Tuesday
Guns and Rain
Well, it's August, and with that flip of the calandar's page comes the usual seasonal nonsense: a shaggy lawn because it's always too rainy to mow, incessant back to school ads for Staples, and the end of the boy's camp. Of course for me it also means it's time for my Lovely Bride's "company summer outing". Actually, I have no right to moan about it, as my habit of becoming violently ill on boats has kept me from the magic of the last three outings to Fire Island. And the magic of interminable rides in weekend traffic through the alien world of Long Island. And again on the way home.
But anyway, this year's excursion was a group bus tour of West Point, to be followed by brunch at the Hotel Thayer, which is on the academy grounds. "Outstanding!" I said. Well, perhaps it was more of an "Ok...", but in any event it sounded like a classic tourist spot about which I had only heard great things.
The big day arrived, dutifully bringing with it storm clouds as laden with rain as prose laden with unwieldy metaphors. Or similes. Whichever. In any case, the family and I made it up there in no time, got ourselves settled in, and waited for the fun to start. (I must note here, that despite the ridiculously chaotic turn the rest of the day took, it was taken in great stride by everyone involved; a thoroughly amiable bunch indeed.)
So... we began with a little bit of standing around in a light drizzle while it was decided which bus we would be riding. Once aboard, we sat for a bit while a rather impressive looking National Guardsman with a really big gun ran through a manifest of guests, checking, sort of, picture IDs as he went. Eventually, we were greeted by our tour guide, Ava, and our driver, Al. Ava is a perky woman of some middle years, who, despite her mysterious eastern European accent, seemed to have a firm grasp on the day's proceedings. For all of about a minute.
It seems that some fresh road construction had just begun, and once we started out Ava was as confused about where to go as was Al the driver. They proved dauntless, however, and with a minimum of bickering, they chose a new route. A mere two checkpoints later, we found ourselves standing in the rain, admiring a monument that was never accounted for, as Ava had been waylaid by yet another of the ubiquitous national guardspersons with really big guns. It seems that the guardsperson had been alerted that there was an irregularity in our manifest that would have to be resolved back at the visitor's center.
Back aboard we went, grateful to be out of the rain really, until Al discovered that, near the end of the maze of detours that plagued him, our bus couldn't negotiate the last turn onto the main road. So we sat. And sat some more. (All the while, though, our boys were mercifully patient.) After much discussion with various impressive looking national guardspersons, Al decided his passengers needed a little excitement, and began backing up through the narrow, snake-like parking lot in which we had gotten ourselves wedged. I couldn't look. People outside the bus honked. People inside the bus gasped. And yet, we made it safely all the way back. Ava returned after only a few seconds with a soggy copy of our manifest and suddenly everything was ok again. I shrugged and tried not to giggle.
So once again we were saddled up and on our way. Now of course the air conditioning on the bus had been running all this time and had long since fogged up the outside of the windows, ensuring that our view of the sights was rather like that from the inside of a ping pong ball. Then, and this is true, the only thing left that could possibly befall us happened: the bus stared leaking. It was no surprise then, when poor Ava, all the while trying to remain upright as the bus rocked and she dodged water, gave us the choice to cut the whole thing short and see either a rain soaked field of monuments or the Cadet's Chapel. The chorus that rose up from the bus was as sure as it was unanimous: "Chapel. We want to see the chapel."
As it turns out, the Cadet's Chapel is truly a beautiful site, and well worth the trip. It's modeled on European gothic cathedrals, and settled on a hillside with a spectacular view of the Hudson highlands as they fade away to the north. The inside is as beautifully detailed and steeped in tradition as any cathedral, and one can only imagine what a wonderful experience it would be to attend one of the weddings that the chapel constantly hosts.
But, time was short, so in a snap we were back on the bus headed for lunch, with trusty driver Al grumbling and shaking his head the entire way. At this point, the day's obstacles were nearly done. Having arrived at the hotel, we were seated in short order after getting surprisingly few blank stares from the help when we tried to explain who our group was and why we were standing there looking hungry.
In short, the day wrapped itself up pretty well. The food was good, the rain only sporadic during our walk back to the visitor's center, and the surprisingly well stocked and expensive gift shop was air-conditioned. As I stood there in line for my chance to pay for a stuffed moose and a Go Army kickball (imagine, if you will, a Disney store where most of the logos and mascots scowl at you) I thought about the day. Well, I mused while surrendering my credit card, at least we're not on Long Island.
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Well, it's August, and with that flip of the calandar's page comes the usual seasonal nonsense: a shaggy lawn because it's always too rainy to mow, incessant back to school ads for Staples, and the end of the boy's camp. Of course for me it also means it's time for my Lovely Bride's "company summer outing". Actually, I have no right to moan about it, as my habit of becoming violently ill on boats has kept me from the magic of the last three outings to Fire Island. And the magic of interminable rides in weekend traffic through the alien world of Long Island. And again on the way home.
But anyway, this year's excursion was a group bus tour of West Point, to be followed by brunch at the Hotel Thayer, which is on the academy grounds. "Outstanding!" I said. Well, perhaps it was more of an "Ok...", but in any event it sounded like a classic tourist spot about which I had only heard great things.
The big day arrived, dutifully bringing with it storm clouds as laden with rain as prose laden with unwieldy metaphors. Or similes. Whichever. In any case, the family and I made it up there in no time, got ourselves settled in, and waited for the fun to start. (I must note here, that despite the ridiculously chaotic turn the rest of the day took, it was taken in great stride by everyone involved; a thoroughly amiable bunch indeed.)
So... we began with a little bit of standing around in a light drizzle while it was decided which bus we would be riding. Once aboard, we sat for a bit while a rather impressive looking National Guardsman with a really big gun ran through a manifest of guests, checking, sort of, picture IDs as he went. Eventually, we were greeted by our tour guide, Ava, and our driver, Al. Ava is a perky woman of some middle years, who, despite her mysterious eastern European accent, seemed to have a firm grasp on the day's proceedings. For all of about a minute.
It seems that some fresh road construction had just begun, and once we started out Ava was as confused about where to go as was Al the driver. They proved dauntless, however, and with a minimum of bickering, they chose a new route. A mere two checkpoints later, we found ourselves standing in the rain, admiring a monument that was never accounted for, as Ava had been waylaid by yet another of the ubiquitous national guardspersons with really big guns. It seems that the guardsperson had been alerted that there was an irregularity in our manifest that would have to be resolved back at the visitor's center.
Back aboard we went, grateful to be out of the rain really, until Al discovered that, near the end of the maze of detours that plagued him, our bus couldn't negotiate the last turn onto the main road. So we sat. And sat some more. (All the while, though, our boys were mercifully patient.) After much discussion with various impressive looking national guardspersons, Al decided his passengers needed a little excitement, and began backing up through the narrow, snake-like parking lot in which we had gotten ourselves wedged. I couldn't look. People outside the bus honked. People inside the bus gasped. And yet, we made it safely all the way back. Ava returned after only a few seconds with a soggy copy of our manifest and suddenly everything was ok again. I shrugged and tried not to giggle.
So once again we were saddled up and on our way. Now of course the air conditioning on the bus had been running all this time and had long since fogged up the outside of the windows, ensuring that our view of the sights was rather like that from the inside of a ping pong ball. Then, and this is true, the only thing left that could possibly befall us happened: the bus stared leaking. It was no surprise then, when poor Ava, all the while trying to remain upright as the bus rocked and she dodged water, gave us the choice to cut the whole thing short and see either a rain soaked field of monuments or the Cadet's Chapel. The chorus that rose up from the bus was as sure as it was unanimous: "Chapel. We want to see the chapel."
As it turns out, the Cadet's Chapel is truly a beautiful site, and well worth the trip. It's modeled on European gothic cathedrals, and settled on a hillside with a spectacular view of the Hudson highlands as they fade away to the north. The inside is as beautifully detailed and steeped in tradition as any cathedral, and one can only imagine what a wonderful experience it would be to attend one of the weddings that the chapel constantly hosts.
But, time was short, so in a snap we were back on the bus headed for lunch, with trusty driver Al grumbling and shaking his head the entire way. At this point, the day's obstacles were nearly done. Having arrived at the hotel, we were seated in short order after getting surprisingly few blank stares from the help when we tried to explain who our group was and why we were standing there looking hungry.
In short, the day wrapped itself up pretty well. The food was good, the rain only sporadic during our walk back to the visitor's center, and the surprisingly well stocked and expensive gift shop was air-conditioned. As I stood there in line for my chance to pay for a stuffed moose and a Go Army kickball (imagine, if you will, a Disney store where most of the logos and mascots scowl at you) I thought about the day. Well, I mused while surrendering my credit card, at least we're not on Long Island.
Monday
They Say You Can't Go Back Home. Well Why Would You?
Today was a good old-fashioned reality check, in a parental sort of way... My Lovely Bride had a few friends over, each of whom has a mix of small kids and infants. It's funny, because I know in an objective way that at this stage I'm so far removed from diapers and drool that I've forgotten what it was really like, and yet occasionally a day like this happens along and I'm amazed all over again.
It was three moms and I, seven boys between the age of eight and a few months, and one girl of about four or five... all inside on a rainy day. So, right off the bat there was some amount of chaos, albeit the good-natured kind. Toddlers were chasing big kids, big kids were chasing parents and parents were chasing toddlers. And the infants, well, you know what they were doing.
As the day wore on, we all did our best at what we do. I tried to get stuff done, my boys and the toddlers diligently put on their patented iron running-back-and-forth-boots, and the infants... well, again we know what they were doing. Anyway, after a little while, I realized that I was slipping back into default dad survival mode. The sounds of little gasping cries faded away, I began answering questions in that detached way that the pros have, and, gradually, getting stuff done just didn't seem very important anymore.
Was it an enjoyable visit to the past? Well, it was oddly like visiting old school friends. There are always a lot of intense memories involved, most good, some bad, and yet when you settle in you realize that it can never be more than a visit. The connection we had was dependant on a certain time and place... a time and place that are gone forever.
Sure, I know lots of dads start over, and I say God bless 'em. But when I look at my two boys, knowing that they're getting themselves on that big yellow bus again this fall, I know that Toddler Sean and Infant Ryan are gone forever, and that's ok with me; it's the way it's supposed to be.
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Today was a good old-fashioned reality check, in a parental sort of way... My Lovely Bride had a few friends over, each of whom has a mix of small kids and infants. It's funny, because I know in an objective way that at this stage I'm so far removed from diapers and drool that I've forgotten what it was really like, and yet occasionally a day like this happens along and I'm amazed all over again.
It was three moms and I, seven boys between the age of eight and a few months, and one girl of about four or five... all inside on a rainy day. So, right off the bat there was some amount of chaos, albeit the good-natured kind. Toddlers were chasing big kids, big kids were chasing parents and parents were chasing toddlers. And the infants, well, you know what they were doing.
As the day wore on, we all did our best at what we do. I tried to get stuff done, my boys and the toddlers diligently put on their patented iron running-back-and-forth-boots, and the infants... well, again we know what they were doing. Anyway, after a little while, I realized that I was slipping back into default dad survival mode. The sounds of little gasping cries faded away, I began answering questions in that detached way that the pros have, and, gradually, getting stuff done just didn't seem very important anymore.
Was it an enjoyable visit to the past? Well, it was oddly like visiting old school friends. There are always a lot of intense memories involved, most good, some bad, and yet when you settle in you realize that it can never be more than a visit. The connection we had was dependant on a certain time and place... a time and place that are gone forever.
Sure, I know lots of dads start over, and I say God bless 'em. But when I look at my two boys, knowing that they're getting themselves on that big yellow bus again this fall, I know that Toddler Sean and Infant Ryan are gone forever, and that's ok with me; it's the way it's supposed to be.
Tuesday
Poo-poo the Curmudgeons
Have to rush... I've got a Dingo coming. What that means is I'm on the last leg of an epic, summer consuming, landscaping project.
For the longest time my Lovely Bride and I have meant to do something about the dark, lost corner of the back yard; the sort of place in which Kurtz got himself lost. So, after years of scratching our heads and looking at gardening catalogues, we sucked it up and had seven yards of topsoil, giant bags of peat, five yards of mulch and two pallets of landscaping bricks dumped in our driveway.
Suddenly this didn't seem like such a great idea to me. Luckily enough though, my wife has an iron will, a sunny disposition and no ability to look objectively at a situation and see how much work it's really going to be.
In fact, that should probably be tip number four for a happy marriage. #4: If you happen to be a curmudgeon, marry someone willing to poo-poo- you, roll up their sleeves and get down to whatever needs doing.
Anyway, we're on the home stretch now; the soil's tilled, walls built and leveled, soil added, plants, weed fabric, hoses and mulch in place... now there's just another forty feet of fence to go in on Saturday. Actually, that brings us to a bonus obvious tip: Make sure you have good friends. I had no intention of personally putting up the fence until a buddy of mine said, word for word, : "Come on Ev, it's not rocket science; I'll come over and help." It turned out to be a little more than help of course; it was more like above and beyond, but that's what the tip is all about.
Enough of that, the Dingo and I have some holes to dig.
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Have to rush... I've got a Dingo coming. What that means is I'm on the last leg of an epic, summer consuming, landscaping project.
For the longest time my Lovely Bride and I have meant to do something about the dark, lost corner of the back yard; the sort of place in which Kurtz got himself lost. So, after years of scratching our heads and looking at gardening catalogues, we sucked it up and had seven yards of topsoil, giant bags of peat, five yards of mulch and two pallets of landscaping bricks dumped in our driveway.
Suddenly this didn't seem like such a great idea to me. Luckily enough though, my wife has an iron will, a sunny disposition and no ability to look objectively at a situation and see how much work it's really going to be.
In fact, that should probably be tip number four for a happy marriage. #4: If you happen to be a curmudgeon, marry someone willing to poo-poo- you, roll up their sleeves and get down to whatever needs doing.
Anyway, we're on the home stretch now; the soil's tilled, walls built and leveled, soil added, plants, weed fabric, hoses and mulch in place... now there's just another forty feet of fence to go in on Saturday. Actually, that brings us to a bonus obvious tip: Make sure you have good friends. I had no intention of personally putting up the fence until a buddy of mine said, word for word, : "Come on Ev, it's not rocket science; I'll come over and help." It turned out to be a little more than help of course; it was more like above and beyond, but that's what the tip is all about.
Enough of that, the Dingo and I have some holes to dig.
Supporting the Troops?
Morning. Just a little groggy. Healthy breakfast, but at least I'll live a little longer. Eyes bug out, almost spit up... I'm reading letters to the editor in my local Gannett rag and I came across a letter from an addle-brained woman who shrieks that an "anti-Bush stampede" only serves to demoralize our troops.
Now, I just can't believe that it benefits anyone, least of all our troops, to close our eyes and give the Bush administration a free ride. In fact, it is just this virtual free ride that has allowed congress to cut 14.6 billion in veterans benefits over the next 10 years, cut over a billion for military housing, and allowed a failure to extend a child tax credit to almost 200,000 low-income military personnel.
Who is really supporting our troops? A soldier's mom named Frankie Mayo who has started a project called Operation Air Conditioner. It is a drive to donate and send the troops basic items such as toiletries, pens, paper, bug repellant and inexpensive air conditioners to help survive the deadly Iraqi summer. (Her son's tent recently topped out at over 140 degrees in the middle of the day.) The operation can be found at 302-836-1008, or Operation Air Conditioner
It's just a damn shame that we have to bear this burden so Bush's wealthy friends can have a multi-billion dollar tax cut. Oh well, at least 2004 isn't that far away. Gephart? Kerry? Have to talk more about that later...
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Morning. Just a little groggy. Healthy breakfast, but at least I'll live a little longer. Eyes bug out, almost spit up... I'm reading letters to the editor in my local Gannett rag and I came across a letter from an addle-brained woman who shrieks that an "anti-Bush stampede" only serves to demoralize our troops.
Now, I just can't believe that it benefits anyone, least of all our troops, to close our eyes and give the Bush administration a free ride. In fact, it is just this virtual free ride that has allowed congress to cut 14.6 billion in veterans benefits over the next 10 years, cut over a billion for military housing, and allowed a failure to extend a child tax credit to almost 200,000 low-income military personnel.
Who is really supporting our troops? A soldier's mom named Frankie Mayo who has started a project called Operation Air Conditioner. It is a drive to donate and send the troops basic items such as toiletries, pens, paper, bug repellant and inexpensive air conditioners to help survive the deadly Iraqi summer. (Her son's tent recently topped out at over 140 degrees in the middle of the day.) The operation can be found at 302-836-1008, or Operation Air Conditioner
It's just a damn shame that we have to bear this burden so Bush's wealthy friends can have a multi-billion dollar tax cut. Oh well, at least 2004 isn't that far away. Gephart? Kerry? Have to talk more about that later...
