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.

"We used to GO here"

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

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


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































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

















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














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

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












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

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

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

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

"We used to GO here!"