Free Range Telephone Poles

How is it possible that I'm back in this office so quickly? Why can't every weekend be filled with fun and candy? Like double cherry pie? Like disco lemonade?

First off, I read a book that the hubby borrowed from the library entitled Year of the Cock: The Remarkable True Account of a Married Man Who Left His Wife and Paid the Price. A total page turner! And by page turner, I mean that you can flip through, without reading, about 100 pages of absolute jibber jabber where this dude is pathologically obsessed with his penis. Constantly standing in front of the mirror, measuring, tugging, etc. and describing it all in exhaustive detail. Thanks but no thanks. While the "cock" reference is perfectly in sync with the Chinese zodiac, I really wish there was a Year of the Douchebag: The Lame but True Account of a Total Dip Shit Who Lost His Mind, Wife, Palms, Young/Hot Girlfriends and Any Sense of Decorum. With all that said, this tale confirms that men with small penises do, in fact, buy Porsches. Ew.

Beyond that, the weekend was filled with taking Son #1 to swimming class and sitting poolside for an additional hour while he played water polo with the other kids, creating cute little Halloween pumpkin crafts (I'm so stinkin' domestic!!), handing out candy to the trick-or-treaters as my ninja and alien boys went door-to-door collecting even more lard-ass-inducing loot, going to church and going on a hike with the Cub Scouts at the Cumming Nature Center where I felt like I was fully immersed in an Audubon painting. Specifically this Hudson River School painting that I stumbled upon but with fewer leaves and more beaver lodges.

What I learned? That prior to the obsolescence of land lines, entire forests were planted to farm telephone poles. And they're breathtaking now.

(Photo from the Finger Lakes Visitors Connection via Ontario County.)

What else I learned? That GPS is completely unreliable. (Note: I already discovered this on my way to D.C. and my way home from Saranac Lake but this time was the worst.) It told me to take a left on a non-existent street. Just trees to the left. Trees to the right. I was also guided deep into a continuous cycle/circle of U-turns. It later led me up a gravel driveway that ended at a house and proceeded to tell me to take a left. My father did that while drunk many years ago and his car wound up in our living room -- so I decided not to follow in his footsteps. I didn't know this family and they might not appreciate it as much as we did at the time.

Anyhoo, nothing says "leadership" and "parenting 101" quite like driving 700 miles an hour on winding, country roads and bellowing expletives while a little scout sits quietly in the backseat occasionally piping in with comments like, "Wow mama! That was a sharp turn!" as he slid sideways. Thank God for seat belts. And for troop meetings that start notoriously late.

All of this leads up to today: Little Monkey's eighth birthday! Stock tip of the week: before the official birthday party next weekend, buy shares of GameStop and all things Tony Hawk. If last night's family party was any indication, there's a whole lot of dollars being invested in these brands.

Once again, happiness prevails.

Rescue 911

The last few weekends, I’ve taken either one or both boys on hikes. Two weeks ago, Son #1 and I walked along a path near our house that I had seen but had never taken. It began alongside a cornfield, wound its way through a little woods and ended in a huge clearing that was flanked by marshlands filled with cattails. In the middle of the clearing was a great, blue heron that allowed us to approach and then swooped away. We were amazed; it was huge. Then both of us lay down in the grass for a while looking at the clouds and then made our way home.

Last Sunday evening, the three of us walked through the woods in Tinker Park just before dusk. There were deer all around who just looked up at us as we passed. We played on the playground and walked the labyrinth.

Years ago, my girlfriends and I decided that we would go on a big hike the first warm day of spring every year. One year we climbed the face of Bristol Mountain and, when we got to the top, stripped down to our shorts and bras to bask in the hot sun only to have a group of guys descend on us mere moments later. So much for thinking we had the mountain to ourselves.

Another year we began climbing a steep, rocky path alongside a stream in Naples, NY. At first we were jumping from stone to stone to cross the stream but after a number of misses, we just started trudging straight through the ice cold water. We were soaking wet but it felt exhilarating. When my girlfriend Poo got to the top of the cliff and saw a little rope hanging from a tree presumably to swing us across a fairly large precipice to the next overhang, she stopped and said, “Turn back, we can’t go any farther.” Unfortunately for me, my fingers were at the top of the overhang and my toes were dug into the rock. I was literally hanging off the face of the incline. Me. The girl who cannot open a soda bottle with her bare hands was facing a sheer drop into the abyss.

Much akin to driving to the hospital on my way to give birth to Son #1 trying to figure out if it was too late to outsource, my brain was scrambling. I honestly thought we were going to have to call “Rescue 911.” I needed a helicopter and a basket. Somehow, I mustered up my courage and made my way back down to the ledge below where my friend Patti helped me to safety. I was pretty shaken but, at least for a short while, I felt really confident and empowered.

But not enough to want to repeat it--ever!

Corbett's Glen

Between Little League, riding bikes, sewing patches on a Karate uniform, reading, drawing and playing hockey, basketball, soccer, kickball and catch, the boys and I took a long walk down a wooded, dirt trail after church on Sunday. We climbed up steep inclines, made our way down a thin path at the crest of a sandy hill, found short cuts through clearings, and located little purple berries in the underbrush. We finally wound up wading in the cold waters of Allen’s Creek, throwing leaves off a wooden bridge and watching the rush of the waterfalls.

Son #2: “Can we go home now? I want to be outside.”