My daughter-in-law Ali just sent me this lovely picture, of she and my son in front of the waterfall out behind our cabin in Calais. Not living in the cabin is really hard on us, certainly more so on Janet than on me, but knowing that these two are bringing so much life (and soon even more life) and love and joy to the place makes us very happy.
The other night I went down to watch my beloved daughter-in-law Ali McGuirk perform at Hugo's in downtown Montpelier. She has a monthly gig there, among her other performances in the area, which is a lovely opportunity to watch her perform. As usual, she was wonderful, and she's back by a very tight band.
Just posting another picture from yesterday's get-together. It was wonderful to see Garrett while he's in town, and, as always, spending time with my son is everything to me.
Just as Taylor Swift has her Swifties, Mothman has his Mothies. My nephew Garrett swung by the state on a visit, and he and my son popped out to the cabin (and lunch at the Maple Corners Store), As it turns out, they all wore wearing Mothman shirts.
On Monday Janet and I were able to meet Gary and Ali downtown for dinner and a treat, which is always a blessing. Once the kids moved to Montpelier it became possible to see them quite a bit, and, which every parent of adult kids tells you, it's such a gift. It was a lovely moment. Sadly, Montpelier has not truly recovered from the flood, so what was once a very vibrant downtown buzz is pretty quiet, especially since one of our foundation haunts, the Langdon Street Tavern, shut down.
Unlike spending fifty-five painful years rooting for the Minnesota Vikings, watching the CFL and attending CFL games only brings happiness. I guess the closest that the Vikings-induced pain would be being a Hamilton Tiger-Cats fan, as they currently are nursing the longest streak since their last Grey Cup win (it was last century/millennium). Maybe this is why all of my friends who I introduce to the CFL automatically become Tiger-Cats fans - I mean, how can you not love them? They have a cool (and non-sensical) team song and a band and a sing along in the fourth quarter and cool uniforms, FFS! This was the third time that I've attended a game at Hamilton, and if it weren't a ten hour drive I probably would have just gotten season tickets by now. Although, using that logic, why I haven't purchased Alouettes season tickets is even more of a mystery since I dragged nineteen people to Montreal games to the twenty-plus games I've attended there. One time I pitched the idea to my friends, with the notion that we'd buy two season tickets, I'd go to everyone and they'd cycle in and out. Shamefully, they didn't understand the brilliance of the scheme.
I just wanted to post a great picture of Gary and Ali that I snapped the other night at the wonderful retirement party that my friends threw me the other night at Queen City Brewery. Their speeches were so heartfelt and loving (and clearly far effusive than can be justified by my meagre virtues), that in the end I was not in the position to thank them. at least collectively, I talked to everyone face to face, as thoroughly as they deserved. I gather pictures and have more to say about this - and the other party - later. I feel very loved and appreciated.
My son sent this picture along the other day and it just brought me more joy than I can express. It's his wonderful wife Ali, and they're grabbing lunch at Sarducci's (which is our favorite place to eat). As a parent you, even if you're trying not to do so, imagine who your kid will marry - I could not, in my wildest imaginings, have created a better fit for my son. She is amazing.
As if I needed more bookmarks to emphasize my age, I experienced another one the night - although in this case it was a joyous one. On Thursday Janet and I took my son and his wife Ali out to celebrate his 38th birthday. On his card I thanked him for giving me my all-time favorite day, but also another 13,878 days that made me almost as happy. I am so proud of the man he's become, compassionate and responsible.
Friday was Janet's birthday, so we headed out of town for the day. We both like Manchester, down in southern Vermont, and so this has become our go-to place for close getaways. Mainly, I was taking her there to treat her at Northshire Bookstore, but also to grab a great meal. It was an absolutely lovely time, and we're already talking about what we'll be doing on her birthday in Sicily next year.
As it turns out, stacking the forty-pound bags of pellets in my basement is easier than I thought: I just need to call my son. Being a good soul, he's worried about me carrying the heavy bags in by myself and always offers to help, although I've tended to put aside his offers through a serious of lame excuses, at least until I've (over a period of about two months) carried them in on my own. I suppose it's vanity on my part, but also a sincere desire to not be a burden on others (yes, my father left me quite insane on that front). However, in the end, his desire to help out won out. One day he and his friend Seth showed up and in no time at all managed to carry in 1.8 tons. A couple days later he showed up again, although he did allow me to help (and that's about all I can say about my effort, my weakening legs making any sort of equal partnership impossible). We loaded a ton in about an hour, which, left to my own devices, would have taken me at least a week and a half.
Janet snapped this picture at Ali's show the other night at Hugo's. G3 has always been beautiful, thankfully taking after his mother and not his ogre father.
Yesterday was a pretty amazing day, which featured the usual Friday morning Breakfast of Excellence (except this time in Hardwick), and then a trip to the Museum of Everyday Life (more on that later), and then a trip to the Adamant Friday Night Cookout, and then a trip downtown to see Ali perform at Hugo's. My heart is pretty full. Hugo's, which used to be on State Street, has now moved around the corner to the far end of Main Street, which gives it a very different vibe. Ali was performing up on the third floor, which left some climbing of stairs, but it was well worth the effort. She had just started what they're calling a mini-residency, which means she'll be hosting shows on a number of Fridays, including next week (which means I'll be there once again). The crowd was very appreciative. So, if you're downtown Montpelier next Friday be sure to drop by Hugo's.
Here's a great picture of two underappreciated gentlemen: Mordecai "Three Finger" Brown and Nick "Eleven Finger" Myers. Nick is my cousin, and a great guy who I wish lived a lot closer. He, like my brother, is trapped in the ravenous maw that is Indianapolis, and, much like light in a black hole, it's difficult to escape from it. It will take serious dark magic to get either of them to visit when we've moved overseas (although their imminently superior better halves may make them see the error of their ways). One peculiarity (of many) of our relationship is that I send along the names and cemeteries of famous (or not so famous) baseball players who are buried in Indiana, and Nick magically tracks them down very quickly. Here he is at the graveside of Hall of Famer, Mordecai "Three Finger" Brown. Mordecai could throw an almost unhittable pitch, made possible by his hand being destroyed in a farming accident (kids, don't try this at home). I'll celebrate more of Nick's adventures in later posts.
Another picture of G and Ali's road trip west, I'm assuming somewhere in West Virginia (it's certainly not Indiana).
G and Ali are heading west to visit his mother, which always makes me happy, both for him and for her. They've been sending me pictures from along the way, which, of course, makes me even happier. Here's a shot that they sent me from the wilds of West Virginia. They look very happy, which makes me the happiest.
Was I was gone I missed some terribly dreadful weather here in Vermont. It was in the mid-90s, while it was in the 40s in Alberta for some of the time. All I experienced of it was coming back to a stifling 84 inside the cabin (slowly our weak air conditioner is making things livable, to the relief of the cats). My daughter-in-law Ali sent me this picture of my son. They had tracked down a little stream to help survive the heat.
I love this picture of my daughter-in-law Ali that popped up in Seven Days. I told her she looked like a femme fatale from a classic film noir. I love that kid.
Yesterday I finished reading Vida Scudder's autobiography, On Journey. I included a Family label on this post, although I think that's a stretch. Yes, there aren't that many Scudders in the world, but I think our lines of the Scudder crew veered apart back in England. Still, I still claim her, mainly because, as I say way too often, she's the other socialist Scudder (socialism is definitely a recessive gene in our broader family). She certainly led an amazing life, from being born in India (as so many Scudders have over the years, which is why I think I was genetically determined to go to India), but then leaving early on after the drowning death of her missionary father, to eventually being a college professor and author and socialist and having her own feast day on the Episcopalian calendar. She was also lived a committed relationship with Florence Converse for decades, so I guess she has so many qualities that the radical right would hate today. I think their relationship was a well-known fact at the time, although it's handled gently in the autobiography, which I completely understand and respect for multiple reasons. However, she also doesn't dodge the reality of their relationship entirely, but instead handles it in a very understated and casual fashion. In this passage she discusses her living arrangements with her mother and with Florence: "So we settled at Wellesley (gs - where Vida taught); and it was lucky that the house had grown bigger than first planned, for neither my mother nor I wished seclusion. Someone always shared our home, and in 1919. Florence Converse and her mother came to make one family with us. Miss Converse had for years shared my life in all ways except in living under the same roof. Now that Joy was given us, and we have never been separated since."
There are so many beautiful passages, ranging from her views on socialism to faith to even her cats. Here's one of my favorites, reflecting up on her view of immortality:
"I fear I have never really made that Act. Immortality does not interest me. Stress on duration seems to me the note of an imprisoned mind. Now, this fleeting instant, I experience the Eternal and it suffices me:
'He who kissed a joy as it flies/Lives in eternity's sunrise.'
Survival? It is to me an unreal conception. Moreover, by what right do I demand from Deity a privilege which I have no reason to expect my cats to share? Or the roses in the garden? Though looking at the matter from another angle, I should not be surprised to find that all the roses which have ever bloomed on earth, blossom forever in the Paradise of God."
Maybe I'll come back to this post and amend it later, adding more of her observations on life.
It's sad that she doesn't receive more attention. Her book Socialism and Character is queued up for one of my next reads.
I can't imagine a phone call that would ever give me more joy than a random phone call from my asking if I want to get together. I've made this point before, but having an adult child who wants to spend time with you is an extraordinary gift. We met up at the Langdon Street Tavern for a burger, and when I left my heart was very full.
