On the Eve of a Lockout-- Seriously, Hockey? Seriously?!

I am livid.

How is it be possible that two sets of grown men can't get the idiotic dollar signs out of their eyeballs and figure out their differences so the NHL can PLAY HOCKEY? That is what they do, they PLAY HOCKEY. It's not rocket science. So compromise and come up with something, anything, so you don't leave your 42 fans out in the cold again this season.

Pardon me. I'm angry. One of my favorite things is hockey. I love the NHL. I love the NY Rangers. And without it this season, I might pull out my hair or strap skates on Merwin and send him out to the Mystic River.

The NHL experienced a lock out that canceled the entire 2004-2005 season, and it was devastating. I was in the toddler stages of my passion for the sport, so successfully preoccupied my time with more appropriate things like tuning into the CW for high school dramas and doing crossword puzzles on my pink striped futon. But it left a distinct void, and I fear that this time around, it might be more like an endless chasm of emptiness.

Basketball, you say? Sure, if they add a dude who moves around on top of the hoop to make dramatic saves with every part of his body. Oh yeah and playoff baseball could be fun if players started cross-checking each other as they round the bases and maybe more than one guy would move at a time.

The reality is they have until September 15th to come to an agreement and prevent a delayed (or canceled) season, so there is time. But more importantly, the sides are their own endless chasm apart and it doesn't look promising.

Because of this, I am crafting a list of things I could undertake to bring a sliver of joy during these dark times:

• Start a dog photography business. I have the experience.
• Collect old designs of dollar bills. I, um, heard this is way cool.
• Start marketing my homemade paper snowflakes on eBay.
• Become an avid curling fan, perfecting my sliding lunge thingy and get good at watching people sweep ice instead of watching people skate on ice.
• Bodybuilding (HAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH)
• Start a Barkery. Yes, I said Barkery.

Additional suggestions accepted and encouraged. In the meantime, cross your fingers they come to a consensus or you'll be forced to buy snowflakes in bulk.

The Overpass

The Overpass

WS Merwin

You know how you
will be looking for somewhere
and come by surprise to a long cement bridge
sailing out over a wide
cement ditch carved deep into a hill
between whose banks the traffic is rushing
in both directions

in what is now the air above it
there was once a pasture
beside dark woods
I saw it
and a swamp near the first trees
with a pump house hidden
in low green blackberry bushes
and mist coming off the upland marsh
first thing in the morning

and on the cold hill
a man and a boy
planting potatoes
with a mule keeping ahead of them
climbing the furrows
through the morning smelling of
wet grass
none of them seeing
the white bird fly over


I love this poem. I love the sense of nostalgia. I love the cement juxtaposed with morning mist on the marsh. I love how you know this is Merwin looking back on a moment earlier in his life but you don't know it's Merwin looking back on a moment earlier in his life. I love how the poem's images focus on placement in space and direction--things above us like a bridge and the air, but also things below us like the ditch and the potatoes are constantly thread throughout the piece. I love even the silliest of things like how the white bird at the end circles back to the title creating two overpasses so drastically different in their meanings. I love the sadness of it all but how, as a reader, we're not told to be sad. We're just sort of sad, probably in the same way the narrator was when he came upon this place, searching for something that has since been replaced.

Weekend Bliss

Big shout out to Lori, who hosted Simon, me and even Merwin (the dog, not the poet, although that would've been pretty cool if the poet was there. Lori, what the heck??) at her family's island oasis in Northern Maine for the weekend. Despite arriving amid a feisty thunderstorm, it was easy to slip into the relaxed pace of morning coffee watching the loons, boat floating, and some of the most silky smooth water to dive into.

Merwin loved it too, of course. Despite falling off the boat (his fault), he seems to finally like swimming. He won't be entering the doggy Olympics anytime soon but it's nice to see him give it a try even if his style leaves a little (a lot) to be desired.

Sorry for the blurriness...not tech saavy.

Organized Chaos

I'm a bit of a type-A organization freak in many parts of my life, including at work. Years ago, a boss required typed to-do lists at the beginning of every week and despite my reluctancy at the time, the idea stuck. First thing Monday mornings I type up my tasks and throughout the week, I amend the list as new directives come in, emails clog the inbox, and other work demands attention. I've been um, avoiding a few things over the summer and am now faced with this:

There are some proactive ways to deal with this. Like, you know, doing work at work as opposed to doing things like blogging....right.  Happy weekend!

Evidence File

Merwin gets really excited when he receives a new toy, so I like to get him new toys. Problem is, he doesn't need new toys.  He doesn't chew them up or rip out their squeakers like a lot of other dogs, so they pile up. The stack was growing out of its neat little toy basket and up the wall, so I did an analysis. The results are in--I'm a lunatic.

Breaking News

As many of you may know, our dog is not allowed to wear clothes. As you also may know, this is not my rule. I believe that when it is -25 degrees outside and the poor thing has to traipse around the neighborhood naked, he is in need of a sweater. Another household member does not agree. It was a struggle to get permission for Merwin to properly celebrate Simon's graduation by donning suitable attire. Needless to say, I was shocked when Simon sent along this photo and said he would be ecstatic if Merwin wore this costume. Two dogs holding a box. "It's hysterical," he says. I would say that I'm surprised, but I'm not.

Living in the Moment Part Two

I've noted this idea in the past--the one that says we constantly look backwards or forwards, pondering incidents that happened or wondering where we are headed.  On the other hand, dogs don't have that capacity. They live now, pursuing only "that brilliant dragonfly called pleasure." Fine, they have smaller brains and less complicated thought processes (although some days I wonder what I have going on up there), but why can't we try this? I think truly happy people must be talented at savoring moments as they happen and experiencing the things we strive for but often don't realize we have until they are behind us. By then we can only look back and wonder where we were.

I think Maxine Kumin's poem rather nicely and simply sums it up.  And we get some nice images in the process.

In the Moment

Maxine Kumin

Some days the pond

wears a glaze of yellow pollen

Some days it is clean-swept.

The trout leap up, feasting on insects.

A modest size, it sits

like a soup tureen in a surround of white

pine where Rosie, 14 lbs., some sort 

of rescued terrier, part bat

(the ears), part anteater (the nose),

shyly paddles in the shallows

for salamanders, frogs

and little painted turtles.  She logged

ten years down south in a kennel, secured

in a crate at night.  Her heart murmur

will carry her off, no one can say when.

Meanwhile she is rapt in

the moment, our hearts leap up observing.

Dogs live in the moment, pursuing

that brilliant dragonfly called pleasure.

Only we, sunstruck in this azure

day, must drag along the backpacks

of our past, must peer into the bottom muck

of what's to come, scanning the plot

for words that say another year, or not.

Reprinted from The Writer's Almanac

Miss Me?

Just in case you were craving a dose of Merwin (the dog), see below. This photo originated while Merwin frolicked on Martha's Vineyard as we frolicked in Europe, but we were on the island this weekend and he revisited his swimming endeavors. Keep in mind that prior to receiving this picture via email while in Spain, I've only known this dog as one who hates water.  I also didn't know he started smoking cigars.

A Poem for a Monday

     A Boat
     Margaret Atwood

     Evening comes on and the hills thicken;

     red and yellow bleaching out of the leaves.
     The chill pines grow their shadows.

     Below them the water stills itself,
     a sunset shivering in it.
     One more going down to join the others.

     Now the lake expands
     and closes in, both.

     The blackness that keeps itself
     under the surface in daytime
     emerges from it like mist
     or as mist.

     Distance vanishes, the absence
     of distance pushes against the eyes.

     There is no seeing the lake,
     only the outlines of the hills
     which are almost identical,

     familiar to me as sleep,
     shores unfolding upon shores
     in their contours of slowed breathing.

     It is touch I go by,
     the boat like a hand feeling
     through shoals and among
     dead trees, over the boulders
     lifting unseen, layer
     on layer of drowned time falling away.

     This is how I learned to steer
     through darkness by no stars.

     To be lost is only a failure of memory.

Notes From The Travel Journal--Bordeaux!

We rather reluctantly left the Casa but were nonetheless excited to cross the border and settle into the Chateau Lavergne Dulong 20 minutes outside of Bordeaux, France. On our first full day, we headed to Saint Emilion, a tiny town known for its wine but also brimming with historic Romanesque churches and ruins along tiny (steep!) stone streets. On a winery tour we learned that many of the nearby caves that store wine were excavated in the second century to provide stone for construction of the surrounding towns--Saint Emilion among them.

We also spent some time exploring Bordeaux itself, although it happened to be a dreary day, so we popped into a few shops, climbed the bell tower of the Saint-Andre Cathedral then enjoyed a mid-afternoon cocktail as the most severe rain drenched the streets. While not quite as impressive as Barcelona, the city provided a nice blend of charm, history and a modern vibe as well as another round of delicious gelato from Amorino.

For the final full day of the trip, we took a drive about an hour west to Cap Ferret, a beach town on the Atlantic. After days inland, it was nice to catch a glimpse of the Atlantic and savor moulles frites (ew) dockside.  We seemed to enjoy climbing things on the trip, so hiked up Cap Ferret's lighthouse for views of both the bay and ocean. What a surprisingly cute seaside town--what seems to be the French version of Cape Cod. A highlight for sure!

Bon voyage, France and Spain!!!

Notes From The Travel Journal--The Pyrenees!

When Simon and I were exploring destinations for our honeymoon, I came across the website for the Casa de San Martin, a converted monastery tucked in Northern Spain's Pyrenees Mountains. We ended up in Mexico then, but the idea of the Casa stuck. As we were sketching out the itinerary for this trip with Kristi and James a few months ago, I recalled the Casa and we re-routed things to include a stop.

Needless to say, I was a bit worried I had derailed our adventures based on a few website photos. The worries continued the morning we packed up our things in Barcelona and grabbed our rental VW Golf for a road trip into the middle of nowhere. It started out a bit rough, with James suffering from food poisoning on the road. While three of us made a stop in the cute hillside town of Ainsa for lunch and a stretch, he utilized Ainsa's parking lot to hurl.

View from the town of Ainsa

But the scenery quickly became more and more spectacular as we drove further into the Pyrenees.  Finally, as per the Casa's directions, we turned onto a gravelly dirt road and jostled our way up the mountainside. We were briefly stopped by a cow on the path and slowed around some curves that nearly sent the Golf's wheels sliding down the side of the mountains.  It was slightly harrowing, and I could feel the skepticism growing, both within myself and my comrades.  But then there was a break in the trees and across the valley, we saw this:

Casa de San Martin hugs the mountainside

Two days of pure relaxation followed. It's nearly impossible to explain the beauty of the Casa, the graciousness of our host, Mario, and the absolute peace we felt while there. Simon and I ventured off the grounds for a brief hike at Ordesa National Park but other than that, we enjoyed tranquil sunsets with our favorite Chardonnay, hammock naps, and exploring an abandoned village behind the property.  We will go back.  I recommend that you join us.

View from our room

Roaming the grounds

Cow!	Hiking at Ordesa

Notes From The Travel Journal--Barcelona!

It's hard to believe our trip to Spain and France was over a month ago, but it was such a fabulous experience that I feel the need to do a re-cap (or a few re-caps).

We traveled with our buddies Kristi and James who are a) some of the most patient people we know as evidenced in both the planning process and with how well they handled me for ten days straight and b) the perfect travel partners in crime.

One of the first exciting moments of the trip came as we boarded our 747 at Logan. We splurged for "upper deck" seats and were quite excited to climb stairs ON A PLANE! Despite some airport sprinting through Charles de Gaulle, we missed our connection but landed in Barcelona about 3 hours behind schedule and arrived at our hotel in time to nap before dinner.

Barcelona is an absolutely amazing city, and I was surprised how much I loved it as I tend to prefer more rural travel. It's cosmopolitan but charming and full of historic buildings, windy streets with quaint shops, and scrumptious food. We stayed in the Barri Gotic neighborhood which featured one of the oldest cathedrals, lively plazas, and adorable tapas restaurants tucked into mazes of alleys. During our three days in the city, we explored a Piccaso museum, rode the Teleferic tram (eek) for a bird's eye view of Barcelona, marveled at the Gaudi in the Parc Guell, and stuffed ourselves with Catalan delights. It was a challenge to head off into the mountains towards our next stop!

Busy street in the Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter)

View of Barcelona from Parc Guell

Catedral

Crooked Gaudi, crooked me