Generation gap

It was another tearful farewell at the BART station today as we waved goodbye to my parents.  Pete will be the one to miss out the most - it's back to being swaddled 22 hours a day!  You don't want them getting too used to human affection.

Before that we managed to fit in a trip to Albany, driving down memory lane (otherwise known as Ohlone Avenue) in Berkeley's University Village, finding a lost ice rink, building a cot, meeting a Durham uni friend, lots of walks (yes Mum and Dad, you do have to put on sun cream, regardless of what British weather is doing), meals out, and several cheeky bottles of Californian wine.

Come back soon!  Seriously, because Hannah starts work again next week and it's not looking good for my sanity.

Ah, so many memories.

Yep, still filled with health hazards/works of art.  There's also a large...er..."community" living down here now, possibly everyone who was thrown off the Occupy Albany farm.

I like this new one.

To explain: my Dad is a big competitive ice skater, and had heard that Berkeley used to have a beautiful art deco ice rink that fell into disrepair and dereliction.  So we had to go on a pilgrimage.  Here it is!  People are trying to get it back up and working, so maybe for Dad's 90th we'll have an ice skating party.



All the family together at WC market!



This is Georgina!  She went to Durham uni with us, but was in the year below.  Now she's a entrepreneur whose company organises conferences, and she was down in Silicon Valley to do a little industrial espionage at a rival event.

But she's also an incredible pianist who studied music!  Like theology, a very useful degree.  The Creek grand piano shop was having a sale (this Steinway reduced to a piffling $86k) so she had some fun.

But then I put her in front of that great musical leveller: Rock Band.  And she was still a lot better than me, so...

Goodbye lunch at Dad's favourite, the Cheesecake Factory.  In a break from tradition, he switched from shepherd's pie to fish and chips.

The new look of Cheesecake Factory lunches.

Constructing a crib!  The engineer advised, the theologian did all the work.

Pete is still loving his baths, and sneakily checking to see if bubbles are edible.

In some natty British threads knitted and sent our way by lovely friend Rachel.

Newly expanded family portrait.

A final few smiley moments with Grandma and Grandpa, with Pete wondering when he'll be old enough to go and stay on his own (answer: now!)

Around the world in 80 years

My Dad is turning 80 in a week, and to celebrate a life dedicated to various things to do with the sea, like being in the navy and building submarines, we decided to treat him to a trip around the Bay on a boat.  But not just any boat!

USA 76 is an 84-ft America's Cup racing yacht that challenged for the title when it was held in New Zealand in 2003.  It didn't win, sadly.  The first America's Cup was held in 1851 around the Isle of Wight in England, and was named because the only American ship, imaginatively named America, won.  "Who came in second place?" a watching Queen Victoria asked, to be famously told: "Your Majesty, there is no second place."  We haven't won - ever - but the famously seafaring Swiss took it the year USA 76 raced, so that was the beginning and end of 76's racing history.

But fear not!  Intrepid sailors can jump on board at Pier 39 for a few hours of shooting about as the fastest thing on the Bay, cocking a snook at all those other silly yachts not made out of carbon fibre or sporting 11-storey tall masts.  It was a lot of fun.

Dad had a great time, taking the wheel on two occasions and powering us along as we tipped at 45-degrees with lots of splashing.  "It's impossible to capsize," said Jon the skipper.  He sounded confident, and his crew of four did well to whip a land-lubber like myself into shape.  For a big ship it was incredibly sensitive to every nudge of the wheel, but I only sent the crew scurrying in panic once when I turned left (towards a pier) when I'd been told to steer right.  Sadly Pete Jr. was not allowed to join us (it's political correctness gone mad!) but I'm quietly hoping he's already got some good ideas for my 80th birthday.

Built for speed.

Built to last.

Skipper Jon takes us out of dock under power.

Time to put the sails up!  Vice-skipper Jeanette tells us that she expects every man to do his duty.



Hoisting the mainsail.

It's up!

Back under the Bay Bridge and towards the city.

Putting in my midshipman duties to get the jib raised.

Dad is given the wheel, and our heading.

We didn't move slowly.

Escaping from Alcatraz.

Is it meant to do this?

Hanging on.

A kite surfer out by the Golden Gate.

We went underneath, but only a little way.  We were hoping to make a break for Hawaii.

Sailors together.

Dad takes the helm again and strikes an epic pose, past a bridge that opened four years after he was born.



Flying back in.

And that was it!  Tied up alongside and back on solid ground.



"...and perhaps England will win the America's Cup sometime during your lifetime..."

Trust fund

Grandpa arrives!  After a week on the East Coast watching the World Synchronised Skating Championships (Finland won, again) my Dad appeared at SFO last night.  There are now two Pete's in the house - who knows what'll happen when we all visit a Peet's Coffee.

Dad calculates the cost.

Warming up nicely (it never gets hot enough for my parents to wear shorts).

Pete meets world

It's been a busy few days for our proto-human, with trips to Oakland and San Mateo.  We had idyllic ideas of picnics in the sunshine but the weather was unexpectedly British (British-normal, not British-current, so sufferable).  No bother - Pete needs to toughen up for our planned return to his mothercountry in July.

He also got to meet lots of important people, although I'm sure he still thinks of everyone as doctors or nurses, and is probably wondering why the daily staff hasn't changed in several weeks.  He's still getting on very well with Grandma, and who wouldn't?  Hugs on demand, endless attention, a friendly face to talk to...things have certainly changed since I was his age.

Can the nice lady stay forever?



Visiting Coyote Point Park.

A rather nice display of (I think) Icelandic poppies.

Hanging out with Anat, which made a certain other young man rather jealous...

...but Mum stepped into the breach once again!

Picnic the next day, in less than Californian temps.

Dwight and Santi, proud of their new (stolen) baby.

Today, and much more like it.  Hannah models this year's Walnut Creek mummy look.

When I was your age I could walk.  What's the problem?

A family in recline.

Not entirely convinced by all this fresh air.

A captive audience.  Much better.

Nanny state

The selection process is underway for the Davies au pair.  Applicants must be able to operate a baby with minimal parental intervention and know how to mix basic cocktails.  Salary will be a competitive minimum wage, which will almost cover the costs of board and lodging with us, and you will not be required to provide your own breast milk.  Generous holiday allowance as long as you take the baby if you go anywhere.  British accent (real or convincing fake) an advantage.

Candidate 1: exceptional.

Candidate 2: phenomenal.



Candidate 3: outstanding.

You're all hired!  Please split the wage between yourselves as you see fit.

Baby oil

Hannah recently read about baby massage, which is the kind of thing that bio-organic-earth-peace-parents like ourselves should be into.  A bottle of Trader Joe's olive oil was pulled from the cupboard, the baby was stripped off, and we immediately incorporated it into his bedtime routine - a routine which, so far, has involved doing whatever he wants to stop him screaming until he falls asleep.

If he was anything like his father, Peter would believe that appropriate physical contact begins and ends with a handshake, especially if the person is your doctor or spouse.  It turns out that he's somewhat more liberal, happy to be basted in half of a salad dressing by his mother, at least for a while.  After that he started screaming, so was slipped to his grandmother.  I'm already fearing the day she leaves; I may have to...you know...engage with my child directly.

Getting the client ready.

Starting with the ever-increasing thighs.

Happy so far.

Moving on up.

Whoa lady!  I didn't pay for that!!

No squeaky joints tonight.

And handed to Grandma who, like the pro she is, didn't even need to put down her chilled glass of Californian Viognier.

Did this smile occur a) shortly after baby massage, or b) while playing with daddy earlier in the day?  I think we all know.

Grandma's here!

2.76 seconds after she walked in the door:

All further attempts to communicate with my mother have failed, and we fear her lost.

Two whole weeks of being spoiled rotten to look forward to.  So tiring.