Descendants of Champ and Other Wackos

"For (the sake of) Old Times"

2012-01-03T20:57:00.003-05:00

I love New Year's Eve. I don't know what people mean when they say it's overrated. I think it's wonderful. For years now we've made a tradition of always getting together with our oldest group of friends. That's what it's all about, right? Auld Lang Syne, after all! In these busy, hectic times, it is reassuring to have a tradition that brings us all together, no matter what. And a time to be completely ridiculous and wear hats and wigs. This is me:

Can you hear Benjie laughing? Because we are having so much friggin' fun wearing hats!

The kids stayed up until midnight this year (well, all but Nina and Shea, who are still too little). They have Noelle to thank as she lobbied hard for them last year, making it a sure thing for this year.

Look at these women! I love them and I love KJs serious face. She looks like her daughters here, when they just stare you down. Nina, in particular. That stare intimidated me a little in 7th grade, but now I love it. This was during the dance party.

When the event is at Jen's there is always fondue with just a little too much kirsch. It's delicious though, and Benjie makes the best, homemade bread to dip. Bryan loves all the late night snacks. Sometimes it is a wonder there is any food left in the house the next day.

Jen's mixing a drink for Peter. His one drink of the year. I love her smile.

Me and Maria McGee...So grateful that Maria and Peter drove all the way from Pennsylvania once again to be with us. Such commitment to the friendships! Such good kinship work!

(I'm waiting with baited breath for a picture of Peter in the band leader hat. As soon as someone sends me one, I'll post it here!)

Ah, earlier in the night there was arm wrestling and then leg wrestling. I can't beat anyone at arm wrestling. But I beat Harper and Maria at leg wrestling. Here Noelle and Harper are at a standoff.

Patrick and Nina, ringing it in!

The ubiquitous picture of a crowd around the fire. This could be any year, really. We write things we want to be done with on shims and throw them in the fire.

These here are some super awesome kids as midnight. They've grown up together and we wonder how much longer they'll be celebrating NYE with us. My theory is that they will venture out on their own for a few years in their 20s, but then they'll realize there's no party more fun than this one and come hang with us again. Eventually they'll be in charge of building the fire and making breakfast the next day. This is my fantasy.

Bryan met his traditional obligation of throwing the dried tree on the fire at midnight and Baxter helped keep things under control.

The next morning after eggs and "just one meat!" we enjoyed head scratching...

and book reading. (Look closely and you can see Noelle's husband Pete still crashed out on the futon! What a nice, easy-going fella.)

The nineteen of us gathered for less than twenty four hours, but man, did we pack in some fun. Peter says, "If every day had even a smidgin of that much laughter, I'd be doing good." Being with these folks, especially for this particular celebration, is the kind of easy going, good time that really feeds your soul. I love you all so very, very much.

**all of these pictures were taken by Mr. Peter Ammirati.

I LOVE YOU MOMMA!

2011-12-09T21:56:00.001-05:00

And you read my blog. Not sure anyone else does, but who cares. You're the best and I miss you.

What I Really Love About Marathoning

2011-10-20T21:43:00.001-04:00

As my regular peeps know, last Sunday's MDI Marathon turned out to be a big disappointment thanks to a left knee that blew out at around mile 12. I dragged along and finished in my slowest time ever: :4 hours and 45 minutes. At the time, I was frustrated and had a few moments where I wanted to cry. But overall, I really don't give a damn. There will be more marathons and I made an appointment with the highly esteemed local physical therapist who is a runner. I feel confident the knee will get stronger and I will kick some marathon ass in the spring. I'm planning on the Vermont City Marathon, 2012.

So I got up early Sunday morning and got ready. Neil and Pat drove me to Bar Harbor, where the race began. It was about 20 minutes away from where we were staying in Southwest Harbor, close to the finish line. I was pretty psyched about getting to the municipal bathroom in Bar Harbor because my tummy had gotten a bit nervous. The bathroom was warm and occupied just enough so that flushing toilets and hand dryers let me relax. After that I sat in the car with Neil and Patrick. We saw a sister and her younger brother, close to Harper and Pat's age. The sister was holding the brother in her lap, hugging him. Pat said, "I wish Harper would do that with me." It was so forlorn and sweet. We continued to chat in the car until Pat burst out, "Now she's playing Patty-cake with him!!" Sure enough, the siblings were engaged in one of those hand-clapping games. My little son could hardly believe this other boy's luck; to have a sister that loving, fun and playful!

That's Patrick. He's dear and sweet and kind and loves when people pay attention to him. Later we told Harper about what we'd seen and she worked to be that big sister, though in a rougher way. She loves her brother. I'm lucky they still want to come to my races, cheer me on and be together. The four of us took a sweet hike up Flying Mountain the next day. Here are my favorite folks, not quite playing patty-cake.

What's the Plan, Zo?

2011-10-14T07:07:00.000-04:00

I'm not going for a PR Sunday because of the hills. I figure 4 hours and 20 minutes is a reasonably challenging goal. I might write the splits on my arm with a sharpie. Well, not every mile but every other or so, to stay on pace. I am so PUMPED!!!

1 mile:	2 miles:	3 miles:
4 miles:	5 miles:	6 miles:
7 miles:	8 miles:	9 miles:
10 miles:	11 miles:	12 miles:
13 miles:	14 miles:	15 miles:
16 miles:	17 miles:	18 miles:
19 miles:	20 miles:	21 miles:
22 miles:	23 miles:	24 miles:

25 miles:

26 miles:

Half-marathon split:

Calculated overall time:

A Rare and Precious Moment

2011-10-08T23:11:00.000-04:00

Neil's foray into mountain bike racing

2011-09-27T19:22:00.001-04:00

I thought I'd write a little story about my first mountain bike race. I'm writing in order to deal with the self induced trauma that has resulted from it. I've ridden many century rides or rides of 100 miles on the road bike, but never really done any mountain bike thing of prolonged duration. So it was I found myself in Ascutney, Vermont with Fritz Fay, the only other person I know who would think that what we were about to do was a “good idea” or a “fun time.” At least think it enough to actually follow through with it.

The race was the Vermont 50, a 50 mile mountain bike race through central/eastern Vermont. You know, that part of the state particularly water logged compliments of Hurricane Irene and just general lots of rain. I thought this would be a good race for me as I'd heard it wasn't too technical and it was a “roadie's” mountain bike race. Furthermore some of the course descriptions I'd read made it seem doable, for me.

All racers had to arrive at 5:15 am. for a pre race meeting. There was no meeting, but that was fine with me. The temperature was a balmy 60 degrees at the start. Quite comfortable. My first trial of the day happened before the race started. I had to take a dump (wearing bib shorts) in a pitch black port-o-potty at 5:45 am. This scared me more than the spectre of 50 miles of mud and fatigue. I survived and did quite well actually. There was enough light to allow the white toilet paper to glow a little.

Then the race started. It was still a little dark when we entered the wooded areas, but not too too bad. I did not bring a head lamp as I did not want to carry the extra weight. And in hindsight it was the right choice. Within 30 minutes of riding daylight was in full swing. The race started on the road then turned right and headed up a steep hill. You'da thought some of the riders had never seen a hill before. A complete traffic jam replete with the snapping, creaking, grinding sound of gears downshifting under load. I saw on guy's chain snap. I went around this nonsense and passed a lot of people and headed into the woods. The trail was good for a while until I came to the first ominous mud hole. This would become a theme of the day. I actually had to get off my bike and push it. This would become another theme of the day. Many others had to do the same. A lot of these little hills were so steep or slick with mud that walking the bike was necessary.

Mile 10. “Wow,” I begin to think, “there's a lot of mud.” The travelling is hard, but good. I come to a nice big, wide, dry dirt road. It's a downhill so I reach for my sunglasses and put them on. They fog up immediately. No good, stick them back in the helmet. I accelerate and my front tire unloads a pound of mud straight into my face. One entire half pound gobs right into my left eyeball coating my contact lense. It feels bad and is all blurry and I'm going fast and more mud is getting in my face! Blah. My eye is irritated. I don't like it. For the rest of the day I will deal with a blurry left eye. It continued to produce goo long after getting the contact out, right up until I went to bed that night.

Mile 15 or so - I'm going down a bumpy hill. PANG. What was that?

Mile 16 or so – I look at my rear wheel and notice it's bent. PANG was a spoke breaking. I'm worried now that the wheel won't make it to the end of the race. This fear just stayed with me for the rest of the day, a lingering little annoyance that caused stress and took fun out of the race. Worry.

Around the same time I come to a long hillclimb on a firm dirt road. A lot of riders had been passing me just before this in the woods so I was getting a little concerned. Once I hit the bottom of the climb, I locked out my shocks and just climbed. I must've passed 70 people. I didn't just pass them, but I dropped them like hot potatoes. It was awesome. Had I known then this was to be my highlight, I'm not sure I would have kept going.

Mile 25 or so. “My God, the mud. This is so slippery.” I've only gone 25 miles. I look at my odometer after what seems like 15 minutes and it reads 25.02 miles. I stop looking at it after that.

Mile 30. I still can't see right. My wheel's bent. There are runners all over the place. To them I say, “thanks” or “sorry” when we get in each other's way. What I really think though is, “I want to punch you in the face.” My mood was deteriorating.

Mile 31-44. This was a bad idea, I still have 20 miles to go. This “roadie friendly” trail is a death trap. It's all wet roots and moss covered ledge that is so treacherous, I'd die trying to ride it. Some guy crashes into a stand of sapplings, another guy is rubbing his grime encrusted face as he walks his bike. Another guy is leaning on his bike saying “Fuuuuuuck, fuuuuuuuuck.” I pass him and say, “cramps?” He just looks at me and grunts, “yeah -uhhh.” An angry silence has descended on the woods. People are looking very focused. The hillside roots are starting to throw my wheel and I'm too tired to even try and deal with them. I'd kill for a 5 mile long paved hill with a 10% gradient right now. Anything so I could just stop having to maneuver these horrible roots. Walk the bike, ride the bike. Yow, that's what a cramp feels like. Every road I come to I get excited, but the trail just crosses it and heads back into the wet, muddy, slippery woods. Another rider passes me and says, “Roots.” I keep going.

Mile 45. God I'm tired. These roots. Oh, another runner. No more trees. So tir -BAM!!! Oh Jesus! Oh that hurts! Oh I havent felt pain like this since I was a little hellion kid doing something Mom told me not to. Roots. Big, big roots. I'm lying on the ground. My left foot still clipped in, My right leg over the top of my left. The bike is somehow behind me. I can't unclip. I'm a pretzel. A rider goes by and miraculously bunny hops my sunglasses (I love him for doing that) as I lie there like and idiot. Pain. Pain. Pain. I get back up and ride on. I come to a pretty field. This looks easy. No. It's all wet and slippery. No more fun. I'm done. A beaten man. I somehow finish. My bike computer says I've been riding for 6 hours and 36 minutes. My time spent out on the trail will be a little longer. I'm covered with mud. I'm very tired. I paid $125 for this. I have a lovely tattoo of a beet on the side of my butt to show for my troubles. You should see it.

Time

2011-08-20T18:39:00.001-04:00

Time for a new post. It's been an amazing summer. How can anything be less than wonderful with this weather? Girls Cousin Week was so much fun. Having 3 teenage girls together was just such a privilege. They are good (and privileged) girls. All the bounty of veggies and time (to run and bike and sleep and eat) make summer perfect. And finally a weekend at home to allow me to reflect on the goodness, to run long and leisurely, to sit on a blanket in the shade in my beautiful backyard and read a magazine. To play WAR LIVE loud while cooking dinner. To watch a movie with Neil and the kids and Dad, anticipating a Sunday morning of rest and coffee and trails. The light in the evening, in the morning and during the heat of the day. These are the things for which I am grateful and anything I want for (more time with the babies, Nia and Losada, more time with my mom, more time to sniff the woods and my kids' heads) will be along eventually.

Use It or Lose It

2011-07-04T13:06:00.001-04:00

My dad is in Montreal for 3 weeks taking the french language class that I took two years ago. Well of course he'll be placed in a much higher level class, but it is the same immersion program. Last month we spent 2 weeks in real France and Dad's ability to really speak the language was incredibly helpful, especially when we had problems like a flat tire and a dead battery. I mean I can order in a cafe and ask some basic questions, but nothing compared to Pops. Anyway, Dad impressed us all, including himself, by doing a lot of walking on our trip and I encouraged him to keep up with his higher level of exercise now that we're back in North America. I also encouraged him to take this 3 week class and I'm real proud of him that he decided to do it and proud of myself for pushing him because I think he'll have a lot of fun and, as we all know, with exercise and our brains, we need to keep challenging ourselves as we get older and occasionally do something out of our comfort zone.

When Dad was contemplating signing up for the class he was most worried about getting to the classroom so early in the morning. Anyone who knows David Gascon knows that he is NOT a morning person (though since we returned from real France he's been getting up pretty early, taking lengthy advantage of the time difference between Europe and North America). A few months ago I offered to do a test run with him the day before classes began and I think that was what really pushed him to go ahead and sign up. Unfortunately I bailed on him and decided to stay home this weekend, but he did his test run anyway and wrote this in an email:

I decided that today I'd do a test run of getting to metro station by 8:00 in order to have plenty of time Mon. to make orientation at 8:45. I was walking to the station when I looked at my watch & saw that it said 6:45 - I had mis-set my clock radio an hour too early, so alarm had actually gotten me up at 5:00! Made the station a hair before 7:00. Took a somewhat longer route back to condo, so had gotten in app. a mile of walking before real 8:00. No wonder I wasn't ready to take a crap before leaving.

Dad up at 5:00 A.M. and an hour early. It love it. I hope he has a fabulous time.

Training Begins!

2011-06-21T08:21:00.000-04:00

The official start of 17 weeks of marathon training began today with a rhapsodic 8 miles on the most beautiful of Northeast Kingdom mornings. Sunny and cool, birds chirping, wildflowers blossoming, sweet fresh air and happiness. I think I'll keep my training log here as I've done in the past. Mount Desert Island Marathon, October 16th. This will be my 6th.

Morels!

2011-05-21T15:44:00.000-04:00

Grammy Robin Showed Us How

2011-04-09T21:27:00.003-04:00

When I was little, my gram taught me about family; not with words, but with how she lives and loves. I happen to be her birth grandchild, but that is not why she loves me. She adopted one of her five children and harbors anyone else who needs her. She calls us all her kids. Her love is big, unlabeled and unconditional.

Tonight my son's birth family hosted us for a birthday dinner. Patrick turns 12 next week. His little siblings, Kylie (5 soon) and Matthew (almost 3) adore him and their big sister, Harper.

Patrick and Kylie (Kylie calls him "Little Pat" which is funny since he is twice her size!)

Kylie and Matthew

Pat and Kylie

Little Pat, aka, Big Manny and Matthew, aka, Little Manny

Sisters by any other name...

Mommy Sherry made Patrick a delicious and beautiful homemade birthday cake.

Not pictured are all of Pat's four parents, 4 of his grandparents and an uncle. Sherry and Big Pat served a delicious, home-cooked meal. We make a funny sort of family, all of us together. We come together regularly because we love our little, growing bigger boy. But over these almost 12 years, we've come to love each other, too. I'm humbled that the Barretts have shared their lives with us. Big Daddy Pat is a self-proclaimed redneck who likes to go mudding and Grandpa David is an undeniable academic planning his trip to France and adjusting his solar panel. Yet everyone is happy to be together, eat good food and get full and chase the little kids and make them laugh. Together we marvel at this incredible musician/artist/funny-man/kind, good boy who is our son, brother, nephew and grandson. Some kind of just right luck, mixed with lots of uncertainty, and, to be honest, loss and pain, brought us all together. I'm so glad.

Family.

Lordy Lordy

2011-03-16T21:12:00.001-04:00

I turn 40 on Friday. It feels a bit surreal. Turning 40, then starting a new job after nearly 12 years at the same, wonderful place. Any minute I'm going to have lots of profound things to say about these facts. But for now each day comes and goes and is filled with busy and mostly happy moments. The weekend will bring celebration with my best friends and my sweet family.
Fucking forty. Wow.

Right Now

2011-03-07T17:51:00.001-05:00

With apologies to all of you who have grown tired of winter and snow and such, this blizzard sure was a pretty one. And there is something extra sweet about the light when the snow finally stops and it is March so the sun hasn't yet set at nearly 6:00PM. Just lovely outside my doors.

Family Racko in French

2011-02-19T21:05:00.002-05:00

I Like Him...I Really Liiiiike Him

2011-02-12T19:59:00.002-05:00

Confessions of An Only Child

2011-02-08T19:02:00.005-05:00

I wrote this poem about a really happy time I had going out to dinner by myself whilst on a back country ski clinic weekend, away from home, on my own. I'm posting it because I haven't posted much lately and I want to keep my readers engaged. By the way, my new phone takes great photos!

Confessions of An Only Child

Ran
the night bridge from
Burlington to Winooski
over the river
in the
deep wet snow
and just right music light
to papa franks.

Ate Italian
sat with windows steamed
and listened to kids plan what to
do next; sled, drink and get the big guy
to carry the beer.

pasta, red sauce
chianti
cannolli
and a night run back
over the bridge
in the deep wet snow
a tangled medusa
alone and laughing.

The Littlest Mr. Stoddard

2011-01-18T12:34:00.002-05:00

Wouldn't our Champ be delighted with his newest great grandchild?! Born Sunday after many hours of hard labor, Brook, Netdahe and Losada are all doing well and the baby is cuter than the dickens; tiny with black hair and perfect little fingers and toes and a perfect little nose. So far I've only seen photos as I planned to go visit today but have decided not to brave the 30+ mile trip in what is shaping up to be a gorgeous snow storm. Hopefully I'll make it down tomorrow to meet the little bugger. The first time I met Netdahe he was very tiny and I was almost 6 years old and he pissed on me! Somehow the grownups in my world made me think this was a kind of honor. Now it is almost 34 years later and Losada is the 4th great grandchild (following Harper, Patrick and Nia) so this next generation is shaping up nicely.

When we were little, Netdahe and Henekis realized I was an only child and therefore would not have the opportunity to be an aunt. They felt quite sorry for me and let me know I could be their sister. So Losada is my nephew. We're going to love him forever, of course.

An Early Morning Tune

2011-01-07T22:46:00.000-05:00

Nothing like running on the ridge at dawn with this tune in your ears.

Harper

2010-12-22T17:47:00.004-05:00

Harper's first ski race. She's the figure at the top of the frame. You can go full screen to make it even better. Follow her down. She's freaking amazing.

Anniversary--Seize Ans

2010-12-20T19:12:00.003-05:00

Altered Jesus

2010-11-07T16:16:00.004-05:00

While visiting Montreal last June with some women friends, I came across a giant portrait of Jesus at the thrift store. I'd been looking for something for that blank wall in the dining room and thought it was worth $7 to surprise the heck out of my dad when he arrived in Montreal the next day. So I bought it and Karen helped me hang it. Trouble was, as soon as we got it on the wall I decided I really liked it! It really tied the room together, as you can see.

Sadly, my atheist father found it disturbing (once he finally noticed it, which I believe took him about 12 hours). I think he was also afraid of what our friends from NYC (who would be the next visitors to the condo) would think. He took it down and it was relegated to a bedroom closet.

Lucky for all of us, my friend Lore taught me about altered books a couple years ago. So I knew just what we had to do. Yesterday afternoon, between a stroll through and around Jean-Talon Market and dinner at Khyber Pass, I set to work altering Jesus. The whole family was skeptical, but after watching me for a bit, Neil and Harper got really excited and started working with me. Dad and Pat helped some, too (Patrick adding a key element; the astronaut in the upper right). Here is the final product, back in the frame and back in its rightful place on the wall.

Here it is before I put it back in the frame. It is hard to make out the astronaut unless you are actually in the room with it, but that's what that whitish blob is just above the head.
There are lots of details to look at up close. For example, the chain of the necklace are words to a song, which Harper wrote out in her nice handwriting. We love it and had such a fun time making it.

And here's a cool picture I took of Harper at Khyber Pass. I'm posting it here because she won't let me post it on facebook and she doesn't read this blog.

Mama Told Me There'd Be Days Like This

2010-10-04T07:09:00.002-04:00

I Can Hear Their Laughing

2010-09-30T22:10:00.002-04:00

Here are two older men, now gone, who delighted in our family, in each other, in their Cindy, in their experiences of their worlds and cultures, travels and jokes. I love looking at their faces here, except that I miss them both terribly when I look for more than a quick second. I'm pretty sure this picture was taken within days of Kali's birth. I miss them.

The Land of Canaan

2010-09-22T20:08:00.006-04:00

Today I went way up to the little town of Canaan, Vermont, to do outreach work at a senior meal site. My dear colleague from the Area Agency on Aging, Lynn, and I have been doing these outreach activities once every month or two for a year and a half now. They are always incredibly enjoyable and rewarding. We show a 25 minute dramatic film about an older woman who has experienced domestic violence throughout her life and follow this with a discussion. We always stay for lunch, or, as was the case today, have lunch with the seniors before our presentation. I love the lunch part because this is when we get to talk intimately with the seniors.

In Canaan about half the folks at the meal site were speaking french, which was a lot of fun. The people at today's lunch were from VT, NH and Quebec. I was fortunate enough to sit across from an 89 year old man and his wife, who was just a few years younger. This guy told me the greatest stories about his life! He'd been a combat medic in France and Italy during WWII. He'd spend a good deal of time in VA hospitals afterward for "what they now call PTSD." As a boy he'd lived with his family in Island Pond for a time, where his dad had good work with the railroad until the Great Depression. They survived after Dad's layoff in a variety of ways which seemed both admirable and quaint. My new friend worked on Jack Kennedy's campaign and was appointed by that president as postmaster in his small town in northern New England. At the end of the event, as we were saying our goodbyes, he shared some of his childhood history related to domestic violence and talked about the ways he'd been affected. When older people share these stories with me I feel particularly honored and that was certainly the case today. I had less opportunity to converse with his wife, who was truly stunning to look at and having her own lively conversations with her table neighbors. There was something about this couple. They were particularly kind and generous with their spirits and stories. They asked us to come back for lunch again. Canaan is a bit of a drive, but I think I will. I hope they'll be there and I hope they will tell me more.

Sometimes you want one thing but get another

2010-09-15T22:01:00.004-04:00

Like when you want to explore downtown St. Paul but the rain and lightening force you to have lunch in a great little neighborhood spot. Check out El Mercado if you're ever in West St. Paul. The chicken soup is one of the best things ever.

The Way It Smells

2010-08-06T22:33:00.003-04:00

I love the way it smells. I'm riding my bike and smelling the pine needles and diesel fumes. I ride past the log yard with all that fresh cut pine and you can imagine how good THAT smells. Then there is this August cold front that moves in, just for a day or two, and there is the scent of manure and grass and something else that rides that colder air. And that, of course, smells just like the Fair, which will be here soon. I'm glad my mom taught me, through a wordless passage, how the bread or the cookies smell when they are done. The best smell: the kids' heads. The coffee in the morning, the unarticulable river, the corn-chip-like scent of my good dog... That bread I'm baking, of course. Thank you, Nose.

Neil Rocks the Rock Pile (7th time!)

2010-07-11T16:36:00.005-04:00

7.6 miles. Average 12% grade. A rider a few minutes before him was completely disoriented, trying to get back on his bike with no shoes. It was upsetting to see.
Neil is amazing. I'm really, really proud of him. He's the second of the two riders in the clip.

I like summer

2010-07-06T22:16:00.004-04:00

I like the way it smells. And how tall all the grass and plants are. I like the vegetables, so ready to eat. I like driving home from a friend's house with the windows down and the music loud and my whole arm out the window. I like the way the heat makes my bones feel. I like letting the kids stay up late. I like sweating. I like margaritas with salt. I like cooking on the grill and fires in the firepit. I like the extra time we get to spend with friends. I miss Camp and not working and being barefoot all the time. And I hate having to wear regular clothes (and a bra) when it is hot. But I like missing winter. And I really like summer.

Heifer Weekend is Holy

2010-06-07T06:32:00.001-04:00

Karen and Jen laughing; one of my favorite things. The three of us have been best friends since 7th grade. Every year in June we all gather at Jen's house with our families for Heifer weekend. Now our partners are best friends and our children think they are cousins. We always have a great time. We're family.

Jen is a gardner extraordinaire. I couldn't help snapping shots of some of her flowers.

Harper helps Shea with some fresh pecans.

Bocce Ball.

"Give 'em hell Bernie!"

So this year, the Sandersons didn't arrive until Saturday afternoon and the kids and I were the only ones who really wanted to go to the parade. We had a blast!

Marathoning

2010-05-21T20:30:00.002-04:00

Well, I finished my 5th marathon last Sunday in Maine. The Sugarolaf Marathon is a point-to-point race on a beautiful course. There was a tailwind and a lot of downhill, but I did not PR. I finished it in 4 hours, 18 minutes and 35 seconds, my 2nd best time. My knee, injured a few months ago when I was running and tripped over my dog, Rosie, started hurting in the second mile. I was afraid that would happen. It made the race less than pleasant. For the first half, I wasn't sure I could finish. Once I decided I would, it was hard not to focus on the pain and just enjoy the race. But oh well, I did finish.

Two years ago I ran my best time at the Vermont City Marathon. I've tried to recapture the thrill of that race twice now, to no avail. After that marathon, we drove home from Burlington, stopping at Marty's First Stop in Danville for something to eat. I got a bowl of clam chowder and there was never a more perfect post-marathon recovery snack. Salt, carbs, protein and fat in a styrofoam cup. Yum. (Everyone stops at Marty's when traveling route 2 through the Kingdom and locals know that Marty's has great soup, sandwiches, and anything else you could possibly want.) Then we got home and the party got rolling. I drank wine and danced and smiled and ate some more of whatever my mom cooked for me (crabcakes, I think). In contrast, after this race, I couldn't walk and was sick to my stomach. There was certainly no dancing. After a while I was able to eat some of the chowder my momma made at my request (better than Marty's) and have some wine in a somewhat forced act of celebration. But I didn't feel well for several days. A fellow marathoner pointed out that running injured takes a bigger toll on the body, which might explain my extended GI troubles and general malaise. In any case, it was disappointing race.

Funny, because despite all this, when my step-father asked me, right after the race, if I thought I would run another marathon, my first instinct wasn't "no way!" Which makes me think that the chances are good that I will run another 26.2. I think I'll still want to chase the joy of a successful, feel-good race, the hope of a PR and maybe even the unrealistic dream of a BQ. But tonight I enjoyed a laid-back mountain bike ride with Patrick. And Harper has promised to take me on her favorite trail and give me some lessons at the pump track. But someday, and probably soon, I'll need to run.

Family Vacation

2010-04-27T21:51:00.008-04:00

Ah, we've returned from a wonderful vacation in Arizona (though, a quick aside to say "shame on you and your recent racist legislation AZ"...eerie to learn about that disgrace on the radio while actually IN the state...). Anyway, it is difficult to summarize the terrific week we spent there together, but here are some pictures with a few annotations. Tip: Some of these scenery shots look way better if you click on them and make them full screen.

We stayed in Sedona, where the scenery is well represented by this picture:

It just looks like that every which way you turn! And there are so many wonderful trails for running, hiking and biking that you could spend months there and not traverse them all! Sedona is in a beautiful place, but the town itself, well...it is sprawling and full of new agers and gift shops. Not so much my cup of tea as a city or town, but well located to access hundreds of beautiful trails and a great place to be in the midst of so much natural, expansive beauty.

We participated in a home exchange and this was what it looked like from our back deck:
And you could walk through the back yard and less than a quarter mile down the road and come to amazing trails for runs, post-dinner walks, etc! That was wonderful. The house itself was perfect for us with plenty of room and very pretty but comfortable and everything you need to cook, rest and play.

One of the great things about being on vacation all together and without the distractions of home was that Harper and Patrick played together, just like in the old days! Mostly it involved rough-housing and wrestling or Harper convincing Pat to dress up in some ridiculous get-up. It was so nice to see them being good siblings.

We loved visiting the ruins of the Sinagua. Patrick got really into learning about the people and culture and reading all the interpretation. This is not like Pat of years past who would literally race through museums and other sites with the rest of us pleading with him to slow down and wait. Quite a welcome change.
We all got to do things we love to do. Neil rented a road bike and rode over a mountain.

Patrick was totally enthusiastic about everything we did; he loves hiking, visiting museums and exploring back yards. He was particularly pleased that we indulged his dream of dining at the Red Planet Diner. At the end of our meal I really blew his mind by buying him a t-shirt with cool graphics and the words "Earthlings Welcome" on the back!
Grandpa David got to push his physical limits and do some pretty hefty hiking and was (mostly) not rushed in the mornings.

Harper went mountain biking with her dad. Here they are, after their ride, at the awesome bike rental shop, Bike and Bean. The Australian guy with the dreadlocks makes a mean cappuccino and they know what they're doing when it comes to bikes and trail recs, too.

And I got to run on trails right HERE! This is Thunder Rock...

This picture of Patrick cracks me up.
Our day at the Grand Canyon was perfect. My Lonely Planet guidebook told us about Shoshone Point, a short walk down a narrow access road to an area where we had the vistas all to ourselves. Of course, I had warned the children about not getting too close to the edge and not fooling around, etc. Patrick took it too much to heart and for a while we had trouble getting him to come anywhere near the views. Here he is, worrying:
Later on, at the Grand View trail, he scared us by scampering down and up these narrow little paths. Go figure...:

This is me at Shoshone Point. It really felt wonderful and overwhelming (in a good way) to be here. Click on it to see the vastness...

Neil and Harper doing their thing that they do:

And a group shot:

Another hike...

Loads of beautiful wild and cactus flowers...

And one of the best parts of the whole trip....Neil is no longer afraid to fly! How awesome is that?! He just "got over it!" Look, here he is, smiling....ON AN AIRPLANE!!! This thrills me and opens up a whole new world of possibilities!

And look at that smile on my sweet boy, too! Who, by the way, was a wonderful traveler, also in contrast to years past where he was always disconcerted and out of sorts when away from home. What a joyful change!

Finally, what really impressed me about this trip were the ways in which all of us, including the kids, made compromises, gave each other space and support and generally worked together so that everyone could relax, have a good time and enjoy being together. Pretty impressive for 3 generations and 5 personalities. I'm appreciative of that and grateful. I love my family.

How We Love

2010-04-14T20:11:00.005-04:00

Today is Patrick's 11th birthday. I have a Beatles song for each of my kids. I sang those songs to them almost every night when they were little. Now I sing it to them when they let me. Tonight Pat let me sing him his. Here it is. It's for Patrick, the boy I might not have mothered; for whom I feel so grateful.

Bag Balm Rules

2010-04-03T16:23:00.005-04:00

For reasons I won't go into (but will gladly share with anyone who asks, or even people who don't as Kayla's friend, whom I just barely met, can attest) I experienced some serious chafing about 11 miles into my 20 mile run today. There was blood. I have never chafed to the point of blood before. I carry my cell phone with me on long runs in case of emergencies and this, my friends, was an emergency. I called the captain of my support team, almost in tears, and he drove out and met me with the bag balm. Those of you from Vermont know the amazing properties of this substance made to treat cow udders. It is a miracle cure. By the time I got home (after completing the 20 miles), the spot that had been bleeding was almost completely healed! Thank you bag balm, thank you so much.

In other news, today was the annual Pond Skimming in our town. It was lots of fun to watch and hot and sunny. April 3rd and we have temperatures in the 80s in northern Vermont! Unbelievable. And all of us at the pond skimming now have sun burns! Here are a couple of video clips of Big Bird and the Pope, two of our favorite characters, on their final runs.

Food is Good

2010-03-06T18:19:00.007-05:00

As my regular readers know, I am training for a marathon in Ma y. Today I ran 17 miles and it was pretty hard. It was hard because I couldn't eat enough before or during the run. I've been having some GI trouble on my longer runs. Luckily, today, I passed my dad's house at mile seven and was able to make a pit stop and use his facilities. (Dad lives just 2.5 miles away, but I did a five mile loop with Rosie before dropping her off at my house and continuing on, making Dad's Rest Area pop up at mile 7, exactly when I needed it. Phew).

In any case, I made it through my planned 17 miles at a decent pace and after a bath and some stretching, I was ready to eat. And all I could think about was cheesy popovers!* So I made some and ate them with Gram's Blueberry Jam and my friend Jen's homegrown, homemade pickled garlic. Boy was that a perfect lunch!

* I didn't use gruyere, but some leftover french cheese I had bought in Montreal. It had a firm texture and was fairly mild. I can't remember what it was called. It worked beautifully.

Montreal Resto Reviews

2010-03-01T18:29:00.012-05:00

In keeping with my "I only post when I'm pretty psyched about something" theme, I will write about my recent dining experiences.

Last Wednesday I went to Au Pied de Cochon, the restaurant of the famous and somewhat wacky Martin Picard, with Neil's childhood friend (and all-around-good-guy) Bill. Bill is a chef and had wanted to go to APDC for some time. I'd been once and wanted to go back. We started with the foie gras cromesquis, aka a foie gras explosion. The waiter instructed us precisely how to eat it and while it did catch Bill a little by surprise, we agreed that it was amazing. I'm hoping he'll figure out how to make it and we'll have it again. Next we had the crispy PDC salad, which sounds kind of gross (it involves pig knuckles and cartilage), but is actually wonderful (trust me) and the Guinea Hen Liver Mousse, served with a of pickled onion and a chutney. Totally delicious, even though I'm pretty sure guinea hen is kind of like a pigeon. For a main course I had the Foie Gras Poutine, which I will dream about until I have it again. It was just out of this world. Bill had the famous Duck in a Can, which included duck meat and foie and was served on a bed of celeriac. I just had one or two bites as I was totally focused on my poutine, but he seemed to be happy with it. Bill chose the wine. It was red and good, but I don't recall what it was. Sadly, we had no room for dessert and were grateful for the walk home.

Here we are at the end of the meal. My restaurant pictures are blurry because I don't like to use the flash.

AU PIED DE COCHON
536 avenue Duluth Est
(514) 281-1114

The next morning Neil and the kids arrived and Thursday night we all went to Tapeo, a tapas place near Little Italy. We tried 13 different plates (including dessert) and wouldn't decline to order any of them again. Our favorites were the Fideo, Octopus Salad and Calmars Frites. The best dessert involved homemade crullers to dip in a chocolate sauce that was so sublime it could be eaten straight up (yes, when the crullers where gone I did this...and my companions were very sweet not to shame or tease me for this indiscretion).

Here is Pat right before he taught Bill about Hazzlers. Hazzlers are the tough spot on a shrimp or scallop and Patrick coined this phrase, which Bill will now be introducing to his foodie friends, making sure they are removed before serving.

TAPEO
511 Rue Villeray
(514) 495-1999

After a long run Friday morning, I wanted some Portugese Chicken! So I limped over to Romados, waited patiently in the line and was rewarded with succulent rotisserie chicken, outstanding fries and a nice big salad, which I brought home and shared with my most appreciative family. This is one of my favorite meals and I've sampled similar menus from several of the Portugese take out places in the neighborhood and I really think this is the best. It is a short walk from the apartment.

ROMADOS
115 Rue Rachel Est
(514) 849-1803

On Saturday night we went, with the Cragins, to Moti Mehal. This was the best Indian (Pakistani/Indian, really) food any of us had ever had. I had the Mutton Balti (was that lemon rind? sweetened? So good!), which I thought was outstanding, though we all shared and it was all outstanding. The Paneer Nan was something dreams are made of. A highlight of the whole experience was when, shortly after we started eating, my 12 year old friend Baxter exclaimed, "This is incredible!" Indeed, it was incredible. It seems as though every spice can be tasted separately but also creates a harmony of flavor. Not only that, but we all feasted, with leftovers and lassis for the kids, for less than $20 per person, including a good tip. The place is halal so they don't serve alcohol, but they allow you to bring your own beer or wine. Here's Harper loving every minute of it (well, not beer or wine, but the food). Don't miss the cucumber salad!

MOTI MEHAL
1024 Jean-Talon W.
(514) 315–8801

Graceful

2010-02-07T11:57:00.005-05:00

Last night at the Riverside School Auction (such a fun time!) at least two people commented to me on Harper's skiing ability and used the word "graceful" to describe her. These were people I don't know all that well who have seen Harper at the mountain. I took this video about a month ago on a day we skied together, but the problem is, my skiing ability is quite limited compared to hers so I can only shoot video of her on the easier trails. Maybe I can get her friend Keara to take a clip on one of the black diamonds they ski together. Anyway, I'm pretty proud of my graceful girl.

Salinger

2010-01-28T19:44:00.001-05:00

Everybody's talking about the passing of the great writer J.D. Salinger. I recently re-read The Catcher in the Rye and I didn't love it the way I did when I was younger. But what I love about that book is the memory of my mom reading it out loud to me when I was 7 or 8 years old. It was one of her favorite books and so we cuddled up one weekend in her big, low-to-the-floor water bed in her apartment she shared with Wayne in South Weymouth. I'm pretty sure she read that entire book aloud to me in a weekend and was I ever captivated! The subject matter was sophisticated for a little kid, and I loved being treated with such respect. I loved the coziness of my mom's voice reading to me, the intimacy of the time together and the vivid images in the story. I still think of the teacher with the vicks vaporub and all the things that made Holden as sad as hell and how he loved his little sister Phoebe. In third grade (Miss Ellsworth's class...she was so nice and so pretty), we had a book report assignment that involved writing a letter to an author. I wrote to Salinger and knew he wouldn't write back (my mom told me about his reclusiveness, which I respected). But I loved writing to him. The thing is, I really understood that book in third grade, but only because my mom took the time to read it aloud to me and provide explanations as we went along. I was very lucky. I've never read anything that sophisticated and with that much patience to my children.

Later, Mom told me about the Glass family and we read Franny and Zooey (often people asked me if I was named after that book, but my name is ZOE, not Zooey. Duh.). That book made me want to smoke cigarettes in the bathtub. And a bit later I read Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction, which remains my favorite. I loved that Salinger didn't mind using lots of parentheses (celebrated them!) and I loved what he wrote within those parentheses. As an only child, I loved Buddy's admiration for Seymour and the mystery of Seymour through Buddy's eyes. I love, love that book and can read it again and again with equal joy every time. And I love the title of the short story, "For Esme, with Love and Squalor" which is just a perfectly exquisite and romantic phrase.

J.D. Salinger meant so much to so many readers. Generations grew up reading him, learning about the act of reading and being a reader through his writing. And so many of us talked to each other about his writings, connected with his characters and with one another because of his work. Our lives were made richer and more textured through the reading, the stories, the characters and artful simplicity of the writing. This is the legacy of a great artist. Thank you J.D and thank you Momma.

Henekis is 30

2010-01-26T18:53:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday!

Wherein I Change Around the Furniture

2010-01-19T19:30:00.002-05:00

Much better for the nightly dance parties.

The Play List

2010-01-15T19:24:00.002-05:00

The first long run of the training cycle was wonderful today. And I was very happy with my playlist. I didn't get through it all and I can't believe there is no Tom Petty or Big Head Todd or Spearhead. But there will be plenty of time over the next 17 weeks to adjust and modify the long run playlist. And "Take the Long Way" by Po'girl showing up twice is no mistake; I've considered making a playlist of just that song, I love it so. I welcome your recs for good running tunes.

Asking Too Much Ani DiFranco
Silo Song Chris Pureka
Boom Boom Pow Black Eyed Peas
Take The Long Way Po' Girl
Yeah! Usher
Skinny Love Bon Iver
Volcano (Live) Damien Rice
Apeman The Kinks
Purple Rain Prince
The Remedy (I Won't Worry) Jason Mraz
Momentary Thief Chris Pureka
Home To You Po' Girl
Pictures Of You The Cure
Hold On, I'm Comin' Sam &Dave
Play Your Part (Pt. 1) Girl Talk
15 Steps Radiohead
Lodi Jeffrey Foucault
As Stevie Wonder
Holla! G. Love
Take The Long Way Po' Girl
Angelsea Cat Stevens
Locomotive Breath Jethro Tull
Hey Mama Black Eyed Peas
Time Blind Melon Blind Melon
The Man In Me Bob Dylan
Blood Bank Bon Iver
Love Song The Cure
Delicate (Live) Damien Rice

Ready, Set, Go.

2010-01-14T20:00:00.003-05:00

The time has come to run another marathon. This will be my fifth. It has been over a year since the last marathon and I am ready. The extended holiday season (plus work) was emotionally exhausting and I know, in my heart and body, that the best remedy is to start training. For Christmas I received Haruki Murakami's book What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. He says, "When I'm criticized unjustly (from my viewpoint, at least), or when someone I'm sure will understand me doesn't, I go running for a little longer than usual. By running longer it's like I can physically exhaust that portion of my discontent." And it's not just interpersonal discontent, but all frustration and difficulty that can be purged with a good, long run.

This is my first week of training and I love getting up in the morning with a physical purpose. I'm not going to push my self the way I did for the last marathon. Then I did Pfitz's Advanced Marathoning, which, with both a Spring and Fall marathon, lead to burnout. So I'm going back to good ol' Hal Higdon and won't worry too much about my time (though I would, of course, like to PR). And I'm going to run a brand new race, which gives me a real adventure to look forward to. I hope to make a fun family weekend out of the May 16th marathon in Maine.

My dear friend and comrade Carolyn is planning to run Sugarloaf as well, and this will be her first marathon. And my old, rediscovered high-school friend Christie is going to run Montreal with me in September. This will be her first, too! The season has begun and it feels like a homecoming and it is a delight to bring more new recruits into my cult. It's so simple and gratifying to follow the schedule, to meet the promise of each dawn on Darling Hill, to spend that big chunk of time in glorious solitude once a week on the long run. All of it just makes me happy.

An Old Poem

2010-01-08T09:43:00.004-05:00

Dear friends of ours just visited for a ski vacation with their young children, which reminded me of this poem I wrote two years ago. I like it, and it helps me remember that day.

Carving the Turns

That January day

I skied only to be with you

savoring the last few years of your girlhood.

You hushed me on the lift

when I sang

but laughed when

I teased that I'd ask those

boys in the snack bar

for one of their fries.

I tried my best to keep up with you,

babying my old, runner's knees

and admiring your smooth form as you sailed

down the mountain.

Then

just before the last run of the day

we noticed perfectly shaped

delicate snowflakes

fall on our mittens

and wondered how it could be true

that no two are alike.

You told me to use my whole

body when I carved my turns

and headed for Willoughby, a high, steep trail.

Taking your lead

I moved from my head to my hips

and felt it;

the groove

one with the slope

thighs burning

flowing

swish

I was eleven

you thirty-six

and I stopped to wait for you.

I asked, "which way?"

You grinned.

"Down!"

You were eleven

I was thirty-six

the afternoon grew dark

we had Willoughby

all to ourselves

floating in a liminal space

at the edge of change and possibility

our Kingdom lay before us.

January 08

15th Anniversary (Montreal)

2009-12-20T18:21:00.000-05:00

Duck

Dessert

Winter Running (Blue)

2009-12-16T21:54:00.001-05:00

Lately I have felt so much joy on my morning runs. They start in the dark and the sky gradually lightens. It is so lonesome (in a good way), just Rosie and me and whatever wildlife is watching us. I feel like the world is just coming to, waking up, starting to breathe, and Rosie and I get to both witness and be an integral part of it. It feels really special and really important.

One morning last week it began to snow just as the sky brightened. Today it was crisp and clear and I brought my camera to try to capture the essence and beauty of winter mornings. I also enjoyed yesterday's cloudy dawn, opening with a particularly spectacular and moody darkness/light.

As I was thinking about writing this post on the rhapsody of winter runs, it dawned on me that I mostly only write about joy here. If you didn't know me and read this, you'd think I was always super happy and celebrating everything all the time. That's mostly true, but it is also true that I prefer to keep my sadness private, or at least semi-private. I like to send positive vibes out into the universe (or blogosphere), not whine and complain. But if you are my mother or husband, you know that I've had some recent loss and disappointment. And like everyone, I have bad days, get pissed off, stressed out, irritated and grumpy. But I am terribly grateful for all the goodness in my life and in the world and feel compelled to share those joys. And recently I was reminded that no ONE thing is your life, so when you lose something or something changes, you can roll with it and notice all the other things still in your life. Like the blue, cold and lovely dawn.

My Grandfather is Nice By Patrick Favreau

2009-12-09T19:19:00.003-05:00

A little while back, Patrick had to write a biography for school. He chose Grandpa David.

"David Gascon is my grandfather. He was born on November 3rd, 1942. My grandpa is fun, smart and helps keep the world healthy.

My grandpa likes to go on walks and picks up trash while he goes. This keeps the world healthy.

He has one daughter named Zoe. He also has two grandchildren; me and my sister Harper. He is a Bachler. He has arthritis. But it doesn't slow him down.

We go to his house every Thursday. We usually eat fish there. I'll tell you one thing...he is a fish lover.

My grandfather is fun and smart and I like to hang out with him. He cares for us and the world around him.

My grandfather is an important person because he picks up trash. One important fact about him is he has arthritis.

One interesting detail is that we go over to his house every Thursday for dinner.

I chose him because I know about my parents. I wanted to learn more about my grandfather."
'

Unexploded Ordnance (UXOs), Clowns and Cheetos

2009-11-27T14:32:00.006-05:00

Vieques is a beautiful, 21x5 mile island just east of Puerto Rico. Vieques has a long history of oppression and exploitation, of which the U.S. Navy is the most recent offender. On our visit there last week, we went to an event billed as a "Photo Exhibit" of the clean up of the toxic, Superfund mess the Navy left behind. We arrived at the multi-use building in Isabel II to see the exhibit at about 6:30 PM, just before they closed up for the day. It turned out to be a lot of NAVFAC (Naval Facilities Engineering Command) propagandizing. A pleasant, older man, walked us through much of the exhibit, telling us all about the clean up process, the high wages NAVFAC is paying locals to find and destroy UXOs and warning us not to touch anything we might find on the beach that could explode and kill us. The Navy left in 2003 and NAVFAC hopes that they will be "done" with the clean up by 2021.

A week later, my head still spins with one big question: What the f*** was up with the clowns? Why were the clowns there and why were the clowns still there as the rest of the crew packed up their display boards and briefcases at the end of the day? Are the clowns supposed to make me feel better about the mess my military has made of this amazing and complicated place? You're talking about how to clean up a land you've unethically appropriated, a place where people have been wrongfully displaced and made terminally ill from depleted uranium. Is this really a place for clowns? For free Cheetos and tightly wrapped packs of cream-filled cookies? And when the NAVFAC folks are clearing out of the gym, when the Navy has, at long, painful last, finally cleared out, why are those tired clowns still sitting on a bench, just outside the multi-use building? Why haven't they at least taken off their wigs?

Reminder

2009-11-10T20:20:00.025-05:00

At dinner tonight, the kids and I were talking about this in-between time. No longer really fall, not yet winter...what is this? Flinter?

As always in late fall, I've been noticing a bit of the heaviness of November. So I was reminded, by my children, at our dinner table, of the Robert Frost poem my dear, deep and thoughtful friend Nichole shared with me several years ago. Nichole is a teacher (an extraordinary one) and every year she teaches her preschoolers Robert Frost poems. I really admire that. And I am so grateful to her for teaching me "My November Guest." After we ate tonight, I looked the poem up, read it out loud to the children (Nichole, had she been here, would have recited it for them), and just couldn't get through it smoothly for the tears in my eyes and small sobs in my throat. Harper thought I was a dork and Pat sought to console me. But I was so happy reading that poem! So happy to be reminded that if not for the quiet, dark November times, the other seasons would not be so precious. Happy for Frost's gift of this metaphor. Happy to have a friend who helps me understand those kinds of truths. Happy to have kids to read poetry to. Grateful for big feelings; for sorrow and joy and everything that means we're alive and connected to each other. Yeah, I'm a dork. And I'm glad.

Please read this poem and then read it again. It's just awesome. Thanks Nichole.

My November Guest
by: Robert Frost

My Sorrow, when she's here with me,
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.

Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.

The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.

Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.

From "A Boy's Will", 1913

Photos by Nichole Ruggles

And You Smile Because I Smirk

2009-10-28T08:37:00.001-04:00

For those of you who may have missed this on facebook, here's Kali's very first music video. I can't wait for more!

And here's Kali when he was little. I took this picture and it is one of my favorites. Kali has always been outrageously gifted. I like to tell the story of this time when he was pretty little (maybe 5 or 6) and he made an entire set of miniature wind instruments out of clay. They were perfect, delicate and just lovely. This was the day I learned about the piccolo. My little cousin had constructed one perfectly, showed it to me and explained what it was. Incredible.

In Need

2009-10-26T12:04:00.004-04:00

I've been experiencing a lack of inspiration. My little notebooks have blank pages. This poem is reassuring at times like this.

inquiry
--ntozake shange

my questions concern the subject poetry
is whatever runs out/ whatever digs my guts
til there's no space in myself
cryin wont help/ callin mama wont help
lovers are detours/ no way to assuage this
poem/but in the words & they are deceitful/
images beat me confuse me/ make me want all of you to share me/
&i hide under my bed/

poetry is unavoidable connection/
some people get married/ others join the Church
i carry notebooks/ so i can tell us what happened/
midnight snacks in bed with whoever/ are no compensation/ when
i'm listenin to multitudes of voices/ i consume yr every word
move/

durin the day you are initiated into the holy order
of prospective poems/ i dream in yr voice/ sometimes act
yr fantasies/ i've made them my own/
whatever is here/ is what you've given me/
if it's not enough for you/
give me some more

on the way to get apples, on the way to get milk

2009-10-04T19:03:00.006-04:00

Another Anniversary

2009-10-02T22:28:00.004-04:00

Twenty years ago on this day our Champ died. Tomorrow most of us will gather at the dells, Champ's main hang-out spot, in the rain, to remember together. It's the together part that matters, at least as much as the remembering.

Last year on this date I posted some elegant videos, pictures and other ruminations about Champ. Please check it out and and join us in remembering.

The First Twenty Years

2009-09-28T19:16:00.015-04:00

Neil and I fell in love in late September, 1989. I hardly even know how to type such an ancient date. Here's a picture from sometime in that first year:

Here's what happened: In July of 1989, the summer after I graduated from my suburban Boston high school, I went to Lyndon State College, in the northeast kingdom of Vermont, for Freshman orientation. I went by myself. I remember sitting in the theater, listening to all the important things they had to tell us, and looking around, wondering, "who here might end up being my friend? Who looks like someone I would want to hang out with?" I felt discouraged. Until my eyes lit on a tall, skinny guy walking through the doors, wearing a plain blue t-shirt, Levi jeans and a pair of chuck taylors. He had long hair. And a beautiful face. I thought, "maybe THAT guy..."

A couple months later, we started college. That very same cute boy, now in a black turtle neck, and with slightly longer hair, passed by me on a walkway as I headed to class. He smiled. There were dimples. I was smitten. A few minutes later he sat next to me in my first college class: Philosophy 101 with professor Ken Voss. The cute boy was drinking black coffee. His hair fell a bit over his eye on one side. He was SO cool.

Of course, I pursued him, finally gaining the courage to give him my phone number. He called later that day, or maybe the next. On our first date, we watched the movie "Imagine" and I turned him on to Van Morrison. Our second date was a chance meeting at the library. I asked him if he'd like to go outside and play in the rain and he said yes. Then we got dry clothes and tried to go to Canada, but they wouldn't let us in, so we went back to my place and ate the delicious stuffed mushroom caps Auntie Sally had made earlier that day. The rest, as they say, is history.

(In the weeks that followed, he would come to the door of my insulated-porch-room at night, after his job as dishwasher at the Willoughvale Inn, smelling of Sprite and cold, autumn air, wearing that dark gray wool sweater his mom knitted. I waited up with calm anticipation, reading my school books.)

And here we are on the cape this last week, celebrating 20 years of love:
We've had an awful lot of luck during these 20 years. We fell and stayed in love, got a couple of college degrees, traveled some, lived in far away places, came home, got married, gave birth to a kid, adopted a second kid, made careers for ourselves, nurtured old friendships and built new ones, loved our larger families, loved our dogs, cleaned and cooked and worked in the yard, and have felt grateful most days.

We're looking forward to another 20 years and another 20 after that. What will we do next? Raise teenagers, wait up late, worry, send the children off, worry, stay in love, travel some, nurture friendships, talk to each other, love our larger families, be grateful most days. And maybe volunteer more, serve our communities, try new recipes, entertain family and friends, learn more, visit the kids, take care of the grandchildren, to give the kids a break, like our folks do for us.

And never take any of it for granted.

Music and Manny

2009-09-16T19:19:00.006-04:00

Neil and I don't always dig the same music, but every so often we'll discover or re-discover an artist we both just love. Chris Pureka is our latest in that category, so we've been making dinner, cleaning up and generally hanging out to her cds on the hifi quite a bit lately. Patrick is amazing with anything music and last night he told us that this song, which has outrageously contagious and complicated timing, made him feel kind of sad. He said he thought it was about someone being left alone. Which it is, but in a very sophisticated way, both lyrically and musically. The refrain is, "I'll tell you what, I'll save you the trouble of running away..." Certainly not a direct line about being left behind if you're ten years old. That boy can listen. At least when you're not trying to give him directions.

After he identified the song's motif, he wandered into his room singing the song, beautifully and with perfect pitch. He's quite the kid. Here he is on the first day of fifth grade, a couple weeks ago. He was annoyed with me for making him pose for the picture.

I Wanna Show You Something Beautiful

2009-09-12T15:06:00.002-04:00

I wish I could dance like this. Don't miss the final bust out at the end.

Take it Easy

2009-09-05T18:45:00.005-04:00

Harper owns Kitchel! Across the road from our house and her favorite ride.

Poem (there is no touch)

2009-09-04T21:41:00.002-04:00

This poem gets stuck in my diaphragm.

This Song

by Hayden Carruth

In an afternoon bright with

September, or in an old dissension

bright with fear, I went wandering where

there was purity in white lady's tresses,

hiddenness in peeping bluebottle gentians,

and where many species of goldenrod

and asters made funeral for the lost

summer world, and ferns, taken by frost,

made russet the fields and turned

the waysides yellow and brown.

It struck me that I had wandered all my years

like this, half a century, searching

for the touch that heals, but there is

no touch; searching everywhere for the

look that say I know, but there is

no look. This is Vermont, the land

hidden from violent times, far from the center

of life, they say. I walk by the gray brook,

around the knoll, through the pines. Winter

is coming. Searching, searching with my hand,

I feel September's little knives, and with my eyes

I see bright spattered leaves in the matted

grass. I hear this song, if it be a song: these

insistent little bright fearful hesitant

murmurs from high in the old pine trees.

The Kennedys

2009-08-29T20:23:00.009-04:00

I'm watching Teddy's burial at Arlington Cemetery on TV and it seems so surreal. Teddy's really dead? Really?

I know, a bunch of rich, white men. Still, throughout my life, when someone criticized Ted Kennedy, I'd say, as a half-joke, "Don't talk to me like that; I'm from Massachusetts." I guess I'm not opposed to political dynasties if they do good, socio-political work. And for the last few days I've tried to explain to Harper the significance of losing Teddy. I simplify; he was an imperfect man, but he fought his whole life for oppressed people, so he was a hero. Okay, this is an oversimplification, but it is also true. And if you're a rich, white guy, it's right and correct to use your privilege in this way.

I bet many kids who grew up in Massachusetts feel a special connection to the Kennedys. My parents divorced when I was four years old, and I remember many car rides with my mom, traveling from Lexington to the south shore on a Friday night. She would keep me entertained with a story, often a story about the Kennedys. About the day JFK was killed, about how Joe died in the war, about the disabled sister, Rosemary, about Chappaquiddick and everything else. And somehow, I think Bobby was our favorite.

Today we watched pieces of the funeral and burial, while cooking and playing and doing other things. My mom knows who all those people are! And what they all do for a living and what are their contributions and what are their shames. I'm proud of my mom's expertise (she really could teach a college class on the Kennedys), and I'm proud to be from Massachusetts, the state Teddy represented since before I was born. Rest in peace.

Seasons and Changes

2009-08-29T13:42:00.010-04:00

Harper's first day of 8th grade.

We haven't been to the fair for a few years, but the arrival of the fair always signifies the end of summer. The kids, my mom and Wayne and I went last night and I had the most fun at the fair that I can remember. The kids are totally into the bigger, scarier rides now, and it was so fun to be with the while they were so excited and having such a blast. Monica and Sam are visiting and they LOVED it! They are lovely house guests and we've enjoyed their visit. Monica thanked me for bringing them to the fair before we even got out of the car!

An extra treat was that we got to hang with Henekis, Alan, Erin, Carolyn, Sarah and Phoebe.
LOVE Phoebe's new haircut!

Erin and Patrick were as cute as can be on the rickety old roller coaster.

Harper is the big kid now. Here she is hanging tough with Sarah.

Patrick and Sammi waking up the other morning. The two of them are kindred spirits and have been playing together non-stop. I think they'll be sad to say goodbye tomorrow.

This Is Also Who We Are: let it pass through

2009-08-18T18:35:00.006-04:00

Life can be hard. Interpersonal relationships, difficult. People you love will disappoint you and you will disappoint them. Hearts get broken and mend. Nothing stays the same or lasts; people grow up and grow old. We are all inexorably connected like organs in a body, yet hurt each other deeply with words. I'm not trying to be profound and I don't have solutions. These are just my real observations.

And when sadness strikes, there is always something to redeem it, like the relief of a big breeze on a hot and humid day. Or your children playing together happily in your grandmother's lake. Beauty endures.

Vid Clips

2009-08-15T16:06:00.003-04:00

I Lovermont

2009-08-15T12:51:00.006-04:00

It is so lovely to be home! I had a great 3 weeks in the city and my class was excellent. I learned a bit of french and met some nice and interesting people. But I am so glad to be home in Vermont. In the beginning, I felt I could live in Montreal. It's a wonderful city, with great parks, lots of diversity, terrific restaurants and an easygoing, laid back atmosphere. But by the third week I was homesick for country life. There's no place like home and there is no place like the Northeast Kingdom. I love it here. I love the way the air smells, the sounds of the rustling leaves and bugs and birds singing; I love my home and my beautiful, wild yard. I love my friends and seeing folks I know everywhere I go. And I missed Neil, most of all.

Because I love running so much, I can't help but compare my two favorite running routes, city and country, and their apexes. In Montreal, I run in Parc Mont Royal, which is fantastic. The apex of that run looks like this:

In Vermont, the apex of my favorite trail run looks like this:

(for more pics of this route, on the Kingdom Trails, click here)

As you can see, these are two totally different places, both full of glory and wonder. I'm glad to know them both so well.

Lonely?

2009-08-08T21:38:00.006-04:00

In some ways, it is good to be an only child. Because being alone is okay. I'm listening to the folks having a dinner party on the deck across the way. They seem very sophisticated and whatever they are cooking smells amazing. Someone else on the street is playing their guitar. It's fun being a voyeur and listening to them all. City living at it's best! What's more, there is a 3/4 moon. And whoah....pretty brilliant fireworks, of which I am not usually a huge fan, but sitting here in the living room and seeing them perfectly without too much excessive noise is alright! Anyway, the kids are in bed and my mom and Wayne and Neil all left for points south earlier today. It's a gorgeous night. I do wish Neil were here and it was a treat having my mom and Wayne hang out for a couple of days. But I'm not actually lonely and I don't mind being alone. Oh, and Rosie's here. She might even sleep with me.

Still in Montreal!

2009-08-04T19:45:00.002-04:00

Quick post. Neil and I are in the park, the internet at home not working so well. But we are happy and just had a wonderful, bargain dinner at L'academie, a not-too-fancy BYOB with a special of Pates ou Moules several nights a week. Neil had the pasta and I had the moules and we both enjoyed the Malbec we bought at the SAQ. Today, class was excellent and the afternoon tour was long, but informative. I feel lucky to be here, thankful for my family and this beautiful city and for the opportunity to study and vacation here for 3 whole weeks.

It is a beautiful night. Neil and I are headed home with full bellies and much appreciation for the goodness.

Love you, familles et amis.

Parfait

2009-07-29T20:07:00.011-04:00

How to write succinctly and accurately about my first few days of language study here in Montreal? Here's a quick effort without editing.

I really wanted to take a French Immersion class, but as time drew near, I wished I had just taken a vacation. I needed a vacation. Good news is, this feels like a vacation, so, yay! I get to have it both ways. Story of my (pretty dang nice) life, for the most part. By which I simply mean, I can't complain.

I'm really enjoying the rhythm of the city and the rhythm of my days here. Funny, I used to come to Montreal and regret that I couldn't stay up late and party in the streets (as I have done just once or twice with much pleasure) but this week I've loved settling in just as the streets start to hump and waking up in the morning as almost everyone else is still tucked away and all is quiet. And witnessing the gradual progression of energy and excitement throughout the day. It's a lovely rhythm and I feel like Pat and I are some kind of small harmony to the larger song; doing our own thing, but flitting in and out of the bigger picture. Quite a pleasure (and new experience) to feel so truly a part of city life.

I love routine and keeping busy and our days have accomodated these needs. I get up first, make and drink coffee, then Manny rolls out of bed and gets his cereal and we leave at 8:00 for day camp about a mile north of here, he on his scooter, me on my bike. He LOVES riding that scooter and cruises along pretty quickly. After depositing him at day camp (on Ave du Parc in the Mile End neighborhood), I head downtown with, seriously, 2 million other bike commuters! It is quick and easy to cruise down the bike lane on St. Urbain. One must be just as aware of the other bikes as the cars because there are just so many of them! I am very cautious, in part because I am not used to city riding and because of my bike accident 2 years ago. So when the light turns green, I let the masses of pedalers pass me and gently ease on down the road. I've got nothing to prove and plenty of time.

I arrive at the UQAM on St. Catherine (corner of Hotel de Ville) in time to sit in a little park and eat my yogurt before class at 9:00. Class is excellent. Perhaps a tad easy, but a relief that I'm not getting frusterated or overwhelmed. And I feel like I'm learning a lot and gaining much confidence. We speak, read and write in a completely intertwined way. There are nine students and one teacher, Guy, who is not bad to look at and very personable. And a really good, encouraging and enthusiastic teacher. Besides the U.S., other students in my class are from Canada, Korea, Italy, Mexico and Mongolia. So there is a nice diversity, too. And did I mention that Guy is pretty easy on the eyes? (Funny aside, if I had a picture of him to post, a lot of you would say he looks like Neil minus the bike racing tee-shirts!).

So I am in class until noon, at which time I have an hour for lunch. I bring a picnic and take a short walk to Place des Arts where I can sit and dine by the fountain or on the steps with about a million other lunch time revelers. Not too shabby.

The afternoon session is only 2 hours and is focused on conversation or guided tours (in French). Then I hop on my bike and head back up to Mile End et je rencontre mon fils. Then Patrick and I head home on scooter and bike, freshen up and hit the streets for a walk or groceries or what-have-you. We ate out tonight after a trip to the big salvation army store on the other side of town, but otherwise, we've eaten in and done puzzles, and just hung out. Tonight's tapas at Sala Rosa were outstanding. I especially loved the fried eggplant with cheese.

Then home for quiet time and tomorrow's lunch prep. Right now Pat is reading and I am writing and soon our day will end. I'll read my book and listen to the street sounds, which will pick up in the next few hours.

I could live here. I'm lucky to have a home here and no doubt my peace and relaxation this week owes much to that crucial fact. An adventure with all the comforts of home; parfait!

Placement Test

2009-07-27T11:58:00.002-04:00

I think I failed my placement test this morning. I am taking a 3 week French Language class in Montreal and today is the first day. All we did so far was have a brief orientation and take a written and oral placement test. It was really quick for me because, well, I just don't know much French. The written part was multiple choice and you were supposed to stop when you couldn't answer any more questions and not try to guess. So that didn't take too long. Then I sat down with a nice lady who tried to have a conversation with me in french. That didn't take too long either. So I got out early. Actual classes don't start until tomorrow, but I do go back at 1:30 today for 45 minutes to learn about the activities that are supplements to the classes for the next 3 weeks.

Since I was so quick with my testing, I rode my bike back to the apartment, went for a run, bought a falafel and now I'm in the Parc des Ameriques where there is free wireless, gorgeous sunshine and a lovely breeze.

I'm really happy to be here now that I know how to (a) get Patrick to his daycamp (he rode the scooter this morning and was so excited about the whole thing. I can't wait to see him at 4:00 and hear about his day. I'm a little nervous for him and so proud of his bravery in doing something like this), (b) get myself to the University and (c) ride a bike around the city. I was kind of afraid of doing that, but so far so good! It's easier than I thought it would be and a great way to get around quickly. There are lots of streets with bike lanes.

And I think my course is going to be really excellent. The orientation and testing this morning had a very well-organized and professional feel to it and there are lots of people to answer questions. The campus is pretty huge, but our program is only in 2 buildings, so now that I know where those are, I'm feeling confident and ready to learn!

White Crosses and my bike.

2009-07-23T19:44:00.004-04:00

This is Neil, I'm hijacking Zoe's blog.

A few years ago Zoe and I saw Jeffrey Foucault perform live. I’d never heard of him before that day. He opened with a song titled “Don’t Look for Me.” I was floored by his voice and fine guitar playing. We bought the cd after the performance and I listened to the studio version of the same song but it just did not impress as much as the live performance had. Many years back I had a Deadhead friend in college who once said, “the moment is superior to the artifact” when talking about the Dead’s music. For some reason that little quote has stuck with me. Initially it stuck because I thought it was a funny thing for one 19 year old stoner to say to another, but then as I dwelt on these seven words I came to conclude that this saying summed up my feelings about most things in life. I’ve never become attached to “stuff” (the only possession I'm really attached to is my road bike. Not so much because it's so great, but because I use all of the time, but if I were to lose I would not realistically be able to afford to replace it) and it dovetails nicely with my inability to remember just about anything. Alas, once again many years later, it would hold true for Jeffrey Foucault’s song. Purchasing the cd however was not a loss. It is a good cd, but what made me love it were the first two lines of the first song on the disc, “Cross of Flowers.” They are as follows:

There's a cross of flowers at the roadside
Where some fool bought it two years back

I will somewhat shamefully admit that I secretly and guiltily liked the irreverence of referring to the subject as a “fool” here. I can’t explain why, but I’ve always felt the same way when I saw a cross by the roadside. I hate them. I feel cold hearted admitting it, but it’s how I feel for some reason. The white roadside crosses, or descansos (in Spanish, descanso means “resting place”) are a common site on all of my main cycling routes from the house. There are three major routes that I commonly ride from home, one to the north, one to the south and one to the west. There is a white cross within 6 miles on each route. I see them up close every day as I meditatively peddle, therefore I spend a lot of time thinking about them. The cross means nothing to the person whose name emblazons it, obviously, and if I were asked if I wanted one, should I meet my demise in a car accident (or be splattered by a vehicle while on my bike on the road, I think that would qualify), I would emphatically say no, absolutely not. To me these shrines seem to be an extenuation of grief by and pity for the living. Perhaps it’s cathartic to work so diligently on these things, but I get the weird sense that the people who maintain them like doing it, I can’t imagine up-keeping one of these things for someone I had known. Similarly, after 9/11 and after the invasion (and subsequent occupation) of Iraq, stickers and flags on cars popped up everywhere. I felt the same weird way, “these people all sort of enjoy wallowing in this.” I’m not saying my interpretation is correct, it’s probably way off, but it is what it is and I’m admitting it for whatever purpose.

I decided to investigate these emotions. So like anyone who was having a slow day at the office I referred to the internet. You know, the internet, that place where, with enough research, the most common bug bite is potentially fatal, or at the very least, horrifyingly disfiguring. I thought this would be a great place to investigate. It wasn't. Here’s the first thing I stumble upon:

Mark the loss of a loved one to road accidents with a roadside memorial. Each roadside memorial is designed from UV-protected polyethylene, to make it last for years. The descanso – available with a personalized nameplate in several designs, from religious symbols, the national flag and animals – carry a and a mounting stake

Your Tribute Memorial Cross:

● Durably constructed from UV protected polyethylene

● Includes a mounting stake for easy installation

● Comes with a personalized nameplate

● Can be used for People or Pets

● Free Delivery included within 48 contiguous states

● Size: 24"H x 15"W x 2-1/2"D
Artwork and symbols are further below on the page
Ships in approximately 4 business days

Our Price: $175.00

Or if you're a little more strapped, 27- 45 bucks here.

Or maybe I don’t like them because I’m an Atheist. This article says, “Consider also the point that atheists and other non-christians find them offensive, annoying and depressing.” Wow, they apparently speak for me and they really hate those crosses.

Maybe I don’t like them because they are a little artifact that is just glued there in that moment and place of despair. I feel like maybe the survivors can’t move on and are stuck in a holding pattern. It’s like they are stuck in that spot, in that moment, in that awful time and place for as long as the shrine is maintained(and some are very meticulously maintained). It seems like the point is to not move forward, it’s to stay there in that spot forever. Ah, but I think the moment is superior, remember? So I prefer the moment or moments that come before that fateful split second in that tragic spot when I think about the people that I have loved who are no longer here.

Enough stalling. I have to write why I like camp if I ever want any more jelly.

Shelter

2009-07-15T20:41:00.008-04:00

Remember that show, "This is Your Life"? I don't really remember it, but wasn't there a show where they brought out long lost friends, family members and colleagues from the person's past? Tonight was kind of like that for me, at least in regards to my work, which is inextricably a part of me.

Fourteen years ago I was a VISTA worker (Volunteers in Service to America) for a domestic/sexual violence program in Newport, Vermont. I quickly realized that the Northeast Kingdom really needed a shelter for battered women. I thought I would spend my year in VISTA making that happen. I was 24, full of hope and ideals. It didn't happen that year, or in the 14 years since, despite my wishes and hopes. Fast forward to 2009. Tonight we hosted a small reception for donors and community partners at our soon-to-open shelter for battered women; the first in the Northeast Kingdom. The shelter includes 8 crisis beds and 3 transitional apartments. It is an amazing facility and I didn't believe it would ever really happen until tonight. (An aside: It is strange to be thrilled and gratified by a shelter you are working to make unnecessary. Yet it is necessary, more necessary than ever, and I am grateful we can finally offer this crucial, basic support to survivors).

So here it is, finally, a shelter, an option to offer women when we are safety planning together. It is cause for celebration. But what really moved me about the reception tonight was the folks who attended. It was a "This is Your Life" of my work in the movement. Some of the committed and supportive attendees (in no particular order) included:

The former coordinator of our state coalition, who coordinated the VISTAs in 1995 and therefore trained and mentored me extensively (she also organized a baby shower for me at the end of that year!)
The advocate with whom I job-shared when my kids were little and I could only work part-time. We grew up in the work together for many years. I love her dearly.
The former director of my organization who was the director when I volunteered on the hotline right after Harper was born. Another important mentor.
The victim advocate from the prosecutor's office where I worked more than 10 years ago as part of a special domestic violence unit. She taught me everything about the criminal system, the courts, the community and lots about how to fight and speak up for survivors.
A past director of an anti-poverty organization, which oversaw that first DV program for which I worked as a VISTA. Always a smart and thoughtful activist who is now on my organization's board.
Our shelter coordinator, a strong and capable woman who I have known for almost a decade. We have worked side by side for years and I am so proud of her as she embarks on this new project with her whole self, heart and soul.
Our Executive Director, who I think of as the conductor of a symphony waving a baton. Or is that a magic wand? She's also one of my best friends.
My newest colleague, co-worker and comrade from the north who impresses me daily with her dedication, intelligence and advocacy skills. At least once a week I come home and tell my family how great she is.
Our statewide coalition representative, who serves as an expert and support person for our work locally; someone I turn to when no one else has an answer to my question. She's just brilliant.
So many more community people who have supported our work for longer than I've been doing the work. I'm so grateful for their continued, solid, persistent presence.
My dad. What can I or do I even need to say about the profundity of the lovely fact of his presence on this special day?

What a list! But on the eve of the opening of our shelter (finally!) to have all of these people in the room filled my heart with love and gratitude. And really, the people who attended tonight were just a small representation of the many comrades I have the good fortune of knowing personally in this movement. Way too many to list here. It's nice to know we're not alone. It's good to have the shelter of community.

The Anti-Holiday

2009-07-05T20:32:00.000-04:00

To escape fireworks*, parades, and the general celebration of so-called "Independence Day", I like to take my family to the Montreal Jazz Festival. We had a good time last year and decided to go again this weekend. Yesterday I was superpsyched to see That 1 Guy was giving a free show at 7:00 PM. I saw T1G several years ago and have been watching his tour schedule ever since in hopes of catching him again. His is a feel-good-laugh-riot-rock-out-with-your-socks-out show. I took some video clips, but there is nothing like the feeling of his live performance.

A clip from one of my favorite songs: Weasel Pot Pie...

At the end, Patrick got his autograph and a picture.

Happy Jazz Fest!

*My parents and I are the only people on the planet who do not love fireworks. We have our reasons. Not that they are the same reasons; no particular family trauma or anything like that. We're just weird, I guess.

It Seems Like Forever

2009-07-02T21:44:00.003-04:00

Since this day.

I'm not one to complain about the weather (or too much else). But when I see the pictures of that perfect morning, I'm lonesome for the sweetness of early morning sun. Funny how it makes me miss my momma, gram, Camp, and everything else that is sunny and sweet. Though I like the sound of the rain at night and the cool breeze through my window.

That Girl

2009-06-17T21:01:00.003-04:00

Click on either one of these to see a wild beast.

Treats

2009-06-17T20:59:00.001-04:00

A colleague of mine from central Vermont brought me a jar of goat milk caramel the other day, made by some friends of hers. Neil says it was made by the devil. He says that because he loves it so much. He wants to know if we can buy it by the 5 gallon jug.

Introducing: Dance Duck

2009-06-17T19:56:00.006-04:00

Last weekend I went to Montreal with some friends and we went to a great Fringe Festival show called Dance Animal Presents: Dance Animal. Inspired, we all created our own dance animal personas. This is the bio of my friend Dance Duck. I think it (and she) is beautiful.

Close your eyes and imagine a duck in motion.

You’re probably picturing a duck walking; her awkward waddle painfully amusing. Or perhaps you’re imagining her flying – encumbered by her bulk as she lifts, dragging her webbed-feet like landing gear as she approaches the water.

But you see, ducks are designed neither for walking nor for flying. They have none of the gracefulness of their long-legged bird cousins on land, or of their sleek cousins in the air. They don’t step effortlessly through the marsh grasses like the snowy egret. They don’t soar like eagles or dip and dive like barn swallows.

And yet, the duck is not sorry that she waddles and flies heavily, because she knows that ducks are designed for floating. The essence of a duck in motion is actually stillness. The duck is moved only by the medium upon which it floats. Water.

Stillness can be defined in any medium. It is darkness to light. It is blankness to color. It is silence to noise. These are not opposites – darkness is the beginning of light and the end of light. Blankness is the beginning of color and the end of color. Silence is the beginning of noise and the end of noise. Stillness is the beginning of motion and the end of motion. The duck is still and yet a part of motion.

I’ve always been aware that I am a person of stillness. When the light is bright, I stand in the shadows. When the noise is great, I am silent. When the color is strong, I seek the solace of muted tones.

But I didn’t realize that my stillness was necessary, that I was necessary, that I was Dance Duck until Dance Tiger looked deep in my eyes – crossing the distance from her place on the stage to my seat. Yes, my seat in the shadows as far from the motion and noise and light and color on the stage as I could sit. When her gaze reached me there, I realized that indeed I was Dance Duck, destined to celebrate the stillness that is necessary to the motion and the noise.

You will see me on the stage with my Dance Animal friends, STILL – but not unmoved by the music. And you’ll understand that without my stillness, the motion is meaningless. My friends will dance and I will float. I am Dance Duck and I am necessary.

Really? I Live Here?

2009-06-17T19:22:00.010-04:00

I took my cute little camera on my trail run this early morning. These are shots from my usual course that my friend Dance Duck (aka Nichole) turned me on to many years ago. I've run this course countless times and even gotten brave enough to do it all alone in the early morning when I figure lots of critters (bear and moose?!) are moving around. But I bring my good dog Rosie and we make noise. This morning I startled a deer, who startled me. But mostly, I'm just in awe of and in love with the beauty of it all. I've even written poems about this run. I feel so fortunate to live here and after 12 years I still marvel at my luck and the wonder of this amazing place.

Click on this picture (just below) to see the wild beast!

Piano Recital

2009-06-12T07:56:00.003-04:00

Wayne took these pictures at the kids' piano recital last week. They played beautifully (everyone did) and it was a great event in a beautiful location on Burke Mountain. We're lucky to have some incredible music teachers here in the Northeast Kingdom. This was Patrick's 4th year of piano and Harper's 1st. He also plays guitar and she, the clarinet. I love the light in the picture of Gram. And I'm certain my children had the highest number of grandparent-types in the audience; Grammies Robin and Cindy, Grandpa David, Poppa Wayne and Great-Auntie Sally! Wow.

New Blog

2009-06-11T19:21:00.009-04:00

I'm creating a new blog for all the pieces we've written about camp. It's here: stoddardcamp.blogspot.com

And I'll try to add anyone who wants to contribute to it. Let me know.

Love and stuff.

From the Road to the Trails

2009-05-25T16:08:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I ran a 2-person relay with my friend Michelle at the Vermont City Marathon. It was totally fun and I broke 2 hours for my half marathon time; a personal record. This was my 4th year as a participant in VCM. The first year I was part of a 5-person relay and the last two years I ran the full marathon. It was pretty sweet yesterday to hit mile 8 and contemplate another 5 miles rather than another 18. And the Vermont City Marathon is really the greatest race in terms of organization, crowd support, course, etc. Because I ran the first leg, I was able to spend over an hour as a spectator at the finish line. I saw one woman puke while running, a man basically get carried across the finish line by 3 or 4 other people, our local Judge finish the full marathon, lots of bloody nipples and my team mate's glorious finish. We also had a great long weekend with the Fays at the our favorite house in Burlington, which we have enjoyed as an exchange 5 times. Wow!

Now that the Half is over, I'm going to hit the trails hard in preparation for the Black Fly in My Eye 10 mile trail race over near Mt. Washington at the end of June. I did this race the first year they held it, 4 years ago, and it was incredibly challenging. I swore I'd never do it again. It was brutal. One leg of it is pretty much a mountain climb, at which point I saw no other runners and thought I might be lost (I wasn't) and the end is really intense because you go down a steep hill, across a shallow but wide river and then up the embankment to cross the finish line, with everyone watching you so you feel really self-conscious and worried you're going to slip and make a fool of yourself. But I convinced some friends to do it with me this year and I'm really psyched about it; a serious challenge, but not too much pavement pounding. It's going to be awesome.

Camp

2009-05-07T20:51:00.010-04:00

Gram has asked all her children and grandchildren to write something about what Camp means to them. Camp means so much and so many things to me that I've been avoiding this task. I just don't really know where to start or how exactly to approach a subject that is so much about feelings and senses; smells, sights, temperatures, sounds, tastes, immersion.

Camp is immersion. The first thing I always wanted to do when I was little and arrived at Camp in the summer was jump in the lake. Straight away. (We didn't go to Camp in the winter back then. Never. Could the little ones in our family even imagine such a time? We just had the camp, not Grammie's house, not a paved, plowed road leading there. It was strictly a summer place. You would sleep in the back seat until the limbs of the trees on Grandpa Chick's road scraped the windows of the car and woke you up. Then you knew you were there.) And I remember being very small and not wanting to leave Camp and actually having my sneakers on and TIED (arrggggh, that's it, when the sneaker are on and tied; you are GONE, back to that other place that isn't really home or where you want to be; the suburbs!) and "falling" off the dock into the lake so Dad would be forced to stay longer. I don't even think I knew how to swim at the time. I was desperate.

Now when I go to Camp it is to immerse myself in my family. Their loudness, craziness, overbearing, over-the-top ways. Ways that I need to escape sometimes (I am, after all, an only child, at least by some definitions). But ways that I crave and need for sustenance and identity. So Camp is immersion. When I am there and immersed, I know exactly who I am. I am a Stoddard. I am proudly my grandmother's daughter. That's not a typo. Anyone who knows me well knows I spent every summer, beginning when I was 5 years old, at Camp with my gram. And I am nearly as close to my mother's generation (9 years to Raetha) as to my own (6 years to Netdahe, another 3 to Henekis). So while I love being the eldest grandchild, I also feel like gram's youngest kid. I'm grateful to be hers AND my mom and dad's. She helped raise me and I like to think that I take after her in some ways. Most importantly, she taught me loyalty, acceptance, forgiveness and unconditional love. And how to swim.

Back to Camp. When I first walk into Camp after an absence, I am struck by the smell of the aging pine and the way the light refracts through those single-paned windows. It usually overwhelms me with emotion and this has been the case ever since I can remember. That smell. That light. I'm home. I suddenly remember my childhood, my teenage years, young adulthood, and just last summer. Everyone is in that tiny, dusty camp. Champ is there and the two of us are playing cribbage during the day when everyone else has gone to Attitash for the Alpine Slide. Gram is sitting in her housecoat in the early morning, sipping her third cup of coffee and watching the Today Show while I stumble out of the side room in my pajamas. Aunts, uncles and their friends are laughing, smoking dope and watching Saturday Night Live and I spy them through the Raggedy Ann and Andy curtain that serves as my bedroom door. Grammie and Raetha have accidently locked themselves out during a mid-week, late night skinny dip and are calling me out of sleep to let them back in. They're giggling. I'm heading outside to sunbathe in the front yard (or is it the BACK yard) with Rae, who is grown-up (a teenager!) and beautiful and makes it so that boys come around. Neil and I are spending a February weekend on a mattress on the living room floor and I'm reading Jane Austin. I'm nursing my new baby girl on that crazy fold out couch that Poppa Dick bought while aunts, uncle and cousins sleep in the next rooms. I'm introducing everyone to my 5 week old foster child at the beginning of an intense parenting journey...

Everything else happens outside. In the lake, in the yard, at the picnic tables, in the hammock and in the road. And now all my friends, and all of YOUR friends want to come to Camp and to Old Home Weekend. Because Gram makes everyone feel special and at home and loved and part of a family. Unconditionally. Camp helps her to do this. Gram and Camp and Family are all the same here; they all stand for each other, reference one another in their existence. Our holy trinity. On Old Home Weekend I am so proud to show off my extended family to my friends and my friends to my family. Camp and Gram let me bring these people all together. I'm no only child! And Look! at how charming and strange and brilliant and f-ed up and neurotic we all are. Look at the ways we've screamed at and mistreated one another, but continue to come together in love. Look at the way we take care of our children and each other. Look at how we always come back to Camp, no matter what. It's love. It's why I know love so well. If Gram hadn't given us all Camp and herself, it wouldn't be this way. Love would be something else and it wouldn't be nearly as rich or safe or encompassing. I can't even imagine who I'd be.

Fun With Rosie

2009-05-02T13:25:00.003-04:00

Harper's laugh is the best part.

This Is It

2009-04-29T08:53:00.003-04:00

It is Spring here in the Northeast Kingdom and I have decided, beyond a doubt, that this is my favorite time of the year. I guess everyone knows why this is such an amazing, hopeful season; the quality of the early morning and late afternoon light, the freshness of the air, the fecund smell of the earth as it thaws and the way she's just bursting on the edge of something; pushing with all her might to turn everything green. Everything comes to life and it makes ME feel so alive. I'm full of energy, in love with everyone and everything around me and in love with my self. Somehow, everyone's intentions seem good, music sounds even better, food tastes even more delicious, and when I'm running and Stevie Wonder's "As" comes on my ipod I feel something akin to religious rapture. Even my children's heads have the most amazing scent; a mix of fresh air, clean sweat and the pure essence of Harper and Patrick.

Neil's Response

2009-04-26T13:23:00.003-04:00

For a couple of weeks Zoe had been saying she had a present for me and Harper (who was in on it) had been tee-heeing about it. If I had to have guessed what the present was I don't think I would have ever imagined that Ken would have flown 3000 miles to surprise me for my birthday. The sheer logistics of making this work would have stressed me out or having to have flown would have done me even worse. That being the case I was incredibly appreciative of these two and what they did for me.I'm lucky to have two best friends like this. I always say I'm happy and at peace in my life and it's because of those I'm close to that it is so. Thanks for the present.

Neil Turns 40 And Gets a Surprise

2009-04-19T11:16:00.009-04:00

For Neil's 40th birthday I surprised him by bringing his best friend, Ken, to spend a long weekend with us in Montreal. Ken lives in Seattle and they hadn't seen each other in 4-5 years. Neil was very surprised and pleased. The two friends went for lots of walks together having "man time" and I got to go out on a couple dates with two handsome fellas while Dad babysat. It was a great weekend. Now it's time to clean up and go home.

Here are a sampling of pics.

This is Ken on the sidewalk in front of the condo right before we went in and surprised Neil. The kids went to the airport with me and I was a nervous wreck. When we met Ken coming out of customs I told him I was nervous and that Neil didn't actually like surprises. He said, "But it's me" with so much confidence that I immediately relaxed and knew right then the surprise would be a success.

Here is Neil spotting his present as the present walked through the door. He was giggling and saying things like "what the fuck?" and "where did you come from?" for several minutes.Eventually, Neil got up and hugged his friend.
That first night (Thursday), the three of us went to a brew pub a short walk away. It was fun watching the guys smile so much.

Here's a freezer pick from our last night together, Neil's actual 40th. We had dinner at the Spanish Social Club and pie for dessert back at the apartment.

So keeping a secret from my husband for a couple months worked out in the end. I'm very proud that I thought of such a great birthday present for Neil. It was very special for him to spend his birthday with Ken and a delight to see the two of them so happy.

Clearvu Caledonia Serenade (Sara)

2009-04-02T16:32:00.004-04:00

April 5, 1997-April 2, 2009

Are We There Yet...Are We ALMOST There?

2009-03-26T20:52:00.002-04:00

G-damn Effing Bullshit

2009-03-23T18:41:00.003-04:00

This stupid plantar fasciitis has me seriously bummed out. I should not have run yesterday. I need to take time off from running. That is the horrid truth. If I continue running on this right foot not only will it never get better and probably get worse, but running with a limp will probably fuck up other parts of my body, like hips and knees. I'm facing this hard truth. And it hurts. I'm addicted to running. It's my peace, solace and joy. It makes me high and happy, especially at this time of year when the weather is changing and there is mud and just being outside makes my son say, "I feel so alive!" as he did on a walk with our friend Nichole on Saturday.

But here's the thing that really ticked me off: Today I made an appointment with the podiatrist who successfully treated my plantar warts a few years ago. He had a cancellation and can see me Wednesday morning, which is great. Sure, he'll probably tell me to stop running for a while, which is why I've been avoiding him, but maybe he can make some other suggestions to speed the recovery. But in order for my insurance to cover this visit, I need a referral from my primary care provider. So I called them, but since they haven't seen me in years, they want to see me before they will refer me. They are in Island Pond, 45 minutes from St. Johnsbury where I work and where my podiatrist practices. The reason they haven't seen me in years is because, A: I go to Planned Parenthood for my pap smears and annual pelvic exams because I believe in the work of Planned Parenthood and I like the practitioners there, and B: I'm generally very healthy so why would I need to visit my primary care provider? So I have to drive up to Island Pond tomorrow morning so the kindly P.A., Jim, can poke my heel and arch and I can say, "ouch" and he can refer me to the podiatrist. Okay, I know that in the scheme of things this extra step isn't that big a deal or inconvenience. But it's stupid. I have a classic case of PF and I don't need Jim to diagnose it. What a waste of resources! But really I think my inability to cope properly with the minor irritation of the health care system has more to do with the fact that thinking about not running for weeks or more on end makes me feel crazy and depressed. How will I cope with every day life without my morning and long runs?

I might just have to take up cycling.

Family, Jungle Hippies, Papayas

2009-03-18T17:19:00.008-04:00

I'm just back from my trip to Hawaii. I'm pretty sure I ran around the rim of a volcanic crater early this morning in Volcanoes National Park, but then Harper reminds me that must have been yesterday morning. No matter, I haven't slept in a bed since, so it feels like it was earlier today.

It was a good and varied trip. I got to spend some QT with my godson, Luca, and his parents, who let me call him my godson, even though I'm not sure any of us know what that really means. Luca is an amazing, cheerful, easy-going little guy, made all the more precious by the fact that he had a rough start in life. One of my favorite things he does is looks deeply into your eyes for a long time with this wise, loving gaze. It makes my eyes well up with tears. I love him.

His daddy, Andi, made us delicious dinners each night and fabulous double espressos each morning and his mamma, Nicole, took me on a circle island tour of Oahu and a 48-hour adventure to The Big Island. I won't try to recount all we did, but some highlights for me included sitting at Waimea Bay on the North Shore of Oahu, watching the surfers:
(and the lifegaurds hollering in the idiots who had no business being out in that surf; "swim IN Buddy, straight IN"):
eating a "shrimp plate" from Macky's Shrimp Truck:

hiking down into and back out of a volcanic crater, soaking in a natural, salt-water hot pond and taking a trail run (just this morning!) on a portion of the Crater Rim Trail.

I enjoyed the Puna region of The Big Island, known for it's farms and, um, sweet green bud, if you know what I mean. I found the Jungle Hippies to be quite dear and loved their little town of Pahoa, which looks like something out of a Clint Eastwood movie (except with Jungle Hippies!) and has an incredible northern Italian restaurant (BYOB), and a pretty rowdy bar across the street.

On our last night together, Nicole and I made a dinner of fresh Ahi on the grill, pan roasted green beans, and, most importantly, fresh papaya. As I was cooking the fish I asked Nic to prepare the papaya as a side dish. I have never particularly liked papaya, but something told me it would be good with the Ahi. And Nicole squeezed lime onto it! It was the most perfect combination of flavors!

Had I only discovered sooner the joy of papaya a la lime served with a savory dish! As we left Hilo this morning (or was that yesterday?) I saw vendors selling the lovely green/yellow, orange-fleshed papayas, 5 for one dollar! Alas, the Dept. of Ag. would not let me bring any home (I knew better than to try).

As I drifted in and out of sleep on my long flight from Honolulu to Chicago, I kept thinking about the papaya and how my old friend taught me something new about how to eat them. I remembered that incredibly simple, relaxed and delectable dinner at our lazy lahua in the jungle. And I thought about how happy I was to have visited my friends in Hawaii and to be going home to my family in Vermont. And 30,000 feet up, everything already seemed so long ago; Hawaii, so far away, and the space between, truly vast.

I captioned this one: What Happens In Honolulu...

Work...or, Because I Can

2009-03-01T14:27:00.007-05:00

I've had this blog for a while now and I've written very little about my work. It's hard to talk about my work in the abstract and I work in a small community so need to be careful what I say. I also find it very difficult to talk about my work with people who don't also work in my field. I find that violence against women is an often misunderstood topic and it's challenging to educate people about the myths, realities and sociopolitical underpinnings.

Recently both my mom and my boss have expressed concern for me in regards to my work. My boss mentioned being worried about me and my mom asked me if I could keep doing this. I've been actively involved with the Battered Women's Movement since 1994. That's a pretty long time, I guess, and lately, I have been wondering if maybe it is time for a change. I've been feeling, from time to time over the last month or so, burnt out, overwhelmed and very sad. And I think I'd make a pretty good professional baker or lunch lady.

One thing that may be contributing to my career malaise is the small, second job I began last August. I co-facilitate a weekly group for men who batter. It's really hard, mostly because it feels futile and hopeless. Maybe one out of ten men in a group like that will actually change and stop being abusive. Maybe. But I'm also pretty certain that more than one out of ten will use what they learn in the group to increase their control of their partners and twist the content of the curriculum to manipulate their family. I've already had the experience (more than once) of listening to a guy very competently identify his abusive tactics and talk about how he's going to change and then go assault or otherwise intimidate and control his partner. Working with the group has opened my eyes and I'd like to close them again. I believe that more intensive programs have the potential to be more effective and I also don't think I'm the best person for a job like this. I've been hounding a colleague and former co-worker of mine who has much more experience running groups like this to take over for me and I'm hopeful that she will soon. It's not just that I want out (I do) but I also know Cyndy will be a much better co-facilitator. In the meantime, she's been a godsend of support for me.

I mentioned to someone recently, only half-joking, that I didn't think I could change jobs because I don't know how to do anything else. And the truth is really close to that: I do this work because I know how. I do this work because I can. And it's not just that I have the education, knowledge and experience to work with survivors and educate my community. It is true that I know how to help a woman and her kids escape. I know how to listen with compassion and without judgment. I know a lot of practical stuff, like how to get a protection order, what the steps are in a rape exam and where to go if you need financial help because you've been "involuntarily displaced." I know the rules and I know how to challenge community members and service providers when they're not following them. And I know how to break the rules when THAT is the right and just thing to do. But in addition to all of that, I have the resources, the support and the personal capacity to keep fighting this fight. The people who live in my house love, support and care for me, as do my parents, extended family and in-laws. I have friends, here in Vermont and in other places who make me happy, fascinate me and make me proud. I have a circle of co-workers and comrades who totally, totally get it when I'm angry and sad and who I can call on to do just about anything. And I have community members who support our work in all kinds of ways, from the older man who donates 10 bucks every year to the Sheriff who sends 2 deputies out after-hours at my request and his expense to give a woman the opportunity to run if she chooses. And I can run and cook and I have really great music and beautiful mountains and woods all around me. And red wine. So while my cell phone was going crazy at 8:00 on Friday night with work-related brainstorming and planning, this week I have a massage scheduled and next week I'm going to visit one of my oldest friends and her family in Hawaii. It's all about the balance and keeping the cup from getting too empty. My cup is always pretty full. Sometimes it even runs over. And I believe that "work is love made visible."

So I'll keep doing this work because I can; I absolutely can! So I have to and I will. And I want to. It is truly an honor and a privilege. It's really hard sometimes. Sometimes it breaks my heart and I cry and yell. But I have so much to fill me back up. And it doesn't take much to make me happy. And make me smile with glee. Like this, for example:

The Emotions - Best of my love - The Emotions

Date Night

2009-02-25T07:19:00.006-05:00

Yesterday my mom and Wayne took the kids home to Boston with them for school vacation week. Harper and Patrick will be spoiled, entertained and loved to bits and we will go down on Saturday after a full week of work. With the kids gone, I thought it would be nice to go on a date to our favorite local restaurant. As an aside, I hesitate to promote this resto because it is owned by a big corporation based in Florida and they seem to want to develop our mountain which can't help but change the rural nature of our perfect little town. However with the state of the economy, their plans have been scaled back and slowed down. In any case, the restaurant has outstanding food, a friendly, local staff and is five minutes from our house, so we patronize it in spite of our concerns. But they are closed on Tuesday nights! So rather than go to one of the other restaurants, which are fine for groups or a family dinner out, but nothing great, I decided to cook a special meal at home. I made Steak au Poivre, pan roasted asparagus, sauteed mushrooms with sherry and blue cheese mashed potatoes. I had this really amazing French blue cheese that I bought in Montreal and couldn't resist including it in some way. It was a fabulous meal, if I do say so myself. The steak came out perfect; everything did! And I bought an extra nice bottle of cabernet. Neil got the house nice and warm with a raging fire in the woodstove, lit some candles and put some jazz on the hifi and date night was saved!

(Neil thinks I'm dorky, but I like taking pictures of food. I like reading other blogs that have pictures of food and so I like to include my own pictures of food on occasion. I actually am kind of dorky.)

I Wanna Run!

2009-02-19T20:10:00.002-05:00

I just want to run. And it's hard because I have this job and these kids and other stuff I'm supposed to do. But the days are getting longer which means there is more light in the morning and that is the time I love best. Last year I ran 2 marathons in the span of five months. This was a bad idea. Especially since I trained really hard for the second one. Too hard. I totally burnt myself out. And that last marathon sucked. I don't have another full marathon in me right now and I'm not sure I ever will. I hope so, but I'm not sure. So my friend Michelle and I are going to run a 2-person relay in the Vermont City Marathon this May. That venue was my very best marathon ever when I ran it last year, both in terms of time and pure pleasure. It's a beautiful course and the crowd support is legendary.

I think training for a Half will be a nice compromise between the "resting" (i.e. sluggishness) of the past few months and a full-tilt boogie to 26.2. I think I could run 13 miles right now if I wanted to, but to do well, I'll need to train. I'll start training in earnest in a couple weeks, but I've recently started to gradually increase my mileage. And it has reminded me how much I love to run; how much I NEED to run. I ran 8 miles on Monday, which is about the longest I've gone since last September's marathon. It made me happy. I'm happiest, in general, in life, when I'm running regularly and at least slightly longer distances than 4 or 5 miles. There is something about being out running for more than an hour that is especially healing to my mind, body and soul. I can't really explain it, but something clicks for me with the longer distance. Maybe I just require that much time out on the roads or trails to really detach and let go of the things that are hard in life. I need it and I'm so grateful that I can do it.

Manny the Music Man

2009-02-08T17:21:00.007-05:00

Pat just started taking guitar lessons last Fall. Here he is practicing for us. It's so very sweet.

Pat's been playing the piano for about 3 years. Here he is practicing his latest piece.

Here you can see that Pat gets his musical inclinations from his father.

A Thousand Words

2009-02-07T13:37:00.005-05:00

Skiing

2009-02-07T10:06:00.009-05:00

This is Patrick skiing last weekend. It was only his 3rd time ever downhill skiing. He did great!

And a little clip of Harper, who doesn't really ski with me anymore because she's too good and too grown.

CM: Jersey Girl, Navy Veteran, My Chum

2009-02-04T18:35:00.009-05:00

Last night my dear old friend and comrade, Christine called me. We haven't talked for a little while and she had a question for me. She also chastised me for not blogging. She apparently loves this blog. She's my lurker! Since I haven't had much to say lately (or at least not much to say here) I figured I could say a few words about Christine; a good use of words, time and space, really.

Christine and I started working together almost 10 years ago. We literally job shared for a couple years and then continued to work together for several more. For a while, I was even her Boss! We don't work together anymore and we live just far enough apart (about 45 minutes) that we don't see each other as often as we'd like. We kind of "grew up" together in our part of the battered women's movement. We learned and raged together, argued and cried together. I love CM dearly. And she has the nicest kids and one of the sweetest husbands you'd ever want to meet. I miss Katie and Pat (yep, she has a Patrick, too)! While CM and I get together every few months, I rarely get to see the kids, who are kind, thoughtful, interesting people.

Now I'll post this and see how long it takes for CM to call and scold me for posting her picture on the internet! Hey, no last names and this picture is 2.5 years old--you don't even look like this anymore, what with your "incredible shrinking woman" gig. But yer still cute!

9 Days

2009-01-25T19:44:00.009-05:00

Holy Moly that was some trip. I want to write all about it, but I truly don't know where to begin. The inauguration, visiting friends who I wish I could see more of (so bittersweet!) and, finally, the culmination of an exhausting, joyous 9 days with last night's incredible party at The Hong Kong. It's been an emotional week, filled mainly with mind-blowing highs, over-the-top laughter and hard-core celebration. I'm actually so exhausted that my eyes are blurring. And I feel lucky, rich, full and happy.

Mom, thanks for all your support this week! From being so excited about getting my phone calls from the inaugural to treating the kids to a great 48-hours while Neil and I were in the city to packing snacks for our ride home. You're wonderful!

The Supah Six

I LOVED these boys when we were kids. They were my boyfriends. Well, not at the same time, or at least mostly not at the same time. They've turned out to be wonderfully sweet, good men. I have great taste. Rich is on my left and Toby on my right.

Wicked Awesome Snow!

2009-01-11T18:17:00.000-05:00

Today was nearly perfect. We awoke to about 6 inches of new snow and it was still coming down. We spent the morning cross country skiing. Here are the kids headed out on the trails:
This is me:
Patrick taking a rest:

My handsome husband:

She She and me:
Rosie was happiest of all:
This is a picture of Patrick climbing a very steep hill on his skis after about an hour and a half of steady skiing. What? You can't see Pat in his cute little red, Eval Knieval, ski pants? Oh, that's because my kid is a goddamn machine and booked it up the hill before I could take my camera out of my pocket! Cross country skiing is his calling:
After our morning of skiing, we left Neil behind to watch football and the kids and I went to a friend's house in a beautiful spot in Sutton for an informal sledding party. Boy, did we tucker ourselves out! But it's January (not March) so we still love winter.

Oh, and I made a lamb tagine for dinner, which was a pretty good ending:

Manny on a Sunday Morning

2009-01-11T09:24:00.001-05:00

New Year's Resolution; the Art of Small Talk

2009-01-06T19:57:00.007-05:00

I'm really excited about my resolution. It all started on New Year's Eve day. Jen and I went to the Hardware Store and Agway to buy some sleds. We wanted to do some serious sledding with the kids and all we had here was one crappy old sled. I don't know what happened to our red plastic sleds. Anyway, we're in these stores picking out sleds and Jen is chatting with everyone, just being funny, charming Jen, not trying at all. There she is, in my community, wearing her gaitors, making people laugh and smile while I keep my head down, get out my wallet to pay for the sleds and make sure I don't drop a glove. Fast forward a few days and Deb and I are doing errands together in East Burke and Lyndonville. We go to the post office so I can mail Benjie his left-behind watch and she can buy stamps, and Deb's chatting with the post master lady. The post mistress is a really nice woman and she always remembers my box number when I have a package. I really like her; she's much nicer than that mean old lady who must have retired or been transferred. But I just never think to chat with her about the various types of stamps or anything else. The next day, after the incident at the post office, I shared a story with my family about an encounter with a friend/acquaintance of mine: I ran into this guy at the post office one day about a year ago and he said something complimentary about my hair. I thanked him (and I think I even smiled), collected my mail and went on my way. He later told someone that I was unfriendly to him; wondered what my problem was. I was surprised at his interpretation.

It may come as a surprise to some of you, but I can be pretty shy and introverted. When I'm out in the world doing errands, whether they be personal or work related, I'm all business. But when I think about Jen and Deb, and even reflect on times out in the world with my mom, who is also shy, but very chatty, I admire and envy their social skills. I want to be friendly! I WILL be friendly! It makes the world a nicer place.

So I've been working on a resolution to be more friendly and chatty. So far it's going great. Turns out, it's not so hard! Sure, during these first few days of my efforts, I have yet to achieve the easeful charm of Jen or Deb. But I feel like with practice I just might some day. In any case, it's a goal, something to aspire to and work towards. And it's probably easier than giving up cookies or red wine.

This picture has nothing to with anything except for the fact that Nina is awesome. And five years old!

A Merry Din

2008-12-26T15:38:00.005-05:00

I love Christmas. I'm not much of shopper and I'm wary of over consumption, but I love the day and the night before too. Hosting my family for the event for the first time was awesome. I love the ebb and flow of the day.

I love waking up to find cousins splattered throughout the house. Shani slept on the hard wooden floor in the living room, one hand resting on his open laptop and Kayla actually slept in the living room chair. Two sleeping mats leaned up against the wall. Five people slept in the addition alone, which is not a very big space, but everyone said they were comfortable. Manny got up at about 4:00am, snuck most of his presents from under the tree and opened them in his room. He tried to tell us that Santa had left these toys by or under his bed. But we know this is a lie. He spent much of the day in his room with his new legos.

Then there's rising morning excitement and consumption of many pots of coffee and egg treats. Last year someone (Henekis?) started calling everything a treat, so our breakfast strata is now "egg treats" and the spiced nuts my mom makes are "nut treats". Clam dip is "clam treats", etc.

One of my favorite parts of the day was the Gram Jam game. Grammie Robin makes the world's best jam and gives it to us all at Christmas (though she sneaks Neil some at other times throughout the year because he loves it so much). This year she made a game out of everyone choosing their jam. I think she just liked the opportunity to boss us all around. And I liked her bossing us. This video clip is a nice example of the chaos, silliness and fun of my family on Christmas Day:

Then there is the late afternoon. Presents have been opened, turkey dinner consumed and people start to spread out around the house. Jordyn's lying on the floor on her belly, texting and Joe and Terry are playing a guessing game with pictures. Kali is in the easy chair where Kay slept the night before reading Patrick's library book (Encyclopedia Horrifica) and Alan is studying 35 ways to play poker. In the other room, Neil does the dishes and shouts to someone "gum breath" while someone else is singing. Henekis is laughing and Dahe is heartily and happily cursing. The light is getting low and I am reveling in this din; the hum of love.

Later on there is more coffee and out comes the cake! I am very proud of this cake:

In the early evening we again gather round and Henekis reads to us from Jack Handy's Deep Thoughts. This one is our favorite and made Kali laugh so hard he cried:
I remember that one fateful day when Coach took me aside. I knew what was coming. 'You don't have to tell me,' I said. 'I'm off the team, aren't I?' 'Well,' said Coach 'you never were really ON the team. You made that uniform you're wearing out of rags and towels, and your helmet is a toy space helmet. You show up at practice and then either steal the ball and make us chase you to get it back, or you try to tackle people at inappropriate times.' It was all true what he was saying. And yet, I thought something is brewing inside the head of this Coach. He sees something in me, some kind of raw talent that he can mold. But that's when I felt the handcuffs go on.
Anyway, for me it was definitely one of the best Christmases ever. Kali was supposed to ruin it and I was a little disappointed that didn't happen. But my mom's cooking made my life pretty easy (it's so fun cooking in my kitchen with my mom!) and I think everyone had a wonderful time. Maybe they'll let me host again next year. I love you all so much!
Netdahe as Santa
Momma and me
Jen, Brook and Alan

Quelle Bonne Chance, N'est-ce Pas?

2008-12-21T13:34:00.008-05:00

Thanks to Dad and the Fays for hosting the kids so we could have a weekend away to celebrate our 14th anniversary. We left Montreal before 7:00AM (it was still dark as night!) to get home before this snow. Good thing, too. We made it just in time.

We stuffed ourselves with couscous, lamb, chicken and merquez at Au Tarot (and oh, the mint tea at the end is so perfect!) and rich, deeply flavored French at our very favorite bistro, Le P'tit Plateau. We went to a special exhibit at the Contemporary Art Museum and shopped for cheese at La Vieille Europe, but because it was so cold out, we mostly just curled up by the fire. And that was nicer than anything else I could imagine.

P.S. While I was looking to see if P'tit Plateau had a website, I found this cool blog.

Too Much is Always Enough, or; Food is Love

2008-12-18T21:07:00.005-05:00

The Stoddards are really pretty over-the-top in a lot of ways. We're all just a little too loud and obnoxious and some of us can be awfully self-righteous. We're passionate about our politics, beliefs and ideals. We're verbose. And there is no doubt that we are all prone to excess, particularly when it comes to food. Food is love, right? And we love big. So we eat a lot.
Weeks prior to any major family gathering, we start communicating about food. Since the advent of e-mail, we do this with a million reply-alls and much tangential discussion, such as whether or not anyone ever /actually/ drove themselves crazy with excessive verb usage (or with extensive or excessive usage of verbs). And we often end up with way too much food. Except for that one old home weekend about 20 years ago when Wayne missed dinner and there was no food left. Remember that travesty? Wayne does.

This year, I am hosting Christmas at my house for the very first time. We generally alternate Christmas between Vermont (Auntie Sally's house) and Maine/New Hampshire (Auntie Rae's house). This year Sally didn't feel her house would be comfortable for everyone, what with all the fish tanks, so I jumped at the opportunity to officially become a grown-up and have Christmas at my house. This way I don't have to travel. We're really excited about moving furniture around to accommodate lots of people around the tree and I'm looking forward to a sleep-over with many of my cousins and aunties (Sally, you should sleep over, too, even if your own home is 5 miles away).

So back to the food. This holiday's food planning started like this (I started it):

Christmas Eve:

Lentil soup (my dad)

Corn Chowder--vegetarian (Henekis)

Galupshugas (Gram)

Homemade Bread (Zoe)

Green salad (Zoe)

Christmas Morning:

Strata (Cindy Mom and Zoe

Various fruits (Zoe)

Christmas Dinner:

20 lb organic turkey from Penny!!!(Zoe)

Ham or pork roast from the pig my dad bought(Zoe)

Stuffing and Gravy (Cindy Mom)

Potatoes (Zoe)

Squash (David Dad)

Brussel Sprouts (Zoe)

Amazing Party Cake (not from the auction) (Zoe)

Other hopes and dreams:

(Cindy Mom):Crabcakes, Chinese dumplings (I have loads of ground pork for these and will help make them ahead)

So my mom agreed to the crabcakes and dumplings and added her homemade danish. Then Henekis requested clam dip. Then Raetha offered roots veggie stew and more fruit and offered to plan a hike, which obviously we'll all be way too full to participate in. So when you consider the above list, we're probably all set for 24-hours and 15-20 people, right? But then yesterday Sally weighs in with the following:

I'm bringing Thai -- shrimp, cauliflower, lo mien noodles and carrots in a peanut sauce (Shani I'll leave out the shrimp in some). Also, I am bringing at least 4, but probably 6 quiche, all vegetarian. Jen, Kali and I are bringing 2 lime key pies that are pretty basic but we like them (Jen smiled when she ate some and I love her smile; they do have some Cool Whip I am a bit ashamed to write...). One chocolate éclair pie (these are all graham crust size not Zoë's and Rae's usual big pie shells). A crock pot of my Ntozake Shange rice/broccoli/cayenne peeper/nutmeg etc dish. I'll add some of the wedding type mandarins to the fruit. And, something else I don't know about yet. I have 6 cans of crabmeat and -- on my wish list, I am asking for Zoe to make me the ugliest possible cake. You can even make it poorly right now and freeze it, maybe that will make it a little soggy when thawed. Love, love, love etc.

I particularly love "And, something else I don't know about yet." Because clearly we will need something else. There might not be enough. She's too cute!

Lest you think I have had any direct influence on this crazy family food fetish (as opposed to just being a product of same) here's my dad at the end of Christmas Day in 1982 (I was only 11) reading a list of food and drink he (and others) had consumed that day. It's a pretty great, classic clip. And I particularly love the supportive cheering at the end.:

This year, I've had some moments of worry that there really will be too much food and that will mean waste; a deadly sin, especially for us frugal New Englanders. But since I have freezer space and anticipate about 15 house guests for New Year's Eve, I'm breathing through my panic that we will literally be overun by our amazing culinary creations and looking forward to embracing the joy that is feeding the people you love. Anyway, I could no more ask any of the cooks in my family to NOT bring food than I could ask them to stop loving each other, or me. I imagine stomping my foot and the ridiculous futility of either scenario: "Stop it! Just stop it! Stop it right now!" And why would I want to convince anyone of such silliness?

Love Song

2008-12-12T18:28:00.015-05:00

Raetha made me a cd last weekend which included this song by Sonya K. It's just a perfect love song from Harper to Patrick. Or Henekis to Kali and Shani.