Crashing Ladies' Night....

First of all, he crashed ladies night.

Ladies night is the weekly evening to which a few chosen ladies are invited to attend with one minor prerequisite:
you must engage in some form of exercise prior to bellying up to the bar for a beer.  Bathing kids does not count.

My father in law insisted that he'd cycled earlier in the day.
So, we let him in for a pint.

It turns out that this non-lady shared the most compelling story of ladies night.

Not more than a day earlier he intercepted a very lost elderly woman on the side of the road near his office.  She waved him down in somewhat of a panic.  He noticed that she was a bit flustered so he encouraged her to pull aside, park the car, and rest for a bit under his watch.

She was lost.

She was very, very lost.

And, one of the first things she told my father in law is that she needed to use the restroom.  (That made my heart hurt a bit when I heard it the first time).

Once her car was parked, he escorted her across the street to his office and provided her with a clean bathroom, a cold cup of water and, most importantly, compassion.

To make a shorter story of a longer story, he drove her home in her own car (followed by his co-worker so they could get back to their office) and it was a 40 mile (one-way) excursion.  Perhaps, the most incredible part of the story is that - while she was intercepted 40 miles from her home... she actually had set out to travel only a few miles from the senior center and back to her home - in her home town.  Somehow she took many wrong turns and ended up in my father in law's shadow.

Gosh, I thought, as I listened to the details. 

How very sad, I thought.  Emah asked, "Did she know who she was?"

On the other hand I couldn't help but think
how perfect that my father in law was the one to intercept her.

In my mind, there could not be a more understanding, compassionate, caring, and attentive person for this elderly lady to have found.   It was a meeting meant to happen.

And so,  he can crash ladies night as often as he'd like -
if it means he'll come around armed with stories that make us pause, reflect, and regard him as an even more kind, incredible and compassionate man than we had the day before.

Charlie Brown Wins

We go to the library every week.
Sometimes twice.
Visiting the library has become part of who we are.

I love taking out armfuls of books - 99% of them are easy readers.
I really love when the librarians call my children by name.

I really don't love the way libraries smell. But that is neither here nor there.

In the 6 years that Dec has been with us, we've rarely missed a week
and we've hardly ever had an overdue book.

I'm a bit neurotic about this. I'll be the first to admit it.

So, when we went to the library last week to check out books
and learned that we have one overdue, I was surprised.

Really? I'd asked.

Yes, the computer lists it right here.

Really? I'd asked again. Just to be sure.

After tearing the house apart, pulling everything out of my car
and even searching under the fridge - no luck.

So this is my plea to the family: has anyone seen "It's a homerun Charlie Brown".
Dec claims he never even saw it come out of the library bag.

This is the great unsolved mystery of the summer.

Where the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is it?!?

Charlie Brown, it's not just a home run.

You knocked it outta the park.

Good grief.

how not to teach science

We're going on a fieldtrip to Shelburne Farms tomorrow. It's absolutely one of my favorite places in Vermont.
We're supposed to do a lesson on pond life. With the lake flooded this year, the access road is closed and our location has changed. Hopefully they will find a last minute pond for us. With the weather we're having, we might just get caught in a downpour.
I'm not worried about either of those things. The educators from Shelburne Farms but on such phenomenal field trips. Last year with a group we hauled woodchips, made and drank fresh pressed apple cider and climbed the century old stairs to the clock tower with views of mountain beyond mountains.
It's a stunning breath of fresh air (with a hint of manure and chicken stank mixed it... which might make it EXTRA fresh).
So to prepare my kids for the glory that is SF, in all my science teaching glory, I popped in a some videos. Oh, and we're reading Charlotte's Web. Get it? Farmy.
I was elated to find a video in my local public library called "Farm Stories for Families" that featured Shelburne Farms. How awesome! Teacher of the Year!! The picture on the front was of cows, the description was of a man telling farm stories FOR FAMILIES. No less.
Well, it might have well been The Logger popping up on the screen. In his underwear. I mean, it was so bad. And bad, like inappropriate. And inappropriate like, it was a comedian (of sorts) in front of a room of people (families?) in a room of a barn at Shelburne Farms telling jokey stories.
And wouldn't the first story be about a boy who wanted to pee. His name. Outside.
I touched my forehead.
There was a bead of sweat.
The stories continued.
So did the sweat.

I gave it the old college try and fast forwarded to the ANIMAL part (is that too much to ask?).
Someone was milking a cow. I think they were showing the udders being rubbed in slow motion.
They might as well have been.
It was SO bad. 

"So raise your hand if you've ever milked a cow"
I tried to salvage some semblance of farm-life.

And with that... we are off to the farm.
Here's hoping the video is long forgotten by my little cherubs.
And if not? Well, I can always pull a Chris and shove them in some cow dung.

(Madds at Shelburne Farms circa 2009. Petting(?) a little lamby)

when i get old tired and grey....

When I get old tired and grey I hope that someone takes a picture of me.

And I hope I look as good as that truck does up there.

Through all my rust, dented chrome, and warn-out tires....

I hope I sparkle and gleam and leave people wishing they knew more.

*I didn't take this picture but was emailed it by a friend who knew my boys wold love it. She was right.

These Are My Stories.

It all started last week.

It was bedtime. So I told a story. And the minute I started to tell it, Nonie and Dec set their books down to listen. I couldn't help but notice that they sat a little closer to me.

***

It all started with...

A quick one about picking corn at Katama Farm and getting into "corn wars" with the other farm hands.

I talked of chucking ears of corn high into the sky - over 3, 4, even 5 rows at a time - with the hope of hitting an unsuspecting picker on the other side. From the old dirt road, Farmer McCarthy saw his investments flying in the air (ear by ear) and he knew we were up to no good. What a site! I still smile about it.

That story led to one about cleaning cow tails. Wearing long rubber gloves and armed with buckets of diluted clorox bleach we approached the cattle. All 100 of them. In one swooping motion, we'd scoop the buckets up the tail (to wet the arse too) and then scrape the arse and the tail with a rake-like contraption. Caked on poop would fly to the ground (and to our clothing, hair, shoes....) with reckless abandon. It was messier than my words can describe.


Oh, and it smelled too.

This was a totally unrewarding job. Most of the time the cow would get stimulated and poop on the arse we'd just cleaned.

Dirtiest Jobs Discovery Channel? You've got nothing on that one.

***

Dec's eyes grew large when I explained that these were my "jobs" as an eleven year-old summer resident of the Vineyard - and my payment, each day, was one single scoop ice cream cone.

We'd work our arses off for that ice cream. And trust me, it was delicious.

Dec's wide eyes made me wonder: was he amazed by the tasks I described, or intrigued by the "payment". I couldn't quite tell.

But I did notice that he was on the edge of his seat.

***

I have stories about exercising the horses along Katama Bay where the cars drive out toward Norton Point.

I told the kids about the one time my horse spooked when it walked by a milk crate stuffed with Quahogs in the shallow water. Sent me running for 1/4 mile. It was scary and exciting all rolled into one bumpy ride.

Trade that experience ever?

Never.


These Are My Stories.

Horse vs. Clams.

(Scooch a wee bit closer and and I'll tell you who wins.)

***

I have stories about taking outdoor showers in the rain. Told that to Dec this evening while he disappeared then reappeared in his bubble bath.

***

I have stories about being able to collect 2 rings on the Carousel and watching the "real islander kids" collect one on each finger.

Still can't get more than 2.


But, These Are My Stories.

I did win the brass ring once. And Dec relived the experience with me the other day on our car-ride home from the Island.

***

I have stories about deep-sea-fishing with Mark, Chris, and Dad on the Skipper, a charter fishing boat. There was a cooler of Sunkist sodas. I drank one and I felt like I was sinning 'cause I was about 10 years old and 10-year-olds in our house aren't allowed to drink sodas. Especially ORANGE ones. But I guess it was okay 'cause I was on a boat and it didn't really count.

Anyway, the captain taught us to drop our line 'til it hit the bottom...then reel it up three times...then wait for a fish...and wait for a fish and stand on the boat and wait for a fish.

Well, when my line caught on something I reeled it in with all my 10-year-old gusto only to find (10 minutes later) that I hadn't caught JAWS (much to my disappointment/relief) but I'd caught the person on the other side of the boat.

Our hooks caught under the boat!

***

At the end of that story Dec belly-laughed at the mere thought of his mother catching another person with a fishing pole.

And, Miss Nonie? Miss Nonie said "boat" every time I did.

"Boat" "Boat".

"Boat" "Boat".

(Priceless I tell you).

***

Yup, I have stories.

These are MY stories.

They are the stories that make Dec and Nonie set their books down and listen.

And sit a little bit closer to me.