Boston-Part 2

Chelsea, Sawyer and I took the JetBlue redeye from Long Beach to Boston on May 19th. This was Sawyer's first airplane ride. He also seems to be the only one who got any sleep. We arrived at 2:00am PST or 5:00am EST and took a taxi to One Western Ave., Boston, known among locals as the ugliest building in Boston--known to us as the student apartment Brittany, Jordan, and kiddos lived in while at HBS. I have grown very fond of their 7th floor digs, and will miss all my good times there. The Archies were still in Potomac having been at Jordan's sister's wedding and didn't arrive until later in the afternoon at which time I drove back to the airport to pick them up. The following are some of the things we did those beginning few days before Brittany and Jordan alohaed it out of there.

First we all had to play with Baby Sawyer.

Chelsea, Sawyer and I walked to the Harvard Bookstore and posed above the Charles River.

Later we went to Walden Pond, got lost looking for Thoreau's house (because it's not there) and found our way back to the crummy little beach that was loaded with strange-accented speaking people. This was one of our only "hot" days. Which is why the crummy little beach was so cram packed with "s-as" people. Chelsea was convinced as we wandered through the woods that men from Deliverance were lurking behind each tree. Annie and I perservered singing "The Bear Went Over the Mountain", and Chelsea chimed in on the chorus, "Enough already I tell you, enough already I tell you, Enough..." (you get the point). I'd been wanting to go to Walden Pond for so many years, to wander through the mighty forest that inspired Thoreau and countless generations, that I was a little disappointed by some of the commonness of it. However, Brittany said that when she was there in the falltime it was gorgeous and quiet and uncomplicated. So perhaps I will have to go back.

In spite of all they had to do before taking off 2 1/2 days later, Jordan managed to surprise Brittany with a little late night pre-birthday party and ice cream cake from BR's so we celebrated along with some of their friends. It was fairly casual.

I drove Jord and Britt back to the airport on Sat and then the rain started coming and it rained and rained. We even had thunder and lightning. (No big deal for some of you, but I don't see much of that since I left Houston.)

But not to be outdone by Mr. Badsport Weather, Chelsea and I started planning some great day trips, threw the kiddos in the car, and off we went...exploring again...with bottles and diapers and car seats and maps and GPS's and cell phones and Cheez-Its and Goldfish and sippy cups and Diet Cokes and Aleve. Oh yes, coloring books and crayons and balls and dolls and blankies and blankies and blankies. And more Diet Cokes and Aleve.

More to follow. I leave for Utah tomorrow but hope to continue this exciting saga while on the road.

Yours truly, Jack Kerouac

The Boston Trip

This is what Brittany and Jordan did when they went to Hawaii :



This is what I did:

Reggie...11/94-06/08/09

Eli called from Salt Lake and said, "Mom, Dad got me a new puppy and I'm bringing him home. He's part border collie/Australian cattle dog/blue heeler. I know you don't want a dog in the house so I'll keep him in his kennel when he's inside". That was almost 15 years ago. And he slept in the kennel for oh, maybe 5 days. From that point forward he was one of the family, sleeping anywhere he darn where chose.

Reginald Storey, "Reggie" became the best friend any boy or girl could ever have. He brought me such joy and companionship. He listened to my secrets and never passed them on. He greeted all my visitors but kept the bad guys out. He encouraged me to go on walks and hike in the Sierras but loved to take naps and watch TV as much or more than I. Although he was Eli's dog I got to have him alot of the time while he was travelling the world or working in far off places. Family reunions and large family dinners will not be the same without his hanging around our feet and eating the leftovers.

Last week Eli called to tell me that he didn't think Reggie would make it much longer. He had Old Dog Vestibular Syndrome and couldn't stand up, was very sick, and literally on his last leg. A few days passed and it became clear Reg would have to be put down. How sad we were when we heard it was finally over. Eli will pick up his ashes in 2 weeks. Hopefully I'll be able to join him in the Sierras as we sprinkle the ashes in the wind. And hopefully Reggie will be one of those who greet us with other family members and friends as we pass through the veil and enter act three of our lives.

Reggie, I hope you're running and jumping and chasing squirrels. You will be missed.

If You're Fond of Sand Dunes and Salty Air

I'm back from New England and have lots to talk about but company's coming tomorrow so things will have to be put on the back burner again. However, I had to post these pictures of Jake and Annie's Crocs and their treasures. Jakey was playing with the McDonald's kids meal toys while we were at Cape Cod and Annie was collecting sea shells. She also wanted to make sure I got a picture of her Cheez-Its. Unfortunately, Annie buried her dinosaur and when it was time to leave she couldn't find it again. In desperation she went from mound of sand to mound of sand digging away. Nope, nothing there. Perhaps that was her first experience in the vastness of the "sands of the sea".

Okay, one more picture.

There were some men from the Hyannis Port Conservation Department bagging clams. They had a few on the end of the truck that were separate from the rest. I told Annie she could take one home with her. Unfortunately, we didn't remember about it until several days had passed and Chelsea started commenting on the "strange" smell in the house. Ah yes, the clam had begun it's stealthy getaway. Stinky! Stinky! Poor little clam had to go down the apartment trash chute. Poor apartment trash chute collectors had to deal with it along with the MOUNDS of diapers that also went down the chute. Those guys are unsung heroes.

Hey There, Little Red Riding Hood, You Sure Are Looking Good

My dad reads my blog and emails his comments to me periodically so I decided to set up his account allowing him to post directly. I found his last comment to be hilarious (refer to the previous post, comment 4). Maybe that means I come by my plans to avenge legitimately. However, currently Herr Schwein is out of town. And although we should be rejoicing, Chelsea said to me earlier today, "Wouldn't it be a shame if we're both out of town at the same time?" She has a point. We leave for Boston tomorrow night and will be gone for 2-3 weeks. If he's made his annual trip to the Fatherland at the same time we will be sorely disappointed as that means we won't be here to enjoy the peace and quiet. This is crazy thinking, I'm sure, but it makes sense to us.

In truth, I've been working on becoming more of a peacekeeper of late, trying to avoid contention if possible and not poking around in ant hills if unnecessary. So included in my DNA let me now recount how the last name of Wolf or Wolff or Wolfe became Woolf. (Which, no matter how many times I spell it as "W-O-O-L-F...two O's, one L, one F, no E," people still spell it either Wolf, Wolff, Wolfe, or Fox. So.....

Back in the 1700's during the Revolutionary War period my esteemed ancestor, Anthon Wolf, (Wolff, Wolfe) was, at the age of 17 years old, forcefully abducted from his farmland by the Hessian Army and conscripted to fight in the war. He was not allowed to say goodby to his parents or even tell them where he was going. Being a resourceful and friendly young man with no desire to fight a battle that wasn't his, he made friends with the Dutch families on board the ship, and upon landing in New York, added an "O" to his name to fit in and hide out with his newfound Dutch friends. A draft dodger? Yes, indeedy! And we're very proud of that fact.

By now you are saying, "Oooooooooooooo, so that it explains it!" What it explains I'm not exactly sure but I think it's a little bit of interesting information in the Woolf respository of trivia.

So It's Come Down to This

We are going to have to move. Our German neighbor, Herr Schwein, has won. His incessant loud rude behavior is causing us to react poorly. I no longer take responsibility for my attitude or actions. When a good night is one where you sit around plotting all the ways to destroy the man across the patio, then you know it's time to skiddaddle. Rotten eggs and incoming water balloons are too lenient. Slashing tires and keying the side of his car all seem within reason. His drunken parties with his foreign friends and St. Regis wait staff are never-ending. The loud guffaws, shrieking cackles and booming techno music cannot be drowned out by our TV, washer, dryer, dishwasher, or multiple area fans. I am on the other side of the apartment and with my bedroom door closed can still hear him through my bathroom vent. We've asked him to tone it down, complained to the office, called the cops, and have questioned the sanity of my giving my Walther PPKS to my brother, Bill. All those years I carried a concealed weapon in TX never knowing I might have reason to use it in sunny CA.

We are waiting for approval on a condo we've looked at. If that doesn't come through then we will find something else.

So far Chelsea has had two really good ideas:

1. to sit on our patio opposite his and repeat back to him, in a strong German accent, everything he says through a bullhorn. Bill has promised to mail us the bullhorn.

2. to drive by late at night after we've moved and still call the cops on him.

All of this seems like very reasonable mature behavior. I have not entertained or plotted such delightful revenge for many years. I'm going to the library tomorrow and look on the "Inspirational Reading" shelf for The Count of Monte Cristo. Au Revoir.

Happy Mothers Day

Chelsea, Sawyer and I have been sitting for our Mother's Day portrait. Fortunately, Reggie the Dog was able to join us. It was finally completed and I post it here:

I've been thinking about Mother's Day. I mailed my mom a box of See's Nuts & Chews on Wednesday and called Dad to remind him to check the mail lest it become a runny dripping package of melted chocolate in the heat. I'm heading off to Trader Joe's to pick up a bundle of daffodils for Sawyer to give to his mommy. This will be Chelsea's first Mother's Day--an interesting place to be as a single mother with a 5-month old baby. I enjoyed a movie with a friend last night. Afterwards she was telling me that she hated Mother's Day at church and wouldn't be showing up except that two of her adult children asked if they could go with her. I told her that seemed to be a common feeling. When prompted I remember very well a certain Mother's Day back in the 80's when my world sort of came crashing down. This was after the cold pancakes and fried eggs served to me in bed by my kids, after church, and before we were heading to my folks to celebrate the day with a big dinner that I'm sure my mom prepared.

When I was a child I loved making pink construction paper cards in grade school to present to my mom on the 2nd Sunday of May. I was proud of my artwork of flowers and faces and sure she would be, too. I thought it was magnanimous to tell mom to stay in bed while we seven children destroyed the kitchen. I never once thought about how Mom might be feeling...overwhelmed, exhausted, or worn-out. I always assumed she was thrilled with all the hand-made cards and cut roses from our house and the neighbors' and was touched by the congregation singing the obligatory "Love at Home" during Sunday School. Maybe that's why, before the consolidated schedule, she often stayed home Sunday mornings saying she had to get the roast in the oven. Maybe a great Mother's Day for her was hiding out with all of us gone, enjoying the peace and quiet, and reading the funnies and rest of the newspaper while lying on the sofa with the sun streaming through the front window. Maybe the great invention of self-timer ovens wasn't so great.

Fortuntately, sometime back, I'm not sure when, I discovered I liked Mother's Day again. I could enjoy the church service without guilt, remorse, anger, frustration, anxiety or tears. I didn't care if I got a wilted carnation, a piece of chocolate, a package of flower seeds. It didn't matter to me if I lived alone, went to church alone, and came home alone. I figured out that Mother's Day had nothing to do with ME as a Mother, but everything to do with me celebrating my mother, my grandmothers, my aunts, my sisters and nieces, my daughters, and my girlfriends as women and mothers, Mary as Christ's mother, Mother Eve, and my Heavenly Mother. These are all the best mothers I can think to celebrate. I love listening to the primary children sing their hearts out to their moms. I tune out when the talks begin and focus on the women I love and admire. I'm just so very grateful that I've been allowed to be a mother, that my daughters have been, too, and that my incredible mother is still with us and celebrating her 85th birthday on May 28th.

If you're celebrating Mother's Day tomorrow I hope it's filled with joy for you and those you love. When we used to ask Mom what she wanted for Mother's Day and she'd say, "Just be happy" I now know what she meant. With all the challenges life throws our way I think I've become a happy mother anyway, which means "Happy Mothers" Day is about me, too, as I've joined the Happy Mothers club.