• I guess that all families that stay together, that stick, that have vacations together, also have their bad moments. Like a banana turned brown, sitting uncomfortably in the middle of a large display of fresh fruit. Some people remember the good, and some remember the bad. I choose to remember the good. But the banana stands out.



• Sleeping in the shadow of an early alarm, the alarm always present, threatening sleep, keeping me awake. Not sleeping. Breathe deeply. Not sleeping. Then the light, well before dawn. Laura calls, on her way. Packing, parking, checking luggage. The Parsons in order, organized. Christopher and Laura flapping loose.



• Nana is a magnet. They grab her hand, wait for her glance, show her their things. Nana takes care of them.
• Three boys in the airport. Running. Shouting. Five, almost five, and two. Leo basking in the five-year-old glow. Christopher runs ahead in the Denver airport, wearing a bright green shirt. Laura follows, Timmy runs too, I lose sight of them. They reassemble. We organize our carry-on food for the next plane.
• Paul is waiting in the lobby of the new place. Kidani, starts with Kid. Eva hugging. She says "granddad" very well.  She hugs me very well.  She hugs her Nana.
• Monday morning, I hear Paul and his two kids from under the blankets and pillows in the bed in the hallway, trying to keep them quiet, not to wake me. Instead, we walk together, four of us, for coffee in the morning quiet before the heat. Eva says "granddad" beautifully, like she particularly enjoys the r sound. She holds my hand. Paul walks with Boyan beaming on his shoulder. Disney is waking up.
• Christopher is sick on Monday morning. Laura and Christopher stay behind.
• "Scary" is an issue. Eva, squirming in Paul’s arms, trying to escape the "scary" as we wait for the Small World. The ramp for the line goes slanting downwards with switchbacks. Paul takes Eva out of the line, to her great relief, to freedom from "scary." 
• "Granddad comes too," Timmy says as he grabs my hand. Noah and Timmy and I go for the pirates while Vange and Sabrina and Leo and Paul and Eva hanging out in the kids areas, avoiding scary. He wants me to come with. I feel like a prize. We go to the pirates, walking fast, Noah and Timmy and I, cutting our way through the heat, like through the jungle with machetes.  Timmy holds my hand tightly. Timmy soaks the pirates in, glowing in the dark, pointing to everything.  Through the heat again, fast, and we do the haunted house too. Timmy holds tight, likes being scared.
• "We saw the real Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty, mommy. No masks, no wigs," Timmy said, afterwards. That night we went back on the air conditioned bus through the heat at dusk to the VIP seats in the parade. We sat in the roped-off benches, front row. People asked how we got there. "Our son knows people." Timmy basked in his birthday. Characters stopped by to wish him well. The floats glided by glistening, flashing, brilliantly lit, Disney in all its mechanical magical carefully managed glory.
• Christopher was asleep long before we got back to Kidani. We decided we made the right choice.
• Tuesday morning, Animal Kingdom. Once again we split up, and Timmy grabs me like a prize, holding my hand, "granddad comes too." Noah and Timmy and I go through the river rapids ride. Timmy gets soaking wet and, despite the thick heat, it bothers him.
• Waiting at the fence for the train that goes back and forth from petting zoo, Leo looks up at me: "Granddad, uppy uppy, it’s coming, I have to see." Leo loves trains.
• Laura and Christopher woke up early Tuesday and went to the Magic Kingdom the two of them, mother and son, happily. They saw the parade. Laura found perfect seats. Christopher did Buzz Lightyear six times.
• Boyan in the swimming pool that afternoon, his worried look disappears over and over again into a beaming smile. Happy baby. Paul with Boyan. Happy daddy. Which reminds me, Paul and Eva, Paul and Boyan, different times, different places, "Daddy" and "Tatti" over and over.
• Sabrina and Noah and Timmy and Leo having fun. Sabrina asks me to watch Timmy, off on his own, squirting people with a big squirter cannon. Timmy’s grin has become engraved on his face, permanent.
• Leo over and over is swept up with the other two boys, riding their games like a surfer riding a wave. Eva watches, joins, but carefully.
• Wednesday morning, divided again, Sabrina and I take Leo on the train. We point out the mechanical memories, carefully assembled. Leo stares out intently, not talking.
• Christopher soaks in the small world, pointing everything out, one by one, look at this, look at that. He sings along.
• At Captain Hiram’s, the boys hang onto the side railing by the table, hanging out over the water, throwing crayons. They look like dogs at the windows of moving cars. There is a pleasant steady breeze.
• Christopher loves the ocean. With Laura holding and helping, he dives under waves and jumps over waves. He can stay in the ocean forever. He holds my hand, jumping the waves. 
• Friday morning, Eva and I walk to the swimming pool alone, the two of us. She holds my hand. We swim together in the pool. We talk about the slide.
• Vange takes walks on the beach, manages lunch, watches the kids for sunblock blanks, being Nana.
• In the pool with the slide, I catch Eva, like we rehearsed in the morning. And then I catch Leo, with his brilliant smiling eyes.
• Vange finds an ocean rock on the beach, a leatherish brown color, smoothed, with lots of holes, about the size of her hand. "Look," she says, "it’s like a family. It has holes, but it stays together. It is still a rock."
• Eva carefully lays out her four small princesses, the prize from Nana, counts them and cares for them one by one. Boyan runs in and grabs one, over and over, shrieking, throwing it when she protests.
• On the last day, midday Sun, we walked on the beach. All the way up and back.

IMG_1787.JPG

Originally uploaded by tim_berry

Dad and Liz took a river trip out of Portland, then came down to Eugene with me to spend the weekend. This was carving pumpkins on the patio.

IMG_1475
Originally uploaded by noah.p

Who wants to put a caption to this picture. What is Leo’s expression? Resignation?

DSC_0011
Originally uploaded by noah.p

The Parsons, Laura, and Christopher went to Portland together for the weekend, with a bit of business, and a bit of a nice weekend for the kids. This was taken on the tramway up to the hospital.

“Tim. Call my mother.” It was the middle of the night, probably between 1 and 2 in the morning. Finally, the waiting was over.

Thank God the old red volkswagen (chofre) started. It was dark, quiet, easy to get to the hospital quickly. Vange fell into caring hands. Eva arrived.

Jaime Lopez Ortiz, tall, good looking, personable, and thoroughly reassuring, was waiting for us at the Hospital Dalinde, in Colonia Condesa, just past the Periferico, behind Insurgents. It had been carefully chosen. It was close to Dr. Lopez Ortiz’ office.

Vange was rolled away and the doctor followed her behind two beige doors with small portholes, through which I could see only a hallway. Eva and I sat together and waited. And waited. And waited.

“They are both fine.” Jaime the doctor had popped out of the door. “But the baby’s heartbeat is slowing, don’t worry, I’m going to push things faster now, and if I can’t get the baby in about 10 minutes, we’ll do a Cesarean.”

Minutes took forever. Then we heard the baby crying, from through the doors, and Jaime was back out, quickly. “She’s a beautiful baby girl, very blond (guera).”

It took about half an hour before we could see her, tiny baby, a face only, slicked down, sleeping. Vange was out for several hours. The world had changed. We had Laura. Joy, reverence, magic, and I floated, having become somebody else, somebody happier, stronger, more loving, more responsible, better.

They scared us. Hours passed, we waited for them to bring the baby to the room for cuddling and nursing. Fear mounted. Welcome to the rest of your life. We complained. There was no explanation. We complained again. Finally I went downstairs and insisted. She was breathing hard, a bit of moisture, she would be fine.

And she was. Baby Laura’s first cold.

On the second day, mid morning, I was driving towards home to fetch some things for Vange when Raul passed me, going the other way, and we stopped in the middle of the road, driver to driver. “I’m in a hurry,” I said, “they’re going to bring the baby back to the room in a little bit.” Raul smiled and waved. He had no idea. The new baby, baby Laura.

One of my meditation tapes — today, 35 years later — talks about feeling light like power come through your body as you breathe in. Cheesy, irrelevant, except for this: that was what happened every time that little blond baby girl breathed: like like power ran through her.