As Good As Any

This is Henekis.

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


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




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

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

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

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

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

song she grew up with, See Me Beautiful:

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

Clowns...or, The Kids Lose Their Minds

She She Downtown

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

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

LONG LIVE SHE-SHE DOWNTOWN!!!


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

Capitalism, Fascism, Suffering and Greed

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


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

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


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

Neil Learns his Lesson

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

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

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

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

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

Humor

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

And here are some pictures of my beautiful family.

What Really Matters

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




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

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

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