10 Jan
Last year, I was asked by a teacher to talk to her students about my time as a field archaeologist, and I created this map to show where I went and what I did during the “Shovel Bum” period of my life.
While brief, it did afford me to see some really amazing places and do some interesting things.
Been to any of these places? Share your story in the comments below…
12 Jul
We love the Warwick Drive-In, one of the last of its kind in the area. A few Sunday’s ago, we gathered up the kids, including Charlie, packed snacks, blankets and chairs, and headed out to see Cars 2. While I have been to some outstanding theaters in my life–the Arena Grand in Columbus, OH and the rooftop movie theater we went to in Athens, Greece certainly stand out–a trip to the drive in is so worth it. 
18 Feb
As far as I was concerned, it had three heads and ate children. At least that was what Timmy and Jimmy told me. It never came out unless someone was right near its hole, and it lived right down there, at the bottom of the hill on the side of our house.
The ice storm came from heaven. We woke up to trees sunk heavily with glittering branches, the jewels left by a midnight drizzle. The already snow-covered ground was now capped with a crusted layer of ice. WSUS had long since called off school for my sisters, which meant that I didn’t have to go the Kowalskis for the day.
I remember much of that day. Dad was working midnights, which meant that while he was physically home to watch us while mom was at work, he spent much of the day in bed, and we were left to our own devices for play, food, and other such necessities. It was crisp and clear. Any traces of the storm that had left our trees so heavy long since progressing up the coast towards New England, and our day in the snow with the neighborhood kids began at about the same time everyone would have waited for the bus anyway.
My first few steps on the snow were unsuccessful. Being all of forty pounds, breaking through the frozen layer of snow required effort, much more effort than I could sustain for a full day outside in our backyard.
For some reason, everyone from the neighborhood had gathered in our backyard that day. We didn’t have the biggest hills, nor did we have the best sleds, but our ice must have drawn the most attention. Our side hill, the one that led to the monster, after a few runs by the older kids, had fashioned itself into something of a luge run. Everyone of the older kids took turns bombing down on their bellies and frantically punching and kicking the snow to stop when they got too close to the base of the hill.
My hands hurt from punching the snow to make holes to hang onto in order to pick myself up after falling on the slick surfaces. That part of my wrist where the big ugly bone sticks out like a super ball was echoing in pain. I was tired from working my way from the patio towards where everyone was. I was the little kid that day. No one notices the little kid. No one notices that the little kid has lost his grip on the foot holes made by someone else.
But everyone notices the little kid as he gains momentum down the luge run towards the three-headed monster hole.
Shrieks of “PJ!! Stop!! Punch the snow!! Kick the snow!!”
But I was shock-silent. There was the hole. I was heading directly to the hole–the hole where it lived. I stopped thinking, stopped screaming, and covered my eyes. If I couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see me.
Continued shortly…
Image Credit: “Ice Storm 2008” from Raymond Larose’s Photostream.
5 Feb
When I’m anxious or excited, my legs bounce up and down like pistons at a high RPM. It’s always funny when I’m in the middle of something that I’m engrossed in and either Jenny or someone at work will come over and comment on it.
Parker and Audrey freezing on Duxbury Bay in January, 2011. Parker kept screaming that he'd found snails, and Audrey collected purple shells.
I’ve been thinking about who I’ve become as a parent and as a person. And, in doing so, drawing a straight line back to who I was when I began this process with Jenny is a difficult, if not impossible task. Things jump into our path, and we react, we fall back on past behaviors that may have worked in the past.
It’s what happens when those behaviors don’t work that makes my legs bounce. How do we react when our systems for handling problems are not adequate? How do our patterns of behavior change when they don’t fit the situations that arise. More importantly, what do our kids see when we struggle with this?
Parker is a sponge. He doesn’t repeat what we say–how many times have you been with friends and their children and one of them repeats something that you obviously know came directly from their parents mouths–but he has picked up a lot of our mannerisms and behaviors. Which, if you think about it, is much, much more precarious. It puts pressure on you as a parent to constantly be a model. How you react to stress is how they’ll react to stress.
Personally, I am not a good model right now. I’ve been carrying too much of my stressors with me into every part of my life. Too much of my time with the kids is spent correcting, and not celebrating, and frankly, with all of the recent changes in occupation, the time I am spending with them is greatly reduced. I can’t afford to lose this time.
No more bouncing legs, at least not when it comes to matters of my family. I am going to make a correction in my tack. I’m going to be the parent they need.
And I’m going to start by making pancakes.
4 Jan
Parker read his first book to me last night–first one cover-to-cover–and I was just floored. We’ve gone page-for-page before, I’ve never gotten the “look” before like I did last night. The “look” consists of part disappointment and part “aw, come on Dad, I can do it myself!”
So I let go, and he took over.
Our book was Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree. I don’t remember what the first book I read to my parents was, maybe they can fill in here, but I know this: if it gave them anything approaching the amount of emotion that it gave me, I know they didn’t forget either. So today, as luck would have it, a colleague of mine posted a link to an animated reading of the book by Shel Silverstein himself, circa 1973. Enjoy!
14 Nov
It’s been three years since this race, and when asked if I would do that distance again my answer is always the same:
“Yes, but just not there.”
The Vermont 50 ranks as the single toughest race I have ever done, far outpacing the Finger Lakes 50. There never was a stretch of more than a quarter of a mile where it was just flat. All up, and all down.
I found this picture while looking through some old attempts at website creation. At this point in the picture, I have about three miles to go, and I was only running on flat ground or downhills, and only until my legs completely locked up. At that point, I’d walk until they had unlocked, then try to run again.
The only saving grace for me was that there was a downhill finish, so to all of the spectators, including my wife and son, it appeared as if I had run the entire distance.
