I'm off again. But this time it's different. I am taking my little girl with me.

It will not be her first flight. We flew her 'home' for her first Christmas. But that time, I went ahead and her mother brought her. It was a red-eye, and she was sleeping more than now. But I think it will be OK. Although she just recovered from an ear infection. And my whole body is aching from my getting on the bike again.

It will be fine. Really.

One year ago, I stood on a street corner with two friends and some other persons. We were protesting the US invasion of Iraq.

Some held banners saying "Give peace a chance", others were waving the American flag. One lady held up the flag of the UN.

Passers-by did for the most part not react very much. Many looked at the signs. Some honked or gave a thumbs-up. A few gave a different digit.

A college kid walked up the street past the group, carefully reading every sign. When he saw mine, he was visibly shaken. After reading it a few times, he demanded to know what the meaning was of this sign. How I dared writing those words. In righteous indignation he yelled at the other persons standing nearby, commanding them to declare if this preposterous sign represented their views. He was quickly assured by an old woman in the group, a respected writer, that this sign did of course not present their views, but merely that of him who was holding it. As if that wasn't obvious.

At the time, I did not get it. I thought that what I wrote on that sign was self-evident. I believed you could not possibly deny that 'WMDs' and 'liberation' were nothing but an excuse to invade.

But I was wrong. I came to realize that a significant portion of this nation – maybe even some of those in power in Washington – believed:

1. that there were stockpiles of nuclear bombs and other such devices sitting in Iraq, waiting for that country's distinctly secular tyrant to put his neck on the line by supplying the likes of Al Qaeda with them, or
   
2. that the US was diverting a vast chunk of its resources, from the revenge-driven hunt for the repulsive kingpins that planned the 9/11 atrocities, to invading Iraq for the purpose of freeing its population from "rape rooms and torture chambers".

Which is more horrifying: A country that invades another country, lying about the reasons for it, or an invader that is delusional when it comes to the reasons for his actions, and actually believes his own fabrications on the subject?

What a difference a year makes. You meet fewer and fewer people these days that maintain that peace and prosperity has come to the Iraqis as a result of the invasion. Hardly anyone mentions WMDs anymore. I wonder what the reaction will be when I head back to that street corner with my sign. I somehow doubt that preppy, indignant, young college students will turn up to defend the actions of this country in Iraq.

Their silence will perhaps be the first step in realizing that while the horror on that sign has possibly not still been realized, it could very well be. And soon.

Only a few decades ago, a fairly civilized and ambitious country suffered a devastating blow. This trauma fostered a sick, degenerate atmosphere that bred a complete disregard for human life. It happened gradually, over a few years, treating a presumed "enemy" worse and worse. Going from stripping him of human rights, to imprisoning him in 'detainee' camps, to torture and rape, and finally: Slaughter.

This country needs to wake up and prevent history from repeating itself. It needs to swallow its pride, read the signs and acknowledge that it has made a terrible, terrible mistake:

"IRAQ = LEBENSRAUM?"

Call me stupid. No, really. I mean, I just do not get this.

How do you go from invading a country, because you are 'slam-dunk' sure it poses an immediate threat because it possesses "weapons of mass destruction"; to invading it because its ruler abuses his subjects, killing them and torturing in prisons; to actually killing these people, in their own country, and torturing them in prisons yourself?

How insanely stupid can the general public in this country be, just to sit by and keep buying this bullshit?

I guess we'll know in November.

Oh, by the way, I aced the test. There just may be some cosmic justice built into the system, after all.

Having a baby introduces all sorts of delicacies to your cuisine.

Like the classic: Cold, half-chewed toast, served shredded on a kitchen floor.

My daughter is sick again. And I am not allowed to worry about that.

Took her to the doctor's for a check-up on Friday. She was a bit off. My daughter, not the doctor. I mean, she was fuzzy. And impatient. And she cried when I laid her down to be measured. None of which is characteristic for her. But other kids do it, so I thought "Well, maybe the 'honeymoon' is over".

Then the doctor examined her ears. Lo and behold. She has ear infection. In both ears! No wonder the poor thing was irritated! So she got put on antibiotics. She wasn't feverish, but the temperature has been crawling upwards over the weekend.

While this has been happening, I am supposed to be concentrating on a comp. sci. final exam that I am taking tomorrow morning! Luckily, my wife has had the time to take care of our daughter almost completely, but my mind still keeps wandering back to the little critter. It's just so pathetic to see this tiny thing so helpless and listless. And she was sick just last week!

The joys of parenthood. I guess constant worrying comes with the territory. Oddly, that feels somehow OK. Good, even. Like that is the way all this is supposed to be.

The coincidences are overwhelming. There are so many of them. Every day. I can so completely understand that you begin to see them as something else. Signs of a higher purpose. That we are just pieces on a board. In some glorious empyrean game. Of which we don't know the rules.

This is what I was thinking as I drove back home last night. My two women sleeping soundly in the back seat. I had driven into the city to surprise my wife. She thought she was in for a dreary, two-hour bus ride after she got off the plane. I knew, however, that the flight was delayed. She would have to take the next bus, which would add another two hours to the wait. Therefore, I knew I would not need to hurry up to catch her, as she jumped off the plane to catch the bus.

I drove leisurely. Stopped at a few of these cute, little, designated 'Rest areas'. Let my daughter roll around in the grass. Which incidentally has becom green now. Literally overnight. I tried to call the airline, to get a confirmed time of arrival, but couldn't get through. So I called a friend of mine, who went on the internet and found out that the flight was indeed not as late as I had thought it would be, but still late enough so that my wife would not be able to catch the bus.

We got to the airport a few minutes before the (first) bus was to be there. I was about to park in a short-term parking spot that I have used before, when a police officer appeared. He told me firmly that cars could no longer be parked there. Only buses. I should have parked 30 yards sooner. Behind the buses. When I said 'ok', and put the car in reverse, he lost his cool. 'Sir!', he shrieked. You can not just back the car to there, he told me, bewildered. I would have to drive out of the terminal, come back, and try again.

And so it started. This intricate chain of coincidences. Every one of which was needed. For what was about to happen. As I drove out of the terminal loop, I accidentally took the wrong turn, onto a newly constructed road. It lead me to a toll gate for a tunnel, which leads from the airport and into the city. There was no U-turn. There was no turning back. The toll was three dollars. I had one in my pocket. I panicked. Suddenly realizing that if my wife's plane had arrived earlier than I had thought, she just might be able to catch the bus, which was arriving as I sat in my car, panicking by that toll booth. She would then be gone by the time I had driven into the city and back again.

I scrambled to find loose change, to pay the toll, to get through the tunnel, to turn back to tha airport, to catch the bus, to make sure that my wife was not on it. I managed to find five dollars' worth of quarters. Enough to get out of here after I have picked her up, I thought. As I sped off into the tunnel, I grabbed the phone and called my friend again. I needed to know if the plane was at the gate already. His phone was turned off. I called another friend. She checked. No dice. For some reason, the airline's website doesn't update the estimated landing time to the actual landing time. So here was the dilemma: Should I turn around, as soon as I got out of the tunnel, and head back to the airport, betting that my wife had not caught the bus? Or should I keep on going, and wait for the bus at its next stop, in the city? In desperation, I called another friend of mine, who is not only amazingly resourceful, but also very quick on his toes. I knew he would save me. Somehow.

Within five seconds of answering the phone, he understood exactly what the situation was. He pulled up three different sources for the flight's arrival time – all with different results. One of them actually had just a blank, where the time was supposed to be. But none showed it as arriving really early. So as I finally emerged from the tunnel, I turned back to the airport. On arriving there, I parked in the new short-term parking. I took my daughter and strode into the terminal. I looked around for my wife, but did not see her. I did not worry, though, since I was convinced that she was, at best, just getting off the plane and starting to look for her luggage.

Then I saw the flight board.

It said that the plane had arrived over an hour ago. My heart sank. She is on the bus after all, I thought. I hurried out to the car again, trying to remain calm for my daughter, who thought all of this was really amusing. As I sped back towards the tunnel, I called my dear friend again. He was, of course, completely on top of things, and gave me the 1-800 number for the company that runs the bus that I was chasing. As I used my last dollars to pay the tunnel toll again, I called them. They were closed for the night. I called my ever-patient friend once more, and he turned out to have the phone number at the small end station where the bus was going to end up at. Ring-ring. The guy who aswered said he was just there out of coincidence, and that he was heading out the door. I should call the 1-800 number. I managed to get him to call the bus that I was chasing, and ask my wife to wait for me in the city, at the next stop.

As I pulled into the downtown bus station, I almost turned around right away. I just knew she was not on that bus. 'That's just silly', I thought. Grabbed the kid, walked down to the platforms and, sure enough, there was the bus but no wife. I must have looked pathetic, standing there with a perplexed look on my face and a grinning kid on my arm, as I slowly realized that I had been right to begin with. Of course she was still at the airport! I got some cash from the ATM and turned back.

The drive back to the airport was calmer. My friend must have thought I was even crazier then he had imagined, when I called him yet again to explain this lunacy. I felt sheepish. I even thought for a brief moment about not telling my wife about all of this, once I would finally find her. Nah. It is always more fun to tell her. I tell her everything. Literally. Which is strange. When you think about it. I mean, most everything, that would be enough. But everything? Anyways. I arrived back at the airport. Put my daughter in the stroller, which I had specifically packed for the occasion, took out the rose bouquet, and walked into the terminal. Again.

At first, I didn't find her. The arrival time had been updated. It had actually landed just after I originally 'drove by' the terminal. So she had to be there. Finally, I saw the back of a beautiful, crew-cut head, sitting on a tall, delicate frame. I slid the roses into her lap. As she turned around, she had tears in her eyes. I thought it was the flowers.

So this is what I was thinking about, as I drove back home last night. All these coincidences. Apparently random. When we got home, my wife and daughter crashed into bed. I went downstairs and into the kitchen. The answering machine was blinking. I pushed the button. It was my wife. Feeling thoroughly miserable. She had been hoping against hope that she would catch that damn bus. She had busted out of the terminal, only to find that it had already left and that she would have to wait two more hours just get on the next one. I hadn't realized how sad she was right then and there. This was the first time that she had been apart from our daughter since she was born.

How she must have wished, at precisely that moment, for some way to get her to our daughter and me. Some coincidence, maybe?