Omen made flesh

Today I finally got a tattoo commemorating the conception, birth and continuing existence of my daughter Taran Jack Manley.

Four is for birth

The inspiration came from the spectacular lunar eclipse I witnessed on February 21, 2008—which is also when I got my first hint I might be pregnant. My last cycle had begun right before the full moon in January, And as my cycle is a fairly regular 26 days and I’m more likely to start early than late… Well, let’s just say that five days later I bought my first and only pregnancy test.

A quick explanation of the symbolism: the hare helps identify the red disk as the moo, but also happens to be our family’s totem animal. As for the four cloud birds —I happened to see the eclipse with clouds—they reference to the ol’ folk augury rhyme, “four is for birth.”

(Tattoo done by Matt Reed of TigerLily Tattoo, designed by me.)

The purpose of creation

If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe. -Carl Sagan

Walking into work today, the iPod selected “A Glorious Dawn” by Symphony of Science, featuring Carl Sagan, Stephen Hawking and lots and lots of Auto-Tune. It begins with the above quote which always delights me.

The idea that the cosmos was created solely so that one day there would be apple pie is a magnificent thought to me. That some deity sprung into existence thinking “mmmmm, apple pie” or that the concentrated matter that became our universe blew apart in a Big Bang with the of anticipation of the warm apple pastry.

I can’t dismiss the fact that these thoughts occur to me in large part because of my 15 month-old daughter’s absolute adoration for Symphony of Science songs. Along with the fact that I have a duty to try to explain the universe and the whys-and-where-fors to her. (Clearly I favor a similar approach as Calvin’s dad.)

Taran’s sheer devotion to these remixed songs of scientist celebrities is a constant source of pleasure for Kip and me. Her especial favorite is “We Are All Connected”; upon hearing the first strains Richard Feynman on the bongos, she will get the most beatific smile on her face and toddle towards the source of the sound, which is usually her poppa’s computer, hoping to see the trippy visuals that accompany the video of the song. If the song comes up while she’s riding in the car, Taran will start to bob and weave her head and flex her hands in imitation of Bill Nye’s “Really I’m just a SPECK!” hand jive.

Unsurprisingly, all these thoughts put an extra bounce in my step as I headed to work.

And is probably why, upon seeing Taran when she and Kip picked me up from work, I felt it necessary to pick up six to eight apples on our way home.

Made of happiness