We just came back from a few days in VT. Now, I feel I need to add a disclaimer at the beginning of this post. I have nothing against VT. It is beautiful country up that way and there are some very nice towns to hang out in. If you're a skier, VT is probably a favorite haven for you in this part of the world. If you're not a skier (which I am not), then you have visions of hiking, biking, kayaking, and all other kinds of glamorous outdoorsy activities. If you're sick of the city, then you may also have visions of escaping to the mountains for some R&R. I'd like to say I am one of those people with visions of hiking, biking, and kayaking, but the fact that I haven't seen my gym since I joined it and that I can't swim pretty much leaves me in the latter category of wanting some R&R. Yeah. That's definitely me. R&R. You know, maybe take a nice stroll down the street, check out some local shops...aaahhh.
The reason we were taking this trip is that we had won the use of a condo for a week in a silent auction at our church earlier in the year. The condo was located right on Mt. Okemo and, for that reason, we could only access it during spring or summer months...so, it was a last hurrah before heading back into the school year. The condo was pretty big and had a kitchen, access to a swimming pool, tennis courts, and a sauna. The owner said only about 90% of the condos get rented in the summer, so we would pretty much be on our own up there. It did not have air conditioning, but who cares? It's on a mountain in VT. How hot could it get? So, we did our grocery shopping for the week, packed our bathing suits, and headed North!!
The drive was quick (only about 2.5 hours from our home) and it was pretty. We followed the directions we had and drove up to the condo which, as I mentioned, was right on the mountain. What this meant was that I was pushing our car as hard as I could and we were still maxing out at a whopping 25 mph as we went up the hill. Finally, after coming very close to pulling a Fred Flinstone and using my feet to add some extra power to the car, we arrived at the unit we were going to be using. The place was really very nice - 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2 living rooms, a dining room, a kitchen, a deck, and a sauna. And, just as the owner had said, there was no one else around. "Oh man!" I thought, "This is really going to be great!" Nicole and I unpacked the car, picked the room we wanted to use, and took a drive around the area to see what was around. What we found on the drive was this: the entrance to Okemo was only about 1 mile from where we were (and there was a beer fest going on that night. Normally, that would have made my week right there, but it was pretty close to RM's bedtime, so we decided it probably wasn't worth the $20 admission for only a little while), there was an Irish bar close by, a place called Taco Taco, a quilt shop that Nicole wanted to visit, and...and, uh,...well, that was really about it. "Ok, don't panic" is what flashed in my head as I quickly fired up my iPhone to look up what there was to do in this part of VT. Now, the fact that even Google couldn't point me in the direction of an activity was a little disorienting, but I figured it was only the first night and we would figure out what there was to do. With that, we headed back to the condo, unpacked, made dinner, and settled in for the night. Started watching t.v. and realized this place only had the "essential" cable package. Translation = you can watch what's on the networks, but don't look for any quality programming. Oh crap.
The next day, Nicole's sister, Jessica, and nephew, Owen, came up, as well as our friends Cara and Marc. Now, since people were arriving at different times, we decided to hange close by to be sure we'd be home when people arrived. Jessica and Owen arrived around 1ish and Cara and Marc arrived closer to dinner, so we planned a nice meal, people settled into their rooms, and we played some games for the evening. Monday, we decided to head over to a town called Weston where we heard there was some nice shopping to be done and we figured this would be a nice way to spend the afternoon. So, when we got there, I learned that my definition of "nice shopping" is vastly different then the people who had pointed us in this direction because there was pretty much the VT Country Store, a shop full of Christmas tree ornaments, and a type of general store. That's it. That's the extensive list of shops. No. You didn't miss anything and I didn't forget any. That's what's there. Being overwhelmed as we were as to how to tackle this vast shopping Mecca, we started with the VT Country Store which, in all honesty, was a really cool place. Now, as many of you know, I don't like shopping unless there's food involved. That being said, I LOVED this place. There was a whole room dedicated to cheese and another section dedicated to dips. My dear friend, Cara, and I were on high alert to make sure that we hit all of the sundries available for sampling in the store and we quickly became seasoned critics describing each taste that hit our palates and making sure we "cleansed" with appropriate free snacks before moving on to other flavors. It was a nice place and I stocked up on the sundries which we had decided were good enough to take home and enjoy during our evening games.
Next stop was the store with all of the Christmas tree ornaments, but that was really uneventful, so I'll spare you the details. In other words, there were no snacks there.
Our third, and final stop, was the little general store that had some clothing, little souvenir type things, and more free food. But, don't get excited by the free food thing because, believe it or not, that was NOT the most awesome thing in this store. The most awesome thing was one of those experiences that catches you completely off guard and one of those things that leaves you completely speechless. This is what happened. I was strolling through the store using my super senses to locate and consume the free food that was advertised at the door when I turned the corner into a small hallway and that's when it happened. I saw something I thought I would never ever see in my lifetime and I am completely confident I will not be able to do it justice here with my meager words. I turned the corner and saw a woman, roughly my height and maybe slightly older than myself, carrying a dog. Now, her dog didn't seem like any particularly special breed - he (I think it was a he) was a small dog (maybe 10 lbs) with black and white spots. In and of itself, that wouldn't have been that weird, but that's not the end of the story. You see, she was carrying this dog by holding him in her arms in such a way that the dog was sitting on his bum, in an upright position, facing outward so that I had a clear shot of his chest. Well, I didn't really have a clear shot of his chest because, you see, he was wearing a shirt. Now, I wish I could describe what this shirt looked like, but I really can't because I was distracted by the designer sunglasses that the dog was wearing along with the blingy string from his glasses that dangled around his neck. I'm pretty sure he was also wearing a gold chain, but that might be my brain having some fun with this memory. In any case, when I saw this dog, I kind of froze for a second because of the sheer attitude that he was emanating. I'm pretty sure that if this dog could speak, he would have said, "What the hell are you looking at, Be-atch?! Get me a Double Doggie Latte and pick me up some cheese from across the street. NOW!" As the dog was giving me the stink eye, his owner turns to RM and says (in a thick French accent), "It's a dog. It's a dog". Thanks for the confirmation, lady. I sat there, dumbfounded...speechless. As the lady walked by holding the gay animal equivalent of Martha Stewart, I quickly spun back around to find Cara who, I saw, was equally mesmerized by the dog.
I quickly figured out what must have been the situation with this dog. I mean, the lady carrying him, the attitude, the glasses...it was all making sense to me now. Obviously he was blind and she was his seeing eye person. How nice of her to care for her poor blind dog. What kind of training do you need to be a seeing eye person? Are there schools for that? Does the dog use a cane when his seeing eye person is sleeping or something? Can I address the person when she is on duty? Are you supposed to give her treats or beers or something when not in service? Maybe the dog wasn't completely blind. Maybe he had cataracts and that's why he was wearing those glasses. No, that couldn't be. The glasses were not the ancient forerunners to blue blockers that every senior citizen with cataracts uses. You know what glasses I mean...they are like the deepest black you've ever seen and they have walls on either side of them that have immensely powerful force fields built in that serve to block any and all sunlight from coming anywhere near the wearer's head. Clearly, this dog was not wearing anything like that, so he did not have cataracts. Obviously. Anyway, this poor blind dog was the perhaps the single most amazing and ridiculously absurd thing I have ever seen. I have continuously kicked myself in my patookus every day since that encounter for not taking a picture of this poor, blind animal. If anyone out there has ever seen this creature or if any of you ever come in contact with him in the future, please snap a photo of him and contact me immediately.
Ok, back to our story. Our shopping excursion...that's where we left off, yes? After our dog encounter, we had pretty much hit all of the shopping this Mecca had to offer, so we decided to head back to the homestead. By the time we got back, it was probably, oh, I don't know...Noon. Hmmmm....now what to do? We sat on our buttocks a bit and decided to give the pool a shot. So, we suited up and headed down the immense hill and arrived at our destination...the pool. Not a soul around...except for the massive colony of gnats that quickly figured out we were fresh meat. Needless to say, we only lasted at the pool for about 45 minutes before we had to move on from the bug buffet where we were the main courses. Even poor little RM had little specks of blood all over her head from the buffet. Sorry, sweetie. Ok, back to the condo.
I have an idea. Let's play some games. Movies. Books? Uh, maybe some games?
Tuesday. Nicole and Jess head out to a quilt shop (I'll pass on that one, thanks). Cara and Marc head out for a hike. Owen, RM, and myself hang out at the condo. Ok. This is ok. It's a nice day today. No rain, like predicted, but also nothing to do. Go for a walk? I don't think I am experienced enough as a rock climber to walk around this neighborhood. Go to the pool? Our collective blood supply had not replenished enough to revisit the vampire section of the complex. A movie? Well, we know how RM does with that and Owen had already watched the only movie available in the Red Box that was appropriate for a 9 year old. Crap. Hey! How about a game? No? Ok. Hmmm....I would have blogged, but there was no internet access at the condo.
Have you ever seen "The Shining" with Jack Nicholson? It's a movie about a guy who takes a job as a caretaker for the winter months at a mountainside resort. He takes his family up there and figures he'll use the opportunity to write, only the family becomes snow bound and have no access to the outside world. Oh, and did I mention, the place is haunted. Well, I was starting to have the sensation that I was in this movie: mountainside resort, no one else around, nothing to do...all work and no play makes Jen go a little woohoo.
Wednesday. This is the day that everyone is scheduled to head back home...everyone except me, Nicole, and RM. Cara and Marc left around Noonish while Jess left around 4 after a short trip to a state park. By 4:15, Nicole and I were all alone in the condo...hell, in the complex...and desperately trying to figure out what to do for the next two days. Well, there's a brewery about 30 minutes away. Yeah, but what are we going to do with RM at a brewery? Ok. Ben and Jerry's is about 90 minutes away. I don't think RM will tolerate that ride for an ice cream. We sat around for a bit longer unsuccessfully kicking ideas around until......
It was probably around 5:20 that night when we both looked at each other and said, "Have you had enough?". We were packed and in the car by 6:45 and homeword bound. Now, does this horribly failed trip mean that Nicole and I are unable to spend time together alone? I don't think that's what it means at all. In fact, I think it means that we both love each other enough to realize when to cut our losses and, if we're going to sit around and do nothing, we may as well do it on our own couches.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Loan sharks...they're gonna get ya!
Has anyone ever played the game Apples to Apples? If you haven't, I highly recommend it. If you have, then you might be able to relate to this post. The way you play the game is that people take turns being "the judge" and that judge puts down a card with a word on it. The other players have other cards with various words on them and each players is required to put down a card from their hand that they feel best fits with the word played by the judge. Each player then has the opportunity to make an argument as to why their word is best suited to the judge's word. For example, let's say the judge's word was "creative" and someone threw down a card that said "Picasso" while another threw down one that said "Pizza". Each player then has to argue why they believe their word best fits with "creative" and the judge has the final decision as to who wins. Everyone get it? Too bad if you don't cuz we're moving on!
While on vacation with my friends, we were playing this game and, while it was fun, it was a bit heated at times. You see, we're quite a competitive group. Essentially, we're the people who won't let our kids beat us at checkers unless they've actually earned it (well, maybe not all of my friends are that way; maybe that's just me...whatever). Anyway, we're playing this game and I noticed an interesting phenomenon that started to develop, particularly when people did not have very good words to choose from in their hands. Essentially, what starting happening was that people simply started using their word in a defining sentence with the judge's word. So, for example, let's say the word was "jovial" and someone put down "bone spurs". Now, in my world, jovial and bone spurs don't go together at all, but you could actually hear people making an argument like, "You could be jovial if you had bone spurs"................huh? (this was not an actual example used in the game. If it had been, this blog entry would have been much shorter).
Needless to say, I did not share my observation with people about what was happening for a while because I was enjoying it and, we were playing with two of the oldest children on the trip (who are around 8 and 9) and I figured out that if you I used some of the words that were included in the definition listed on the judge's card in my argument for my own chosen card, I could sway the children's decision about 50% of the time. What? Like you wouldn't do the same. Don't judge me. It worked....did I mention that I'm competitive?
I let the game go on for a bit with my little observations tucked in my head until it happened. A card was played that pushed me right over the edge and I had to simply point out the absurdity of what I was hearing. We are sitting at our table, playing our game and the judge's card was thrown: Dangerous. Now, people started throwing out things that could be dangerous (I wish I could remember some examples, but they all escape me now). Finally, it comes to my beloved Nicole's turn and she throws down "Loan Sharks". Ok. Granted, I can see where getting involved with loan sharks could be dangerous on some level and an argument could definitely be made. However, when it came to her turn to defend her selection, her response was, "Loan sharks! They're gonna get ya!" and she leans in across the table closer to the judge as if this was some intimidating gesture that was going to sway the vote. Now, in hindsight, the situation was maybe not incredibly absurd, but...well...we come back to my competitive side. I believe my response started with uncontrolled and exaggerated laughter followed by a "What?!?! Did you just say, 'They're gonna get ya?' Is that really your argument?" Then I started making up my own sentences to go with that ending..."Disney Princesses! They're gonna get ya!...Unicorns! They're gonna get ya!...Bunions! They're gonna get ya!" Thankfully, Nicole has an excellent sense of humor and laughed along with me because, quite honestly, had the roles been reversed...I may have become as dangerous as.....as dangerous as.....well, I guess as dangerous as a loan shark.
While on vacation with my friends, we were playing this game and, while it was fun, it was a bit heated at times. You see, we're quite a competitive group. Essentially, we're the people who won't let our kids beat us at checkers unless they've actually earned it (well, maybe not all of my friends are that way; maybe that's just me...whatever). Anyway, we're playing this game and I noticed an interesting phenomenon that started to develop, particularly when people did not have very good words to choose from in their hands. Essentially, what starting happening was that people simply started using their word in a defining sentence with the judge's word. So, for example, let's say the word was "jovial" and someone put down "bone spurs". Now, in my world, jovial and bone spurs don't go together at all, but you could actually hear people making an argument like, "You could be jovial if you had bone spurs"................huh? (this was not an actual example used in the game. If it had been, this blog entry would have been much shorter).
Needless to say, I did not share my observation with people about what was happening for a while because I was enjoying it and, we were playing with two of the oldest children on the trip (who are around 8 and 9) and I figured out that if you I used some of the words that were included in the definition listed on the judge's card in my argument for my own chosen card, I could sway the children's decision about 50% of the time. What? Like you wouldn't do the same. Don't judge me. It worked....did I mention that I'm competitive?
I let the game go on for a bit with my little observations tucked in my head until it happened. A card was played that pushed me right over the edge and I had to simply point out the absurdity of what I was hearing. We are sitting at our table, playing our game and the judge's card was thrown: Dangerous. Now, people started throwing out things that could be dangerous (I wish I could remember some examples, but they all escape me now). Finally, it comes to my beloved Nicole's turn and she throws down "Loan Sharks". Ok. Granted, I can see where getting involved with loan sharks could be dangerous on some level and an argument could definitely be made. However, when it came to her turn to defend her selection, her response was, "Loan sharks! They're gonna get ya!" and she leans in across the table closer to the judge as if this was some intimidating gesture that was going to sway the vote. Now, in hindsight, the situation was maybe not incredibly absurd, but...well...we come back to my competitive side. I believe my response started with uncontrolled and exaggerated laughter followed by a "What?!?! Did you just say, 'They're gonna get ya?' Is that really your argument?" Then I started making up my own sentences to go with that ending..."Disney Princesses! They're gonna get ya!...Unicorns! They're gonna get ya!...Bunions! They're gonna get ya!" Thankfully, Nicole has an excellent sense of humor and laughed along with me because, quite honestly, had the roles been reversed...I may have become as dangerous as.....as dangerous as.....well, I guess as dangerous as a loan shark.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Vacation! Vacation! Vacation!
Yay!!!!!! Vacation!!!!! Last week, me and the girls had the week off from work and went on vacation to spend some time with family and friends. Here was the plan: leave Saturday early afternoon and head up to Narragansett to spend some time with some of my oldest and dearest friends. Then, on Wednesday, head up to Maine to spend time with Nicole's family. To prepare for our trip, I typed up packing lists on the computer for each member of the family, prepared the dogs's bags for their vacations (thanks, Mom and Dad, and AnnaMaria and Chris for watching those girls!!), got all of my clothes laid out, and took RM and Ella down to Danbury on Friday night while Nicole was going to stay home and pack in a child free/dog free home. Sounds like a great plan, right? Well, when I got to Danbury, I called Nicole to let her know I was going to have dinner with the folks and she let me know that she was not feeling well and had not done any packing because she had been sick (she even sent me a text message of her reincarnated dinner as proof...yeah...gross). So, when I got home, nothing had been packed and we were further away from being ready for the trip now because there was all the disarray that comes with someone who is sick.
So, Saturday morning, I get up early and start collecting up RM's things and getting the things out of the garage we are going to need for the trip: beach umbrellas (2), beach chairs (3 - yes, 3), cooler, beach blanket, beach toys...holy crap that's a lot of stuff. Anyway, I get that all squared away and I prepare to take RM to a birthday party for one of her friends from daycare. The party was at a public park with a little water sprinkler area that was very cute. I thought, "Oh! She's going to love this!"...Not so much. She liked the idea of looking at the water and running around areas where water could potentially land (perhaps if we were experiencing hurricane gusts), but not so much getting wet. It was a nice time there anyway and she really enjoyed playing with her friends. "She's so cute playing with her friends. She's going to love playing at the beach...wait...what time is it?!?! Crap!" Yes. That's what happened in my head. I was now about an hour behind schedule...the schedule I set up for myself...the schedule that no one else cared about, but me...and now I was behind. DAMN! Strike One. Ok, no problem. Let's go get Nicole and we'll be on our way. So, we say our goodbyes and head home to get Nicole and load up the car.
Now, for those of you with small children who have ever been brave enough to venture out on a trip with them, you know that they have more luggage than all the Kardashians put together. It's no wonder that so many people with kids have minivans. You need a freaking tractor trailer just to cart the kids's crap around. I swear I'm going to go to one of those tractor trailer training programs they advertise on t.v. just to make sure we have enough room for all of our crap on our next trip. Let me give you a brief list of the crap that we had to bring because of our beautiful daughter: pack and play (we all need her to have her own area to sleep in order that we may preserve our sanity), stroller, beach chair (because she confiscates mine, so I decided to get her her own chair so the little punk won't relegate me to sitting in the sand...I hate sitting in the sand...it gets everywhere...You know what I mean....EVERYWHERE! It doesn't matter if it's dry or wet or whatever. However, it does matter if it's dry or wet when it burns the layers of skin off the bottom of your feet and then, for extra enjoyment, the grains of sand stick to the newly exposed and extremely painful flesh on the bottom of your feet. Especially the little bits of skin right under your toes...And it always feels like there are little bugs in the sand waiting to bite you or crawl up your suit and bite you square in the ass and you can't really scratch it because of what you'll look like to other people on the beach even though those other people would probably be thinking, "That poor woman had to sit in the sand. She should have brought a chair for herself".......Good thing we're going to the beach for a week...), beach toys (to help facilitate the placement of sand everywhere on both her and me), diapers, swimmy diapers (which, by the way, apparently only become fully functional after they have gotten wet), beach towels, hats, sunglasses (yes. She needs her own pair of these also...please don't get me started), and at least two changes of clothes each day. Now, that's just some of her stuff. However, I also need to bring extra clothes for myself because if she gets sick, and I'm anywhere within vomit range, I'm going to need to change. That lesson, again, I learned the hard way and I was a slooooowwww learner...but now I've got it.
Sorry, I got a little lost in that last paragraph. So, we finally got the car packed up and got on the road (later than I wanted, but still ok). We needed to make a pit stop at Nicole's parents's house, but that was not bad either. Finally, on our way to Narragansett. One reason I was so excited to go and really wanted to get an early start was because I was going to be spending the next few days with friends that I hadn't been able to spend a lot of time with now, but had spent almost every day of my drinking years in Danbury with (and some were friends well before that). In particular, my oldest and dearest friend, Cristina, was here from New Zealand with her family and I was very, very excited to be able to spend some time. Needless to say, I was excited. Did I mention that? We got to our friend's house, unpacked and spent the next few days hanging out. There were about 11 adults and 8 kids at one time and it was a pretty good party. The kids had fun at the beach, RM again liked the idea of the water, but not really the idea of getting wet. She was perfectly content to have me dig a hole and let that fill with water and sit in that...damn sand. At the beginning of the trip, everything was great. We were all so happy to see each other and hang out that the little annoying things that people did, didn't really matter...but, as the days went on, you could feel the tension building. By the time we left to head up to Maine on Wednesday, I was sad to say goodbye to my friends, but I was also pretty sure that I was about to miss a heavyweight title fight reminiscent of Tyson v. Holyfield...damn. I'd gladly sit on the sand to watch that one.
Ok, pack up the car and head north! Vacation part deux. Now, when we left Narragansett, RM was particularly tired and needy. I chalked it up to her being out of her routine and being around a lot of people that she's not used to spending time with (which is an idea that makes me a bit sad inside), but I looked on the bright side and figured she would sleep in the car on the way up and that would make the ride go a bit more smoothly. Well, I was mostly right in that she did sleep on the car ride up, but her demeanor did not improve. In fact, she started to have a fever, was quite cranky, and was a drooling mess. So, if you do the math: low grade fever + drooling + cranky = teething. No problem. We got this. Next day...more cranky + higher fever + no food + no playing at the beach = misery...for all and for none a good night. By dinner time on Thursday, RM was not doing anything other than screaming incessantly. After a bit of discussion and some ibuprofen for her and drinks for us, we decided we needed to find a doctor. Nicole walked down to the management office and asked where we could find a walk in clinic. The response, "We don't have one around here. We tried the Quick Quack thing and it didn't work out. You need to head a few towns over to the hospital and they have an urgent care clinic at the emergency room". (Quick Quack. Classic). And so it was that RM had her second trip to the ER in her lifetime.
Now, I know that plenty of you out there have had somewhat less than pleasant experiences in ER waiting rooms and I was fully prepared to spend the majority of my remaining vacation sitting and waiting for a higher order Quick Quack. We get there, walk in, and a plump, jovial security guard greets us at the door and takes down some basic info (name, phone number) and then directs us to a waiting room. We get there and before we can even sit, we get called in to triage. Have you ever tried to get an oxygen reading on a screaming 18 month old who is clearly not feeling well? No? Yeah. There's a reason for that...Sick kids don't like it. Long story short, her lungs were working very, very well. Essentially, the nurse gave up trying to get a read and sent us to another waiting room. Again, before we could get comfortable, we got called to another desk to get intake information (i.e. Show me the money...and your insurance card). A few minutes later, we get called in to an exam room and the doc comes in within a few minutes.
Doc: "What's the problem?"
Me: "Well, my money's on an ear infection in the right ear"
Doc: "Ok, let's take a look (you know, like they say in the GE commercials)". Looks in left ear and says, "Well, that one's irritated. That could be the problem". Looks in the right ear and..."Oooohhhh. Yeah. That one's pretty bad. Looks like they're both infected". (Really? That's awesome. Thanks for playing.) He gives her some meds and sends us on our way.
We went back home, put her to bed, and hoped for the best. Yeah. That hope would be what I would call Strike Two. And here's why: At about 1:30 am, RM starts screaming...and screaming...and screaming...and...screaming. Nicole and I took turns walking her around, taking her out on the patio, reading books to her...screaming. Finally, at 3:30 I turn to Nicole and say, "That's it! I'm taking her for a drive!" Now, while I love my wife dearly, she does not function well on a lack of sleep. Her response was, "You're not going anywhere! The only people on the road at this time of night are drunk from being out at bars! " Pace, pace, pace. Scream, scream, scream. "Nicole, let me try to take her for a drive". "No. We should just go home." So, that's the part where I started to do that kind of screaming that you do while still whispering. Do you know what I mean? You are yelling, but in a whisper. You know you are trying to do it right now while you're reading this. Ok, now that you have it, that's what I was doing. Me (in a whisper yell): "ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU DON'T WANT TO DRIVE DOWN THE STREET BUT YOU WOULD DRIVE BACK TO CT RIGHT NOW?!?!?!?" Now, something must have snapped for her then because she started to get ready to come with me (without our luggage) and, wouldn't it figure that as soon as I started to walk down the stairs, RM stopped screaming. As we got outside, she actually looked content. I strapped her in her car seat and, by the time I made it to the driver's seat, she was asleep. Yes....that's what I said. Asleep. So, Nicole and I slept in the car and of all the crap we packed, we did not pack anything that could possibly have made that night's sleep (or lack thereof) pleasant. Like I said before...Strike Two.
So, that brings us to Friday. Last day at the beach. Can you guess what happened? Yes. That's right. It rained. Now, I know what you're thinking...Strike Three. Really? You're a glass half empty kind of person? Really? Come on. Yeah, it rained, but it was still vacation which meant I wasn't at work. And that, my friends, is at least making it to first after being hit by the pitch.
So, Saturday morning, I get up early and start collecting up RM's things and getting the things out of the garage we are going to need for the trip: beach umbrellas (2), beach chairs (3 - yes, 3), cooler, beach blanket, beach toys...holy crap that's a lot of stuff. Anyway, I get that all squared away and I prepare to take RM to a birthday party for one of her friends from daycare. The party was at a public park with a little water sprinkler area that was very cute. I thought, "Oh! She's going to love this!"...Not so much. She liked the idea of looking at the water and running around areas where water could potentially land (perhaps if we were experiencing hurricane gusts), but not so much getting wet. It was a nice time there anyway and she really enjoyed playing with her friends. "She's so cute playing with her friends. She's going to love playing at the beach...wait...what time is it?!?! Crap!" Yes. That's what happened in my head. I was now about an hour behind schedule...the schedule I set up for myself...the schedule that no one else cared about, but me...and now I was behind. DAMN! Strike One. Ok, no problem. Let's go get Nicole and we'll be on our way. So, we say our goodbyes and head home to get Nicole and load up the car.
Now, for those of you with small children who have ever been brave enough to venture out on a trip with them, you know that they have more luggage than all the Kardashians put together. It's no wonder that so many people with kids have minivans. You need a freaking tractor trailer just to cart the kids's crap around. I swear I'm going to go to one of those tractor trailer training programs they advertise on t.v. just to make sure we have enough room for all of our crap on our next trip. Let me give you a brief list of the crap that we had to bring because of our beautiful daughter: pack and play (we all need her to have her own area to sleep in order that we may preserve our sanity), stroller, beach chair (because she confiscates mine, so I decided to get her her own chair so the little punk won't relegate me to sitting in the sand...I hate sitting in the sand...it gets everywhere...You know what I mean....EVERYWHERE! It doesn't matter if it's dry or wet or whatever. However, it does matter if it's dry or wet when it burns the layers of skin off the bottom of your feet and then, for extra enjoyment, the grains of sand stick to the newly exposed and extremely painful flesh on the bottom of your feet. Especially the little bits of skin right under your toes...And it always feels like there are little bugs in the sand waiting to bite you or crawl up your suit and bite you square in the ass and you can't really scratch it because of what you'll look like to other people on the beach even though those other people would probably be thinking, "That poor woman had to sit in the sand. She should have brought a chair for herself".......Good thing we're going to the beach for a week...), beach toys (to help facilitate the placement of sand everywhere on both her and me), diapers, swimmy diapers (which, by the way, apparently only become fully functional after they have gotten wet), beach towels, hats, sunglasses (yes. She needs her own pair of these also...please don't get me started), and at least two changes of clothes each day. Now, that's just some of her stuff. However, I also need to bring extra clothes for myself because if she gets sick, and I'm anywhere within vomit range, I'm going to need to change. That lesson, again, I learned the hard way and I was a slooooowwww learner...but now I've got it.
Sorry, I got a little lost in that last paragraph. So, we finally got the car packed up and got on the road (later than I wanted, but still ok). We needed to make a pit stop at Nicole's parents's house, but that was not bad either. Finally, on our way to Narragansett. One reason I was so excited to go and really wanted to get an early start was because I was going to be spending the next few days with friends that I hadn't been able to spend a lot of time with now, but had spent almost every day of my drinking years in Danbury with (and some were friends well before that). In particular, my oldest and dearest friend, Cristina, was here from New Zealand with her family and I was very, very excited to be able to spend some time. Needless to say, I was excited. Did I mention that? We got to our friend's house, unpacked and spent the next few days hanging out. There were about 11 adults and 8 kids at one time and it was a pretty good party. The kids had fun at the beach, RM again liked the idea of the water, but not really the idea of getting wet. She was perfectly content to have me dig a hole and let that fill with water and sit in that...damn sand. At the beginning of the trip, everything was great. We were all so happy to see each other and hang out that the little annoying things that people did, didn't really matter...but, as the days went on, you could feel the tension building. By the time we left to head up to Maine on Wednesday, I was sad to say goodbye to my friends, but I was also pretty sure that I was about to miss a heavyweight title fight reminiscent of Tyson v. Holyfield...damn. I'd gladly sit on the sand to watch that one.
Ok, pack up the car and head north! Vacation part deux. Now, when we left Narragansett, RM was particularly tired and needy. I chalked it up to her being out of her routine and being around a lot of people that she's not used to spending time with (which is an idea that makes me a bit sad inside), but I looked on the bright side and figured she would sleep in the car on the way up and that would make the ride go a bit more smoothly. Well, I was mostly right in that she did sleep on the car ride up, but her demeanor did not improve. In fact, she started to have a fever, was quite cranky, and was a drooling mess. So, if you do the math: low grade fever + drooling + cranky = teething. No problem. We got this. Next day...more cranky + higher fever + no food + no playing at the beach = misery...for all and for none a good night. By dinner time on Thursday, RM was not doing anything other than screaming incessantly. After a bit of discussion and some ibuprofen for her and drinks for us, we decided we needed to find a doctor. Nicole walked down to the management office and asked where we could find a walk in clinic. The response, "We don't have one around here. We tried the Quick Quack thing and it didn't work out. You need to head a few towns over to the hospital and they have an urgent care clinic at the emergency room". (Quick Quack. Classic). And so it was that RM had her second trip to the ER in her lifetime.
Now, I know that plenty of you out there have had somewhat less than pleasant experiences in ER waiting rooms and I was fully prepared to spend the majority of my remaining vacation sitting and waiting for a higher order Quick Quack. We get there, walk in, and a plump, jovial security guard greets us at the door and takes down some basic info (name, phone number) and then directs us to a waiting room. We get there and before we can even sit, we get called in to triage. Have you ever tried to get an oxygen reading on a screaming 18 month old who is clearly not feeling well? No? Yeah. There's a reason for that...Sick kids don't like it. Long story short, her lungs were working very, very well. Essentially, the nurse gave up trying to get a read and sent us to another waiting room. Again, before we could get comfortable, we got called to another desk to get intake information (i.e. Show me the money...and your insurance card). A few minutes later, we get called in to an exam room and the doc comes in within a few minutes.
Doc: "What's the problem?"
Me: "Well, my money's on an ear infection in the right ear"
Doc: "Ok, let's take a look (you know, like they say in the GE commercials)". Looks in left ear and says, "Well, that one's irritated. That could be the problem". Looks in the right ear and..."Oooohhhh. Yeah. That one's pretty bad. Looks like they're both infected". (Really? That's awesome. Thanks for playing.) He gives her some meds and sends us on our way.
We went back home, put her to bed, and hoped for the best. Yeah. That hope would be what I would call Strike Two. And here's why: At about 1:30 am, RM starts screaming...and screaming...and screaming...and...screaming. Nicole and I took turns walking her around, taking her out on the patio, reading books to her...screaming. Finally, at 3:30 I turn to Nicole and say, "That's it! I'm taking her for a drive!" Now, while I love my wife dearly, she does not function well on a lack of sleep. Her response was, "You're not going anywhere! The only people on the road at this time of night are drunk from being out at bars! " Pace, pace, pace. Scream, scream, scream. "Nicole, let me try to take her for a drive". "No. We should just go home." So, that's the part where I started to do that kind of screaming that you do while still whispering. Do you know what I mean? You are yelling, but in a whisper. You know you are trying to do it right now while you're reading this. Ok, now that you have it, that's what I was doing. Me (in a whisper yell): "ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU DON'T WANT TO DRIVE DOWN THE STREET BUT YOU WOULD DRIVE BACK TO CT RIGHT NOW?!?!?!?" Now, something must have snapped for her then because she started to get ready to come with me (without our luggage) and, wouldn't it figure that as soon as I started to walk down the stairs, RM stopped screaming. As we got outside, she actually looked content. I strapped her in her car seat and, by the time I made it to the driver's seat, she was asleep. Yes....that's what I said. Asleep. So, Nicole and I slept in the car and of all the crap we packed, we did not pack anything that could possibly have made that night's sleep (or lack thereof) pleasant. Like I said before...Strike Two.
So, that brings us to Friday. Last day at the beach. Can you guess what happened? Yes. That's right. It rained. Now, I know what you're thinking...Strike Three. Really? You're a glass half empty kind of person? Really? Come on. Yeah, it rained, but it was still vacation which meant I wasn't at work. And that, my friends, is at least making it to first after being hit by the pitch.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Their Tails are Made ouf ot Springs
The theme in RM's room is classic Winnie the Pooh and her favorite toy is a stuffed Piglet. So, naturally, when the new Winnie the Pooh movie came out, we thought, "Sweet. We'll take her to that as her first movie". The movie is just over an hour long and I figured we had a shot at having her sit through that. You might be asking yourself right now, "Why would you think that an 18 month old would sit through that?" Well, that would have been a good question for me to really sit and ponder before we went to the movie (please note that I said "would have been" implying that I did not actually take the time to think it through). I didn't really think about the fact that my child has the attention span of a hyperactive gnat on speed and that she can't stand to watch more than 10 seconds of a television show without running around. Actually, in all fairness to me, I did think about that (which is even a bit more baffling as to how we came to the conclusion that the movie was a good idea), but I thought that if she saw her favorite characters on a screen the size of our house, it might hold her attention. Yeah. Ok. Right.
We decided we would take her to a Tuesday matinee after work. We let her day care provider, Rosemary, know we'd be by right at 2 to pick her up and why.... Now, have you ever gotten that look from someone that says, "Huh? Are you nuts?" but they are just too polite to say that to your face? You must know the look I mean. That look where the person looks you square in the eye with a slight head tilt and a bit of a smirk when you know they are questioning the level of your intelligence silently in their own mind. The look? Anyone? Ok, well, it's not really that important. What is important is that we took her to a Winnie the Pooh matinee. We were excited. It was going to be a fun time. Yeah. Ok. Right.
Now, I feel like I had been getting messages sent to me all along that this was not a good idea (e.g. her complete lack of interest in t.v., Rosemary's silent rebuke), but I was determined to press on. We walked into the theater with our movie passes that we bought from AAA and I was going to buy snacks with a gift card I had gotten from my company. All set. Cheap date. We get to the counter, I order the tickets, and the kind clerk says, "I'm sorry. We don't accept those anymore. You can call this number to get a refund for what you paid for them". Ok. No problem. I can pay cash for that. $15 later, we are headed over to the concession stand to get some drinks (Don't tell, but I snuck in goldfish and graham crackers for RM to snack on). Alright, I'll use the gift card to pay for the drinks and this still shouldn't be too bad. I hand the clerk my card and..."I'm sorry. This card doesn't seem to be registered in our system". Really?!?! Ok. These should have been clear signs to us that this was not a good idea. Did I heed the signs? No. (On the bright side, the fact that I am so bad about reading such signals is a good indicator that I will never be the person standing on a street corner with a cardboard sign that says, "Jesus is coming. Look busy"). So, back to the clerk who is now asking me for cash and handing me back a worthless piece of plastic that I was supposed to have received as a token of appreciation from my job (perhaps the fact that the card did not work is a commentary from my employer about my performance. Nah. That's not it...). Ok. No problem. I'll pay with my debit card. $10 later and we head into the theater. Our timing was pretty good in that we missed most of the coming attractions and sat down right as the warm-up cartoon was coming on. I think it was called "Nessie and the Loch", but I don't know for sure. The reason I don't know for sure is that RM really had no interest in watching it, so I was doing my best song and dance to keep her quiet until the main attraction reared its head on the screen and I knew she'd love it! Yeah. Ok. Right.
A few minutes later, Nessie was done and the movie was about to begin. As soon as it started, she was mesmerized. She sat on my lap, looked at the screen, and I think "Alright. Here we go". We even got an "Ooooh" out of her when she realized it was Pooh. This sense of awe lasted approximately...oh, I don't know...8 seconds. Then, squirmy. Wait! Dat-da-da-DA! Goldfish to the rescue! She quickly settled back into my lap and snacked on her crackers. Ok. Good. This is working....3 minutes later...squirmy. Hold on! Goldfish cracker brought his trusty sidekick - Graham!!!! I whip out the graham crackers and I get another, "Ooooh" (Really?!?! The giant screen gets the same response as a graham cracker?). Great. That bought us a few more minutes. And by a few, I'd say another 3. Winnie the Pooh, I'd like you to meet Madame Squirms-A-Lot. So, Nicole and I take turns picking her up and walking around the side entrance to the theater (you know, that long aisle you walk down when you enter your theater while you hope there aren't too many people there only to turn the corner and see.......(what? fill in your own blank, you lazy bastard)). This worked for another few minutes until Madame realized there were lights on the floor and that these lights were not only in that entry aisle, but also all the way up the stairs that go all the way to the back of the theater. Sadly, this realization was the most exciting part of her afternoon. As soon as she saw the lights, we got our third and most emphatic "Ooooh" of the day out of her, as well as a few, "Loooook"(s) and other ramblings that, of course, happen at the top of her little lungs (which work quite well, thank you for asking). The lights on the floor were the single most tantalizing aspect of this adventure for her. She wanted to roam the entire theater and find out where all these lights went, and she would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for her meddling parents (you're welcome, fans of Scooby Doo). Us, being the curmudgeons that we are, picked her up and would not allow her to run up and down the stairs in the theater. She quickly let us know how she felt about that by expressing herself freely. And by freely, I mean loudly (Did I mention her lungs work quite well?). So, about 30 minutes into the movie, Nicole and I picked up our little Ebert and left. We didn't even get to see how it ended....well, actually, we didn't get to see how it started either, so I guess.... Anyway, that was $25 well spent. Yeah. Ok. Right.
We decided we would take her to a Tuesday matinee after work. We let her day care provider, Rosemary, know we'd be by right at 2 to pick her up and why.... Now, have you ever gotten that look from someone that says, "Huh? Are you nuts?" but they are just too polite to say that to your face? You must know the look I mean. That look where the person looks you square in the eye with a slight head tilt and a bit of a smirk when you know they are questioning the level of your intelligence silently in their own mind. The look? Anyone? Ok, well, it's not really that important. What is important is that we took her to a Winnie the Pooh matinee. We were excited. It was going to be a fun time. Yeah. Ok. Right.
Now, I feel like I had been getting messages sent to me all along that this was not a good idea (e.g. her complete lack of interest in t.v., Rosemary's silent rebuke), but I was determined to press on. We walked into the theater with our movie passes that we bought from AAA and I was going to buy snacks with a gift card I had gotten from my company. All set. Cheap date. We get to the counter, I order the tickets, and the kind clerk says, "I'm sorry. We don't accept those anymore. You can call this number to get a refund for what you paid for them". Ok. No problem. I can pay cash for that. $15 later, we are headed over to the concession stand to get some drinks (Don't tell, but I snuck in goldfish and graham crackers for RM to snack on). Alright, I'll use the gift card to pay for the drinks and this still shouldn't be too bad. I hand the clerk my card and..."I'm sorry. This card doesn't seem to be registered in our system". Really?!?! Ok. These should have been clear signs to us that this was not a good idea. Did I heed the signs? No. (On the bright side, the fact that I am so bad about reading such signals is a good indicator that I will never be the person standing on a street corner with a cardboard sign that says, "Jesus is coming. Look busy"). So, back to the clerk who is now asking me for cash and handing me back a worthless piece of plastic that I was supposed to have received as a token of appreciation from my job (perhaps the fact that the card did not work is a commentary from my employer about my performance. Nah. That's not it...). Ok. No problem. I'll pay with my debit card. $10 later and we head into the theater. Our timing was pretty good in that we missed most of the coming attractions and sat down right as the warm-up cartoon was coming on. I think it was called "Nessie and the Loch", but I don't know for sure. The reason I don't know for sure is that RM really had no interest in watching it, so I was doing my best song and dance to keep her quiet until the main attraction reared its head on the screen and I knew she'd love it! Yeah. Ok. Right.
A few minutes later, Nessie was done and the movie was about to begin. As soon as it started, she was mesmerized. She sat on my lap, looked at the screen, and I think "Alright. Here we go". We even got an "Ooooh" out of her when she realized it was Pooh. This sense of awe lasted approximately...oh, I don't know...8 seconds. Then, squirmy. Wait! Dat-da-da-DA! Goldfish to the rescue! She quickly settled back into my lap and snacked on her crackers. Ok. Good. This is working....3 minutes later...squirmy. Hold on! Goldfish cracker brought his trusty sidekick - Graham!!!! I whip out the graham crackers and I get another, "Ooooh" (Really?!?! The giant screen gets the same response as a graham cracker?). Great. That bought us a few more minutes. And by a few, I'd say another 3. Winnie the Pooh, I'd like you to meet Madame Squirms-A-Lot. So, Nicole and I take turns picking her up and walking around the side entrance to the theater (you know, that long aisle you walk down when you enter your theater while you hope there aren't too many people there only to turn the corner and see.......(what? fill in your own blank, you lazy bastard)). This worked for another few minutes until Madame realized there were lights on the floor and that these lights were not only in that entry aisle, but also all the way up the stairs that go all the way to the back of the theater. Sadly, this realization was the most exciting part of her afternoon. As soon as she saw the lights, we got our third and most emphatic "Ooooh" of the day out of her, as well as a few, "Loooook"(s) and other ramblings that, of course, happen at the top of her little lungs (which work quite well, thank you for asking). The lights on the floor were the single most tantalizing aspect of this adventure for her. She wanted to roam the entire theater and find out where all these lights went, and she would have gotten away with it too if it weren't for her meddling parents (you're welcome, fans of Scooby Doo). Us, being the curmudgeons that we are, picked her up and would not allow her to run up and down the stairs in the theater. She quickly let us know how she felt about that by expressing herself freely. And by freely, I mean loudly (Did I mention her lungs work quite well?). So, about 30 minutes into the movie, Nicole and I picked up our little Ebert and left. We didn't even get to see how it ended....well, actually, we didn't get to see how it started either, so I guess.... Anyway, that was $25 well spent. Yeah. Ok. Right.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Fishing
I know I have talked about it before, but I am a big fan of "The Deadliest Catch" on the Discovery Channel. Yes, Nicole thinks it's repetitive and the same stuff happens over and over again (they go out on a boat, they catch some crab, they get slammed with a winter storm, Keith blows his cool, and we have some cool shots of seagulls), but I LOVE the show. What I have come to recently figure out about myself, though, is that I not only love that show, but apparently it's fishing shows which involve some sort of danger or risk of injury that capture my attention. By that I mean, I'm not tuning in to ESPN to watch a fishing derby (I'd rather poke a fish hook through my eye) or watch some guys sit in a boat and talk about the types of lures they use to catch whatever the hell kind of fish they're going after that day (again, give me a hook). No. I'm talking about shows where somebody can get hurt, killed, or maimed in the act of fishing. My newest passion is Swamp People on the History channel. These guys are down in the Louisiana bayou hunting alligators. The way they catch them is by baiting a pole with raw chicken and waiting for the gators to bite. Now, if they do get a bite, that's when the games begin. These guys then try to pull the gator up to the surface and...wait for it...wait for it...they SHOOT HIM WITH A SHOTGUN!
Now, there are a couple of things that come to mind with this style of fishing. First of all, I don't know what kind of money there might be in alligator fishing (or as they say on the show, "huntin"), but this seems to be an expensive set up already: fuel for the boat (small boat, but still has a motor), chicken for the bait, and shotgun shells for your shotgun. I don't know much about the cost of any of those things other than the chicken, but I am sure as hell not feeding good chicken to a gator that I'm then going to shoot. Second, do these guys have workman's comp on these boats? And, if they do, what freaking insurance company thought it would be a good idea to underwrite them? And my final thought about it is, A SHOTGUN?!?!? REALLY?!?! Although, when I think about it, I don't really have a leg to stand on in questioning their use of a shotgun. The reason I say this (and come to think of it, maybe this is why I'm so completely infatuated with these crazy life threatening fishing shows), is because I have witnessed similarly unbelievable fishing tactics in my dad's village.
Ok, let me set the story. My dad was born and raised in Portugal in a small farming village smack dab in the middle of the country. It's not close to a beach, it's not close to a big city, and it's not close to anything resembling a highway. There are not movie theaters, department stores, or even grocery stores. My grandmother's television only got two stations - RTP 1 and RTP 2 and programming only ran for about 5 hours a day. Let's put it this way, as a teenager when my friends would get really excited because they were going to Portugal for a month, I would think to myself, "What?!?!? What could you possibly do there for a month?!?!"" Don't get me wrong, it was nice to visit my family, but after the first 15 minutes I was ready to head back to...well...anywhere. I wanted something to do and this village didn't, and still doesn't, have a whole lot there for entertainment. It does, however, have a concrete soccer field, a church, far too many roosters (who, by the way, take their job of waking people up at the ass crack of dawn too seriously) and two bars in a village of about 500 people. But the biggest attraction there in the summer was "O Rio" (The River). This was, essentially, the town beach. Now, when I say "The River" one might conjure up images of the mighty Mississippi or even the Connecticut River (if you want me to stay local) with their broad waterways, plenty of room for fishing, boating, swimming, etc. and, while I have not been to "The River" in over 20 years, I don't remember it that way at all. In fact, what I remember was closer to a husky, mucky stream with some rocks, water snakes, and a lot of dirt on the banks. You could jump off rocks, but you had to be careful about where you were jumping from because it would be very easy for you to land in area that wasn't deep enough for a frog to make a mighty leap. Long story short, this was The Place to be in the summer. The Riviera of Ribamondego (the name of my father's village).
Now, much like other bodies of water, people would turn to The River for food through fishing (see? The story is coming full circle now. Thanks for hanging in there). However, and this is where my infatuation with death defying feats of fishing was born, the fishermen here don't use poles or nets or even rocks to catch their fish. Nope. Not here. Here, fishermen choose a more testosterone laden, more powerful (insert cave man like grunt here), and immensely dangerous implement to catch their fish. Any guesses? Anyone? Anyone? No? Ok. They use sticks of dynamite. That's right. That's what I said. Dynamite. Now, the reason I know this is because one summer day while sitting on the porch and having a contest with my brother to see who could kill the most flies with one swing of the fly swatter, we heard "BOOOOOOM"! We paused and looked at each other and waited. And, of course, a few minutes later..."BOOOOOOM"! At that point, we ran inside and asked "WTF?" (Well, we didn't really say that. One, this happened in the 80's and text messaging wasn't invented yet. Two, the "F" in that phrase was punishable by death in my house so there is no way either one of us would ever say that word...in front of our parents). The response we got was, "Oh. That? They're just fishing". WHAT?!?!? Who fishes like that?!?!?! Who thinks that's a good idea?!?!? I mean, what happens? A couple of guys sit on the banks, throw in a stick, and wait for fully cooked fish to emerge from the megaton blast they just launched into The River? Can you just walk down to the banks and hire a couple of guys to blast your lunch out of the water? "Yes. I'll have the smelts for two. And please make sure they are blown to smithereens. Thanks." I don't know what the stats are for people getting hurt or maimed while fishing this way, but I have to believe it ranks right up there with the fishermen on the Bering Sea.
So, that's where I think my propensity for outrageous and dangerous fishing shows come from. Apparently, there is a new show in the works called, "Hillbilly Fishing" where they show folks reaching into the water and catching fish with their bare hands. Now, throw a couple of piranha in there for some excitement and you know I'm tuning in to watch that. Sorry, Nicole.
Now, there are a couple of things that come to mind with this style of fishing. First of all, I don't know what kind of money there might be in alligator fishing (or as they say on the show, "huntin"), but this seems to be an expensive set up already: fuel for the boat (small boat, but still has a motor), chicken for the bait, and shotgun shells for your shotgun. I don't know much about the cost of any of those things other than the chicken, but I am sure as hell not feeding good chicken to a gator that I'm then going to shoot. Second, do these guys have workman's comp on these boats? And, if they do, what freaking insurance company thought it would be a good idea to underwrite them? And my final thought about it is, A SHOTGUN?!?!? REALLY?!?! Although, when I think about it, I don't really have a leg to stand on in questioning their use of a shotgun. The reason I say this (and come to think of it, maybe this is why I'm so completely infatuated with these crazy life threatening fishing shows), is because I have witnessed similarly unbelievable fishing tactics in my dad's village.
Ok, let me set the story. My dad was born and raised in Portugal in a small farming village smack dab in the middle of the country. It's not close to a beach, it's not close to a big city, and it's not close to anything resembling a highway. There are not movie theaters, department stores, or even grocery stores. My grandmother's television only got two stations - RTP 1 and RTP 2 and programming only ran for about 5 hours a day. Let's put it this way, as a teenager when my friends would get really excited because they were going to Portugal for a month, I would think to myself, "What?!?!? What could you possibly do there for a month?!?!"" Don't get me wrong, it was nice to visit my family, but after the first 15 minutes I was ready to head back to...well...anywhere. I wanted something to do and this village didn't, and still doesn't, have a whole lot there for entertainment. It does, however, have a concrete soccer field, a church, far too many roosters (who, by the way, take their job of waking people up at the ass crack of dawn too seriously) and two bars in a village of about 500 people. But the biggest attraction there in the summer was "O Rio" (The River). This was, essentially, the town beach. Now, when I say "The River" one might conjure up images of the mighty Mississippi or even the Connecticut River (if you want me to stay local) with their broad waterways, plenty of room for fishing, boating, swimming, etc. and, while I have not been to "The River" in over 20 years, I don't remember it that way at all. In fact, what I remember was closer to a husky, mucky stream with some rocks, water snakes, and a lot of dirt on the banks. You could jump off rocks, but you had to be careful about where you were jumping from because it would be very easy for you to land in area that wasn't deep enough for a frog to make a mighty leap. Long story short, this was The Place to be in the summer. The Riviera of Ribamondego (the name of my father's village).
Now, much like other bodies of water, people would turn to The River for food through fishing (see? The story is coming full circle now. Thanks for hanging in there). However, and this is where my infatuation with death defying feats of fishing was born, the fishermen here don't use poles or nets or even rocks to catch their fish. Nope. Not here. Here, fishermen choose a more testosterone laden, more powerful (insert cave man like grunt here), and immensely dangerous implement to catch their fish. Any guesses? Anyone? Anyone? No? Ok. They use sticks of dynamite. That's right. That's what I said. Dynamite. Now, the reason I know this is because one summer day while sitting on the porch and having a contest with my brother to see who could kill the most flies with one swing of the fly swatter, we heard "BOOOOOOM"! We paused and looked at each other and waited. And, of course, a few minutes later..."BOOOOOOM"! At that point, we ran inside and asked "WTF?" (Well, we didn't really say that. One, this happened in the 80's and text messaging wasn't invented yet. Two, the "F" in that phrase was punishable by death in my house so there is no way either one of us would ever say that word...in front of our parents). The response we got was, "Oh. That? They're just fishing". WHAT?!?!? Who fishes like that?!?!?! Who thinks that's a good idea?!?!? I mean, what happens? A couple of guys sit on the banks, throw in a stick, and wait for fully cooked fish to emerge from the megaton blast they just launched into The River? Can you just walk down to the banks and hire a couple of guys to blast your lunch out of the water? "Yes. I'll have the smelts for two. And please make sure they are blown to smithereens. Thanks." I don't know what the stats are for people getting hurt or maimed while fishing this way, but I have to believe it ranks right up there with the fishermen on the Bering Sea.
So, that's where I think my propensity for outrageous and dangerous fishing shows come from. Apparently, there is a new show in the works called, "Hillbilly Fishing" where they show folks reaching into the water and catching fish with their bare hands. Now, throw a couple of piranha in there for some excitement and you know I'm tuning in to watch that. Sorry, Nicole.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
She's got legs
RM learned to walk a few months ago (sometime around her first birthday, although at that time she was still pushing around chairs as if they were walkers) and she quickly went from walking to running. At first, I thought, "Yay! She's walking!!" Like all doting mothers, we got out the video camera and taped her stumbling around for her first steps. She'd get up, take a step, and fall to the ground looking very pleased with herself. Slowly, as the days went by, she got a little bit better with walking and seemed to move a bit faster. Now, she moves pretty well and I find myself really, really wishing for the days when she wasn't mobile and I could go to the bathroom and not have an extra person walk in on me while I'm on the pot going, "Hiiiii". Gone are the days of happily sitting at a restaurant with her in her high chair happily playing with a toy. Gone are the days of going to a store and putting her in the seat part of the carriage to have her happily sit while we did grocery shopping. Instead, I am now dealing with the days of her figuring out new and improved ways of escaping from the various security restraints installed on shopping carts, high chairs, booster seats, and whatever contraption I can come up with to keep her strapped in and sitting still long enough for me to do, oh I don't know, ANYTHING!....Ok, I admit it. I'm bitching quite a bit. While she is definitely moving much more quickly and more often than she did before and it's making me realize how completely out of shape I am and how I probably should have participated a little more completely in the running class I had taken, there are some bright sides to this phase of her life.
Point 1: If she continues to stumble and spontaneously loose her balance, fall over, and laugh about it as she does now, she'll be very well suited for college life. Let's face it, my daughter walks around like she's had a few too many dates with Jose Cuervo and his friend, JD, except she has the sunny disposition of someone who's only met a nice Chardonnay or Pinot (and by sunny disposition, I'm talking about the joy that comes in the middle of enjoying Pinot's company. Not the agony that follows the morning after. You know what I'm talking about even if you're a little ashamed to admit it) not the belligerent, angry slurring that comes from dancing with Margaritas (although RM does like to dance on tables...hmm). Back to my original point. She walks like a drunk, talks like a drunk (mostly because I can't understand 90% of the babble that comes from her), and has the mood swings of a drunk, but is a much cheaper date. I usually watch her falling about the living room and reminisce about my own college years and know my daughter is destined to walk (or stumble) in my footsteps. Hello, Apple. I'm your tree.
Point 2: Her ability to ambulate freely, has shown us that she is relatively clever and has a fabulous sense of humor. I enter into evidence Exhibit A - while at the dentist's office, she wanted to walk into the exam rooms to see what was going on. I strategically placed myself at the entrance of the hallway which would prevent her from doing just that. She looked around the room, ran to the toy area, chucked a toy over to my seat and, when I went to retrieve that toy, she made a dash for the hallway while laughing like, well, laughing like a drunk school girl (I seem to be a bit preoccupied with the drink today...hm...time for happy hour? Oh wait. She doesn't have a fake ID yet. Damn.). Exhibit B - while sitting at home on the couch one evening, Nicole placed a glass of water on the end table. RM crawled up on the couch and was playing for a bit, spotted the cup, picked it up, ran like a ninja down the length of the couch, looked at Nicole and poured the cup right down Nicole's shirt. Again, while laughing. Now, there are a couple of things with that story that throw me for a loop. First, she was able to carry the cup down the couch without spilling it and managed to pour it down Nicole's shirt in a very controlled way. Secondly, the girl can't walk a straight line on a solid surface, but put her on couch cushions with a glass of water and suddenly she has the balance and agility of a ninja on a tightrope?!?!? Are you kidding me?!?!
Point 3: It has helped us realize, quite quickly, that RM is going to be a daredevil because her new found gadget legs not only let her run, but they also help her climb....up....everything. She actually managed to walk up a 6 foot tall slide the other day. Which again I find perplexing that she can't walk on solid ground, but can manage to run up a slide?!?! I am pretty sure this is all evidence to suggest to me that she is the 5th member of the Fantastic Four and she has some crazy anti-gravity powers or something. Maybe if she has some powers that help her defy gravity, she can share some with dear old mom to help with the fact that most of my body parts from the waist up are not really located from the waist up anymore. That "waist line" that used to be a divider like the equator, has become a real grey area where things are able to pass freely without a passport.
Point 1: If she continues to stumble and spontaneously loose her balance, fall over, and laugh about it as she does now, she'll be very well suited for college life. Let's face it, my daughter walks around like she's had a few too many dates with Jose Cuervo and his friend, JD, except she has the sunny disposition of someone who's only met a nice Chardonnay or Pinot (and by sunny disposition, I'm talking about the joy that comes in the middle of enjoying Pinot's company. Not the agony that follows the morning after. You know what I'm talking about even if you're a little ashamed to admit it) not the belligerent, angry slurring that comes from dancing with Margaritas (although RM does like to dance on tables...hmm). Back to my original point. She walks like a drunk, talks like a drunk (mostly because I can't understand 90% of the babble that comes from her), and has the mood swings of a drunk, but is a much cheaper date. I usually watch her falling about the living room and reminisce about my own college years and know my daughter is destined to walk (or stumble) in my footsteps. Hello, Apple. I'm your tree.
Point 2: Her ability to ambulate freely, has shown us that she is relatively clever and has a fabulous sense of humor. I enter into evidence Exhibit A - while at the dentist's office, she wanted to walk into the exam rooms to see what was going on. I strategically placed myself at the entrance of the hallway which would prevent her from doing just that. She looked around the room, ran to the toy area, chucked a toy over to my seat and, when I went to retrieve that toy, she made a dash for the hallway while laughing like, well, laughing like a drunk school girl (I seem to be a bit preoccupied with the drink today...hm...time for happy hour? Oh wait. She doesn't have a fake ID yet. Damn.). Exhibit B - while sitting at home on the couch one evening, Nicole placed a glass of water on the end table. RM crawled up on the couch and was playing for a bit, spotted the cup, picked it up, ran like a ninja down the length of the couch, looked at Nicole and poured the cup right down Nicole's shirt. Again, while laughing. Now, there are a couple of things with that story that throw me for a loop. First, she was able to carry the cup down the couch without spilling it and managed to pour it down Nicole's shirt in a very controlled way. Secondly, the girl can't walk a straight line on a solid surface, but put her on couch cushions with a glass of water and suddenly she has the balance and agility of a ninja on a tightrope?!?!? Are you kidding me?!?!
Point 3: It has helped us realize, quite quickly, that RM is going to be a daredevil because her new found gadget legs not only let her run, but they also help her climb....up....everything. She actually managed to walk up a 6 foot tall slide the other day. Which again I find perplexing that she can't walk on solid ground, but can manage to run up a slide?!?! I am pretty sure this is all evidence to suggest to me that she is the 5th member of the Fantastic Four and she has some crazy anti-gravity powers or something. Maybe if she has some powers that help her defy gravity, she can share some with dear old mom to help with the fact that most of my body parts from the waist up are not really located from the waist up anymore. That "waist line" that used to be a divider like the equator, has become a real grey area where things are able to pass freely without a passport.
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