In a previous life,

My wife, Amanda Stuart Goldsmith, was an octogenarian, living in a small English village in the 1800's named "Dilber's Crossing on the High" or something like that (the village, not the year was named that--for all you grammar fans who love dangling modifiers).

Here are some reasons why:

1. We have a Netflix subscription, and, instead of getting new releases of films and tv shows, we get "All Creatures Great and Small" (a country vet in the 1930's in Yorkshire), "Are You Being Served?" (a 1970's BBC sitcom), and "Miss Marple Mysteries" (Agatha Christie movies).

2. Amanda owns a Kromski spinning wheel, which she modified herself, and takes fleece (that is fancy for WOOL from a sheep) and spins it into yarn. She also uses tools like "knitty-knotties," and "ball winders," which, I promise you, are not at all as hot as they sound.

3. At any given time, she has 6 or 7 knitting projects going--by "going," I mean that they are "started," and, according to her, that is the important thing (ask Ortiz how his socks are coming along!)

4. One of her favorite restaurants is "The Villager," which is only crowded during the breakfast hours on the first of every month (that is when the old people get their social security checks . ..so this tells you of this demographic)

5. She reads, voraciously, self-nicknamed "junky mysteries" like "Lemon Meringue Murder," and "The Chocolate Cookie Murders" and "Thyme of Death: a cooking mystery," and "The Irish Cottage Murders." You get the point.

6. She loves the whole process and culture of tea, gardening, and composting

7. She prefers "A Prarie Home Companion," Lawrence Welk, and "MASH" over "Real World," American Idol, and The Daily Show

And, I absolutely love all these things about my wife, and I wouldnt want her to change anything.

Thank God for idiosyncrasies--those eccentric, odd, random, and curious behaviors, preferences, and tendencies we all own--all of which make us the individuals who we are. The paradox, of course, is that the idiosyncrasies that people possess are often the banes of our own existences; other people's quibs are the things that aggravate us--sometimes VERY much.

But I've realized, in my ongoing quest to rid myself of the negative energy that pervades my daily life, that, although people have these "special" tendencies, I would be lost WITHOUT these people DOING the things that make them THEM; the things that truly remind me that I am home.

And everyone wants to be home.

Wouldnt you miss if what people did, that you found annoying, suddenly stopped, rendering everything around you static and lifeless? Although sometimes I wish I married a real 29 year old modern woman, I wouldnt want to change the essence of what Amanda IS to me. I couldnt imagine life without:

-My dad calling, leaving a message because we arent home, and then calling 4 or 5 times after that, still while we arent home, just to "check" to see if we are, in fact, home now

-My mom torturing my ears with years and years of "Brenda Lee's Greatest Hit" ("s" left off on purpose) or "The Best of Patsy Cline" played loudly, on cassette, in the tape deck of our grey caravan growing up (we were growing up, not the caravan).

-Lynne not calling, daily, starting her message with "Hi kids . . .its 'just me.'"

-George taking at least 2 hours to run to Hannaford for, seemingly 4 items

-Kristin not asking for snacks or chocolate to be ready whenever she comes up

-Jonathan buying yet another car, bike part, CD, six pack, or Brazilian prostitute

-Mel not ordering extra blue cheese

-Anthony owning stock in Starbucks products

The list, of course, goes on and on; I could write more if I had the time or energy. However, for as much as I could write about the idiosyncrasies of others, I think I could write twice as much about myself and my quirks (I could probably think of 4 or 5 . . .hundred). In my life, I hope to be loved for my idiosyncrasies, all the weird things about me, the things that make me innately who I am.

For that is the greatest kind of love.

Meanderings 36

1. A trip down "sneaker" memory lane: Reebok pumps, Reebox cross training pumps, Reebok "hexagon" technology, Converse "CONS," British Knights, L.A. Gear heel-light technology, L.A. Gear "interchangeable disc" sneakers, to give your sneakers a different color each day, Nike Air Flight Light (2.2 ounces--the lightest sneaker ever), Nike Air Max, Nike Air, Nike Air Pegasus, Nike Air Jordans (the original black ones, of course) Nike Air FORCE, Nike Air "Ewings" (named after Patrick Ewing), Pro Champs, Tretorns, Keds, Roos, and, of course, plaid Converse All-Stars . . .and Johnny Crockett even had the American Flag All-Stars. I think All-Stars are boycottable, because Chuck Taylor would scoff at the way his unadorned sneakers are now 5 times as expensive as they used to be. I'm really glad sneakers aren't as popular as they used to be; as a teacher, I can tell you that there definitely isnt as much emphasis placed on sneakers as when I was a kid. All sneakers used to do was divide caste systems . . .

2. Do you think people who live in Venice, Italy ever take their vacations in places like New Jersey, where, then, they can take pictures of asphalt streets crowded with people, cars, traffic lights, and big box stores? Something different, ya know?

3. When or how has it somehow become "acceptable" for smokers to just "toss" their smoken butts onto the road, the lawn, the curb, etc.? Somehow, for some reason which escapes me, there's this idea that cigarette butts somehow dont count as conventional "trash." Well, they should, and if you're going to smoke, you should at least pick up after yourself. You see people, all the time, nonchalantly tossing their butts onto roadways. Well, I did some research, and did you know that a cigarette butt takes 3-5 years to decompose? I wonder how many smokers know that?

4. "That shirt fits you to a T!" "Oh my goodness . . .you have your mother's laugh to a T!" What is this "T" we're always talking about? Is it part of another word we're too lazy to say? Does the "T" come from "total?" I'm asking because I have no idea . . . .it bothers me to a T.

5. Have you ever seen a WOMAN smoking a pipe? Kind of makes you wonder . . .

6. Corporate America pissing me off department: The other night, for dinner, I picked up a couple of shrimp baskets for Amanda and I at the little snack bar in "downtown" Fairfield. Now, for years, they, like most other businesses, have accepted credit and debit cards (I'm just setting the context). I paid in cash, and it was no problem. But then, this poor guy in back of me goes to pick up food he already ordered, gives them his Visa, and is told "the credit card machine hasnt worked all night." Forget about the fact that they should have told him that when he placed his order . . .but they started giving him attitude and saying things like "well, unfortunately sir, you can't have your food if you dont have cash." This is wrong. If a business decides to offer the service of a credit card machine, then they assume the responsibility for it; it shouldnt be the customer's problem if it breaks. In my view, credit cards, checks, and cash are all valid forms of money, and should all be accepted. Would it be the retaurant's fault if the customer's bank was closed and the customer couldnt get cash to pay for dinner? Exactly. So, in conclusion, the problem I am describing should not, in turn, be the customer's fault. The restaurant should take care of the services and technologies they provide--he should have gotten his food for free

Plus, the food sucks there anyway.

7. Its funny how we use the word "kill" to describe when we eat something to its entirety--"wow, we really killed that onion dip," or "we killed the 12 pack of Natty light pretty fast, huh?" Maybe we use this word to compensate for the fact that we no longer "kill" our food, but instead drive our chubby white asses to the grocery store to buy it (?) Maybe we somehow feel like we had something more to actively "do" with the whole eating process if we use a more aggressive action verb.

8. Joba Chamberlain, the idiot pitcher for the Yankees, is a walking example of irony: before he starts the game, he stands on the mound, in front of sixty thousand people, and prays to God. Then, when the game starts, he throws at Youk's head, deliberately trying to hit him with a 96 mph piece of foreign matter. I dont know what is more pathetic: THIS, or the fact that he sucks so hard that he still has been unable to actually hit Kevin Youkilis.

It would be funny if there was a special relief pitcher in the bullpen whose ONLY job was to hit other batters--you'd keep him in the bullpen until a dink like A-Rod came up, and then you'd have your "striker,"we'd call him, come in, for one pitch, and deliberately beam said player. Obviously, this pitcher would be ejected, but who cares--he did his job. Plus, it would give Craig Hansen something positive to offer to the sox . . .

Busy Weekend!

Sorry for not posting in a couple of days . . .our weekend started busy, and stayed that way. Here is a brief re-cap: On Friday, we went out to China Lake to visit Cindy, Dana, Toby, and Stink-a-Moe. Maybe I'm just biased, but I think Ms. Sally Piles looks pretty darn good for giving birth 6 weeks ago. She looks better than I've EVER looked, even. We had a great day, swam a bunch (even Amanda), watched Toby chase ducks off the dock, ate pickle dip, and went on a nice boat ride (without Callum this time--he was rocking with Cindy up on the porch). A beautiful day to be on the lake--actually, any day on the lake is beautiful.
The many faces of Callum Stuart: Here is one. Or, is this MY baby picture? OOPS! Can't tell. Poor kid . . .it appears, for the time being, he looks like his father. Although, sometimes we call him Little Hank, since he shows mannerisms, sounds, and faces akin to his Papa. What I'd like to know is this: what the heck is he looking at??
On Saturday afternoon, we went to Springpond for dinner--George made salmon that was otherworldly--it was Wild Sockeye Salmon, and it was delicious. We also had some kind of French potato dish and stir fried tomatoes. And we watched the offensively lacking Red Sox drop yet another one to the Yankees. Here, Callum shares a brief moment with his grandpop before he pooped himself.
Today, it was off to the Thurstons, who had us over for brunch. M-S made a couple of fantastic quiches and egg bakes, and we got to meet all the people we always read about on Mike's blog, like Tut, Kori, Alex, Burt, Owen, and, of course, Irish Mammie. We felt terrible though, since Mammie was so excited to hold Callum, but Callum reciprocated by fussing for most of the time we were there--even after he ate, and everything. I think, by nature, Callum is a home-body. Below is a BRIEF moment of him not crying. . . haha
We had a great brunch, a great visit, and then a great trip out to "Robie's Farm." Robie, a friend of M-S, lives on a farm in Weeks Mills, that operates as a Bed and Breakfast, working farm, and pottery studio--basically all the things Amanda and I would aspire to do! I got to sit on a REAL Farmall tractor, we saw Belgian Quarter Horses, huge bunnies, bug-eyed cows, lambs, and I bought a beautiful salt-glazed mug from which to drink beer (perhaps the growler of Sheepscott Brewing Wheat Ale Mike gave me )--and Amanda bought a cute little lamb pin. Click on the link "Thurston's blog" to see a much more detailed account--and more pictures--of our day!

The big event, for me, however, was feeding my son for the first time . . . . He is such a big boy!!!

Freefalling

Do you have a favorite song? Of course you do, and probably for a myriad of reasons such as it reminds you of a particular time in your life, a certain person, an emotion you felt when someone broke your heart, or how you felt when you broke someone else's, and you were overcome with guilt. I think if I reflect back I can name a few songs that, over time, have become embedded into the fibrous institution of my brain, my soul, my being. And they are all complicated.

"King of Pain" by The Police reminds me of my two weeks with my arm in traction over my head in the hospital after I got a blood clot from the infusaport that delivered my chemotherapy. The lyrics were arcane, coded, and just seemed to fill all the little niches in my seemingly empty life at that point.

Kathy's Song, by Simon and Garfunkel reminds me of the night I first found out I had cancer and having to face my mom and dad, in the cold January room of New England Medical Center, and then me, not quite 18, beginning the life of a cancer patient; after they left for the night, I lay in my bed in room 722, and listened to the song on repeat until I fell asleep.

"On Every Street" by Dire Straits somehow reminds me of dating Amanda; I used to listen to it in my truck, the one my dad gave me and I still drive, on repeat, as I drove downtown, home from the bars in Portsmouth, trying to sift through all the trigonometry, calculus, and rocket science that is dating, and wondering why it was so easy with Amanda

I think the blessing, or the curse, of being a songwriter and English teacher is that I inherently try to analyze the nuances of everything in life--the shades of grey, the hues, the sighs. I do this with everything, and sometimes things just get too complicated

And I was never a big Tom Petty fan

Alas, enter the John Mayer cover of Petty's "Freefalling," which, to date, seems to incessantly occupy the airwaves of my mind, my headphones, and my house. Its a spellbinding cover.

As far as I can tell, God has given me two amazing gifts: the artistry to craft a song, from the music to the lyrics to the vocals, and the ability to put my son to sleep by singing, dancing, and swaying to music. The second one has come in more handy lately.

Callum loves the song Freefalling, and, just last night, I put a fussy, hot, nurse-weary infant to sleep by swaying him gently while the song played on the iPod dock on top of the fridge. But I never liked Tom Petty, and I certainly didnt like the song Freefalling. But I guess thats just how I feel lately, and when I listen to the song, it becomes more apparent just what we're doing here on earth. Freefalling, to me, is a song about an individual who defies stereotypes and social norms, unabashedly, trying to find a place in a convoluted (but seemingly normal, everyday life) kind of world. Does that make sense? But there are no twisted, extended metaphors or flowery images or mixing of color and emotion. Its just a simple statement about living. The song, just, is.

"Freefalling" just is what it is, and its no more than that, and that is a good thing. Sometimes, I think, there has to be no deeper meaning. Sometimes life is plenty beautiful and surprising just as it is; it hits you in that same nonchalant, unabashed way. God bless those moments. When your 6 week old son falls asleep in your arms, head on your shoulder, mouth agape, swaying to John Mayer's mellow rendition of Freefalling, you dont ask questions, and you dont try to find the deeper meaning in it, because there isnt one. It is what it is, and you let it happen. You dont want to get lost in the complication of trying to find the meaning, the significance, the nuance and the hue. You want to let the moment move through your soul and do what it will with you.

You want to freefall.

The Forks

Hi, Amanda here. Last Thursday Gramps, Grammie, Jared and I took Callum for his first trip up to The Forks which is a great town about 1 hour from our house. We got up there around 1 pm after having a relaxing morning standing around our kitchen island eating McDonald's breakfast sandwiches. Yum.

For lunch we stopped into Northern Outdoors which is an 'outdoor adventure resort'. They do whitewater rafting trips, tubing, fishing and hunting trips, and also snowmobiling and snowshoeing in the winter. You can stay in the campground or in one of their rustic cabins and after a day of fun you can relax in their outdoor pool or hot tub. I would like to stay there sometime - preferably in the winter so we can do some snowshoeing.

Anyway, they also have a brewpub and restaurant with great food and good beer (according to Gramps and Jared). Their Kennebec River Loggerhead Lager is one of Jared's favorites, if not his #1 pick.
We had a great lunch and even Callum got to sample some of their beer. Just joking.
After lunch we headed up the road to Moxie Falls. There is about a 1 mile walk into the falls, but it's well worth it. Callum did great riding in his Baby Bjorn carrier and I did my best to ward off the mosquitoes and deer flies. Luckily they didn't seem interested in him, but I got pretty much eaten alive. I think we all did. This is me, Jared and Grammie making our way to the falls.

And here is Moxie Falls! We saw a lot of people swimming in some of the pools both above and below the falls.

It was a great day, followed by burritos at our house after we got home. Thanks, Gramps, for remembering your camera and taking all the pictures. Jared and I are hoping to take Kranthony here (and maybe do some tubing!) when they come up next week.

Well, Jared is at the movies tonight with his friend Eric so I'm going to make the most of it and paint my nails, read a book and go to bed early. Goodnight!

Catching Up

So the Goldsmith household has been quite the busy place during the last week or so. The Ponticelli's arrived last Friday afternoon, to stay for the weekend, give us a chance to see JJ, visit, and meet little Stu. It was a great weekend--although, for whatever reason, we took absolutely no pictures. Well, I did take this one, of little JJ (my Godson) playing his Godfather's keyboard. I can't remember what he was playing--it was either "Chippy Surprise Rhapsody" or "Chicky Bird Oop Rock." We did have a great time though, ate great food (bbq at home, and seafood at Gov's), went for a walk, played wiffleball, ate Amanda's homemade mint chocolate chip ice cream, said "WHA HAPPENED??" 467 times (inside joke), and topped everything off by going out to Camp Greenlaw, where "Dana the pirate" lett JJ drive the boat (well, in exchange for all JJ's cheese curls). A beautiful day indeed!
CALLUM'S VISITORS

We were fortunate enough to have Celeste and Amanda Lapointe stop by for a nice visit on Sunday afternoon! Amanda is a former student of mine who is starting her junior year at Salem State College--she is a great kid, and I am really proud of her for her hard work in succeeding both in her classes and on the basketball court at college. They brought Callum a WALL-E shirt, which is really cute. Celeste also happens to be my dental hygienist, so that is cool too! The Lapointes are great people who were kind enough to take Amanda (mine) and I to see James Taylor a couple of summers ago. I'll also give a plug for Stan Lapointe's restaurant (The Pointe Afta) in Winslow--a true sports bar with great beer on tap and fantastic burgers! Its also been known to be a "watering hole" for certain WHS faculty . . .
And here is a little video from this morning. Callum continues to surprise us each day with all the different things he does. Being almost 6 WEEKS OLD!!! he is starting to show more expression, and he is starting to make unique noises and sighs. Adorable. He is even starting to mimic certain things--when Amanda or I stick our tongues out at him, he reciprocates. Its kind of amazing to us. My favorite thing in the world has to be when I am able to put Callum to sleep--he seems to love my shoulder, since it is big and broad enough to lay his head down (none of the Willards have any shoulders, so I have the advantage there!) He absolutely LOVES music, and you should see the magical effect it has on him--it puts him right asleep. His favorite artists are, of course, Jared Goldsmith, Coldplay, and Frank Sinatra. He actually loves the new Coldplay album, and there is one particular song--"Death and all his friends"--which works like a drug. What a pretty title for a song by which a baby falls asleep!

Moving On

Smile . . . .

Wow.

Today was a troubling day in blogville. I have chosen to delete the previous post all together, because it was starting to truly sadden me as well, and I want to be able to forget all about it. I admit that sometimes I publish blogs, like the one about Obama, just to push a few buttons and procure comments . . .and maybe start a little jib-jabbing and such. But today went too far--it became a "pecking party" against certain individuals--individuals for whom I care deeply--and I can't have that. The last thing I want to do on this blog is upset people "for real." And that was starting to happen. And I apologize for whatever part I played in this fiasco. Things just went too far, and, to be honest, I feel sick about it.

Obviously, "DH," my father Henry, a proud Jew, is the greatest man I know, and he has taught me innumerable lessons on how to be a man. He is kind, compassionate, and a "gentle" giant (well, except when we wrestle) who would never deliberately hurt anyone's feelings or be racist. I know from experience of our diverse family and friend network of Jewish, Irish, African American, Portuguese, and Native American descent. I also know of several homosexual family members and friends--all of whom are loved deeply by my father. My father is not a racist man. I also know that there is no way my dad would be offended my MET's reference to calling him "Hitler," since my father's greatest gift is his ability to laugh (most at himself and my shortcomings, but that's besides the point). So, despite what comments may have implied, MET shouldnt worry.

MET, Mike Thurston, is an esteemed colleague of mine--and a close friend. He is a brilliant thinker, a model teacher, and a fervent family man whom I consider to be a mentor. He is to be respected for taking a stand on issues he holds dear. Though our political spectrums may differ (perhaps sometimes you can tell!) I still respect him GREATLY. Whether I agree or disagree with Mike is inconsequential; the fact remains that I hate seeing a friend picked on and "pecked" in the manner in which he was today--whether comments were joking or not. I know Mike to be a kindhearted, caring, sensitive friend, and I would hate for anyone reading the deleted blog to think otherwise about him. He was even kind enough to babysit me in Washington DC.

And then, somehow, my dear friend Michelle Clark became entangled in this quagmire as well, having her words, thoughts, and quotes "spun"(in a FOX news fashion . . .just had to get that in!) by a "Ryan Miller." I have no idea who or what a Ryan Miller is, but I do know that Michelle Clark is an exemplary teacher, so respected by her students that they visit her and keep in touch with her LONG after they graduate. Furthermore, I know she cares very much for her friend Mike Thurston, and to see the upsetting remarks made between friends was further proof that I had to let this blog go.

If one thing is to be learned from today's occurrences, it is that we cannot expect to assume anything about anyone's background, morals, race, sex, underwear size, etc. Furthermore, and this is my biggest gripe with email and blog comments, is that, given the "character-set" nature of the words typed, true tone, emotion, and feeling of the speaker cannot be fully realized by the recipient. Perhaps Dad's comments, if spoken, carried an innocuous tone . . .or Mikes . . .or anonymous, or anyone's--would things be different? I hate that you can never tell exactly "how" people mean things. My solution is to sing everything. Or try to.

As I hear my 5 week old little boy crying upstairs, because he still hasn't fallen asleep, I realize there are so many more important things in life . . . .

Let's move on . . . .

Dad, Mike, Michelle: you are all very important to me, and I apologize for the transpirings of the day.

Is this what life will be like for him?

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Solon Trip Part 2

I absolutely love this canoe trip! Last year, Amanda, Jen, Dave, and I took canoes and kayaks down a majestic stretch of the Kennebec River from Embden down to Anson. This year, it was sort of like an English faculty trip, as I, Dave, Michelle Clark, and Rach Robbins made the paddle. It takes a little logistical planning to do this trip, since you need two vehicles (one to leave at the "landing site" and one to drop off to launch your canoe in Embden). The current of the Kennebec is so strong that you couldnt possibly paddle back up--you'd need a motor. However, the current is half the fun, as you travel through some nice light rips over crystal clear (and actually pretty shallow) water--you really dont even have to paddle that much; you basically just have to steer through rocks, branches, rips, etc. The lack of a need to paddle so much left more time to hold frosty wheat beverages and such, as seen below, where Dave and I enjoy a refreshing drink on a pretty hot day. Notice how I am drinking an IPA made by "Kennebec River Brewing Company?" How fitting. As a side note, we are stopped on some rocks so the girls can check out some pretty neat Indian petroglyphs (sp) carved into some of the river bank--deer, warriors, spears, and such.
I love this picture (Michelle took all the pictures by the way, since I forgot my camera). This is what we got to look at for a few hours or so--nothing but beautiful water, trees, and no Wal-Marts or Morning Sentinel Headlines.

We stopped at one of the small islands, left the canoes, and took a swim. Why have I put this picture on my blog? Well, basically, just so my idiot friends can make a "demotivational poster" out of it and email it to me, put it on a t-shirt, etc. Also, maybe it will get people to leave some comments . . .we need a blogtroversy. . . .he he
And here are Michelle and Rachel after a very satisfying . . .um . . .paddle (that's what she said) I can't wait to do this trip again! MET, I thought of you yesterday . . .you would love this trip . . .if you are willing to make the ride up here and use your car for one of the "logistics vehicles." I've a got a perfect canoe . . .(you mentioned needing to get into the woods!)

1st Boat Ride

On Sunday morning, we took a ride out to Camp Greenlaw to visit Cindy and Dana on China Lake. Callum went on his first boat ride! It wasnt on a speed-boat--dont worry Nannie--it was on one of those "party barge" things . . .kind of like a pontoon boat. Aunt Cindy absolutely LOVES Callum to death, really enjoys taking care of Callum whenever we get together. As you can see, Callum enjoyed her company too, as he slept for the whole boat ride. The water was VERY choppy, actually, and the lake had some white-caps from all the wind. It would have been a great day for sailing! The momentum from the boat put him right to sleep (that what she said!) I love this picture of Amanda--I think she is absolutely radiant and beautiful. Since she is smiling, she was most likely looking at Callum, and not me. We just love going out to camp, whenever can find the time to do so. Its such a beautiful place, in such a beautiful spot. They are always telling us to come out and spend a night, and I always love falling asleep by the water, listening to the loons and everything . . .
In honor of Callum's first trip to the lake, he wore a special outfit: a "little turtle" overall set. He looked ridiculously cute in it, if I do say so myself. I never thought I could actually be excited about baby clothes . . .

"All that fresh air has made me soooooooo sleepy!"

(which means he is yawning, not crying, in this photo)
Later that afternoon, Jon and Mel came over for supper and to see Callum, since they hadnt seen him in a few weeks. Below, Jon and Callum gear up for a staring contest. Jon won, but only because Callum pooped his pants. Today we went to Target and got a new tent, since squirrels literally ate holes in our tent last year at Cobscook Bay. It is a bigger tent--it technically sleeps seven. That means we will have room for all Callum's stuff. OR we can put half of Lynne's clothes in our tent if we all go camping. It also has a "Pet Den," just in case Chelsea ever comes camping.

Tomorrow I'll be on the Kennebec on a canoe trip I've been looking forward too. I'll keep you posted . . .

2ND ANNUAL PIG ROAST

We had the 2nd annual pig roast at the Hargroves today, but before I quickly describe that, let me tell you about yesterday, which was one of the best days I ever had, simply because I got to be alone with Callum for a few hours . . .just "the guys." We didnt do much . . .in fact, he cried for about a quarter of the time, but when Amanda took Andrea for lunch, I found some precious time (for the first time, in fact) to be "alone" with my son. We are very rarely alone at all--and dont get us wrong, because we love having people over to visit, etc--but it was so nice yesterday. I put him in his car seat, and we went for a little buh-buh ride in the car, stopping for an iced coffee first, and then driving the back country roads of Benton, Clinton, and Canaan Maine, looking for Lake George Regional Park, so we can swim there next week. I drove down roads on which I usually bike (which are beautiful, and I'll have to take pictures on my next ride), listened to the new Coldplay album (which Callum loves), and just drove around. It got me excited for all the times to come when Callum and I can do just father and son "stuff" like hiking, camping, catch, and whatever else we can find to do together. So that's all. Just wanted to share that.

And here he is, during the rare but wonderful times when he falls asleep in "my" arms. Sorry about the shirtless shot. I hope you didnt just eat . . .
Oh yeah, so the pig roast. It was at Jesse's moms, which is right down the road. She has THE most beautiful home/land ever, owning about 88 acres of very well landscaped nooks and crannies. And a great pool/deck/patio. Below, the Hargroves soak up the sun, while baby Aiden seems to be interested in his dad's "parts" below. Amanda and Ciara, who could easily pass as sisters, catch up with each other. Not only do Ciara and Amanda LOOK alike, but also they are both in love with me, and both have a degree in music (Ciara is a voice major and now teaches music)

Callum really made the most of the afternoon at the pig roast and pool party . . .
But, when we got home, he was ALL business . . .

Baths, Visitors and New Sleeping Quarters

Hi. Amanda here.

On Wednesday Grammie came over to spend some time with Callum. Gramps came over after work and we all went to Governor's for dinner. Callum loved Governor's and he was a very good boy. They have a model train that runs around the ceiling in the dining room and I think that's why Callum likes it there. He hasn't tried their food yet, of course.

Grammie got to give Callum his bath that night. They had a great time as you can see:

He and Grammie had a great time until he got really hungry. Then he tends to get a little cranky. But that's okay. He is so darn cute even when he is upset. He is really a good boy. He doesn't really fuss unless he's hungry - for this I am really thankful. He is generally a very happy baby!

On Thursday we had a visit from Jen, Izaak and Devon Lachapelle. In this picture Callum is getting to meet his new friends:

The Lachapelle's are at the Red Sox game tonight. Lucky! Although we are currently losing to the Orioles 6-4, so I'm sorry guys... Let's hope the Sox get their stuff together for the last inning.

In other news, Callum is now using his crib! He napped there this afternoon for the first time and he slept for almost 4 hours. Here are a couple of pictures of him sleeping soundly in his crib. Notice the position of the legs...

Tomorrow we're headed to a pig roast so stay tuned!

Meanderings 35

Family Picture!
This is my new favorite picture of all time.
Me, Callum, and Andrea, who is visiting for a couple of days
Lounging in the garage while I cooked a great dinner of a new tortellini salad (Kristin you'd love it) and chicken marinating in my homemade BBQ sauce (Thurston, you'd like this one)

**Before I start, I will mention that Amanda is hard at work figuring out Snapfish so we can post all kinds of Callum pictures and people can see how big and handsome he is getting. Now, onto the bitching and moaning . . . .

1. When people are under pressure to fulfill a certain task, they often say they are "under the gun." This is a ridiculous thing to say; shouldnt it be "across from the gun?" When people point guns at other people, in preparation for shooting them, dont they shoot ACROSS and not DOWN? I mean, I've seen some executions where the person is made to sit on the ground, and the standing pistol holder actually shoots "down," but for the most part, when we shoot, we shoot across. Even "above the gun" would be better, since when I was with the SEALS we used to assume a lying position and shoot targets that were above us. Please dont say "I feel under the gun to get this job done." Because if you do, you sound silly.

2. I absolutely hate strawberries, and I feel really terrible about this. They're adorable; who hates strawberries? Well, I do. Can't stand the freaking things. Dont like their look, dont like their taste, dont like all the hub-bub about strawberry shortcakes. But, its so sad. I mean, they've never done nothing bad to anyone. I'm really sorry.

3. I've never seen leftover pancakes be eaten. Ever.

4. Here's a blast from the ESPN past: Who remembers the days when ESPN (before they were the empire they are today) used to show not "Sportscenter" all morning, but exercise shows? Ah Ha? Denise Austin, Body by Jake, Gilead, Tony Little, Uncle Touchy's Total Body Toning? Remember these? Were there others? Now, the exercise shows are gone, and, instead, we listen to sports pundits try to hopelessly come up with different ways to phrase "RBI" and "Bases Loaded" and "Nice Hit."

5. No one on ESPN, or any other sports channel for that matter, can ever top Craig Kilborn's "he's cooler than the other side of the pillow." So stop.

6. I'm increasingly bothered by all these new, trendy bottled water companies that advertise that you should drink their water because THEIR water is better for the environment because it comes from virtually untouched springs deep in the dirka dirka rainforest and its totally "green" water because of how it is obtained, blah blah, blah. They advertise how, if you buy THEIR water, you'll be doing something good for the environment because they are an environmentally conscious company. What these blundering capitalistic idiots dont realize, however, is that, by marketing yet ANOTHER bottled water (its only WATER and we have enough in our sink) they are only using yet MORE plastics that a) use fossil fuels to create and b) probably wont be recycled by the morons at Starbucks anyway. So, in the process of trying to look all environmental, all they are doing is adding to the depletion of the environment.

And we keep buying it . . .

7. Speaking of Starbucks: The other day I went to get an iced coffee, and I pondered sitting outside for a bit. Most of the sidewalk tables were round, but there was one rectangular table, which was obviously for customers with handicaps. Great, that is wonderful. But, written on the table, was the following sentence: Please offer this table to our customers with disabilities. What the hell is this? Now I have Starbucks giving me lessons in ethics and morals? Please understand me: this is nothing against people with disabilities; my problem is with Starbucks. It would have sufficed to write on the table "For persons with disabilities." But, now, I have Starbucks encouraging me to "come out of my comfort zone" and physically approach those who are disabled, introduce myself, and offer them a table they might for more comfortable.What if I just want to have my coffee and not participate in changing the world that afternoon? Is that okay? Again, dont get me wrong: I would do this anyway, and I DO do it for not only persons with disabilities, but also for elderly and mothers with children (on the train, subway, etc). Its just that I dont need Starbucks telling me what to do.

8. Okay. This needs to be said: Smashmouth absolutely sucks, I am so sick of that song "Walking on the Sun," its been used in 431 commercials, and we all need to band together to boycott every product that uses this song in its advertisements. This way, maybe they'll go away. Advertising executives make millions of dollars, and they cant think of a different song? You've got to be kidding.

9. Have any of you ever seen a tractor trailer be pulled over by the police? First of all, every one of them should, because they drive both too fast and too aggressively. But thats not my point. With a car or pickup truck, the cop can walk right over and sort of just slightly look down into the driver's window. But tractor trailers are huge. When a police officer pulls over a tractor trailer, is it just sort of implied that the police officer will climb up the steps to be at the truck-driver's level? If so, isnt that dangerous? Couldnt the truck driver just pull off quickly, rendering the officer hurt? Or does the truck driver get out of the truck and come down? That is dangerous too . . .he could be packing heat; you and I arent allowed to get out of our cars when we are pulled over. What is the protocol? There just doesnt seem like any non-awkward way to do it.

Just another reason tractor trailers should be illegal from 7a.m. to 10p.m every day.

Whirlpools

This is for you Kristin:
hotttttttttttttttttttt . . ..
oh my gosh . . .here it comes . . .

My favorite summertime movie probably has to be Pollyanna, starring Haley Mills. My mother loves Haley Mills, and each Thanksgiving, my mom would, the night before the big holiday, watch the three Haley Mills films that we knew to be in existence, all the while ripping up shards of bread to make her homemade stuffing. I have no idea what Haley Mills has to do with Thanksgiving, and my love for Pollyanna as a favorite summertime flick has nothing to do with memories of Thanksgiving. I digress.

In Pollyanna, we are treated to an old fashioned southern summertime community—the way I dream of summer being: tall oak trees that grow right outside your bedroom window that you can climb down to sneak out at night (but not break your pelvis, like Pollyanna did), watermelon eating contests, sticky sweet iced tea, men in seersucker suits with straw hats, homemade fishing rods and iridescent bluegill sunfish, and people who strolled the lanes right before sunset. That is my favorite—one of the great things about the road on which we live is its “side-streetedness,” which beckons couples and families young and old to emerge from air conditioned bedrooms and naturally cooled basements to get their first breath of fresh air as they walk, ever so slowly, down the road; its like a bond we share: we survived another oppressive day, and we’re here to show it.

I like Pollyanna because it is a testament to how summertime belongs to the young—and I’m fine with that because I hate summer. But I loved it when I was a kid, and I look forward to summertime with Callum, and I’m happy I’ll be home to enjoy it with him. I won’t work during the summer (unless I have to), because I don’t want to miss out on times of wonder and intrigue. One of my favorite parts of going back to school at the end of August is seeing kids who have undergone remarkable transformations over the past twelve weeks or so—many times it surprises the heck out of me. Summertime, for the young, is a time for self-discovery, a time to refine the lifestyle nuances for which we all crave: music, film, dress, food. It’s a time when small moments happen between young people that, although life altering to the them, seem syruply tacky to us adults (kisses, breakups, make-ups)—maybe because, after all, we’re SO mature and responsible now. Or maybe we’ve just lost our abilities to know magic when we see it. If you haven’t read DANDELION WINE by Ray Bradbury, and you want to experience the magic of a childhood summer, go out and buy a copy. And I dare you not to cry.

Its funny: I can remember just about every summer up until about my 16th birthday, and then everything seemed to become rote. Actually, I do remember my college summers, so I lied. But that’s a different blog. But I’m talking about the magical, dirty-handed-if-you-want-me-inside-for-a-bath-you’ll-have-to tranquilize-me first kinds of summers. How many of us were perfectly complacent to just “ride bikes” all day. Every day. And be overjoyed at the prospect of waking up tomorrow to ride bikes again. Richie Schiffer and I, after freshmen year of high school, spent just about every day at Borderland State Park, riding the trails on our piece of crap bikes—and I had to ride eight miles to his house first, BEFORE getting to Borderland.

Or there was my “summer of chess,” when, after 4th grade ended, my friend Mike Murphy and I found ourselves virtually addicted to chess, since Mrs. Swieca, our teacher, taught the class how to play before the year ended. I remember Maureen, Mike’s mom, asking us if we wanted to go outside and play catch or something, since it was so nice out. Chess: the great incentivizer to stay inside, if only for a few hours a day. And then, the next year, my best friend in the world Michael Murphy transferred to a private school, and I got my first taste of a real-life letdown, and the realization that things were about the change continually over the next few years. I didn’t talk to Mike much after that. I got so into chess that summer that, while at the Westgate mall one Saturday, my Papa Goldsmith decided he wanted to buy me my very own chess set. But instead of buying me the cheap Milton Bradley set at Bradlees, we went into a Brookstone type of place, and he spent almost 70 dollars on a mahogany chess set for me. I remember my mom being very upset: what the hell is a 4th grader doing with a 70 dollar chess set?? But I still have it. From my summer of chess.

There were kiddy-pools filled with achingly cold hose water (which, one time, my Nana Goldsmith infuriated my mom by constantly dipping my “little slugger” hat into the water, and then putting back on my head), Slip-and Slides, Wet Banana’s (and NO, those are not the names of the films Timmy made with his girlfriends), Pogo Balls, skip-its, sidewalk chalk, sandboxes (in which, along with Mike Gryniuk, I used to make roads and highway systems—Mike Gryniuk now does this for a living), treehouses with terrible ventilation systems (because, basically, they were wooden boxes), Hermit crab huntings, swimming pool whirlpool making events where, after, we tried swimming against the current (there’s a poem waiting to be written) “waffle” haircuts, wiffleballs, cap guns (the plastic ring ones that worked, and the shitty paper roll ones that were cheaper), dirty faces, the smell of Avon “Skin-So-Soft” (because someone made up the rumor that it worked to ward off mosquitoes), the feeling that, somehow, staying OUTSIDE past NINE was “living dangerously,” and, of course, the archetypal figure of my childhood summers: the clown sprinkler. The “clown” was just that—a creepy looking clown face where the hose was connected to the back of his neck, and water shot up out of his head; he came with a plastic cone-type hat that, if positioned correctly, rode the stream of water about 15 or 20 feet high, and gyrated up there atop a jet of water. Very cool indeed.

Right now, as I write this, its approaching 11p.m., and I can hear, over the monitor, the sounds of Callum, upstairs, in his bassinette, crying and fussing because he’s so overtired; we think the heat does this to him. I wonder why he won’t go to sleep. And I wonder how any kid (Callum is a [very little] kid, after all) could possibly cry during the summer. I’m emotional thinking about how, in two or three short years, he’ll start living his summers like he should. Like all kids should. And he’ll make for himself those magical summer memories that I bet we all wish we could sometimes live again.

Back From CT . . .

Uncle Anthony and Callum (nice shirt Twonny boy . . .I love how it combines the flag with actual text from the Declaration of Independence)
Here's the big boy with one of his Fourth of July outfits!
Papa Goldsmith (and his "I'm-here-to-party" shirt) and Callum
Nannie and Callum. Oh look, Nannie's shirt says "coffee" on the sleeve
Favry Homebrew. See the description in the actual body of the blog, and click on this picture of blow it up . . .

What a great trip!

Last Wednesday night I ABSOLUTELY did not sleep at all for I was so nervous to drive (what ended up being 5 hours and 46 minutes) down to Ledyard for the fourth with Amanda, Callum, and Thomas. But, I have to say, the kids were fantastic travellers, and Callum only had to stop once to be fed and changed--he slept the rest of the time. And Thomas slept the whole time anyway. . . he travels well.

When we did arrive in Ledyard, I kissed Callum goodbye and told him I would see him (possibly) once a day for his bath, but most likely Sunday afternoon, when we left to go back to Maine. It was just that so many people were so happy to see him--his Nannie and his Papa, and PB and GG. The ironic part of the whole trip was that our camera was not working properly, and we tried to take photos with our video camera . . .but the video one had no flash on it. We did, however, take lots of videos . . .so if anyone ever decides to come visit, we can watch them then.

We really did have a great time, and we just did so many things--too many to mention. I can make a short list:

1. Ate Twon's special dish of "Brie Pesto Bowties," which is one of my favorite pasta dishes



2. Ate beer bread Twon made, which was awesome!



3. At the lemon and white chocolate ice cream Twon made



4. (are you starting to see a pattern here? Its like its Anthony Ray or something . . .



5. Ate tons of food on the Fourth of July, like steak tits (oops, did I spell that wrong??) and Orzo salad that Ortiz made, calzones that Cha Cha brought, stuffed mushrooms, PICKLE DIP MICHELLE!!, Buffalo Yicken dip (MEL), Onion Blossom Dip, and Cardiac Defribulation dip.



6. We had a wonderful fireworks display in the Favry driveway--Anthony bought two huge boxes of fireworks. Amanda watched the silhouettes of the fireworks while she nursed Callum in the upstairs room.



7. Twon and I wore cute little matching tops, and Kristin and Amanda did too--all in the spirit of the Fourth. Basically, we tried to find the tackiest USA flag shirty thingy . . .and then we bought it to match for the BBQ



8. We went into Mystic to visit Mystic Cycle (and awesome bike store), Chick-She consignment shop, and Sea Swirl, which is a "clam hut" in Mystic touted by Rachel Gay, Paula Dean, and the Food Network in general. It was the first time Callum ever saw the ocean



9. Callum wore his special patriotic outfit (he was born on flag day, after all)



10. Kristin, Anthony, Amanda, and I all ascended, and battled darklings.

One thing I have to write "special" about is Anthony's homebrew--made for the occasion of Callum's visit. He made a blueberry Hefeweisen, which was outstanding--although I have to apologize to him because I really wasnt feeling good all weekend (still not really) and didnt drink as many as I would have liked. Maybe he can bring some up . . .hmmm . . .

But one thing we all like to do when we get together (or even when we dont get together) is make as much fun of as we can of our Dad, a.k.a. DH, Ortiz, or Friendly-Henry. So, naturally, the beers had to have labels of Ortiz doing funny stuff, and then we named the beers accordingly: "Henry's Blue-Balls Hefe-wise-ass-en," "Friendly Henry's Botched Birthday Brown," and "OH SHIT I.P.A." The bottles, as you can see from the picture, are wonderful, and sit center stage in my beer bottle collection in the basement.

Its good to be home. Went for a bike ride today and a walk with Callum and Amanda. Hopefully we have Andrea coming up later in the week, and hopefully we'll get out to Camp Greenlaw, since its unbearably hot. I hate the summer.

More meanderings tomorrow . . . .