. Can we sell before there’s nothing left?

How mom died, part 1 - Skin like crepe paper

2007-05-15T09:16:00.001-07:00

It wasn’t completely crazy or anything that mom was holed up in her house and couldn’t leave. I mean, this was the hardest snowfall of the winter.

It was mid-February and everything was covered in ice and a thick blanket of snow. The first fall was powdery on the ground and I was easily able to sweep it off of my walkway and sidewalk with a push broom. It kept coming down and covering my work, but I felt driven and pushed it back over and over.

The ice came next and covered every leaf and branch and was a second, glossy skin. I ran out and took photos with my friends Desiree and Mandy. There was this hang time where I was standing on the ice for a split moment before it broke down the middle, gave way and I sank six or eight inches into the soft cold below.

I’d spoken to mom on the phone. She told me she couldn’t get out and couldn’t imagine how I could, either. She said she had food, but it didn’t seem like she really did. She’s eaten toast and an egg. Just not enough.

It seems so far away now. It’s mid-spring, the best time of the year. I’m sorry that Mom missed it.

I decided I’d go over and chisel out her car, clean off her walk and maybe get her some food. I’ve wanted, for a long time, to be able to ditch my car permanently. Mom said to me of this, “What are you going to do, take a baby on the bus??” The idea was just to foreign to her. Outside of her experience and, like a lot of unfamiliar things, repugnant.

I felt this day, of the worst weather of the year was a good opportunity to prove my point and I dressed Uly, then six-months-old, in his snowsuit, which was made to be a pale blue bear costume. I put him, some baby food and a bag of Becky’s milk into the stroller, along with clean diapers and a change of clothes and we headed up the street to catch the bus.

This wasn’t the first time we’d taken the bus. It was just the first time we went to my Mom’s place. The other time, Sandy, Becky’s mom, watched Uly for us and I had loaded the stroller, Uly (of course) and my bicycle in Mary Ellen’s car. She dropped us off in Northside and I loaded first the bike on the front of the bus and then the baby and stroller inside and we rode an hour north on Winton to Sandy’s place. It was the last of several of Becky’s childhood homes. There, I delivered Uly to Sandy, hopped on my bike and bussed it back downtown to CityBeat. That was quite an ordeal, so the icy trip to Mom’s wasn’t too bad in comparison.

This time, Tracy gave us a lift downtown and dropped us off at a bus stop. The ride wasn’t long, and Uly’s bright smile made it fun. I remember a woman with a bit of a twang in her voice said something about how I could understand what women went through. I responded, a little defensively, that I take care of my son every day and that I know what it’s like for myself.

“I knew that wasn’t going to sound right,” she said.

We talked a bit more and she, like almost everyone, was enamored with Uly. I want to think that there was something about this woman, who seemed kind, but lonely, that foreshadowed what was coming, but it’s like in that Lou Reed poem, Romeo had Juliet – something flickered for a minute, then it vanished and was gone. The bus let us out at Overlook and Glenway. I covered the carriage with my hoodie to block the wind. I pushed him in the street – the sidewalks were too bumpy and hazardous from the ice - for a block or so until we came to Mom’s and the snow grounded out the wheels and we halted with a jerk.

Mom looked small when I came in the door with Uly. She was in her chair, in front of the television, angled 45 degrees towards the couch, just like she always was. The house’s air was thick with the stifling smell of her dogs, Halley and Gus. I don’t recall it offhand, but I’m sure Halley cried and howled as she always did when company came to Mom’s. I shooed them away and sat down, unwrapping Ul and changing his diaper.

Mom asked how we got there and was surprised, but unfazed by the answer. She was still and almost fetal, like someone who has a bad flu. I remember the skin on her hands looked semi-transparent and was crinkled like crepe paper. It looked just like Great Grandma’s hands, but she was in her 80’s when they looked that way. Why was Mom so pale and her skin this way? I dismissed the questions in favor of asking her about what she’d been eating. The answer was, not much, but she felt okay, just kind of constipated. She didn’t know why. I insisted that she needed to eat and, after talking with her about what I might get her at the grocery, we settled on me getting her a sandwich at Burger King, though she wasn’t too sure about how I’d get there.

I’d already started her car and had it running in the driveway with the heat on full blast. It wasn’t something she’d done when I was growing up. We always started the car cold and there were many uncomfortable drives where we could see our breath and the seats were freezing for the first 15 minutes or so. I went outside and swept her driveway and steps. The bag of salt I’d brought would do the rest. I felt pretty good about remembering to bring all this gear to get all this done. Going out into the world with a baby requires set up, a lot like camping.

I don’t think we talked about anything in particular. Maybe I lectured her on how she needed to exercise and the adult tricycle I found on Craigslist would be great for her. That’s it – yeah, she pursed her lips and listened silently and told me that yes, she would consider it, but I could tell that she really wouldn’t. Her bad knees, injured in that car accident in ’98 and from a fall ten years before that, in addition to her weight, limited her ability to walk. A tricycle was unbecoming and she wouldn’t do water aerobics because she refused to wear a bathing suit. She wouldn’t use the treadmill and elliptical that was in her basement, because it was in the basement and she wouldn’t move it upstairs because, “Stephen, I have to get rid of stuff! I’ve got too much in this front room as it is!”

Where do you go with a conversation like that? It aggravated her more when I pointed out that we had better figure out where we were going to put her dogs when the day came that she couldn’t care for them anymore. I was right and I was trying to make a point: You can’t defer your health. I was trying to argue this to myself, too. I’m often just as hardheaded.

I don’t know how I ended up leaving. I’m sure I said I love you and I’ll see you soon. I meant it and she did, too. Maybe Becky picked me up or maybe I borrowed Mom’s car. There’s a fog in my memory that I can’t get past to reach these particulars. I suppose they’re not important, but I keep reaching for them, for more, as if it would mean that I could spot something, even if I can change nothing, and then I could say, “Okay, there it is. There’s the reason she died.”

- Steve

Best thing in the past ten years

2007-04-28T21:09:00.000-07:00

From CityBeat, 2006:

Steve Carter-Novotni:
Writer, editor, new media specialist, CityBeat contributor
What's the best thing to happen to Cincinnati in the past 10 years?
The 2001 riots. I know that sounds weird, because obviously Tim Thomas' death was a tragedy and the violence and mayhem in the streets by both protesters and cops was a terrible thing; It's just that this flash of lightning through the streets of Over-the-Rhine woke up so many complacent people to some hard facts about our city. The riots were like an earthquake proving the existence of a geologic fault at Cincinnati's core. This racial and economic stratification that keeps the poor, black and white, under the heel of a corporate empire has got to go, and the people know it. For that reason, the shots fired by Officer Stephen Roach were ones heard 'round the world. And there's not enough Ivory Soap anywhere to clean up that mess.

What's the best thing to happen to you in the past 10 years?
Finding out that my wife and I are going to have a baby. After freaking out for about a month and tripping on the existential dilemmas presented by this revelation, it began to bring my life into clear focus. Acting purposefully and deliberately are more important now. Patience, kindness and gratitude are virtues I'm trying very hard to pursue, because I have to develop these in myself if I'm ever to ask these things of this new life.

People are like a prism

2007-04-28T15:56:00.000-07:00

of every person they have ever loved.

You can see shades of the person you lost in the personalities of the people they loved.

Roseanne joked with Becky like mom used to and it made me think of that.

Steve

Everyday

2007-04-28T15:40:00.000-07:00

Some things I'd like to do every day:

- exercise for more than a half hour

- read for more than half an hour

- write for an hour

- tithe some time in an act of kindness

- pray and reflect

... Steve

Roots

2007-04-28T15:16:00.000-07:00

I recently finished reading my mom's copy of Roots, which, I'm told, was a significant influence in her becoming interested in, and ultimately working more than 20 years on, our family history.

Roots is, at its heart, a story about the thread of dignity that runs through the generations of a family despite their enslavement. It was engrossing and had me on the edge of my seat. The part about the slave ship, spanning more than 50 pages and four fictional months, sticks in me like a thorn. Particularly after I discovered something my mom has known for some time - our ancestors in Kentucky were owned slaves.

I began the book a couple of days after my mom died - that was just over a month ago. It's been healing to read it.

The journal
Another significant development was that I finally found my mom's journal - the one she kept for me as a letter, written during my first year or so of life. I was searching for it the day she died. I remember first seeing it and reading a couple of paragraphs when I was a teen, snooping through my mom's stuff. I read enough to know that it wasn't for that time and I put it back, thinking that I'd open it again when she decided to show it to me or when she died. It was the latter, of course.

To me, it's the most precious possession I have from my mom's estate. I cried. It has sunflowers on the front of the book, mom's favorite flower.

Hazard lights
I hate tailgaters. When one runs up behind me on the expressway I have always responded by slowing down to force them to pass. It's unreliable, and, if the tailgater is a real ass, it could be dangerous. I found a better way. Flipping on my hazard lights made the guy pass me when slowing down didn't work. Then, to test it, I tried hazard lights on a person keeping a reasonable distance. They passed me, too. Finally, I got three in a row when I turned on the hazards and sped up to 65 or 70 mph. Still, they passed me.

Miss Humbert
Beck and I closed the week by having dinner on Friday night with my Montessori pre-school teacher, Roseanne Humbert. I haven't seen her in more than 25 years. It turned out that I was her first student (!) We had dinner - Roseanne, my Grandma, Becky, Uly and me at Grandma's home in Price Hill. What a neat time getting reacquainted and looking at pictures. Such an odd and special thing to see her again after all this time. She gave me a copy of the Little Prince when my age was counted on one hand with the inscription, "To Stephen, when he was a little boy.'

A letter about mom from a month ago

2007-04-19T19:50:00.000-07:00

The following is an email that I sent out Monday morning, March 19. That was a month ago. It was 9 a.m. when I sent this to a handful of friends as a small update on what was going on with Mom. It was just an hour or so after that I received Mom's last phone call, asking me to come to the hospital.

---

Dear Friends:

This is going out to a handful of folks (like six) that I wanted to keep updated on my mom's condition and what's going on with my family. I thought that I'd keep track of my thoughts on this and share them with you in the email as, I guess, this is a bit too personal for the blog.

Steve

My mom has been looking progressively worse when I've seen her. It's not that there aren't parts of this stream that double back - she was in reasonably good spirits on Saturday night - but it seems to keep moving forward.

Mom - Carol to the rest of you - has stage four adenocarcinoma. Four out of five. I'm making the distinction because it seems that there are two ways of scoring cancer - 0-4 or 1-5 and a bunch of substages within. I don't know which substage her cancer is in. Suffice to say that she's pretty sick and could die tomorrow or could get a few more years. I don't think she'll get another decade, but one can hope. I guess I'll take whatever I can get and she will, too. Right now I'd be really happy if she lives to see Uly's first birthday. She deserves to hear him say, "Grandma."

Mom has been sick now for about a month. Rather, I should say, the cancer has been recognized for that long. She admitted herself to the hospital a month ago because she had a blood clot in her leg. While in the hospital for the clot, the doctors found that her kidneys and liver were operating at about 60 percent capacity. They thought this was due to blood pressure. Mom also had six liters of fluid in her abdomen. This was the reason she had been out of breath and had trouble eating in recent weeks. They drew out the fluid with a needle. (Her friend Mary called this, "Tapping the keg.") The fluid had cancer cells in it.

Mom told me she cried when she first heard the word. It took her several tries to be able to say it and several more days before she would tell me and Becky. "I didn't want to tell you this over the phone..." But, she told us, she was going to do whatever the doctor said and she wasn't afraid to die.

Mom left the hospital last week and had a difficult time at home. A hospital bed in the living room, a new lift chair and help of friends was not enough to keep her at home. She was too weak to get around - even around the house, so she checked herself back into the hospital on Friday.

The cancer is probably ovarian, but testing continues. It is being treated with Taxol, which is the strongest chemotherapy drug they have. She had one treatment on Friday. I went to see her that day and she looked very weak. She couldn't get out of bed. I felt that she might die that day. My feelings may or may not correspond to reality and in this case, they didn't. When I visited her on Saturday she was still very weak, but in reasonably good spirits.

Mom told me that she loved me and Becky and Uly and that, again, she wasn't afraid of death, but wanted to live. She expressed some regret over some of her choices, but overall she was at peace. I spent two hours with her, showing her photos of Uly and telling her stories. She laughed a couple of times. When I left I felt renewed hope. We could hear another patient screaming nearby. My mom told me that she didn't feel that way. She was uncomfortable, but not in pain.

The pain came last night. Becky and I went to see Mom, who hadn't slept since before I saw her on Saturday. It sounded like she'd been up for 36 hours. She was in pain. More fluid in her abdomen, pressing against her ribs, lungs and organs. They finally gave her some morphine and she slept. She's sleeping now. Her blood pressure was low yesterday - 95 over 43 or something like that.

I called this morning. She was stable and asleep, which is why I'm here writing instead of there. More later.

Steve

Keep writing

2007-04-18T19:14:00.000-07:00

Time gets away so easily.

Friends to see, work to be done, house to clean. I really have to make time for anything I want to get done. In that spirit, I'm writing, despite being crazy tired. It's not going to write intself. (obscene echo, true story overheard - a girl to her boyfriend: "It aint gonna lick itself!")

Here's a short story I'll tell:

About two years ago the local newspaper, evil and insipid despite this, printed a story about an upcoming meteor shower. It would be bright and long-lasting in duration. It would be visible from Southwestern Ohio. I'd never seen one before and, true it sounded interesting, but I wasn't overly enthusiastic.

Mom had clipped the story out of the paper and was beaming with excitement and grinning as she handed me a copy. I'd gone with her to check out Halley's Comet when I was a kid and I don't really think I saw anything, so I wasn't too enthused, but played along. It was a week off and she wanted me to go at like 3a.m. The paper recommended people wanting to see the show head to East Fork State Park at Lake Harsha. The water meant few lights in the area and better viewing so, yeah.

The day rolled around and Mom came to my house at about 3a.m. as planned. She was in her new Toyota, the one that's now mine. On my advice we went, instead, to Harmony Hill in Williamsburg. Few lights- it was a forest and open field and few people, too, I thought.

It turned out that there were no people there but us. I remember wishing, despite the cold night air - this was winter and there was a frost - that I'd have brought lawn chairs so we could have leaned back and stretched out beneath the clear night sky. I found out later that the lake was producing a fog that occluded the show for everyone else.

Anyway, Mom and I saw a spectacular show of shooting stars. It was really amazing, maybe five a minute. Mom was thrilled, grinning one ear to the other. "Oh, look, Steve!"

I cried the other day thinking about that. That was really cool of her. She was an amazing mother.

Steve

Spring is finally here

2007-04-16T07:04:00.000-07:00

It looks that way.

It's sunny and warm out and I'll count that as a blessing.

I have business all over town today - CityBeat to finish the Green Issue content, the attorney's office and the CPA. Also have to go and pick up more death certificates from the funeral home. $20 each (which seems like a lot to me.)

New computer - a G4 ibook. I'm selling my mac Mini - see here for details.

2 p.m. update:
I just finished my daily constitutional, a 2.5 mile loop on my mountain bike. Down Mills, down Sherman, through lower Milcrest Park and XU campus, up Cleneay and down Ivanhoe. If you were near the baseball fields, you'd see my tracks.

Steve

Old projects to complete

2007-04-11T06:14:00.000-07:00

Consider this my public declaration that I will take on no further side projects - meaning free work - until everything else (at least on this list) is completed.

Here's some of the unfinished business on my plate:

- Three books to finish, edit and publish - The Strange Charm of Truth and Beauty, What Remains and The Angel of Death. Nothing stinks worse than an unpublished novel.

- One film for public consumption - Camp Katrina and many other personal films

- The Lost Boys of Sudan Web site

- The Justice Watch newsletter

An imposing list. Details to follow as I plow through this. Did I mention that I'm also a stay at home dad, a 30 hour a week freelance editor, home remodeler, estate executor and a cyclist?

I think I have more life and time than I really do.

- Steve

Mom passed away last week

2007-03-26T19:52:00.000-07:00

My mom died last week. I've spent a lot of time pondering where she is and where my own identity is, too.

An unfortunate side effect of grief is time distortion. It's the slippery, nasty kind that plagues the elderly. Maybe the forgetfullness that comes with age is not so much a function of the mind slowing down but of grief building up.

We mark time through relationships - birthdays, graduations, marriages. As we lose our loved ones, as their lives slip away, we question what relationships really happened after all. A terrific (in the sense that this word is connected to terrifying) sense of unreality sets in and the beat we listen to to keep in step becomes unreliable. An itch on my forehead is more tangible than the person who has died.

I've found it difficult to concentrate on simple tasks. I start one, make little progress and then move to another.

With each conversation I have it becomes a bit easier. Also, there are important things to know - the blessings of all this. I'll recount a handful:

- My mom and I have had a good friendship as adults for about a decade
- She did not suffer or linger long with this cancer. The Good Lord took her quickly.
- I had a chance to spend time with her on the Saturday night before she dies and we got to smile and laugh together.
- Becky and I, my Uncle Mike and mom's best friend, Mary all got the chance to be with her as she passed. We got to hold her hanbds and tell her how much we loved her.
- Many other friends got to stand with her at her bedside that night to comfort her and us and to say goodbye.

So, thanks, God. For my mom and her life and the blessings at the end. Mom made a gift of her life to all who knew her.

Steve

Uly's first bike ride

2007-03-15T09:57:00.000-07:00

Uly and I went on his first bicycle ride yesterday.

I bought a used Fisher-Price bike trailer and it was great. $40 off craigslist, btw.

One tip to you if you decide to get a trailer - which I feel is safer than ride-behind seats for infants - I'd suggest just strapping the child's car seat into the trailers. The built in seating wasn't comfortable, but his baby car seat is and is safer, too, I think.

We rode about 2 miles and visited his mom at work. He fell asleep on the way back. I plan on taking him out today, too.

Steve

A constant state of recovery

2007-03-05T06:11:00.000-08:00

In some ways, that's how my life has felt. As if I'm third world and recovering from cascading family issues, personal failings and falls. Maybe that's a way that everyone feels.

Becky and I have made what I believe to be great strides towards moving beyond this level two mode. We're trying to do more than tread water.

For instance, our basement, a project we have collaborated with Mary Ellen and her boyfriend Ben on completing, is nearly finished. I'll have an actual office and will return from Macintosh exile soon. (one reason my posts have been so spartan is that I've been working - doing all my work on a laptop that is practically an antique - ten years old now, I think!)

Every day we are completing more of our planned, regular chores and yesterday we even took some time to ourselves.

As you may have heard, my mom has cancer. We don't know a lot about it right now - she's undergoing a lot of tests. She is doing as well as she can with it now and is back at home after two weeks in the hospital. I'll update more when I know more.

Anyway, her illness has been, among other things, a gentle nudge to me to recall that we're not here forever. In that spirit, Becky and I had a family day on Sunday. We went to Price Hill Chili for breakfast (very midwestern/west side/insular in character, but good food) and then to Krohn Conservatory to enjoy a steamy walk among the flowers. Finally, we visited mom and pitched some junk for her.

A little at a time and we'll move it along.

A small aside - Vader is Dutch for father - which, I'm sure, is why Darth had this as a surname or nickname or suffix. Whatever that was.

Steve

Quitting anger for Ash Wednesday

2007-02-21T07:43:00.000-08:00

Actually, I'm just trying not to indulge in it for Lent.

I get mad. Angry at new stuff or angry at stuff from 15 years ago. Whatever, it's all pointless.

So, I'm trying to give it up for Lent.

I'll let you know how that goes.

- Steve

Irony

2007-02-16T06:09:00.000-08:00

I find it ironic that, when our one car breaks down, we suddenly have two.

The Neon needs a new head gasket and is in the shop. I borrowed my mom's car and Mary Ellen left us her car for the weekend, so -1 = 2!

Steve

Paper scissors rock

2007-02-07T20:04:00.000-08:00

Microwave distorts cordless phone and both of these two trounce my wifi connection.

Is everything 2.4 ghz? Anyone have a phone that's not? I need one!

Steve

Sweetness and light

2007-02-07T10:32:00.000-08:00

I called Uly that today and then was pleasantly surprised when I looked it up --

sweetness and light
A phrase popularized by the nineteenth-century English author Matthew Arnold; it had been used earlier by Jonathan Swift. According to Arnold, sweetness and light are two things that a culture should strive for. “Sweetness” is moral righteousness, and “light” is intellectual power and truth. He states that someone “who works for sweetness and light united, works to make reason and the will of God prevail.”

- Steve

A lot of work today

2007-02-06T06:37:00.000-08:00

I have a lot of stuff to do today - CityBeat work, bills, service work planning and care of Uly.

I'm trying to get it all done. (caught up.)

Anyway, not much to say. I feel like I have to do a lot more with less time and make better choices in that time.

- Steve

Reform conference examines media's responsibility

2007-01-23T07:25:00.000-08:00

My coverage of the National Conference for Media Reform:

Amy Goodman of Democracy Now interviews D'Army Bailey, founder of the National Civil Rights Museum at the site of Martin Luther King's assassination.
Memphis -- As the media reform movement, now about five years old, picks up speed, its scope is tightly focused on what the Rev. Martin Luther King called "the madness of militarism."

At its core, the movement calls for inclusive, truthful coverage, a democratic press that refuses to be President Bush's lapdog and new legislation to break up media monopolies. It's been galvanized by the Iraq War, but stopping that war isn't at the forefront of the movement anymore.

Last weekend the National Conference for Media Reform was buzzing with the question, "How do we stop the American invasion of Iran?"

One possible answer is impeachment. In the next couple of months the New Mexico State Legislature will likely ask Congress to begin impeachment proceedings against President Bush and Vice President Cheney, according to David Swanson, director of Democrats.com. He said that it's imperative this happen lest future presidents operate as mavericks using the Bush precedent.

Amy Goodman of Democracy Now and journalist Larry Everest discussed concerns that Bush might be planning to attack Iran. Goodman said Bush is acting in the interests of preserving a 21st century American empire.

U.S. Rep. Dennis Kucinich (D-Cleveland) worried that the start of impeachment proceedings could accelerate a war but said, "If Bush attacks Iran, all bets are off."

Paul Rieckhoff, founder of Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, said the current wars stand out in American history as ones that are sanitized by the media.

"This is really a war of disconnect," he said. "You really don't see the depth of sacrifice. You never see a dead American soldier on the news. You never see it."

Rieckhoff said mainstream coverage ignores the stories of the Iraqi people. He condemned the use of embedded journalists. Embedding endangers other journalists because insurgents see reporters as just an arm of the military, he said. Embedded reporters are too close to U.S. troops to be effective, he said.

"You can't criticize me if I'm covering covering your ass," Rieckhoff said.

A large number of the 3,500 journalists and activists at the conference here were women and people of color. A handful from other countries attended, too. Media reform as a civil rights issue was a recurring theme.

The discussion of free speech and indecency is upside down, according to Lisa Fager, an activist from Washington, D.C. Corporate interests have dumbed down radio for black audiences, she said. Dialogue or even music that criticizes the government is missing, replaced by gossip, she said. When the First Amendment is cited, it's to defend lyrics that talk about "bitches, pimps and hoes."

"Nobody wants to fight for my freedom of speech when I actually want to talk about something," Fager said.

Likewise, indecency fines are levied against people like Howard Stern, who plays to an audience of thirtysomething white men. A fight against indecency is supposed to be protecting children, yet urban stations that cater to teens play music rife with sexual themes and the degradation of women, Fager said.

"There's a right wing agenda behind indecency, and there's also a progressive use," she said.

Several sessions dealt with the marginalization of whole populations. The consensus was, if you're a person of color, a woman, poor or not American, you just aren't being heard.

Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) addressed the conference. If you're concerned about health care, global warming, the war or almost any other major issue, he said, "You are kidding yourself if you are not concerned with corporate control of the media."

Sanders decried the press coverage of opposition to the Iraq invasion in 2003.

"Day after day those of us who opposed the war were holding press conferences that you never saw," Sanders said. "In terms of the war in Iraq, the American media failed and failed grotesquely. They are as responsible as President Bush for the disaster that now befalls us."

Sanders said it's no accident that we don't hear stories about common people, the labor movement or the nation's health care crisis.

"Somebody is supplying us with a mirror, and we want that mirror to reflect the lives of ordinary people," he said.

Sanders said it's the time to reopen discussion about the Fairness Doctrine, which required equal time for issues debated on broadcast channels. Congressmen Steve Cohen (D-Tenn.) and Maurice Hinchey (D-N.Y.) said revision of the 1996 Telecommunications Act is being discussed in Congress.

Hinchey said the elimination of the Fairness Doctrine in the 1980s caused the rise of right-wing radio.

"The question is: Is it going to move back now that we're in charge?" Hinchey said. "The country today is at one of the most critical moments in its history." ©

This Is What War Looks Like

2007-01-23T07:20:00.000-08:00

“… a burned infant trying to nurse from its dead mother’s breast …”

When we think of war, I think a lot of us imagine U.S. soldiers in khaki uniforms advancing upon enemy troops on a battlefield or moving like cats among shattered urban buildings. But it’s important to recall the true wages of war, that it falls most heavily on women and children.

The Memory Hole, operated by journalist Russ Kick presents, “This is War,” a horrific look into how bad it really is. This line from reporter Richard Boyle in Vietnam, haunts me: “I could watch a burned infant trying to nurse from its dead mother’s breast, see young men with their faces blown away, witness a boy deliberately gutted … and never protest.”

I’m shocked at what we’re capable of doing. Do we blame the imperialist war machine? The government? Ourselves? Are we complicit by virtue of being U.S. citizens for war crimes committed by our troops? What can be done to evolve beyond this brutality?

A prayer for mercy is all I can offer.

— Stephen Carter-Novotni

The road to the National Civil Rights Museum

2007-01-18T08:09:00.000-08:00

I'd never even heard of the National Civil Rights Museum before, but it made sense. Memphis was the city where Martin Luther King was assassinated. It was also the host city for the National Conference for Media Reform which drew upwards of 3,500 journalists and activists to one of America's poorest cities January 12-14.

Memphis is so poor, in fact, that their bus service stops running at 9:30 p.m. on Saturday nights. (even though, strangely, their trolleys run until 1 a.m.) The homeless shelters also charge admission - a minimum of $7 a night.

So on Saturday, after running around Behle Street with Justin Jeffre - of the band 98 Degrees and now a media activist - I decided the easiest way to return to the Emmanuel Catholic Worker House in Midtown, where I was staying, was to hitch a ride.
My ride turned out to be Memphis Circuit Court Judge D'Army Bailey, who was also attending the conference and described himself as "having done some activist work in the '60s." The judge dropped me off and I didn't figure on seeing him again.

I only found out about the museum the next day, on my way back to the airport. The Seattle-based artist I was hitching with wanted to see it before his flight. We drove through miles of urban blight trying to find it and, when we finally got to the address, we came to a run down hotel, painted hospital-scrub green, that looked like it was from the 1960's. Which, of course, it was.

"Holy God," I exclaimed. "This is where King was shot. They kept the whole thing intact."

And there, on the balcony, standing over a blood stain almost four decades old, in front of room 306, behind the wreath marking King's last place on earth, was Judge Bailey being interviewed by Democracy Now's Amy Goodman.

Anyway, that's how I got that photo that went with my story.

- Stephen Carter-Novotni

In Memphis

2007-01-13T01:42:00.000-08:00

This will likely be a short, non-poetic post since I'me quite tired and it's about 4 in the morning here.

Before you ask, no, I didn't tie one on - I crashed - hard - at about 4pm yesterday after arriving in Memphis Airport at 10am, stopping at Emmanuel House (a Catholic Worker house where I'm staying), dropping my stuff and heading to the Media Reform Conference.

I attended like two sessions - sorta - too tired and the speakers too boring. One woman read nervously some speech she'd prepared. That's just not a real speaker panel and not why I'm here. I used to stay out of courtesy for speakers and now I just leave. I'm here for the business of news and have limited time, so if they're boring, well, screw it.

Em House folks have been very kind and I feel a bit bad that I wasn't able to socialize, but I had three hours sleep yesterday, so my tank is empty or was,anyway.

Maybe we can hang on Sunday after the Con closes.

I need to email folks and schedule interviews for this evening.

I miss Beck and Uly very much. Thank you, all who are helping them out this weekend.

More later.

- Steve

In Chicago, on my way to Memphis

2007-01-12T06:00:00.000-08:00

I feel okay about flying half the time.

The rest of the time I imagine what will happen in a crash.

I'm not sure whether my glasses would melt to my face first or if I'd be crushed first.

Am I scared of flying, pain, death or being roasted at 500mph?

Steve

Is a blessing that's withdrawn a curse? - An imperfect day

2006-12-29T20:42:00.000-08:00

I have to say that I'm pretty bummed today and strangely, it was a really good day at the start.

Beautiful weather, a nice bike ride, found a couple of free bike seats for the baby on the road and then a guy called and said he wanted to take Ghost.

We met. It seemed perfect - lots of land, another Shepherd on the farm, a really nice family.

But it was, I'm convinced, too quick. After we left Ghost bit their dog and has been aggressive with him. So, it's off and this blessing is withdrawn. I pick up Ghost tom orrow morning. He's a sweet dog and I think he got scared after we left. Lonely for us and in a new environment. Nothing smelled like home.

More on this later.

The big Free sale!

2006-12-23T09:01:00.000-08:00

Becky and I are giving away all sorts of free gifts. We're cleaning out our home of stuff we don't use. Want something, check out this link to Craigslist Free Stuff and email us.

It's all going, going gone!

Ho Ho Ho.

Let us do the shopping for you. Ill conceived gifts from the land of misfit toys.

The Last Ride

2006-12-08T07:28:00.000-08:00

I’m on I-71 and I see a sign saying, “THE LAST RIDE.” Passing the grated trailer, I see it’s a semi full of pigs on their way to slaughter.

It’s too dark and I can’t see their faces. These are anonymous animals with nothing to do but die.

An NPR talk show plays on my car radio, and people discuss whether Bush could be swayed that we’re losing the Iraq war or what would need to happen for us to win. I think of the anonymous soldiers — too many have died for us to remember their names — and I recall what the first woman elected to Congress, Jeanette Rankin, said back in the first half of the 20th century: “You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake.”

That’s what all the pundits and politicians aren’t getting. It’s not just this war, it’s any war. It’s not winning or losing, but at best mitigating the bloodshed. It’s all slaughter; and if we’re to survive, as a species, we need to learn how to do something else. Otherwise we’re all just anonymous, in the dark and on our last ride.

— Stephen Carter-Novotni

Ken and Laura Oster's wedding video

2006-11-23T12:45:00.000-08:00

From December 21, 2005 at the Brown House.

Now at google video.

- Steve

Out of the tunnel and in the can

2006-11-22T19:56:00.000-08:00

I've arrived from the tunnel vision of my illness.

The flu is largely behind me, though I carry a nagging cough as a souvenir. Uly has a cough, too, but, like mine, it's almost past.

The illness was like a slow motion bullet, passing through my wife, my son and then me. My consolation in getting sick was that it was through with them, at least.

I purchased a DVD RW drive and can finally do all that serious film editing that I wanted to do. The Oster wedding video was first and I'll post a link to the Youtube vid when it's up.

- Steve

Seeking a home for Ghost

2006-11-14T10:00:00.000-08:00

Becky and I are looking for a home for Ghost.

Ghost, if you haven't met him, is a 3-year-old White German Shepherd (or mix, favoring this breed) that we found in 2004.

Ups: Ghost is lovable and very gentle, good with children. He's the most beautiful dog I've ever seen. Wants to play and will let you hold him like a baby, if you can. Very intelligent and loyal. He looks intimidating and would defend you. He plays well with other dogs.

Downs: He sheds white hair, he is a bit of a Marmaduke type and gets excited. He jumps up on people sometimes, though he is easily controlled with the threat of a spray bottle. He can jump a chain link fence, so a privacy fence or leashed walks are needed.

Also: Ghost is 70 lbs and a big dog. He needs daily exercise and companionship. He's a good dog for someone active and who has experience with dogs. He is not a good choice for a first dog.

Please tell us a bit about yourself and why you could give him a good home.

Why: We love him, but with the new baby, he hasn't had much attention and it doesn't look like that will change. We're seeking a home with a loving family that will give Ghost a lifetime home. He'll return the favor with love and kisses and friendship.

Steve and Becky Novotni

Landing Place: Arrival

2006-11-01T21:27:00.000-08:00

So we swung into LP community at about10pm and stayed up talking 'til midnight.

It feels a lot like home - the Brownhouse - the same way Sojourners does in SF. Three adults and a little boy, Micah, live in this home. There are three more community houses that make up LP and a number of folks who have their own apartments, too.

We're staying in Patience's room. She's from Boston, originally. I think she speaks French - there's an Amelie poster on the wall and (more compelling evidence towards this theory) there's a phrase glued to her laptop:

douce comme un ange respondant le bonheur et un sourire partout oi elle va

Babel fish translates this to:

soft like an angel respondant happiness and a smile everywhere oi it goes

What a relief it is to be away from home, even if it's only a hundred miles.

We spoke about power at church a couple of weeks ago...

2006-11-01T07:22:00.000-08:00

...and it's been on my mind since.

I thought, during this discussion, that the role of an anarchist is to destabalize power when we see it in others and surrender it when we see it in ourselves.

As a journalist, my role is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. I really enjoy that affliction part.

Here's some awsome lyrics from Bikini Kill's song, Rebel Girl. Uly likes to doze to this:

That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood
She's got the hottest trike in town
That girl she holds her head up so high
I think I wanna be her best friend

Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl
Rebel Girl you are the queen of my world
Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl
I think I wanna take you home
I wanna try on your clothes

When she walks, the revolution's coming
In her hips, there's revolution
When she talks, I hear the revolution
In her kiss, I taste the revolution

Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl
Rebel Girl you are the queen of my world
Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl
I think I wanna take you home
I wanna try on your clothes

That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood
I got news for you -- she is!
They say she's a slut, but I know
She is my best friend

Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl...
I really like you, I really love you
I really wanna be your best friend
Love you like a sister always
Soul sister, blood sister
Please be my rebel girl

The Ohio to Erie Trail: the road from Columbus to London

2006-10-30T08:33:00.000-08:00

This is a brief description of the bicycle ride I took with my buddy Sam a couple of weeks back. I didn't find a lot online describing this leg of the Ohio to Erie bike trail, so I wanted to make some notes for my future use and that of other riders.

Equipment: We rode mountain bikes with chromoly frames and aluminum rims. Mine is a 5-year-old Diamondback with front shocks. Sam’s was a 20-year-old Ross, stiff frame.

The Ohio to Erie Trail
The first thing you should know is that the Ohio to Erie trail, which stretches from the Ohio River to Lake Erie (hence the name), is a 325 mile, limited access, paved trail for bikes, skaters, equestrians and peds that is supposed to be about 70 percent complete.

Much of the trail is built on train tracks. Other parts run the path of the old Erie Canal. (I believe this is called the Towpath trail, stretching north of Columbus, though I haven't ridden this section yet. You may recall that donkeys and horses towed boats along the canal, hence this name.

Context
As I understand it, there are trails like this webbing the whole US. I would like very much to ride cross country with my son, Ulysses, one day.

Starting at 64 King
64 King is the address and home to our friends, the Landing Place community. LP is an intentional Christian community like the one in which my wife Becky and I live - Vineyard Central.

Sam and I left at about 7 a.m. on a cold Saturday morning. Heading west from the intersection of High Street and King, near Ohio State University Campus, we rode about a mile to the Olentangy River. A bike path, with several dead ends, eventually leads to the Scioto river. From there, we opted to take 40 West - West Broad Street from Downtown. The trail may continue a bit here, but we were not certain how far. Part of it, a bridge, was being torn down. I'd be very interested in any info anyone has on this leg of the trail. Earlier we ran into a section that was closed by barbed wire and chain link fence. Why is this? Strange. At the Scioto River we encountered a full scale replica (surprisingly small) of the Santa Maria. Many homeless sleeping at the riverbank, too.

We travelled 40 West for about 8 miles to the intersection of I-270, the city's beltway. This part was a lot of sidewalk riding. Pretty flat. Lots of places to eat or use the bathroom.

Just before I-270, we dropped south on Georgesville Road - highway riding, limited berm. Drivers were reasonable and got over for us, but I don't like narrow, 1 foot shoulders. It gets rural at this point. We took Georgesville Road to Aikire Road and headed Southwest to Georgesville.

***If you break down – On Georgesville Road, just south of 40W, there's a Meijer. We picked up a tire there when Sam’s innertube began to bulge through the sidewall. From now on we’ll carry spares, but Meijer is a godsend. Next closest places for civilization and bike parts are London and Columbus.

**Bring extra water – even on a cold day (50 degrees) we drank a lot and could have had more if we had been carrying it.

Georgesville was unremarkable. We hitched a ride for part of this because the road was a two lane highway. We came this route, btw, because we were searching for the trail between downtown Columbus and Lily Chapel. It doesn't exist here yet, as far as I can tell.

Aikire Road leads to Lily Chapel. It becomes Lily Chapel-Georgesville Road. Train tracks run parallel to this road. Will that be the trail one day? Any readers with advice on this, please comment.

In the town of Lily Chapel, which looks very small and quiet to me - lots of farms, not much industry - we proceeded towards the large grain silo (some sort of tall, cyclidrical structure, anyway) that marks the center of town. We headed straight past the cross road that leads to the towers and on to CR-103/Wilson Road. We made a right on Wilson and headed toward and then past a radio tower. Just past the tower is the trailhead of the Lily Chapel trail.

The Lily Chapel to London Trail
This is a very difficult stretch. I'd guess it's 12 miles long. All of it is gravel, which makes any sort of travel very difficult. We spent a lot of energy grinding rocks and moving very slowly. There are no amenities except beautiful scenery and peace. Bring extra water for this stretch. Private residences don't appear until you're a couple of miles from London.

We arrived in London at 5 p.m. It's a quick left off the trail and then the first right on 665 (the Lily Chapel trail runs roughly parallel to 665) We were dazed from the long ride and took a left at first. Our minds played tricks on us. There's plenty of good food and stops in this town, when you take the right turn. We ate at Ronetti's, a fine little Italian place with big pizzas and reasonably priced beer.

45-50 Miles at 10 hours. Slow going. We slept really well at the end of the day.

Just a short poem

2006-10-26T18:54:00.000-07:00

I see now
My soul
As a city
Thick with change
And every old quarter
In her first trappings
Of spring
Remains in the fullness
And still of the new day
And the shadows of my new life
Are cast upon the grain of the old
It’s all there
And will be
I’m all that I’ve ever been
And am

(Some thoughts on all the previous selves I've ever been...)

Steve

The Reenactment of Mary Ellen's birth

2006-10-22T14:27:00.000-07:00

Ok, so our friend Mary Ellen is our new housemate. She moved in to the newly constructed room in our basement just a few days ago.

Anyway, when she got here, she brought with her a picture from her birth - her mom and dad and a baby Mary E. -- she's 25 now. Well, as you can see, Mary Ellen and her sister Janet are the spitting image of their parents and Beck and I have a baby, so we can reenact the birth!

Here is the first test shots...the original, the performance by Mary E and her sister and the photoshopped result.

- Steve

Uly in his Misfits outfit

2006-10-19T07:07:00.000-07:00

It's homemade, as all good punk gear should be.

You stones you rocks you worse than sensless things

2006-10-18T13:59:00.000-07:00

Please join me in boycotting disposable diapers.

Forget that cloth is easier, cheaper and greener -- disposables hold nothing very well.

Let's put the disposable diaper manufacturers out of business...send them back to constructing North Korean swimwear or whatever else they make.

I recall a certain 18th Century Frenchman deriding the so-called prophalactics of his day, saying that they were, "...gossamer against infection, steel against love."

Yup, Pampers keeps the little ones just as clean.

Electric bikes and baby

2006-10-17T08:30:00.000-07:00

Check back in a couple of days for a description of the ride. We made it about 50 miles to London, OH.

In the meanwhile, check out this film:

An Electric Bicycle conversion

Landing Place to VC part 1: The only way to imagine the unimaginable is to do it

2006-10-14T03:26:00.000-07:00

Just woke up after 4.5 hrs sleep and I'm having a hard enough time navigating the kitchen at our sister community, Landing Place, much less an amorphous bike trail.

See, we know that there's a solid, unbroken bike trail between Loveland a Xenia - 50 miles. I rode that with Oster last year. (I should say we crash landed in Xenia because our equipment and bodies were at their limit.) We know how to get from Loveland to Norwood, and we are told the trail continues to London, OH. The only thing is, this site appears to not have been updated since 2004, noting that stretches of this section will be finished by 2005 or 2006. What's up with that??

So, we made a cruder map from the already crude maps on their site, using Google maps to assist. I think we'll find our way. We depart shortly. It's now 6:30am.

- Steve

A Letter on Pregnancy...Two Months Too Late!

2006-10-04T09:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Patient Blog Readers,

I am proud to say that I am finally posting after two full years of blatant blogger delinquincy! The last post I made was about preparing for our wedding. Okay, so I've been busy...but, no more excuses! I, BECKY, am posting this letter that I wrote to my friend Stella - who lives in sunny San Francisco - two months ago, but never got around to sending until after baby was born. I would like to start blogging regularly along with my partner in crime if at all possible. So... I'm asking you to hold me accountable for this. In other words, if I see you on a regular basis, bug me about writing so that I occasionally do so. Sorry for the long hiatus. I hope you enjoy this discourse on pregnancy...

Hey, Stella,

How is life treating you in beautiful San Francisco? I'm working a short-term temp assignment in downtown Cincy today, and had some extra time to email. Upon purging my account of old junk, I realized that I really needed to say hey to you.
Believe it or not, baby is due in 4 days! I have this big, full-grown human being rumblin' in my huge belly. I do love being pregnant, but I must say that I'm ready to have this little guy. We've decided to name him Ulysses Jonas Novotni. His nickname will be Uly. I can already tell you that he is a thoughtful, contemplative person - a thinker - but he also likes to play games and tricks. When I play with him, for example, he always waits before responding, and will trick me and others into thinking that he is not going to respond. He's so funny! And he's big. The midwives think he may already be eight pounds.
It really is a lot of work to take care of a baby in your belly. (As I'm sure it will also be when he's out) I must share: Every day (if I even have time to do all of these things) I have to: take prenatal vitamins, keep my feet up, drink a gallon of water ( I try but can't), do Kegels, perineal massage, slow breathing exercises, relaxation techniques, stretching and prenatal exercises, interaction with bebe, lots of nutritious foods - especially protein, calcium and iron, clean and get baby stuff ready, sometimes work, have a life and walk, walk walk...
It's cool, but sometimes tiring. I can't sleep on my back or stomach at all. I have to use a wedge pillow to sleep in a semi-reclined position or on my side (preferably the left side due to blood flow to the baby). I weigh 185 pounds, mostly in my huge belly, so I actually waddle instead of walking. My ankles and hands are very swollen, and two of my right fingers are numb most of the time.
On a practical and spiritual level, pregnancy has changed my life. It has taught me how people are supposed to live to be healthy. It's an amazing and beautiful gift. Some of this wisdom is related to physical health. Eating smaller meals throughout the day, for example, instead of big traditional meals, is one thing that pregnancy necessitates due to the fact that the stomach of a pregnant woman has less room because of the pressure from the uterus. How often have you heard that it's good to drink tons of water? Lots of water in pregnancy is important for circulation (pregnant women actually have 50% more blood in their bodies), fetal temperature, amniotic fluid volume and more. Walking is the best exercise known to woman - pregnant or not. No alcohol or caffeine is generally a good rule to follow during pregnancy. (Yeah, technically, I could have alcohol now that I'm in my third tri-mester, but I try to limit my consumption to a minimal amount.) The jury's still out on caffeine, but research has shown that it is likely to cause birth defects in some capacity. So, I feel like pregnancy has taught me what I normally should be doing to take care of myself. I actually feel a lot better doing these things too, which is no surprise.
Emotionally, pregnancy has done wonders for me. I'm hardly ever upset or anxious. Other women I know say that they were the same way during pregnancy due to the hormonal shift. However, more interestingly, pregnant women have to avoid stress or stressful environments for the health of their babies. So this helps with this state of mind and actually shows me how I should normally be mentally.
The breath of life. Breathing - This is the foundation and beginning of life. I can't wait to hear my son take his first breath. Pregnancy teaches women how to breath to relieve stress. This can be achieved through slow breathing techniques or meditation. Practicing breathing has cut down on my stress and anxiety levels tremendously. Simple, basic things: water, movement, breathing, simplicity. How cool.
But that's not all. Getting pregnant has forced Steve and I to settle for less crap and clean up our personal and financial affairs. No, we don't care to get in the middle of family disputes. Yes, we will actually pay our bills on time and settle our debts once and for all. Yeah, dishes get washed every day now. In pregnancy, they call this the nesting instinct - that is - the tendancy to get your nest in order. Steve is nesting these days just as much as I am. He built a taller fence in our backyard so the dog wouldn't scale it anymore. He shampooed the living room area rug that we got for free off of Craig's List. He waters the outdoor plants and weeds the garden. He built an undergroud composting system where we can compost both food and (yuck) pet waste. He's getting more regular work from CityBeat.

Humility (a mammalian trait) is superior to subterfuge (reptilian)

2006-10-04T08:40:00.000-07:00

We, as a species, must evolve if we are to survive.

These things:

Agression, hostility, war, hierarchy, lies, superstition

These are reptilian brain things that lie deep within our skulls. And they harm us more than they serve us.

Science, I'll wager, is the most important thing children should learn, after compassion and kindness. Certainly before religion. Look at what our so called Christian nation has wrought onto this planet. Religion, without the humility that education brings is a perverse monster and it perverts god into a sword.

We are the chief terrorists led by a tin plated despot.

But maybe asking how we help these people evolve is nobler than asking how we depose them.

Steve

Czars, Sam and Angela and Griswolds

2006-10-01T23:25:00.000-07:00

Sunday was a tremendously beautiful day that started off with me in a tremendously bad mood.

We were on our way to Jay and Stacey Czars place for brunch, which I've gathered is a regular thing over at their home on Sundays, and were running late. Get the baby out the door. Grab a contribution to the brunch. (Stacey said not to worry too much, but I never cared for arriving empty handed.) Wow, it's 10 minutes 'till we're supposed to be there and the place is 15 minutes away. Art show in the way - SR 561 is blocked off. Alternate route and I'm so friggin mad! And why? It's a gorgeous, warm, sunny Sunday and I'm eating with friends, riding with other friends, and taking it easy the whole day long. What's the mad crazy rush?

It was all me. Nobody else was that kind of rushed. What is that neurotic node in my brain? It's a mystery, I told Beck, which all the great mysteries are. Internal, I mean.

Jay and Stacey have a lovely home, a large apartment with natural light aplenty, overlooking the Ohio River. Panoramic, big picture views. Four video monitors at one desk for video work, internet and whatever else Jay works on. (I bet Stacey has a laptop and a separate work area, but I didn't ask.

They cooked food like pros. Wow. Fine dining including Jay's gently assembled alcoholic drinks that you can down on a Sunday morning without feeling like a wino, Stacey's crepes (I think. Whatever they were, they were awesome.) and nice company. It was a real pleasure to reconnect with our old friends and introduce them to the baby. We also met Joy, a chemist who works on the Blues Fest, Jan, who is Jay Kalagayan's fiance, and Sara, who digs Sarah Vowell. (Sorry for these limited biographies. They were cool folks and more than these collections of words can express.) Good conversation on Ira Glass' recent visit on Writer's weekend and how the best question for Glass came from a homeless woman down at Inktank.

Sam and Angela and I ride 20 miles on the Miami trail (a rails to trails run) from south of Milford up to Branch Hill Road in Loveland. I'm practicing for the 100 miles to Columbus.

Beck and I spent the eveining with the Griswolds and their super kids. Relaxed and fun evening. Everyone had that same, wow I'm tired and hardly ready for the new week vibe. Sara G. verbalized this and was our overworked representative. Jeremiah is working on a stack of cool, post modern fiction (or at least one book) and we shared some parenting discussion over drinks.

Beck and I slept at 9:30 and here I am, 2am, up again. Trying to make the best of it. I think I might have one friend, Mark Flannigan, who I could call this late, but I don't know. Is it too late, Mark?

- Steve

Fixed Uly's swing...sorta

2006-09-29T21:07:00.000-07:00

So Uly has this awesome swing...

I bumped into it two days ago and knocked it over, damaging the motherboard (modest though it may be) so that it functioned only erratically.

Anyway, I thought, lets cut out the digital middleman and install a rehostat (that's the knobby dially thing that turns the dining room lights up and down)

Enter me to Radio Shack and a $2.99 volume control knob. Two hours and a sliced up middle finger later, it works -- sorta.

It's too fast and the control too sensitive. The volume control is a potentiometer, not exactly a rehostat, but I don't know the difference.

Back to the drawing board. ("And Pa goes sailin' thru the winder!")

- Steve

I am a chaos junkie

2006-09-29T21:01:00.000-07:00

I just emailed two guys who need a ride to Dayton for a 5am flight. Told 'em I'd do it for $60...but it's really for the adventure. I'm sick, I know it.

Steve

There's a difference between straw and hay

2006-09-25T05:30:00.000-07:00

I'm a city boy. I didn't know that, but now I do.

I want straw for Ghost to sleep on, not hay. Hay is dried grass and legumes that animals eat. Straw is an agricultural byproduct, the dry stalk of a cereal plant, after the nutrient grain or seed has been removed.

Thanks, wikipedia.

Oh, I also found out that I was guilty of another reality inversion. I woke early today to go to Reading Feed to but straw and dog food, but they open at 9 am, not 6 am.

Ok, I'll go back later.

Citybeat stuff to do today and care of Uly, of course, too.

- Steve

New bike, good weather and our anniversary

2006-09-24T16:27:00.000-07:00

We're on some down time here at my mom's place. Beck is feeding Uly and we're getting ready to head out to celebrate our second wedding anniversary.

I picked up a new mountain bike today from Craigslist. It turns out it's cheaper ($40) to buy someone elses hardly used bike than fixing mine ($100+). The bike is a 1997 Diamondback with rockshocks on the front and nobby tires. It's ultralight chromoly and aluminum and - wow - it's the fastest, lightest bike I've ever owned. When new, this baby sold for around $1,000. I found a review online - the cops use it in a couple of cities and everyone else thinks it kicks ass. I am a devotee now, too.

Elizabeth's boyfriend Sam - who just recently moved here from Lubbock Texas - and Angela Pancela, from St. Louis, joined me on a ride downtown from Norwood. Angela had to double back after we made it to Broadway Commons. Sam and I went on to Newport, Covington, Downtown Cincy, Findlay Market, Liverty Hill and then back home to Norwood. Great ride.

Beck and I are going out to a mexican place tonight. I'll let you know what we think about Cancun later on...

- Steve

"Wolverine: I'm the best there is at what I do." or "Why I am through with bullshit."

2006-09-19T22:53:00.000-07:00

I've been getting serious about lots 'o' stuff as of late, what with my new midget boss and all.

The revelation of the week came to me early Monday morning, as I was laying on an examination table with the lights off.

"I'm not going to get my blood pressure to go down far enough," I thought. "I should just get home. I'm already late...breathe, calm...that's good...why am I still here?"

See, I had to get by blood pressure down really low, like 130 over 70 or something, to be in this stupid E Coli study. It pays $800. It's like found money if I do it all. I can work while they experiment on me and learn what it's like to be in a research study...Richard Rodruigez, the mexican Tarantino, financed his first film this way.

Yeah, all this stuff is running through my mind and my BP is going nowhere slow. I flash back to Sunday afternoon, as I tell my insanely funny joke about my buddy Andy being scattered and smart and Kev laughs that I'm that way, too...

"I need to leave. This is bullshit."

"But it'd be so cool! I could write on my laptop while I'm innoculated with the attenuated bacteria...you know, the same one that's killed two people this week and caused the spinich shortage."

Yeah.

See, I'm not a house painter or a serious designer or a professional apartment broker or a guinea pig for that matter.

I do a couple of things well: Writing, reporting, photography. I need to stick with those and stop dallying...at least as much as I have.

Sheesh!

Anyway, I am reworking Goxray.com for the eventuality that I'll be doing just what I do best and not a lot of other crap that I may be cery interested in, but shouldn't pursue for money. Check it out if you would, and tell me what you think of the design in progress.

There's so much more I'd like to say on this blog...

2006-09-17T23:32:00.000-07:00

...and here's what's distracting me. :)