The Bump
These days, it takes me about one minute to tell people that Abbi and I are expecting.
Take last night for example. I walked out of my office around nine o'clock. The building was nearly empty, so my elevator went express. When the doors opened 29 floors below, I bumped into a familiar colleague. I couldn't remember her name, nor in what department she worked, but I said hello anyway. By the time we hit the escalator, I'd somehow found a contextual way to tell her the news. That lead, as always, to the following exchange:
Person: ...
Keep Breathing
Abbi and I went to our first birthing class the other night, a three-trimesters in three-hours mini-marathon spanning everything from reflexology to relaxin.
The class was held at Real Birth, a pregnancy, childbirth, breastfeeding and new parent community center born of the Elizabeth Seton Childbearing Center (where Ethan was born). It's a brick-walled, hard wood-floored storefront on Eighth Avenue bookended by a laundromat one one side and sushi joint (West Side Sushi, which I've been patronizing for years) on the other. I paid special ...
Nuestra Magnifica Luna Del Bebé A La Casa Colonial
Remember those single-panel "Family Circus" cartoons where illustrator Jeff Keane drew a rambling, dotted line to indicate little Billy's often-mischievous and always-circuitous routes around his neighborhood?
Were Mr. Keane to illustrate Abbi and my week in the Domincan Republic, he wouldn't need to use much ink.
Casa Colonial provided VIP treatment from the start, ushering us through customs, into a waiting van, and straight to our room. Suite Six (or Doña Rosa, so named for the owner), was a five-room affair: living room, dining ...
So This Is The New Year
Well, this is a first.
After a quick circuit in the gym (my wife, orthopedist and physical therapist all tell me I need to a) build muscle while b) allowing my body to recover from last year's two marathons), I went for a short run through the city.
It was, not surprisingly (if you know me), a themed run. And the theme was (not surprisingly), New Year's Day. My playlist was programmed accordingly (Ian Axel's "This Is The New Year," Semisonic's "This'll Be My Year," U2's "New Year's Day (USA Remix)," etc etc), as was my route (south ...
And Baby Makes Three
I woke early -- too early -- on account of a message from my younger self.
Well, not exactly.
It was 29-year-old singer/songwriter Casey Shea (nearly ten years my junior) texting me in the small hours of the morning as he sauntered home from a rock show on the Lower East Side (as I have so many times before). The sound of his text shot through Abbi and my bedroom like a sonic boom. She stirred. I woke.
He suggested that we could hook up in Brooklyn to hand off a flash drive full songs for my long-gestating documentary, "Mister ...
My First Yoga Class
For months now, Abbi's been asking me to join her Saturday morning yoga practice. And for months, I'd put it off... until yesterday.
It only stands to reason that stretching, strengthening and meditating will go a long way to remedy a frenetic life punctuated by frequent, joint-pounding runs. As my marathon finishes have increased (eleven and counting), my back, hips and knees have grown more fragile. Sitting is often difficult on account of my piriformis syndrome. My doctor prescribed physical therapy and the gym. My physical ...
The Gift
Two years ago today, Abbi and I received many thoughtful wedding gifts, not the least of which being the presence of so many family and friends who trekked all the way to South Carolina's Low Country where Blackberry service is scarce, and the mosquitoes are as big as hummingbirds.
Ours had been a fairly drama-free courtship, one marked by long runs and quiet nights. Sure, we disagreed on some stuff from time to time. And we had wild night, making out on the jam-packed dance floor at Automatic Slims. In general, though, the beauty of our ...
How I Lost My Wedding Ring At Rockaway Beach (And Still Had A Good Time)
I downed a quart of Gatorade, peeled off my sweaty running clothes, took a long, hot shower, and joined the revelry.
It was barely noon but already Abbi, Chris, Meg, Renee and Marlyn were getting their party on. And why not? The sun was breaking through the clouds, and the Atlantic Ocean was just a few feet away.
We convoyed down to the beach loaded to bear: a cooler full of ice, beer and pre-mixed vodka cocktails, chips and salsa, sliced fruit, folding chairs, towels, bocce balls, a frisbee, and a basketball. We set up shop just ...
Los Ochos Locos Internacional (Edición Azucar)
After a week there, I can confidently report that Grand Cayman is as the brochure promises: endless miles of white sand beaches, tranquil, turquoise waters, and limitless sun.
It's a Caribbean playground: swimming, snorkeling, sailing, scuba diving, and jet skiing all fueled by delicious, home-brewed rum.
Abbi and I scuba dove eight times, logging nearly five hours at depths of up to one hundred feet at sites like Princess Penny's Pinnacle, Sand Chute and Tarpon Alley (more on that later).
We walked and ran Seven Mile Beach, ...
Love In The Time Of H1N1
One never knows how a four o'clock rock show is going to turn out. We're not talking the Iowa State Fair here. We're talking New York City on a sunny Saturday afternoon.
Ends up it's one heck of a time to rock.
Chris Abad and I booked the show months ago not because four o'clock in the afternoon is prime time, but because, well, what the heck? I figured I'd get all my married friends out with their kids (as I did at last year's post-op all-ages show), get in a paid (well, tip jar anyway) rehearsal, and get our Saturday night started ...
