Thanksgiving

What a great Thanksgiving. Everyone was home, healthy and, for the most part, in good spirits. I had the opportunity to cook for everyone and like so many things lately, it reminded me of when the kids were younger.

Back then, most weekday meals consisted of whatever I could throw together when I got in the door from work... usually it was leftovers from the weekend before. Nothing fancy but they did the trick. But no matter how wanting those meals were in the way of fine cuisine, we always spent them together at the table. Everyone had stories about their day. It was a chance for each of the kids to talk, and more importantly, a chance for each or them to be heard. The table became, in a way, a stage.

Our weekend meals were more extravagant (by comparison). I had more time. We all did. Often one or more of the kids would help me cook and that was fun for all of us. The added bonus was they would always be more willing to try things that they had prepared.

When it was time to eat, Helaina would always eat more than I could imagine and still be a little bean sprout.  Jake would get up too clear his place, saying: "That was sure yummy!", or "That was dee-wicious." Rachael would usually be the last to finish having spent most of the time telling stories about the day, using the stage to full advantage. And she would almost always leave behind a plate of a mashed-up concoction that she'd "finish later".

So it was nice to be able to experience those same kind of things again, with all of the activity and all of the conversation that goes along with it. It made for a wonderful weekend.

The only downside to the whole weekend is that there is nothing lonelier than driving home after dropping the kids off at their schools.

The Long Road Home

A Total Gentleman

(I wanted to edit this quote down but there was nothing I could leave out.)

From today's headlines:
"Charlie Sheen is hitting back at porn star Capri Anderson's claims that he assaulted her during a drug fueled bender last month. The actor has filed a lawsuit against her (which) describes Anderson as "an opportunistic pornographic film star and publicity-hungry scam artist" who threatened "to embarrass him and attempt to damage his career by going to the media with her false tale" if Sheen didn't pay up. Anderson, who has filed a civil complaint against Sheen alleging assault and false imprisonment, initially told New York cops that Sheen acted "like a total gentleman," according to the suit. The lawsuit also accuses her of stealing Sheen's $165,000 watch."

Who could have predicted that being completely strung out in an expensive hotel room with a porn "actress" would have gotten so messy?

So Much for Creating a Buzz

My weekly audience viewership has completely flat-lined after reaching a peak of "one".

Showtime

Off to see a show with my favorite actress in it.

Fall

Yesterday I was raking the leaves for the fourth time in as many weeks. Yesterday though, I had help from Sam. We were raking for a while and when the pile was pretty big I asked Sam if he'd like to jump in. He looked at me like I was crazy. He wanted nothing to do with it. So I continued raking. And as I raked, I thought about when I was a kid and all the stuff we used to do in the fall, things like jumping in leaves and collecting acorns. And it made me wonder, do kids still do things like that?

When I was a kid, fall was a great time to play outside, better in some ways than summertime.. it wasn't as hot and more kids were around since none were away on summer vacation.

The street where I grew up made a big loop. All of the houses were on the outside of the loop facing the center. In the center of the loop was an oval park. The park wasn't thickly wooded but there was a mix of maples and oaks at one end and some scattered throughout. Down at the far end of the park there was a grove of pine trees.

On a typical fall weekend, the neighborhood kids would rake the leaves into huge piles and jump in them and toss the leaves in the air. This would ultimately morph into grabbing fistfuls of leaves and winging them at each other and stuffing them in each others faces. I remember going home for dinner more than once with leaves and twigs clinging to my sweater like Velcro, me sneezing the whole way with the taste of leaves in my mouth.

Sometimes we would make the leaf piles into poor imitations of snow forts. This is where the acorns came in.

When the leaf fights were done, we would spend time collecting acorns until our pockets were full. Once our pockets were full we would have to go home to get paper lunch bags and then fill them with acorns too. After everyone had collected enough, war would break out. Acorns would be flying in every direction. My lousy aim would be even worse because I would be throwing acorns blindly as I was running away...usually yelling "No fair!". Most of the others had similar battle strategies...everyone that is except Karl.

Karl was the lunatic who lived across the park from us. He was a few years older than us and had a sneer on his face that looked like he was born with a cigarette in his mouth...a lit cigarette...unfiltered. He also had a mean streak in him the likes of which I haven't seen since, thank God. Karl always had sacks filled with acorns that were larger than anyone's. These were large mutant acorns that he got from some secret stash he wouldn't reveal. I think he also had a few rocks mixed in. He would whip these "acorns" at us with an intensity that made Ahab look like a piker. When Karl showed up, it was "Game Over". The rest of us scattered to the shelter of our homes before we ended up covered with welts. We'd cower inside until Karl finally got bored and went after some other prey. Then we could safely go back outside.

Rather than risk attracting Karl again by playing something that might somehow appeal to his violent streak, we would go more low key. And slightly hidden. We would head down to the pine trees at the end of the park.

The ground below the pine trees was bare for most of the year but in the fall there would be a decent cover of needles. The neighborhood kids would rake the needles into long, narrow rows forming circles and squares into what eventually looked roughly like the floor plan of a house, which was appropriate since these were meant be our pine needle houses. Hallways from room to room weaved like a maze. Breaks in the "walls" were made for the doorways and there would be outrage if someone stepped over a wall rather than use the door like a decent person. Some of the room outlines had smaller rooms inside which were the closets. A small square would be formed in one of the corners of a room and we would crisscross sticks inside it. This was our fireplace. Across from the fireplace, mats of leaves and needles made the bed. I remember lying in those beds looking up at the tree branches, the smell of the leaves and the pine needles all around me.

And as I was raking the leaves yesterday, I was thinking about Sam not having or even wanting that experience. And I wondered if this is it the way it is with most kids or is it just Sam's style? Certainly Sam doesn't like to get dirty and he's not one to socialize, but still, he's missing out on the thrill of pulling pine needles out of this pants, the taste of leaves in his mouth. And that's not to mention the sting of acorns on his face and arms...

Screen Saver Mode... or Blue Screen?

To give you an idea of how my day is going, all I have in my mind right now is the image of Pee Wee Herman dancing on the bar while "Tequila" is playing in the background.

Dirty Business

An evening of teaching Sam how to collect the trash. In a few more weeks I hope to have him cooking me dinner.

'Tis the Season

Here on the farm, November first is always havoc. That's because the day after Halloween is traditionally Turkey Tagging Day.

No matter how early I get up, there's always families gathering down at the gate; moms and dads bleary eyed while their kids fidget with excitement As the crowd grows and anticipation builds, I like to tease them a little. I walk slowly past the window in my bathrobe, first this way, then that, a cup of coffee here, a bowl of cereal there. Out of the corner of my eye I can make out their silhouettes in the moonlight, shaking in the cold and dark of the predawn, everyone waiting for that magic moment for the crow of the rooster that signals "It's time!"

As the hours tick by, I get dressed and go back downstairs. As I slowly open the door, the crowd's chatter turns to cheers. Frost bitten fists pump the air.

"Sorry folks," I say, "just getting my paper." Their faces drop. Man, I love this time of year.

Another hour goes by and the first rays of light hit the field. A wisp of steam rises from the frost covered ground. Larry the rooster perks up and gives the signal. Another cheer goes up from the crowd.

Getting on my coat, I saunter out to the gate, jingling my keys in one hand, with a fistfull of tags in the other. I stop occasionally and lightly kick the dirt, examine the bottom of my shoe a bit. The excitement builds. The buzz of the crowd grows louder and louder. So does the chattering of their teeth.  Finally, I reach the fence. The crowd is pressing so hard it's tough to unlock the gate. I manage to turn the key and the lock drops to the ground. The crowd bursts on through. Everyone is grabbing tags from my hand as they race on by. My arm is almost ripped off. "Easy people, easy!", I say, but I know they won't listen. Everyone is eager to get their perfect turkey. "Print your name clearly people!", I say, but they're off and running. I can only chuckle to myself and shake my head. It's the same every year.

The next twelve hours are a blur of feathers, mud and more feathers. Kids are running in every direction- some are chasing, some are getting chased. Parents are trying to keep up. Squeals of excitement are nearly drowned out by the frantic gobbling of the turkeys. I spend most of my time watching, collecting ticket stubs and money and getting after the kids. "Sorry son, not responsible for all that scratchin'. Read the fine print.", I say. Or, "Hey sonny, you can ride the turkey after you pay for him."

It's good clean family fun. Nothing warms my heart like seeing families brought together by chasing live animals across my seven acres. That's what holidays are all about: bring families together and making money.

Trick or Treat

Sam was a cowboy for Halloween this year, but his heart wasn't in it. It could be because he's getting older. It could be because for the first time, he's the only one of the kids home this Halloween. Or it could be that he's never really enjoyed Halloween to begin with.

Whatever the reason, the first clue came when I mentioned to him that the Rag Shag parade was being held in town on Friday evening and that I could bring him. He didn't answer right away and he had that look on his face that said, "How am I going to get out of this and not hurt anyone's feelings?" As he was trying to come up with an answer, I tried to make it clear that this was for him, not me, and it was about having fun.

It turns out that having "fun" this year meant not going trick or treating in town. This was fine by me. It's usually pretty crowded. And while I don't mind it when it's crowded with kids having a good time, I don't want to be one of those parents dragging around a kid who would rather not be there.

Sunday night was the "real" Halloween. At the first hint of darkness, Sam put on his outfit, with a layer of p.j.'s and long underwear underneath, and we headed out about 5:30 to our usual places. Sam gamely let us take him around to the houses and he did a great job. I would wait at the edge of the lawn as Sam would go up and ring the doorbell. He would always say "trick or treat" before anyone even got the door open, and he always said "thank-you" before he left.

We went to a few houses in the old neighborhood. The Old Neighborhood is about four or five miles away and its where my parents used to live. We had been bringing the kids there on Halloween starting with my oldest. Long after my Mom and Dad moved away, we continued to go there.

For years the big attraction has been a house about half way through our route where they would give out stuffed animals rather than candy. As we got closer to this house, Sam began dropping clues that the end was in site. He would say, "Maybe a couple of more." and "It's OK if we don't do those houses over there."

He got a little hippo from the stuffed animal lady's house and as he walked away, he had that look again. I asked him if he would like to go on or would he like to head back?

With the same look that he had before, he said, "Well... I'm sure they won't mind."
"Who won't mind?"
"The neighbors. I'm sure they won't mind if we don't go to their houses."
"No Sam, they won't mind at all."
 And we headed back to the car.

We were home before 7:30.

It all felt a little sad; sad in part because it represented another end of an era. But it also felt like I had been making an old dog do a trick "one more time" and it clearly wasn't a trick he was preforming for his enjoyment.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. Sam doesn't like to call attention to himself. He's not a big candy eater. So, for some reason, stumbling up to a stranger's house alone in the dark on a cold night, begging for candy while wearing a cowboy costume just doesn't hold much appeal for him.

Maybe he just doesn't like cowboys.