You Paint What You Know...

Sometimes you're the source of all love, comfort and beauty.

Sometimes you're the hoary, green-haired monster with the purple sack dress and the lopsided snarl...

(I can't tell if those are purple ears or ribbons...)

"First I Keel-Hauls 'Em..."

Something tells me the Dread Pirate N has been operating in these waters again.  If you're a mermaid with any self-preservation instincts, you'd better not run a-foul of this buccaneer.

Very thorough job.  Note the rope binding her arms. (I suppose you can't make someone walk the plank if they don't have any legs.)

Oh the Complexities of Man!

True story.  I was eating lunch in a Washington-area restaurant yesterday (take that Al-Qaeda!) and I happened to sit at a table next to two women in their late twenties/early thirties.  I wasn't trying to eavesdrop - really, I wasn't - but one of the ladies had a very piercing New York voice and I don't think anyone in the restaurant could have avoided overhearing if they wanted to.  I really don't think the woman was staging her discussion for public consumption either.  I think she was just into talking and rather loudly at that.  And boy, could she talk.  The stream was endless and untiring; a verbal river flowed forth and the tide was high.  Her friend sat across from her contributing an occasional "uh huh" or "oh?"  Her back was to me, so I couldn't see if her face was contorted in agony, paralyzed with boredom, or radiant with rapped attention.  The occasional I'm-still-alive grunts were not much to go on.  Knowing the die was cast and my options were few, I put away my book and settled into my chicken Cæsar salad and held on for the ride.

The first fifteen minutes were devoted to her love/hate relationships with the various places she'd lived.  She used this time to build momentum and set her rhythm.  "I loved it in [mumble, mumble].  The people there are real, you know?  I mean, when they ask you how you're doing, they really  want to know how you're doing, you know.  Not like [mumble, mumble].  There everyone is so self-focused - its disgusting."  Evidently there was no sense of community in where ever the ill-favored place was.  People treated her as if she had no input, as if she were not important.  But in happy-mumble-mumble-land she was "validated" and "affirmed."  You know?  (There was nothing obvious from the "uh-huh" lady to reveal her thoughts on this tale of two cities, or to indicate one way or the other whether she did indeed know.)

After warming the engines and having settled into a comfortable cruising altitude, she steered a course, as I knew she would, to the endlessly interesting and rich topic of men and all their unfathomabilities.  I was not particularly surprised that she had just had a breakup with her most recent boyfriend.  "It's like he'd said he'd call, but he wouldn't.  I would get so mad.  And he would always go on trips and I began to wonder - where is he really?  You know?  I mean, where was he really going when he would go on those trips.  I mean, where was he really?"  She just couldn't understand men.  She never knew what they were thinking or what they really meant when they said something.  They were a puzzlement.  The other lady "mmm"-ed noncommittally.  This topic monopolized the remainder of their lunch and having not solved the eternal mysteries of man over their soy lattes, they were forced to gather their things and leave just as fascinated and unsatisfied as I imagine they were when they sat down.  As they were leaving I happened to look over at another table nearby where a couple in their fifties were eating their lunch.  The lady caught my eye, smiled, and rolled her eyes.

The restaurant was fairly busy and it wasn't long after the women were out the door when two men sat down at the same table.  They were also in their late twenties/early thirties.  They didn't bother to brush the crumbs off.  Their conversation started almost immediately.  It was an obviously friendly debate with much give and take and analysis.  The topic?  The pluses and minuses of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese versus Velveeta Cheese Shells.

Nature's Soft Nurse

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, you can almost imagine that Eden went well and that the doctrine of original sin is mistaken.

Pirate Apoplexy

The kids were invited to a birthday party for their friend S McCallum yesterday. It was a Veggie Tale pirate party with lots of cool games and activities, and lots of pirate booty for the wanna-be swashbucklers.  The mateys dug for pirate gold in the sandbox, walked the plank "fer treasure," and even had a chance to go fishing over the side of their boat in full view of an enormous whale.  For a bunch of landlubbers, it was a right salty adventure.

 

 

B, big brother and 1st mate.

S, the birthday boy buccaneer.

Chief scoff-law, Cptn. Evan "Red Beard" McCallum

Walkin' the plank!

L had another party for a school friend she had to go to, so about midway through she and Mommy deserted the ship leaving N and I to fend for ourselves in the pirates' lair. But N, being a rather salty old dog, held his own and avasted with the best of them (whatever that means).

On the way home N and I were discussing the party and I had another one of those glimpses into the difference between those sweet delicate, flowery creations called girls, and these not quite human creatures known as boys.

"Daddy, I don't need my sword anymore," he said, referring to his play sword I had brought home from a recent D.C. trip.  "I have my hook now."

He was wearing his pirate hat and proudly displayed his souvenir hook to me in the rear view mirror.

"Now I can use the hook to kill people and cut them open," he said, "and I can use my spyglass to watch their blood come out."

So much for Veggie Tale values...

A piratess dedicated, no doubt, to
peace, love, harmony and tranquility.

Random Silliness

I'll be the first to admit, I don't always understand my son. But he's dedicated, and quite convinced he's going places, so generally I just let him be and trust he'll know when he gets there...

This evening the kids managed to talk Mommy into letting them help with dinner. The project negotiations resulted in them landing a lucrative "fruit salad" contract which occupied them for quite a while this evening with no significant adult supervision. Their definition of fruit is, shall we say, non-standard, but again, who are we to impose our preconceived notions of fruit on others. The gourmet offering at the table consisted of the scrappings of a half-dead watermellon, the bruised and mangled carcass of one sorely victimized apple, and a pound or two of roughly hacked up baby carrots. The appearance of the "salad" suggested that lots of probably grubby fingers had been well over each and every piece. But, of course, it was the most sublime culinary experience Stacy and I have ever endured, or so we gushed.

In the Ear of the Behearer

I came out into the kitchen this morning to find L playing with a little talking toy.  It was one of those little figurines of the Star Trek character "Scotty" that she'd evidently gotten in a Happy Meal^® or something.  It had a little button on the back and when you pushed it he screamed his famous Star Trek line in full brogue:  "I've given her all she's got, captain!"

"Daddy," L approached me, "I don't understand this.  I think he's talking in a foreign language."

"He's Scottish," I explained.  "It's English, but he's got a Scottish accent that makes it hard to understand."

I walked back to where Stacy was working on the computer to tell her about L's linguistic lesson.  "L was playing with that little Scotty doll and couldn't figure out what he was saying."

"It is tough," she said, "It took me forever to realize he's saying 'McGilligan's lost his dog, captain!'"

Lots of Friends in the Washington Area

I got back to Washington pretty late Saturday night.  The remainder of the D.C. trip was less eventful.  On Sunday I did get to go into the city and go to church.  Afterwards I had a couple of hours and was able to visit some other old friends...

I totally love the National Gallery!  Whenever I'm in D.C. with any time to "see the sights," I will always forsake the monuments and other museums and plunk myself in the National Gallery.  There is a series of paintings there by American artist Thomas Cole that in particular I can't help but seek out.  It is a set of four paintings which form an allegory for the life cycle of man.

The first features an infant riding riding a gilded boat out of a prenatal cave into a young world filled with beauty and hope and promise.  A guardian angle follows along, keeping the boat steady.

In the second painting the infant is now a youth in the prime of life.  The world is still fresh and beautiful and filled with promise.  The young man is ready to embark on his own for the celestial city and dismisses his guardian angel, anticipating a smooth journey.  His youthful ignorance and pride keeps him from considering his route more carefully and he fails to notice that his river does not flow directly to his destination, but is circuitous and meandering; curves hidden from him, but visible to us, show rocks and rapids not too far downstream.

The third painting shows the former youth much humbled by life and repentant of his pride and independence.  The world is no longer serene and beautiful, but plagued with tempests and threats all around.  Thinking himself alone, a result of his own doing, he prays fervently for help, unaware that he has not been abandoned, but that his guardian angel still accompanies him just out of sight.

In the last painting the pilgrim, now a weary old man, has emerged from the torrid river into the utter dark and stillness of an endless sea. He is old and spent and has no self-will left.  Likewise, his boat is beaten and battered.  He realizes now that back in the most tumultuous times of his life's journey he had not been abandoned after all.  Not only does he see his guardian angel, but finds that he is inviting him to depart his boat and accompany him on journey of a different kind.  Though the sea is dark and dreary, we see a beam of light coming out of the clouds and another angel high up, beckoning to him.

Oh, and by the way, I should probably report that on my way back to the train station I was able to confirm that both the White House and the Capitol are still there.

The hotels the company puts me up in are generally pretty nice. I have few complaints. This time however... I'd read in the news that the entire Washington area was having a problem with a stink bug explosion. Evidently they were everywhere. I thought little of it, but sure enough, when I got back to my room one night I found I had a visitor hanging out on my window blinds.

The next night he had brought a friend. The following night it was a small party. By the end of my stay I had seven stink bugs hanging out on the blinds. They didn't go anywhere so they didn't bother me and I made it a point not to bother them, so we managed to peacefully co-exist. I probably should have let the hotel staff know, but hey, it was company.

Hanging in Harrisburg

On Tuesday I got home from another beastly week-and-a-half long business trip to Washington D.C.  I hate those; I generally work nights and straight through any weekends that the trip might envelope.  You tend to lose your grip on time and reality, since every day is just one more in a bland succession of days, with nothing to anchor it to any specific day.  This trip did have one bright spot.  I was given an unprecedented Saturday off, and only had to work a couple of hours Sunday night.  (They're getting soft!)  I took full advantage of the free time.  On Saturday I jumped in the rental and hit the highway north to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania to hook up with my long time old friend and best man, Jeff van Bastelaar.  He's been back in PA for the last nine years now, so its pretty rare that we get a chance to catch up.

We spent the day outdoors.  I met him up at his wife's parents house, said a quick hello to Liz and her family, then snatched Jeff and drove north, heading at Jeff's direction to the Boyd Big Tree Preserve Conservation Area.  It was a beautiful day and great hiking weather.  Unfortunately, while nice, neither compensates to much for being radically out of shape.  In the old days I could just about keep up with Jeff (kinda, sorta, if he was really tired, and maybe had a broken leg).  But that was many moons and many pounds ago; now I was content to let Jeff lead the way while I wheezed diligently behind him.  We did about 3 miles and then headed back to Jeff's house.

We relaxed a bit and were just about to head out on our second trip of the day, canoeing on the Susquehanna, when Liz and the kids got home.  We tweaked our plans, threw an extra life jacket in the boat and dragged Jeff's son J along for the ride.  Again, the weather was great and the river was smooth and silky.  The Susquehanna is the longest U.S. river that empties into the Atlantic, but also has the distinction of being essentially unnavigable.  We set out from City Island, right in the center of the river, and everywhere we went the water wasn't more than three feet deep - and often only inches.  Jeff's canoe got a couple of extra scraps on my end of the keel...

We headed up stream for about a mile and a half or so, weaving our way through bridges and around lots of little islands dotting the river.  We aimed for an island upstream that J suggested might have pirates, but when we got there we found that it was all mud from the water's edge, so we abandoned the idea, convinced that pirates would not want to get their cool boots all muddy.  We doubled back and found another island that was a little more accessible.  We beached, got out and roamed around a bit.  We did see some other boaters playing in the water, but we don't think they were actual pirates.

 Back in the boat we headed back downstream to City Island.  There are seven bridges spanning the Susquehanna as it weaves through Harrisburg.  Most of them are around the City Island area, and make for some pretty views.

Harrisburg from the River

 At one point we pulled out from under a bridge and I noticed way off downstream two twin clouds of steam towering upward.  Negotiating the arches of some further-down bridges afforded us a better view:  Three Mile Island of the 1970's horror fame!  (I was telling another friend about the trip later and he started singing "Glow, glow, glow your boat...")

We circled City Island and made it back to our launching point.  A total trip of about 4 miles.  We had no idea that it was almost 7:00pm and J was likely half starved.  Poor kid.  Liz was very kind in sparing us the tongue-lashing we deserved when we finally got back to Jeff's.

Sunset on the Susquehanna.

N-lightenment

I was driving L and N to school yesterday when N started telling me about all the things he was learning in class.  Evidently they are studying a unit on the body.

"Daddy," he said.  "Did you know you have things that look like snakes inside?"

"No, I didn't."

"Uh-huh!  They're called infections."

Stacy and I were sitting on the sidelines at the N's soccer practice this morning with several other parents.  As part of one of his soccer games Coach Clive was asking each of the future soccer stars what their favorite place was.  N's was the ice cream store.  There were several other suggestions from other player ranging  from Disneyland to Target.  As Coach Clive wrapped up the questioning and started to move on to other pursuits I heard N call out loudly to him:  "Daddy's favorite place is at work!"