Grampy's Little Acre

The wicked step(grand)mother?

2012-02-24T21:50:00.002-07:00

One of the big changes around here with my being relegated to an observer role in family life is that Tish will be taking charge of discipline and order around this zoo. If the boys thought I was a taskmaster, wait til they get a load a ol' Grammo.

I worked hard getting Tio to take his responsibilities seriously, I've been pushing like crazy for Doc to stop lying, and made deals to get Kit to behave better with his dad. In each of these situations (and more) it's always been a fluid negotiation - a little carrot, a bit of stick, some backpedalling, and a few reboots. Through it all we move forward one lurch at a time - slower than I'd like, but not so much that it can't be measured.

Grammo has no such patience and while taking care of me through chemo she'll have even less. She won't be playing the loving soccer mom, she won't let me do it, and Buddy either isn't around or can't get organized enough to be relied on consistently. She won't mind if they don't get rides to sports, dances or the park, isn't concerned if they have any computer, TV or other privileges, couldn't care less if they have friends over or go on sleepovers. If they want anything, they'll have to earn it.

I've told them to get prepared. But I think it's only this week that they are starting to get an inkling of what it means. Tio lost a week's worth of computer time for not taking out the trash and she's showing some sharp teeth to Kit on school mornings when he decides to make a fuss over nothing.

They come to me for help but I'm not going to intervene. We've made their lives pretty good for the past two years. I guess it's time for them to step up and show us what they've learned. If they are too stupid or lazy to live up to the expectations they've been taught, then they'll face some harsh reality.

Personally, I think it's a good thing. At ages 11 and 13 let's see if they want to be treated like little boys or respected like young men.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 13)

2012-02-23T10:26:00.000-07:00

I guess Alec's plot to blow Eric up didn't work out so well, and it didn't help get us any closer to Dad's permission to go to the bike race. But there was still time. In the meantime, there was plenty to do...

CHAPTER 19

Friday was the day of our pet show. Finally! A day I actually wanted to going to school. I’d practiced the magic trick with Gully before school. It worked every time. Like real magic. I could hardly wait to show the class.
I thought I was going to be the antsy one all morning but the whole class was out of control. By lunchtime Mr. Pratt was so mad I thought he’d call the whole thing off. He even yelled at the girls, telling everyone to sit down and shut up. When the lunch bell finally went off we scrambled out of there so fast to run home and get our pets.
Gully was waiting by the door. He knew we were going somewhere. I split a cheese and pickle sandwich with him. Then I made sure I had a stick of gum in my pocket and we sailed off the porch and back to school like we’d always gone together. He jumped around like crazy pulling me so hard along the sidewalk I had to run else I’d fall over.
This was great! We were going to win this show. I just knew it.
In the schoolyard all the kids were buzzing about the fifth grade pet show. All the other kids were jealous and gathered in clumps around the dogs and other animals. Gully got plenty of attention, too. He ate it up and licked everyone’s face.
I played it cool like I did this every day. “His name is Gulliver and he only answers to me,” I explained as I kept moving with Gully tugging me along so hard he choked.
“What kind of dog is he?”
“Can I pet him?”
“I have guppy.”
I didn’t see Payson or Dozer or Puny. Too bad. I wanted to introduce them to the business end of my dog.
From right inside the front doors, I could hear barking and yelling and laughing down the halls. Before we went up to class, I kneeled down in front of Gully. His tongue was hanging a couple of feet out and he kept looking around like he was ready for some fun.
“Okay, Revillug.” I said, petting his head. “Let’s really show them what we got. This is my one chance to prove I’m not a nobody. Okay?”
He lapped my face but I don’t think he was paying attention.
The classroom was a zoo. There were big and little dogs, cats, birds and even a couple of fish. Everyone was yowling and shouting at their pets. Some were brushing their animals and a couple of kids were chasing each other around the room. The only one I recognized was Dinah’s dog, Luger, a white mutt with a black eye patch. There was even a St. Bernard. Too cool.
A cat ran between my legs and Gully took off across two desks after it. Mr. Pratt stood in the middle yelling orders. No one listened. That made me smile.
Luger attacking Gully and the whole thing turned into a huge fight. Everyone screamed and grabbed their pets. I tried to snatch Gully’s leash but it whipped around like a snake. Dinah finally got hold of Luger’s neck and we tore them apart.
A second later a gym whistle blew right in my ear. Everyone shut up.
Mr. Pratt said, “I might have known it was your dog, John.”
I might have known he’d blame me, I felt like saying. I noticed he didn’t say anything to Dinah about Luger.
“Just take your seat and keep control of that....dog.”
I yanked Gully to my seat.
Pratt blew the whistle again. “If we can have a little order, I want you all to get your pets up and sitting quietly,” he looked at me. “on top of your desks.”
There was a lot scuffling and ordering around and laughing. It wasn’t so easy getting all the dogs to jump up on a desk. I couldn’t get Gully to do it. I had to lift him up and he jumped down a bunch of times before he finally stayed.
When the class was sort of quiet Mr. Pratt said, “We’ll go around the room now so you can introduce your pet.”
Everybody told their pet’s names and what kind of animal it was. It was a lot of fun. We saw everything. Kevin had a parrot, there were a couple of budgies and a John Payson had a canary. The cats were all kind of scared and stayed in their cages. I didn’t blame them with so many dogs in the room.
Gully barked through the whole thing. Luger did, too. I tried holding his nose closed but he wiggled free and kept barking. Dinah kept saying shush to Luger. We looked helplessly at each other when Pratt kept telling us to control our dogs. I sure was glad my dog wasn’t the only one that wouldn’t shut up.
Debbie told us about her Siamese cat, 99. Donald Pleasant showed off his brown Pekinese dog, Belle. She had a big red bow around her neck and wasn’t any bigger than Debbie’s cat. All the girls oohed and aahed over Belle. When my turn came I said Gulliver was Polish Pointer. Pratt said there was no such breed.
What did he know?
When the talent show began each kid took his pet to the front to perform a trick. One of the cats walked on their hind legs trying catch a stuffed mouse. A couple of dogs rolled over or barked on command. John Payson’s canary sat on his finger while he fed it a seed. 99 did tricks with a yo-yo. No one had a magic trick like mine.
Donald got up with Belle. We were all sunk. He got down on all fours and crawled along the floor while Belle walked across his back. Then, still sitting on him, she put her paws up to beg. The whole class cheered. No way anybody could top that.
Gully didn’t even get a chance. Someone slammed his tail between two desks. He let out a yelp and jumped straight for Luger. Dinah lost hold of her leash and they both started fighting again. The whole place went wild. All the dogs got loose and a couple of birds.
Mr. Pratt blamed it all on me. He screeched like a crow and his face got all blotchy and purple. “That dog shouldn’t be allowed out in public. It’s a disgrace to this show.” He pointed at the door. “Send it home.”
“Ha, ha, Lunn,” said someone. Other kids laughed.
I yanked Gulliver out of the dog show and down the hall.
I stomped down the steps and out the boys door. I was steaming mad. Gully had ruined it. Ruined my chance to win best dog. Ruined any chance that Debbie Bell would ever like me. Or anyone else.
“Go home!” I told him. “I don’t know why you did this to me. I never treated you mean.”
He looked up at me, panting happily like he’d had the best day of his life. I took him out to the edge of the school yard and left him there. I wished I could go home with him. I really didn’t want to go back inside.
Upstairs, Mr. Pratt was getting everyone ready to take the dogs for a walk in Glen Stewart Park. I felt so stupid about sending Gulliver home that I wished they’d leave me behind. I’d gladly take a detention. But the kids that didn’t have dogs were all going. So I had to.
“Nice trick, Chipmunk,” Dozer Faraday laughed. “Can you teach me to make a dog disappear like that?”
“Ha. Ha,” I said, trying to look like it didn’t bother me. “How about we all disappear when we go to sixth grade and you flunk out again?”
His lids got low and mean and he smacked my shoulder. It hurt. It was worth it.
When everyone was ready, Pratt led the way downstairs and out the girl’s door. As I got to the door I could hear Pratt screeching orders, dogs barking, and kids yelling. Served him right.
When I got out, I saw why. Gulliver was jumping up on everyone! As soon as he saw me his whole rear wagged he was so happy.
“Gully! Here boy!” I called, “How did you get here? You were supposed to go home!” I stole a look at Mr. Pratt. Purple was creeping up his neck and his eyes were popping out more than usual. I grabbed Gully’s collar and waited to see what would happen next.
After looking around at everyone he stared me down and choked out, “You keep control of that mongrel while we’re on this walk.”
“Yes, sir.” I said. “He’ll be fine. He behaves better outside.”
He was better than fine. It was a great walk. I forgot my leash in the classroom so Gully ran loose the whole time. Out in the park, he got soaked in the stream, sprayed everyone with water, bit John Payson on the leg, growled at anyone that tried to bother me, and had another fight with Luger. I kept ordering him to ‘come’ and ‘stop’ and said he was a bad dog. He didn’t pay any attention. He got all the dogs barking and fighting with each and even had Dozer scared.
Mr. Pratt yelled at us until he couldn’t talk. He was so mad! But what was I supposed to do? When we got back to school, he sent me home early with my dog and I missed the rest of the pet show.
I gave Gully a really big lump of cheese when we got home. I didn’t impress Debbie, or win any prizes, but ruining old Pratt’s day and seeing Payson and Dozer running for their lives was worth it.
I didn’t even mind that Alec got grounded because two more cigarettes blew up in Eric’s face. Alec said it served Eric right for being too stupid to throw the pack away after the first one. For me, it meant the bike race was off. One less thing to go wrong.
By the time I went to bed, I was worried. Half of me was still smiling about what Gully did but the rest of me knew I was dead on Monday. The Payson gang would kill me as soon as I showed up. Worms never sleep. And what about Mr. Pratt? He’d blame me for everything and treat me worse. My life was over.
“Alec? You still awake?”
“Present and accounted for.”
“Can I tell you about a secret what happened to me last Saturday?”
He got up and climbed up into my bunk. “I knew something was wrong. What’s up?”
Lying in the dark on my back, I spilled it all. Told him about going to the graveyard, meeting Payson and Dozer, then walking all the way home. “Add that on to the stuff that’s gone on all week, I think I’m still cursed.”
“No, you’re not cursed.” He paused. “Listen I got a confession. Promise you won’t get mad?”
“Mad? About what?”
“Just promise.”
“Okay. I promise.”
He didn’t talk for a bit. Then he said, “I made all that stuff up about the curse.”
I rolled on my side to face him. “What do you mean? What stuff?”
“The whole thing. About Miss Hatten eating her kids or burying them. I made up the junk about breathing the deaders, too. I was just teasing. But when you to took it so serious I didn’t tell you it was a joke.”
I wasn’t sure I got it. “You telling me I’ve been spooked about that crazy old lady for nothing? You kept telling me I had to go there.”
“I didn’t think you really would.” He laughed a little. “You got to admit, I had you going, right?”
I wasn’t laughing. I felt more stupid that Dozer could ever be. How could I fall for something as lame as that? Now he’d tell everyone what I did and I’d never live it down. After weeks of living in terror, I end up being the butt of his joke.
“Go away!” I snapped and pushed him so hard he fell off the bunk and crashed into a pile of junk on the floor below.
“Ow!”
“You okay?” I asked.
“No. I could have got seriously injured falling from up there.”
“Good.”
“Boys!” called a deep Dad voice from thin air. “If you don’t go to sleep, I’ll come up there and personally put your lights out!”
Moaning and griping, Alec crunched and stumbled back into bed.
“Goodnight, Dad.”
“Goodnight. Dad.” CHAPTER 20

Saturday morning was drizzly. Alec didn’t talk much. Neither did I. We were both half asleep and buried in our own thoughts. I was still fuming about what he did to me. If I hadn’t bought everything he said about that stupid curse things would be going much better. How could he betray me like that? I know he’s a tease sometimes, but still...
After we got our bundles he told me to meet him back there when I was done. “Don’t waste any time daydreaming. Just deliver your papers and be here.”
He didn’t need to tell me. I didn’t feel like daydreaming anyway. When I got back to Queen Street, I was surprised to see him waiting with the Tidely-Idley.
“For the record, John, I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly, “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt or really make a trip all the way out to Woodbine. I thought you’d see I was joking and when you didn’t...well, I shouldn’t have kept it up.”
It was nice that he apologized but I was still in a mess. “Okay.”
“Are we still friends?”
“Are you kidding? Of course!”
We shook on it. I felt better.
“Good. Now get on. We have a long ride.”
Not good. “Where are we going?” I asked. “Are we running away from home?”
“Don’t be stupid. We’re going downtown on our own to win that race.”
“You mean we’re going to sneak away?” I looked up at the dark clouds and wet roads. “You want to ride downtown now? Are you serious? It’s not even eight o’clock.”
“Right. Traffic is light. See?” He waved a hand around at the empty street. Then he pointed towards downtown.“We stay on Queen and follow the tracks to Yonge, just like when we take the streetcar.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” He was dead serious. Ouch. “Once we win the race everything will be fine. Dad won’t be mad and you’ll be a hero in your class.”
“After that pet show? I doubt it.”
“Sure. Pratt will have new respect for you.”
I shook my head. “He’d flunk me even if I won the Olympics.”
Alec grinned wickedly. “He won’t have a choice. You’ll be a winner all over the city. Our picture will be in all the papers, people will praise our invention.”
“Don’t be too sure.” Half of me wanted to go. The big half said it was crazy.
“Debbie Bell will fall for you.” The pig knew just where to hit me. “You’re so strong and creative,” he said in a high girl’s voice. “How did you ever think up that wonderful bike and then have the courage to ride it all the way downtown to win that race?” He clasped his hands beside his head and batted his eyes.
“You’re bad.” I said and slugged his shoulder.
“You know I’m right.”
Maybe this was the cure. What did I know? If I was famous all over the city, maybe she would notice me and the bullies would leave me alone. Yeah, right. And maybe there really is a Santa Claus. Well...there were tooth fairies.
His eyes got all serious and he said, “Don’t worry about the bullies. I owe you that. They won’t bother you again - ever. No matter if you go today or not.”
“Really? How can you do that?”
“Are you kidding? What do you think having three big brothers are for? If Jeff gets a whiff of you getting pushed around, try and stop him from introducing those rats to a two by four.”
“He’d do that?”
Alec got on and held her steady. “So will I. Come on. What do you say? Time’s a wastin’.”
I don’t know why he could talk me into anything. But he could. I knew we’d catch big trouble over this. I didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore. All the choices were bad. I climbed into the cockpit.
We wobbled to a start, then quickly picked up speed. The storefronts whizzed by and we were halfway to Woodbine before we knew what was happening. We must have looked pretty strange. A couple of kids crammed on a strange two seater bike barreling along as fast as the cars. I thought we were going too fast. But at this speed Alec was right about one thing: we’d be downtown before we knew it.
A couple of traffic lights later and I had no idea where we were. I kept my eyes on the road and nothing else. We bombed along dodging potholes and cars. It was fun. Way down low like that, I could almost touch the street. The wind whistled up my nose and made my eyes water. I didn’t care. Just keeping my mind on driving was full time work. No time to be scared. It was like the world around us completely disappeared leaving just me and Alec and the machine. If we could go this fast when we got to the race we’d win for sure.
Way up ahead a green light was coming up fast.
“Lay to,” Alec said.
I thought we were already at top speed but Alec poured it on. The Tidely took off like we just fired rocket boosters. I was Buzz Aldrin blasting off into orbit in the Gemini. Wow! I could barely keep the front wheel straight. At this speed we’d be orbiting the Earth before breakfast. ‘T minus five seconds for separation...’
“Look out!” he screamed and we started skidding.
I heard screeching tires and felt a blinding pain in my side. Me and the bike got tossed like a bull had butted us into the air. The mess landed with a dull crunch on hard cement. My bones were on fire and I couldn’t see anything.

I've been nominated as a best grandparent blog. How cool is that?

2012-02-22T10:48:00.000-07:00

Hey Everyone,

I've been nominated by about.com as a top 5 finalist in their Readers' Choice for Best Grandparent Blog. Pretty funky, huh?

If you'd like to vote in this prestigious contests, please click on this link to: vote-for-favorite-grandparent-blog

You can find out about all 5 of the great blogs nominees by taking this ride: Favorite-Grandparent-Blog-2012 At the end of the last blog description ( or click on page 6 anytime) you can follow the link tovote. Of course, you can always come back here and click the link above that takes you straight to the voting.

I'd love to have your support so please click on over and cast a vote.

Thanks,
Grampy

Black humor

2012-02-21T11:49:00.000-07:00

I made up a joke to tell a friend on Facebook. Maybe it's a bit too grim...

A cancer patient and an alcoholic walk into a bar. The bartend says, "Name your poison, friends."

"Gimme a chemo I.V. and plunge it straight into my heart, will ya," says the cancer victim.

"Geez," says the alcoholic, "I don't think he was being literal, man." He turns to the bartender and says, "Just give me a beer."

BaDUM bum!

Hello? Is this thing on?

Waiting for doomsday

2012-02-20T23:48:00.002-07:00

We spent the weekend gutting out and rearranging my upstairs spare room so I can have a quiet place to hang out while I go through months of chemo. Furniture got rearranged, bookshelves erected and filled with all my cartoon art, we put part of the sectional sofa up there. Everyone helped out.

In fact, we're all as ready for this thing to begin as any family could be. The boys understand the down side as well as the optimism. They are asking how I'm feeling and what they can do. Even Doc wants to get over his persistent cough before I get my first dose. Friends and family are prepared to take kids when needed, cook meals, and help out. My mom and brother are traveling 300 miles to visit this weekend - primarily because I think mom needs to physically prove to herself that I'm still here and can get through this thing.

Now it seems we're just waiting for next week when the hospital will pump me full of 6 hours worth of poison. Like waiting for a storm to break, we don't know how bad it will be but we'll weather whatever comes. It feels like we're waiting for black Christmas. No presents, no tree, no mistletoe but lively anticipation for a date certain.

I just want to get on with it. But when you're facing the devil, maybe you shouldn't be so eager.

It's offical...he's now a real teenager

2012-02-19T22:02:00.003-07:00

Tio went to the movies today with a group of friends. I ended up being in town when it ended so I dropped by the theater to see who needed a ride home. The gang of six was gathered in the lobby. Tio ran back to get his coat and I tried to find out how they were getting home and if I could help. They looked like a herd of deer caught in the headlights. Not one of them would say a word. I knew the two boys well enough and said hello to no avail. One of them stood with his skinny hand around his skinny girlfriend, their mouths gaping like I'd just offered to run them over with my car. This was a boy who is usually so talkative that you forget he's only 13. Not a word.

"Hello?" I said, "We all speak English here don't we? Can one of you say something?"
A couple of gutteral murmurs croaked out. Nothing coherent.

Tio returned, looked at his shuffling companions, dropped his eyes and joined in like he was suddenly possessed by a zombie. He, too, would not answer me. Finally, he mumbled that they were okay and everyone had a ride. So I left.

While starting the car, Tio ran up and got in. He needed a ride home. He found his voice and all was normal again. Thank god the pod people released him back to me. It would have been tragic if we'd lost him forever.

It occured to me that he just came down with a raging case "Teenage Parental Embarrassment Syndrome" in front of his friends - the girls in particular. I am no longer cool to him, I'm now a liability. Oh, he'll be happy to take rides from me, borrow money, talk to me in a normal way when we're in private (he made a bundle of weak excuses for himself later) and hope I'll cheer for him in the bleachers. But just do it out of sight, will you, Gramps?

I'd been through it when his father hit his teens, but forgot how suddenly it strikes. First, I lost most of my IQ in his eyes about a year ago, now I'm a pariah if seen anywhere near his friends. The syndrome will fade with age and so doesn't need treatment. I'll return to being a normal human in about 5 years.

I can only hope that he behaves like one sooner than that.

Buddy takes the wheel

2012-02-17T22:28:00.000-07:00

This morning I awoke to the mellifluous sounds of Kit and Buddy shouting over a shirt that was inappropriate for school. Kit insisted he didn’t have another one. Buddy, rather than argue that point as he might have done in the past, simply told him to remove it or take consequences tonight - period. I got up a half hour later and the offending garment was on the kitchen table. Score one for Buddy had- he held his ground. Usually Kit could run Buddy ragged on this kind of thing and get away with it. That didn’t happen. Dad didn’t take the bait and Kit did as he was told. That’s a big step and worthy of note.

The fact that it took a screaming half an hour is another story. I didn’t get my usual 4 hours of sleep before the kids get ready for school today because I had a bone marrow extraction scheduled and listening to a screeching fight at 7 a.m. was not an upbeat way to start a tense and sure to be painful day. My usual response to Kit for such behavior would be to an early bedtime, no Facebook, not going to a dance, or some such punishment designed to make him think twice the next time he and dad go at it. But I decided to stay out of it. As I posted yesterday, since I’ll be taking a back seat for the next few months, they need to start sorting things for themselves. Noisy as it was, this was a start in the right direction.

What I did say early this evening was that we need every ounce of positive energy to get through this illness and it would be a huge help if he could put the arguing aside and cooperate a bit more - even if he believed he was in the right.

I’m asking him for help, for a favor, during tough times, just as I have of Tio. I hope they can step up to the task.

The tidal shift is coming. Will we be ready?

2012-02-16T23:50:00.000-07:00

At Tio’s counseling session yesterday we talked about the changes my going through cancer treatment would have on our family and him in particular. We’re fixing up the last ‘spare’ room in the house for my convalescence so that I can be upstairs and stay out of the mainstream of hubbub around the house. Everyone feels it will be less disruptive than my being in the middle of things where Grammo would have to shoo noisy kids off and I’d need to be extra careful to keep my distance from germs and so forth.

But will it? It will certainly be less disruptive for me. But the family in general? I don’t know. The counselor pointed out that since I’ve been the main caregiver for the past two years, kept the peace, smoothed problems, made the big decisions and moved the family forward, removing me suddenly from that role will leave a big hole in the organization. And, as Thoreau said so aptly, nature abhors a vacuum.

Buddy, and his relationship with the kids right now, is better than ever before but I still run a fair amount of interference. The kids still have serious unresolved trust and anger issues so when he’s in charge the moods swing from brat to wurst. They’ll smell his hesitations and pounce on his weak spots like hyenas on wounded prey. Emotions will run high while they vie for his attention. Grammo is stronger but her patience these days is shorter than mine. Add on to that the fact that she’s worried sick about me, and they’re in for a rude awakening. There’ll be a new sheriff in town.

We talked about what that will mean to Tio but I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. He knows it’s time for him to do a bit of fast growing up so he can pitch in and help make life a bit easier and better around the house for everyone. If he can’t manage that, though, and behaves like the other boys (quarreling and demanding), he’ll get treated accordingly and that will only make things harder.

I don’t know if the new regime will be better or worse - but it will certainly be different and should make for some interesting blog entries.

Growing up takes work

2012-02-15T18:00:00.002-07:00

I cut Tio's apron strings. For the past 2 years I've watched him closely, monitored, steered and pushed him to cooperate, do better at school, and get along with his brothers. The results, as I've reported in this blog, have been mixed. All the while he has insisted that he can do what's asked and expected even when there is evidence to the contrary.

Well, now is his chance to prove it. I'm not going to look over his shoulder this term. Not check his homework, not watch his back when he's out. Not monitor his activities. In other words see if he really can show responsibility and maturity without any eyes on him.

It seems the time is right. Not only because I'm going to be otherwise occupied with an illness but also because he's moving on towards 14 years old and needs to find his way. He needs to succeed or fail on his own terms in some things.

Personally, I'm rooting for him. I know he's a great kid and can meet the challenge. But he'll have to work at it because it won't happen on it's own.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 12)

2012-02-14T18:23:00.000-07:00

Just when things were tight while Alec and John were trying to talk Dad into letting them go to the bike race, a firecracker went off on the 3rd floor. It was one of Alec's, planted in Eric's cigarette! There was no time to waste...

CHAPTER 18
There was barely time to snatch a breath before Eric was pounding down the stairs headed our way. Alec panicked. Instead of going for the tunnels like we practiced, he tried to make the stairs. Eric was right there. So he ran straight down the hall to the back of the house. The floors shook with tromping feet, yelling voices, and Gulliver snapping at their heels. I ducked into Kate’s room and we watched them run the circuit from our parent’s bedroom, down the hall, through Mom’s sewing room, and back through the bedroom. Alec better do something. Eric was catching up!
“The tunnels!” I yelled out.
Dad’s voice boomed up the stairs. “What in blazes is going on up there!”
Eric paused. It gave Alec the split second he needed.
“The tunnel!” I yelled again.
In a wild panic he skated past us and dived face first like a ferret down a hole. Eric followed him in and barely missed grabbing Alec’s foot. The plan was working beautifully.
Eric’s eyes darted around the room figuring his next move. Come on, I thought, go after him.
But instead of crawling in, he jerked the mattress and bed springs right off the frame. They flew across the room. There was Alec pressed against the wall, crawling along on all fours like a soldier in a shallow trench trying to avoid enemy fire. He was concentrating so hard it took him a second to notice that his roof got blown off.
The bed hit the dresser and the whole place exploded in a crash of smashing furniture. Eric lifted Alec into the air by his shirt. A look of amazement flash across Alec’s face like he couldn’t believe he didn’t think of this.
He tried to laugh. “Hey! Let go! It was only a joke!”
POW! Eric’s fist bopped him on the nose and it started to bleed. Alec screamed while Eric asked how funny it was now.
I couldn’t look. I retreated back into Kate’s room and sat on the bed with her. We both felt sick. Jeff watched the action from the doorway.
“I wish they wouldn’t fight all the time,” she grumbled. “Why can’t they just be nice to each other?”
“At least this time it isn’t me,” Jeff said. He and Eric got rough, too. One time they tumbled down the stairs and broke the banisters.
Finally, Dad was on the scene. Eric and Alec yelled and screamed and complained. Dad said for both of them to shut up. He sent Eric away and told Alec to clean up the mess.
Eric stomped off and slammed the front door on his way out. All was quiet. I took a peek. Alec was sitting on the floor with his head back and his eyes closed. The room was a disaster zone. It looked like a bomb went off under the bed and blew the mattress right off. The bedsprings were teetering against the frame with the mattress underneath.
“How did it go?” I asked in a whisper.
He gave me a dirty look. “Next time, I’ll wire the springs onto the bed,” he said.
Dad came back in with a wet washcloth and started to wipe the running blood from Alec’s face. Without the blood, it didn’t look too bad.
“What is it with you two?” Dad asked. He sounded much calmer. “As far as I can see, there’s no reason for you and Eric to fight.”
“He didn’t have to hit me,” Alec whined. “All I did was--”
“I heard what you did and it sounds like you deserved it.” Dad wiped hard enough to make Alec wince. “Firecrackers in cigarettes are dangerous. You should know better. Now clean up this mess and the two of you get into bed. No more nonsense tonight.”
The springs were really heavy and hard to get back in place. Eric was super strong. I put the sheets and blankets back on while I wondered if Alec would admit that there were other firecrackers or take a beating for every one that exploded in Eric’s face. When we were all done I asked him if it hurt much. He flashed a mouthful of braces smile under a bright purple nose with Kleenex sticking out of it and said, “I wish I could have seen it go off.”
That answered my question.
“It’s not fair,” he said. “We can’t go to the race this weekend, and Eric gets away with smashing my face. Nobody cares. It would serve everyone right if we just ran away.”
“Huh?”
“Wouldn’t it be great to just get on the bike and ride off for keeps? That would teach them all right. They’d miss us but it would be too late.” He sounded half serious.
“Where would we go?”
“William’s, of course,” he replied like I should have known. “We could ride out the County and live with him.”
I lay in the dark thinking about that. I didn’t want to run away. William’s parents made me nervous. I was thinking maybe we should forget the whole thing. Maybe it would be better if we just did what Dad wanted.
Out of the dark, I heard Alec mutter through his stuffed up nose, “I wonder if Eric will still talk to Dad for us?”

A chance to see where we all really live

2012-02-13T21:28:00.000-07:00

I’m going to step out of Grampy mode and play astronomer tonight to share something cool for anyone living in the northern hemisphere. We have an opportunity to 6 out of the total 8 planets every night this month (I’m speaking in a ‘post-Pluto’ world here) all without a telescope or binoculars.

3 planets at dusk

On any clear night this month, if you go out during the hour just after dusk and look to the west, you can’t miss a huge bright “star”. I mean really huge. So huge that many people mistake it for a UFO. That’s the planet Venus (our nearest neighbor), and just further up in the sky, almost as bright, is the planet Jupiter. You can’t miss either of these two beautiful planets. As a bonus, but a little bit trickier to spot, is Mercury. To see it as well (in the same view as Venus and Jupiter) you need to have an unobstructed western horizon and be there just after the sun goes down, because it will follow the sun quickly out of sight. Scan the west for a small star that is almost in a straight line down from Jupiter and Venus. That’s 3 planets in one open sky! (To see all 3 you need to wait another week for Mercury to make its appearance.)

To see Mars and Saturn, you need to be up before dawn. Enthusiasts set your alarms, insomniacs step out after 3 am, and early risers get out there before your coffee or the sun has a chance to dim your view. Look towards the southern horizon, but still fairly high in the sky. You won’t be able to miss a bright red object - Mars, our other closest planet. Let your eyes go down towards the horizon where you will see 2 stars side by side that are about the same brightness. The one further east (on your left) is the ringed planet Saturn!

2 more planets for the same price!

That’s our almost the entire solar system in one night. Amazing. Even for the not so hot on astronomy folks in the crowd, that’s gotta mean something. It’s like seeing 5 continents in one day, a phenomenon in its own right. I hope you get a chance to see them all.

Okay, I mentioned seeing 6 planets in one night. Can anyone name the sixth and tell where it is?

My pseudo "mother-in-law"

2012-02-12T15:13:00.002-07:00

I have a detractor, an un-fan, someone who disagrees with everything I say - like a mother-in-law who can't stand you simply by virtue that you married their child. She doesn't like me because she perceives me as a bad influence on the kids. She belittles anything I do with the kids. It's gotten so bad that I simply delete any comment she sends to the blog without even reading it. Like any vituperative 'mother-in-law' who has nothing positive to say there is no point in even opening the email.

Does she have a point? Let's look at how the boys have done living here. When they arrived here they were anxious, unsure of their future and security and living in apalling circumstances. Doc at age 4.5 was still in diapers and could hardly speak coherently. Kit lived inside a rage. Now they are healthy, content, and becoming self assured. Their school grades are honors. They are developing social maturity. There is no risk of them being moved from one place to another on a whim, suddenly finding themselves uprooted at a moment's notice, among irresponsible adults with serious subtance abuse issues. All three of these kids get daily help with homework, extracurricular activities and socialization, learn to better get along with each other, and have unshakable trust at home.

What more can anyone do? I've given over my life to them and now, it appears, that may be literally true. I have a 1 in 5 chance that I will be dead in 3 years from cancer. It may even be as high as 2 in 5. During this unsure time I still intend to make sure the boys are safe, working hard at school, growing up, and loved unconditionally.

You would think that she could cut me just a little slack and not be such a mother-in-law.

Patience is a virtue

2012-02-11T21:59:00.000-07:00

I think my patience with the boys is wearing a bit thin around the edges like an oriental rug that’s been walked over so many times you can’t tell what the original colors were. It's still there, it’s just not as vivid or fresh as it used to be. My voice gets a bit sharper, my fuse burns a bit shorter, and my expectations are higher.

We’re solidly into our third year as a crowded little household and things have settled into many familiar patterns. Expectations for some things are high (school grades, manners, safety...) and lower for others (picking up after themselves, some coarse language we can’t seem to extinguish...). For example, one thing I find less patience for is their constant fighting with each other. I know, I know, it’s part of sibling life. I didn’t say it’s not normal or expected, I’m just saying I have less and less patience for it.

Getting them to show more independence is another. I’ve worked hard with the older boys to develop more independence and maturity, which they sometimes struggle with. I know you can’t rush personal growth but at times, it happens at its own pace for each person, but I sometimes get exasperated at the backwards steps they take.

Now we are suddenly faced with a new wrinkle - a major illness that will create change, demand attention of its own, and force the kids to pitch in a lot more. There are so many variables here that it’s impossible to know how each of them will react and respond to the change in routine, being more housebound because I can't take them places, how emotionally available Tish and I will be for them, how much patience I will have left over at the end of the day, and on and on. In short it will change everything for all of us. Talk about a wrench in the works of an already fragile machine.

I wrote a few weeks ago about my surgeries changing the family dynamic and how we all coped. But that was only on a short term basis. This is huge compared to that and will have a major impact now and possibly for years to come. I can’t allow myself to be come too introspect from my own condition and lose sight of the family’s health.

Of course, how can I say it’s not about me when I’m the one with the disease? It’s this kind of paradox that contributes to my loss of patience and makes me realize that we are headed for a waterfall without any paddle. I can juggle a lot of things in life, find solutions to many problems and handle big changes. But in this I'm completely in the dark because everyone deals with illness so differently.

What comes next might try the patience of Job.

Don't try to reason with a six year old

2012-02-10T23:14:00.001-07:00

A while ago Doc got an MP3 player and something went wrong with it. He was convinced there was some way to reset it if we looked at the instructions that came with it but Buddy and I were sure that his technical difficulties were caused by him swinging it around by the earphones and smashing it into the ground too many times to count. Computer chips don't respond well to violence but try explaining that to a six year old. He insisted that we needed to find the manual and look up the part that explained why it wouldn't work.

So, Buddy diligently started searching for the paperwork. The kitchen, the office, the mess in the livingroom. He was about apologize to the boy for not having put it in a safe place when I took him aside and said 'big mistake'.

"He'll hound us to the gates of hell for this thing, convinced it is the only way." I said while I shuffled through the papers on my desk and found an old Fedex waybill. "He can't read and he doesn't really care. Tell him this is the owners manual and it tells you to do a diagnosic of the thing on your laptop through the USB port. Then show him some computer message that says 'permanent failure due to impact'."

Buddy followed my instructions. Doc was satisfied, if disappointed, and admitted that maybe he had been a bit rough. So he moved righto on to something new without skipping a beat: harping endlessly about Daddy buying him another one.

Resistance is futile.

A preemptive strike

2012-02-09T22:33:00.002-07:00

I met the oncologist yesterday and got the news. Not very good, not catastrophic. I'm now headed for some serious chemotherapy with all the risks, sickness and hope that it holds.

So today I cut off most of my hair, shaved off my beard as a preemptive strike to take charge of this monster and, man, do I look different. I left the moustache, figuring the chemo would have to peel that off along with the remaining tufts up top. I did it on a whim to what's going on.

No one in the house knew about it until they got home. The kids have never seen me without a beard. The response was kind enough. A lot of 'Grampy you sure look different.' But no complaints. Doc didn't say a word.

It also opened the door to talk about what is coming next. Both Tio and Kit listened without many questions but there will be time for that. When we discussed it weeks ago it was still an if, now it's definite. I hear more curiosity than fear in their voices and I hope that in the end they have nothing to fear. I will talk with Doc on an 'as needs' basis rather than fill him full of potentially frightening images.

Friends have generously offered their help, Buddy and Sugar are pitching in, I've been reading the pamphlets on what to expect, and we're all ready to put our backs to this stone. I am blessed to have such a strong family and good friends.

I guess I'm as ready to face this disaster as I ever will be. So bring it on.

You can't have it both ways

2012-02-08T21:50:00.000-07:00

As both my readers know, Kit decided he was a self professed gay boy last spring. It worked for him at the time because he can be outrageous in his clothing choices and has serious sexual identity issues that he simply can't hide. It also worked for him because it got lots of attention.

Well, that last bit seems to have cooled off some this year and he's not so happy. As parents we're thrilled to know that he has been accepted by his school peers as he is: skinny jeans, pierced ear, bracelets, teen mags, handbag and all. But he isn't.

He likes to create "dramma", as he spells it, and just being 'out there' isn't enough anymore. So he's raised the stakes by getting upset when someone reacts to his flamboyant behavior. He'll take exception to being called gay and teased for liking boys even though he dresses like, runs like, behaves like, and prefers the company of, girls and wears a bracelet that says "I-heart-boys" for all to see.

"Sorry, Kit,"I say, "if you say you're going to wear a band that says you like boys, you can't get insulted if someone says you like boys. That's like swearing that you like chocolate and getting angry when someone says you like chocolate. Either you like boys or you don't. If you do, own it. Tell them you don't care. If you do care, then stop wearing the blaring bracelet that says you do like it. You can't play both sides."

He believes he can. He tells me he doesn't like boys. But if I say I'll take the bracelet away it reduces him to tears - not an easy thing to do with him. So I tell him if he insists on wearing it to stand up and say "yeah, this is who I am! What of it?" he won't do that, either.

Unfortunately, this isn't just a bullied kid with an identity crisis. He's doing half the bullying. He lets it get under his skin and then gives back as good as he gets, or even initiates trouble. The school is not happy. We're not happy. He's not happy.

So how to resolve this? Someone has to take a firm stand and that gets to be me. I told him last night, "You are either going to start letting these responses roll off your back by saying 'so what' and walking away from trouble or I am dressing you in nothing sloppy jeans, boxers, and skater shirts so no one can tell you apart from every other boy in that school and you can kiss your girl attitude goodbye."

I guess it's his move.

Decisions are made by those who show up

2012-02-07T23:34:00.002-07:00

I did a bit of the usual bouncing around today. Had a doctor appointment, post office, picked up kids, made supper. You know, the usual. I got everyone seated around a meatloaf, left them in Grammo's care, and hustled out the door to the annual school meeting.

Here in New England we still have a visceral connection with our democracy. The voters all gather for a town hall meeting where the school board puts forward a budget and several other articles for a direct vote. It gives the townsfolk an opportunity to speak directly to the issues, state their approval or concerns, and even make changes to each and every item brought before the town. While the process has been watered down a bit in the past 10 years, it still remains an important function of how we stay connected and in control of both our town and school system.

There were only 4 articles to approve on tonights warrant, the third being the biggest - a $17+ million school district budget. As a taxpayer I want to know that our money is responsibly spent, and as a g-parent raising kids in all 3 of the town schools, I doubly want to know that the funds are well allocated.

I got there 10 minutes late - just in time to hear the school board chairman briefly describing the main budget article - and settled in to listen to the usual lively discussion and Q&A from the public. I barely found the page in my book when the moderator made a final call for comments. No one spoke! Not a peep. They moved on to the next agenda item without one of the 50 or so people there raising their hand. Which doesn't even speak to the hundreds who didn't even show up.

I used to sit on the other side of that table as an elected town offical who helped prepare a budget and even though the numbers gets poured over for months by 2 committees under public scrutiny, I never got through town meeting without a spirited debate from the public. But those times seem to have faded and here we were passing a sprawling budget with huge impact on our kids and the future of our school (and tax rate) and no one asked a question or made their views known.

All the voters in town will have a chance to vote it up or down next month. Most without knowing at all what their money is being spent on. They say decisions are made by those who show up. Well, from towns and schools and state legislatures all the way up to Congress and the presidency, it's time we all started showing up and raising our voices to understand each other in this democracy. In times as hard as these with so many difficult political and social issues to solve in our country just showing up to vote isn't enough.

Black tights and tall boots (Observations from The Big Apple)

2012-02-07T00:26:00.001-07:00

It's midafternoon and I'm on my way home from New York City after a 24 hour rush business trip. I'd hoped to stay a few days and go to the opera, listen to some jazz, eat good food (ah, to escape from burgers and fries for just one day!) and...you know, do all the things that Manhattan has to offer. But, "what with hell and transmigration" as Archy so aptly put it, I had to cut things short and stick to business.

Landing in Grand Central Station I think about a great scene in the movie The Fisher King where Robin Williams follows his true love around the clock and he's so oblivious to everyone else they appear to be walzing around him. It's beautiful.

I am always amazed at just how many people one can pack into a city. A constant river of souls all flowing by, bubbling around corners and in and out of buildings. I love the strong ethnic mix in the New York crowds, too. People from all over the world sharing their distinct look, style and demeanor. What I hadn't really noticed before was the symphony of languages that pervade the air. Maybe I simply wasn't tuned into in the past but everywhere was a mix of European, Asian, and Carribbean voices with the wash of English.

I found time to play the tourist for one thing only: skating at Rockefeller Center. Since I started skating again, I always thought that would be fun. My mom told me about my great grandfather, who was a figure skater, teaching my older brothers to skate there when I was a baby. I was surprised at how small the rink is. I suppose my imagination had blown it up in size. Last night were the usual skating crowd of amateurs and beginners and a couple of really good performers that were a pleasure to watch. Now, I'm not a good skater but I know my way around a piece of ice. Even so, this was my first skate of the winter and I took it slow. All I could rent were figure skates and one of the toe picks caught on the ice and I tumbled face first like I was flying over a barrel, my arms stretched out like Superman taking off, and landed on my flat on my belly. Ouch - did that hurt. On my way down I could hear gasps and laughs from the onlookers. What an embarrassment. No injury except a banged knee and bruised ego. I haven't fallen like that since I was a kid. I bet some enterprising soul fired it straight up to YouTube titled 'yutzes who shouldn't be allowed on skates'.

This morning, I limped to Grand Central early so I could find some souvenirs for the boys. I was totally amazed that there wasn't one place selling I-heart-NY T shirts, hats, statues of liberty or anything of that kitsch in the whole station and surrounding blocks! I had to really hunt and even then, pickin's was slim. At least I got some exercise and I know they'll like what I did find. Hey- who doesn't like donuts :0)

I guess I'll have to go back again for the opera.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 11)

2012-02-04T22:32:00.000-07:00

John and Alec are in big trouble! They were so busy testing the new bike they got home late for supper. That wasn't going to put Dad in a good mood to let them enter the race...

CHAPTER 16

My mind went completely blank. “I don’t know,” I said.
“We were down at Mike’s Bikes getting our two seater welded,” Alec explained. All the cheeriness had drained from his voice. So had the colour from his cheeks. “It’s out back.”
“I want to know why you missed dinner,” Dad demanded. I looked at the table. Corned beef and home fries – again. That made three nights in a row. I wasn’t sorry to miss that.
“After the bike was fixed, we practiced down on the boardwalk. I guess we forgot the time.” It was a good thing Alec could talk because my vocal cords had scampered down my throat and were hiding in my empty stomach. “We needed to practice because the race is on Saturday,” he added.
“What race?” Eric asked, stirring it up. “You guys enter a race we don’t know about?”
“Yeah,” Alec’s voice picked up like this was a life raft to grab. “Me and John built this bike to race on Centre Island this weekend. Want to see it?”
Dad pushed his plate away. We stood frozen for a hundred years, waiting. “Wash up and get some dinner off the stove. We’ll talk about this after.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want to check out this bike,” Jeff said. “May I be excused?”
Dad nodded. There was a scramble for the door. I stumbled towards the kitchen.
I came back in with dripping hands and a plate of cold hash. Alec had split, too, leaving me standing alone with Dad. He sat leaning forward, both elbows on the table, a cigarette pinched between a couple of fingers and a long stream of smoke coming out of his nose. “You entered that race on the island this weekend?”
Alec made a tactical error leaving me alone here with Smaug. I’d spill everything.
I gulped. “Yes, sir. It’s for kids under twelve. Alec filled it out. We got a number and everything.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Didn’t he? He meant to.”
His mouth was tight. My eyes darted to the stairs wishing someone, even the dog, would come back in and rescue me.
“You want to come out and see it?” I squeaked like a mouse.
He ground his cigarette out in his plate and nodded an angry dragon’s nod. “Okay.”
It felt like a spring has been released in my legs. I skipped out two stairs at a time and ran to join the others in the front yard all crowded around the Tidely. Jeff was balancing on the back seat while Eric held the front down.
Alec was saying, “It flies like a rocket.”
“I bet.” Eric seemed impressed. “Mike Welton did this work for you? Not bad. What’d it cost?”
“Too bad this front seat is only big enough for Johnnie,” Jeff said. “Maybe you could fit, Katie.”
“You won’t get me on that contraption,” she said. “Are you really in a race?”
“Yup,” Alec said with a flicker of a glance at Dad who was looking the bike over. So far so good.
Alec sent me off to 67 to get our entry form. It looked like everything might be okay. But when I got back he and Dad were going at it for real. Dad was losing his temper. Kind of like when a dog growls at you and you know the next thing he’s going to do is bite.
“You’ve got to let us go. We worked so hard!” Alec was saying. “It isn’t fair.”
“If you’d told me a couple of weeks ago - even one week ago - maybe. But I’ve made plans to go to Grandma’s in the County this weekend.”
A trip to the County. Alec’s favourite place in the world. Taking the bike there to show cousin William would be lots of fun. I could see he was torn. “How about we go next weekend?” he pleaded.
Dad shook his head. “I planned this trip for you. William is expecting you to stay with him in Hubbs Crik.”
“We can’t go.” Alec tried to sound like Dad would when he laid down the law. But you don’t talk like that to Dad and stay on Earth for long. “...please? What if we leave after the race? We did tell you about it! Remember?”
We all waited for the judge’s verdict. Alec grabbed the race form from me and offered it to Dad. But Eric snatched it first.
“Let me see that. You really entered this mongrel in a bike race?” He laughed.
Alec said, “They didn’t specify what type of bike, so we built our own. Mike was so impressed he offered me a job helping him out next spring.”
“Really?” Jeff said.
Even Dad raised an eyebrow at that one. “He offered you a job?”
Alec nodded. “Didn’t he, John?”
“Yup. He said Alec did good work and to come back in the spring.”
Eric flicked the paper at Alec. “You are such a loser. You’ll get disqualified for sure, moron.”
“Will not,” Alec replied.
“Are you kidding? It says a bike race. Not a homemade, two wheeled Magilla.”
“It doesn’t say we can’t,” Alec insisted.
Dad raised his hands. “It’s moot anyway. We’re going to the County on Saturday morning and that’s final. Now, you two go inside and eat something so you can get your homework done before bedtime.”
Bang – sentenced to two days in the country, no parole.
Everyone trouped inside. One look at Alec’s face and I knew this wasn’t over. We put the bike in the cellar and forced down reheated corned beef hash. I had a million questions to ask but I didn’t say anything.
Alec was scheming. CHAPTER 17

We spent all the time we could that week practicing on the Tidely. Since she was a ship, we picked navy terms like ‘starboard’ and ‘port’ for right and left and Alec would yell ‘full astern’ when he was going to slam the brakes and ‘lay to’ to pedal like mad. We sail down the boardwalk with the cold fishy lake breeze stinging our cheeks, him crouched forward over my head yelling, “steady as she goes” and “trim up that line”.
In the afternoons, we rode it on the streets. Since both of us pedaled, some of the hills didn’t bother us at all. It was a lot of fun. We were free and felt powerful. Everyone did a double take when they saw this bike roll by. I wanted to show it off at school but Alec said no.
School was a blur. All I could think about was riding that bike. I wanted to sail all day until we could fly over the lake and disappear in the clouds. I dreamed about adventures with Debbie in my seat and me pedaling from Alec’s. We entered races, went on trips and fought evil witches.
I lucked out with Payson’s Idiots, too. Kevin Coughlin came to school on Monday with a huge rip in the backside of his pants and that gave the creeps someone new to pick on for a while.
On top of that, the pet show was coming up at the end of the week and that’s all anyone in class talked about. Everyone was telling tall tales about what their pet could do. I still had to work on a trick for Gully but I knew he’d win no matter what he did.
Was the curse lifted? Maybe going to the graveyard paid off. Things were going well.
When I got home there was a note waiting in McGill for me to meet Alec in the Door Room. He’d decided we could use it again since Mom was the only one who knew and she wasn’t home. I had to give the password twice before he gave the counter sign to come in. This time I let Gully in with me.
We crawled through to find Alec concentrating on a very strange project. Spread out on a shoe box lid was an open pack of cigarettes, a small pile of tobacco, and a couple of those really tiny lady finger firecrackers. The kind you could let explode in your hands they were so small. Not that I ever did.
“Where’d you get those?” I pointed at the bangers.
“I bought them off Ivan at school today. He’s been hanging on to them since Firecracker Day.”
I looked from them to the cigarettes. “Uh huh.”
“I’m going to give Eric a thank you bang for saying stuff about our bike.” The wily grin on his mug said there was no turning back. “He left this half pack upstairs. So while he’s out I’m cooking up a special “Pop Goes the Weasel” ciggie treat. And we all know who the weasel is.”
“Won’t he get hurt?”
“Fear not, they’re too small. It’ll just scare him. Boy, I’d love to be there when these babies goes off. It’ll teach him for calling our bike a mongrel.”
He was repacking one with tobacco around the firecracker, the wick sticking out near the end. He used a toothpick and the flat head of a small nail to tamp it all down so carefully in place that it didn’t get ripped or look lumpy. Then he rolled it carefully on the box to make sure the paper stayed round and smooth. It was like watching Barney assemble a bomb on Mission: Impossible. This was very important work to Alec.
When he was done he mixed the dynamite ones with a couple of regular cigarettes and asked if I could tell the difference. I looked really carefully, even fingered them. I shook my head. “They’re perfect.” I said. “When it goes off, he’ll know who did it and thump you.”
“It’ll be too late when he does. Besides, he’ll never catch me. I’ll escape through the tunnels in our room.” It was hard to understand how he stayed so optimistic when he always got licked.
He snapped the box shut and we took them upstairs to put them back. Eric was in the kitchen talking with Dad. We had one chance. Alec snuck up to the third floor while I stood just inside our bedroom to keep an eye on the stairs. We hadn’t worked out a signal but I’d think of something.
I heard Eric at the bottom of the stairs. What do I do now? I tried to think of a question to stall him. But what? He was coming right up.
He smiled at me.
I asked, “Do you know when Mom will be home?”
“Next week.” He leaned in my doorway. “You getting tired of corned beef hash, too?”
“Is that what we’re having again?” Just the thought of another plate of eggs and hash made me want to barf.
Eric curled his lip sourly.“Maybe we can talk him into hamburgers one night.”
Alec strolled in like nothing was up. “What’re you guys talking about?”
Eric’s smile dropped into a sneer. “We were guessing how long it would take you to say something stupid.”
“A lot sooner than it would take you to say something smart.” Alec shot back. After Eric went upstairs, he added, “We’ll see who’s stupid.”
“What took you so long?” I asked. “He nearly caught you.”
“I talked with Jeff for a min,” he said, closing our bedroom door behind him. “He’ll support us for the race this weekend. If we can get Kate on board...” He rubbed his hands together. “Oh! Check this out.”
He pawed through some junk on his bed and held up a red pyjama top. “Ta Da!”
“Ta da?”
“I decided to switch the costumes. You know...for Halloween. We’ll still do Charlie Brown as a ghost but not as a manager.”
“Why?”
“You don’t want to have to haul around a baseball glove the whole time, do you?” He reached back on the bed and picked up a blue piece of cloth and his green gym shorts. “Besides, we don’t have a baseball glove, so that settles that. Guess who this is?”
Red shirt, blue sheet, green shorts. “Beats me.”
“Fantam! We’ll paint a big ‘F’ on the shirt and hang this behind for a cape. Then you can put a Zorro type mask on and go as your own superhero! Pretty good, huh?”
I never had a Fantam costume. “Yeah. That’s a great idea. I like it.”
“Soup’s on,” Dad called up. “Wash up and come to the table.”
Corned beef hash, eggs, and home fries. Again! Dad served them up like it was a special treat we hadn’t had in years. No one dared say a thing. We all picked at it like prison food. Except for Dad. He wolfed his down like it was birthday cake.
After supper Alec went into Dad’s study to ask about the race. I waited on the bottom landing and stared at the door with my knees hugged up at my chin. When he came out he was real mad. I followed him up to our room
“Dad won’t budge. He says we should have told him weeks ago when we were planning it. He said this weekend is important for us to go see Grandma.”
“Did he say why?”
“He said ‘just because’. He said we haven’t gone in months.” Alec moaned and dropped on the bed. He was so mad he even shoved Gully away. “Go bug John, you mutt.”
I hugged the dog. “What time does the race start?” I asked.
“Ten.” He got up and started kicking things. Important things. Breakable things. “This is so unfair.”
“Maybe we can get everyone to say they don’t want to go.”
“Jeff will. He has plans for the weekend. So does Eric. But he wouldn’t say so just to spite me. I don’t know about Kate.”
“Maybe we could go up and make a deal with him. I don’t know, clean his room for a month, slave for a day. Anything!”
Alec’s head started to slowly nod. He was scheming it out. His eyebrows crinkled up and he scrunched his lips closed over his braces. He’d find a way. I left him at it and peeked into Kate’s bedroom. It was a lot smaller than ours and always cleaned up. She was sitting at her desk doing her homework.
“You think you could get Dad to change his mind?” I asked. “He listens to you. We worked real hard to build that bike.”
“I told you all along you should have told him.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah... told him.” I mimicked. “Thanks a bunch.”
“Don’t blame me.”
I flopped down on her bed. I still hurt from being beat up.“When kids...you know...when mean kids...when they call you bad things at school...how come you can stay friends with them?” I couldn’t believe I just said that. It sort of poured out like lumpy mud. I couldn’t even look at her when I said it. When I did, she wasn’t looking back. She put her pen down and her face was red. When our eyes met we both knew we were looking in a broken mirror. There wasn’t anything to say.
“Skip it.” I said and got up to leave.
“I...I just do. I don’t have a choice. I can’t live like you - all shy and locked up. You’re like a mouse, scurrying around the school, never making a peep, living in some secret world. That’s no way to live. Not for me. I need friends, even if it’s hard.”
That caught me off guard. I thought I talked all day at school. I told her about getting beat up on Saturday. She was real sorry and almost cried. They should have been my tears.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “But it still doesn’t change things. It’s their fault they’re mean, not yours”
I wasn’t sure about that but she believed it.
The next afternoon, Alec and I took tea and toast up to the big boys. While Alec begged and pleaded for their help, I ran down to the store to get them a chocolate bar. They came outside and we demonstrated our bike on the street in front of the house. By dinner time Alec had Eric almost hooked. He said he’d think about talking the race up to Dad. They even said they might go.
Supper that night was fried eggs and home fries with no corned beef. I was amazed there weren’t five plateful’s of barf around the table. If they hadn’t by now, I bet everyone wished Mom was home.
“How fast can you guys really go on that bike?” Jeff asked.
“I bet it does forty miles an hour easy.” Alec said. “You should see it. Maybe you could time us.”
Dad didn’t bite. We kept dropping hints, like lobbing hand grenades, without actually mentioning the race. After a while, it just got silly.
“Say,” Kate said, “I wonder what you could do with a bike that fast? Do you think it could win any prizes?”
“That all depends on where you go,” Alec answered.
It was no good. Dad read the paper all through supper.
“What do we do now?” I asked when we were back up in our room afterwards. “Dad’s mind is made up.”
“We got to convince Eric and Jeff both to say they want to stay here this weekend,” Alec said. “This kind of stuff takes time. Like water over a rock: before long, you have a diamond. We’ll probably have to agree to do something else for them. Lick their boots or paint the Moon or something.
“All we got to do is get Dad to postpone the trip until after the race. We don’t have to cancel it, do we?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Hey! Look at this. Sit, Gully. Lie down.” I pointed at the ground. “Gully panted and stared at me. After a few more tries he lay down. “Do you think that’ll win the talent show?”
Alec laughed, not too hard, but enough for me to get the idea.
That bugged me. “You promised you’d help but you never did. The pet show is tomorrow and I don’t have a trick.”
“Relax. Here’s what you do. We teach him a magic trick.”
He popped a wad of gum out of his mouth and got up. “Ahem! Ladies and Gentlemen.” he announced. “The Amazing Gulliver will now be able to tell me which hand is holding the secret item. Could one of you give me a personal item?” He looked around like he was waiting for something.
I gave him a broken pencil.
“Thank you, sir.” He held it up to show the crowd that it was just an innocent pencil. Then he put his hands behind his back and came out with closed fists. “Gulliver! If you would be so kind, which hand is the pencil in?”
Gully poked one of his hands. Alec opened it. The pencil was there!
“Do that again.”
He repeated it six times. Every time Gully picked the right hand. We didn’t even use the same pencil each time.
“How did you do that?”
“Easy!” He showed me the item. “Just stick the chewed Juicy Fruit on the item behind your back. Gully will sniff the gum every time.
I had to admit it again. Alec was a genius!
Just then we heard a loud pop from down the hall. Like a balloon bursting.
“ALLLEEEC!”
We looked at each other. A firecracker!

Strange Days

2012-02-03T10:12:00.002-07:00

Yesterday ran overtime. Buddy and I met with Kit's teachers to work out some playground issues and make sure his mind stays on his work. He's really starting to read a lot which is terrific, (he confessed that sometimes after lights out he switches the lamp on to read. I already knew it. "Like I'm going to stop that?" I said.) and he's been writing articles to make a family newspaper. The teachers suggested that he could start a school newspaper. There are other kids that would be interested. A counsellor offered to organize them, I said I'd do layout and editing. He's excited about the idea and we may be off to the start of something good.
Tio came home from his basketball game with three wins. The first was winning the game itself, the second is that he's finally on the starting line, and the other was a girl on the opposing squad (there is a girls and boys game that run back to back) said he was hot and a really good player. That'll put any boy in the right frame of mind.

Buddy has been assigned to go to other branches of his store franchise and teach the sales teams how to improve their departments. This is a huge boost for his self esteem and won't hurt his pay either.

So much for the good news.
Tish is coming down with a cold and working extra hours to make up the time lost when I was in hospital. Poor Doc sat bolt upright in bed around 9 pm and launched his supper all over the his bed. After cleaning that mess up I sat down to read the prep instructions for the PET scan I'm scheduled for next week. Down at the bottom it said, "For 8 hours following the scan don't hug any pregnant women or children and don't allow any small children to sit in your lap."

Let the radioactive games begin!

Guns don't kill people, the internet does

2012-02-01T22:29:00.001-07:00

This may sound completely paradoxical but I've agreed to let Tio have a gun - a spring loaded pistol that shoots hollow plastic pellets. It's part of a game that he and his friends play using safety glasses and protective padding. Much like paintball with no paint.

I hate guns. I've never held a real gun and only shot a BB gun once in my life. I believe they are a bane to humanity and unchecked gun violence is pox on the American population. So why on Earth would I let him have one? After all, I'm the one who thinks video games are harmful and doles out internet use like a miser giving away pennies. Well, as I said, it's a paradox.

When Tio took me to the gun dept at Walmart to show me, he told me about using one at a sleepover and I thought about him going hunting with his uncle Danny and his fascination with them and figure that maybe he needs to learn how to use and handle them responsibly. So he bought the thing, along with a pair of safety glasses, with the caveat that he needed Grammo and Dad's approval before we opened the package. If even one of them said no, it would be returned.

So why would I approve of something that can be so obviously harmful and yet be so restrictive of the internet and facebook, which are seemingly harmless? Maybe my priorities are screwy but it really shows how strongly I feel about video and internet use.

First off, the gun is real. You hold it in your hand, practice and learn a real skill that requires time and coordination in the real world. Ninety-nine percent of it's use will be on target practice. Second, we live in a land of deer hunters and Tio has already been introduced. Third, this isn't about me and my beliefs, it's about Tio and his interest and ability to use a gun correctly. The true harm of firearms is in their misuse - of which there is plenty - but when used properly and managed safely they pose no threat to mind or body. Teaching him proper use and responsibility will be part of the process.

On the other hand, internet and video gaming is a huge unregulated jungle where violence of man against man is acceptable, even graphically splattered everywhere, and denegration of women common. Almost all video games involve some kind of gun violence and the internet itself, while full up with useful information, is also chock a block with predators, misinformation, addictive activities and unsavory videos. It's too much for an immature mind to absorb and comprehend.

I'd much rather he was outside firing pellets at a tin can.

The Art of Blogging Honestly

2012-01-31T22:47:00.000-07:00

This is a guest blog I wrote for The Nanahood. Please visit Teresa's great page for lots of gramma stuff.

I started a grampy blog a year and a half ago after my son moved back home with his kids. Crammed together in a small New England cape along with our 4 dogs there was no question this had the makings of a great blog: two grandparents giving up their retirement to start raising a family again, a dad who just got custody and didn't have a clue what to do next, and three boys who couldn't be different (a 10 year old jock, a cross-dressing 8 year old, and an OCD toddler). As the only woman, my wife had just one demand: "I want my own bathroom."

Before I could write a word, I had to look inside myself and ask this question (a question that all parent/grandparent bloggers face): how honest and close to the bone should I write? Should I be candid and share what's really going on in the house - warts, bad moods and all? Or should I do what is more typical and present a rosy impression of being a devoted granddad, complete with lots of smiley pictures and cute anecdotes. As we all know, life lies somewhere in the middle of bad moods and puppy smiles. Life is messy and life in a crowded house full of kids and dogs is the definition of messy.

I'm not sure how any fellow bloggers reading this handle their thruths. Do you make a conscious decision to only dig so deep? Do you naturally know where the line for discretion is in your writing, as in your day to day life? If a touchy subject comes up that might fall in a grey area, do you avoid it or write it? I think this is a critical point for for any writer: how much are you willing to expose about yourself to share the truth? Is the truth important?

After researching and reading a number of blogs, I decided if I couldn't be honest and share real feelings, good and bad, there would be no point to the blog. I try to reach into my thoughts and feelings every time I face the page to get under the piece I'm writing rather than just relate a story. That can be tough. After all, I'm trying to relate the dynamics of a multigenerational household in turmoil. I'll write about anything as long as I can maintain the dignity of who I'm writing about. When it works, and I share a common truth about an issue, it touches my readers deeply. And when I've missed I unintentionally insult my family, which is painful and I've apologized for it. Sometimes, it's not easy to know where the line is until after I cross it. Then it's too late.

As writers, though, we all face this. When you put your foot in it, or say something inappropriate, should we say 'I'm sorry', move on and learn from the mistake? Or do we back off and lick our wounds and stop writing with honesty? Shouldn't we be true to ourselves, even when painful, and true to our subject whether fact or fiction? Another tough call.

I'm a science fiction novelist so writing about the people I love is a challenge. However, I'm developing a sitcom pilot based on this little microworld so I sure hope my family can take a joke.

I'll take good news where I can get it

2012-01-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

The second school term ended and the boys got their report cards. I'm amazed, proud, and pleased as punch at all three. Doc has been struggling with sitting still and cooperating. First grade has been a challenge - they expect results! But his teacher says he's doing much better. He's reading and comprehending above grade level and likes to go to school.

Kit made the honor roll for the second time in row. Unbelievable! Wonderful! He struggled so hard last year just to keep up and now he's coping better with all his subjects and making a better go of it with his social life, too. We'll find something really special to do to celebrate this.

Tio is B average, not as good as he could do but in the past couple of weeks he brought several of his grades up from C. So this is improvement. We've struggled a lot to stay at the top with his academics even though he keeps insisting that he can be an A student. He just doesn't knuckle down to it. He knows how and I told him tonight to prove it. We still struggle with concentration issues but maybe this is a good time to stand back and see what he's learned and can do on his own.

In a month of turmoil and bad news all around, these reports are the best thing that has happened so far this year.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 10)

2012-01-29T21:41:00.000-07:00

Poor little John. On Saturday morning he narrowly escaped from a harrowing chase and being lost forever in a strange neighborhood. When he finally found his way home, he discovered that not only was he just in time for lunch, but no one even he'd left the house...

CHAPTER 13

It wasn’t even lunchtime. I thought I’d been gone for days!
I stood in the door for a couple more secs. Through the glass doors to the livingroom, I could see Kate and a couple of friends playing records. They didn’t even notice me come in. I was so beat and sore and scared I couldn’t believe I’d only been gone a couple of hours.
I dragged myself upstairs to the bathroom and washed up. I didn’t think I wanted to tell anyone what happened to me. Mom would understand but she was still far away in Scotland. I wished I was with her. I sure couldn’t tell Alec. Not after he wanted so bad for me to go to the graveyard in the first place.
I stuffed my torn jacket in a drawer and quietly ate pea soup with everyone else. I told everyone I tripped and scraped my face. They all thought I was clumsy anyway and didn’t ask another thing.
After lunch, Alec and I started our project. We rummaged through Mom’s sewing room and grabbed fabric scraps, scissors, needles and thread.
“Do you think the fairies can afford to buy all the clothes we’re going to make?” I asked. “What if they don’t have three dollars? What if they need to pay with instalments?”
Alec had it all figured out. “Will you stop worrying. You think they go to the bank to get nickels to put under the rug? Not a chance. Fairies manufacture money by magic. They can make as much as they want.”
“Some kids at school say their moms put money under the pillow, not the fairy.”
That just made Alec laugh. “Well, that’s stupid,” he said, “Yeah, I’ve heard that, too. Lots of kids say their parents leave the money. I guess that’s alright, you still get paid. If they had a little patience and waited a bit, the real fairies would show up. I mean, how can the fairies buy your teeth if your mom buys them first?”
That was smart thinking. “Does that apply to clothes, too?”
“Let’s hope so.” He shut the sewing drawer. “Come on, let’s take it all downstairs to the livingroom. Kate and her friends have left by now.”
On the way down, he explained the scheme. “We’ll charge a dime each. I think that’s very fair. At that price, we need to make at least twenty pieces of clothes for a total of two bucks.” He dropped the works in a pile on the couch and gave me a needle and spool of black thread.
I knew how to thread a needle because I’d made clothes for my G.I. Joe before.
“I think I’ll make skirts,” I said. “That’ll be easiest.”
Alec said, “Fairies don’t wear dresses. They dress like Robin Hood, you know, in tights.”
“Even girl fairies?”
“Sure. Besides, we should make a variety. They won’t want to buy twenty skirts.”
They will if they don’t have anything else to wear, I thought. I squeezed my tongue between my teeth and stabbed the thread at the needle hole about a hundred times until I finally got it through. “How big do we make things, anyway?” I asked.
Alec had an answer for everything. “My guess is you want the stuff to fit an average fairy about two inches tall.”
Alec wanted to be a cobbler and make pointy shoes. I started on pants. I folded the cloth and cut two identical layers. Then I stitched them together for a front and back- not so easy to do. After I made a few of those I tried some hats and shirts and a scarves.
Dad came in to see what we were doing. He stood behind us and tamped tobacco in his pipe while we told him the plan.
“Sounds like good business sense.” Dad said. “I don’t see why the fairies would want to go around naked.”
“Where do you think they already get their clothes?” I wondered.
“Doesn’t matter,” Alec said. “We’re offering them a variety, maybe even better quality than what they get already. You can see it’s top shelf stuff.” Alec showed him some green felt boots and a long sleeved shirt. “With winter coming on, they’re bound to need warm clothes.”
“Good luck with it,” Dad said and went back to his study.
Fortunately, none of the big boys came in. They would have teased us and Alec would have started something with Eric.
By the time we were done it was almost supper. I’d stuck myself a thousand times with my needle, sewed my finger to a shirt, and I was starting to see double with all those tiny stitches. We had ten pairs of pants, eight skirts, six pairs of shoes, five shirts, and a couple of hats and scarves. It added up to thirty-one things. By the shape of these clothes our fairies had spindly legs, fat bodies, tiny heads, and huge feet.
Alec stuffed it all into a brown envelope and wrote a fancy looking bill to the fairies for two dollars and eighty cents itemizing every garment. We only needed two fifty so that gave us thirty cents extra.
The night before we’d finished the last Sunday dinner. So Dad made fried eggs, home fries, and corned beef. It was like having breakfast for dinner. Kind of nifty. Then, just before bed, we put the envelope in the corner of the living room rug that was always reserved for teeth.
Neither of us could sleep after lights out. “I forgot to tell you,” Alec whispered in the dark so that Dad wouldn’t hear us still talking this late, “Theodore told me that Seymour got hit by a car yesterday.”
My heart skipped. Tiny Seymour? “Is he okay?”
“He says he broke his leg.”
I was devastated. Poor Seymour. I couldn’t believe one of them was hurt. He was so small. I imagined this huge full sized car running over a leg no thicker than a bee’s. That had to hurt. “Where is he?”
“They took him to a hospital. He’ll be there at least a week. Theodore will come and tell us more when he gets a chance.”
“Tell him I hope he’s okay.” I said.
We whispered a bit longer until Dad yelled, “Boys! Go to sleep.”
I rolled over thinking about broken legs and tombstones and odd shaped fairies strutting around in our handmade clothes. It had been such a strange day. Going to the boneyard and seeing graves with my name on them. Then getting beat up. I spent all afternoon with Alec and didn’t mention one word about it.
I woke up at five and ran straight to the fairy corner of the rug. The envelope was still there. My first thought was that maybe the fairy bank was closed over the weekend. But when I lifted it, it was flat instead of puffy and jingled. I looked inside. There were two green bills and change! I ran right back up and started shaking Alec.
We didn’t have papers to deliver on Sunday but no way was I going to let him sleep through this.
CHAPTER 14

After school Alec met me at the boy’s gate with the superbike. The Payson creeps were lurking around but they left me alone. They didn’t even yell anything. I still didn’t want to say anything to Alec about it. I don’t know why. I guess I thought it would jinx me worse. Maybe I was just ashamed.
Debbie and her friends walked by and she said, “Hi, John.”
My heart thumped in my mouth and the air temperature shot up to six thousand degrees.
Alec hit my arm. “Don’t just grin like a goofball, say hi back.”
“Didn’t I?” They were already crossing the road. I muttered, “Hi.”
I waited for him to start teasing. He rarely passed up a chance like this.
“She’s cute. Let’s go,” was all he said.
I let out a huge breath. “Thanks.”
Mike’s was straight down Balsam and we were there in no time.
“Hey there, boys,” he said. “I wondered what happened to you.” He was wiping grease off his hands.
Alec said, “We had to raise some money.”
Mike nodded slowly. “Good point. Well, let’s have a look.” He bent down and looked at the bike. “I remember now. You need a bar across the top here to keep the whole thing from pivoting and a pedal assembly attached up here for the little brother.” He knuckled my head which I normally hated and took a quick look at his watch. “If you boys don’t have anywhere to be, let’s get to work.”
He actually wanted us to help him? We exchanged a couple of real excited grins.
We wheeled the bike behind the counter and into a back workshop. It was a big room crammed with full drawers and racks of tools hanging everywhere. There were half fixed bikes covering the work benches in the middle and others propped up on the floor. Hanging on a peg beside some kind of ventilator was a torch and tank. Th room smelled great. Like rubber and burnt metal and mystery. There was too much to see in just one look. It was like a grownups version of our bedroom with tons of projects laid out for whenever you wanted to play with them.
“You guys don’t mind if I make a couple of suggestions, do you?” Mike’s deep voice was sort of nice once you got used to it.
“No, sir, we don’t mind at all,” Alec said. “We had to work with what we got.”
He left the cigarette between his lips while he talked. “And a good job, too. But, I bet we can improve on it a smidge.”
Alec beamed like his teeth would burst out of his braces and his eyes would pop. Mike told him where to put the bike down and what tool to fetch and what we’d be doing first. Then he sawed up pieces of frame with power tools! He pawed through drawers to find the coolest whatnots and hammered them all together . The whole time Alec held the bike steady and paid real close attention. I just watched.
We had ten dollars on the nose. Not a ball bearing’s worth more and it looked like Mike was doing more than ten bucks work. What if he wanted more? My stomach started to flip. Man, I wished I didn’t worry so much. Alec didn’t care, why should I?
All I could think was what if Mike wanted fifteen bucks and kept the bike until we had the rest of the money? Every time he picked up a rubber washer or piece of sandpaper, I was sure that would throw us over the line.
“I only have one extra face shield, John,” Mike said, “so you’ll have to wait out in the shop while we weld. That okay with you?”
“Sure.”
I was glad to go. I hung around the showroom looking at the new bikes. When they called me back in, I got my first glimpse of our super bike. The basic design was still the same with Alec’s seat hanging over the back wheel and me down low but Mike had bent a banana seat in the middle for me to sit in so my feet could stick straight out front and reach a set of pedals they’d welded on the front frame. It now had long handlebars that curved down for me to hang onto like a Harley motorcycle. It was fantastic. It was more than fantastic. Not even Fantam could have designed a better bike.
The bad news was we had to be looking at way more than ten dollars work.
“Isn’t she a beauty, John?” Alec crowed. “How great is this?” He spoke in a reverent whisper while he gingerly stroked the frame.
Are you kidding? It was the greatest achievement of our lives. I hardly felt worthy even looking at it. And it was actually ours!
Mike said, “She’ll sail like the wind once she gets moving.” He belched. “Let’s get the wheels back on her and screwed together,” he said.
We spent the next while bolting the rims, pedals and seats back on and set it on its wheels for the first time. It was some machine. Both wheels were the same size so my seat looked like the coolest hot rod spot in the world.
“I bet there isn’t another bike in the world like it,” Alec said.
“You got that right, little friend,” Mike said.
“What do we owe you?” Alec asked as we rolled her out front.
Here it comes, I thought. Twenty? Thirty? I’ll be an old man before we pay it off.
“What did I quote you?”
“Ten,” Alec said.
Mike scratched his chin like he was thinking. “Really? Tell you what I’ll do. You got some talent with bikes. I’ll take the ten. You come see me next spring and you can work off the rest. Then I’ll pay you to work here over the summer.”
“I’d love to work here,” Alec said. He tried to sound cool but I could see he could hardly stand still he was so thrilled.
“Then we got a deal. You got some talent and it gets real busy when the weather’s warm.”
There’s no way to really describe the relief I felt! It was like learning you were getting a birthday present instead of told you just flunked a whole grade. I emptied the ball of cash onto his counter before he could change his mind. All our crumpled bills and coins clattered onto the glass or rolled on the floor. I scooped it back up and pushed it into a pile.
Mike looked at his watch. “You boys better get on home,” he said. “Test it out then bring ‘er back and show me what she can do. We’ll work out any kinks then.”
We headed straight down to the beach. I imagined everyone on the street staring at us. We didn’t dare get on before we got to the boardwalk. I felt such a wave of relief that we weren’t going to jail for not having enough money, I could have flown there.
Alec yakked away about how fast we’d go and how easy it would be to win the race and where we’d go after that and how we could deliver papers together on it and then we’d ride all around the world. Before we knew it we were standing on the boardwalk facing west.
It was the moment of truth.
CHAPTER 15

“Let’s Christen her right away,” Alec said. “I say we call her the Tidely-Idley because she feels like a sailboat more than a bike.”
“The Tidely-Idley it is,” I agreed. That was the name of Burt Dow’s boat.
“Then let’s go.” I couldn’t believe how excited I was. “Let’s see how she tacks.”
He straddled his seat with his feet on the ground and I climbed in front. I grabbed the bars and got both feet on the pedals.
“Steady the mains’ll!” he called.
“Aye, sir!”
“Lower the mizenmast!”
“Ready on the poop, sir!”
“Issue cheese to all hands and cast off!”
He pushed off with one foot and I started to pedal. His knee hit my shoulder. The handlebars pitched around. We crumpled up like a pop can under a wheel and landed on our butts before I could throw a hand out to keep steady.
After a lot of laughing and a couple more starts, we were racing along those boards so fast that I could hardly keep her straight. Either one could stop pedaling while the other kept going but only Alec had control of the brakes. He’d yell ‘brakes’ and I’d stop pedaling.
Well, he didn’t yell brakes. We whipped past the trees in a blur. We passed some poor guy who had to yank his a dog aside to keep from getting hit.
“Slow down!” I yelled out. “We’re going to crash.”
“This is amazing!” he yelled back. “We need a speedometer. We must be making forty miles an hour.”
“STOP US!”
In a flash we covered the entire length from Kew Gardens to Silverbirch. We were coming up fast on the jog in the boardwalk at the Balmy Beach club. That was sure disaster. I’d snagged up there a couple of times on my own already.
“You have to stop!” I screamed. I’d stopped pedaling back around the life guard post but Alec was cutting loose. “Hit the brakes! Hit the brakes!”
He didn’t know the danger. Our two choices were worse and worse. Veer off right to avoid slamming into the ice cream stand. Lean too far and spin out for a road burn so bad the thought of it was already making my skin crawl. It was like coming up on a waterfall in a speedboat.
By the time Alec came to his senses it was too late.
“Oh, crap!” he called out and hit the brakes.
The boardwalk dipped and we were airborne. I’d managed to point us clear of the building before we left the ground but that was all I could do. Re-entry was going to smart.
BANG! We hit the boards, bounced, and skidded for a few feet. We wobbled and slid right off into the sand, both of us flying off the bike together. The whole mess rolled for a second and rattled to full stop in ball of arms, legs and wheels. Alec got thrown clear but I was tangled up in the handlebars and came down under the bike. It all happened in such a rush I couldn’t even tell if I was hurt.
Everything was quiet.
“You alright?” Alec groaned out.
“Don’t know. You?” I replied.
“Don’t know, either. Can you move?”
I crawled out of the bike’s reach like it was some kind of monster that had attacked us. I sure hoped we hadn’t killed it. I had a couple of bruises and my ribs were real sore, but there were no cuts. Alec had a sore wrist. Other than that we seemed okay. We limped back to look down at the bike. Alec kicked it lightly like he was seeing if it was still alive.
“That’s some machine you got there,” said a voice. We turned to see at a fat man standing on the edge of the boardwalk looking on. “You might want to think about getting some brakes.” He laughed and walked on.
Alec was laughing, too. He was thrilled. “What a ride! And not even a popped a tire! This is so great.”
It hurt my side to laugh but I couldn’t help it. Happy as meatballs in spaghetti, we wheeled the Tidely up to the street towards head home. Alec stopped and motioned for me to get on.
“Can’t be afraid now, can we? Let’s take her up to Queen.”
“You got to promise you won’t go so fast,” I said before I took one step closer. “The cars on Queen Street will cream us.”
“Scout’s honor,” he said and held up some fingers. We’d never been scouts but it was good enough.
We pedaled easily up to Queen and walked the rest of the way home like a couple of heroes back from battling a whole cave full of dragons. That race was in the bag. It was only five days away. Plenty of time to get the hang of it. Alec couldn’t believe that he’d got a job out of it, too.
“It’ll be great working at Mike’s. I could have my own bike shop one day. Maybe even invent new designs. We could be in business together - you and me.”
We rolled up the walk to our house, parked it beside the kitchen door, and ran smack into the family finishing dinner.
Eric smirked like he was in for a good show. Jeff kept eating. Kate looked scared like we were for the jumps. I didn’t dare look at Dad. Only Gully was glad to see us. He barked and wagged and licked. I told him to sit like I’d trained him to. Fat chance.
Dad growled like an angry bear. “Where have you two been?”
We were done for.

I owe my wife an apology

2012-01-28T16:56:00.003-07:00

Dear Light of my Life,
These past few weeks have been hell on Earth for you and me both. But perhaps harder on you. We both joke that we'd rather die before the other because neither of us wants to be left alone. There is a very serious undertone to that because we love each other so much. That's what makes this cancer such a terror. I can face whatever comes, but only because it's me, not you.

As you know so well, one way I deal with pain and uncertainty is through humor. I guess it feels better to laugh than cry. It relieves my tension and, when it works, the tension of those around me. So this week, I wrote a blog about going to the hospital that was intended to express humor in a difficult situation. Some of it was at your expense and you took offense. For that I am very sorry. It is my job to look after you and I let you down.

It was never my intention to hurt your feelings or make you feel like I don't appreciate you. On the contrary, you have been by my side and inside my head and heart through this and every ordeal in my life for close to 30 years. To offend you stings me to the bone. In a cheap attempt to be funny, I made you feel like you weren't sensitive to my pain. But that is anything but true. When I collapsed, you were right there. You got me to the hospital, stayed strong and lucid throughout and never asked for a thing. Now we're both on pins and needles waiting for test results and a hopeful positive prognosis. I know it's tearing you up inside even while you're dealing with everything with your usual outer calm.

I apologize for treating you badly. We're partners in this mess of a life we share. You always do and always will come first.

Between Heaven and Earth

2012-01-26T09:14:00.000-07:00

I had to suspend both boy's Facebook for a while. I keep an fairly close eye on it all the time because it is not built for children and they can easily spiral out of control. They treat it like a free for all gaming and social site but I have told them many times it is only there for keeping in touch with friends. The rest is out. So from time to time they lose that perspective and need to be reined in. At one point, Tio posted something so offensive that the police showed up at school to talk to him about it.

Earlier this week, Kit reposted something disturbing and revealing about his feelings toward my new medical condition. I have no idea where the post originated but it was a quote from a young boy who said he would commit suicide a couple of days before his mother died of cancer so he could meet her in heaven. It was supposed to be an expression of love but it was nothing of the kind.

Auntie saw it first and commented right away that no mother, dying or otherwise, would want their child to die before she did. She rightly pointed out that this is not an expression of love, it's an expression of desperation. I followed up her comments by explaining that, as I said the other day, a parent wants their life to continue through their children. That is how life goes on and if a mom has to die, she would be devastated to know that her child had killed himself because of it.

Kit is obviously thinking about losing someone from cancer and how he might deal with it. He's transferred my mortality to his mother, which is more visceral for him, and he doesn't think he could cope. It's an honest reaction, but a misplaced conclusion.

This is one reason I have a problem with imagining there is a heaven. Kit is thinking heaven is s place for those who have died to be together living a human life. So why not live there instead of here? He needs to understand that, in all Christian faiths, heaven is not a substitute for life on Earth. God wants us to survive and live life to the fullest until our time comes.

However, the underlying issue for him right now isn't Heaven and Earth. It's that the idea of cancer is scaring the bejesus out of him and I need to reassure him that no one is going to die suddenly.

Notes from hospital bed

2012-01-25T09:29:00.002-07:00

It had been a very long time since I spent so much time in a hospital. Within a 10 day span I was an embed for 6 nights on 2 occasions (Hmmmmm... maybe it was 5 - I was pretty groggy the whole time). Still, it was more than anyone wants. I prefer my 5 star hotels a bit less, um, invasive.

Just getting there was agony. By the time I decided the death rattling pain I was in was not indigestion, it was 2 in the morning. Tish fired up the Jeep, the ER knew we were coming, and off we rolled. Now, my wife is not the fastest driver in the world. In fact, the word cautious might sometimes be considered an understatement. She's the car at the front of a mile long line of irritated drivers trying to get home after work only to find that 30 is the new 50 for a speed limit that day. But that night she was settting new records. There was a bit of drizzle coming down and the roads might have been slippery so she decided it best to exercise caution and slow her usual reckless abandon of shredding the speed limits into fractions and travel at, as comedian Ron White so aptly put it, "half the speed of smell".
'We drive a Jeep Wrangler, facrissake,' I was thinking. 'You got it in 4 wheel drive and the snow tires are brand-goddam-new. This beast is built to drive anywhere in any conditions. There is hardly a car on the road and my guts are spilling out all over the floor. Can we possibly kick it up a notch.' I tried groaning and smacking my head against the window to transfer the pain and hint subtlely that I was really looking forward to a double morphine and orange juice when we got there. But, I swear, she actually slowed down to oncoming cars and pulled over to let other cars pass us from behind. I should have splurged and ordered the ambulance. By the time we got half way there I was ready to get out and push.

Fortunately, the hospital staff was more swift. They walked my straight down to an exam room where I promptly tossed up everything I'd eaten in this and any past lives. I swear an egg salad sandwich I had back in 1985 was somewhere in the mix.

"Are you in pain?" the nurse asked as calmly as he could while trying to dig my fingernails out of his arm. They stuck in the IV and gave me a dose of something. I slapped the bar and said 'hit me again' or words to that effect until they hauled out the major medication and I went on a field trip to Disneyland. I knew this was the good stuff because I heard them tell Tish to keep an eye open in case I forget to breathe.

We were in that tiny room for almost 12 hours with a brief trip to the catscan machine. I don't remember much of it except for 2 things. First, Tish never left my side the whole time. At one point I notice her sleeping in the chair beside me, one hand on my chest diligently making sure I was breathing, and her face pressed into the side rail of the hospital bed like it was a pillow. I imagine the adrenalin drip she was giving herself was bigger than the sack of fluid they were draining into me.

The second thing was the stomach pump. I wouldn't wish that on - well, maybe I would. Still, the medics stuffed a hose up my nose and fed it down my throat while telling me to 'swallow and swallow and keep swallowing and you're doing fine'. Doing fine? All I could think while this is going on was that the folks at Disney were on the wrong track if they thought this ride would attract the kids. This was the nastiest trick I'd had pulled on me since a throat surgeon stuck a needle in my uvula for a full minute without anesthesia 5 years ago. I'd agreed to let her do it but it was the most painful thing I'd ever experienced my whole life. (When she was finished and tears of pain were rolling down my cheeks, I said "Usually when a woman hurts me that bad, she buys me dinner first.")

So now I have a vacuum cleaner down my throat making sucking noises like the icy remains you try to slurp up at the bottom of a sodapop, a liquid lunch stuck up my arm, I'm wearing a washcloth that is laughingly referred to as a hospital gown (it even had the audacity to have 'property of...' stenciled on it like anyone would want to take that home as a fashion statement), and a stressed out wife with a sack of coffee grounds under each bleary eye.

The anesthesiologist popped her head in to guess my weight, she must have been good because I didn't win a prize, and then three masked strangers wheeled my bed out of the room and through every hall in the place like some kind of parade until we hit the O.R.

Humility, thy name is surgery.

101 uses for a cancer diagnosis: #86

2012-01-23T11:37:00.002-07:00

Kit forgot to take his homework this morning and I asked if he had to do it again.
"Nope," he declared proudly at the supper table. "I told my teacher that my grampy has cancer and things were in such a muddle that I forgot to bring my homework."

All jaws dropped around the table before turning to laughter.
"Really?" Grammo was incredulous. "You used your grandfather's illness as an excuse to get out of homework?"
"I only told her we were upset and I forgot," he said.

Well." I shrugged. "Glad I could help."

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 9)

2012-01-22T20:11:00.000-07:00

Poor John! Stuck between a gravestone and a curse. He had to go visit the deaders to beat the curse of Witch Hatten. Let's rejoin him on that Saturday morning....

PART 9

CHAPTER 11
Since we didn’t have a bike anymore there was no riding after our routes. That was too bad. I was getting good at it. I told Alec that I was going to meet a friend for a while and we could make fairy clothes after lunch. I snuck twenty cents from our stash for streetcar money and headed up to Kingston Road.
I’d never been a sneak. I never kept secrets. And I really never go off on my own like this to do something dangerous. The whole thing was wrong. There was a chance I may never come back. But I had to go. Better that than get the whole family cursed, or get chopped up by the witch and buried alive in her backyard.
Kingston Road was always busier than Queen Street and definitely outside my world. I only ever went up there to a couple of stores and never took the Bingham streetcar alone. I sat right behind the driver as it rattled along past a blur of unfamiliar shops and apartment buildings. I tried to watch for a Woodbine street sign but they went by too fast. Maybe I’d already gone too far. Maybe I was already halfway downtown. How would I know when to get off? Why didn’t I think of that before I got on? Should I ask the driver? I was too scared. He looked busy. My chest felt like some fat guy was sitting on me.
Each time the stupid trolley stopped I felt like making a run for it. But then I’d be worse off because I wouldn’t know which way Woodbine was. I know, I thought, I’ll just cross the street and go back. It can’t go past the Bingham loop where it turns around. I know how to get home from there.
I thought I was going to puke. Sitting on this rail rocket, headed deeper into trouble with every rattle and stop. Too scared to even get off. I must be crazy.
“Woodbine!” the driver called out.
Ohmygod. He just called my stop! Did I imagine that? Did he really say Woodbine? Should I ask? I dinged the bell and hopped off. The instant my feet hit the ground a load got lifted off my shoulders like you can’t believe. I looked up and read the street sign. It was Woodbine alright. What a relief.
Before I noticed anything else, I saw the graveyard. It was real big. The wire fence went off in both directions from the corner like it took up a whole city block. It looked like there was a gate in both directions.
I fingered the last dime in my pocket. My ticket home. I could just get on the return car and forget the whole thing. The light turned green. No turning back now. I crossed and stared through the fence at the rows and rows of stones. Then I dragged slowly along like I had lead weights in my shoes. No sense being in too much of a hurry. I was already breathing deaders just being this close.
Down Kingston Road a bit was a big arch with open iron gates. On the stone arch it read ‘St. John the something something cemetery’. All I could see was the name John. If I had any brains I’d turn around now. If I had any brains I wouldn’t have come. But I didn’t. I didn’t turn around and I didn’t have any brains.
I stepped close to the gate without going in. There was a wide road that went up to and around a big building straight ahead. On either side of the road I could see gray and white stones all lined up like teeth. I gulped.
“Maybe the fairies use our teeth for something more sinister than building houses,” I mumbled aloud.
I stood there like one of the stones. It was sunny and blue skied. Everything looked safe. Nothing to worry about, right? Maybe that was just to trick me. My legs weren’t budging. They knew better.
“If we have to hold our breath when we drive by, imagine what kind of a dose I’m taking in now,” I told myself. “Isn’t that enough?”
The answer in the pit of my gut was a loud gurgley ‘NO’. Something told me I had to go in and maybe even touch one of the graves.
“So, go already!” I took a step. Stopped. Then another. This was brutal. It was like trying to get used to cold water by wading in slowly and letting your legs adjust. Alec always said it was better to dive in and get it over with. I never believed him.
I kept my eyes on one grave stone near the gates just off to the right. It was still a ways in but if I could make it that far, touch it and leave, I’d be cured. One more step. I was at the gate. Two more and I’d be through. My skin tingled like I was crackling and popping in the deep fryer. I was breathing so fast, I must have sucked in half the deaders already.
All of a sudden, the whole world went quiet. All the honking, whizzing traffic on Kingston Road behind me just disappeared. All there was left was me playing chicken with that snapped open gate like a corpse’s mouth waiting to swallow me whole. Do I run in, slap the stone and run out before it has a chance to slam shut on me? I was pretty fast. Was I that fast? When I ran a race, I could feel my legs take over, like they were on their own, pounding away with me along for the ride. It’s hard to explain but it worked like magic. Maybe I could outrun anyone at school. But could I outrun the deaders? Or a bad spell? I took another deep breath and held the potent stuff in my lungs as long as I could stand it.
“I didn’t come here for nothing, you know. I’m not afraid of you.” I lied and I took off running flat out before I had a chance to think again.
I got to the stone I had my eye on in a gut flash. It was old and thin and mold gray. I slapped it hard and grabbed a couple more big swigs of graveyard air. “Take Miss Hatten’s spell off me, you ghosts. Take her back where she came from. I hereby give you back the curse!”
I heard a voice somewhere. I don’t know what it said but it sounded bloodthirsty.
I beat it back out of there fast and kept running. I don’t even remember what direction. My lungs were on fire, my legs were pounding and my brain was deranged. I had to stop soon. I had to.
Finally, I fumbled to a stop and leaned my hands on my knees to catch my breath. Panting away like a dog, my mind whirled around what I just did. The gate, running in and slapping that stone, all replayed like a slow motion dream. Suddenly, I could see the writing carved into the flaky old stone plain as day. Jonathan Vie, age 8. It was a kid’s grave. A kid about my age. A kid named John. A graveyard named John.
That sealed it. The deaders worked for the witch. Not the other way around! They were letting me know they had me. “She’s going to lock my soul up in that place forever. I’ll be clawing my way out of a dirty grave for eternity.”
I slumped down against a wall. I was real thirsty. I wished I had some money for a pop.
“Hey, beaver face!” a boy’s voice called out. I looked up. John Payson and Puny Adams were coming out of a variety story on the corner!
I just blinked. Were they even real? Did the witch transport them here? I looked around. Where was I?
“What are you doing here, loser?” asked Puny. “We waited around for you last night. You snuck away like a chicken.”
They were getting closer. I couldn’t run another step. I was too pooped and I had a cramp in my side. I pushed myself to my feet and Puny grabbed my arm. He was shorter than me and meaner than a starving dog. He dug his claws into me real hard.
I yanked hard. “Lemme go!”
“Go ahead, you little weasel, pull all you like. This time you can’t run away.”

CHAPTER 12
It was all over in a flash. At the same time it felt like hours went by. It’s hard to explain.
The three creeps shoved me into an alley and started to push me around. I don’t remember what I did. I know I didn’t fight back.
“Next time we tell you to do something, you do it!” Puny ordered. Then he hit me.
“You understand?” Payson added with a kick.
“Crap like you doesn’t deserve to disobey us.”
“You’re face is messed up because you’re a loser.”
“We’re the boss of you from now on.”
“Why don’t you fight back, you sissy?”
They kept that up for a long time. Hitting and pushing and shaking me until they were tired or bored or both. They stole my jacket and left me lying on the road.
I stayed there for a long time. Better to be sure they weren’t just out of sight waiting for me. When I sat up it hurt like crazy. My arms and chest were sore and there was blood on my face. My leg hurt, too, but I didn’t bother to look. I didn’t really want to see.
I guess they were right. I was no good. If I was any good, I would have fought back. I could have been Fantam and punched them out. Instead, I was just weak little John getting beat up.
I limped out of the alley and found my jacket down the street. The pockets and sleeve were torn and my dime for the streetcar was gone. I was lost and far away from home. I didn’t even remember which way the graveyard was.
I shuffled along until I found a main street with traffic and stores on it. I didn’t even remember which way the corner store the two creeps came from was. I just walked. I came out on Woodbine where cars were whizzing by pretty fast. There weren’t any stores but I knew that Kingston Road couldn’t be too far off. I wonder which way?
I was going to have to walk all the way home. That could be miles. It might take days. I wonder how long it’ll be before they miss me? Will Alec make fairy clothes on his own? I saw a traffic light way down the street and headed that way.
Boy, was I in luck! It was Queen Street. All I had to do was figure out which way was home. What would Fantam do? How would he figure it out? I squatted down in the dirt in a used car lot to draw a map.
“This line is Woodbine and this line crossing it is Queen. I came down from here so that means that Kingston Road has to be the other way up Woodbine. Kingston runs the same direction as Queen so...” I mumbled all this to myself and drew a line that ran the same way as Queen. Now I had three lines. “Which way is home?”
“Let’s see. If I turn this way it’ll take me to the... On the other hand, if I go down that way I”ll be on...” This was too confusing. If I had a coin, I’d a flipped it and taken my chances. I decided to be more scientific than that. I stood up and closed my eyes and spun around a few times until I didn’t know where I was. I opened my eyes and was looking down Queen Street.
“That’s the way I’ll go,” I said and started walking and walking and walking. It was busy. Lots of cars and people and open stores. I didn’t go in any one of them. But I looked in lots of windows. Groceries, clothes, records, restaurants. I didn’t recognize any places.
I stopped a few times and wondered if I was going the wrong way. Should I go back? I was too scared to go back, I’d walked so far. But if I was going the wrong way I was just getting further from home. I was too timid to ask anyone so I had no choice. Keep on walking.
My knee hurt. There was dried blood on my face. Dad was probably out looking for me by now. I should have told Alec where I was going. What if they never find me? Would they blame John Payson for my disappearance? Would he confess to what he and Puny did?
Wait a minute! “There’s the Goof!” I called out.
It was the Chinese restaurant at the corner of Beech and Queen. We called it the Goof because of the missing letter in the sign ‘GOO FOOD’. The good old Fox theatre where we pick up our paper bundles was right across the street. And there’s Mike’s Bikes!
“I’m home. It’s really home.”
I ran. That was stupid. By the time I got to the top of our hill I was practically crawling. After everything I’d been through, I felt like I just escaped from Devil’s Island and hadn’t been home in years.
I got to the house. No cop cars out front. That’s strange. Maybe they already started the manhunt. As I walked through the door I heard girls voices and music inside.
Down the hall in the dining room was Dad with a stack of bowls in his hand. He smiled.
“John. You’re just in time. Call everyone down for lunch.

“A very merry un-birthday to you!”

2012-01-21T11:56:00.000-07:00

My birthday came and went this week. I turned 54 on Thursday without much fanfare. There was too much going on. Sugar and Danny brought over a lasagna and the whole family was together. I got no presents and no cake and nobody even thought to sing Happy Birthday.

I gotta say, though, it was probably one of the nicest birthday’s I’ve ever had. In light of my new health issues and the love and support that came to me from family and friends all around the world, I couldn’t be a happier or richer man. I was surrounded by everything that matters and maybe anything further would have spoiled the moment.

To know I am loved is the best birthday present there is.

Immortality comes from within

2012-01-20T21:55:00.000-07:00

Last night, I spoke about finding the right way to discuss mortality and death to Kit, while he struggles with the concept of my having cancer. I posed both secular and a religious path and asked readers to weigh in before I posted what I actually told him. Several posted comments on my facebook page facebook page which is where many of my readers link here from. Most spoke from a position of faith but didn't suggest that I speak from anywhere but my own heart. This is what I said.

"I don't believe in heaven or life after death in the way many people do, Kit. But Grammy does so you should talk with her to find out more. For me, I believe immortality comes from inside us and moves through time through our children. When you look in the mirror who's face do you see?"

"Me."

"And your mother's. You look just like her. The shape of your face, your expressions, the way you hold yourself. It's her. You are her piece of immortality. She will live well beyond her years through you, through your children and everyone else down the line."

He smiled at that.

"Back in 1775, the American Revolution was just starting and there was a famous battle at The Old North Bridge in Concord Massachusetts where it all began. At that bridge stands a statue of a man called Isaac Davis, one of the solders who fought and died there. He is a direct bloodline ancestor of yours through Grammo. You are related directly to a hero of the revolution 240 years ago. How's that for immortality?"

"Really?"

"Really. And it goes back further. You've heard of the Mayflower, right? The ship that brought the original pilgrims to New England? Well, Davis's ancestors, Grammo's ancestors came over to this country on the next voyage that followed the Mayflower, in a ship also called The Mayflower. So your relatives, direct blood relatives, were the first Europeans to settle in New England 400 years ago. There's immortality for you."

"For me the connection to our future and past is how we lead our lives here, how we leave the Earth a better place for those who follow. Who knows, your great grandson might be the first to farm the ocean floor or find a cure for cancer or be a world famous artist. Believe me, someone will say one day ﾑyou have your grandpa Kit's hands' or ﾑyour talented just like great grampa Kit.'"

"But why not live forever?" he persisted.

"Well that is living forever. But I take your point. Where would we all live if nobody died? What would we eat? Besides that, you get bored if you have a couple of hours loose time. What would you do with hundreds and thousands of years with nothing to do and an endless road of time still stretched out ahead of you? Life being finite means you have to live the share you're given to the full and cherish it, That makes it all the more sweet."

I could tell he wasn't satisfied with that. But there would have to be other times to continue the thought. When he was older and more prepared, perhaps.

"So there is no heaven?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not living my life with any hope that there is but you will have to decide for yourself about that."

Sally from "The Nightmare Before Christmas"

He grinned one of his mother's grins and asked, "Do I still get your Sally doll when you die?"

"You'll have to wait a very long time for it. Goodnight, sweetie," I said as I always do and kissed his forehead, as I always do.

"Thanks, Grampy."

Would you want to live forever, Grampy?

2012-01-19T23:19:00.002-07:00

Last night, I tucked Kit into bed for the first time since my surgery. We hadn’t talked about cancer yet and it was time. The big question on his mind was: “If you could, wouldn’t you want to live forever?”

That is, to say the least, one of the most important questions from the lips of man since we first sparked to self awareness so many millions of years ago. That is: why do we only live so long and why not forever? Big stuff from a ten year old.

I am not a religious man. While I recognize that 93% of humans on Earth do, I do not believe in an afterlife, or God. I do not believe in eternal redemption or rewards to come should we behave well here on Earth. I believe we must make of ourselves what we have here and answer for it here as well. I can’t tell you if that’s right or wrong but it is where I stand on the big questions and it is where my strength and faith in human nature, good and bad, come from.

Now a ten year old has just asked me if I would want to live forever, or if his grandfather, who now has what is universally accepted as a deadly disease, is mortal and could be lost forever.

Conundrum: should I make something up to comfort him or do I try and share the strength of my convictions in the hope that it will give him strength? It would be so easy to say there is a heaven and we will all go meet there later and be happy and never worry and so forth. But I don’t believe it. If you truly do believe it, you have every right and obligation to share it. But if you don’t? Should you spread it anyway because it might make him feel better tonight?

Let me make my argument in three basic points, your honor. First off, I don’t lie. Can I tell him what I don’t believe?
“Lie, milord?” says the opposing counsel. “My learned opponent has said in past blogs that while he doesn’t believe in God, neither does he deny the existence of the Deity. Therefore, it would be no lie for him to tell the child what might be at least considered ‘an alternate view to his own. That is no lie.”

Okay, I counter, that may be but if I give him both sides, it might only serve to confuse him. But moving on to my second point, your honor, I draw comfort in knowing life comes to an end. Death is part of life and without it life wouldn’t be so sweet or important to us. This is important to me and would rub the grain badly should I attempt to advocate something I don’t believe.
“Surely,” speaks my learned opponent, “you don’t suggest that you burden a young boy who is merely worried about his own and his grandfather’s mortality, that you tangle him a complex argument that will leave him unsatisfied, confused and possibly still frightened? Especially as he just lost his maternal grandmother weeks before and worries about what has become of her immortal soul. You mentioned that over 90% of human beings follow a religious path in life. Perhaps it is so, not only because it may just be true, but because it is the most tangible way for us to understand and accept our own deaths.”

I contend, sir, that the 90 some percent look to faith to quell their fear of the unknown and the unknowable. There may be a point to that but when faced with such things in life we all need something to give us strength. Which brings me to my third point, Your Honor. These boys don’t believe in God or Jesus Christ, nor have they been taught consistently about it through their lives. Only last month Kit thought that Christmas was to celebrate Christ’s death - and even then he couldn’t say who Jesus Christ was. So why fall back on religion with boys who have had but a spattering of it in their lives so far? Shouldn’t they find strength in other ways rather than tell them a mishmash of religious concepts that they have never learned the underpinnings of? Why bolster their insecurities through some hope that they have an unprovable immortality in a religion they have absolutely no understanding of or faith in?
“My colleague seeks to muddy the waters by giving these children the rationale of adults,” said counsel for the defense of faith. “Faith is not something you find under the couch nor is it something you learn through church. You feel it. You seek it out, even if you never enter a chapel your whole life. A church is the college that teaches you how. In itself it doesn’t supply you with faith. In fact, it is when we need it most that we find our faith. Faith requires no proof of fact. Otherwise it would be fact and not faith. So it is in moments like these that we can best teach children to have faith and to believe in an afterlife and redemption so that they may have comfort when tragedy and disaster do strike later in life when, perhaps, they have no one but their faith to turn to.”

Arguments were closed and I turned back to Kit’s eager face.

Well, my readers, I’ll post tomorrow how I handled this well balanced anvil on a pin. In the meantime, what say you? Would you like to weigh in with some comments about how you might talk to Kit about this fundamental question? I’d love to hear your ideas.

I am now a member of a club that everyone truly wants to avoid.

2012-01-18T22:34:00.000-07:00

I have cancer. What a thing to say aloud. To think and try to comprehend. Tio asked, “Is it weird or what to know you have cancer growing inside you?” Weird? It’s positively creepy.

The lab tests were positive on the tumor but negative on the lymphoma. So some good, some bad news. We have a long way to go before we know the depth, damage and potential lethality of this thing that is growing inside me.

So be it. Creepy as it is, scary as it is, and potentially disastrous as it might be, is not the first issue we have to tackle. I say “we” have to tackle because I’m not in this alone. There is a famly of people here just as worried and just as confused as I am about this. We need to face it together, learn together, and recover together. There are so many layers to accomplishing this that I can’t fathom them in my mind’s eye. Tish’s first object is to look after me, Buddy sees his role as to make sure the household will function, the three boys all need to protect themselves from pain of possible loss and I feel my job is... um, there you have me. For the first time, I don’t know what my place is here. Victim? Not a chance. Humble and compliant patient? Not likely. Rogue tough guy unwilling to admit pain or defeat? No.

Regardless of my condition, I’m still the head of this family. As such, I need to make sure that everyone still feel safe no matter what may come. They need to know I am not giving up, I am not frightened, and that I am there for each of them. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t plan to sacrifice myself for the family. That’s nonsense. I’m a member that needs looking after, too. But to survive this together we need to be a team and this may be the event that finally makes us one.

Ex vis malis venit. (From adversity comes strength)

Forget talking about drugs and sex... how do you tell your kids you have cancer?

2012-01-17T22:49:00.002-07:00

Sorry for disappearing for a few days, dear readers, but I ended up back in the hospital for emergency surgery to unblock my intestines. After a resection surgery where they cut 10 inches off my bowels and the hernia surgery a week ago, that makes 2 major abdominal operations in 8 days. Kinda takes the poop right out of a fellow, if you’ll pardon the pun. I got released from the hospital yesterday and I’m still reeling. It was an adventure of multilayered proportions, not the least of which was pain and sudden midnight skulks to the emergency room followed by days of dazed and confused. Sifting through the rubble like a forensic examiner has given me several stories to share here. I’ll start with two.

First, a trauma in the family is a game changer that you simply can’t prepare for. You can’t say “Grampy’s going to be very sick for the next 2 weeks so buck up and deal.” Instead, the urgency of now takes precedence when an unspeakable pain or injury forces you to the hospital. Now, instead of prepping the kids for a shock they wake up in the morning to find Grampy’s been spirited away in the night and no one knows what’s wrong. This happened twice inside of one week.

The boys did alright considering. They shut down. They’ve each had so much trouble and change in their lives that continuing their lives as if nothing happened is the only protection they have. Buddy stepped right up and took time off work, took the boys completely in hand and made sure nothing changed at home for them while I was gone. However, underneath it all is a subdued tension and agitation that isn’t normal. Tio is displaying concern but he doesn’t know where to place it.

This was a real wake up call to how quickly change can put the lives of everyone into a completely different place. Which brings me to my second point: the CT scan found several iffy nodes and tumor-looking-things inside me, not the least of which was the one obstructing my bowel. I may be the next victim on the cancer merry-go-wheel that we all spin at some point in our lives. I planned to keep this part from the boys until we had the lab results and could have better answers to their questions. Not to be. This new world we inhabit has no rules that we already know. They asked Tish the “Big C” question and, in good faith, she didn’t lie. She told them it is a possibility that we are still waiting to learn.

When she told me the cat was out of that bag, I better understood Tio’s heightened attentiveness and anxiety. I did not want him to think I wasn’t able to talk about it so I sat down with him and laid it all out. The pros and cons, the possible bad and hopeful good. “I’d rather you knew the real dark side, than invented one that could be much worse,” I said. He had questions. I gave answers. They’ve just lost a grandmother, Tio’s mom has moved away again and I may have cancer. So much for a 13 year old to grasp and accept.

No matter what happens next, our lives have started down a new path that none of us has much experience in. I’m going to spend a few days blogging the ins and outs of what happened and how I see us going forward. I told Tio that I’m not afraid of death. When my time comes, I’ll be ready but I’ll not go easily into that dark night.

But, man, I don’t want to pull my family through a meat grinder of pain and uncertainty. Here’s hoping we just had a scare and no more.

Primary Day in New Hampshire

2012-01-10T14:45:00.001-07:00

I'm a liberal. I believe that society is about shared responsibility. Liberal doesn't mean big government. It has nothing to do with government - that's just an opposition smokescreen to make conservatives squeak. Liberals believe in responsible and responsive government, a government that takes on the needs of the collective. That includes police, fire, infrastructure, healthcare, education, and social security. These are all jobs better handled together because we can't pay for them alone and we can't afford to be without them. Plus there is no reason anyone should make a profit off the common good.

As a liberal I want better government, not more of it. Right now the American political system is totally dysfunctional and out of control. Money controls politics so much that it appears our choice has come down to letting the politics of money rage on or dismantling government altogether so that we're at the mercy of those who control the private sector. There must be a middle ground.

Not according to the slate of Republican candidates on today's primary ballot. I can't believe the selection of squabbling, self serving, men that have floated to the top of the charts. Mitt Romney will change his view three times a day to get votes. Newt Gingrich is so bloated with his own self importance that he believes that his extreme ideas are acceptable simply because he spouts them. Rick Santorum is so socially conservative that it doesn't matter what else he thinks. Then there is Ron Paul, who wants no government. No civil rights, no women's rights, no clean air, no consumer protection and no social security. I've seen the yellow skies over Beijing. Believe me, we don't want to go there. Nor do we want to return to lead paint, devaluing women and segregation.

I'll grant that President Obama has his problems and has had trouble navigating this really divided government. But really, are any of these guys really capable of holding an honest debate with him on how to get out of the deep slump the country is in? Gingrich suggests we solve the poverty problem by making poor black children clean the toilets for the affluent kids at school, as if a poor work ethic has anything to do with poverty. Romney will spout what is convenient that moment so the concept of 'debating his position' is an oxymoron, and Ron Paul wants to return to the gold standard and get rid of money altogether. Got change for a ducat?

Why is any of this relevant to a grampy raising 3 boys? Our school system, our health and our ability to financially fend for ourselves are all at stake. Meanwhile these characters are discussing cutting hundreds of billions out of a federal budget that would leave 80% of the population hanging out to dry. Is this really what the Republican Party wants or are they just holding their noses long enough to vote because this is all they can get?

I hope when November rolls around voters take the future of our country more seriously than they do. Please, if I'm missing something about these candidates, let me know. I long for reason to think better of them.

Do bad things come in threes?

2012-01-08T18:27:00.000-07:00

I spent the last couple of days in a daze. It appears I got in a serious knife fight with a surgeon and he won. He hired an anesthesiologist to sap me before I saw it coming. One thing for sure, next time I'll bring my own pharmacologist and they can duke it out without me.

Something biggish happened while I was out. On Friday, Marcia (Tio's mom) and Dave and Liz all headed back to Arizona. She'd come here a year ago to look after her parents and be closer to Tio. A reasonable enough proposition. However, none of them expected the kind of troubles they all ran into. First off, Marcia was no match for her parents. She'd had a bad childhood with them and somehow thought things would be better now. Big mistake - huge. Second, it wasn't so easy finding jobs and they'd both left good ones in Phoenix. So expenses got out of hand and, third, Liz went from the security of friends and a city school she knew to suddenly being thrust midyear into a rural, and rough, school district. Add in all the other details about making a huge move and it's emotional trauma and I'm surprised they made it a year. They came to the realization that their roots are really in the southwest and they need to return there to get back on their feet.

So where does that leave Tio? His natural mom returns after many years away saying she won't leave him again and a year later she's gone. That's one way to look at it. The other way is that they reconnected and will stay that way, regardless of where they each live. I think he understands why she had to go back and that it has nothing to do with him. They have made a positive reconnection and it is up to them both to build a working relationship from it.

Tio hasn't spoken about how this feels to him. He's not all that good sharing plus a lot of not so great stuff has gone on of late. He lost a beloved grandmother, I got seriously sick, and now his mother has moved away, all leaving him wondering what's next.

I guess that's life. We're all wondering what's next.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 8)

2012-01-06T18:35:00.000-07:00

I think I"ve been dishing you chapters from an earlier draft of this book. Sorry about that. I hope this reads a little smoother.
Mom had just left for Scotland and the big boys had dispersed leaving John and Alec in the cellar building a bike. John went up to make sandwiches...

Part 8
Upstairs was quiet and very bright. It was nice outside but you’d never know it from the cellar. I made peanut butter and jelly. Alec took a bite and acted as though it’s just what he ordered. He perched on top of a busted stool with his knees up under his chin while I sat on the freezer case.
“That hits the spot. Say, I figure you should dress up as Charlie Brown on Halloween.”
I forgot all about the Halloween plan. “I like Charlie Brown,” I said.
“The first time, you go as a ghost like in the TV special - you know with too many eye holes cut in it. Then, when you go out again, you go as a baseball player, you know, with a sideways baseball cap, a glove, and a shirt that says ‘MANAGER’.”
“Didn’t Charlie Brown always get rocks instead of candy?” I asked.
“That’s because he’s Charlie Brown. Believe me, on Glen Manor you won’t get rocks.”
I thought about pouring all that candy onto my bed and eating myself sick. Next to Christmas Eve, Halloween was the best night of the year. “You think Mom will mind if we cut holes in a sheet?”
He tapped his head like I was stupid. “Where did she just go?”
I grinned. “Oh, yeah.”
He finished his sandwich and pointed at the bike. “I switched the back wheel with the frame we sawed off last week so we don’t have the steering problem. But we’re going to need a second set of pedals.” Now his seat was almost behind the back wheel and way up even higher. “We’ll have to buy a special sprocket to put up here where your feet go. Then we add a longer chain, a bar up here for support, and Bob’s your uncle.”
“Bob’s your uncle. Right. Just where do we get all that?”
He shook his head like he couldn’t believe I was so stupid. “Have some faith, my little brother.” “We’ll go to Mike’s.” He scanned the room looking for something. “What time is it?”
“Mike’s? What’s that?”
You know, Mike’s Bike’s next to The Goof Restaurant on Queen.”
“Oh, yeah. The bike repair place. We’ve never gone in there before.”
“So?”
“I don’t know. You think it’ll cost much?”
He shrugged. “Only one way to find out. Grab an end.”
We lugged our invention out to the street and rolled it down the hill towards Queen. We both had to hang on tight to make sure it didn’t get away from us. I didn’t even have time to peek at Debbie’s house. I hoped she was watching.
On Saturday afternoon all the stores on Queen Street were busy and people were everywhere. Not like when we delivered our papers at dawn. This was my turf. I knew all the streetcar stops, every store, every alley, where all the gumball machines were, and every crack in the sidewalk from the Neville Loop to the Balsam Ave.. That was eight whole blocks. You could smell the sidewalk all mixed up with traffic and the deep fryers in the Willow fish shop. Summertime was when the smell was the best.
In the front window of Mike’s was one of those Stingray bikes with small wheels, high handlebars and a banana seat. I always wanted one of those bad ever since our cousin William got one. It was just my size and I’d never be afraid to learn on that. That all changed now. Our contraption may look like a road accident, but I was itchy to try and ride it.
We wheeled through the door and got met by a noseful of rubber and grease. Kind of like a hardware store smell only better. Hanging on the walls were different style bars, wheels, stacks of chains, and inner tubes, and sprockets and you name it. Some real slick bikes were parked in the racks, all metal flake enamel paint and polished chrome. Lined up and ready to ride away. Yum.
“Can I help you boys?” said a gruff voice from the back.
I jumped. From out of nowhere, a man with gold rimmed granny glasses, a bushy moustache, stubbly chin, and long tangled hair under a blue striped bandana stared at us from behind the counter. He was an honest to god pirate. I’d never seen guys with hair that long. Not even the Beatles.
He was wiping something off with an oily rag and left a black smear on his face when he scratched his cheek. My eyes went to the door and I wondered if maybe we should bolt. Alec took over.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “We’re looking for a sprocket and pedals for this frame.” He pushed our bike forward and the man leaned over to take a look. I stayed back where I was. After a long pause, Alec added, “We’re building a special bike.”
The man snapped his Zippo and lit up a cigarette.“That so? Want to tell me more or do I guess?”
I kept my mouth shut while Alec explained what we were doing and how far we’d got. The man listened with his arms folded, sucking his teeth and rolling the smoke in his fingers. He asked a couple of questions, then walked around to a big drawer and pulled out a couple of new pedals and a ball bearing something or other.
“Problem is, you got no way to mount this on your bike without a weld,” he explained. “Either of you boys got a welder?” We shook our heads regretfully like it was something we should have had, something everyone should have. “Didn’t think so.”
“It’s a real cool bike,” Alec told him.
“I see that.” He used his cigarette for a pointer. “You’ll need a support strut between the two seat poles. Tell you what, I’ll provide all the parts and weld mount it together for ten bucks. How’s that sound?”
“That sounds fair,” Alec said. His tone sounded like it was an amazing deal.
I thought he might as well have said five hundred bucks. We didn’t have it and we had no idea what was fair. “We’ll be back as soon as we raise the money. I’m Alec Lunn and this is my little brother John.”
“Mike Welton,” said the man and he sat back down behind the counter. “Call me Mike.”
I held the door open while Alec wheeled our bike out. I whispered, “Ask him how long it will take.”
Mike’s voice growled from over the counter. “Depends on how busy I am when you come in. Could give you same day service. Otherwise, it’ll be a couple.”
“Thanks,” we both said. A second later we were back on the street.
Alec was so excited. He was practically dancing as we walked along. “We’re going to have the greatest bike in the whole city. For speed and design and everything. It’ll be sooooooo groovy.”
“Where are we going to get ten bucks?” We’d have to break my piggy bank to get the remaining fifty cent piece out. “I make a buck fifty a week on my route. You only make six dollars and you owe two to Chris on top of what we pay to use his bike.” I tried to add it all up. “I get a dime for my allowance and you get a quarter. Figuring all that, we maybe scrape up half of it in time. Where do we get the other four?”
“We’ll find it.” That was Alec: always scheming and dreaming of glory while I worry about what could go wrong. “It’s a beautiful day. We have a plan. Lighten up, little brother. Meantime, let’s get some fritters. My treat.”
It was about to say we should save the quarter. But I didn’t. We stopped at Willow and got salt and vinegar on them. We climbed the hill planning what we’d do when we got the bike working. I felt it would be okay because Alec made it okay. So did the greasy fritters.
So, for a while, I didn’t worry so much about what could go wrong.
CHAPTER 9

When Alec was scheming hard, he’d go all quiet. He wanted the bike real bad. He wanted to win the race. It was more important to him than anything.
I was happy just to fantasize about winning the race and leave it at that. I imagined us sailing ahead of tons of kids to the roar of a huge crowd with our family leading the cheers. We breeze across the finish line in the nick of time against John Payson riding a loser of a bike. Waiting right up front for me, all happy and excited, is Debbie.
We were up in our room on Alec’s bunk with blankets hanging from above so it was like a tent. He sat cross legged at one end, staring at nothing all misty eyes under a crumpled brow. “I bet Jeff will lend us a couple of bucks...” he mumbled. “can’t ask Eric... Kate stashes her allowance...then there’s Steve...”
“Geez, Alec,” I complained, “We’re going to owe everyone for the rest of our lives.”
“No we’re not. Didn’t you see? We get twenty bucks when we win. We’ll pay them back with that.”
“Twenty dollars? For real? Where does it say that?”
“Right on the entry paper thing that I brought home that day. Didn’t you see?”
“No.” But before I could even imagine paying everyone back and spending the rest, my guts got tight. That feeling I always got when Alec had a plan all ‘figured out’. “You mean, IF we win.”
“We can’t lose with this bike,” he crowed. “I’ll pedal, you steer.”
“Then let’s ask Dad,” I suggested. “He could lend us the whole fiver, right?” As soon as it was out of my mouth I knew neither of us would dare.
By Sunday night we’d been laughed at by everybody. We even tried asking Dad for odd job money. But around our house you do jobs because you’re part of the family. There wasn’t any cash in mowing grass, folding laundry, or cleaning. That left us four dollars short.
“I told you we shouldn’t have bought fritters yesterday,” I said.
“No you didn’t.”
“I should have.”
“We just need a stroke of luck.”
The next morning, back on the boardwalk with Chris’s bike, I was starting to get the hang of riding. After crashing all weekend I could finally roll a ways on my own. All I needed was to learn to stop without using a tree or just falling off.
At school, everyone was talking about the pet show. Mr. Pratt had posted a list of all the kids names with their pet beside them. There were going to be eleven dogs, six cats and two birds. I saw that Debbie Bell was bringing a siamese cat named 99. I figured it was after the girl spy in Get Smart. Alec said maybe it was 66 turned upside-down like the number on her house. The only other dog I knew was Dinah’s mutt, Luger. Gully and Luger knew each other because our two families were friends.
During social studies, I started a new daydream where Gully and 99 were in the pet show. I let 99 win and Debbie helped me break the witch spell. She suggests we go right to the source: the witch herself. We go right up to Miss Hatten’s house and ring the bell. An old hag answers all hunched over with one closed up eye and the other one rolling loose around the socket. With a cackley voice, she invites us in. We can’t say no if we want to. I tell Debbie to run but she’s under the spell, too! We hold hands and take slow shaky steps inside. The door slams behind us.
I hear laughing.
“John!”
I blink a couple of times. Mr. Pratt was standing over me with a cheesy smirk. More kids laughed. He made me stay in for recess and do extra spelling for not paying attention. I wished Gulliver was there to bite him.
One thing was for sure, I had to break Miss Hatten’s spell. Alec kept telling me I better go breathe in the deaders soon before it was too late. The longer I put it off the worse my luck got.
I found a message in 19 when I got home from school. “J.otch.N. 67". That meant to go look in the hollow book. We hid it on a different shelf just to be sure. I slid it out and inside was another note. “3@5.” Translation: meet in 3 at 5 O’clock. He must have left all this at lunch because he wasn’t even home yet.
I loved secret meetings. It made even the stupidest things feel special. One time we met in the door room after a chain of notes about winning a strawberry Great Shake off Jeff. We shook the whole thing up in a jug of milk and drank it straight from the bottle. The added flavour of being secret made it the tastiest shake ever.
I had more than an hour until five. I grabbed the leash and called, “Come on Gully, let’s go out back and work on your tricks.” He was already right beside me. I gave him some of my toast. We took off out the side door and around to the backyard.
Alec and Chris and I had built a wooden hut out back last summer. It was big enough for 3 bunks, a window and a door. It was a great place to sleep out in the summer. It took us forever to haul all the wood for it from a lumber store way up north of Kingston Road. Today, it was quiet with no squirrels for Gully to chase. He kept jumping up for my toast so we finished that first.
No one could tell what kind of dog Gulliver was. The man Dad got him from said he was a Beagle. But he didn’t look like any beagle I ever saw. He was a chunky black and tan middle sized mutt with a bow tie patch on his neck. Dad called him a Polish Pointer.
“Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit. Sit.” I kept saying it while I pushed his rear down until he stayed sitting. That seemed pretty good. Then I told him to lie down but he got out and started sniffing around the yard and wouldn’t do anything I said anymore. Bigelow was out prowling around, too. I wondered if it would be better to take him but everybody knows you can’t teach cats anything.
Gully and me went back inside the house. Dad was cooking Sunday dinner number five. We were eating them all in a row. Tonight smelled like pot roast. It made me miss Mom even more than I already did. We’d talked a couple of times over long distance phone. That only made it worse hearing her voice from so far away.
“I see you’re trying to teach Gulliver some tricks,” Dad said.
“It’s for the pet show.”
“You might try using treats to get him to cooperate. He’ll lie down if he knows there’s a treat waiting.”
I could tell Dad didn’t know anything about dogs. That was backwards. Gully only jumped up on me when I held up a treat. “Thanks, Dad. When’s supper?” I asked.
“Six. Get your homework done first.”
“I don’t have any tonight,” I lied. We ran straight upstairs and crawled under the bed and through the tunnels. Alec wasn’t there yet. I flipped on the light and read Spiderman vs Doctor Doom. I wondered if I should do my homework but decided I could wing it. It was only fractions. A couple of minutes later Gully wriggled back out the tunnel.
I heard Alec say, “Easy, Revillug. Easy boy. Coming through.”
“Where have you been?” I asked when he finally got past the dog.
He stayed stretched out, half in the tunnel with 67 clutched in one hand. “Take a look at this,” he said and gave me the book.
I popped it open. Inside was an official looking slip of ivory coloured paper with a red stamp on it and a bunch of writing. It said we were officially entered in the bike race as #155. I fingered it and read it over several times. It was like a special ticket on thick paper with a jaggedy edges all around.
“Wow. It’s for real then, isn’t it?”
“Dad asked what it was when he gave me the envelope. I told him I’d sent away for a brochure about Centre Island.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him?” I asked.
“We’ll tell him this weekend, after he’s had Saturday afternoon to relax.”
I looked at the entry form again and put it carefully back in the book. “This is so cool. Now all we need is that last four bucks.”
“I have a way we can make a couple more bucks,” he said.
“Sell our bottle collection?”
He chuckled. “Who would want that? No. I was talking with Seymour last night after you fell asleep and he suggested we get it from the tooth fairy.”
My brother just lost his mind and I was there to see it. “The tooth fairy? You want to knock all my teeth out?”
He looked like he was considering it. “Maybe as a last resort.”
“Hey!”
“Relax. Even if we pulled them all we wouldn’t make four bucks.”
“Then what?”
He raised his brows up and down like Groucho Marx. “Fairy clothes!” He said it like he was revealing the secret of King Tut’s tomb. ‘We make fairy clothes.”
“Fairy clothes?” What in the world was he talking about?
“Sure, you know how we always wondered what the fairies do with the teeth.”
“Yeah...” We used to figure they made fences or building blocks with them.
“We assumed they built a fairy town but what we missed was that the fairies must need clothes, too. Like they’d need cars, furniture and everything.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy like a duck. They pay money for teeth and we have no idea what they use them for. Do you think they walk around without any clothes on?”
I was having a hard time imagining the tooth fairies, or teeth fairies, walking around or doing anything. “Seymour said they needed clothes?”
“Not exactly. He was just talking about needing new ones himself and that they were hard to find when you’re that small.”
Seymour and Theodore were tiny friends of Alec’s who visited late at night. He couldn’t even see them, they were so small. They would climb into his ear and tell stories about where they’d been and stuff they did. Then Alec would tell me. They had fantastic adventures. Once they got washed down a drainpipe in a drop of water. They got back up by harnessing a piece of thread to a daddy long legs and riding it back up the spout. Another time they traveled through the wilderness in the fur of a lynx. In that adventure they nearly got shook off in the north woods every time the cat scratched. So every morning they lashed themselves to a hair on its back like it was a ship’s mast. Then they rode him right into an Eskimo village where they caught a plane back south.
If those guys knew what the tooth fairies needed, then it was okay by me. “How much do you think they’ll pay?” I asked.
Alec’s sly schemer grin spread across his face. “We’ll figure out how much after we make them. What do you think? Is that smart or what?”
I thought it sounded like a lot of work. “Is there a third choice?”
“Supper’s ready.” Dad’s voice rattled the whole house. “Wash up.”
Alec crawled backwards through the tunnel. I followed him out and down to the kitchen.
“How many pairs of pants do we have to sew for them?” I asked.
“Shhh.”
Kate got Mom’s place at the end of the dinner table as the oldest girl. Usually I was squeezed between her and Alec so I got elbow room tonight. Supper was when I missed Mom most. She loved to cook and lots of afternoons I’d hang around the kitchen and help make supper and we’d talk. She’d been gone a while now and I wanted real bad to see her serving potatoes and beans while Dad sliced the pot roast. Since she’d been gone we’d already had meat loaf, pork chops, and chicken fricassee. I wondered what we’d be eating once we ran out of Sunday dinners.
“I was down with the laundry this afternoon and saw you boys are building some kind of bicycle?” Dad said.
“Not me,” Jeff said.
“Yeah. Me and John are tinkering around,” Alec said.
“Looks like a tandem bike?”
I nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I sit up front.”
“It’s still kind of in the planning stages.” Alec elbowed me to shut up. “We’re a bit stuck.”
“It looks moronic, if you ask me,” Eric said.
“Well, nobody did,” Alec shot back. He looked down the table at Dad. “Actually, we’re thinking of entering a race.” His voice was real quiet.
“Really? Where?” Dad asked. “And finish up, Alec. Everyone else is ready for dessert.”
Alec was the slowest eater in the world. Everyone else in the family could finish thirds before he’d even got to his potatoes.
“What is dessert?” I asked.
“Fruit cocktail,” he said.
“I’m in the mommy’s place,” Kate announced. “I serve dessert.”
“Yeah, and you’ll take the cherry for yourself,” Alec complained.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
“Where’s this race, Alec?” Dad asked.
“On Centre Island.” Alec replied cautiously. “Can we go?”
The room went silent while we all waited for a referees decision. I kept my eyes on my empty plate just hoping it wouldn’t be no. We’d been working so hard and now it all hung on Dad’s next word.
“We’ll see.”
A split decision! Not a no but not really a yes. Alec and I exchanged a flickered glance of relief while I wished he’d told him that we’d already entered the race. CHAPTER 10

Thursday was always collection night for our paper routes. We had to knock on all the doors we delivered to and ask for money. I only had six papers so it didn’t take long but Alec had thirty doors to bang on. Usually after I was done, all that money made me feel too rich and I’d buy a couple of chocolate bars but not tonight.
After we subtracted what we owed our manager, George, and then added in our allowance for the week, we were only three bucks short of our goal. Not bad. Could we make that much in fairy clothes? It had to be the weirdest scheme Alec had ever come up with.
I couldn’t concentrate on the bike to save Christmas. All I could think about was that stupid curse. It didn’t help that Alec kept rubbing it in. I’d been trying to forget it but he wouldn’t let me. I had awful nightmares and a terrible gut ache. I didn’t even care about eating anymore.
I slammed into a couple of walls and fell off more than once. After riding down to Kew Gardens on my own I hit a snag and tumbled into the sand. I was so mad I kicked the bike for treating me that way. Man, did my foot hurt. On the way back to Alec the bike made a strange noise like it was dragging a couple of leaves or a candy wrapper. There wasn’t anything there when I reached Alec.
“Maybe it got loose and fell off.”
He pinched the tire. “Or maybe you got a flat, you dope.”
I gave it a squeeze. The tire was dead alright. He spun the wheel slowly until we spotted a big splinter of wood poking through. Alec pulled it out. It left a real hole.
“What did I tell you? Miss Hatten is working you over but good.” He groaned. “We have a patch kit at home to fix the tube but Chris’ll want a new tire. There goes our welding money.”
“Maybe he won’t notice.”
He noticed. It took him all of five seconds. He must have examined the bike with a magnifying glass every time he got it back. He told us we owed him a new tire and we couldn’t borrow the bike any more.
“That could happen to anyone. He knows that,”Alec complained.
I felt miserable. On the way to school, I was locked in mortal combat with Miss Hatten’s evil spirit. Standing outside the graveyard at midnight while jagged bolts of lightning lit the sky, I draw a wooden stake from my cloak just in case her minions are lurking. She’s in there - I know it. Maybe not in body but her brain sucking soul that’s wrapped its tentacles around me is through these gates.
I must face this alone. No Gulliver, no Alec, no Debbie. I push open the huge black creaky iron gates as a loud crack of thunder booms overhead. I hear the voices of the trapped souls of thousands of children that must be freed from her curse. I’m the only one who can save them. There’s no time to lose! I squeeze through and run straight to the small church lit only by lightning strikes. The door resists, like there are hands holding it shut on the other side. I put all my strength into it --
“Ow!” Something sharp hit my head. I looked up. I was coming through the boys gate at school. How’d I get there so fast? I sometimes lose track of time when I daydream, but not that bad.
Ow! Another sharp smack on my head.
“Hey, Chipmunk,” yelled a voice, “I thought you’d like some lunch.”
I stopped and looked up the perimeter wall. John Payson and his creeps were perched on top throwing acorns at me. He stuck his teeth out like a rodent and made chewing sounds. They all laughed and threw a pile more nuts. They really stung.
“Stay there, Chipper,” Dozer Faraday warned. “or we’ll pound you to hamburger.”
I was sick to death of them calling me a chipmunk or squirrel or rat or whatever. I spit a string of swears at them that would have got my mouth washed out with soap at home. It stunned them long enough to make a run for it.
“Get him!” Payson yelled. They all jumped down and came after me.
I zinged around the schoolyard like Ricochet Rabbit. Zipping around football huddles, kids throwing cards, and alley board competitions. No way those pudgy creeps would catch me out there. I was way too fast for them. I was one of the fastest kids in school.
They were serious today. It got kind of scary. They were organized and spread out to dragnet me into a corner. I squeezed through their line just in time. It was close.
It took forever for the bell to ring and reminded me not to get there on time again. Puny Adams pushed me in line but there were teachers around so he didn’t do anything else.
Before recess John Payson dropped a note on my desk with a really badly drawn skull and crossbones on it. The note said ‘Enjoy today - after school you die.”
At lunch they didn’t touch me. They just walked by smacking their fists into an open hand saying: “Three o’clock and we puff up the other side of your lip, freak.”
I was terrified. There was no way to escape. What if they caught me? Would they really beat me up? There wasn’t anyone I could tell. Pratt would probably help them do it and my sister would only get hurt, too.
I decided to get a detention and stay after school. No way the rats would wait around. I told Mr. Pratt that I didn’t do my math homework, even though I did. He called me stupid in front of all the other kids and gave me extra homework for the weekend. Now I had to face the creeps and do extra homework. I was done for.
After school, I snuck out the girl’s door while it was still busy. Then I crossed the yard to climb the north fence and up Balsam to Kingston Road. I don’t think anyone saw me but I went all the way around to Bracken just to make sure. It took me forever to get home. At least I didn’t get pounded out. That gave me till Monday to figure out what to do about them.
I knew what I had to do before then. I had to visit the deaders.

You can never see a shit storm until it hits

2012-01-04T18:52:00.004-07:00

Last night, I made a big pot of split pea soup with the leftover Christmas ham bone. It was yummy. I went to bed at my usual way too late hour and woke up at 5 am with spasms bone rattling pain in the guts that set me on the edge of passing out for the next 4 hours. I thought I had food poisioning from my own hand!

Long story short, Tish and I spent the day at the hospital getting a battery of tests. In the end a catscan told the tale and here I am spending the night in the hospital with an early morning wake up call for a hernia operation. The damn thing twisted my colon and blocked me up worse than flushing a stuffed Spongebob down the toilet.

What a relief. After a day of nailbiting it turned out to be benign enough but it could have been life threatening, or something that needed long term care. It's amazing how 24 hours has the potential to so completely change the direction of a life.

The other great thing? I don't have to throw away the soup!

Don't stir things up from the bottom of the pot

2012-01-03T21:42:00.003-07:00

First day back at school. I got startled out of sleep at 7:am by Kit and Doc fighting followed by Buddy rattling the floorboards shouting "Will you be quiet! You‘ll wake your grandfather up!"

This routine is now a solid 2 years old and I'm really tired of it. After they left for school I couldn't get back to sleep so I spent the day in a 4 hours worth of sleep trance. Since I'm going to be woken up anyway, I guess it's time I get up in the morning again and realign the stars and planets. I told Kit and Doc that I'd be up keeping them in line and getting them off to school. I said I'd be keeping them both on separate floors while they get ready for school. They were not pleased. They like winding each other up, they like winding their dad up, and they like winding up Grammo. They definitely don't like to wind Grampy up. Stirring the Kraken from his slumber only makes things worse. You see, the great and powerful Oz holds too many markers, throws too many privileges their way, and holds all the cards. You don't want to screw with the forces of nature. They'll have to behave, they'll have to smarten up, and they'll have to earn back their mornings.

I've heard wielding power is intoxicating and glorious, that those who have it are loath to give it up and only crave more. Personally, I'd rather get the sleep.

Does saying no to video games make me a bad role model?

2012-01-02T22:20:00.000-07:00

As we start the new year and the next learning cycle for the boys I'm going to mention a couple of things that I'll be talking about in upcoming posts. There are several issues brewing for each boy - both near and long term. The issues themselves aren't always the trouble but how to responsibly approach them so they understand can be tough. How do you talk sex ed with a possibly homosexual boy? When talking drugs, should we be honest about our own participation in past drug use? Should an athiest support or even encourage religious beliefs? How much does bowing to name brand fashions encourage an ego driven adolescence? And so forth.

Today's straight talk...how strongly should I oppose something that is very popular but I fundamentally believe is harmful to children? In this case - electronic devices, specifically, video games. Doc came home with a tablet computer for Christmas from his uncle. It's a nifty machine with lots of games and wifi capability and so forth.

I have a serious problem with it because I believe the fast moving interactive imagery, progressively questionable content as the age levels rise - all alluring as they are - can stunt mental growth and contribute to hyperactivity and aggressive behavior - both short and long term. There are a many studies to support this and plenty that will refute it. However, since 2006 prescriptions for ADHD drugs have risen 86% mostly for children. Hell, I still believe that violent TV and movies contribute to the high violence in our society, and that handguns are responsible for hangun crimes, but what do I know, right?

I'm fighting off a mountain of advertizing, product pushing, peer pressure, dismissive (and submissive) parents, and - in this case - a well intentioned uncle who just wanted to give his nephew a nifty gift. But it's historically problematic that everyone jumps on a new bandwagon and accepts whatever comes along, complains when someone tries to place limits, and then act shocked when something bad happens as a result - something that could have been forseen. Society does this with every fad, every new trend, every new superdrug. We don't know where to draw the line and collectively we go to extremes until something bad happens.

But this one seems to me like a no brainer. The human mind has been evolving for millions of years, adapting and growing with its environment. Electronic stimulation is barely sixty years old with the advent of TV, and barely a couple of decades with computers. The speed of video stimulation to the mind is staggering while the human brain is still the same as it was when the printing press was invented, the Roman Empire fell, and Noah built the Ark. I hardly believe we can cope with it as adults but a child's mind really isn't designed for that kind of stimulation.
So in this house, we don't have a Wii, no PS3, no handhelds with a gaming technology, no children texting, and very limited daily time on games they do have. I won't deny gaming can be fun. But that argument can be made for cocaine, reckless driving, and any other dangerous activity if you take it to extremes.

I guess my bottom line argument is this: If I'm wrong, then the boys lose a few years of mindless video games (which I'm sure they can catch up on if they work hard at it later). If I'm right, I may be protecting them from brain damage that could irreparably impair their ability to concentrate, focus and otherwise achieve long term goals in life.

What parent wouldn't want to protect against that?

The Twilight of Christmas

2012-01-01T19:18:00.000-07:00

Tish took this picture just before she took down the tree. The wistful reflection of the lights in the window at snowy dusk illustrate perfectly the transition from the jaunty Christmas season into the arrival of deep winter - a time to hunker down to endure the short blustery days and crisp hearthbound nights. Here in northern New England we won't really come out of hibernation until the beginning of May when the jaggedy ski slopes of snow finally melt off the top of Mount Sunapee, just to the left of this shot.

So long, 2011

2011-12-31T23:22:00.000-07:00

This is the last post of 2011. The ball just dropped on Times Square, the kids counted down and we all said happy new year. I don’t have any New Years resolutions. I think more along the lines of a bucket list or long term goals. Besides the things I’m already doing here’s a short list of a couple of things I wouldn’t mind achieving - even if the bar is high.
- get all three boys through college. (I’d like them to do better than their parents, better than we did and move up the ladder to a fulfilling life)
- understand subatomic particle physics and high energy mass well enough that I can converse directly with the formulas and not just in layman’s terminology.
- reach a 50th anniversary with Tish. (We hit 25 in 4 months)
- Visit Mars or Jupiter (a long shot, I’ll admit, but always been one of my dreams)

I asked the boys what they might think of as resolutions or goals for the future. Here they are, all good and worthy aims, from the oldest to youngest.
Tio said:
- land a flat ground tail whip every time (that’s a scooter/skateboard accomplishment)
- raise a family (he’ll be a good dad someday)
- throw more parties (we haven’t had any - I’d like Buddy to take charge of that)
- write a rap CD (probably a longshot for him, but who knows)

Kit’s turn:
- go to Lady Gaga concert (money and time are the only obstacles there)
- live with mom again (he has missed Debbie the most and is torn about it)
- have my own dog (he’s becoming quite the handler - more on that later)
- not be bullied (that’s a biggie that we’re working hard on)
- have a real birthday party (I sense a pattern developing)

Doc rounded it off:
- play with my Nabi all day long (his new tablet computer that has daily time limits)
- watch TV all day (another daily restriction)
- go see Justin Beiber concert (he is a big fan)
- an electric scooter (he got a push scooter for Christmas and has dreams of power)
- sleepovers with boys at home (that’s three for three on that one)

I hope you and yours have a bright look towards the coming year and have set some high goals to reach for. Because, after all, it’s the reaching that makes it all worthwhile.

Tio. One cool dude.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 7)

2011-12-30T19:19:00.001-07:00

We last left John learning that old lady Hatten could turn children into zombies if they looked her in the eye and got an eyeful alright! Now, on top of that, he still had to learn to ride that stupid bike....

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 7)
I was doing much better on the bike. I’d been balancing well enough and could steer, too. I just needed to combine the two so that I wouldn’t fall off and die. It was drizzling that Saturday morning so we only planned a couple of practice runs because I didn’t want to miss all my favourite cartoons.
On the third run, Alec told me to pedal faster . We were going straight along and it felt steady. “Are you still holding tight?” I asked.
No answer.
“Alec?”
No answer. Time to panic.
“Alec?” I looked over my shoulder. He wasn’t there. Suddenly, the whole bike felt like it was made of tin foil and would crush under me any second. It started to shake and wobble. I wanted to jump off but was too scared to even stop pedaling. It was like I was riding a ticking time bomb that would explode any second.
“Steer!” shouted a voice way behind me. “Use the brakes! Pedal backwards!”
Head for the sand, was all I could think, just don’t fall over on the boardwalk. I pointed the bomb towards the edge but the boardwalk was raised at least three feet above the sand at that place. So when I sailed off the side I was airborne, pedaling away helplessly for a couple of seconds like Neddy the Nut. I came down with a smack, twisted the front wheel and rammed my chest into the handlebars. The bike threw me over the front and then rolled on top of me. Wow, that hurt.
Alec came running up and pulled the wreck off of me. “You okay?” He hauled the bike off me and looked it over. I lay there like a corpse.
I couldn’t blame him for checking out the bike first. We didn’t own it and didn’t have any money to fix it. But I’d heal all on my own - hopefully. I sat up clutching my chest and started rocking back and forth trying to decide if I was hurt. “Is it okay?” I asked through clenched teeth. My knee felt like it was on fire.
“The handlebars are a bit crooked. Otherwise, it’s fine.” Alec said while he straddled the front wheel and straightened them out. Then we checked me out. I had a blood oozing gash on my knee and a scrape on my ribs. Just looking at my knee made me almost faint but, strange to say, the fear of falling off felt worse than the pain from the scrapes.
I looked at Alec. “You said you wouldn’t let go.”
He looked real sorry. “Sooner or later you got to let go. Besides, I didn’t think you’d go right off the side.”
“You could have told me.”
He laughed. “You looked pretty funny flying through the air pedaling your old legs off. You should have seen the expression on your face!”
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up.”
We whacked each other’s shoulders and he helped me roll my pants back down over the cut so I could limp home.
For some reason the house was buzzing early that morning. Everyone was up running around so nobody noticed us sneak into the cellar and wash up in the big sink. The cut wasn’t too bad so we didn’t tell anyone. It would spoil our secret. Besides, just for a second there, I felt the freedom of riding a bike even if I did fall off. That made me a wounded hero.

CHAPTER 5

Turned out all the excitement that morning was because Mom was going away for six weeks to Scotland. I kind of forgot but not really. I’d been dreading the day and then it snuck up on me. When we came up from the cellar after cleaning off my knee, Mom and Dad were rushing around packing and writing lists and ordering everyone around. Eric was on the phone, Jeff was bringing down bags, and Kate sat on the lower landing looking like she was going to cry. Gulliver sat by the front door so he could be the first one out.
“I’ve frozen six Sunday dinners for you,” Mom explained to him. “During the week, there are plenty of things you can forage for suppers, but you can at least look forward to a nice Sunday dinner.” Mom was a great cook but I wasn’t sure if Dad could boil an egg. She spotted us. “John and Alec! There you are. You should have been back ages ago. I’m just about to leave.”
“Do you have to go?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, dear, I’ll call and write letters and be back before you know it.”
I started feeling the way Kate looked. We watched Dad load luggage into a neighbour’s car. We didn’t have a car of our own any more. He took the streetcar to work
“This means Dad’ll be in charge of everything.” Alec said as we sat down on the porch. “That’ll be different.” He said it like it wasn’t a good thing. Alec often wondered if it was better to get a smack from Dad - whop and it was over - or listen to an endless lecture from Mom. She could waste a whole hour telling you why you shouldn’t be bad. But with Dad you could go back to business as soon as he clopped you. I’d never got a smack from Dad. Just the thought of it made me do what I was told.
Eric came back up from the curb and looked straight at Alec. He had one long black dangerous eyebrow that lowered over his dark eyes. “When Dad’s not home, I’m in charge. Got it?”
He got it all right and he didn’t like it.
“You boys be good.” Mom said. She scooped us all into big goopy hugs and kisses. “I expect you big boys to look after Kate and John. If you need anything, you have the numbers on the fridge...” she started repeating all the stuff she’d said five minutes before. I decided to be stiff and show her I didn’t care if she was leaving us but when she wrapped her arms around me I got scared she would never come back . I clung to her skirt and wouldn’t let go.
“Don’t worry, John. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Then she and Dad plunged into the taxi in a flurry of goodbyes and I-love-you’s. As soon as the taxi pulled away, Eric turned to Alec and said, “You’re mine, Footsie. Now, get me some coffee.”
This was going to brutal and it looked like a showdown right off the bat until Jeff called from the street, “Leave him alone, Er. The gang’s all down at Kippy’s. Let’s blow.”
Eric looked torn as though it was going to be a tough choice between seeing his girlfriend or beating Alec up. But they left and Alec mumbled what he should have said and what he’d say it next time. When he finally stopped shaking he said, “Let’s go work on the bike.”
Kate headed off to a friend’s and we bounded down the cellar stairs with Gully leading the way.
“Did you tell Mom about the race before she left?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I thought I’d wait until it was just Dad. He’ll be a piece of cake.”
The words Dad and piece of cake didn’t belong in the same sentence. ‘Stay out of Dad’s way’ or ‘Don’t let your father catch you doing that’ were more like it. But, Alec knew what he was doing.
Down in our secret bike lab we were cooking up an awesome weapon, more powerful than a go cart and as unique as Super Car. Up until then, we had dirt for luck. Last week we used the front wheel off my trike with the pedals still attached. As soon as it started to roll, the pedals spun faster than my feet could keep us and I nearly got my legs torn off.
Another one we tried was to turn the whole thing around so that the back wheel steered and the front one had the chain. We swapped the handlebars with a rudder stick like on a boat and Alec sat on a saddle we hooked on the crossbar with one hand behind to hold the rudder while I pedaled. I started pumping and we were moving!
But not for long. I could barely pedal for both of us because I’d only been riding since yesterday and steering from the back wasn’t easy so the whole thing collapsed with us in it and we scrapped that design. Even though I was getting scraped up a bit, I wasn’t as scared of trying out these bikes as I was of learning alone.
We heard Dad come home upstairs and kept on working.
“This time, let’s take the long front forks off Jeff’s and attach them to the girls’ bike. Then we fix the back forks to this reversed bike we just crashed.” He started dismantling the handlebars.
She didn’t ride it much, but I was sure Kate would notice and make a stink. “We’ll get in trouble,”
“She never rides it anyway,”
“That won’t stop her from telling Dad on us,” I said. He didn’t answer. “Where will I sit?”
He took one of the seats that was lying on the floor and held it up where the frame dipped down in front of the regular seat. I still wasn’t sure what this plan was but I did whatever he directed and by the time we were getting hungry we had another prototype. My seat was low down with my feet stretched out front and Alec sat on the regular seat right overhead. He’d pedal from up there with his hands on my shoulders and I’d hunch down and steer from underneath with the front wheel way out front like a dragster. Our only problem was the back wheel was on forks and so both wheels could turn. The other problem was that Alec had to pedal for both of us and we’d never win a race that way.
“I’ll tackle those problems while you go fix us some sandwiches,” he said. “I’ll have tuna or baloney.”

The boys are back in town.

2011-12-29T20:05:00.002-07:00

It looks like the vacation on the cape was good for everyone. They came home with good moods, bags of Christmas gifts and lots of stories. There’s another four days of vacation left and the older boys are already making plans to see friends and go to dances. Nobody’s even mentioned New Year’s Eve. Last year we set the clocks ahead 3 hours so that Doc would think it was midnight and we counted down and then he went to bed happy. The rest of us stayed up to watch the chilly crowds in Times Square watch the ball drop.

This year? Well... I never cared about watching the ball drop but Lady Gaga will be there and Kit is gaga over Gaga. So my guess is the TV will be tuned to that all night. Maybe this year we’ll let Doc fall asleep on the sofa with a belly full of junk food and soda, then wake him up when it’s time to go to bed.

Hmmm. That sounds good for him and me both...

I'm a flop. What else is new?

2011-12-28T21:03:00.000-07:00

I'm generally successful at things I do. I've excelled at some and been a moderate success at others. I don't give up easily and often hang on too long to projects that just won't work. I can unequivocally say I'm a bad salesman, a lousy piano player and, until the last couple of projects, a terrible carpenter.

Now I have to admit that I can't finish this novel I've been beating my head against it for almost 8 years. More, if I add in the planning and precursers I started decades ago. It's just too damn complex and slow moving and got me wound in knots. I should have stopped working on it five years ago when I took a break to write You Pedal, I'll Steer and a couple of other projects. But I was too stubborn and now I have all these years invested and nothing to show. I was on a roll as a start up writer, two novels published, 2 agents showing my stuff, a publisher eager to read what I did next. And I get bogged down in an epic science fiction story that I knew all along there is no large market for. So I stayed with it and struggled and fought and rewrote, every month thinking this would lead to the end but it never did. Here I am a thousand years later and I keep telling myself if I give up, I'll have lost all that work.

Well, I give up. Greta and Toby's epic struggle with the end of the universe will have to sit in a drawer until I have the energy, and nothing better to do with my time, to finish it. I just have to hope that the agents and publishers, who are still in business, will take another look at what I can do all these years later. Publishing has changed so much, bookstores are on the wane, and ebooks are the thing. New novelists have a hell of a time (nonfiction is always easier to sell), new screenwriters are generally a lot younger and I'm feeling my years.

So be it. Time to accept failure and move on. They say fifty is the new forty, sixty is the new fifty, and dead is the new eighty. My new project is a sitcom pilot based on Grampy's Little Acre. It's a longshot but no moreso than Circe's Daughter and it won't take eight years to write. My agent likes the idea and so does my family.

They say "write what you know". Well...this I know.

Well...that happened

2011-12-26T13:08:00.003-07:00

I hope you've all had a good Christmas. The boys have all gone to stay with their mom and other grandfather down on Cape Cod for the week. Tish has the week off. My drippy nose turned into a full fledged head cold yesterday and so I'm wrapped in sweat, filled with drugs and drowsy as a puppy after a long yap. I may end up spending this entire week dragging myself around. I hope not.

On Christmas Eve, I asked the boys to find an appropriate Christian quote to read before supper. Kit had scribbled something about following the star in beth el ham so you will find chris. I asked him what it meant and he didn't know. He told me Tio dictated it to him. As I asked about the reason for Christmas, he either didn't remember or didn't know. He seemed to think it might have something to do with Jesus's death. I had him google the meaning of Christmas but time was a bit short so we didn't get too far.

I may not be a practicing Christian but even I find it appalling that Christmas can be so separated from Christ. To reach the age of ten, spend the whole year looking forward to Christmas and not have a clue what it's all about speaks volumes about where the broader so called Christian social and moral compass has pointed. I know that's the point of The Charlie Brown Christmas and The Grinch and a host of other stories that have been rolled over us for generations, but for many it has been lost in a month of blaring carols and shopping. None of these children have a clue what Christ himself had to say or why he is revered so highly around the world.

I best haul out my own bible and start reading the gospels with the boys.

"Why for 53 years I've put up with it now. I MUST stop this Christmas from coming...but how?" - from How The Grinch Stole Christmas.

2011-12-24T14:15:00.000-07:00

Turns out old Grinchy and me are the same age - 53. I wonder if that is significant? I've been reading it that long. My dad used to gather us all up and read it and Giant Grummer every Christmas Eve. As I watch all the buzz around Christmas with decorating, baking, presents and so forth, I realize that there is a visceral need inside most of us to recreate the safe place that Christmases of our childhood represented. We trim up our mother's traditions, which are a modified version of her mother's, with some of our own to keep reliving it as well as share it with our own children. I can't speak for the rest of the Christian world, but I believe that here in North America there is no other occasion throughout the year that reaches us so deeply. We certainly don't listen to 4th of July carols for 6 weeks before the day and there is no shopping frenzy into the billions of dollars for Memorial Day or Easter or Halloween. Even many non-Christians get swept up into it somewhat.

The kindness of Christmas reached so deep into me as a child that nothing could spoil it. I loved to anticipate, to sing the carols, sit down with my family all dressed up in good moods for our Christmas Eve. Presents were important, no question, but no the only thing. Stockings at predawn, a leisurely breakfast before gifts and then the big moment. By late morning it was done and we were sated, ready to get prepared for relatives arriving in the afternoon. I especially loved the quiet afternoon before the eve. Father would nap, mom prepared, brothers were out delivering gifts to friends and I put my feet up listening to records waiting for dusk.

No wonder we try so hard to replicate this. Now people spend so much time travelling, rushing around, stressing and spending more than we can afford so that with the shopping season starting before Thanksgiving many of these rituals have become a caracature of what they started out as.

I don't mean to sound Grinchy, even if we are of an age. My wish is for us all to reach for the pleasure zone that brought us to this day on this year and share the good will and spirits that are the foundation of our fondest Christmases.

Best of the season to you all.

You Pedal, I'll Steer (part 6)

2011-12-23T22:00:00.000-07:00

We rejoin our reluctant hero, John, on his way to school where he has to pass by a real witches house...

PART 6
I was late going to school the next morning and had to pass Miss Hatten’s house alone. I don’t know what made me do it but I glanced over as I went by and there she was peering through the tangle of branches at me. I should have made a break for it but our eyes locked and I froze like a stick of wood. Just like that, the witch had me. I couldn’t even scream. All I could do was stare back at those two dead eyes and mess of gray hair while she wove me up in a spell. My heart whacked away on my ribs like a fist pounding against a door to get out. But my legs were locked. I remembered a scary story where a guy slowly turned to stone from the feet up and ended up a whole statue and now it was really happening! I could feel the clammy wet cement creeping up my veins.
“What are you looking at, kid?” she snarled. The she slammed her door and the spell broke.
I beat it straight to school wondering if I would forever be under her control any time she wanted. I decided I’d keep my trap shut about this. I wouldn’t even tell Alec.

The rest of that week Alec and I practiced riding every morning after our routes and worked on our two seater in the afternoons. School was hateful so I spent all the time I could on the desert island figuring out how long we could survive. I discovered a cave where we were safe from the flash storms. I even taught the others how to hunt and fish. After supper, I tried to teach Gully how to balance a treat on his nose. He kept eating them so I switched to getting him to walk on his back legs. All he did was bark. So I decided to teach him to sit down and shake hands. He already knew how to sit.
By Friday, I was still spooked about what happened at Miss Hatten’s. I was scared her spell worked and she had mind control over me. It made me wonder if she was directing me not to tell anyone. So I mustered up the nerve to tell Alec. I wrote a note in 19 and told him to meet me in 3. Gully and I waited together, but not long. I heard him crawling through the tunnels and Gulliver went half way to meet him which always slowed things down.
“Back off! Stop licking! Come on, move out of my way, dog.”
Finally, the two of them popped through and Alec listened carefully to my story.
“You don’t know how close you came,” he whispered when I was all done.
“To what?”
“I never told you what I’m about to say before because you were too little. But now that you’ve seen for yourself, I can tell you what happened.” He moved closer and talked so quiet I that even my breathing was louder. But my big ears caught everything. “Years ago, when she first moved here, she was like anyone else. She had a husband and kids and everything. But they moved into that house without knowing it was spooked by an old hag ghost that was murdered hundreds of years ago. Well, the old ghost possessed Miss Hatten and she went crazy. Her husband left and the kids stopped going to school and the windows were always dark. By the end of just one year, no one ever saw her kids again.”
A shiver ran right up my back and crawled around my scalp before it zapped my whole skin. “What happened to them?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I had to.
His eyes closed to slits and he took a quick peek through the crack in the blanket door to make sure no one was outside listening. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”
My mouth was dry. I could see her dead eye stare floating in front of me like she was warning me off. I had to defy her. “I promise.”
“She ate ‘em.”
“Ewww.”
“That’s what they say, though no one ever proved it. The official story is their dad came and took them but people around here know better.”
“You’re making that up.” Although... “Who told you?”
“Chris heard it from his mother who knows the Seaton’s next door. They were here when it happened.”
I thought about the old white haired couple next door. They must have lived here since the street was first built. They wouldn’t lie. So it had to be true. “Ohmygod.” I could feel a big lump in my throat and my hands shook. “Do you think I’m her zombie slave?”
He pulled my eye lids up to have a close look. I rolled my eyes around so he could see the whole ball. Then he shook his head. “Not yet. But you have to be real careful how you pass her house from now on. We better go over the rules.”
I listened very carefully while he explained about staying on the far sidewalk and never looking at the house even when she isn’t there because it’ll make the spell stronger. Then I memorized a couple of spell breaker words in case she got hold of me again. I felt a lot safer by the time mom called us down for supper.

That's sass, right? You're giving me sass.

2011-12-22T21:16:00.000-07:00

I always love it when the kids start to show their wit, humor and even a bit of sass.
Doc, the everlovin' chatterbox that he is, constantly asks questions - good questions, dumb questions, pointless questions, and especially ones he already has an answer to. For a lot of them I have to ignore him, but for many I give him a one word answer: six.

Why six? Why not. Maybe it's the answer to the universe. Maybe the reply is as pointless as the question. Maybe, if he knows the answer is six, he'll stop asking the really mind numbing ones.

Standing in front of the microwave clock on Tuesday night he asked, "Grampy, what time is it?" He knew it as well as I did but he was nervous that night because he was about to embark on a 4 hour drive to Cape Cod to watch his grandmother get buried and that would make any little kid nervous. So I played along.

"It's 7:30," I said.
"No, it's 7:28," he replied.
I let go my exaspiration and asked, "If you know the answer, why did you ask?"
"Six," he said.
It took me a second and then we both laughed.

I guess I earned that one.

First Prize- biggest bully in the world

2011-12-21T21:07:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we pulled into the mall parking lot. We were a bit close to the next car over and when Doc opened his door to get out it knocked the car slightly. The driver and his wife jumped out and shouted at a six year old for marking his SUV. I said we were sorry but he didn't let up. "The boy has to learn sometime to take responsibility. He should know better..." All this aimed directly at Doc. The woman pointed out the alleged damage while the man kept on berating. We walked away. Doc was totally confused, like he could possibly have played any role in this, while the other boys shook their heads wondering what just happened.

Me, too. How can a middle aged man come down so hard on a 6 year old for something that wasn't his fault. I apologized but refused to make a worse scene. These people were out of control and I did not want to incite the man to violence. Was it the joy of the busy holiday season that had them in such a good mood? Were they just idiots who have no concept of proportion? Or has the world come to a place where small children take the blame for a man's bad mood.

I guess I live a sheltered life.

Grief is no easy thing to bear

2011-12-20T20:16:00.000-07:00

Talking about death, like other complex issues, is always tough with children. We don't mince words about dying around here, or use vague euphemisms, but even plainspeak can be confusing. Both of the older boys and I spent a lot of time since they were very little in the local graveyard because it was a great place to play. It has roads, a dirt pile and out of traffic. When they became old enough to understand the significance of the stones we played around and the words on them, I was very clear about who was under them, why they were there, and the respect we need to take while in their presence. They never made a mess there, never dug up the lawns or rode their bikes over the graves and they had a lot of questions over time to understand it all.

Doc didn't have the same experience and since he's also so much younger, he's the most befuddled - asking plain questions like if dead people can wake up, see things, feel anything when they are buried.etc.. But the big questions are left unanswered. Where does our personality go? Is there heaven? Will we meet again? Are those we lose in pain? All good questions with not many real satisfying answers. Tish is a Catholic. I'm not even an atheist because, while I don't believe in God, I won't say there is no God. I simply don't know. I don't mind if all that exists is what we have here on Earth but that's cold comfort to children who have just lost their beloved Gramma. Tish speaks of heaven with them, even though they have no religious upbringing, and uses metaphors to ascribe a place where we all might meet again. On this, I guess it's my job to keep my mouth shut. My pragmatism has no place in this discussion.

The third and more immediate issue is to help them deal with grief and loss. Their first reaction was to be stunned and then to feel, well...nothing. They don't know what to feel or think or do and, the older boys especially, are surprised and even a bit guilty about feeling nothing at all. They know about grief and how awful this is, it has yet to hit them so they are reluctant to share how they feel for fear of being told they are heartless or uncaring. So they say they are sad and nothing else.

"We all respond and feel different things at different times," I said to each of them privately. "There is no wrong way to deal with death or grief. When you go to the funeral you will see people reacting in many different ways. Some will be crying, some may seem angry, some quiet. Don't feel like you have to feel those things because others do. You need time and room for your own mind and heart to figure out how to deal with it and what to feel. You will have your moment of grief when the time is right for you. In the meantime, don't feel you have to pretend."

After I said this each of them found a voice, a voice of relief that something wasn't wrong with them for not being distraught. "There's no rush," I said. "Gramma is never coming back. I know you will miss her all your lives. You have plenty of time to work out how you really feel."

They left this evening for the services tomorrow. God be with you all.

Cross generational befuddlement

2011-12-19T18:00:00.000-07:00

I'm used to explaining records, a single land line phone in the house, no home computers in the world, or even color TV. But this one caught me offguard.

After watching an old VHS video that had computer ads on in it from the 80's, I was laughing with Tio about how small the memory was on those machines. The ad bragged about having a super fast powerful 128k memory and double density floppy disk drive. "Back then," I said "there was no internet and no broadband."

"Really?" He knew of a time before the internet and computers but this follow up caught me of guard. Then what was the point of having a computer at all if there was no internet?"

I was so surprised at how obvious that answer should have been that I didn't have one ready. So I said, ”I'll let you figure that one out when you need to write papers or make videos or..."

Kids these days.

Another bitter tragedy close to home

2011-12-18T22:59:00.002-07:00

The boys maternal grandmother died today. They heard the news this morning and have been trying to understand it all day.

Janet was a quiet and gentle woman. We got to know her the first few of years of Buddy and Debbie's marriage but when things started to unravel between them so did our connection to that family. What I knew, heard, and felt about Janet was never anything but positive. She was unassuming, cared deeply for her family. After what I believe has been 40 years here in New Hampshire, she and Grampa moved to Cape Cod only last August.

We haven't heard where or when the memorial service is yet. I guess there's time to sort that out. Same thing for the boys. They haven't had time to even understand what they are feeling. The permanence of death and this huge loss has yet to sink in. They all love her deeply and will miss her for all the years to come.

What is the sound of one dog wretching?

2011-12-17T19:59:00.002-07:00

Poor Gulliver had a hell of a rough day today. Around noon he started throwing up. I mean serious doubled over death knell deep in the belly barfing that sounded like someone was strangling a horse. Up came breakfast and a plate of grass the size of your fist. A couple minutes later - the same thing. This time last night's snack followed by a layer of the green lawn fur. The third time he went so deep I swear he had a couple of Jimmy Hoffa's molars and the remains to the Lindburgh baby - along with more grass. Poor dog. He was so sore and kept making sounds like a baby moose who lost its mother. Needless to say, I spent the day following the poor pup around with a bottle of clorox and a roll of paper towels like some pathetic valet trying to keep up with his sotted master after a drinking binge.

It wasn't until later in the day that the real culprit made an appearance in the final act. Sure, grass is enough to give a dog pause but there was something else going on. A hairball. Yeah, a dog with a hairball - go figure. He had a scratch on his paw that he licked so raw he'd swallowed enough fur to block his drainage just as sure as if it was a bathroom sink after a teenager primps for a dance.

I don't begrudge the poor dog when he needs help. Most of the time he's so low maintenance compared to all the human puppies in the house that we should be paying him for good behavior.

That is, except for the noise they make. But that's another story.

You Pedal, I'll Steer. Chapter 4 (part 5)

2011-12-16T22:43:00.000-07:00

After Alec and John decided to secretly enter a bike race, by first teaching John to ride, they needed to find a bike to teach him on. So after supper, the boys headed across the street to their friend Chris to see if he could help them out...

CHAPTER 4

Chris wanted a quarter per week to borrow his bike. Alec talked him down to fifteen cents which was still a lot but we agreed. The next morning Alec rode it on his route and told me to meet him at the bottom of Fernwood when I was done mine. He must have told me a thousand times not to go off on a Fantam adventure.
“I promise I won’t,” I said. But I did want to spend a couple of minutes to find out what happened on the desert island after the plane crash with my class. They were still salvaging the wreckage for tools and supplies. Once we got all the seats out, the empty plane made a good shelter. I all my papers done just as John Johnston’s creeps nearly drowned trying to leave the island on a homemade raft. Alec rode up and I left them there.
“I wish I could do my route on a bike all the time,” Alec said. “It sure speeds things up.” He got off and patted the seat. “Hop on. We don’t have a lot of time.”
It was a chilly morning, barely light, and the wooden boardwalk looked hard and splintery. Even the sand looked cold and stony. This was going to hurt. It felt like my guts were going to spill out all over the place. Alec straddled the front wheel to hold the bars and waited for me to climb on. At that moment, I’d rather have gone to summer school or eat liver every night to get out of this but I couldn’t back out. I pinched my lips tight and climbed up on the death rocket.
“I won’t let go,” he promised.
And he didn’t. All we did that morning was learn how to balance. Alec stayed alongside when I went a bit faster always keeping his hand on the back of the seat or my shoulders the whole time. It was exciting rolling along that high, steering like a shaky old lady, and cranking the pedals. It made me feel like I had super powers.
A couple of hours of school that morning sucked away all that good feeling right and made me mad and lonely. Johnson and his pigs chased me all over the school yard and threatened to break my neck for no reason and my stupid teacher laughed at me. By the time the bell rang, I felt like a squeezed out mop. I followed Debbie and her friends along Pine Street towards home listening to them laugh with each other and tell loud secrets and I wondered if she would bring a pet to the show. I watched them continue down the hill after I stopped in front of my house then I went straight in the side door and down to the cellar.
Alec was already swapping parts from bike to bike. “How’d it go today?” he asked.
“I don’t hate them,” I said. They made me feel dirty inside, like just being me was a bad thing. Kate had the same problem with her lip but we never talked about it with each other. Some days she’d come home crying or so mad she’d yell and scream at everyone. I knew just what she was going through. I watched kids in her grade tease her so bad it made me cringe but I couldn’t help her any more than she could help me. “Am I really a freak?”
The look on my brother’s face said he wished he could make it all go away and that made me feel heaps better right away. “They’re just stupid. Hand me that vice grip and let’s pull this sprocket off.”
Neither of us had a clue about bikes so we made it up as we went along. There were four bikes all together. A big red one, a girl’s blue one, and two smaller broken ones. Lying around the floor were a few extra sprockets, spare wheels, rusty handlebars, and chains. On our first try, we attached two bike frames together by connecting them at the front wheel which was a real stupid idea. The second time we connected the front forks of one bike to the back wheel of another. That looked pretty good, like a long tandem bike with three wheels.
“That’ll sail like crazy,” Alec said. “Let’s try it out.”
We lugged it up the stairs and outside, but with me barely able to ride in the first place and it being hinged two places, it kept folding up like a lawn chair and we gave up. Kate and one of her friends sat on the steps and laughed at us when we fell off. By the time Mom called us upstairs for supper we were pretty discouraged.
“What are you boys building down there?” she asked.
“We’re just horsing around with the bikes,” Alec said. “Nothing serious.”
“They’re wrecking all the bikes,” Kate said.
“No we’re not. We’re just fixing them,” I said. “They were broken anyway.”
“You better leave mine alone,” she warned. “Otherwise, I’ll slug you one.”

A birthday party, a tree trimming, and a funeral

2011-12-15T22:08:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday was a strange day where 3 disperate events marked serious change. Change from the past and so the future

I went with Buddy and Sugar to Travis' memorial service while Tish stayed home with the boys. At least 200 people - friends, family and neighbors all paying respects and breaking bread together - filled the Moose lodge. This was a community coming together for closure so that we could all move on recognizing the positive impact that Travis had left on us and letting us see just how diverse a world he had brought together.

On the way to our second stop,o Roman's 7th birthday party, Grammo was talking about Kit's eating problem with the kids. Kit mentioned life in the apartment before they moved in here and how there was never any food in the fridge and how the neighbor across the hall would take food from them if there was any and...
Suddenly, Doc burst in, "I don't want to talk about this anymore," he said.
Grammo asked why.
"Cause it scares me too much and I'm already nervous about going to the party," he replied. What an insight into their past life: a 6 year old recalling life at 4 being so frightening he doesn't want to speak of it.

That evening, when we finally got the pizza ordered and started trimming the tree, Tio seemed disinterested, like a kid too old to trick or treat. Regardless, we put on the carols, pulled out all the old favorite decorations and reminisced about past recollections while dreaming of things to come.

Each one of these events conspired to tie past, present and future together. An untimely death, the family Christmas tree, and a young boy's fear of looking too closely into his own past - only able to move forward.

I guess that's where we all are.

Ignore that man behind the curtain!

2011-12-14T16:03:00.002-07:00

I fell asleep in my chair last night right in the middle of writing my blog. Damn cold. It was a serious ditty that I'll work a little more on before I share. In the meantime...

Kit and I were on our way back from his physical appt. and Tio called. He wanted me to bring his basketball gear down for him for an away game. No big deal in itself. But we're back to having trust issues and he was told to take the bus home this week no matter what.

I pulled into the school parking lot and said to Kit, "Want to see me scare the crap out of Tio?"
He didn't hesitate. "I'm in."

I walked into the gym and told Tio to get his stuff and get in the car. That didn't bode well. Last time I did that he had to stay home from practice. On the way home, I lit into him. "Did someone tell you you could stay at school today?" "Was there some reason you decided do it your way? We made it clear..." etc. etc. I played the pissed off parent who can't seem to get through to the irresponsible kid. You don't get to make those decisions...you haven't earned the trust...when you're told to..." and so forth.

We pulled up to the house and I asked Kit, "Do you think he should play?"
"Hmmm," says Kit, ever the responsible parent. "Did he get good grades and scores this week?"
"So far," I replied.
"Well-"
"Go get your gear," I told Tio and he was off like a shot.
"I wasn't finished," Kit lamented.
After we dropped the older brother off, I asked, "You think he was scared?"
Kit thought he was.
"Did I overplay it?"
"You mean you weren't really mad?"
"Not in the least. I'm in a good mood. But sometimes I have to push the limit to get through to you guys. Actually being angry isn't really my thing."
"Huh. Do you do that all the time?"
"Often enough."
We sat in silence while I drove him to his afterschool program, wondering if giving him a glimpse at the man behind the curtain who played the great and powerful Oz might be a mistake.
"So," he postulated, "next time you yell at me, I should say 'lean out the mix, Grampy, I get the point'?"
I laughed. "and if I'm really pissed off I can just haul off and cuff you, right?"
"Insolent kid!" he snarled and we both laughed.

Maybe I should leave that curtain drawn just a liiiiitttttllle bit longer.

You Pedal, I'll Steer - part 4 (I guess I can kiss the idea of remembering every Friday goodbye)

2011-12-12T17:55:00.000-07:00

Last time, Alec and John were secretly plotting to enter a bike race. But first they had to build a bike and John had to learn to ride...

CHAPTER 3
As soon as we decided to start, Mom’s “boys are having fun” alarm must have kicked in upstairs and she sprung into action. Alec was rattling 67 with his penknife inside to see if it stayed shut when we heard her voice sing out, “If you boys are down there, I want you up here cleaning your room, lickety-split.” It slipped passed all those doors and threw water on our good mood.
Alec slammed into dive mode. He flicked out the lamp and we plunged into total black.
“Did she see you come down?” I could barely hear the words.
I shook my head. He couldn’t see that. “I followed procedures. She didn’t even hear me come home.” I let the words out on a breath.
“Then pretend we’re not here.” His voice faded into the dark. Besides wanting to elude Mom, he hated cleaning our room more than I did. The extremes he went to trying to get around it would have made it faster to just clean it. But not as much fun.
“I want it done before your father gets home. Before supper,” her voice boomed. She must have been at the top of the stairs. “Are you listening?”
That sealed it. No way I wanted Dad coming home without the job done. So far through life, I’d managed to steer clear of getting “ten of the best”, which was what Dad called the strap. This was not time to break a life long record.
“We better go.” I said and tried to get up like an obedient zombie.
Alec grabbed my arm. This was dangerous. It was like hanging from a tree by one arm. Sooner or later gravity would make me let go and I’d fall. And the longer we hid out, the farther I figured we’d fall. “She doesn’t know we’re here. I came in the back door,” he said and clicked on a penlight. The pirate’s gleam in his eye told me that we were headed for trouble.
“Let’s just go.” I pleaded.
“Pretend you’re Fantam and she’s the Orwellian Puss Worm bent on squeezing all the happiness out of humanity. You have to save the planet.”
That could work.
“Boys.” Her deep ‘I’m not fooling’ voice punctuated my words. Even Alec had to swallow to keep that one down.
“She doesn’t know about this hideout.” I could barely hear him. “Even if she comes looking she’ll see we aren’t around and go away. Don’t make a sound.”
I wanted to remind him about the ‘Dad coming home’ factor but I’d been ordered to run silent. We were evading depth charges and the slightest sound would alert the enemy. My ears were all sensors I had and the first thing that came to them was footsteps on the stairs. Ping. Ping. Ping. Like sonar bursts against the hull. The worm was at the bottom crunching across the cement floor.
Alec put a finger to his lips and snuffed out the light again. Getting away with something was the prize. I figured she’d poke her head in the bulkhead room and then go back upstairs. But who could be sure. I stroked the trigger on my Fantam x-ray grenades and reverse memory spray hoping I wouldn’t need them.
Outside the room there was a loud bang and a click. The door room door had been pulled open. Alec’s eyes clouded up with confusion just as he doused the light. How had we been betrayed? I felt closer to fear.
“Boys,” she said in a clear and calm voice, as though we were all sitting at dinner and she was asking for the salt, “come out of there right now and go upstairs and clean your room before supper.”
After a long pause we both said, “Yes, ma’am.” and slipped out through the maze in total darkness.
I came out first to find Mom standing there. She wasn’t disapproving or mad or anything. Gully was there, too. He licked my face before I could get to my feet and then jumped all over both of us like we’d been gone for weeks.
“How’d you know about this fort?” I asked.
“I have eyes in the back of my head,” she said. “All mother’s do. Not scoot.”
She trudged us upstairs like prisoners with Gulliver running on ahead.
All our toys and games were right where we wanted them. Our bottle collection was lined up in boxes along one wall, our Meccano competition was right in the middle, along with the chemistry set, tinker toys, Lego, a monopoly game in progress and all my G.I. Joe gear..
Alec flopped on the bed and groaned. Gully jumped up beside him. “What’s wrong with the way it is?”
She didn’t need to laugh that hard. She scooped something up off the floor. “You want this broken pen?”
My hair got tingly. “Careful!” I gasped. “You’ll break it.” I gingerly retrieved it from her uncaring hands. “That’s a Man From U.N.C.L.E. communicator I built myself.”
“The room looks like a tornado went through an hour ago.” She handed me the broom. “If you can’t put it away, throw it away You have almost two hours.. Now hop to.”
“Sentencing children to hard labour is illegal,” I complained.
She left and I let go of the broom like it smelled bad. “We’ll never get it done before Dad gets home.”
“She sucks all the fun out of life.” Alec said. He pushed Gully off the bed and started pulling our bunks out from the wall.
“What are you doing?”
“Let’s build a secret tunnel system behind the furniture while we clean. It’ll make the job go faster.”
Or not at all.
“You pull the bureau out a few inches and I’ll push the bed against the corner so there’s room to crawl under and still look like they’re against the wall. Then we can stuff some junk on top to make it look like it isn’t pulled out. That way if you sneak in here, you can crawl around and come out over there – or there – or in the closet.”
That sounded good to me and we got to work cutting holes in boxes, stacking games, and angling the bookshelves so we could crawl under the bed to a tunnel behind the desk, and around the corner behind the bureau; one flip over and pull through an overturned box that was disguised to look from above like it was full of toys.
I stood in the middle of the room while Alec slithered all the way around the walls with Gulliver snuffling along behind him. “It works.” I said. “I didn’t see you at all. I dove in and squeezed through the dark. I felt like a prisoner breaking off a chain gang. I was met by tongue slurps and a penlight beam.
“Since the door room has been compromised we’ll call this hideout 3 from now on,” Alec announced in a whisper. “We’ll let it cool down until the old lady forgets about it. We can sneak in here to escape from Eric, too.”
For some reason, Alec dreamed up some very complicated plots to get Eric steamed. They worked, too. Sometimes Eric would catch him and shake him like a wet towel or bop him one but it only seemed to feed Alec to higher glories. “If he tries to chase me, I can duck in here, fly under the bed and while he’s trying to crawl in after, I’ll come out on the other side of the room, kick him in the pants and escape down the stairs.”
I could think of a thousand ways it could go wrong but it wasn’t my fantasy.
“BOYS!” Mom was right in our room. “Honestly, where have they gone this time?”
Alec put an a-ha finger in the air and grinned like he’d outsmarted the fox. I rubbed Gully’s ear to keep him quiet.
“This place is still a sty and it’s after five. If I don’t see any progress by five-thirty I’ll pay Eric to mop it out.” I don’t think she was talking to herself.
“Eric?” Alec choked out and then clapped a hand over his own mouth. That was sure death. She’d hired Eric before to clean our room and he came in with a shovel, gloves and a garbage pail. In less than ten minutes he’d destroyed months of work and thrown away treasures I still can’t think about without getting mad. That was a black day.
As soon as we heard her clump down the stairs we scurried out. There was no way we could get it all done by suppertime. We were cooked. I had visions of never seeing my stuff again. I snatched up my G.I. Joe Mercury capsule and put it on the desk. At least, they wouldn’t get that. “Now what do we do?”
“Emergency measures,” Alec said. “Here’s the plan...”
While we worked I heard Dad get home and smelled supper in the air. We were cutting it close.
When Mom came up for inspection, she was more than surprised. She was shocked. She looked under the bed, in the closet and all the usual places we stuff our junk and didn’t find anything. “I told you if you put yourself to it, you could get it done.”
It was a good thing she didn’t find our new tunnels because we’d crammed them solid with our junk.

To eat or not to eat

2011-12-11T20:05:00.002-07:00

If there wasn't enough going on around here, a new problem has surfaced. Kit isn't eating. He's always been skinny and his appetite fluctuates with his anxiety level. For the first year and a half here he was eating fine and putting on weight. But a couple of factors have changed. First, he's become weight conscious and more important, one side effect of his anxiety meds is loss of appetite. We've been battling it, making sure he eats full balanced meals but we seem to be losing the battle.

Grammo is a recovering anorexic. She became anorexic in her teen years, suffered from it all through her adult life and now has so many digestive and stomach problems as a result of the damage she has an extremely limited diet. So we are hyper aware of eating issues and we are using whatever tools we have make sure Kit doesn't develop a problem.

His new propensity to be thin falls in some ways into the his whole cross sexual behavior. It's an interesting phenomenon that with every stage of his development he's expressed issues and attitudes that are more common with girls - even deeply rooted ones. Like infatuation over fashions and filling out "my perfect date" quizzes, obsession with weight is one of those things. And he thinks he's fat - which is normally a weight conscious girl issue - so he might be deliberately suppressing some appetite as well. Anorexia is an all too common extension of that. Fifty years ago, Tish would hide her skin and bones under bulky sweaters, offer to clear supper dishes with her plate half full and eat nothing when no one was there to serve it. It's still the same routine for young girls all these years later.

Kit has a physical this week with his doctor and we'll see what we can do about the meds. If we're lucky that will solve things. However, the social environment of wanting to be thin is a different issue. If this does become part of the problem, and it is too soon to tell that, we need to avoid making an issue over food. This might take finesse but what other dance have we been playing these past 2 years.

The Dryad's Kiss

2011-12-10T17:48:00.001-07:00

I have sculpted this story right into the silver of my latest flute.

Let me tell you the sad tale of the "Dryad's Kiss"

The story begins one morning when the nymphs are coming out of their
homes and hiding in the trees, trying to decide if they should show their faces. They know the danger of being seen by the dryad.

But Perse has no fear.
She comes out into the light to enjoy the
dewey morning sunshine.

Through the trees, across the fields and into the oldest
part of the forest...

...lives the dryad!

The forest is his because he is the forest.

He has eyes and ears in every tree.

He senses that Perse has shown herself

and he begins to take human form.

When he reaches out for Perse to seduce her.
She doesn't know who he is and succumbs to his advances.

Once she is his, she realizes her mistake but cannot escape.
Her metamorphosis begins as she starts to become part of his forest.

In the end, all that is left of Perse is the blossoms
and twisted branches of the Dryad Forest.

As her transformation becomes complete, her personality and self fade more
and more into the trees that she used to dance and live among.

Her legacy, along with all the other sad nymphs of the Dryad Forest,
is the music that is made from the wind in through her leaves,
and the gentle shade that is cast by her ancient and venerable hardwood roots.

What is the knob on the top of my neck for, again?

2011-12-09T20:08:00.002-07:00

Tio's teachers informed today that he was forging the daily behavior/attitude scores that they give him. He has to come home with at least a 4 out of 5 in order to play sports or stay after school with his friends. To get that score he has to shut up and pay attention in class. Or he could goof around and write their scores for them.

Here's where thinking like a 13 year old comes in handy: "I'll just make up the scores and it's a win-win for everybody," thinks he, all crafty. "Grampy'll be happy that I'm behaving so well, I'll get to play b-ball because I'm such an upstanding citizen and the teachers...well, the teachers don't like me anyway so who cares."

He had a tournament scheduled for tonight and I brought him home an hour before the first game. He knew something was up because he had expected to stay there. "How'd you find out?" he asked after I gave him the news that his plan had failed. At least he didn't go into denial mode. We worked something out so he still got to play tonight and I took him back down to school. I don't know if he'll keep his end up or not. What I can't figure out is that he knows I always find out and it costs him.

After supper, I took Doc out to see the new Muppet movie and didn't hear my phone go off when Tio was ready to get picked up after the games. So instead of calling Grammo or getting a ride with one of several friends who who live in our neighborhood, he kept his coach hanging around for an hour and a half while speed dialing my number. Finally, coach brought him home. When I got home, I lit into him about making the coach wait around and he got pissy over it like somehow this wasn't his fault.

Sometimes using your brains requires considering more than the first thing that jumps into it. And the kids wonder why they don't have more freedom to choose what they should do.

Giving up is not the same as giving in

2011-12-08T08:44:00.002-07:00

For weeks now, I've been telling Doc he has to settle down at school "or else". His teacher says he is chatty and doesn't sit still. Typical enough stuff for a 1st grader. Then came the weekly reports saying he's still not doing what he's told, even ignoring instructions from the lunch teacher.

As you know, dear readers, Doc is a good natured, cute as a button, smart kid that everyone loves. He's not a troubled soul. But he's got a stubborn streak that's tougher than a mustard stain on white pants. So when I was told that he was even becoming uncooperative during his after school play program - which he loves - it was time for an intervention. I sent him to school yesterday with a chart for his teacher to mark whether he'd been 'naughty or nice' on a daily basis. He came home with a note that was, how shall I put this, not very complimentary about his attitude.

Looks like we had us a standoff. I told him he had to do what the teacher said. Then asked him to repeat it back to me. He refused. So I stood him on his sturdy little pins and said he would stand there until he told me what I had just said. Well, he stood there and mewed, and whined and huffed with his arms crossed and brow pulled down over his eyes for - you won't believe this - an hour and a half! That beat out his 10 year old brother's record by a good 50 minutes. Such will power and determination. If we could just turn it to good instead of evil - think of the benefits he could bring to mankind!

At one point during the festivities I asked, "Do you think you shouldn't have to do what the teacher tells you?" He cast me a glowering nod. "Everyone has to do what their teacher says. That's just how it goes." A shake of the head. "I've gone through this with both your brothers and your dad. You can't win." With an cold stare spit my way like a spear his head went back and forth with an unmistakable 'wanna bet?'. We were an hour into standing in one spot by this point.

He finally broke down a half hour later when I said I had to go out and he'd be spending the rest of the afternoon in his room, possibly without supper. "Make up your mind," I told him. "Because once you land in your room, there's no turning back."

He wrote an apology to his teacher and did the homework he refused to do in class. If I wasn't on my way to a meeting, there's no telling how much longer he would have challenged me. One thing is for sure: this isn't over. He may have given up but he has not given in.

A Call to Wake Up

2011-12-07T09:52:00.000-07:00

I wake up at 7 am every school day whether I want to or not. Why? Because that's when Kit and Doc get up - and they don't get along. Tio takes an earlier bus and is gone by then. But the other 2 make up for his absence with quite a show. This morning Doc was in tears feeling sorry for himself because he has to come home on the bus instead of going to his afternoon group. Kit gives his old man a run for his money most mornings with some serious passive aggressive 'tude. "I can't find my shoes" "I forgot to go to the bathroom" ”I need to..." and so forth all at the last minute while Buddy screams and pleads about being late and having to hustle. The bus stop is 250 feet down the road and Buddy feels the need to drive them (and they say Americans are out of shape!) so Kit manages to make sure dad is about to go insane before the 30 second drive down the road.

I still have to intervene to get things to run smoothly, even though I'm not there. For instance, last night while tucking the little crackerjack into bed I let him know that I was on to him. "You ride your dad deliberately without even being provoked. I can hear it in your voice from upstairs. Like it's just a game."
I get no denial from him. On the contrary a slight smirk creases his lips in an attempt to say yes without admitting anything.
"You know how that kid today bullied you just by getting in your way and being a pest?" I said. "Made you feel real bad and you have no idea why he won't stop. Well, that's the same thing. Something inside triggers you to make a scene, even if things are going well."
A light went on over his head. "You mean that kid can't help it?"
"He can help it as much as you can. But you gotta want to."
"Why does he pick on me?"
"He probably doesn't know. He just feels like it. It doesn't make it right and doesn't make it better. But maybe if you think about what you do to dad, you'll at least understand better how it happens to you."

I don't know how much got through, but I heard singing wafting up from him this morning and they got to the bus stop without a fuss.

10 little things

2011-12-06T12:16:00.001-07:00

In light of yesterday's post on death and loss, I'd like to remind everyone that while living being human can be tough, we should all savor what we can as each day goes by. Sure, there's our health and our kids and love and career to be thankful for but I'm referring to the little things we shouldn't let pass us by.

Here's a list of 10 little things I'm thankful for (or at least enjoy) from day to day.
In no particular order:
Jokes. I love hearing the grandsons use their sense of humor and my wife's laughter when I find her funnybone. Funny comic strips do it for me, too.
Beer. I do enjoy a glass of beer. That first tangy sip, the little buzz, the fizz. But 2 or 3 are definitely enough.
My view. Outside my front window is a great ridge of hills over the tree line. It changes every day with the day light, snow, clouds, green of summer and moonlight. A true gift.
Naps. I only get 4 or 5 hours sleep at night so I need my nap but I've always enjoyed an afternoon kip. Something I inherited from my dad.
The starry sky. Speaking of spectacular views. Countless nights out there with my telescope seeing things that boggle the imagination and inspire.
Cheese. Nice stuff, cheese. All kinds. Sharp, moldy, creamy, you name it. Yum.
My pup, Bunnie. Never thought I could care so much for a dog since I lost Archie but cuddling with Bunn is a treat we both relish. I should bathe her more often.
The iPad. Using this touch screen keyboard for writing is lightyears beyond the PC keys.
Movies. I watch and rewatch movies over and over like listening to favorite records. Usually while I work I listen to them without even looking up.
The dishwasher. Man, oh man, how did I survive all this time.

Nothing profound here, but that's the point.

An Unkind Death

2011-12-05T20:53:00.001-07:00

Our daughter, Sugar, called the other day to tell us that an old boyfriend of hers just died. It wasn't just any old boyfriend. This was a boy she went out with in high school, took to the prom, who she shared an apartment with for 2 years and who introduced her to her future husband. This is a man who grew up in our town, had generational roots here, and whom she had loved. He was 36 years old and died of a massive heart attack.
The tragedy here isn't just that a young man died, though that is tragic. It's that he was a lost soul, a boy snatched away by drugs, bad choices and lost connections. He had artistic talent and had a bright future waiting for him. But early drug and alcohol cravings led to addiction and he lost his way. Sugar left him finally because his addiction and drug abuse overshadowed everything else in his world. He spent time in jail, time on the road, and too much time in misery. The tragic irony is that he died after he came home to clean up and shake off the addiction. There were no drugs in his system when he died.

This story is all too common in our society and it faces all of our children like a rite of passage: will they or won't they seccumb. Losing friends and family to drugs doesn't require them to die. They become the living dead, as though the body snatchers have taken over and the person inside looks out but can't escape or speak, just watch their life being led for them by this craving, illogical beast who pushes everyone who cares away. They know they have become a pariah, and everyone who tries to love them has to do it through a veil of self abuse, failure and the longing for the person they once were to show their face again and be whole.

Travis' death has affected Sugar profoundly. It is her first real brush with mortality because someone close is gone. Someone she truly loved, someone that was close to all of her circle of friends. He had dropped out of their world for much of the past 15 years but not out of their hearts.

You were a good man in a bad way, Travis. I hope your soul finds peace.

You Pedal, I'll Steer - part 3 (I forgot to post this on Friday)

2011-12-04T10:49:00.001-07:00

We left off last week with John daydreaming his way back home after school. He was dreaming of desert islands, saving the girls, and winning a pet show...
***
Chaper 2 - part 2
I left the class pawing through the plane wreckage for useable supplies and snuck into our house so Mom wouldn’t hear me come home. The longer I could avoid cleaning my room, the better. I teased the lid off the cookie jar as if the slightest noise would ignite a bomb, grabbed a couple of ginger snaps, gave one to Gully to keep him quiet, and crept into Dad’s library to check McGill. So far, so good.
We called Dad’s study the library because the walls were covered in books. In the middle of one shelf squeezed between a couple of hardbacks was a beat up old brown notebook with the name McGill on the cover. That was Alec’s and my secret message book. The first few pages were just enough scribbled school notes to make nosy parkers think it was a school book, and after that were all our secret codes, messages and plans. I checked it every day after school to see if there was anything new.
I flipped it open to the last written page and saw today’s date and the words: ‘Meet me in 3'.
“Alright,” I whispered. Alec has something fun planned. ‘3' was the door room down in the cellar. Our forts and hideouts were numbered so no one could guess where they were. Number 1 was the hut we’d built in the back yard with our friend Chris. Number 2 was the crawlspace under the front porch through a hole in the lattice and 3 was downstairs. I put the book back, stashed my cookies and headed for the back stairs. Still no sign of Mom.
Our cellar was huge and smelled of oily tools and old furniture. Ropes and broken bits of things hung from the rafters and walls. It had two laundry sinks big enough to sit in and a toilet right out in the open. On the far side was a bike room with a bulkhead and a room full of doors. I couldn’t understand who would want to collect doors but they were there when we moved in. Since no one ever went in there Alec had the brilliant idea to make a fort in the middle where no one could see or hear us from outside. We put an old stuffed chair and a lamp in the middle of the room one Saturday when no one was home. It was our most secret hideout.
I drummed a special knock and cracked the door open a slice. “J. Otch, N,” I whispered officially.
“Soc,” was his reply. I was in. We used passwords that came from nicknames when we were little.
I squeezed through the doors and crawled in. Alec was sitting in the mouldy old chair, a book balanced on his knees while he carefully carved a hole in it with a penknife. Alec was all elbows and angles. He always bent like he was hinged. Besides his bright eyes, the big feature of his face was buck teeth and braces that he’d just had put on that year.
“What are you doing?” I asked and gave him one of my cookies.
“Thanks. I’m making us a hide a book to keep secret stuff in. We’ll rename McGill ‘19' for the century and call this one ‘67' for what year it is.” He looked at me through the hole. It was almost out the edges. It was a pretty clean job for a pen knife. “That way we can use 19 for notes and 67 for stuff. Cool, huh?”
“Very cool. But Mom’ll kill you if she finds out.” Nobody messed up books in our house.
“Who’s going to tell her? Besides, no one wants to read this old thing.” He read the title off the spine, “‘Quest In The Caribou’. Dull as dirt. No one will miss it.”
“What’ll we hide in it first?”
He blew away paper shavings and continued to carve away at the hole getting it just so. “Let’s start with this.” He raised his eyes up and looked at me through his bangs. Something was up. Alec loved a secret. All I had to do was wait to find out. He handed me crumpled up green sheet of paper from out of his jacket pocket. “I found this at the library this afternoon.”
“What is it?” I carefully flattened it out on the edge of a door and read aloud. “Kids First! Five mile Toronto Island Bicycle Race. Children up to thirteen years old eligible to enter.” I looked up. “What’s eligible?”
“That means allowed.”
“A bicycle race?” What a disappointment. “You know I don’t know how to ride a two wheeler,” I said. I was always too scared to learn.
He clicked his penknife shut and leaned forward with that schemey shine in his eye. “I’ll teach you how to ride in secret. See, here’s the plan. We teach you to ride and then just before the race they’ll say ‘but John can’t ride’, you can just say, ‘Hmmm, maybe this isn’t so hard let me give it a try’. Then you pop up on a bike and toodle around like it’s the first time you’ve ever done it. They’ll all fall over.” Alec loved springing surprises almost as much as secrets. He liked to imagine doing and learning things that no one would know about until he was ready tell. Mom said that’s how he learned to talk. One day he blabbed out a whole sentence after never saying a word.
“You think they’d let us go?”
He shrugged. “What choice will they have? They’ll be so impressed that they won’t be able to say no.”
The idea of learning to ride in secret sounded exciting. Still scary, too. Surprising Mom and Kate and everyone maybe was worth falling off a couple of times. Not that I wanted to fall off. “You won’t let go, will you?”
“Everybody falls off a bike, John.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to.”
“But the beauty part is that down on the boardwalk if you go off the edge, you’ll just fall in the sand. That won’t hurt.”
“Says you. What’ll we use for bikes? All we’ve got are those old junkers and anyway they’re too big for me.”
Alec flashed his sly smile again. His noodle was working harder than Simon bar Sinister’s. “I thought of that. For learning, we’ll borrow Chris’s bike. It’s not too big. Then, while you’re learning - - - we’ll build one! We could build our own two-seater like we always wanted to!” He made it sound like he knew where to find buried treasure. All we had to do was tighten a screw and pump up the tires and it was done.
Personally, I didn’t think we could fix that pile of rusty broken bikes if we had magic dust. And make a two seater? Forget it. But that never stopped Alec. He was already winning the race and listening to the cheering crowd before he had a bike or a partner who could ride. That made me think up a whole new problem. “How do you know we can enter a two-seater?” I asked.
“It doesn’t say we can’t.”
I looked at the entry form again. It didn’t say anywhere that you couldn’t ride whatever bike you wanted. But I wasn’t so sure about two kids on one bike.
“Let’s start building now.” he said and there was no turning back.

'Tis the Season - again

2011-12-03T23:12:00.000-07:00

I'm not feeling one way or another about Christmas this year yet. I made another advent calendar for the boys to open every day to find surprise ideas like special suppers, extended bedtimes, shopping trips and other goodies. Last year it was a santa, and this year's is a snow covered house with 24 windows. It has them all in a flutter about who's turn comes next. Today's window was a trip anywhere they wanted to go.

Tio decided he'd rather spend the day with Marcia and Liz instead of going with us. I took the younger boys on our first Christmas shopping spree. The stores weren't too busy, many still hadn't reopened since Hurricane Irene had flooded them out of business. In the end we ran into Tio and his mom doing the same thing we were.

We'll trim the tree in another week and we'll deck the halls and inject some Christianity into the noise and bustle all at the same time. Years end also marks the beginning of our third year together as a family of 6 and that's certainly worth celebrating. We've come a long way and we have a long road ahead. It's important to mark the occasion for our family, the year's end, and the birth of Christ.

So let's all have a figgy pudding.

"Grampy, he's looking at me! Make him stop."

2011-12-02T05:16:00.002-07:00

"Kit!" I replied with all the gravity it deserved, "Avert your eyes lest you burn a hole through your brother and rent him in twain!"
Of course, neither of them know who got the upper hand with that response.

You gotta love it, though. I remember it when I was a kid, too. "Stop looking at me." "Don't copy me." and the perennial favorite: "Stop touching my stuff."

That one is the worst. The abolute green skinned possessiveness to guard your things to the point of stupidity gets under my skin. One will be playing with something and having a good time but as soon as they notice another putting a finger on their CD reading a book that is theirs, they give up on what they're doing and start making trouble. They all do that. It gets so bad that while sitting at the table or in the car, just putting an extended finger, or accidentally touching the other guy's 'stuff' starts world war 3.

It finally got so bad that I told them yesterday I was going to get rid of everyone's personal possessions and everything they had would be community property. That would include music, toys, books, pens and paper, pictures and anything that comes into the house. As for clothes, Tish told them about making all of Sugar and Buddy's clothes when they were small and she'd have no problem starting to make identical clothing for all three of these kids, too.

"I'd like to be on the bus the first day you climb aboard wearing matching homemade clothes," I said. "We can all pick a common color that everyone can wear. How does that sound?"

It didn't sound good, I can tell you that. Doc's jaw dropped, Kit kept asking ”Really? Really?" and a bunch of questions about how and when it would work. Tio simply acted like it was a joke, but we could see he knew we are willing to do what it takes. And maybe we are.

I know communal living is terribly "un-American" but it has it's benefits. The concept of growing up without ownership of possessions has an appeal. John Lennon's song "Imagine" comes to mind: a world where there is no need for war and hate because no one covets. It is a grand idea but not easy to achieve considering human nature and our innate desire to hoard.

I guess the best we can hope for is to teach them to share. Not an easy sell.

They grow up so fast - don't blink

2011-11-30T17:42:00.000-07:00

After we read every night and I'm tucking Doc in, I try to slip in a kiss goodnight while he hides under the covers playing "catch me". If I'm successful he grabs me and smothers me with kisses to pay me back. So if I sneak my kiss in while we read he jumps me a shower of goodnight smooches.

Round midnight last night, while tapping away in my shop on a silver cat, Kit knocked on my door and shuffled in to complain that Doc was crying. Poor Doc was having a leg cramp. I climbed into his bunk and massaged the calf and soothed and talked him off the ledge. Buddy just got home and pitched in with a sip of water and kind word. Finally, I tucked his small smiling self to sleep and went back to work. A couple of minutes later there was another knock on my door. Doc was standing there. He threw his arms around me in a great big hug and said "Thank you, Grampy, I feel a lot better".

These are special moments to cherish with small kids that fade so fast when they get a bit older. They aren't as open or tactile with their feelings anymore. They make all the hard work for them worthwhile. So get it while you can, I say.

If I open Pandora's box, can I snap it shut again if things don't work out?

2011-11-29T20:00:00.000-07:00

I'm replacing my laptop computer so I can give the boys my old one to use for school, facebook, music and other sundry applications. We've tried this before without much luck. Not so much because they abused the privilege, more because they destroyed every computer we put in their path. One got a viral disease and checked out. A second was so old and slow that we could almost smell the smoke coming off the hard drive when we tried to run games. The third went blank - literally. The screen stopped showing anything at all. And a fourth just died of old age, not their fault but still....

I've been letting them have some evening time on my computer with my fingers crossed, garlic around my neck, a rabbit's foot app running in the background and a healthy prayer accompanied by the proverbial lick. So far, so good. But luck has a habit of turning on a dime when if feels it is taken for granted. My computer is disease free, has a good stock of gigawhatiz and all the programming a boy could dream of. Which amounts to "can I go on facebook?" and not much else.

Rather than just logging them into facebook and shutting the lid when the time runs out, in anticipation of the arrival of my new machine, I set them each up with a user profile today, a password, and a certain amount of trust that they don't abuse the internet by gaming, watching inappropriate YouTube vids, looking up 'disgusting things to do to your siblings' and downloading enough Lady Gaga pictures to overload the memory and install a virus. I want the stupid thing to be useful for school, learning computing, email and FB, and a certain amount of fun.

If it isn't I hope I can close the lid without too much backlash.

How do we prepare for the empty nest?

2011-11-27T20:16:00.003-07:00

I wonder about people who put 'family' ahead of everything and live their lives through their children. I'm not casting a vote one way or the other here but I see on facebook and reading blogs and adding up the conventional wisdom that a good many (women more than men) say that family comes so far in front that their own lives exist in the shadows. It also seems that for many of those their own childhoods were no screaming joy which makes it strange that they would create a world where the kids are everything and they are only there to serve.

I laid my life on the line and put my needs aside when I married a woman with 2 small children with one over the top hyperactive ADD. I was young and inexperienced and didn't have a clue what I stepped into. There were definitely times when the water was so deep I needed a straw to breathe. But even then I never said that I didn't matter. I may have put my needs aside and worked entirely for their benefit but I didn't lose sight that I was one of the family members, not a robodaddy that put out all day and night. The same goes for the grandsons.

I read blogs and FB status lines where moms are lost when they aren't tending. They miss their kids like sunshine in winter when they go away for a couple of days. Some can't adjust at all when their kids leave home because they've built no life of their own inside the empty house. They expect, or want, their kids to stay totally connected with them even though they would never think to treat their own parents the same way.

The boys came back from 4 days away today and it's good to have them home. They had a great time, they're in good moods, glad to be home, and looking forward to their next visit away. As things should be. While I didn't pine for them, my mind was enough on hoping they were doing well and being thankful that there was no phone call with complaints, stress or disaster. I want them to develop a life away from home, a life of friends and far flung family, a life of independance. With that, naturally, comes the possibility that they might grow up to move far away for keeps.

I don't read a lot about close families where the parents appreciate distance - especially when there are grandchildren. They might have to deal with it, but it leaves them empty. Of course, no one wants loved ones to live far away but the odds of it happening are strong. You could build a good retirement fund betting on that one. I suspect in our modern society of fast travel, distant jobs, and lives led globally, that human nature and nurture hasn't had time to catch up. It wasn't so long ago that you grew up, worked and died within the same 20 miles of your birthplace. You might not know what the larger world had to offer and rarely meet an outsider. All the jobs were there. None of this "I gotta go where the jobs are, Ma" stuff.

If we're going to live in a world where our children raise families in Beijing while we rattle around an empty house in Yorkshire, maybe we need a better way to prepare for it while we raise our families.

Back to work

2011-11-26T23:38:00.000-07:00

A quiet Saturday with kids still away. What did I do? Painted bunkbeds, sorted laundry and picked up. Tomorrow I'll reassemble the beds when the paint is dry. Now I'm eyeing my office which as been the recepticle of all the 'I don't know where to put this' clutter. It might take me 2 days to sort that out. Once I get that done I'll be free to put time into actual cooking and baking and tending without having to constantly backtrack. I want to try new recipes and bake bread. Tish wants to do some baking, too. It'll be nice to get out of the supper rut I've been in cooking the same basic stuff that is boring even the taste buds of the boys.

They'll be home tomorrow and, while it's been a nice break, I'm looking forward to them coming back. I do hope they've had a great time.

You Pedal, I'll Steer. part 2

2011-11-25T14:49:00.000-07:00

As you may recall we left our intrepid hero last week making his way on his early morning paper route after he and Alec made peach cobbler all over the street car tracks....
And now...the exciting continuation of You Pedal, I'll Steer. Part 2

Chapter 2

You could tell that lots of kids lived in our house just from one look. Everybody else had green lawns all trimmed with hedges and raked up like on TV shows. Our lawn was dirt with a trampled stone flowerbed. The porch rail looked like someone’s mouth who lost a whopper of a fight, and all the bent up bikes and broken toys looked like they’d just dropped out of the sky. The reason was because all the other mother’s on the street were smart enough to shoo their kids away so everyone would play hopscotch, spud, matchboxes, jump rope, and no touching floor at our house.
Mom said she’d rather have kids where she could see us but Dad always complained. “We have five children. Why do they need friends when they have each other?” But the other’s weren’t friends like Alec and me. Besides us there were the big boys, Eric and Jeff, who were in high school and fought all the time. Then there was our sister, Kate who was eleven. We also had Gulliver, our dog, and two cats, Jake and Bigelow. Throw in the parents and it was a busy house.
When I got back home that morning, Mom was waiting. It’s hard to describe her because she was just Mom. She had her hair pinned up in a bun and she didn’t take any nonsense. “Where have you been, John? I was about to go looking for you. If you can’t move faster, you’ll have to give up that paper route. Now get a move on or you’ll be late for school - again.”
“I’m going, I’m going.” I said. I could take some heat, after all, I’d just save the world from evil.
“Honestly! You’d think it would take less than two hours to drop off six papers. Now, get some breakfast.”
Everyone else had already gone. She made me rush around and change my clothes and scoop up the homework I didn’t finish while she dished up a gloppy old bowl of porridge that had been on the stove for two days. It floated like a lump of congealed snot in warm milk and rode down your throat just as nasty. The only way to swallow it was covered in so much brown sugar that you couldn’t taste it. But that was sugar and you already know how Mom felt about that. I got to the table trying to think up excuses not to eat it. She’d heard them all.
I was working up a stall so she’d just send me to school when she gave me a look like I was covered in worms. “Sweet Heaven, you’re not wearing that sweater?” It sounded like a question. But it wasn’t.
I looked it over. Just my plain old grey sweater like always. “What’s wrong with it?”
“I can smell it from here.”
“Aw, Mom. I can’t find anything else.” Which was true. My bedroom was knee deep in toys. Alec and I were in the middle of a Meccano challenge.
She blew out air like she was trying to fill a balloon. “I’ll find you something. Eat your breakfast.”
I looked at the bowl and let out a moan as she hit the stairs. As soon as she was out of sight I initiated secret backup plan XR-7: Feed It To The Dog. Gulliver was already sitting under the table with his chin in my lap. I dropped the sloppy mess to my knees and he wolfed down the entire works in three slurps. When she got back I was swishing what was left in the bottom of the bowl with my spoon and acting like I was swallowing hard.
She didn’t say a thing. She just yanked off my sweater, handed me another one and shoved me out the door. “After school you’ll be cleaning your room. It is a pigpen up there! Now scoot or you’ll need a note. I’ll see you at lunch.”
I headed off feeling worse than if I’d really swallowed that oatmeal. It wrecks the whole day when you know you got a chore waiting after school. It weighs on your brain all day long because you can’t make any fun plans. I’d much rather have it sprung it on me when I got home.
A couple doors up and across the street lived a real live witch named Miss Hatten. You could tell she was a witch because her lawn was two feet tall and she kept her dented up old garbage can chained to her driveway like somebody was going to steal it. If a baseball ever landed in her yard, it was dead to us. Some mornings she’d stand on her porch and yell at kids going to school, and late at night, when Gulliver was out taking a pee or a bark, we’d hear her barking right back at him. There were stories that went back for thousands of years about kids disappearing inside that house and we were sure as spit she’d buried them in her backyard. No one knew what kind of magic she used to lure them in so it was best never to look directly at her house, especially if you knew she was on the porch. I flew past her house and down Pine Street straight to school.
I hated school almost as bad as I feared the witch. I hated studying, hated recess, hated my teacher. Worst of all, I hated the bullies. I was born with a split lip that had to be sewed up from nose down to my mouth. So it made my mouth kind of crooked and puffy. Just having to live with that seemed like punishment enough but there were boys who figured that was a good reason to laugh and call me names. It wasn’t my fault I looked different. But that didn’t matter. They made up a new name for me almost every week and I even heard my teacher, Mr. Pratt, use one once. The other thing that got me teased was being really young for fifth grade. I was only nine and most kids were almost two years older. The worst bully was a sharp eyed creep named John Johnson who linked arms with his gang and marched around the school yard singing, “We don’t stop for nobody!”. Then they’d trample any kid fool enough to stand in their way. Since I was real shy anyway, I learned early that the best way not to get teased was to keep to myself.
That’s why I timed getting to school just before the bell rang. I ran straight upstairs and thumped into my seat. I could feel Mr. Pratt’s bug eyes following me the whole way. “Good of you to join us, John,” he said. By the pile of giggles he got you could tell he was a real comedian for the girls.
He was a floppy eared guy with thick pink lips that looked like the scar left from a bad cut. He always played teacher’s pet with kids he liked and took it out on the ones he didn’t. After morning recess he would bring a cup of coffee and rustle around in the cloak room behind his desk to steal cookies from kid’s lunch bags. Then he’d sit at his desk and dunk our brownies or chocolate chips in his coffee. No one knew who got hit until you heard a wail of disappointment at the lunch table from some poor kid who had to go without dessert. I went home for lunch most days but when I didn’t I never took cookies in my lunch. There was no way I wanted old Pratt to enjoy anything that was mine.
That morning, Mr. Pratt said something interesting. He handed a stack of green mimeographed pages to the kid at the front of each row. “Take one and hand the rest back just as if you were normal children,” he said, chuckling like this was the first time he’s used that stupid line. “I want you to take this home and have a parent sign it.”
It read: PET SHOW in big letters at the top.
“We’re going to have a pet show at the end of the month,” Mr. Pratt continued. “Each of you will be allowed to bring in a dog or cat or bird, in a cage of course, to show and talk about. We will have contests and prizes.”
I read more. “All pets will be judged for talent, beauty, and best behavior.” This was perfect. Gulliver could win all of those things. He was the best dog in the world. And the smartest, and the prettiest. Here was my big chance for Debbie Bell to notice me. I glanced up at her desk. She was three rows in front of me. Me and Gulliver would zip in on the Fantam cycle and Gully would hop out of the sidecar and show John Johnson his teeth. We’d take the stairs two at a time and Gully would open the classroom door with his mouth. I could just imagine Debbie telling me what a great dog he was and asking to pet him. Then I’d invite her for a ride on my souped up motorbike.
“Mr. Lunn?” I heard a voice say. “Mr. Lunn? If you’d like to rejoin the class?” I heard laughter and saw everyone staring at me. “Welcome back to class.” It was Pratt. “We’re reviewing last night’s spelling homework. Could you tell us how you answered number three?”
I was still holding the pet show page. Everyone else had their books open and giggled while my face got hot. “Um,” I stalled and reached into my desk and pulled out my notebook. The homework page was still folded up from when I took it home last night. I quickly looked down to number three. ‘The study of the human body is called A------.” My mind was blank. I’m sure it was easy if I wasn’t in a panic.
“I didn’t get that one,” I mumbled without admitting that this was the first time I saw it.
Pratt pursed his lips like he was going to puke and then turned to someone else. “Donald?”
Of course, Donald had the answer. “Anatomy. A.N.A.T.O.M.Y.”
At least the spotlight was off me. Debbie had her hand in the air for the next question. I kept my head down staring at the page like I was checking my answers and promising to myself that I’d do all my homework from now on if he didn’t call on me again.
The day dragged on like that until the three o’clock bell finally rang. On the way home, I started a new daydream about my entire class on a jet plane going to Hawaii for a school trip. The pilot got sick and lost control over the Pacific Ocean and I had to step in and fly us to safety. We got knocked way off course and couldn’t radio for help but I managed to crash land us on a small desert island. No one got hurt. Well, all except for Pratt who got banged up because he wouldn’t wear his seat belt.

A day of giving thanks

2011-11-24T09:54:00.000-07:00

By the end of November when retailers stomach's are starting to growl wondering how full they're going to get for Christmas, it seems that the 'Christmas season' has now fully engulfed Thanksgiving. It reminds me of some of the night time satellite views of the east coast of the US when the lights from Boston all the way down to DC started to blend into one long huge mass called Bos-New-Wash.

What's important to note, though, is that no matter what commercial event the 'shopping season' keeps morphing into that has nothing to do with the Christian birth, Thanksgiving has remained an island of turkey, friends and family and nothing else. No money changes hands except to put on the feast and share thanks - and that includes those who donate time, money and food for the many who would otherwise go without.

It's also worth noting because of the town I live in (and Andy would give me grief if I didn't) that Sarah Josepha Hale - I spoke of her in my blog "Sarah Josepha Who?" a couple of weeks ago - who comes from Newport, was instrumental in getting President Lincoln to declare Thanksgiving a national holiday.

So before we break bread I give thanks to our health, our good fortune, to those who can't be home, and those who serve our country, to those who came before us, and the love we share with family and friends. We are blessed to be living in such fortunate times as we strive to make a better life for everyone.

Amen.

And they're off!

2011-11-23T09:52:00.000-07:00

The house is quietl All three boys just left for Thanksgiving at their other grands on Cape Cod. They're gone for 4 days. Four glorious days of quiet. I don't want to sound callous. After all, I love all of them to nth power but a few days off is bliss after no break since mid-October. We'll have a peaceful, noncombative Thanksgiving with Sugar and Danny and Bud. I won't have to use the word don't or no or raise my voice or break up fights for 4 days. It's like a vacation at Palm Beach. Never mind that there are 6 inches of snow on the ground or that I still have to cleanup the mess they left behind. I'll feel like Mary Poppins and the continuous quiet is my spoonful of sugar. By the time Sunday rolls around my batteries should be recharged and ready for the race to Christmas.

I wonder if they'd like to have Christmas on the cape?

2 steps forward 1 step back

2011-11-22T18:19:00.001-07:00

Kit still has a huge chip on his shoulder when it comes to Buddy. Bud is doing much better about being available and helping out. He brings things home for the kids, is in a good mood as much as anyone can be, takes them places on his weekends and days off and tries to be attentive and talk with them and find out how they're doing.

That seems to have no effect on Kit. He doesn't say hi when Buddy gets home, resists any affection aimed him, and argues over the smallest things.
Things are going better but seem to have regressed the past several days. He'll be getting along fine and joking with everyone and as soon as Buddy enters the scene he acts like he's not even there - won't look up, won't respond to questions, won't say hello. They don't fight so much as they used to but this chill runs deep.

I know that Kit's close relationship with his mom has cost his father. He blames Buddy for the separation and holds him responsible for his ongoing anxiety. All that is typical enough for most kids in circumstances like this. We have hoped that as things got better their relationship would improve. And it has. But is it a slow process.

So this morning, after having only 3 hours sleep I hear Kit and Buddy fighting over wearing a coat in the cold weather. Buddy stormed off, Kit ran down to the bus stop in a hoodie and I ended up driving to the school to deliver his coat.

And it's only Thanksgiving.

Saucy little kid

2011-11-20T09:46:00.002-07:00

Doc is a hundred percent smarter than he sounds. I'm constantly telling him to stop blathering away uselessly with no idea what he is talking about. I'm not trying to limit him talking, just get him to slow down on opening his mouth to respond to every little thing anyone says even if he hasn't got a clue what it's about. But he's wiley and does know better. For instance, when he's told to stop tattling, he rephrases to sound like he's asking something pertinent. "Hmmm," he'll say. "So, I wonder if, what I'm wondering is, I wonder is it snack time yet? Kit had a snack and I wonder if it's time for snack? What do you think, Grampy?" All because he trying hard not to say, "Kit took a snack! Kit took a snack and you said not to!"

Today, he had a hilarious moment of lucidity. While driving into town, when I told him that Dad would be home to make supper because I was going out, he said, "Yay! I like having Dad make supper because you..." and he cut himself of right there. "That is, you don't - I mean, sometimes..." Then he even did the zip lip thing with the key turning to lock his mouth shut.

"What?" asked Kit.

I just laughed and laughed. "He's got himself stuck trying not to say he doesn't like my cooking!" I said.

"It's just the sauces I don't like," said the impertinent little 1st grader, trying to recoup what he could.

Just the sauces. Gotta love that.

Setting a fine example

2011-11-19T13:53:00.000-07:00

Just back from McCheapy's with Kit and Doc. They're off delivering fundraiser goodies across the street and I'm trying to think up something profound to write. When Tish gets home from work, she and I are off to a birthday party for a great 80 year old woman. She's been an active democrat in this neck of the woods since the Kennedy administration and, this being New Hampshire, has met every president and presidential candidate right back to JFK. I've known her for almost 20 years and, except for growing a bit older, she's still the same sharp, clear thinker that wants to make this country, state and region a better place for everyone. She instilled the same values in her daughters and the whole family are always working hard during elections canvassing, holding up signs, cooking for volunteers and you name it. But what's even more important is they don't stop on election day. She's still out there making sure the voice of hard workers and underprivileged people are heard and even served in public office herself during several election cycles.

I guess that is profound. Knowing and admiring someone so dedicated to a lifetime of public service without looking for kudos or remuneration herself (NH hardly pays it's public servants) sets an example for us all to emulate and teach our children about. She knows that our democracy doesn't only function when you vote - a lesson a lot of people today could take note of. America is in a world of economic and social hurt. We have to work every day to help our communities succeed, kick Congress out of it's self-absorbed funk, and rebuild our education system, infrastructure, and working middle class.

Happy birthday, Ethel. Thank you for your example and your hard work.

You Pedal, I'll Steer.

2011-11-18T13:43:00.000-07:00

I'm going to start something a bit different today. Every Friday for the next little while, I'm going to serialize an as yet unpublished novel I wrote a couple of years ago called "You Pedal, I'll Steer". It's a recollection of the fall of 1967 when I was 9 years old in Toronto. Ninety-nine percent of it is true. I hope you enjoy it.
This first installment is a bit long just to set the scene...

You Pedal, I’ll Steer
CHAPTER 1

“Alec. Wake up.” I tried to whisper loud but I knew he wouldn’t hear that. I pushed his shoulder and he shrunk away like a slug under a shower of salt. “Come on. We’ll be late.” It was the same every day: the alarm goes off at 5:30, I climb down off the top bunk and spend five minutes rattling him out of his sleep. If you think it’s easy waking your brother up, you don’t know Alec. You could strap an alarm clock to his ears, it wouldn’t matter.
“Go away. I’m up already.” he’d always say and then roll over and start snoring again. If that didn’t work, he’d call me names and tell me if I didn’t leave me alone he’d pound me. I didn’t mind. We were best friends.
I shook him again. The rest of the world could sleep on but no matter if it was a blizzard or a summer day itchy with stuff to do, we had papers to deliver. He finally sat up like a shock just went through him which meant I could go to the kitchen make us instant coffee with canned milk and six sugars. Mom doled out sugar like it was gold dust - one grain at a time - so this was the only time of day to get a clean shot at the bowl. My favourite part was spooning up the milky syrup from the bottom of the mug. No wonder grownups liked coffee so much. Alec appeared at the door grumbling that he’d get a job delivering The Star so he could sleep in. But he never did. I mean, who wants to give up their afternoons? Not me.
We pulled the red sacks over our shoulders and headed down the hill towards Queen Street, the rush of cold air finishing off any last thought of sleep. It was early dawn and the streetlights were still on. “Ever notice how there’s always a drop in the temperature right after Labour Day?” he said, while he zipped his jacket right up to his nose. “Like starting school somehow makes the world colder.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Goodbye Summer - pow - hello school.”
“What are you going to wear for Halloween this year?” he asked. I was ready to dig right into one of our daydreams about being small or living on a deserted island. I hadn’t given Halloween any thought. It was miles away.
“I don’t know yet. What about you?”
“Me? Eighth graders are too old for trick or treats. It’s for kids.” He said it like I was stupid or something. “Everybody knows that.”
I didn’t. I couldn’t imagine being too old for trick or treating. That’s like saying you don’t want Christmas presents. Before I could talk him out of being that crazy, my eyes got drawn into the dark windows of a little brown gingerbread type house with crisscross white latices. In the middle of the front lawn was a sign hanging on a chain. ‘The 66 Bells’. I loved that sign. I loved that house. It had eyeball magnets that made me look every time I walked past. Debbie Bell lived there. She had blue eyes and a pink bow tie barrette in her brown hair. We’d been in the same class for three years and every morning when I passed her house I imagined her getting up and having her breakfast and I got goose bumps. She probably didn’t remember my name but that was okay.
Alec start singing under his breath, “John and Debbie sitting in a tree K. I. S. S. I.---”
“Shut up,” I hated that tease. “I do not.”
He laughed. “Then why do you moon at her house every day? It must be love. Poor Wendy will be heartbroken.”
I slapped his arm and looked back down the street hoping I wasn’t turning red. “Shut up. Wendy’s just a friend.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Shut. Up.” I slapped him again and he pretended that he was mortally wounded. He was thirteen I was nine and we probably looked funny going everywhere together. But we didn’t care.
“We could invite Debbie trick or treating...”
“Ha. Ha. Why don’t you just tell me why you’re not going out on Halloween?”
“I told you already. I’m too old. You’ll know you are too when the time comes. But I have a plan. I was thinking I could be your manager.”
“Manager?” I didn’t even know what that meant. “What for?”
“The way I see it, if we get some business sense into this Halloween thing, we could clean up. I could design your costumes and plan out the best route for you to go. Like up on Glen Manor Drive where the big houses are. They give out those huge chocolate bars, not just candy kisses and apples.”
“You don’t think I can do that myself? Why do I need you?”
His look showed me why and I didn’t argue. “You need really good costumes to go up there. They don’t give away all that good candy to just anybody. Think about it. Every year you go up and down this same street and come home with the same crappy loot: spotty candy apples, mini Tootsie Rolls, Sweet Tarts, and stale break-your-jaw caramel kisses. I’m talking about a real big score. Full sized Coffee Crisps, packs of Juicy Fruit, Smarties, you name it.”
“They give away stuff like that?”
“Yup. And here’s the beauty part, little brother. We’ll design two costumes so you can go out twice to the best houses that give out the best stuff. See, you go out early in one costume and then change into a different one to go around again and score a second bag of goodies. That way you get all chocolate and bubble gum and no apples or junk. Is that a plan, or what?”
A second bag of bars! I could almost feel the weight of it in my hands. Sometimes it took me ten minutes to decide which chocolate bar to spend my allowance on. Imagine having two bags full of all the best ones. “But what if I get caught? I mean...”
“Not a chance. I thought of everything. When you go around the first time, you wear a mask. If they ask you to show your face to get a treat, you don’t go back there the next time. If they don’t, you can go back for a second score. I’ll be waiting on the corner and keep track of which is which.” He smiled at me like he was offering to clean up our room for nothing. There was a catch, I just didn’t know what it was. Yet.
“Don’t you think that’s like cheating?” I asked.
“Naw. What do you think those people do with all the leftover candy they have? They just throw it away. Grownups don’t keep that kind of stuff around.”
I sure knew our parents didn’t keep it around. The only chocolate that stayed in our kitchen was the barf from one bite unsweetened baker’s stuff that Mom made cakes with. It was so bitter it could make a dragon gag. The only way I could eat it was to slobber up a square with spit so it would snag a gooey coat of sugar out of the bowl. Then I’d just sort of grind a layer off with my teeth. It was a lot of work for chocolate. “Why doesn’t everyone do that if it’s such a great idea?” I asked.
“Who knows? Why wasn’t the car invented two hundred years ago? Why did it take Einstein to discover the atom? You don’t question genius when it happens.”
That was a good point. Alec was a genius. “What do you get out of it?” I asked.
“A modest thirty percent of your haul. I’ll design and make the costumes, plan the best route, get you over there and hang around so you don’t go twice to the wrong places.”
I couldn’t think up a down side. “It’s a deal,” I said. “What costumes?”
“I’m working on that.”
At the bottom of Scarborough Road we turned along Queen Street. This was the main business street of the Beaches. Streetcars ran along here twenty-four hours a day and I knew every store, every alley, where all the gumball machines were, and just about every crack in the sidewalk from the Neville loop to the Fox Theatre at Beech. Our first stop was Cirrone’s market at the top of Munro Park.
During the summer and fall, Joe Cirrone just pulled a green canvass over his outside tables of fresh produce. At six in the morning, the store was still closed so I stood lookout while Alec reached under the tarp to grab some fruit. As soon as an empty streetcar clicked by to turn around at Neville, we laid a string of peaches out on the tracks to watch them get mowed down when it came back up.
I heard the Cachunkaka-chunkaka-chunkaka of the steel wheels coming up the hill and hollered. “Here it comes! Hurry up.” Alec was still balancing the last one on the rail. I grabbed his arm and we ran to the sidewalk to wave and smile at the driver as he plowed all the peached down. Poot-poot-poot-poot-poot-poot-poot-poot-poot-poot-poot-poot. What a great sound.
“Can I get you some freshly squeezed peach juice?” Alec asked.
“Is that with or without fuzz?”
All the pits but one got squooshed along with the pulp. I put it in my pocket and we moved along the street to peer in the window of the Willow Fish and Chip shop. They made the best potato fritters in the world: all greasy and covered in salt and vinegar and wrapped up warm in newspaper. Across the street was The Goof restaurant. It had a neon sign with a light out. Instead of saying GOOD FOOD it read GOO FOOD. So everyone who was anyone called it The Goof. Just outside the barber shop, I took a shot on a penny candy machine, hoping to get a toy but got the usual handful of Hot Shots. I got Troll out of that machine almost a year ago. But he lost an arm during a battle with a Krag monster and I was hoping to get another.
Finally, we got to the corner of Beech where our newspaper bundles were waiting outside the Fox Theatre. There was a new James Bond film playing with a picture of Bond riding a tiny helicopter. Alec and I spent weeks dreaming of where we’d go if we had that chopper. He untwisted the wire around our paper bundles and stuffed thirty-five papers mostly for Beech and Willow in his bag and six in mine for Fernwood and Balsam. Most mornings my route took about two hours.
“I’ll meet you back home,” Alec said and we parted. “Don’t go too slow. You know what George said.”
“I’ll try.”
George was our boss and he said I lost two customers recently because they complained that they didn’t get their paper early enough. It wasn’t my fault if they wanted today’s paper last night. Besides, I couldn’t go any faster. I headed down Hazel and right into my favourite daydream about being rock star/super hero, Fantam. With my sidekick, Fleagle, we saved the world by day and sang rock and roll to crowds of screaming girls at night. The Fantam Mobile was a souped up E-type Jaguar loaded with so many secret agent gadgets the tires should have popped every time we jumped in. But my role model was Secret Squirrel and if he could stuff all those weapons in his hat, I could get them into my car.
That morning, I was working for Interpol to capture a gang of diamond smugglers...

I've been outed

2011-11-17T21:15:00.000-07:00

The boys go to 3 different schools. That's 3 different administrations, 3 different open houses, 3 completely different sets of teachers, and 3 wildly different aged kids. In all of that I figure I could still stay lost in the crowd. Fat chance.

A few weeks ago I was relaxing in the Jeep waiting for Tio to finish football on a sunny afternoon. Without opening my eyes I heard the boys all going past me towards the locker room. One voice chimed out "Dude! Tio's dad is snoozing one off in his car." Okay, so I get that the team all know who I am because I drop him off and I've been at the games and so forth. But I was a bit more surprised when I picked Kit up after school today. There was a band practice in his usual room and I was redirected upstairs. While I walked off down the hall I heard the band director ask "Who was that?" Almost every kid in the room, all strangers to me, said, "That's Tio and Kit's grandfather."

Maybe I should grow a beard.

Live long and prosper

2011-11-15T19:21:00.000-07:00

Live long and prosper

It turns out that it's not easy for many people to split their fingers down the middle to do the Spock greeting. I always could but have met many who look perplexed when their fingers won't do what their brain tells them to. Our boys couldn't do it either but weren't going to take no for an answer. Doc, the stubborn obsessive that he is, practiced by prying them apart with the other hand and worked on it until he got it. Not to be outdone Tio and Kit got it down and now our club sign is split fingers followed by "live long and prosper" which is the proper Vulcan greeting to go with the sign. (Tish, on the other hand, went for 'nanu nanu' feeling that Mork was more in keeping with this crazy crew).

When Tio and Kit were younger, and Doc barely born, the three of us had a club that started when Kit first learned to ride a bike. We'd race around the 'stoneyard' (local cemetery), go for long rides, and explore around the river. Tio, age 7, wanted to call the gang "The Killer Warriors from Blood" or something like that. Kit wanted to call us "The Fancy Boys" which shows where he was headed even at 5. I chose something in the middle.

Here we are years later using Star Trek hand signs and clichés. I'll make good little geeks of them yet!

The third shoe just dropped

2011-11-14T16:59:00.002-07:00

Doc's biggest learning issue is his speech. He's come a long way but he's in a habit of speaking too quickly and slurring words together. In particular, he doesn't do well with double consonants like Th, Sm and Pl. In particular the Br sound - he says bah-roken (broken), bah-ring (bring) and so on. I correct and cajole and nudge him along but without cooperation it's just another thing he's being told to do and becomes part of the background noise of his 6 year old noodle.

But then comes Christmas. Tio got a scooter and little Doc is just drooling over the idea of having one, too. Time to bargain. Yesterday I said, "I'll get you a scooter for Christmas if you work on your words."
"What if I forget?" he asked.
"If you can remember a scooter all the time, then you can remember to be careful with your speech." That was Kit sitting in the seat next to him.

I couldn't tell if he would take the bait or not. But today while I was hanging laundry I heard him in the next room going "br br brrrrrmmmm bah-room, brrrooom. Broom. Broom. Broom."

It's going to be a very nice Christmas.

You can't tell where your heart will take you

2011-11-13T12:55:00.000-07:00

I'm in love!

I don't know if my wife will understand but how can you control your heart? I know I promised to to be true but circumstances change, the road becomes confusing, and the future unpredictable.

It's the new dishwasher. She's a beaut. She's industrious, self sacrificing and technosavvy (just what every guy needs, right?). I don't know how I lived so long without her. There I was year after year scrubbing away when she was there waiting in the wings all along. My life is so much easier now and she doesn't complain or leave half the dishes dirty, or say it's someone else's turn that night.

robotman

In the comic strip Robotman by Jim Meddick, a robot from another planet lives quietly with a suburban family. Robotman falls in love with the family washing machine (they were both of like minds and machinery, he thought). But it bothered poor R-man that she was inattentive, always let him carry the conversation, and he felt neglected. So he regularly took back the gifts he'd given her - a motor belt, a bit of hose, etc.. After that happens we always see the family with a stench rising off them in their rumpled unwashed clothes. Someone says, "I see the washing machine has broken R-man's heart again. Whose turn is it to get them back together?"

That's a cautionary tale. If I get a clothes dryer do you think the dishwasher will get jealous?

Two down, one to go.

2011-11-12T17:37:00.001-07:00

Kit made the honor roll. Talk about a turnaround. He was struggling so hard with his math and reading comrehension this past year but his first quarter report came in and he's on the honor roll with all As and Bs. He's also in good spirits and his sense of humor has blossomed (he always had one, but how far can you go on knock-knock jokes?). The meds have really helped but there's more to it. Like Tio, he's responding to positive reinforcement (trading rewards for good behavior) and he doesn't want to create drama with his friends any more (last year he loved to stir it up). I think he's getting enough satisfaction from what's going on around without having to stir up more. It feels like his maturity has caught up to his age.

A good thing to reach before the froth of puberty sets in.

Armistice Day - Poppy Day - Veterans Day. Thank you all.

2011-11-11T21:52:00.000-07:00

I grew up in Canada until the age of 21. I was a young boy during the Vietnam war and it didn't really come into my radar. We had no guns in our house and even though we were a political family there was never any talk about "the right to bear arms" (a singularly American debate). My brother served in the navy and my father harkened back often to his fellow veterans of WWII. None of that prepared me for the level of patriotism and military tradition in the United States.

I arrived in America, a brand new citizen with passport in hand, in the summer of 1979. Six months after my arrival President Carter was considering a military draft for young men to serve in Afghanistan. It meant I would have to register and possibly go to war. I was a newly minted American with nothing at stake in this. I was primarily a pacifist and strongly against military intervention. I was facing a moral dilemma larger than I ever had before. If I didn't want to serve then I should catch the next bus home and leave America for the Americans to defend. On the other hand, I came here looking for all the privileges that American society had to offer. Should I expect it comes at no cost? Would I feel better about serving after I reaped many benefits from my new country? If the answer was yes, then maybe I was being tested by having to pay my dues up front. If the answer was no, then what the hell was I doing here in the first place. What then is the measure of myself if I was willing to takes the rewards and shirks the cost? As a dual citizen my family history goes back to the 1830's in the US on my mother's side. I have cousins and aunts and uncles across this land. It was only geography, I argued with myself, that I was born a few scant miles north of an arbitrary line.

So I stayed, scared to death of the idea of going to war but not willing to run away. In the end was never required to register and we didn't go to war with the Soviet. Years and years have passed since then and I've gone through contortions on my mixed feelings about military service and patriotism. I've been very uncomfortable having to express and declare patriotism, feeling it was self aggrandizing, while I've served my country and community in many nonmilitary ways. I spent a great deal of time over the years arguing against the military complex while not really understanding the nature of the soldier and veteran in America.

On 9-11 2001, 22 years later, I knew in one horrific moment that I was an American in heart and soul. I was outraged, crushed and sickened, and felt personally violated by the terrorist attack. I visited my Canadian home that winter and the disdain my siblings and friends poured out about arrogant American society and our 'deserved' retaliation from the Middle East for this and that and the other thing cut me to the bone. It physically hurt. They might as well have called me a leper and cast me into the snow.

In the past decade I have paid more attention to the men and women who serve our country and learned a lot. A humbling lot. A lot of respect for the complexity of how and why they serve, the lives of veterans, and the powerful role they play in the American heart and spirit.

All of which brings me to today when I sat the 3 boys down at 10 o'clock to tell them about military service, Armistice Day, and the importance of honoring those who have served. I took them to the town celebration where we heard a couple of speeches, prayers and a 150 year old cannon go off. They were respectful and quiet through the whole 45 minutes (even Doc - which was the big surprise) even though the cold wind through the trees kept us from hearing almost all of it except the cannon. I'm sure we'll talk about these things again. My views, while still evolving, are much more nuanced than ever before and I hope as time goes by the boys will pick up on that.

Thank you, on this Veterans Day, to all the men and women who serve and have served our country, for your willingness to work so hard for so little at such personal cost. You have my respect and support.

"Freedom's just another word for nothin left to lose..." - from Me and Bobbie Mcgee by Kris Kristofferson

2011-11-10T21:17:00.000-07:00

I think Tio is starting to get the hang of earning rewards. We finally have a reward he wants: freedom to choose. He wants to go to the skate park, hang out with his friends, have a facebook, and control a bit more of his destiny. Last month I mentioned that I arranged a point system for him to get graded on his behavior with each teacher. He's doing fairly well with it but what is new is that I can say "I want to see nothing below a 4 tomorrow or you don't get to ..." whatever he's looking for. So he comes home with 5s and 4s, coupled with high performance on his school grades, ands gets the earned freedoms. When he wants to- he succeeds.

This puts him squarely in the 'I can manage this' column instead of the 'I'm screwing it up so why bother' section and he knows the difference. That means the issues are finally coming under his own control. And so is is his free time.

Everybody wins.

Wassup with that, my brother!

2011-11-09T14:26:00.000-07:00

What is it with these rural white boys puttin' on the dawg and acting like they're some kind of killer drug dealer pimp from a black urban slum? I know, I know, rap music, videos, pop culture and all that razzmatazz. Still, how much stupider can a 13 year old possibly look than to have their jeans hanging down below their asses showing their Spongebob tighty-whiteys, cap on sideways, shoes so big that even if they did lace them up (and they don't) their feet still slide around with every step, and swaggering along with one arm hanging straight down like they broke it and the other up over their chest, flicking their wrist like they got a booger stuck to it. This is the height of style? With different clothes, in the 70's it was superfly and in the 40‘s it was the zoot suit. Same swagger, different times. But it was always black.

Racism is such an odd paradox in this country. While it is still alive and flourishing in so many ways, white culture, youth especially, has been embracing and integrating black cultural creativity for the past century. Jazz music, rock and roll, R&B, rap and the lifestyles they rode in with are all born of American black society. At first white acceptance came only after white musicians picked up the beat but that facade is gone. What bothers me about this rap/hip-hop clothing trend isn’t the absurdity of the costume. It's the complete disconnect between what and where the urban black is that bore this 'style' and the white posers who immitate a look who's roots they don't understand in the least. The same was true of jazz in the 1920's. The difference was jazz and blues were an attempt to rise up and feel better about life through the music - a message everyone could share. Rap wallows in it, takes you down there and celebrates some fairly unkind and unsavory behavior. Big difference.

But the message and influence of the message is lost on the white boys. They think it means being a lost soul caught between violence and poverty is cool. 'Gonna pop a cap in yo face' is an empty expression of pride. Pride. Think of that. I'm going to shoot you in the face for no reason. Whatever happened to becoming astronauts, cowboys, and firemen? At least in cowboys and indians, you didn't shoot the other "good guys" - for all the other racial stigma it carried - and it was a game of bygone eras. In druglords and pimps everyone is a bad guy and they inhabit 21st century American streets.

There is huge gap between the black and white poverty rates, domestic violence, education and other cultural success indicators that make it clear we live in 2 different Americas. I think if our kids are going to buy the music, imitate the trappings and pretend that they can in any way relate to the American black experience, they should understand the reality of it. Otherwise boys, go back to your chinos, tees and skateboards. You should never mimic what you don't understand.

Does Daffy Duck ever listen to what he says?

2011-11-08T19:35:00.002-07:00

Watching Looney Tunes last night with Kit. He's decided that Daffy Duck is his favorite character because he never shuts up and says the most outrageous things. He interupts everyone and is totally insulting. But always funny. After completely dressing down some goofball stuckup dog hotel manager Kit said "Do you think Daffy Duck ever listens to what he says."

"He's a cartoon character," Grammo said.

"Congratulations," says I "you have just hit on the classic definition of a total bore: someone who never hears a word they say."

Welcome aboard flight 99 around the Sun

2011-11-07T16:39:00.000-07:00

Tish and I spent the morning at the hospital while she had a battery of tests done, some routine, some looking at lumps and spots and all the other things that come with age. I went along because it's what I do. She said she could go alone but, what the hell, we're in this together and when crap comes along for one of us, it comes for us both.

Waiting through her first test, I started dozing (only got 3 hours sleep so far last night) and I had the uncanny sensation of being in the cabin on an airplane. We've all been there, right? Oxygen rich air, quiet voices all around, the odd buzzer or 'ding' going off, and having to try and make yourself comfortable in a not too comfy straightbacked chair for an extended time. Well, waking up in a hospital waiting room when you think you're flying to Bermuda is quite the rude awakening.

On the second leg of our flight (in a different waiting room) I heard a nearby couple discussing their dinner menu until I realized the man was going under the knife and it was his post surgery hospital dinner they were choosing. They spoke with intimate casual and mutual concern. Her for his comfort and health, he for the food. It was typical middle married conversation where a woman speaks her mind about what's going on and the husband resorts to dealing with his fears and anxieties by concentrating on an irrelevant issue. So she tries to join his concern over food in an attempt to say it'll be okay. To my surprise, when they walked past me I saw that they weren't that old and it sounded like they hadn't been together that long. Interesting how the patterns of relationships work.

The final leg of our flight landed us in echocardioland and we settled down to wait for Tish to take a turn on the ride. We found ourselves next to a couple, probably in their 80's, who looked faintly familiar, not that we knew them in the least. As they left Tish said, "that looked just like my mother. Same style of clothes and choice of color, same small frail frame." She was right. The woman was wearing a robin's egg pants suit, had hairdresser coiffed teeth-white hair and walked like a southern breeze might knock her down. "Hmmmm," I replied, "the husband looks like I might by that age." Solid, stooped a bit from sitting too long on a bad back, and dressed without any particular style (no golfing pants, or elderly jeans, etc). "It's us in 25 years."

Without another word I could tell we were both jumping the quarter century ahead to whatever might be waiting for us. Not an uncommon thing, I would suppose, when you see so many older people gathered in one place to look after their ills. I wondered about the grandkids at middle age and what experiences will have scored life into their eyes and face. There's no way when our kids were small that I'd have predicted Buddy in the world he inhabits and Sugar settled down in a mobile home with a low end management job. We dreamed of much more for them. They just didn't dream it for themselves.

We deplaned and drove off to get some lunch. That's the problem with growing old. It seems so far off but it's not. Just a few more of these flights around the Sun and it'll all be over.

'I did WELL' not 'I did good.'

2011-11-06T17:55:00.002-07:00

All their lives I've been correcting the kids grammar and speech. Every day there a 'well not good' 'I've not I' and so forth. With Doc, it's still a lot of basic pronounciations (supposed, not 'opposed to do that') and Kit has taken on an affectation where he drops Ts (buh-ins instead of buttons, nuh-in for nothing and so on). Some of it is an impossible reach, after all even newscasters have completely dropped the correct use of the word 'well' for 'good', and a lot of people don't care. Tio has taken to saying, "Potato - Potah-to" as though it makes no difference. So why should I care?

There are a lot of reasons for kids to learn proper speech. First, learning proper speech enhances their vocabulary and improves their communication. Second, when you speak properly, people take you more seriously. Being taken seriously by their grammar may not be something they need now but it will be important in the future. Thirdly, people assume you are more educated when you use good speech and that can open doors with employers and social connections (depending on what social circles you move in). Again, not something critical right now but it will be before long. These things are hard to impart to young boys who can barely see a month out, let alone their adult life. I explain it to them anyway and insist they comply because it's part of what parents do to prepare their kids for the world.

But there's one other reason I teach them good grammar: respect. I believe that speaking well is part of the respect we show ourselves and each other. It's like wearing the right clothes to work, or putting on a suit for a funeral, or shaking hands, and saying 'please' and 'thank you'. Manners do matter. Good grammar doesn't take more time to learn or do, it just takes more effort, which is the same with all forms of sharing respect.

Sarah Josepha Who?

2011-11-05T21:46:00.000-06:00

Lunch at McDulgence with 2 boys (their idea of a treat, not mine) and figured I'd blog on some peripherals since all seems well with the kids.

This past week I wrote a few times about some women I love and respect. They are but a small fraction of the women I look up to in this life, both those I know and those who inhabit the larger world now and through history. As I'm sure my regular readers know, I want the boys to have a clear and strong respect for women but it's not so easy because of this still is a world defined by men. For a school aged girl to assert herself as an equal with boys she has to do it through the prism of being demure, constantly pretty and appearing less intelligent. Not only does that make her less equal, but creates the frame that young boys must see her through. Sure, life is more equal than ever before but the rules still demand girls fit a man's role for her before she can then be herself. Imagine a boy and girl toddlers dropped on the proverbial desert island to survive there alone. Would the boy automatically assume the dominant role? Would the girl decide that primping and cooking were her best features? Is there any other species on Earth that we assign female traits like those we impose on women? The answer to all three questions of course is a resounding obviously not. Yet that's the world we inhabit.

A bobble head of Sarah Hale

Our town is the birthplace of Sarah Josepha Hale, a nineteeth century writer and editor, most remembered for writing Mary Had A Little Lamb, and a strong advocate for women. Sarah is a good example of a strong woman in a man's world. She helped increase women's ability to express themselves but only through the role provided by men.

I want the boys to grow up without seeing those trappings but that's a hard sell. It means accepting that girls can behave differently while wanting the same things boys do. It means the only way it will ever change is if men work with women to tear down those not so subtle walls.

Smelling the roses

2011-11-04T22:53:00.000-06:00

I've put off writing while trying to think of a topic but nothing has come to mind. Then I realized that's a good thing. Of course, good writing is filled with drama and conflict but good living isn't. When things are going well, we need to let out a relaxed breath, recognize that things are good and enjoy it. Too many people live from one disaster to the next, worrying about what will go wrong, emersed in damage control so much they can't see daylight. But I'm an eternal optimist. Of course, there will be downturns again. Such is life. But everyone in this house is firing on all cylinders and it shows.

Tio is conscientious about getting good grades and high marks for his behavior in each class. He's loving football and getting along well with this brothers. Kit is also doing well with his courses, enjoying good relationships with friends and showing signs of maturity that are age approriate. Doc is in a great mood most days, loves to go to school (lamenting today that he couldn't go on weekends), showing a great sense of humor. As for the adults? Tish started her full time job this week (which means a bit more money), Buddy is really pitching in to help out more and getting along great with the boys, and I'm looking forward to a busy winter keeping the household humming with my new kitchen, organization of the downstairs apartment and other projects I'm finally getting out of the way. At the same time, I'm totally engaged in the art I'm creating in the flute shop so that my creative imagination is satisfied.

It has taken 2 years of struggle and hope and hard work but we've come a long way and before we sail down into another trough, we need to recognize and celebrate how far we've come and where we are.

Pizza anyone?

Maybe all it takes is some drywall screws, a stack of 2x4s and a bit of confidence

2011-11-03T21:16:00.000-06:00

Bunkbed Buddies

Busy coupla days. I got an early start sawing wood and so forth. A few early screw ups hammering some boards backwards but I got on the right track and by quitting time, I had the framing done. I couldn’t keep going because I had a 3 and a 5pm appointment and by the time I’d get home Doc would be in bed so I spent the rest of the evening at the pub writing and visiting a friend. (I even took the night off from the blog) I started with the same schedge this morning and by four I was all done. That was the easy part. The big questions remained: will Kit complain about sleeping under Doc? Will Doc be too scared to sleep so high off the ground?

I got the answers as soon as we all drove home from school. They ran downstairs and their excitement was like Christmas. Kit couldn’t be happier because the bunks are deep enough for some shelves for toys and stuff and Doc couldn’t contain himself. “Look, Grammo” he exclaimed as he jumped up and down the ladder, (which I made myself!) “I can go up this way or I can go up sideways, I can jump down, or climb down backwards.” He bubbled over with it so much that he wanted to go to bed a half hour early. “You know,” he said seriously, “so I can get a good night’s sleep.” I tucked him in while he organized all his books and stuffies around the bed and I got one of those world class happy smiles I was mentioning a few days back.

Maybe I’m not such a bad carpenter after all.

Look out! He's got the measuring tape out again.

2011-11-01T19:57:00.002-06:00

I guess successfully renovating the kitchen got me started. Last night I measured and drew and figured and measured again and scratched my head and measured a third and erased my first drawings and came up with a plan. Today, after a nice coffee reunion with a friend I haven't seen in quite some time, I motored over to H Depot and filled a cart with wood and brackets and rope. Then, to spare my poor little wagon too much strain on the roof I had the store cut up most of the wood into my third measurement segments and wheeled my way to the checkout (and only dropped one 4x8 particle board on my foot! Owwch).

Before you start thinking I'm building a gallows, I untwined the rope to tie the big bits on the roof. I putted home at 30 mph up bumpy roads and hills and unpacked my goodies in the breezeway that I cleaned out on Sunday. Tomorrow, the floundering carpenter is going to build bunk beds for Kit and Doc. Along the way I'll also hammer together a 3 segment boot box and coat rack to get us through the winter. However, my long term experience as a bad builder tells me I should be called "the wood chipper" not anything resembling the word carpenter. I know for a fact that by the end of the day, I'll have accomplished 3 things. My hands will have splinters and cuts, my temper will be completely spent, and there will be a pile of split wood, bent nails and empty beer bottles in my wake.

Whether I complete a bunkbed and boot chest is anybody's guess.

Halloween is here! Too much candy stuffed into small children - there's a scary thought!

2011-10-31T19:45:00.004-06:00

Nicky Manaj

Halloween night has come and gone. Buddy took the younger boys out and Tio did a last minute thing when a friend picked him up. They all had fun and scored some goodies. Kit did his girl costume, this time as Nicky Manaj and I redid the Joker on Doc. This time he's looking downright scary!

Boys night out

2011-10-30T21:05:00.000-06:00

I took Tio and a couple of his friends to pizza and a matinee as a belated birthday trip today. That's a first for me - taking out a group of kids with one of the grandsons. It's yet another level of committment I was hoping to sidestep. With everything else going on to keep me on my toes, I was figuring this would be a better "dad" bonding thing. Yeah, like that'll ever happen. A couple of weeks ago Buddy and Tio were supposed to go on a double date so Tio could bring a girlfriend but that fell apart. It was no fault of Buddy's but they never arranged to do something else. Which is where it fell back to me.

The boys were well behaved tonight, I like them and they like me and we had a fine time. That's not the problem. It's just that there are 3 grandsons and I'm not so sure I want to set this precedent. Does that make me callous or uncaring? I suppose if I say I don't care, the answer is: yes, I am uncaring. But should I care? I mean, is it my job to make sure the boys have friends over and do their share of 'entertaining'? Tish says no. It's not like they don't have friends they go see haven't got enough socialization elsewhere that they need to drag us into it.

Fair enough and I suspect, as with most other things, that I'll play it by ear. Maybe I'll go if I have the time, or I get talked or begged into it. I don't generally burn on the fumes of guilt so the "it's not fair, he got to go" argument won't really sell with me. On the other hand, if I can enjoy it, too, then maybe I won't mind going along for the ride.

It may turn into the only socialization I get. There's a sad thought.

I guess I'm just a big sap

2011-10-29T10:01:00.000-06:00

summer sunset outside the house where I grew up

I’ve walked along the Great Wall of China, stood at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, taken a paddle boat on the Mississippi, seen the north pole from 30,000 feet, and watched whales and sea lions play in Puget Sound. I’ve seen sunsets that blaze with the glory of God and starry nights that are deeper than my imagination. In all of that still one of the most beautiful sights in the world might possibly be the grateful smile on your child’s face when you patch a bicycle injury, assure them that all is right with the world after they’ve been bullied or scared, or say goodnight after they’ve had a wonderful day.

You don’t have to travel too far to see the greatest wonders of the world.

"That costume is beast"

2011-10-28T20:27:00.000-06:00

The Joker & his teacher

Today was the annual grade school Halloween parade through town where all the parents and onlookers pack Main Street while the kidlins march by in their costumes with their teachers in tow. The businesses used to open their doors and let their employees step onto the street and even give out goodies while the throng paraded by but the crowd seems to have seriously thinned out in the last couple of years.

As you can see, I decked Doc out as the Joker from Batman movies. It was an entirely homemade costume so I had to go into the classroom early with all the other moms and assemble it and paint his face. He loved every second of it. He was so excited to have his hair starched and colored green and then his face painted all in front of his friends. They all wanted green hair by the time I was done.

I left him there to take my spot downtown among the throng of admirers and when they all trouped by with beaming faces and ghoulish masks it was well worth it. When Tio got home from school and saw the pictures I took, in a complimentary tone he said, "That costume is beast!"

Taking on leadership roles in town

2011-10-27T11:53:00.000-06:00

I had lunch yesterday with a friend I don't see enough of lately and she asked me to join a committee and help sort out some problems with the school. Like many parents, she is involved with several school committees but has been frustrated by how hard it is to accomplish real positive change in our district.

This is nothing new around here. Since I first came to town 2 decades ago I've heard nothing but frustration about the local school system from the low standard of education being taught, the high dropout rates, to difficulties parents have dealing with making significant change. Meanwhile, already high costs go up, administration gets larger and the kids are still facing the same problems. Getting involved is a real tar baby because the harder you push for change the more resistant the status quo becomes and I'm the kind of person who takes on a challenge with the object of acheiving a goal, not just moving the chairs around the committee room and calling it a job well done. I'm not afraid to push my way up the food chain and ruffle some feathers. Knowing how time and energy sapping all that can be makes me somewhat reluctant to say yes.

On the other hand, I first got to know this friend some 13 years ago by calling her up cold and asking her get involved in a heated campaign I was leading to keep an international waste corporation from turning our town into a regional waste destination. Talk about a tar baby. Well, not only did she get involved (and it was her first foray into community activism), but she brought other people along, fought hard for 2 years until we took our fight, our voices and our perserverance all the way to the governor's office and made the powerful corporation with the pots of money go away. It was very empowering and made us understand that dedicated people really can make a difference.

She is a strong and capable business owner in town and since our clash with the trash titans she has led many other projects from economic development to historic reconstruction that have made a huge impact on our town. So, busy as I am, there's no way I'll say no to her. Besides, we haven't had a chance to work together since we told Waste Management Inc. where to put its trash. We could be a formidable team and do our school and kids some good into the bargain.

Our young dog handler

2011-10-26T19:46:00.000-06:00

Kit & Maddie work on the A frame

Kit is having great time working with Grammy at the animal shelter. They go in on Sunday's when it's quiet and do temperment testing on adoptable dogs to find out if they'll get along with kids. Now before anyone thinks 'Are you using a 10 year old as a guinea pig with dangerous dogs?', the answer is no. The dogs have already been tested as reliable and they only need to be introduced to kids to see if they'll shy away as a final test.

Kit loves it. He calls them to him, pets them, gives them treats and walks with them. He's good with dogs and likes our 3 very much. His other grandparents have a golden retriever that he misses a lot, too. The older he gets the better his concentration has gotten and Grammo has got lots of equipment and dogs for him to work with.

Sounds like their Sunday's are all set for the winter.