One More Trip

Around the sun for me today; this equals thirty-one completions. Don't feel a day over thirty. I do also, however, at a thirty-three year-old level, so I guess I'm ahead of my time. My boy and my wife spoiled me and my folks made a great dinner to celebrate the occasion. Thanks, everyone.

In one week I'll be on vacation; I'll be able to read and set my own pace for a while; walks in the park and reading Thoreau under a tree; life doesn't get any better than that.

Raiders won tonight; a great present, too.

How The Other Half of California Lives

How The Other Half of California Lives

Thank you, Louis Freedberg of the SF Chron., for your article of September 20th. This editorial writer reminded me and should serve as a reminder to all of us that life is pretty damn good. Freedberg wrote a wonderful expository essay on the Central Valley and the abject poverty most people live in. He described the small Highway 99 towns that I am so familiar with having spent the first decade of my adult life living in Fresno. In 1996, when I moved there, I hated that city. Zero culture, zero intellectual vision or curiosity. Mostly working class, uneducated, minorities who clogged the drain of society. However, I began teaching in the public schools and learning the stories of the people who came to this country for the supposed opportunities the U.S. of A. had to offer. My country, which God had supposedly blessed as the land of hope and dreams. It was this same time that I stopped listening to Rush Limbaugh voting for Dole, and began tuning in to a station that I first labeled as "liberal communists", which was 88.1, "KPFA or KFCF out of Fresno." In listening to this station and learning about the progressive movement in politics, teaching in the public school system and re-orienting much of my Christian theology, I came to find just how fortunate I really am and just how much this country has to share with evertone who is here. See the discrepency in income, the social, political, cultural, and economic differences and understand the pain and suffering that many experience, and you, too, will flirt with the ideology of socialism. Then, read your Bible, or Whitman, or Thoreau,or Steinbeck, listen to Sringsteen's The Ghost of Tom Joad and you may see why I made a 180 degree turn-around in my world view. This article by Freedberg helped remind this former Valley resident that we as a society have a long way to go. Only when a person receives a fair wage for a fair day's pay are we getting closer. Only when people's dignity supercedes the value of a dollar are we getting better. Only when we see that everyone around us, including those who live in third-world conditions as they labor to put food on our tables and clothes on our backs, are God's children, we are doing what truly should be done. More later. It's time to read to my boy.

Getting Caught Up

It's been a long lonely lonely lonely lonely time...I've been busy with school and of course, little Will. He's great. Growing and healthy, just a joy.

Last night-caught the Christian McBride band at Yoshi's. A quartet of traditional acoustic as well as funk-based jazz with Ron Blake, A killer tenor player. Keys were amazing and the big fat cat on the kit just killed. Worth seeing again, which is exactly what I may do this weekend!

Drop what you're doing, get in the car; drive to Tower Records or anywhere that offers a real selection of music other than what the store, whose contracts with major labels limit selection, provide you; and demand that you are allowed to purchase the new Tift Merrit album, Tambourine. I've raved about this beautiful woman who sings like she means it, rocks when she wants, but lilts like the most fragile doll on her ballads. Her first album, Bramble Rose was very alt-country with a polished singer-songwriter bent; pedal steel guitars challenging her for the most mournful of voices with acoustic guitars keeping steady rhythm and choice soloing to keep the songs fresh. Well, in her latest effort, she's headed to Memphis. Actually, Los Angeles, but she delivers so much Dusty Springfield-meets-introspective-when-she-wants-to-be-Sheryl Crow that you don't know whether you want to groove on Mike Campbell's stellar guitar work or pump your fist in the air to the horn section driving home the soulful passion of Merrit's voice. The songs are more confident and Merrit's less fragile. However, this more mature singer knows when she's vulnerable and protects that girl in her while showing how much stronger she is than the girl on the first record. Great songwriting, beautiful singing on Merrit's part, killer and essential B-3 Hammond organ backing tasty guitar riffing, and an album length of forty-six minutes, a reminder than an artist doesn't need to give you everything but just enough.

Also picked up a Muppets cd for Will and myself. Am I the only one that considers "Rainbow Connection" to be one of the most beautiful songs in the world? Why only a felt philosopher, sock-puppet Buddha as Kermit the Frog can ask such poignant questions about the meaning of life reflects much about our own journeys through life. Like Ralph Nader, who in this campaign has lost the reason for running and support he had in 2000, Kermit knows it's not easy being green. Hell, I'm registered Green and I struggle with my own identity this election. This non-sequitor leads us to the Bush Administration's continued failure of vision in Iraq, Donald Rumsfeld's promise to stifle open democracy in January, the GOP's attempts to rape the Constitution with hopes of painting the Democrats as un-American and anti-Christian, and the media's failure at reporting relevant journalism instead of naval gazing over the supposed disaster of Dan Rather while refusing to even raise the question of why they allowed the Swiftboat Liars For Bush even get as far as that group did with supposed proof that John Kerry never even went to Vietnam much less ran for office or was a Senator from the state of Massachusetts. However, it's a beautiful day and the sun is shining, the birds are winging and just waiting to meet Will, Heather, and I outside. I'll rant later.

Will To Power

Not to worry; this will not be the site of mushy, baby-pee pee-happy stories, but I would like to be able to record my thoughts about my little boy who enriches my life daily. This last week and a half has been wonderful but truly crazy. Going back to work last week was suicidal. Burning the candle at both ends; I was getting less than four hours of sleep a night and one morning I thought that I'd be Mr. Natural and forego the caffeine. Obviously counterproductive, I felt like I was teaching with a five-Guiness hangover. Juicing up every morning since, I now can be conscious, awake, alert, and extremely strung out on a drug so potent that the FDA needs to regulate in order to keep the populace of the United States from becoming crack fiends over Starbucks. God bless the cacao bean!
Will is awesome. His little cries, the way he looks at his mom when she nurses him, the way he looks when he sleeps. God's little miracles in one tiny little baby. It's made me a tad introspective, as births normally do. I won't begin to prattle off platitudes and cliches here, but I have found myself especially drawn to the music of John Lennon these last seventeen days. I was in New York City six months ago and made the effort to see Strawberry Fields and the Dakota Building. Those two sites opened up childhood wounds on an adult level, as I clearly remember the day Lennon was shot and killed. My memories are not based on collective memory or story or rehashed video clips from cable or music networks. My mom raised me to be a Beatle fan and I grew up as a young child watching The Beatles cartoon and listening to Meet the Beatles on lp. Even at the age of seven and first learning of Lennon's death, I felt an absence in some sort of larger way. I guess like when you learn that Lincoln was killed or the first time the Easter story is told to you.
Six months ago, my brother and I stood at the entrance to the Dakota and I wanted to weep for a man; not one who was a cool rock and roller or a pop icon, but a man who loved his young boy and would never see him grow older, go to school, fall in love, discover life, and grow to share adulthood with. My wife was three months pregnant at the time and even then I grasped the magnitude of my attachment to my child. Today, I play the music and look into my son's eyes realizing that every minute is a gift and how I spend it can help further determine the life of my boy. Thanks, Will, for helping remind me of the depth, beauty, and fragility of life. Let's just sit and watch the wheels go round and round and enjoy each other's company while we're at it.

Sorry, there

I don't know what happened, but my post about my family just disappeared! Last night's entry is a wash, but I did have a great time with my cousins who came out from Pleasant Hill. Everyone loved Will.
My first day back at school was tiring. I'm a busy guy at work but exhausted throughout the day. Tomorrow will be a nice day, as a colleague is throwing me a small baby shower. Incredibly thoughtful.
Still haven't found out how to post pictures. Maybe my friends Chris or Tony or Steve could teach me how.

It's All Relative

Tonight, my parents had my "cousins" over for a barbeque/swim party which also served as Will's debut to the family. These people that came over tonight aren't blood relatives, but I've never had blood relatives, so this family is the next closest thing. The woman who is the head of the family is my mother's best friend and has been since before I was born. I call her my Aunt Anita. Anita's children, who are now in their late 30s and early 40s, are as cousins to me. They babysat me, watched me grow up, came to my wedding, let me watch their children grow, and are now watching the circle complete itself. Most of the brood was over at my folks' as we bbq'd, swam, "spirited" and caught up on a lot of news. Aunt Anita's mother just recently passed as my mother in law's just did, so there was some bonding on all levels. A great time had by all. Will was the center of attention, and as families reunite, the beginning of a life always serves as a celebration and a remembrance of those just passed.
I head back to work tomorrow. We'll see how things go. Bags under the eyes, coffee cup in hand, sleeping during the prep; I can't wait. All I know is that the earlier I come home, the more time I can spend with my Will.
Six years ago tonight, my former roommate and I caught Jimmy Page and Robert Plant at the Shoreline Amphitheater. Led Zeppelin being one of my all-time faves, this show was great. Much different from their '95 reunion with orchestrated backup, but a two hour blues-rock powerhouse performance that included everything from the expected (Bring It On Home, Wanton Song, Gallows Pole) to the mind-numbing (No Quarter, Whole Lotta Love). Page is one of the greatest guitar influences I've had, and this show showed me that at the age of 54, this man could still teach me a thing or two. Every time I strap on a guitar, I still play in the shadow of Jimmy Page, which in my opinion, serves as a testimony to the inspiration the Zeppelin had on countless people over the last thirty years. I think it's time to Ramble On...

The Rising

Today marks the third anniversary of the terrorist attacks on New York City and the capital. Truly, a day I will never forget. I chose not to wrap myself in the repetitive news footage of the falling towers, the countless fliers of lost relatives, and the punditry's attempt to signify what three years since 9/11/01 really means. Instead, I made sure my flag on my front porch waved, I played with my son, and listened to Bruce Springsteen's The Rising as my own somber yet positive memorial to that terrible day.

The sky was falling and streaked with blood
I heard you calling me then you disappeared into the dust
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire

You gave your love to see in fields of red and autumn brown
You gave your love to me and lay your young body down
Up the stairs, into the fire
Up the stairs, into the fire
I need you near but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire

It was dark, too dark to see, you held me in the light you gave
You lay your hand on me
Then walked into the darkness of your smoky grave
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire
I need your kiss, but love and duty called you someplace higher
Somewhere up the stairs into the fire

May your strength give us strength
May your faith give us faith
May your hope give us hope
May your love give us love

- "Into the Fire" The Rising (2002)


This last week has been a blur. As I posted last, my son William Thomas Henry Taylor was born on September 3, 2004. One of the greatest days of my life. We stayed two and a half days in the hospital because little Will was not eating properly and therefore not gaining the weight the nurses wanted to see him gain. Upon returning home, we had our first "baby 'n me" appointment on Monday and because of several health factors, Will needed to return to the hospital in Walnut Creek. The three of us were there until Thursday night. We have seen major improvements in his weight, eating habits, and color, and hopefully the next visit will warner further good news. So much for staying home and creating a "home pattern" during the week that I had off; I spent six of eight days in some form of hospital room. Yet, I am still thankful that my baby is healthy and happy and home with my wife and me. With the week getting under way in just a day and a half, I'm hoping that my wife will be ready to handle Will all on her own during the daytime.

I'm going to refrain from ranting tonight about the election. However, I will air some grievances and frustrations. First, apparently the Swiftboat Liars For Bush have been successful in decieving the American people about the war record of John Kerry. Second, the current onslaught of imperical evidence pointing out President Bush's lack of service to his country has failed to make a dent on the voting public's opinion of the man, though Kerry still is not a war hero nor did he ever deserve his medals. The irony in this. Third, President Bush will win re-election and by a minimum of five percentage points. I am rescinding my earlier post claiming a Kerry victory. It's not going to happen. Fourth, is John Kerry's campaign manager the same person hired by Al Gore four years ago? These last two elections have been the Democrats' to lose and they've done a damn good job. Five and finally, points 1 through 4 really point out that the average American voter is truly ignorant and therefore because we fail to push for positive, progressive change and growth in this country, we deserve everything we're getting stuck with and deserve to watch this supposed democratic country fall further into oligarchical control of a wealthy, ruling Republican elite that has shown nothing but disdain for the democratic process and progressive change for the sake of improving the majority of lives of Americans and people world wide. I'm just glad that Jesus is a Republican, or he may get really mad about this whole thing. Oh, and don't even get me started about Pat Robertson's claim that Florida's hurricanes are the result of Disney World's openness to a 'Gay Day' at the theme park. God's retribution. Again, I don't have enough time nor energy to dissect that one.

It's A Boy, Mrs. Walker, It's A Boy!

It's a boy, Mrs. Walker, it's a boy,

A son! A son! A son! ("It's A Boy", Tommy, 1969)

and he's absolutely beautiful! William Thomas Henry Taylor entered the world at 8:52 a.m. on Friday morning, September 3, 2004. 20 inches long and weighing in at 7 lbs 1 oz., he's amazing. Birth story and hospital tales to come. Until then, let's raise our glasses, make a toast to good Will Taylor, and drink to a long life, happiness, and good health.


"Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)" John Lennon (1980)

Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monster's gone
He's on the run and your daddy's here

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer
Every day in every way
It's getting better and better

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

Out on the ocean sailing away
I can hardly wait
To see you come of age
But I guess we'll both just have to be patient
'Cause it's a long way to go
A hard row to hoe
Yes it's a long way to go
But in the meantime

Before you cross the street
Take my hand
Life is what happens to you
While you're busy making other plans

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy

Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer
Every day in every way
It's getting better and better

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Darling, darling, darling
darling WILL!!!

Off To the Races!!!

First post of September, and it will be short. It looks like my wife and I are off to the hospital!!! More news later...keep us in your thoughts and prayers!