Approaching Front

Joppa Flats

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Hawk In The Bed

If you were hoping for a naughty post, forget about it.

I was sting in my living room this morning reading the paper and drinking some coffee when something flashed outside the window, just in my peripheral vision. It was large and brown and for a moment I thought it might be a large bird, possibly a raptor, but tossed that though out -- why would a large bird be in my front bed? A few minutes went by and I was goo-gooing and ga-gaing with Child Three when I heard this funny, high pitched noise, outside the house, in the front bed.

I looked out the window, and saw a hawk, sitting amongst the rhododendrons, with its wings somewhat down and out. I ran upstairs to get the other kids and Mrs. Agricola and managed to show Child One the hawk before he took off across the street. I have no idea what he was doing in the bed. The wings down and out were definitely some sort of display, but he was all alone. Whatever it was it was cool, and I've seen this hawk before, or at least the same kind (I'm having trouble identifying it), so it is definitely a neighbor. I hope to see it again soon.

The Contraption

This evening, my kids built The Contraption. Comprised of paper towel tubes, a broken down tea bag box and an industrial thread spool (I have no idea where that came from!). They ran a little soccer ball eraser through it and had tons of fun.

Why we buy toys for the kids I'm not sure, because left to their own devices they come up with incredible things like The Contraption and it entertains them for hours. The Contraption is still set up in their room, and they will be playing with it come 6 AM. Now this post is not completely about The Contraption, though it does provide entree to talk about a post I read on Catskill Cottage Seed about intuition. Written by my Twitter-friend Richard Reeve it asked the following question:

The question this raises for me: does our education system beat out of us our ability to play? “Stop the day dreaming and do your workbook!” Perhaps it’s wrong to think that daydreaming is nothing but an escape. It’s a disservice to our capability to squash one of the four psychological functions.

I commented there, and believe this, because I see it in my town and neighborhood that the beating begins before kids hit the schools. Kids are running to this class and that class then to this play-date to that one then to this party and then to that party. They have zero unstructured time. Perhaps it's our lack of parenting chops, but our kids, while in some classes, sometimes, have lots of time to play in the mud and muck around in the backyard hunting for rocks and sticks, build forts, play in the sandbox and build The Contraption in their room. We let them be kids. We let them play. We let them explore. We try to stay out of their hair (this a two way street, to be honest). It's a joy to watch and I think they'll be better served in the long run.

February Train Ride

Democrats & Taxes

"Make no mistake, tax cheaters cheat us all, and the IRS should enforce our laws to the letter." --then-Sen. Tom Daschle on 7 May 1998

Somehow, I don't think Tom Daschle (nor Timthy Geithner, nor Nancy Killefer) will be pursued to the fullest extent of the law. His erstwhile buddies in the senate were tripping over themselves to tell us what an honest, good and noble character he is. It's sickening as a private citizen to watch these shenanigans unfold. I know that if I owed that much money, or even a small percentage of Daschle's default, that the IRS would put a lien on my house, garnish my wages and possibly even put me in jail. There are truly two systems in this country and it has nothing to do with race. There are those of us with no connections and no suction in DC and then there are those folks who toil(ed) in the hypocritical and increasingly amoral cesspool that is our national capital.

Increasingly I get the feeling that we live in an oligarchy and it makes me nauseous. Our elected officials treat us like little kids, too stupid to come in from the rain and in need of perpetual care. Towards this end our activities, behaviors and desires must all be proscribed. The Oligarchs however get to do what they want, when they want, how they want and erstwhile or not they are defended by their peers.

The whole Daschle debacle reminds of something I used to hear while living in Brooklyn. There was a construct that started "Oh, he's a good guy, but . . ." But, he killed Frankie's uncle, or cheats on his wife, or hits his kids. "Tome Daschle is a good guy but he cheats on his taxes while excoriating those of who want to try and keep as much of our own money as possible."

John Updike, RIP

She had on a kind of dirty-pink - - beige maybe, I don't know -- bathing suit with a little nubble all over it and, what got me, the straps were down. They were off her shoulders looped loose around the cool tops of her arms, and I guess as a result the suit had slipped a little on her, so all around the top of the cloth there was this shining rim. If it hadn't been there you wouldn't have known there could have been anything whiter than those shoulders. With the straps pushed off, there was nothing between the top of the suit and the top of her head except just her, this clean bare plane of the top of her chest down from the shoulder bones like a dented sheet of metal tilted in the light. I mean, it was more than pretty. (from A&P)

Winter Sun, Boston

Real Winter

I've been told that the Inuit have 7 words for snow. Icelanders have a word for a volcano that erupts beneath a glacier and causes a flood once the glacier wall gives way (hlaup). I wonder if those cultures have a word for real winter. This winter is the real deal. Granted, we've had many bluebird, days, but we have had lots of snow -- the banks of snow at the end of my driveway are up to my shoulder. We've also had lots of cold: 30 F feels downright balmy.

I'm not complaining. I actually like the extreme weather (not like tornadoes or Cat 5 hurricanes) but cold and snow in the winter, and heat in the summer fascinate me. They change how we interact with our world, how we function and take us out of life's everyday sameness. If you think about it, life between 35 F and 80 F is very pleasant, very easy to deal with. When you start to creep up on the high end or dip below the low end, things start to get tougher, more interesting, a bit less comfortable. Couple temps beyond this range with precipitation, humidity (or lack thereof in winter) and we are forced to adjust, and compensate even more.

Unsettled, harsher weather reminds us that we dwell in a sometimes tough place, and that despite heating and air conditioning we are still subject to nature's vagaries when we leave our cocoons. I'm looking forward to spring (who doesn't?) but I enjoy what is happening now, and permit real winter to remind me where I am, and what I am.

Traveling With Kids

Last weekend Mrs. Agricola and I packed up the family and schlepped to Logan International Airport to fly to Houston to visit my brother and his family for the Christening of his youngest daughter. Three kids all 5 and under, on a 4.5 hour flight can be a bit daunting, I must confess, and we approach flying with some trepidation. That said, we do fly fairly regularly for a family. My oldest, Child One, has been on many a flight with multiple trips to Chicago, Tampa/St. Pete and now a pair of flights into Bush International. Her brother, Child Two, has been twice to each of these places as well (if my counting is correct).

DVDs on the Mac Book help to pass the time and keep little people occupied. I'd never get a DVD player in my car (like the trip to Cape Cod requires video-sedation . . . ) but on a four-plus-hour flight, it's a Godsend. The thing that helped me more than anything else, however, was seeing the utter joy and excitement that my little ones (at least the mobile and speaking C1 & C2) demonstrated when they saw planes on the tarmac outside of the terminal.

At that moment they knew were in for something cool: flying in a big jet, way up high in the sky to go see their cool aunt, uncle and cousins. The wonder of it all pumped them and me up. I remember being a kid and being so excited to get on a plane. Those days are long gone, but having kids of my own helps me to recapture some of that wonder and remove some of the drudgery that is modern air travel.

Rothkoesque

Farewell, 2008

Two-thousand-and-eight was a wonderful and strange year. We welcomed the arrival of Child Three (wonderful!). Something that I'd thought would happen in 2009 happened right at the end of the year. It is what it is and we're moving on. I'm looking forward to 2009 and excited about the possibilities. Mainly, I'm eagerly anticipating watching my children grow and change and helping them as they do. My family is what gives me the greatest joy in this world and if I make any resolutions this year (which I usually don't) it's to be a good husband and a good father and always work to get better at both.

Happy new year to all.

Ever onward.

Death With Your Cornflakes

My little ones saw this morning's Globe front page and asked why the girl was wrapped up. I said that she was dead. "How did she die?" "From a bomb." "What's a bomb?" "A thing that explodes." "What comes from the bomb?" "Metal." I've got to be more careful with the paper. This is the second time in the past 4 months or so that there have been dead children on the front page of the Globe. I support the right of papers to print what they want, but it's tricky when you have to explain to children about dead children -- particularly when they die in a conflict the roots of which confuse most adults.

On a political note, why do the American papers never publish pictures of dead Israeli children above the fold?

Merry Christmas

The Tradition Continues

The decorated version of this year's gingerbread house. Mainly decorated by the kids with minimal parental oversight. Last year's, pre-decoration.

First Haircut

I took Child 2 for his first haircut, ever, today. I have to admit that I was a bit sad to do it, but he needed it cut. He looked like a kid who'd been raised by wolves and been living in the wilderness for his first three years. It was fun, but it was time. He cleans up very well. He endured with minimal fussing and zero tears. It really feels as if he's moved into the realm of big boys now.

I don't like to put pics of my kids on the web, you'll just to trust me.

Too Spicy

I made dinner the other night and forgot my audience. I grilled some salt and pepper crusted chicken that was a bit too peppery for Child 1 & 2. Child 2 frequently says that things are "too spicy." This can be anything from salt-and-pepper-crusted-grilled chicken, to certain NECCO wafers. He stated, as I peeled the nicely cooked crusty outer layer of the chicken off of the pieces on his plate, that "we're kids. We don't like pepper."

Point taken.

Disaster Redux

In 2006 our tree fell within hours of being decorated. This year, the tree fell two days later. It happened just before heading off to school with the kids. I was upstairs helping C2 get dressed when he heard a whoosh and a smash. We lost a bunch of our nicest and prettiest ornaments -- the danger of hanging near the top -- as well as the tree topper that Mrs. Agricola and I bought just after we got married. It's such a drag when this happens because then you need to un-decorate and un-light the tree and start all over. I also invested $50 (that I really didn't want to do this year) in a tree stand that will hopefully keep our tree upright for the remainder of the season.

If a crashing tree and shattering ornament aren't bad enough, poor C1 thought that the tree had fallen as the result of a little, but heavy ornament that she had just gotten. She was weeping and saying "it was the ornament's fault . . . it was too heavy . . . " "No, the tree fell because it's a bit heavy to one side," we told her. She's so sweet and tenderhearted.

Tree Trimming

We decorated the family tree this weekend and it was quite fun. Typically we light the thing in the evening and Mrs. Agricola and I end up trimming it after the kids go to bed. This year we switched things around and decorated it in the morning. The kids had a blast taking ornaments out of the box (that might have been more fun than actually hanging them) and hanging them on the tree. Child One looked and thought about each ornament, and considered to whom it belonged, and "Could this reindeer be me and this one be Child Two and this one be Child Three . . . " Child Two hung ornaments in clusters and Child Three just looked -- it's what you do when you're 10 weeks old. Pater & Mater Agricolae joined in the festivities and it was an excellent couple of hours.

After the fun ornaments were on I spent some time filling in holes with small shiny balls. These are the workhorses of tree decorating in my book. I hang them in the gaps, and try and set them back from the outside of the tree so that they sit inside of the branches and shine out. Their reflective surfaces lend brilliance to the tree and help to intensify the lights. In a post-tinsel and post-garland age the small, cheap, shiny ball is what makes the tree. While sitting in front of the tree this evening Mrs. A commented that the tree is really shining and shimmering this year -- and it is.