Lunchtime, Thursday, December 31, 2009 • 5 responses
Most of my friends, colleagues, and acquaintances found 2009 a harder year than years past. The global economic downturn and its residual effects of course weighed heavily on all of us—some more directly than others. For me, 2009 really wasn’t bad, and I’m going into 2010 with some good momentum.
The Could’ve-Been-Better
2009 was a bad year for the Nayar dogs. Both Sadie and Lakshmi passed away, and their absence is palpable. I can say without hesitation that Lakshmi’s death was the low point of the year for me.
Other than at work and in regards to PS3 game trophies, I was spectacularly unproductive this year. In woodworking, I tried a lot of new things (like turning) and have honed some essential skills over the last year, but in service of nothing productive (sans more shop furniture). I’ll endeavor for more tangible results in 2010 and already have a list of pieces I hope to build in the first half of the year (and yes, dear, your side tables are on it 
). I’m also empty-handed when it comes to etherfarm developments—I had grand plans for this site this year, but at the end of a day staring at screens and talking with people who stare at screens, after Ray goes to bed I find I’d much rather be at my lathe or at my bench in the woodshop than in front of HTML, CSS and PHP.
Sadly, though, I more often ended up with a videogame controller or mouse in my hands rather than a tool. This I lament, even though there were some amazing games in 2009, some of which I even found inspiring.
The Good
My work travel was less than 50% of my 2008 corporate globetrotting. That didn’t necessarily translate to more time at home; I spent almost all of my vacation days in Illinois. Which, for a variety of reasons, is a splendid place to be.
I might be one of the few people I know who likes their job. I took on a new role at work this year, and it’s full of new and interesting challenges. For the first time in a long, long time, I feel that when I’m engaged with what I’m doing, I can end just about every day having learned or done something new or having found new ways to apply the one or two things I actually do know.
I spent a lot of time with friends this year—old and new, near and far. Last year, my tolerance for West Coast Flakiness achieved a critical mass and I more or less went into seclusion. This year, a few of my friendships in the Bay Area seemed to take root and it somehow worked out that I had more quality time with friends in other locales. It perhaps goes without saying that I ate a lot of good food with some of these good people in 2009.
And to counter all that good food, I managed to swim at least 3 times a week all year this year (with just a few exceptions due to travel). This wasn’t really a goal (it’s an unintended accomplishment) but I’m ending 2009 feeling much more healthy than I have in years past. Which is nice, because despite my relatively low number of years on this planet, I’ve felt physically old and decrepit since my back surgery in 2003.
We transformed the front and back yards from worthless patches of horrible, clumpy grass to wonderful outdoor rooms. I admire them every time I leave and arrive home and probably will until we leave this place.
And of course, there’s Ray. I go on and on about him, and I’ve found that those who meet him tend to go on and on about him as well. It’ll suffice to say that in the last 365 days, he’s gone from toddler to little boy, and I find joy and poetry in almost everything he says and does.
Obviously, in balance, I really can’t complain about 2009—to do so would be absurd. It has left me exhausted in a good way, like being “just full enough” after a great meal. And I’m optimistic about 2010 for a variety of reasons, but Nara has the biggest one in development:
If all goes well, Ray’s little sister will arrive in early June. And if that’s not a reason to look forward to 2010, I don’t know what is.
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Mid-afternoon, Wednesday, October 21, 2009 • 2 responses
This year I’ve traveled only a quarter of what I traveled last year. Though I have friends in most places I visit, it has been nice not having to go overseas so much. The real difference, though, is not measured in miles traveled or time abroad. The difference is that this year Ray really notices when I’m away. You have my word that etherfarm won’t become a repository for quoted conversations with my son, but if you ever hear the following, it’s time to unpack the suitcase for a while (or be sure to pack him in it next time you leave).
Narayan: How are you today, Ray?
Ray: I’m fine. But I got run over while you were in Philly-delphia.
Narayan: You got run over?!
Ray: Yes. I got run over.
Narayan: What ran you over?
Ray: A lawnmower.
Narayan: A lawnmower?! Did it hurt?
Ray: Yes. But I also got run over by a jackhammer.
Narayan: Really?
Ray: Yes. It was a steel rod jackhammer.
Narayan: Oh, those are the worst kind.
Ray: And I got a boo boo.
Narayan: Where?
Ray: On the inside.
Narayan: You got a boo boo on the inside?
Ray: When you go away I miss you and I get run over on the inside.
Narayan: …
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Late afternoon, Sunday, July 05, 2009 • 4 responses
Below are excerpts from recent conversations I’ve had with Ray:
Playing with Trains
Ray: ”Choo-a-choo, whoo-a-whoo…”
Narayan: ”Choo-a-choo, whoo-a-whoo… ”
Ray: “Slow down for the government!”
Narayan: “What did you just say?!”
Ray: “Slow down for the government!”
Narayan: “Wow. OK. What does that mean?”
Ray: “Slow down for the government!”
Narayan: “Yeah, but what does it mean?”
Ray: “It means you have to go slow so you don’t hurt anybody.”
Narayan: “Oh, I get it, the government says you have to slow down to be safe.”
Ray: “Yep.”
Narayan, strategizing: “You know what else the government says, right?”
Ray: “No.”
Narayan: “The government says you have to take a shower this morning.”
Ray: “No it doesn’t!”
Narayan: “How do you know?!”
Ray: “Because you don’t take showers on the train, that’s silly!”
Watching a Jogger
Narayan: “There goes a jogger!”
Ray, wincing: “He was nekkid!”
Narayan: “He was?”
Ray: “His legs were nekkid!”
Narayan: “Yeah, he was wearing shorts.”
Ray: “His tummy was nekkid!”
Narayan: “Yeah, he wasn’t wearing a shirt.”
Ray: “And his head was nekkid.”
Narayan: “Yeah, I guess he was a little bald.”
Ray: “And his arms were nekkid and his neck was nekkid and his fingers were nekkid.”
Narayan: “…”
Ray: “Daddy?”
Narayan: “Yes, Ray?”
Ray: “HIS EYES WERE NEKKID! THAT’S SILLY!”
Making Pancakes
Narayan: “Ray, do you want blueberries in your pancakes?”
Ray: “No.”
Narayan: “Do you want blueberries on your pancakes?”
Ray: “No.”
Narayan: “Strawberries?”
Ray: “No.”
Narayan: “Butter?”
Ray: “No.”
Narayan: “Whipped Cream?”
Ray: “No.”
Narayan: “Honey?”
Ray: “No.”
Narayan: “Maple syrup?”
Ray: “No.”
Narayan: “Well, I’m out of ideas. What do you want on your pancakes?”
Ray: “Daddy?”
Narayan: “Yes, Ray?”
Ray: “You know what I want in my pancakes?”
Narayan: “What, Ray?”
Ray: “Flavor.”
Narayan: “Well, that’s silly.”
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Evening, Friday, June 26, 2009 • 1 response
Five years ago today on a farm in northwest Illinois, my wife and I drove to our wedding on a tractor. She was wearing a dress she made herself and I was wearing a traditional ceremonial Indian outfit (complete with curly, pointy shoes!) brought to the U.S. by relatives. The tractor, a six-wheeled John Deere Gator, was a fitting chariot for an excursion through an apple orchard, a mud puddle, across a land bridge, and up a small hill to a throng of people wondering exactly which cultish ritual they had signed up to attend.
Our dogs and 80 or so humans were in attendance while a judge who, in a ceremony about as long as a trip through the Portillo’s drive-thru during non-peak hours, read vows we had written ourselves. We then stuffed our faces first with Indian food then a three-layer cake (carrot, chocolate, and Indian rice pudding flavors) which Nara and her mom made the day prior.
It was by far the best wedding I’ve ever attended and easily one of the best days of my life so far. Even though whole endeavor was completely improvised from start to finish it still managed, I think, to convey that the eclectic, creative, crafty, irreverent and beautiful aspects of her personality could blend rather successfully with the best I have to offer: emotionally distant anal-retentiveness (and a freakish absence of body odor). And I couldn’t be more thrilled to say that five years later, that nothing about that has changed. We’re still improvising, and we’re still blending successfully. And I still smell good.
Our wedding invitation, a postcard, aptly paraphrases the last 1800+ days:
Love you, honey.
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Early evening, Thursday, June 11, 2009 • 18 responses
Today I had to say goodbye to my dog, Lakshmi. I’m not one for sentimental monologues—in fact I’m patently bad at them. I’m obligated, however, to at least a few words, as so many people absolutely adored Lakshmi. I was reminded of this just recently when I was in Portland, Maine, for the Food Bender. I lived in Portland for three years and anyone who knew me while I was there also knew Lakshmi—we went absolutely everywhere together. As I was walking down the street a few weeks ago, I thought I recognized someone walking toward me, and as she slowed down with a puzzled look on her face, it was clear she thought she recognized me as well. She said, tenatively, “Lakshmi’s dad, right?”
Lakshmi’s dad indeed. And this happened three times over the five days I was in Maine last month, a full nine years after I left Portland.
Granted, this phenomenon is common among dog owners. But some of these people would also just stop by sometimes—not to see me—but to walk my dog. And this has happened everywhere I’ve lived (except now in the burbs). There were a handful of people who actually couldn’t wait for me to travel somewhere by plane because if I couldn’t drive there, Lakshmi didn’t come with me and would need someone to care for her at home. People who hate dogs have professed love for Lakshmi, and she did her fair share of recruiting dog owners-to-be.
We really did go everywhere together. She crossed the continent with me at least 4 times and went on every single one of my epic two-lane highway roadtrips. I gather that over her fourteen-year lifespan she probably logged 150,000 miles. She slept in the car and in tents with me most of those trips and for a couple of months, we even lived out of my car, graduate student office, and a few Santa Cruz laundromats and cafes due to a pathetic housing situation. We traveled to glaciers and through deserts, to the center of North America, and the Center of the Earth (she’s got an official, signed certificate of her own for the that last one). She rode the subway in NYC as I had to get her uptown somehow and I had to pretend like I was blind to get her past the ticket booth. She backpacked with me all over the U.S. and Canada and has gone swimming in both the Atlantic and the Pacific. She’s growled at moose, beavers, raccoons, bears, buffalo, bison, whales, fish, and hippies. And she ran. Boy, did she run.
Last September she had a buildup of fluid around her heart which almost killed her. When she made a completely unexpected recovery (she had lost about 1/3rd of her weight and there was a very high likelihood of the fluid buildup returning), the vet christened her “Miracle Dog”. Though she was as sweet as she had always been since that incident, she was noticeably older and more tired. Today I noticed that her back leg had swollen and brought her into the vet thinking she had sprained it or something. Unfortunately, an ultrasound revealed that the fluid was back in her chest and the swollen leg was probably related somehow to the root condition. And I really didn’t want to put her once again through the medical treatment which a few months earlier saved her life but seemed to take her spirit.
I’ll admit, regrettably, that in the last few years, the business of life with Ray has made us interact with the dogs more as furniture than as pets and as such, Lakshmi didn’t get the kind of opportunities she’s had in the past to run back and forth at light speed on a beach. But she seemed to understand her new role. When Ray was a baby, she’d sometimes lick his face while he was crying. And she was so patient with him as he grew from a helpless larvae in a bouncy chair to a kid who liked to make loud noises, pull tails and stroke her head with more vigor than he should have.
As she went to sleep for the last time today, I probably also stroked her head with more vigor than I should have as memories of all the crazy adventures we had together came to mind. It was a lot harder than I had thought it was going to be. But she had a great run of fourteen years and played such a significant role in making my last fourteen years as memorable as they have been. So yeah, I’m extremely sad. But also extremely grateful.
Here’s a photographic tribute to Lakshmi.
If I can, I plan on taking her ashes to the family farm in Illinois and burying them there in a box I’ll make myself, by hand, with as much love, compassion, and devotion that she showed me all those years. If you knew Lakshmi and have a few words to say in tribute, do leave a comment below. I’ll print out this entry and put it in the box with her ashes.
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Just Out of Reach
- Friday, June 26, 2009: Five Years
- Thursday, June 11, 2009: Lakshmi, 1995-2009
- Monday, June 08, 2009: Maker Faire
- Sunday, May 24, 2009: Backyard Bowling
- Thursday, May 07, 2009: Food Bender 2009: Portland, Maine
