Rocks in the Dryer

Reading Up :: In Search of a Swan and his Trumpet

I am thrilled again, to be contributing to "Share a Story-Shape a Future" as part of the week-long annual event celebrating literacy for children.  Be sure to click on over to the main site for lots of additional resources and stories.

Today's Topic: Kindergarten

 

 

 

Earlier this week I shared my struggles in engaging my babies and toddlers into the act, let alone, the joy, of reading.  It took a bit more work than I imagined.  In the end my effort and dedication paid off and two little book lovers now sit beside me.

This event and it's call to contribute, reminded me of perhaps the most magical moment I ever shared when reading to my boys:

On the last day of Montessori preschool my older son was given a copy of "The Trumpet of the Swan" by his teacher as a graduation gift.  I admit, I had not yet attempted to read a chapter book to my charges, then 5 and 3.  I happily followed the nudge of their teacher, she must know better than me that they are ready.

I hadn't read the book since I was a child, and at that time I didn't live in Boston.  I had no memory of the story's setting and was overjoyed with our charmed geography as I read to my boys.  In celebration of completing the book we headed into Boston to visit the major locations in the story: The Boston Public Garden, Swan Boats and Arlington Street where the Ritz use to be (now the Taj). We were on a hunt to find that swan.

As we entered the gates of the Public Garden we immediately heard someone playing an instrument.  I knew it was a saxophone, but didn’t let on to them.  We stopped walking, I called their attention and we listened and questioned, could it be Louis?  Was he actually there playing his trumpet?  The look of awe, wonder, thrill, excitement, anticipation and magic in their eyes is something I hope I never forget.  I honestly think that it is one of the most simply amazing and memorable moments I have had as a parent so far.  We followed (nearly running) the music until we came upon a man playing the saxophone and “it”, the moment, and thrill so immediately gone.  It was that precious.

I know I will cherish and remember this book, that summer and the experience of reading it to them. Mostly however, is that I appreciate the encouragement to "read up".  I didn't think they were ready for such a text.  How utterly wrong I was.  

We have so many examples to follow, so much advice to take or not take.  When it comes to reading with our children however, I think there is simply no way to get it wrong.  All we need to do is read, read more, read longer, read up and don't ever stop. 

9 Year Old Boy Birthday Bash

"Keep it simple, stupid": my mantra for yesterday's birthday party.  Lord knows I am highly capable of over doing the kids birthday party thing, this time, I just wasn't in the mood. 

My older son has a pretty unfortunate birth date:  December 30th.  Clearly not such a great time for hosting kids b-day parties, the list of hurdles is long.  For nine years we have struggled to come up with a plan and date that works.  He doesn't care if the party is actually on or near his birthday for that matter, he just wants the darn party. 

This year's mild winter has me think, why not go for it:  Outdoor party in February in New England that is not sledding or skating theme?  Unheard of.  We rolled the dice and won.  Outdoor Laser Tag was the activity of choice and it was a hit!

13 boys, a long stretch of our town bike path, laser guns and 50 degree weather.  Couldn't have been better.

 

 

 

 

 

Little boys running free and wild in the woods might be my most favorite thing on Earth.  Lucky for me, my breed of boys agrees.  Boy number two wonders how many days 'til his birthday. Our neighborhood moms started to wonder if we shouldn't just book laser tag as a monthly event - though don't we truly know if we over do it, the magic would soon be lost.

 

 

Inside Frozen Fenway

My 7 year old has friends in high places.  Lucky for me, I got to be his chaperon.  His hockey coach just so happens to be a senior executive for the Boston Red Sox by day.  When Fenway Park was frozen this year, guess who's team was invited to play...lucky little nuggets.

Yes, I thought it so cool that my son got the rare opportunity to play and take part of this unique event, but I found myself a bit consumed by my own incredible opportunity to be in a nearly empty Fenway Park.  When does that happen?

Mildly speaking, I took lots of photos:

Do you know the story of the lone red seat in the right field bleachers? It signifies the longest home-run ever hit at Fenway. Read bout it here.

Our team's spectators (at left in photo) were given the privilege of sitting in a private box overhanging the ice.  Boiling hot chocolate and other goodies were overflowing for our consuming pleasure.  The rest of the schmoes had to sit waaaaaaaay far away under an overhang in a roped off corral out of the suns reach (see them far right in photo). Nah nah na boo boo.

After our team finished playing we received a private escort up to top of the Green Monster where we had the privilege of watching the next game - as if we hadn't gotten our fair share already....

All in a day's work.

Not What I Ordered

This is the weather forecast for our upcoming vacation:

Not quite what I had in mind.  What is it that makes a good vacation? Location, Location, Location or weather?  We could veer off course a bit and head to Vegas:

Holy moly look at those sunny skies. 

Big D has already started his downward spiral into rained out vacation depression.  He's making big statements like:  We are NEVER vacationing in the US AGAIN!!  I think the better way to deal is to take more vacations a year.  Dude only takes one week off each year and for many years, that week has been all rain.  I am feeling for the man, but think we need to spread it out a bit - vacation a bit more so that a week of rain is not the end of the world.  Oh well, Rainy old Rockywold, here we come!

That was NOT my Vacation

Since the birth of my children I have learned to look at what used to be a vacation as more of a business trip. The scenery changes, the work load does not.  I was fortunate enough to spend two weeks on the cape, but it didn't seem much like a vacation. Am I really this big of a brat?!

The house we rented was simply beautiful.  The weather was next to perfect.  The company of family and friends was plentiful and pleasurable. What was the craziest part?  I took little to no photos.  This is very odd behavior for me and I don't quite know how to explain or justify it, other than the fact that it did feel more like a business trip.  Big Daddy only joined us for the weekends, so that added to the business trip feeling.  I didn't pack enough clothes, so the amount of laundry I did also made it feel like home away from home and not in a vacation-y way.  The house was lovely, so I did an inordinate amount of cleaning trying to keep it as nice as we found it.

We rented the house from a family who lives on the cape year round and have decided to go RV-ing for a year.  They are homeschooling their kids and visiting all the national monuments, big citys and parks.  What envy I feel.  They rented their home, as stated on their blog, not only to help cover costs of the trip but to also remove the option to bail out of their plan.  If their home is rented, they can't call it quits and go home.  Love it.

I am sorry I didn't take photos of the house - it was a simply stunning, custom built, perfectly appointed arts and crafts bungalow.  Drat.  I took the boys to Race Point, twice and again, took no photos.  Dang it.  We went to Provincetown twice, no documentation.  Spent time in Wellfleet, went to the Chartroom, ate at lobster shacks - you name it we did it and not one shred of proof....

I took this one photo at White Crest Beach in Wellfleet part of the Cape Cod National Sea Shore:

It was my first visit there and was stunning to say the least.  I obviously didn't read the fine print on this beach where the website says:

White Crest

A beautiful beach with towering sand dune cliffs. The waters at White Crest Beach (also called Four Mile Beach and Surfer's Beach) are rougher, making it ideal for the surfers who often flock here. Hang gliders are allowed before 9am and after 5pm. Facilities include restrooms, a concession stand, and lifeguards. Parking fees are $15 per day at the large lot. Please note that White Crest is not the greatest place to bring young children, senior citizens, or the disabled, as a steep dune path with no staircase leads down to the beach. How to get there: Take Cahoon Hollw Road off Route 6 in Wellfleet. At end, take a right on Ocean View Drive and follow to end

That would have been good to know since I took 2 children and 2 senior citizens.  The children LOVED running up and down the cliff, my 6 year old sprinted up and down nothing short of 15 times (he's a blur in the above photo).  My father didn't much care for the hike back up, sinking up to his knees under the weight of coolers, chairs and umbrellas...... but we all survived and might just even go back.

With that little chunk of summer behind us we are packing for the real vacation, and happy it's been raining for days - must mean clear skies ahead!

 

 

Bicycle Co-Op

I have an old hand-me-down bike that has served me rather well over the years.  The problem was, it was not much of a pleasure to ride.  It was used by me on a begrudgingly, as need basis only.  The seat hurt my seat to say the least and the classic "lean to the handle bar" position has never been pleasant on my aching back.

Would a new bike help?  I had to wonder.  My New England summers offer many glorious biking occasions that I long to take advantage of, in a more pleasurable way.  In my own town, for instance, I enjoying walking to do my errands, but how dreamy to bike and do the same.  My little men are always more interested if it's a bike trip.

I started looking at bikes, the sit-straight-up-beach-comber bikes that Martha's Vineyard tourist brochures are iconic for is what I had in mind.  Most I found were far too expensive for my budget or desire.  All I had found left me with an undeniable "not a chance".

Then I went to Target.  Oh my.  There it was, the perfect-for-me-bike at a much better price (and I know much less quality but 'tis not really part of my "need"), still I was having a hard time justifying the splurge.

Talked to my friend Kerrie who was about to go on vacation and found out how much bike rental would be on the Vineyard for a week - guess what - it was exactly 1/2 the cost of buying the Target bike.  Our master minds decided to buy the bike together and each of us (luckily with no travel overlap) would take it on our summer excursions.  Genius!

Could you die?  Vintage inspired, white walls and all.  When I peddled down our street the first time my 8-year old claimed: "You look like an old-timey lady mommy".  "Great", I responded, "That is just what I am going for".  I can only hope his minds eye was seeing Gidget or That Girl and not the old mean lady from the Wizard of Oz.

My bicycle sharing friend has enjoyed a week of peddling around Martha's Vineyard already and told me how she decorated it for the 4th of July.  She sent me this photo:

I can see how the Inn behind her is decked out in all of it's glory, the bike I am not so sure is living up to it's potential.  I rather had something more like this in mind:

Se la vie, next year I'll make sure I get the bike for the 4th! 

We did add the sassy Nantucket Bike Basket - it removes easily, and has a handle for your hydrangea picking needs or farmers market shopping, oh the joy!

Aside from the huge spring loaded seat and white wall tires I think I might just like the handlebars the most with their gushy, handstiched-esque, leather-esque details.  Coulda fooled me, they feel like the real deal.

Did you want to see the basket again?

Chicken Love

I think I need to raise chickens, actually I'm quite certain of it. Admittedly, I have a few things to sort out first.  One is my obvious backyard Fox infestation.  Second is the doing it.  I have found out that raising chickens is allowed in our town after the acquisition of appropriate permit.  Third, we'd need a coop - so many to drool over all over the web. Finally, and the biggest, the actual commitment.

Had dinner with a great group of women (all local ETSY sellers) last week and one told me of how she rent chickens from a local farm.  Chickens arrive in their mobile coop complete with food and instructions.  You care for them, harvest the eggs and chickens get returned at the end of your rental period.  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  Perfect, mostly since Big Daddy is not quite certain of my latest obsession... at all.  So happy to learn of a training program with built in return policy.  {Farm is Land's Sake in Weston Ma}.  I have also worried about chickens surviving the winter here - getting them from a local farm should assure they are new england hearty.

It all boils down to the fact that I want fresh eggs.  Fresh eggs is number one and as part of my quest to Be Better.  A big item on my list is that I want to buy less and less from the grocery store, from any store for that matter.  I want my family to connect more with the food we eat.

I read a great article in Organic Gardening this month and there was  little snippet that said it all, thank you for confirming my obsession with the need for chickens:

***

Pulling a warm egg from beneath a broody hen is a magical thing:  the ruffled murmur as she relinquishes; the egg's oval perfection, it's bone-smooth promise.  And fitting so perfectly in the palm of the hand as though the relationship between laying and gather always was.

But when a new CSA member stopped by this week to say hello, I was unprepared for the power and imprint of memory on her visit.  She had grown up on a farm in Iowa, and her connection to that time seemed to rill through her as we did our walkabout.  On the way out, we visited the hens in the "Cage Aux Fowl."  On putting a warm egg in her palm, she began to cry softly.  Clearly, the evocation was almost too much.  There was one awkward silence as she held the egg - and her childhood - in her hand and struggled for composure.  But she seemed grateful for the connection that the experience summoned up.

 

 - journal entry title: Magical Realism, From the Article The Accidental Farmer,

    Organic Gardening April-Sept 2011

 

 

Sign me up!  Rest assured, I'll keep you posted!

 

Why Are You Taking Pictures?

There was a parade in our town yesterday.   My kids were in the parade so I was essentially on the sidelines alone, awaiting their arrival.  Keeping myself busy, I was taking tons and tons and tons of photos.  A neighbor, who was there with her young kids, asked me why I was taking so many photos.

The question struck me in such an odd way?  Why not?  I dunno know.  Hmmmmm, I like taking photos?  She asked if I was taking them so I could show my kids since they were missing watching the parade.  I thought about this.  It's not really why I was taking the photos, but I was sure I would show them.  She asked what I was going to do with the photos.  Again, mind blank..... I dunno, was my only response.

It felt so odd to be questioned, perhaps because I had never really thought about it.  Some people just like to take photos, some don't?  I couldn't grasp the question, let alone my response.   Some don't consider taking photos of things that their kids aren't standing in front of?  Why was I taking them?  What is my answer?  Do I need one.  Should I know? Good grief, it was messing with me.

I came to the simple decision upon walking home and  still pondering the questioning.  Finally, I came to it.  I am photographer.  I've never called myself that, never felt the need.  Do I need some qualification or credential?  Apparently not.  I just love taking photos, I always have. I do lots of things with many of my photos, and sometimes do nothing with them. 

At any rate, I am more compelled than ever to share the fruits of yesterday's pleasures:

I thought these two guys (above and below looked strikingly weary, and perhaps fresh from battle)

I had the opportunity to meet and speak with the proud wife of the man above.  He is the oldest WWII veteran who lives in our town.  He is a doctor who worked in plastic surgery for WWII injured soldiers, this when plastic surgery was new and being developed by immediate need.  His work continued to pioneer organ transplantation where he earned the Nobel Prize for the first ever kidney transplant.  I am filled with joy that I took his photo, met his wife and have the opportunity to be proud of him on so many vast levels.  He is 98 years old and lives around the corner from me, who knew.

Above are all of my "friends" who volunteer at the recycling center (the source of most of my finds of the week) Love them one and all!

Lastly, the photo with my kids.  Need I express how happy I am that this is not the only photo I took of the day?  How often do these sights present themselves?  How often do I get the opportunity to photograph these subjects and scenes?  How much joy do I gain from looking at the images now and will in the future?  All are questions I need not ponder.  I do it, I like it.  I wanna do it some more!

 

Chelsea Handler at Wellesley Books, Tuesday, May 10th

"We are thrilled to bring to Wellesley one of America's most acclaimed and cutting edge comedians. Chelsea Handler will be at Wellesley Books signing her new book, Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me on the release date, Tuesday, May 10th at 5:00 pm. Chelsea is known for a unique comedic style that combines fearless honesty, ironic riffs and self-deprecations - with no shortage of material. She will be joined by Josh Wolf, a weekly guest comedian on Chelsea Lately and author of one of the chapters in Chelsea's new book".

via www.wellesley.indiebound.com

I was so excited to hear my BFF Chelsea Handler is going to be in quaint little Wellesley tonight (I seriously didn't think Wellesley was a Chelsea kind of town).  I was swiftly making plans to dash to Wellesley Books, get my copy and sit and chat with Chelsea. 

Then I remembered, I loathe public events like this.  I am rather sure I'd get no quality time with Chelsea, I'd stand in line with the rest of the losers with a big cheezy grin on our faces.  Chelsea or not, I am not that kinda girl.  Would buying a copy of the book, standing in line and having Chelsea sign her name in it impact my life?  I don't think so.  Would inviting Chelsea over to my house and sitting on the porch laughing our guts out while drinking stiff cocktails impact my life? Yes.

IF Chelsea were interested, and chances are she's not, only since she's on a book tour . . . I think I'll sit on the porch by myself tonight and watch the boys sling mud at each other then watch a little Chelsea Lately on DVR.  I am sorry to miss her, I know we'd love each other.  I think I'll wait and catch her on stage somewhere (and subsequently back stage).  If anyone goes, tell her I said "hi".

Brimfield Antique Show : Brimfield MA 5/10-15

 

It's Brimfield time baby!  Browse my archives and you will quickly find I am a Brimfield junkie (snarky play on words).  Don't let the name scare you.  The Brimfield Antique Show is a whole lotta everything.  Antiques?  Yes.  Flea Market?  Yes.  Junk?  Yes.  Fried Dough?  Yes.  Miles and miles of vintage splendor?  Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes.  It's everything my heart desires and more.

I've been going to Brimfield religiously for about 11 years now and have learned a lot along the way.  My first visit there was mind-blowing and a bit disappointing at the same time.  Much of it seemed more "Flea Market" than Antique Show to me and that was not what I anticipated.  After going for so many years I have now gotten much of it sorted out.  I have my favorite parking spots, favorite times to attend and of course favorite vendors and favorite fields.

Brimfield is huge to say the least, though that shouldn't detract you if you are a newbie.  You can only do what you can do and rest assured there will be another.  Brimfield happens 3 times a year.  I go to all three, but to each his own.

This years dates are May 10-15, July 12-17 and Sept 6-11. 

For the may show I'll go Thursday, spend the night and leave Friday afternoon.  From Boston you absolutely can do a turn around day trip.  It's truly only about a 50 minute drive from The Hub.  I find that spending the night just makes the whole experience so much more fabulous - I do hate to be rushed.  Departing traffic can be out of this world.  Brimfield is on a bit of a peninsula for lack of a better term.  There is one way in and one way out.  No chance of an alternate route and too many times I have been in a mad sweat, cell phone in hand trying to find someone to pick up my kids.  If you don't need to rush back it's great to just commit to stay late.  The place starts to clear out around 3:00.  Most vendors sleep in their booths so there really is no closing time.  The twilight can be quite calm and charming.

Accommodations are tricky.  If you don't have something booked already, good luck.  My Brimfield companion and I are staying in our favorite flea bag hotel.  It's disgusting, but does the trick.

So what is Brimfield like really?  It's so hard to tell from the low budget website.  Here is a primer:

Here is  a little map of where I avoid some traffic, score good parking and take advantage of the best port-a-potties at brimmy:

On this map - every place you see a little black arrow - that is a "field".  Don't let the scale of this map mislead you.  Each field (black arrow) has it's own name and is operated independently.  They each have their own flavor.  Some charge admittance, some pride themselves in a certain theme.  For example.  Here is a  detailed map of just one of the little arrows from the overall map above:

This is "Heart O the Mart" each tiny little rectangle is a vendor.......and this is one field of over 20 total.  Each field is the size of a football field or bigger and PACKED with individual vendors.  It can be overwhelming to say the least. 

Here's a little list of what you may need to know:

Pack for the weather (it can be cold and rainy and hot searing sun) - come prepared for drastic changes in weather.

You need wheels.  Take a wagon, a luggage rack a wheelie cart (this is what I have & LOVE IT).  There is NO WAY to survive without one, if you intend to acquire anything.  Vendors will let you pay and pick up.  You can pay for a larger or heavy item then return with your car after the show and pick it up.  Most booths can be driven to after the show clears out. 

Bring cash!  I set a pre-show budget and bring that much with me.  I have rarely, probably never, spent as much as I have allotted.

Never pay the price marked - unless you want to.  Sometimes I feel like bargaining, sometimes not.  Most vendors will come down a little - especially if you are getting a few things.

I don't pack lunch - there is too much stuff to lug already, go ahead and indulge in the food vendors some are actually quite good!  Most all of the food vendors are in one field smack in the middle of the show.

Don't walk away from something you like.  You WON'T make it back to that field and booth again.  I have learned this the hard way.  Shopping at Brimmy is NOT like shopping at the mall.  You can't go back and even if you could, chances are what you want won't be there.

Don't expect (even if staying overnight) to see the whole thing.  There are many fields I have never been to and, like I mentioned I have been going for over 10 years.  It's too big to do the whole thing.

Think about what you need beforehand and measure!  If you need a painting make sure to measure where it's going to go.  If you need a bookshelf measure the space!  I have a note book that always goes with me that has the measurement of every wall, nook and cranny in my house - YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT YOU MAY FIND!

On that note - I rarely find what I am looking for - go with an open mind to find what you didn't know you wanted!

Don't be sad if you buy nothing, this happened to me often in the beginning - it's just a rookie thing.

Go with friends who you don't need to babysit.  I go with people who can be independent.  You are going to get separated and you'll eventually meet back up (maybe only upon leaving) that is what cell phones are for.  There is no time to waste.  

 

Lots of people ask to go to Brimfield with me and to that flattering request I say this:

1.) I drive my pickup brimfield truck and can't waste precious space on humans.

2.) I'll be there Thurs & Fri come on down!  Hope to see you there! You have my cell # right?

3.)  I did a great blog post that shows you the best place to park & the best place to pee! 

 

Finally, I am sad I don't have many good photos of brimmy.  Many vendors don't allow photos and while I always take my camera I am usually a bit too preoccupied to use it.

here's a couple from my last visit to peak your interest:  Not your style?  Don't fret this is one vendor in preverbial 1000's.

 

I found this great FLICKR photostream from DesignBoston of all Brimfield photos and finds. If this doesn't make you wanna go......Two weeks and counting - I can hardly stand it!

Souvenir Shopping in Newport

I've had the true pleasure of spending a good many weekends in Newport, RI over the past fall and winter.  There is no doubt that Newport is one of my favorite places on earth.  I spent a good part of my post-college youth living there and it goes without saying that the place is a part of me.  I love Newport!  The grown-up me is having a fine time re-defining who I can be when I am there, how I can go more often and how I can share the glory that is and can only be Newport, with my family.

After my last visit in late February, I did a little souvenir shopping on-line:

Then on a sunny Friday I dashed down, certain I had found the place to call home.  If the pinnacles of real estate are truly "Location, Location, Location" then this little gem gets two big check marks and one big "yeah, no".  It was heart breaking.

One thing I have firmly decided upon, if I am ever so lucky, privileged and blessed to no longer be "second-home-less",  my second will be in Newport.  That is part of the battle isn't it?  Deciding where.  Now I just have to rob a bank and find the right house.  Not easy tricks. Newport is such a special, historical place. A big part of so much of what I love about it (and yearn to own) is the history.  A house built after 1900 is considered (by me) new construction.  I prefer the homes built in the 1700's to most of what is available.

For example, I want this one:

I used to live up the block from it and it haunts me still.  It is not, and I feel certain, will never be for sale.   I learn from my vast research, this one and many others I covet:

(This one was three doors down from me at one time.....)

(I walked past this one daily, to get home.....)

(my very first home in newport, next door to the right....)

- are owned by the Doris Duke foundation and rented. It's no wonder now why they are so unique, quintessential, perfect and fabulous!  So I will continue saving my pennies and keeping my eyes and ears open.  If I dream it, will it come?  I like to think so.  In the mean time, I intend to spend a good deal of the coming months years shopping and searching for the utterly perfect souvenir!

 

 

Destination Newport :: It goes on and on and on

If you don't know much or anything about Newport, RI,  you'll need to come up to speed.  Newport is a truly unique place there is no doubt and has long been a true love of my life.  Newport is an island, part of the the great state of Rhode Island and is steeped in history much unlike any other place in this country.

Rich beyond compare in the American colonial and revolutionary history,  rich in tradition of world class sailing (watch this video, makes me want to get in my car and head straight back),  Newport was THE vacation stomping ground of the wealthiest of all humans during the gilded age.  All of this and more, more, more are what make Newport, Newport. 

People from all around the world flock to Newport (a notorious party town as it has been since the late 1800's.) in the summer months to party their faces off and plenty of other more respectable things.    In my early twenties I did the same, though, I didn't leave on Labor Day,  I stayed.  I can say without doubt that my 3 years there were of the happiest, funnest, car-est free-est days I could have wished for.

Ironically, I had forgotten too much of it until this weekend. I think I have been to preoccupied to miss it.  The ladies that escorted me to Newport really knew little of my previous life there.  I think it is safe to say I regressed a bit when we crossed the bridge. We had wonderful dinners, hours of dancing, and more encounters with old friends than I could have ever dreamed.  It felt a bit like an episode of "This is your Life" - I was simply blown away.

The core group of us staying at Vanderbilt Hall....

were met (by surprise to me) by more friends at dinner.  To aid in the surprise the guests arrived in "costume"....

I now know they were attempting to look like Lindsay Lohan and January Jones .... All I know is when they walked in to the restaurant I said to my other dinner companions; "Hold on friends, the trans*vest*ites (pardon the *'s I don't want to be search-able by that word) are in the house ... who knew it was a gaggle of my BFF's.   Not sure what happened to them between the above photo and the below, but Newport can do that to you...

It is safe to admit that I had about 16 too many of these...

 

                                   ...to capture the rest of the evening events, though I tried.  Sadly everything else is far too blurry to share.

We were invited to late night events (a very common occurrence in Newport since the establishments close at 1 am) that included one ocean-worthy vessel and one stripper pole (not at the same location).  I can safely say that I did not anticipate the first words I would utter the morning after my 40th birthday would be:  "Wow, my arm is really sore from pole dancing"  or "Gracious, I hope I can pole dance like that when I am 70!"

Whatever the case, no, the weekend did not turn out at all as I planned.  I could have never have dreamt it would be as it were.  Wonderful encounters, divine locations, bountiful friends, joyful celebrations and lasting hang overs memories . . .

In parting, if I were to make a mix tape pod cast for my homies as a party favor, it would have to include this track, our theme song.  The rhythm and lyric sum it up rather nicely . . . and it played 'on and on and on' for the duration of our journey.  Is it so lame that our 2nd graders are the ones who first introduced us to it, and such is how we knew all the words and could "rock dis club" like it was dy - no - mite?

 

 

 

The Geocache Flunkie

I was turned on to Geocaching by my 5 year-olds BFF.  Apparently his dad takes him geocaching more than regularly and they have a ball, we hear about it incessantly.  I decided to do a little research (called his mom) and found out I needed two things to begin:

    1.  A hand held GPS (guess what big daddy got for fathers day . . .)

    2. An account at Geocaching.com

Both items firmly in place I should be good to go, explore and discover the great outdoors with the young men in my charge.  The world is ours boys - let's go!

I was an immediate failure.  The kids got so mad at me, wanted no part of it, impatience is an understatement.  They mercilessly taunted my ineptness at using the GPS thing (I never was one for instruction reading).  We went, we sought and we never found.  We tried again (they whined and moaned) we failed again.  3rd time took a friend, failed again.  Loser.

My friend, however, intrigued by the concept, went home signed up for her own geocaching.com account, downloaded an app to her phone and took her son the next day.  She was a pro geocacher in about two weeks having found cache's in many surrounding towns and states.  With my pride firmly stuffed, I asked for a few pointers and she graciously shared . . . . then told me of a certain geocache nearby that we simply had to do.

I didn't tell the boys we were going Geocaching, they would have refused to attend.  Instead I took them for a "hike" but this is what we found:

This place is called "The Depot" and it is hidden in the heart of the Needham (MA) Town Forest.  Who knew?  Stumbling upon it is sheer magic and said magic continues to unfold the longer you are there.  If you get too caught up in admiring and discovering one part you risk missing so much more.

You could step on this guy:

or not see these:

there are simply countless miniature vignettes hidden all around and while we found many, I can only imagine how many we missed.

If we weren't in middle of a drought, that dock would have been perfectly submerged in water.  The massive train trestle is so amazing, the whole thing is a bit more than my modern brain could comprehend . . .

This massive structure, every last little stick, was toted into the forest and built by hand by Mr. Metcalf a man who is spending a good part of his retirement and obvious considerable talent, building this ....place.  We had the esteemed pleasure of meeting him, by chance, on location.

If I hadn't visited geocahing.com and gotten the particular clues for this cache, and if I hadn't also run into Mr. Metcalf at the scene, I wouldn't have known to look here:

And find the hidden key that opens this:

Our first ever geocache found! Though might as well retire, as there could never be one to top this.  Inside the bench is a box of prizes to swap and a log book to enter your visit. There is also a letterbox set up if Letter Boxing is your outdoor adventure sport of choice.

While I sat in contemplative wonder ("I am such a looser, I want to do this when I retire, I could build something like this, why do I waste so much time, I am never watching TV again, No it's the computer, the computer is an evil time waster". . . ) My boys played with the trains all around "Martini Junction":

At last Mr. Metcalf decided to give us the whole show.  He has another locked box, one that you can not find the key to, he keeps that one on his person.  Out comes a full blown super powered, remote control train that chugs on down the rails.  I thought my son would have immediate and sudden heart failure.  It was almost too much to take, to accept, to grasp.  Where are we?  What is happening?  This is utterly beyond words! 

Of course it worked beautifully, the man is a freak of nature.  He has been building and adding to this scene for the last ten years, has never asked permission to do so, he just does it.  He owns it, people love it and he knows it is sheer magic.  Magic in his making, and our finding.  I wanna be Mr. (or Mrs.)  Metcalf when I grow up.

Ready or Not

Packed my family up this weekend and did a "pop in" on some friends.  There are some people who can enjoy, embrace and celebrate a pop in.  Others can not.  We chose wisely.  We popped in on a crew that celebrates and welcomes a pop in with extreme grace and enthusiasm.  Our friends have been busy building a camp on a small lake in New Hampshire (live free or die).

The home they have been building is actually a re-build.  The previous home was an old log cabin built by our hosts father that was destroyed and condemned after massive floods in New Hampshire a few years back.  Sadly the old camp had to be demolished.  Happily, what they put in it's place is something to behold.

Our friends love their lake and were so eager to enjoy a summer there again that they stopped construction and moved in to an almost finished house.  Stroke of genius if you ask me.  They could have let the team finish the final punch list and walk through, but would have missed the inaugural summer.  They sent the contractor packing and moved on it with work yet to do . . . brave, bold and and with priorities firmly in order.  Who needs doors and floors anyway?  I promise you it makes no difference at all!

We arrived and I went swiftly running through the house with my mouth agape.  I was found by my hostess in a state of unbridled shock in the upstairs hallway:

The sliding barn doors lead to the two upstairs bathrooms.   Magnificent.  The walls are clad with the homes exterior siding, left untreated (wish this photo was a scratch and sniff). The lighting is a row of exterior galvanized lanterns.  I wanted to eat all of it in it's raw pure dreamy-ness.

If you have you ever renovated or worked with contractors in your own home then you come to know the most famous words you inevitably hear over and over again:  "You don't wanna do that".  I have battled triumphantly to get what I actually know I do want in my own home with workers guys who seem to think they have a secret portal into my brain.  So was the case with our construction bruised friends.  They had to fight to the death for so many things, specifically the items I mention above.  A battle well won.

Who needs door casings when you can wake to this view?  Punch list will be finished in the fall when the lake side sleeping is not so prime.  We didn't pack our overnight bags for the pop in (though were begged to stay) instead just enjoyed the day trip.  I know when we crash in on them next time I'll be sleeping here:  The upstairs deck:

The downstairs screened in porch may just take the cake.  One of my favorite bits is the old picnic table rescued from the old cabin.  Uncle Bo (our host) ate every single summer meal growing up at this table and now shall his three children. It almost hurts.

 

I admit I was skeptical when Jess purchased interior IKEA sofas for the screened in porch.  She made the purchase a few years ago and has been using the set in their year round house during construction.  It works so perfectly and is in remarkably good shape. After changing my name to mud I ran home to scour the IKEA site for the same set to put on our porch.  Damn it all IKEA if they don't make it anymore.

As Jess walked me through the house entertaining my every question she explained that "If they didn't  have it at Lowes it didn't go on the house".  Your kidding right?  Could have fooled me.  There was a budget, time and accessibility to be considered.  Clearly the inventory at Lowes was scoured with a well trained eye.  All of the details are impeccable. 

Had this door not been installed I would have put it in the back of my car and sped away.

or this door:

I spent much time drooling over flowers and scenes and inexpensive light fixtures that whoops, almost forgot about the kids:

We all had a magical time!

Massachusetts Beach Report :: The Spit

Ever heard the phrase: Rise above your name?  So is the case with "The Spit".  Rise it does.  The Sand Spit is a beach (if that is enough of a word) in Scituate, MA (South Shore of Boston).  Our hosts were a little weary of my intentions to blog about this magical destination, as residents of the town they are not sure they want the secret to get out.  I had to calmed their fears a bit.  A. This is no Travel and Leisure article  B. Getting to The Spit is no easy trick.  You can only access it by private boat.  That little tidbit on it's own will (and does) keep out the masses.

So you might not get to go, sorry.  But you still gotta know it's there . . .

Begin your journey at a sweet little marina (that is for sale for a cool 3.8m for those interested in a waterfront business including an antique colonial home, it was nice to fantasize about for the day).  If you don't have access to a private boat, you can rent a dinghy there.

While at the marina (waiting for your ride) you can check out the catch of the day:

then hop on a boat and enjoy the ride:

This abovered house sits on a strip of sand that juts out into the North River.  It can only be accessed by foot at low tide, can you stand it?  After the sweet and lovely journey you arrive at the destination:

The Sand Spit is a humongerous sand bar that lies where the North River meets the Atlantic Ocean.  A very large portion of this sand bar stays out of water at all times.  Our friends the piping plovers, once again really know how to pick a good beach.  Much of the sand and dunes is reserved for their nesting and hatching for now.  Though let's be honest there was plenty of room for us all.

We arrived at The Spit at high tide, and I was taken aback by all of it.  The expanse, the unspoiled-ness, the sights and the sounds.  Little did I know what was to come:  Low tide. 

Low tide at The Spit is something to behold.  The length and breadth of the sand bar that gets exposed is nothing short of amazing.  Most of the day we were separated from the Atlantic by a the mouth of the North River, and then  - Viola, access granted.  

Tidal pools, rippled sand as far as the eye can see, and perfect crashing waves, it's all there.  We all migrated in a procession as it is impossible to stop the urge to go.  I am not sure I have ever seen a group of kids have so much fun, no plastic required.

The wide open space for running was too much to resist.

top it off with a little up close inspection,

some open water boogie-boarding,

And that my friends, is a day at the beach.  How am I going to top this one?  It's all part of the job and my service to you my dear readers . . . Enjoy the journey.