Sunday, September 28, 2008

As Good As Any

This is Henekis.



Our mothers are sisters. My mother is older than her mother (by 2 years) and I am older than Henekis (by 9 years). Our Champ was their father. For five years now, we've worked together so I get to see her just about every day. Though I think we might have spent more "fun" time together before we worked together and I kind of miss that. Anyway, the other day at work she casually announced that she thought she might like to become a foster parent. I got so excited! Her skill with kids of all ages is exceptional. Think about it; Henekis as a foster parent...it makes so much sense I wish I'd thought of it my self! She'll be perfect!


I've been thinking about writing about Henekis for some time; since I first started this blog, actually. It's hard to know where to start with someone you know so well and love so much. Here's a picture of the two of us last October in Montreal when we went to see Stevie Wonder.




That was one of the greatest nights of our lives. I know that sounds melodramatic, and perhaps presumptuous to speak for her, but it's absolutely true. I'll never forget that spontaneous trip to Montreal. It was partly great because we were seeing Stevie, but it was also great because it was the two of us. And Henekis and I are the same in our passion for life, joie de vivre and free-spiritedness. For me that night epitomizes our "we're just being us and loving life at this beautiful moment in time with no apologies" shared ethos.

But Henekis does a better job on a daily basis embracing this ethos than me. I've been called passionate, emotional and idealistic and heard those words as insults. As I've grown older, I've learned to love those things about my self, but also, Henekis is something of a role mode for me in this respect. She is unabashed and shameless about her passion and living life big. She is wise and courageous and free. I love how she celebrates these characteristics in her self, makes the most of them and is just so HER; unique and strange and wonderful. And did I mention funny? She is one of the funniest people I know and those of you who know her will wholeheartedly agree. She has as much wit as the great Champ himself (and her mother, my Auntie Sally, who is also outrageously funny). If we did superlatives in our family (like in high school year books), I think Henekis would win "Most Fun to Be With".


(Who in the family can scan me a copy of that classic picture of Champ holding baby Henekis wearing clown make up in his arms one Old Home Day? I can see that picture in my head, but I don't have a copy. I'll insert it here if someone will send it to me.)
Our Champ gave her the nickname Honey Kiss.

Henekis is first and foremost my baby girl cousin. But she is so much more than that. She's also one of my best friends, my co-worker, comrade and sister-in-arms. I can't imagine life without her. It would really suck. We laugh and cry together, work and play together and struggle together, and we've been doing those things for almost 30 years! I've got her back and I know she's got mine. And even though she's a grown-up woman, I still see this little girl in her everyday.




































Henekis, whose name means "as good as any" is very smart and insightful. More than once I have sought her advice when preparing myself for a difficult conversation. She is always thoughtful and has a higher level of emotional intelligence than most people. But probably what I admire about my cousin more than anything is her incredible and genuine kindness. I strive to be nonjudgmental, but for Henekis it seems to just come naturally. She values everyone for who they are and while she may insist that people take accountability for their behaviors, she is also forgiving and ultimately sees the best in everyone. Like the Red Grammer
song she grew up with, See Me Beautiful:

See me beautiful,
look for the best in me.
That’s what I really am,
and all I want to be.
It may take some time
, It may be hard to find, but see me beautiful.

















Friday, September 26, 2008

Clowns...or, The Kids Lose Their Minds

She She Downtown

The following entry was written by Harper, the original She She, after whom the little people were named:

On Thursday night we were at my grandpa's house for dinner. After dinner we went into the storage barn. My brother Pat was rummaging through the stuff when he found a huge garbage bag. In it was a bunch of fisher price little people (or as we would call them "she-she's") one of the items in the bag was the little town. SHE-SHE DOWNTOWN!!!! The toy I haven't seen in about 9 years . When I was about 2 or so I would spend hours playing with it, and when my parents told me I needed a diaper change I would say "change-um- soon" which meant don't change my diaper yet. Anyway when I found it, it was one of the most amazing moments of my 12 years lived.
LONG LIVE SHE-SHE DOWNTOWN!!!


Harper and Pat celebrate the rediscovery of She-She Downtown with a dance.



Wednesday, September 24, 2008

Capitalism, Fascism, Suffering and Greed

Warning: if you are not interested in a ranting, raging Zoe, skip this posting.


Harper, my 12 year old, asked me on the way to piano lessons tonight, "What's the bailout?" As I gave her a 30 second prefatory lesson in capitalism and then attempted to explain something I barely understand myself, I grew more and more disgusted and outraged with the audacious, government supported greed in this country. And I started thinking about how already, before a real economic collapse, people I know are trying to decide between heating their homes and eating this winter. And today we in the Northeast Kingdom learned that Lydall, a big employer in our community, is downsizing. Nearly 200 jobs in a community as small as ours at a time like this is going to have a pretty devastating impact. They said in the paper today that people will have to "tighten their belts." No, people will be cold and hungry and might die. They'll have to compromise their dignity and lie and steal to survive. I hope that prediction proves wrong, but in the last few months I've seen a considerable increase in people, especially women and kids, struggling to survive. A major employer closing down will not help that situation.

Misty and I are making plans to canvass in New Hampshire, a swing state, for Obama. Not that I'm stupid enough to believe that a regime change will alleviate the suffering in my community and around that globe, and Obama is a goddamn capitalist, too, but what choices do we really have? And I signed Bernie's petition, and you should too, whatever good that might do. I think we have to figure out how to make increasingly bigger revolutionary actions, despite the risks to our personal liberties and comforts. Or, if you're like me and really don't want to go to jail, find some way to stand in solidarity with the folks who are the most profoundly affected by our fellow countrymen's greed. Maybe that is how we begin to make a revolution.


Ultimately, I explained to Harper that the foxes are guarding the hen house. She gets it. Because even though the bailout seems really complicated, the concepts are actually really simple. If only folks weren't distracted by must-see-tv and corporate sports.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Neil Learns his Lesson

Notice the different color font, that's because I (Neil) have decided to add a post to this blog. Since Zoe updates people about running, I guess I will about biking. If you've read earlier postings you know that I am a cyclist. Yesterday I participated in a charity ride that raises funds for the Orleans County Citizen Advocacy Council (which just so happens to be the one and only remaining CAC left in this fine and beautiful state).  The ride is called the Kingdom Lakes Century Ride. A century ride is called such because it meanders a route that covers 100 miles. This particular ride passes 8 or 9 beautiful lakes throughout the three counties that comprise the Northeast Kingdom. I have ridden numerous century rides in the past and done numerous other solo trips of 100 miles and slightly over so this was to be no big deal, especially as my friend Fritz was riding with me and time and distance always seem to pass quicker with a person to draft behind when necessary and to talk with as I ride. The day dawned crystal clear with a forecast high of 70 degrees and no clouds, perfect.

All went well for about 40 miles and then something happened to me that's never happened before. My legs just decided that they weren't going to be a cooperative part of this folly any longer. My stomach decided to reject the idea of putting things in it, things like carbohydrate goo and blue gatorade and uber-dense cliff bars, oh yeah, and water. Climbing hills, my forte, at least I like to think it is, became nightmarishly difficult. At 40 miles you still have 60 to go, remember. I continued on into very stiff crosswinds and even stiffer head winds for another 35 miles. The last part of the ride with tailwind was gradually uphill and just awful.

Here are some of the highlights of the day: riding too fast over a violent railroad crossing that was so bumpy it broke things on both my and Fritz's bike (49.5 miles),  spending 15 minutes in the crapper at Island Pond at the state park (50 m), listening to "CHKCHKCHKCHKCHKCHK" for, like, ever (that's the sound a strong wind makes in your ears while your legs burn and ass hurts a lot (mile 30-75), responding to Fritz when asked how I was doing, "I'm not in a good place." (62 m), yelling "what the f**k! I'm going downhill and I still have to Pedal!" (80 m), yelling "f**k you, f**king wind! (numerous times through out the day), yelling "F**K" to no one in particular (81, 82, 83, 84..... m), watching Fritz ride away from me into the distance (95 m), stopping and throwing bike to the ground (101 m).

I think what happened is that I "bonked." That's when your muscles and liver become depleted of glycogen stores that are necessary to continue exercising at a high level for a long period of time. Supposedly bonk comes from the term to "hit," as in hitting the wall.

Today my legs are still quite tired and I look real funny when I walk. You should've seen me try to run quickly across the road this morning. 

Humor

The latest issue of The New Yorker has a really funny humor essay by George Saunders.  You might want to read it out loud to whomever is nearby.

And here are some pictures of my beautiful family.

Monday, September 15, 2008

What Really Matters

What really matters is that I am not, at this moment, running anymore. My disappointment in my performance yesterday is tempered by the relief that I am no longer actually running. Yesterday was my fourth marathon and it pretty much sucked. The best part is that it is over. I was quite disappointed in my time, which was 4 hours, 19 minutes and 33 seconds. I had hoped to beat my best time, achieved in Burlington in May. That was a great, fun, race and the reason why I chose (unwisely, I think) to jump right back in to training and marathoning. And I trained harder than ever before, so it was not unrealistic to think I might beat my best time. But yesterday was hot and humid and I can't really say I enjoyed myself. I did take some satisfaction in passing many people in the last 6 or so miles. I didn't count, but I bet I passed at least 40 people. Folks were dropping like flies; it looked like a war zone. But I was able to keep running until the very end. Here I am at mile 18, where a group of seven people of varying ages showed up yet again to cheer me on (see photo below). Seriously, I have an amazing support team. They are incredibly enthusiastic and loving and it's thinking of them that keeps me going in those last, hellish miles.




At 26 miles I ran into Olympic Stadium and my vision was completely fucked up. I have a convergence problem, which means my eyes don't always work together. I have a prism in my glasses, which helps a lot, but they can't put a prism in my contacts and when I get tired, the problem can be bad, so coming in to the stadium everything looked like in the movies when they show the perspective of a boxer who has been hit in the head too many times. It was very unpleasant and destabilizing. After they cut the timing chip off my shoe and hung a medal around my neck, I had to find my family, who got stuck in traffic and didn't make it to see me finish. So I bumbled around the stadium, half blind, soaked in sweat and water I had poured over my head, with a big dread lock of tangled hair, asking strangers if I could borrow their cell phone.

Even though my support team didn't make it to the finish line, they were there at mile 18, when I really needed them, and they did a great job supporting me to eat my poutine chouxx (poutine with cole slaw) at La Banquise after the race (and after a shower and hair detangling). Despite their encouragement, I quickly learned I was in over my head and to never order a large poutine. Even after running 26.2 miles.

Anyway, except for some pretty hideous chafing (I'll spare you the details) I feel fine today. I'm amazed at my feet; I don't have a single blister or dead toenail. I have great feet! I love my feet! Neil keeps telling me that I would have beat my time if not for the humidity and heat yesterday. It was close to 80 degrees and had to be about 100% humidity because it drizzled off and on (I actually wanted it to really rain to cool me off, but no such luck). But that just feels like an excuse. Thanks so much to all of you who wished me well and were thinking of me yesterday.

Friday, September 12, 2008

"We used to GO here"

I've just returned from a three day training in Boston (well, Arlington, really). The training was pretty good; a little too basic, but still worth the time. But the best part of my trip to the Boston area was taking a walk down memory lane and reconnecting with some old friends. Here's a picture of the house where I grew up. I was pleased to see how little it has changed since most of the houses in Lexington are big and fancy and I figured the people who bought this place from my dad would tear it down and build something more spectacular. I was surprised how moved I felt driving down Bridge St. to the house.

On Wednesday night I met up with my friend Karen L., whom I haven't seen in 9 years. We had dinner in Harvard Square. Because I walked there from Tommy and Deb's and I was running late, I forgot to bring my camera. While we were making our plans to see each other, I knew I wanted to see Karen and remembered how much I liked her, but when we were actually together and talking, talking, talking, I remembered, bit by bit, all the reasons why I loved her. Just the little details of who she is, her thoughtfulness, honesty, insight and straight-talking way.


Thursday night I met up with Mike V. in Lexington, the town where we grew up. We had not seen each other in 15 years (and Mike didn't really remember the last time we saw each other, which was in Chicago, so it's kind of like even longer than 15 years) and neither of us had been to Lexington for some years, so it was quite a trip to revisit the old haunts together. We walked to our high school and toured the campus, inside and out. Mike kept saying, "what a dump!" and was making me laugh so much (partly because he's funny and partly because I was just so happy to see him and be taking this particular walk together) that I almost peed my pants.
Truly, not much has changed about Lexington High School in 19 years and the place could use some work. Honestly, can't this rich town keep up with basic maintenance on it's HS?































Here's Mike in what used to be the smoking area. Yes, we are old enough to have gone to high school when they let the kids smoke! And not just cigarettes, though the school only officially supported smoking cigarettes. (Micheal is not really smoking a joint in this picture, but he is in "the smoking area".)

















And here's a picture of Mike I took in the student parking lot at LHS back in the day:














We spoke to a couple of people inside the school and Mike would explain, "we used to GO here." Something about the way he said this was quintessential greater Bostonian to me and I dug it. Felt like home.

After a nice dinner at the Indian restaurant in town, we wanted to keep talking and have a drink, but the only place to sit and have a drink in Lexington (other than the ridiculously swanky wine bar) was this cheesy chain restaurant/bar that actually serves something called a smoretini. Blech! We didn't try it, but we did have a waiter take our picture in front of the cheesy sign as we left. (It's a little unfair of me to post this picture since it's not very flattering of my friend, nor does it really look like him...but it's a good picture of me and this is my blog! And it's the only picture of the two of us.)












Of all the things we talked about and caught up on over the course of the evening, I thought of about a dozen other things I had meant to tell or ask Mike. Like I wonder if he remembers which Beatles song we used to sing together. Oh well, next time.

Lexington is a bit of a pretentious town and my friends and I, well, we were kind of the poor kids from the wrong side of the tracks. But, as Mike pointed out to me, we were very lucky to grow up in such a safe place where we had a lot of freedom. Seeing these old friends was really nice and made me awfully happy in ways I find hard to adequately describe. I laughed a lot today in my car on the way home just from the pure joy and beauty of the experience. And this Bruce Cockburn song came on the radio, which fit perfectly. There's something incredibly reassuring about discovering that the friends I loved so many years ago are, essentially, still the same people they were then and the qualities that I always appreciated and admired in them are still the qualities I appreciate in people now. And reflecting back on our youth from two decades later was exciting and satisfying. I'm really grateful that I got to spend time with these long lost friends.

I've been loving Alice Munro's short stories. They're sad, like Raymond Carver's stories, but somehow more precise and, for some reason, hopeful. They really speak to loss and love and life and all the things we just can't possibly hold on to or even describe. My trip to Lexington, and especially my walk through the high school with Mike, reminded me of this passage from a story of hers I just read last week:

Something had happened here. In your life there are a few places, or maybe only one place, where something has happened. And then there are the other places, which are just other places.

"We used to GO here!"

Monday, September 8, 2008

Running

Sunday I run my fourth marathon in Montreal. I'll be glad when it's over. I'm not nearly as psyched as I was for the other marathons. I guess I've learned that two marathons in a span of 5 months is a recipe for burn out. But I'm starting to look forward to the day. Montreal was my first marathon, 2 years ago. That year, Wayne drove me to a direct-line subway station and I made my way, alone, to the starting line. This year Neil's going to come with me to the start because it's a real exciting time, on the Jacques-Cartier bridge, and I want a friend to share it with. Now that I'm done with the big training, I've been running out on the trails a little bit, and that has made me inordinately happy. Once I recover from Sunday's race, I plan to do a lot more trail running, at least until hunting season. While I was running the trails yesterday, I wrote a poem in my head about it.


Finding it Here
Running these trails is the sweetest of selfish solitudes;
there is no benefit to the world in my pulse
no selfless fruit of this labor in my breath
now there is only indulgence
come-as-you-are joy
leaping, climbing, hopping and falling forward
adjusting pace and stride
the delightful ups and downs and twists and turns
of a controlled amusement park ride
muscles and heart and sweat
pounding on dirt, on earth
raspberry bushes, pine trees, poplars and maples, rivers and small streams
moose, bear and owl watch in the silence in the shadows
the silence is the prayer
the precious oneness with the world and everything in it
the quiet companionship of my dog who asks for nothing.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

The House in Cabot

We went to check out the progress of Dahe and Brook's house today. Holy crap, that boy has been working hard! Sorry, I forgot to take any pictures of the inside. But they're living in it and Dahe has basically built the entire thing all by himself. Jake came and helped him frame for three days, but other than that, Netdahe's done it all. The interior walls are framed so there is now a bedroom, a bathroom, some storage space for his solar batteries and an open area with the woodstove that will eventually also include another bedroom. Next year he'll build the second floor which will be a big open space with a low-ceilinged loft bedroom with a very small half-bathroom. It's impressive and what kills me is not only has he worked his ass off, but he's clearly happy and really enjoying himself with the work. Anything he didn't know how to do he researched in books written before 1975 or by calling friends and acquaintances to ask questions and advice. No internet research for this kid. They're off the grid and will soon be in need of a gas refrigerator and snow blower if anyone has any leads.

Here's a picture of the house as you come up the driveway.













I'm looking forward to being a guest in the shack Netdahe's been living in for the last year or two (even in the winter), which will soon serve as a guest room. It's an awfully sweet little shack. I just love it. It's warm and cozy and there are lots of things to look at. I imagine that if you didn't know Dahe at all and walked into the place, you would quickly have a pretty accurate and oddly thorough sense of who he is. We were sitting in there today talking and I just had to take this picture of my redneck, hickster, dear cousin who I so admire.

















On an unrelated note, last night the kids and I were entertained as Neil caught moths and fed them to the spiders on our front porch. They were beautiful to watch, but didn't photograph as well as I hoped. Here's one:

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Champ's Birthday and Keeping it Really, Really, Real.

My mom wrote a beautiful comment on Tuesday's posting about her dad and his birthday and remembering him.  I love my mom.  "Love" is a pretty insufficient word to describe how I feel about my mom, but it'll have to suffice, at least for now.  I love her SO much. Ah, that feels more like it.

As you can see, I have two beautiful, wonderful and smart children who I love desperately, of course.  But sometimes they're little shits.  Villains.  I came home from a hard, busy, exhausting day, and all they've done is treat me with disrespect and rudeness.  I've had it with them. Thank god they've gone outside and left me alone for a few minutes.  I could go on, but eventually they'll probably read this and I'll feel horrible for having said things based on frustration, exhaustion and a bad mood.  But I think every parent feels this way sometimes.  I bet Champ did.  Wow, Gram probably even felt this way. There's comfort in knowing that.  

Anyway, I can't really complain.  Neil's always nice to me, even when the kids are jerks and I'm grumpy.  Plus, he cleans the house.  And he says things like this to our kids: "pull your head out of your ass."   I really like that.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

Love

This is from Old Home Weekend. What I love is not just Kali performing his originals, but all of his extended family enjoying and admiring him. And when Faith looks at me with the camera and says her line, well that tickles me about as much as anything I can dream of. Sorry it's so dark.

The last bit, "Pretend", is one is one of my favorite Kali songs, but I chose this clip to post because I love when, towards the end, we see Kayla's face in rapt joy. She's so beautiful and so proud of our cousin! Benjie, your smile's not too shabby, either.


Monday, September 1, 2008

Keeping it Real in the Kingdom


This has been THE most beautiful weekend in the history of the world. I'm not exaggerating. 75 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, breezy, green with hints of oranges and reds on the trees...it's incredible. Because it's also a holiday weekend, there are about forty million mountain bikers here in East Burke. We live on the Kingdom Trails, a veritable Mecca for mt. bikers, and this weekend is their Sturgis. I think a majority of the bikers who come here from "away" are French Canadian and an even larger majority (that is, nearly everyone) are decked out in serious gear and they do some intense single track, technical riding. Nichole and I like to ride on the trails, too, though for various reasons, we haven't done it much this summer. But this morning Nichole and Harper and I had a terrific ride. We're not like those other folks who swarm here by the thousands in their matching jerseys with their too-cool-for-school attitudes. We stick to the easiest trails we can find (the single tracks are for running), we put our feet down a whole lot and even walk our bikes when it gets too hairy. We're real proud of ourselves when we make it through the tiniest of mud puddles or over a particularly gnarly group of roots and rocks without dismounting. And we just like being together and in the woods and riding bikes.
So that was the morning and then after lunch Patrick and Rosie and I went for a long, long walk on some other trails, down to part of the river, which we waded in for some time (and might be the most beautiful spot in the world--Peter and Maria, this is where the three of us walked to on that longer-than-planned walk in July; remember?) and then proceeded to get lost which was a great opportunity for teaching Patrick about the joys of taking your time, rambling aimlessly, etc.  It was a stroke of luck that I happened to bring my cell phone with me so when we found the road, several miles from home, I was able to call Neil for a ride!

Finally, because it's such a great day, we've been listening to G. Love, which reminds me that ever since Neil and I saw G.Love and Special Sauce in concert last month, we've been really digging their groovy vibes.  Here's an example.  

Now the kids and I are going to head out to see Kayla and Jordan's new dorm rooms and then come home to cook tuna on the grill.

P.S. Carolyn and Henekis, your photo documentation of your bike ride earlier this summer inspired me to have Neil take the above picture!

Marathoning--A Record of My Times

  • NEW HAMPSHIRE MARATHON, October 3, 2015. 4 hrs. 56 minutes, 8 seconds.
  • MONTREAL "ROCK 'N' ROLL MARATHON, September 22, 2013. 4 hrs. 20 minutes, 41 seconds.
  • VERMONT CITY MARATHON, May 2012. 4 hrs. 20 minutes, 8 seconds.
  • MOUNT DESERT ISLAND MARATHON (Maine), October 2011, 4 hrs. 45 minutes, 14 seconds
  • SUGARLOAF MARATHON (Maine), May 2010. 4 hrs. 18 minutes, 35 seconds
  • MONTREAL MARATHON, September 2008. 4 hrs. 19 minutes, 33 seconds
  • VERMONT CITY MARATHON, May 2008. 4 hrs. 11 minutes, 58 seconds
  • VERMONT CITY MARATHON, May 2007. 4 hrs. 19 minutes, 42 seconds
  • MONTREAL MARATHON, September 2006. 4hrs, 30 minutes, 2 seconds

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