Adventures in Babysitting

I don't have children. I don't want any. But, I absolutely adore my nieces. So, I was delighted when asked to babysit them for four days while their parents went on their first adults-only vacation since having children. S is four and a half and R is two and a half. They're both at really fun ages.

A couple weeks before the babysitting gig, I was running errands and spotted something I'd never seen in a store before: twisty balloons! You know, the long, thin ones you use to make balloon animals. I just had to get them.

I googled balloon animals and found a site that has videos showing how to make them. V laughed at me. But it's a month later and she's still enjoying her balloon frog.

It turns out that having children is a memory trip. The girls did things I remember doing when I was their age. More than that, I felt like I felt when I did them at their age.

When I dressed R in the mornings, I rolled up her socks and stretched them open with my index fingers so she could get them on easily. It seemed the obvious thing to do. I sat on the floor, she would stand and hold my shoulder, then lift her foot to put the sock on. I had a flashback to my mom putting my socks on that way. Then I remembered what it felt like to be two and have my socks put on. I wasn't imagining what it would be like. I was remembering what it was like. Wow.

The same thing happened when I pushed S on the swing and she tried to swing higher than her shadow. It happened again when she finished her bath. I opened the drain and she covered it with her little fingers and laughed while she tried to stop the water from getting away. It was so much fun. And it was nostalgic. But nostalgia was just the bridge to re-experiencing my youth. It was wonderful.

R makes the happiest sound I've ever heard. I wish I had a recording of it so I could put it on my mp3 player and listen to it whenever I want. You know those moments when you have a realization of something good, or you notice something new that delights you so much you can't be silent and you kind of go "Oh!" When that happens to R, her face brightens, she raises her hands, and she makes a lilting "Ah!" sound. It's a sound of discovery and joy that's childlike pure and makes me feel as joyful as she does. I love that sound!

And now for some practical advice. If you are inexperienced with children and find yourself babysitting, here are some things that will help.

It's important to know how much liquid a diaper will hold. Do a test if you need to. Take a measuring cup of water and fill the diaper. Subtract 10%. Then, schedule the diaper changes and drinks accordingly. You do not want to find yourself with an overflowing diaper in a car seat. Trust me. You really don't.

Parents are diligent about their children's diets. As an uncle or aunt you are allowed, nay required, to take liberties. The children will be missing their parents. They will need comforting and comfort foods. Indulge them. Also, try to ease up on the fiber and encourage more cheese. The kids will love it, and you will have fewer and more manageable poops to deal with. There is time for fiber once the parents return.

Learn a skill that you can have fun with and that can also be used as a distraction if needed. I learned to make balloon animals. The kids loved it. I loved it. Heck, everyone loved it. Even their dad ... until he realized that I had raised the bar and the kids might want more balloon animals after I left. Whoops! I hadn't considered the aftermath of being the best uncle ever. Buwaaaahahahaha!

I love being Uncle Rex.

The Enchanted Beach Which Can Be Used As a Table

My parents-in-law no longer own the condo in Indian Shores, Florida. It’s too bad because it was a great place on a great beach. Driving across Ulmerton which becomes Walsingham to get from Tampa Bay to the gulf beaches was a drag though. The road was wide, the traffic bad, and there was no scenery but strip mall after strip mall. I always pronounced Ulmerton and Walsingham the way Steve Martin pronounced Dr. Hfuhruhurr and Anne Uumellmahaye in The Man with Two Brains. The drawn-out sigh of pronunciation fit the drive.

The condo was beachfront on the second floor, which was actually the first floor of units. The ground level was open parking with a break wall in case the ocean became unruly. Sitting on the balcony was almost as good as sitting on the beach.

Every year we got a week there in return for V doing the taxes. It was the early to mid ‘90s, before V had chronic back pain, so we were able to golf, swim, and walk for miles on the beach. We had done a lot of traveling to different places, but the condo was the first place we returned to again and again. We liked that instead of being an adventure vacation, it was a relaxing vacation where we knew the area and all we had to do was enjoy being there.

I’d get up in the morning, start coffee brewing, and mosey downstairs to get the St. Petersburg Times—excellent entertainment for a quarter. I’d take my coffee and paper out to the balcony and enjoy the morning.

Being a Canadian on vacation in the US, I’d look through the ads in the paper and marvel at how inexpensive things were, especially liquor. There’s a great wine store in Tarpon Springs about 45 minutes from the condo called B-21 Fine Wine & Spirits. I got some excellent bottles there over the years like 1977 Dow's Vintage Port, 1989 Chateau de Beaucastel, and great California cabs from the late ‘80s like Mondavi, Sterling, Caymus, Mayacamus, and Silver Oak. That was the thing about B-21, you could get older vintages. One time I got a bottle of Opus One. On the way back we went through the drive-through at Checkers and got fries. I cooked striploins and we had a great dinner on the balcony watching the sun set.

In October of ’94 I read an article about a guy in St. Pete’s who writes the blurbs on the back of baseball cards for Topps. The article mentioned how cards from years where production was low were worth more as collectibles years later. I’m not a sports fan, but even I couldn’t miss that the players were on strike in the fall of ’94. I figured the fans were probably sour on the game because of the striking millionaire players, so there probably wouldn’t be many cards issued. I went out and bought a complete set. I still have it in its unopened box. It’s tucked away and I would have forgotten about it if I hadn’t been reminiscing about Florida. Someday when I’m cleaning house to move into the seniors’ home, I’ll come across it again and maybe I’ll be able to sell it for enough to finance a trip back to Florida.

My favourite restaurant is Bern’s Steak House in Tampa. In the early '90s their wine list was hardcover and was the size of the Hamilton (Ontario) phone book. They'd print new editions once every five years, so depending on where they were in the cycle, you might see white-out or edits in the list based on inventory changes. The prices didn't change though. If you had shown up on day 364 of year four, you'd pay the same as you would have on day one of year one. Now I see their wine list is online and it's updated quarterly. Are you curious to try a wine from the year you were born? You can probably find one at Bern's.

They have a cellar at the restaurant (ask for a tour) and two more cellars across the street. Their inventory is maintained at around 500,000 bottles. Every year before going to Florida, I would spend hours with the Wine Spectator's Ultimate Guide to Buying Wine, making a list of wines I'd look for at Bern's. V would wait patiently while I indulged in my guilty pleasure for twenty minutes with the wine list. Then dinner would begin.

The décor is busy and gaudy, but in a way that works. The waiters spend a year in training. They have to train at all stations in the restaurant and work on the farm where Bern's grows their herbs and vegetables before they can serve tables.

The dessert room is upstairs, separate from the dining room. There is a dance floor and a pianist. Each table is in it's own private booth made from a huge wine cask. The booths that don't have direct views of the pianist have televisions so you can see him play, and telephones so you can talk to him and make requests. We always requested Linus and Lucy, the Charlie Brown theme!

The list of dessert wines is amazing. I once had a glass of sherry from 1900. It tasted delicate and fragile and had a faint flavour of hazelnut. As I tasted it, I thought about all the history that had passed since the bottle was corked. Both world wars, the first flight, the moon landing. It was more than just a drink. It was an experience. I had a Dow's vintage port from 1963. And I had excellent coffees (roasted daily at the restaurant) and desserts.

I love ocean waves. I love the thick, frothy sound of them. To me, fresh water waves sound like the kitchen tap dripping or a garden hose spraying a driveway. The sound of ocean waves washes over me and gives me a happy sense of wellbeing. I love it when the waves get big. That’s when I like to go in the water and just let the waves push me around.

Every day we would go for a long walk on the beach before lunch. The only decision was north or south? Flocks of sand pipers were always scurrying around the water’s edge, looking for food washed ashore by the waves. It was like they were kids chasing the waves out, then running back to avoid getting wet when the next wave rolled in.

I’d collect shells (I know, I’m way to old for that.) I’d take some small ones (about the size of a nickel or dime) home and take them into the office. Months after my vacation I would do things like drop one in someone’s boot, pocket, or pencil holder, or put one under a stack of papers on someone’s desk.

Sometimes I would just sit on the beach, scoop handfuls of sand and let it fall between my fingers. What is it about sand running through your fingers or skipping stones that feels so good?

One trip, I noticed a guy with a metal detector. He would come around early in the morning and scan the sand around the lounges looking for treasure. I wrapped some quarters in paper and wrote things on them like, “You’re getting close,” and, “Elvis was here,” and, “Oh my God, you’re right on top of it!” I buried them by the lounges near the balcony. The next morning I went to the balcony with my coffee and paper and watched as the guy came scavenging. He came so close. He was within six inches and his detector didn’t beep! Dude, if you’re reading this, get yourself a better metal detector!

I was a member at the Dali museum in St. Petersburg. I wore a Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory watch for years. I bought it at the museum for about $40. The crown eventually fell off but I still wore it even though it hurt like hell to set the time. I went through four or five watch bands. The face eventually faded to a pale yellow so the picture was barely visible before I finally stopped wearing it.

Many of Dali’s paintings are illusions. He would paint one thing that could appear as something else, or sometimes as three different things. The Hallucinogenic Toreador is a great example. (To see the toreador, look at the green wrap on the Venus. It’s his necktie.) It hangs in the St. Petersburg museum next to The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus. Both are about 3x4 metres. I was awestruck the first time I saw them. I don't know how long I stood there staring at them.

I’m not religious, but I like Dali’s paintings of Christ and The Last Supper. They’re beautiful. I also like his paintings of Gala. You can tell how much he loved her by the way he painted her.

Dali had a remarkable mind. He was able to conceive of extraordinary, complex things and put them on canvas. I sometimes wonder what he would have created if he was an architect or scientist.

It saddens me to look at the paintings he did the last ten years of his life. His health, sight, and skills were declining. When I look at them, I think that if they were done by any other artist, I would consider them great paintings. But when I compare them to his own earlier works, well, it just makes me sad.

My Albatross (Part 1)

I have social anxiety disorder. It’s not who I am or what I think, but it drastically limits how I’m able to function with people. It’s sometimes called social phobia. Like all phobias, it’s an irrational fear of something harmless.

Do you know anyone who has extreme anxiety or panic attacks over things like heights, flying, spiders, snakes, enclosed spaces? It happens to me in crowded places, when strangers approach, dealing with authority figures, job interviews, or having to speak at a function or meeting. The thought of going to a party sends my anxiety soaring.

When I tell people about this, they usually respond, “What? You? No way!” I've gotten pretty good at hiding it most of the time. Outside, I’m calm and have a quiet, strong demeanor. Inside, I’m wound tight and am consciously controlling my breathing and relaxing my muscles. It’s incredibly distracting. It makes it hard to concentrate on what’s going on around me and what people are saying. And if I miss what’s going on, I can’t participate effectively, then my anxiety rises and I have to consciously control … you get the picture.

What’s the long term solution? Well, my fight-or-flight response somehow became associated with harmless social interactions. It doesn't matter how at this point, though it’s probably largely hereditary. The solution is to change the association. I have to learn to associate social activity with pleasure instead of fear. I want to enjoy being social.

The short term solution is medication. I take Paxil and lorazepam every day. I take additional lorazepam if I know I’m going to need help dealing with a situation. They have helped, but not without cost. They have raised the bar so that I’m reasonably functional in public. But lorazepam is a tranquilizer. And though it’s a godsend to have some relief from anxiety and to ward off a flat out panic attack, being tranquil takes the edge off things like ambition, motivation, mental acuity, and joy. For the most part it’s a good trade off. The trouble is, the short term has lasted ten years so far. It turns out that changing psychological associations is extremely difficult.

Best Fishes

A high school classmate contacted me on Facebook this week and asked, "Remember me?" She's married, so she gave me her maiden name which sounded familiar, but I wasn't sure.

I found my memorabilia box with yearbooks in it and flipped open 1979. A large photo dropped from inside the front cover. I picked it up and Steve Martin smiled in a white suit with a fish sticking out of his jacket just above the top button. The autograph reads, "Best Fishes, Steve Martin." It was an insert from one of his albums. Remember that? That was awesome!

I saw Steve Martin once playing poker in the Mirage poker room in Las Vegas. He was on a break during the filming of Sgt. Bilko. He was in a seven card stud game. There was a list a mile long to join Steve's game. He wore a red baseball cap with his head tilted forward so the brim gave him privacy. No one was bothering him.

When I finished playing, I racked my chips and headed to the poker room cashier. As I walked by his table, his head tilted and the brim of his cap rose to reveal his face. He looked straight at my eyes. His face was deadpan. He showed no emotion. Maybe it was his poker face. I knew of him as a comedian, so his blank faced stare was extra creepy. I felt like he was daring me to annoy him. I left him alone and continued on to the cashier.

In one of those wish-I'd-thought-of-it-at-the-time moments, I wish I'd smiled and said, "Cheer up. It's a game!" and continued walking without intruding.

Best Fishes Steve.

I found my classmate's picture. I remember her being in some of my classes, but we weren't in the same social groups. It makes me wonder what I did to be memorable to her.