Empathy and a penalty flag

Now that the NFL and its officials have finally inked their deal, I find myself to have mixed feelings for the replacement officials who stepped in and tried to do a very difficult job.

I have, over the past 25 years, been a part-time official in multiple sports.  I have the most experience doing baseball games, ranging from coach pitch games to early high-school age.   I've been doing it a long time, and in all honesty, am pretty good at it.

But I would have absolutely NO business strapping on my gear and getting behind the plate at a Major League ballpark.  None whatsoever.  I just don't have the experience, the raw time under my belt, adjudging pitches at those speeds and with the movement that professional pitchers can apply to the ball.   I could do better out in the field, but even then I know I need more time and experience, and more knowledge on some aspects of the game.  I wouldn't want to be responsible for calling balks on a major league pitcher!


The game is just too fast, and the skills of the players makes the 'margin of judgement' on each and every play much tighter.  An official has to be at the top of their game... this is why umpires spend years in the minor leagues before advancing to The Show.  The players deserve this level of professionalism.  Yes, the fans deserve it as well, but the first responsibility of an official is to the game and the people who play it.

Thus, the replacement refs were in a nigh-impossible situation.  Many of them may be very good officials, but they had never plied their trade at such an advanced level, and it showed.   (Many of these officials "jumped" multiple levels when they took these jobs, because some of the best collegiate officials were unavailable because their conference bosses are NFL referees that were locked out.)

So, that then begs the question:  why did they agree to do it?   And thus we hit the source of my mixed feelings.

This isn't a discourse on the "scabs" vs. "union" worker debate.   That's not my focus today.  I can honestly say, that, if the same choice were to be offered to me, I would have turned them down.  I know I"m not qualified to officiate at that level, and I would do the game an injustice by attempting to do so.   And they had to know it could not possibly last- eventually the NFL would get their Dumb Hat off, reach into the spare change jar and make a deal to get the top-line officiating back.

Maybe they hoped that this would be their big break... that the time spent on this grandest of all American sports stages would highlight their skills, and perhaps open advancement possibilities for them.  Maybe they just wanted the money.  Obviously, I can't speak for their collective or individual thought processes when the NFL came calling.  But one hopes they knew they were wading off into the jungle without a machete.

Every week, I felt a heart-breaking empathy with them as fellow officials.  Officiating is hard enough as it is... it is not something that just anyone can do.   In a profession where one's goal should be to get it right and stay out of the spotlight- these guys were under a nationwide microscope for 2 months.  And they were doing it without the requisite experience and skills needed to do the job.  So I felt for them....

...and every week I wondered... "why did you put yourself in this situation"?

Why you don't see me jogging on the roadside...

This delightful passage from "The Dreadful Lemon Sky", a Travis McGee novel by John D. MacDonald, illustrates perfectly why it's probably not a good idea for me to jog on the roadside.....   Thus I will stick to the machines at the gym, for the greater good!

The person speaking is Meyer, the best friend of Travis (who is quite athletic);  Meyer is a hairy economist whose physical gifts are of a more cerebral nature....

[Travis]:  "You ought to run a little," I told him.

[Meyer]:  "Would that I could.  When the beach people see you running, they know at a glance that it is exercise.  There you are, all sinew and brown hide, and you wear that earnest, dumb, strained expression of the old jock keeping in shape.  You have the style.  Knees high, arms swinging just right, head up.  But suppose I came running down this beach?  They would look at me, and then look again.  I look so little like a runner or a jock that the only possible guess as to what would make me run is terror.  So they look way down the beach to see what is chasing me.  They can't see anything, but to be on the safe side, they start walking swiftly in the same direction I'm running.  First just a few, then a dozen, then a score.  All going faster and faster.  Looking back.  Breaking into a run.  And soon you would have two or three thousand people thundering along the beach, eyes popping out of the sockets, cords in their necks standing out.  A huge stampede, stomping everything and everybody in their path into the sand.  You wouldn't want me to cause a catastrophe like that, would you?"

About a year ago, I came to terms with the fact that I probably will never be a "runner".  Oh, running will be part of my attempt to get in  shape, but only one form of exercise, and I have no delusions about becoming a runner of any serious skill or aptitude.  Burst speed and reactionary quickness are pretty good, but if you want to time me at general running, you will need to bring a calendar, not a stopwatch.

No matter how good a shape I obtain... I have always been and will always be the guy they look at and say "You!  You carry the big machine gun.  Let's go"  :D

Top 20 signs you might be in Maine instead of Texas

1. Based on aural evidence, there is an extra letter in the alphabet in the Northeast.  It's probably got it's own entry in the dictionary, like extra letters in some foreign languages.  It would be filed between the "A" and the "B"... "AH".  Found primarily at the end of words:  piss-AH, runn-AH, etc.


2. There are Dunkin Donuts gift cards for sale in stores, next to the iTunes cards and pre-paid credit/phone cards.
   
   [caption id="attachment_183" align="alignright" width="300"] #3 > Not sure what I'd do if I saw a Moose on a Snowmobile[/caption]


3. Snowmobile crossing signs and Moose crossing signs.  Don't get many of either of those in Texas.


4. One has to turn on the headlights, during the day, because you're driving through a dark tunnel... of trees.


5. Iced tea == a glass of tea and 3 slivers of ice.  And I mean slivers.  Not chunks, slivers.


6. Covered bridges.
   
   [caption id="attachment_184" align="alignright" width="300"] #6 > One of the very best things up here...[/caption]


7. The rivers under said bridges actually have water- running water- in them.


8. There are "notches" everywhere.  (Crawford Notch, Pinkham Notch, Evan's Notch, et al)  The part of Texas I live in, there isn't any geographical features that need a 'notch' in order for you to transit across....


9. Redemption centers.  I think the last time I returned a bottle for credit was in middle school, in Missouri.  Apparently, this is still a thriving practice here.  I even saw one "redemption center" with curb-side service.


10. Single street signs.  A lot of streets in various towns (of all sizes... saw this in Portland, ME, too!) have only one street sign on top of the pole... just telling the name of the lesser, cross-street.  Probably done to save money.  Guess one had bloody well better know what street one is already on!


11. Tiny squirrels.  Texas squirrels would rough these things up about the neck and head without breaking a sweat.


12. [In apposition to the squirrels] HUGE ponds.  Up here, small lakes are called ponds.  Medium lakes are sometimes called ponds.  I know people think Texas aggrandizes things... but I really do think these are lakes.  But they're not.  They are ponds.  I guess.


13. In Maine, the cold tap water is actually COLD.  Even in the summer.
    
    [caption id="attachment_185" align="alignright" width="259"] #16 > The New England-style hot dog bun.[/caption]


14. The farms in Maine have greenhouses for growing tomatoes.... at the height of summer.  It just doesn't get hot enough without 'em.


15. Leafblowers.  The sound of leafblowers on a summer day.....  What?!  You're calling me on this one?  Oh yeah... forgot to mention... the guy is up on the roof, using a leafblower to blow off the thick carpet of pine needles.


16. Hot dog buns.  There is a distinct difference between a Northeastern hot dog bun and the ones we have back in Texas.  First saw these type of buns at Fenway and Yankee stadium... and I've seen them in the dining hall here.  TBH, they're better....


17. The 'commutes' are much prettier here.. even a short trip to Portland or other cities includes breathtakingly beautiful country.


18. I can't quite shake this feeling... Stephen King might be lurking around somewhere.  That man has a mind that just thinks different from the rest of us... and knowing he might be lurking is a bit spooky!  (He has long lived in Maine, and the spot where he was struck by a car while out for a walk in the 90's is just a short drive from here)


19. Martial Arts Highway Signs.  In Texas, everything is so flat, you can pretty much see an intersection of the road from 6 miles out.  Up here, you might come around a curve and have two intersections staggered around the bend or over the hill.  So, they put up these signs.... but to me they look like some kind of illustration from a Martial Arts book.  Makes me wonder if the Maine Department of Roads has a catalog, with thousands of designs to cover every possibility... (I'll take a #12857- "Wind Kisses the Willow")
    
    [caption id="attachment_186" align="alignright" width="297"] #19 > I'll let you decide what the sensei is doing in this martial art pose. I'm not goin' there....[/caption]


20. Mailboxes hung on chains from tree limbs.  I've never seen this before.  Allison and I think its probably to protect the mailboxes from wandering(drunk) drivers on these narrow roads.. or the random youth-impelled baseball bat.  Allison did remark that it might make it easier to find the mailbox when there's 5 feet of snow on the ground during the winter.  Me?  I was already thinking how much fun it would be to rig one of them up to move around when the postman tries to pull up and put something in it.....

A good paddlin' is what you need....

Forty-plus years on this earth... and as of a couple of weeks ago, one of the things in my "never done that" column was "be in a canoe".  Been in a raft... been in lots of kind of boats, motored and sailing... been on surfboard, windsurfer board, and waterskis (these last three were a form of comedy revue), but not a canoe.  Believe it or not.

Well, it was time to change that.  And we are in the right place for it.  In these neck o' the woods, you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a canoe or a kayak.  They are everywhere... every bit as ubiquitous as the surfboards were back in high school in Corpus Christi.  Here a canoe, there a canoe, everywhere a canoe, canoe....

[caption id="attachment_174" align="alignleft" width="225"] The view from my canoe[/caption]

Allison took care of calling and arranging our canoe trip, and after I had enough sleep on Sunday morning to be at least 25% coherent, we paid up, saddled up, and were dropped off at Swans Falls Campground, just a few minutes down the road from our camp.  Our rental fees got us 1 bona fide canoe, 2 paddles, 2 life jackets, and a ride to and from the river.  We loaded up the beach bag, small cooler, and off we went down the Saco River.

So what did I learn?  I learned that I can handle a canoe just fine... (granted, we're not talking whitewater rapid running here)... but I also learned why there are so many of these darned things all over the place here.   This activity, on this day, turned out to be one of the most relaxing and enjoyable things I have ever done.  The Saco River is a gentle therapy, the definition of the "anti-rush"...  and sometimes that is needed more than anything else.

We could not have ordered a more perfect day.  Temps were reasonable, light breezes to keep the edge off the afternoon sun, and even the buggies weren't bad.

I would love to insert lots of anecdotes about strange things that happened on this trip, or a plethora of activities... well, actually I wouldn't.  That wasn't the point.  We floated, we paddled pretty much only as needed, we inhaled the beauty of God's creation, we sat on a sandbar and had drinks and snacks.  We sat in the river and enjoyed it's crisp refreshment at the height of the day, and we waved at the Indian Acres as we passed... turns out we missed the boys' river swim by about an hour or so..

 

 

[caption id="attachment_176" align="alignleft" width="300"] This tractor really sucks... literally[/caption]

There were a couple of things I noticed that caught my interest.  We passed this tractor sitting up on part of the river bank, and it took me a bit to figure out what it was there for... it was obviously meant to pretty much stay there, and not be driven off.  I figured out it was for irrigation... the tractor ran the pump that suctioned water and sent it up to the fields beyond.  But it looked kind of out of place at first....

The second was the riverbank erosion and how it affected the trees.  One can see how the trees collapse outward into the river as the banks erode out from underneath them.  This one in particular that is undergoing that process is a very tall tree... when it gives, it will stick out several feet into the river.  Made me wonder if someone will come along and trim it, or just let it lie...

 

 



[caption id="attachment_178" align="alignright" width="245"] Timber!! Sometime in the future, that is...[/caption]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And that was the extent of my mental calisthenics for the day.   Others on the river may be having a party on this fine Sunday... multiple tubes or canoes lashed together, music and dogs and water toys.  During the summer in Maine, river partying and adventure is a common as skiing is during the winter.  There's even a restaurant in Fryeburg that advertises a Saturday "après paddle party" on their marquee board.

 

[caption id="attachment_179" align="alignleft" width="300"] My favorite view....[/caption]

 

 

But not me.  Not this day.  On this Day of Rest, I sat in a canoe with a beautiful woman.. and I glided.

And it was Good.

Screams in the night

So, the other night I had the evening to myself, as Allison was returning late from an airport run to Boston.   Having gone out to dinner, I returned about 8:20pm to a camp that was very, very empty.  So empty it was a bit surreal.   At night, even after 'bedtime', there is always something happening on the camp grounds:  people chilling in the Counselor Lounge, the odd stray counselor walking somewhere, some counselors or campers sitting on the tennis courts looking at the stars.

I saw none of that.  The only soul I saw was the one counselor assigned to front desk duty that night.  As I spent the next couple of hours puttering around the cabin, I could still tell that the camp was empty.  It really was a bit otherworldly...  (I found out later that there was a dance at the boys camp, which is where everyone was)

I decided to turn in early, hoping to get some good sleep to combat some built-up fatigue.  As I was turning out the light, I could hear voices and walking sounds again...  I knew folks had returned from whatever they had gone to... and I went to sleep to the susurration of that "camp white noise".

Not for long.

Shortly before midnight, I as abruptly awakened by explosions and high-pitched feminine screaming.  (Seriously)

This night was getting weirder by the minute.  Once I was fully awake, I could tell the explosions were fireworks.  Now, this is not unusual in of itself... we often here fireworks off in the distance here.  But this was a LOT of fireworks, and these were being set off in the lower athletic fields just below our cabin.

And then there were the screams, which revealed the calamitous event just a few minutes later as two girls went running by the cabin, screaming with a Doppler Effect..... "COLOR WAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Ah!  All is explained.

Oh, you still don't understand?  Well, let me enlighten you.  Color War is one of the greatest traditions here at Forest Acres/Indian Acres.  Color War is an inter-camp competition that will kick off at some point during camp and last for 5 days.  The exact date of the start of Color War at each camp is a closely-guarded secret, known only to the counselors of the Color War Committee (whose membership in a given year is also a guarded secret), and probably a few high-ranking staff members.  Once it kicks off, the two sides will engage in various competitions in the realms of athletic and artistic talent.  Points are accrued and the winning side is announced at the awards banquet toward the end of camp.

Each camper is assigned one of the two colors for that camp.  (Indian Acres sports Red and Brown for the boys, Forest Acres has Green and Tan for the girls).   Colors do have a genetic aspect- if you are a blood/familial relation to a previous camper, you will automatically have the same color as your ancestors.  All of the Welch Boys will sport Red when Color War breaks over at Indian Acres.

This is a big deal.  The unknown start of Color War (which is always some kind of event/theatrics planned by The Committee) leaves campers on tenterhooks... more than once I have witnessed a minor oddity at a normal camp function cause a low, rolling chant of "Color War...Color War...Color War", only to be disappointed.  The competition goes back many, many years- at Indian Acres, the rafters of the Counselor Lounge have wooden leafs attached, each colored red or brown for the winning side of that year... and they go back to the 1920's.  There is a lot of pride on the line... Matthew attended camp 2 years ago, and then had a year off before we came up this summer.  He was visibly upset to notice the 2011 leaf in the rafters, painted a dark brown.   He let me know that he has to do anything within his power to help Red win again. :)

So, as I struggled to go back to sleep on this surreal night, I did smile, even though my rest was disturbed.  Color War had broken out at Forest Acres once again, and another year of great tradition was added to the books.

Flume & Boom!

Ya know, memory is a funny thing...  Allison first came to this camp as a counselor in 1989, and now that she has returned, she keeps 'remembering' places and things she did as a counselor that she'd like to visit or do again.. but the fog of 23 years makes for some good humor...

Take the 3-mountain lake, for example.  Allison waxed eloquent about this lake that was nestled in between 3 beautiful mountains... the  way she described it, I'm thinking we re-discovered Cuiviénen, the long-lost lake where Tolkien's elves first awoke under the stars of Middle-Earth.  And just like Cuiviénen, Allison has no idea where the lake is... so she asks some of the locals, and they quickly tell her that it's Echo Lake in Franconia Notch State Park.  So... we look at pictures online, and she says.. no.  That's not it.   A little while later, she vacillates and says  it is... then she says it isn't.   It just makes me smile.

Another memory she has (and this is pretty close to verbatim):  "a place with... walls... kind of narrow.. water coming down... lots of steps... really pretty... let's go there"   Right.   In this case, however, she manages to actually find said place on the web:  Flume Gorge, also in Franconia Notch State Park.   And based on that coincidence (which really isn't a coincidence since both of those geographical features have been there for some time)...  we now knew what we were going to do on July 4th!

Of course, the day did not start off as swimmingly as I had hoped.  To give the short version (which is rare for me):   Awoke early/van run for diet coke and breakfast/flat tire/everything closed for 4th/nearest Walmart with Tire Center an hour away/halfway there is town that is SHUT DOWN for an annual 4-mile run/delayed 20 minutes waiting for cops to open the only road to Wal-mart that doesn't go 2 hours out of the way around Long Lake/Spent 20 minutes sending brain waves to participants that it's supposed to be a RUN/2 hour wait at Walmart/would have been first customer if I arrived 15 minutes earlier/just managed to get back through that town before the parade started/finally got back to pick up a very hungry Allison at almost noon.

Whew.

[caption id="attachment_164" align="alignleft" width="300"] Cafe Noche in Conway, NH[/caption]

Not a good start to the day.  So, brunch became lunch.  And Allison's choice was "Cafe Noche" in Conway.  I usually have a standing rule about having Mexican food north of the Red River.  With rare exceptions... I just don't do it.  (It's an easy rule to understand).   But we tried this place because it was supposed to be pretty good.  And it was, for the most part.  Tortillas weren't great, but that's the part even some Texas restaurants can't get right...  I decided to go with the fajitas... and if you're gonna eat Mexican north of the Red River, you might as well eat Buffalo Fajitas, right?   Actually, the buffalo meat made a fine fajita... it was very, very good.

 

 

 

 

[caption id="attachment_165" align="alignright" width="225"] Flume Gorge[/caption]

We hurried out of Conway before their parade started, and headed up the Kankamagus Highway (I love that name), which goes over the White Mountains to the central portion of New Hampshire.  We arrived at Flume Gorge, paids our moneys and started our trek.  They do have a bus we could have taken... but it only went about a 1/5 of the way anyway, so that was kind of useless.  The gorge was every bit as pretty as Allison remembered... a natural cutting in the mountains that looks like a man-made logging flume.  Once we got to the top, we chose to complete the full circuit, rather than just going back down the way we came.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[caption id="attachment_166" align="alignleft" width="300"] Deep pool at Flume Gorge[/caption]

Along the way, we saw a beautiful deep pool that I was about ready to jump into... it was very humid and warm by that time.  After traversing a covered bridge across the river, we took note of the "Wolf Den", which was a narrow passage through the rocks that visitors were welcomed to try.... it became narrower the further you went in and eventually would require crawling on your hands and knees before you came out further down the main path.  We walked right on by, and when we got to that point, said "Oh look!  This is where one would come out of the Wolf Den!"

 

 

 

 

[caption id="attachment_167" align="alignright" width="225"] Two Black Dogs Pub[/caption]

After we were done with the Gorge, we drove north past the aforementioned Echo Lake, and returned to North Conway via the Crawford Notch, where the Saco River has its headwaters... this allowed us to enter North Conway from the north side, which is very important on July 4th because of the horrible traffic... we met Allison's mom and a group of folks for dinner at the Two Black Dogs English Pub, then settled down in the town square for some fireworks.

And waited for them to start while we got rained on.  Remember that humidity?  The storms started right after we got back in the car at the Gorge (one of the rare bits of good luck on this day).  So, we sat and wondered if the fireworks would happen.  Fortunately, a window in the rain occurred and they got the show off.... but it was the most surreal fireworks show I've ever seen.  During the show, there was a lightening storm off in the background.  So, the fireworks would go off, lighting up a portion of the sky, then the rest of the sky would light up behind it.  God's fireworks were much bigger and lit more of the sky :)

In addition to the lightening, it was one of the most wind-less nights I've ever seen here.  Absolute calm.  That, plus the density of the water in the air, meant that when the fireworks went off, the smoke and particles from the explosions started to form a white cloud directly overhead... that did not dissipate.  So, after about half the fireworks had been sent up, the rest all exploded behind a thick white "scrim", obscuring them from view.  It really was the weirdest night of fireworks I've ever seen in my whole life.

All in all, a rather strange and, at times, trying day... but with some exquisite high points.

Oh, and the verdict on Echo Lake?   After seeing it, Allison declared that wasn't it, because there wasn't a freeway running right by it.  At least in her memory.  I later looked it up to see if the freeway was built after 1989, but no such luck... it was built in the late 1950's.  The current status of that particular memory, (as of 7/14/2012) is that it IS the lake she remembered.   And that just changed again today.

 

A Zombie, La Roja, and no Foulies to be found...

So, I'm on the second day of my Solo Zombie Weekend (the exciting sequel, coming to a drive-in theater near you!)...  one of the things about the Sunday of these weekends is that, besides the fact that I'm really tired, and will be trying to switch back to a normal schedule that evening... is that Allison will go out with me, and I drowsily hand her the keys to van and sit back and enjoy the ride.

But not this day.  And of course, I decide to schedule a full rich day in Portland, 75 minutes away.  75 minutes of twisty, bending, shaded two-lane roads that is....  But there are things I want to do, places to go, stuff to see!  And on this day, that destination consists of a sports bar to watch the Euro 2012 soccer final, a tall ship to sail, and a star to steer her by...

[caption id="attachment_160" align="alignleft" width="225"] My passage for the evening sunset cruise.. "Bagheera"[/caption]

I've always loved sailing.  Back in Texas, I get to taste of it every so often because of my good friends the Havens, who have a nice boat on Lake Grapevine.  So, I decided the cornerstone of my Zombie weekend would be taking a 2-hour cruise on a wooden schooner that sails around Casco Bay.  2 mainsails and 2 foresails... lots of wooden decking... salt water spraying in my face?  I'm in!

I've also fallen in love with soccer since my sons Matthew and Logan began playing it, and now I'm a devoted fan...  I watched quite a bit of the Euro 2012 tournament before we left, but have missed most of the single elimination matches while at camp.   But I wanted to watch the final between Spain and Italy, and I needed a place to do exactly that!

(In case you haven't figured out a pattern here... I'm filling my second Solo Zombie day with things that Allison can be a bit ambivalent about... neither of these activities would be her first choice for day-off recreation, so I've got some nice syzygy going on..)

[caption id="attachment_154" align="alignright" width="300"] The Rí Rá Irish Pub in the Portland harbor district.[/caption]

The original plan was to go to a sports bar located down near the harbor area... but after a driving reconnoiter of the area, and parking at a mid-way point, I walked over to pier where the Portland Schooner Company makes berth, and on the way I noticed this establishment:

<Captain Jack Sparrow voice> And I says to myself... "Self!  Me thinks this place might be showing said match, and I won't be watching all by me lonesome either" </CJS voice>

Indeed.  There may have been a soccer crowd at the sports bar I had originally chosen, and maybe, just maybe it wouldn't have gotten relegated to the smaller televisions... but here I knew it would have primacy, and would draw a rabid crowd.

I was cheering for Spain... I love how they play, they have a couple of players on my favorite team (Liverpool), and I just have a soft spot in my heart for Spain, its language and its people.   And oh, did the supports of La Roja come to the bar!  I got a primo seat by dint of showing up 90 minutes early (what else was I gonna do? I was dead on my feet), and in the alcove where I was seated in front of the main TV, there was one table in the corner where an Italian man and his girl sat, surrounded by a sea of Spanish supporters.  I kind of felt sorry for him as La Roja utterly dismantled the Azzurri.   He even pounded on the table in fine Italian style after one of the Spanish goals.

In addition to the show up on the flat-screen, I was keeping one eye on a different show coming through a side window... the look of a storm rolling in... which could affect my other activity for the day.   After the soccer match, I exited the pub into a nice, steady rain, and the rumble of thunder in the distance.   Once I  made it  to the shelter of the Ferry Terminal Authority, I called the schooner company and was assured that the storms were going to blow through quickly, and the 6:00pm cruise would go out on schedule.

And it did.  And the storms didn't.  Blow through that is.  On a two-hour tour.

The rains kept coming back.  And stopping.  And coming back.  Nevertheless, we boarded the schooner, wiped spots for our fannies as dry as possible, and off we sailed into Casco Bay.  And the rain let up for a bit... it was looking kind of nice.  Views such as this..

[caption id="attachment_155" align="alignleft" width="300"] "Wendameen" (sister ship to the one I was on), being towed away from the dock prior to sailing.[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_156" align="alignright" width="300"] Casco Bay and Portland, from the decks of "Bagheera"[/caption]

But it was not to last...

Before too long, lightening began to strike in earnest over the city of Portland, and our captain was mulling over ending the cruise early.  Finally he did decide to do so, but despite motorsailing back toward the harbor, we ended up actually staying out and running in  front of the main cell to get away from the lightening, so we ended up sailing for all of our allotted two hours.

Great, right!  Well.... if you know anything about weather.. if we are running out in front of the storm system, what are we running through?   Rain.  And a goodly portion thereof....

And here is the part where my Zombie-fied brain comes into play.  I didn't bring anything for the eventuality of rain.  No umbrella... no poncho, no "foulies"...  nada.  (and that's not like me)  So I and my backpack were getting soaked as we slid through the front edge of the rain showers and back through it again when the captain did decide to take us back.

And I loved it.  :)  It's part of sailing.... you spend enough time on a boat, you'll learn that weather reports are often wrong (they were this day), and nature rears its ugly head on a regular basis.... you either deal with it, or you go home and watch TV.  But if you do that... you miss lots of magic like this:

[caption id="attachment_157" align="alignleft" width="300"] Storm system over Portland[/caption]



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so when Bagheera tied up again, and I hauled my drenched self up the gangplank to the pier... I decided I wouldn't have changed a thing... I think it was perfectly appropriate that I sailed in a rainstorm in the North Atlantic... and the day ended with this:

[caption id="attachment_159" align="alignleft" width="225"] One end of a double-ended rainbow that stretched over the whole bay[/caption]

 

 

 

Well, it didn't exactly end there.... There was this little matter of the 75 minute drive back home... with fatigue really starting to set in....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But I made it back to Fryeburg safely.  Called Leo's Fryeburg House of Pizza on the way to order a small pizza and a garlic bread to take back to my cabin.   Late Night Leo's is rapidly becoming a Sunday tradition for the Welch Zombies.  All in all, I had a wonderful day of fútbol and sailing.   But this Zombie is looking forward to having his Human Partner along next weekend!

He'll be coming round the mountain....

The weekend before July 4th, I had the weekend to myself because Allison was not going to get her normal Sunday off, having switched it with July 4th.   So, I had a Saturday to fill all by me lonesome.

[caption id="attachment_143" align="alignleft" width="300"] Your fearless blogger acting the night guard at the camp office. Yes, if you look closely, that clock on the wall says 3:45 *AM*...[/caption]

Granted, I'm not even sure I was there, because weekends is when I have my only job at camp... night watchman.  So, yes, Allison and I are on opposite sleeping schedules on weekends... which is also when we are supposed to be going out and enjoying the wonderful nature here...  Little did Allison know she was going to be tramping around Maine and New Hampshire with a Zombie Rob.

But back on topic... on this particular Saturday I was being a Zombie all by me-self.

So, after about 5 hours of sleep, it was up and at 'em, go get some brunch and head into North Conway for some perusing of the shops...

Until I ran into my mother-in-law  :)

She convinced me that I might as well come over to the boys camp and have lunch over there, rather than go out and spend any money... :D  Then she told me about a place north of North Conway, where she said I would find both a wonderful waterfall and a unique curio shop.

My MIL has been up here every summer for a looooooong time... so she has all the scoop on the places to see and go.  A wise son-in-law listens to his native guide, so I headed to highway 16B in Jackson, NH... and it was every bit as good as she said!

[caption id="attachment_144" align="alignright" width="300"] The entrance to the town of Jackson, NH. Any site-seeing jaunt that starts this way has a lot of promise, methinks....[/caption]

Jackson was  short drive from North Conway, and it started with one of my very favorite things I see up here in the northeast... I love the covered bridges.  After waiting my turn to cross the river, I drove through Jackson, marking the location of the Ravenwood Curio shop for later, and turned right on Hwy 16B to get to the falls.

And I didn't see any falls.

However, I have figured out that, in New Hampshire, the "B" designator on the road means that it is a loop that sticks off the main highway.  So, if I have turned on 16B, I can follow it around, and I'll come back to Hwy 16 at some point.  That, plus the fact that I knew the river was off to the left, meant that the 16B I was supposed to take was down the road some place.  That is where the falls would be.

Turn around?  I don't think so!  Let us explore, fearless ones!  Thus, I pointed the trusty minivan up Black Mountain and forged ahead.  (Boy, that just sounds wrong... should be a Land Rover or a dog sled, or something along those lines.... 'Man explores rugged Northeast U.S. in a Honday Odyssey won't be in National Geographic anytime soon, let me tell ya...)

I'm glad I took the long way around... I got to see some beautiful houses and drive up a very nice mountain.  I love drives where I have to use my lower gears to save the brakes... :)

[caption id="attachment_145" align="alignleft" width="300"] I love this house. I want this house. I don't care if the mountain is impassible during the winter... I want this house.[/caption]

This was my favorite site on the mountain... This house... I sat in their driveway and tried to work up the courage to go knock on the door and ask them to name a price.

Maybe I'll be back when some rich, unknown uncle kicks it and leaves me millions.... so I can make them a offer they can't refuse....

 

 

 

So, I made it all the way around the circuit and, sure enough, the falls were right there... just a few blocks from where I had left the main highway :)   But they did stretch up the mountain quite a bit... and they were lovely.  I intend to come back and bring Allison.. and wear my swimsuit then, for many people were playing in the falls, reading books in the shade or laying out on the sunny rocks.

 





After leaving the falls, I head back into Jackson and checked out the Ravenwood Curio shop.  This is a great little store with a very unique flavor... I love the garden in the back, which has a full set of walk-around paths where items for sale are on display in the garden, in their 'normal' setting rather than just on a shelf.

[caption id="attachment_148" align="alignleft" width="224"] Ravenwood curio shop[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_149" align="aligncenter" width="300"] My only moose siting so far... at the Ravenwood Curio shop....[/caption]

 

 

 

[caption id="attachment_150" align="alignright" width="224"] Gandalf the mighty wizard studying in Hobbiton[/caption]

 

 

My absolute favorite thing at the shop was this little wizard... not so much because of him, but because of what they had built to put him front of... a Hobbit door!  It was sheer greatness.... suddenly this little guy was not the "seer with crystal ball" it said on the price tag... it was Gandalf, sitting outside Bag End with a Palantir and a copy of "Hobbits for Dummies", trying to figure out the Baggins and Boffins and Brandybucks of the world.

 

After giving the proprietors of Ravenwood some of my coin, I headed back to North Conway, and spent some coin there as well.  I got some new hiking boots and a leather pouch at the leather store... for holding coins in my backpack.

All in all, a good day.  Beautiful country, interesting shops, and a good pair of boots at 40% off... with no sales tax.

Not bad for a zombie.

 

What is this "dating" you speak of?

One of the nicest parts about this camp experience is that Allison and I will get to do some very fun things together for the next couple of months.. sans kids!  By default, even though we are all up here, the boys are at their camp and we are supposed to kind of "let them be"... (which is why we are housed at the girls camp-to provide that separation).  The net effect?  On Allison's day off (and some nights)...we get to go on dates.

What a novel concept.  How very quaint... :)

Our first big trip was down to the Maine coast, to a popular spot called Old Orchard Beach.  This is sort of Maine's equivalent of Coney Island or Atlantic City (minus the gambling).  There are shops galore, carnival rides, and of course, the beach.  It was a perfect day for the trip... the skies were actually clear for once, and the mid-80's temps were perfect for a day out.

My beautiful date for the day:

[caption id="attachment_136" align="alignnone" width="278"] My lovely wife, wearing the beach hat we bought for her. The strong sea breeze made for a jaunty look when it caught the brim :)[/caption]

Since my weekend days at camp come on the heels of night-watchman duty and a few hours of sleep (skipping breakfast), I was right properly hungry when we arrived.   Having spent my high-school days in Corpus Christi, on the Texas Gulf Coast, I have a deeply ingrained love of seafood.  So, I convinced my bride to let us eat said cuisine, even though it is not her fave.  We were saved by the fact that they offered Lobster Rolls as well.

[caption id="attachment_139" align="aligncenter" width="300"] My extremely healthy lunch! right......[/caption]

The only carnival ride we took was the small Ferris wheel... not quite the Texas Star, but it did afford some nice views of the area:

[caption id="attachment_137" align="alignleft" width="300"] Ferris wheel view of the beach[/caption]

[caption id="attachment_138" align="aligncenter" width="300"] The main OOB plaza, with Ferris wheel in the background[/caption]

After spending about an hour lounging at the beach and playing in the FRIGID water... (yes, FRIGID.  The North Atlantic is quite chilly even during the middle of the summer), we headed over to the Portland Head Lighthouse for a bit before returning to Fryeburg.  I've always loved lighthouses... I've got a deep, deep love for the ocean and all things nautical.  I proposed to Allison on the beach in Corpus Christi, after reciting "The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls" by Longfellow to her... and we saw a marker at this park that said Longfellow often walked to this lighthouse!

[caption id="attachment_140" align="alignnone" width="300"] Portland Head Lighthouse[/caption]

One of the things I sometimes do on trips like this is make a list in my writing journal that I always have with me... just random thoughts about things I see or things that tweak my odd sense of humor...  the following is such a list I made on our trip to Old Orchard Beach... feel free to bug out of this post at this point if you wish!

• Saw a hotel on the way... named "Norman's Hotel"... not sure if that is the greatest name choice.... http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0054215/


• Allison saw a sign for a hair salon call "Curl up and Dye"... nice....


• Saw an airplane banner touting an OOB restaurant... said they had "the real poutine".  A quick wiki search and found out it is a dish popular with French Canadiens... french fries smothered in gravy and cheese curds.  Interesting combo.  Learn something new everyday, if you keep your eyes and ears (and mind) open!


• Besides the Poutine Sign, there were other clues that this beach is popular with those French Canadiens... I heard lots of French being spoken... I suspect that even if they weren't all visiting from Canada, that there has been strong cultural bleed over into Maine from French Canada to the north... lots of old French blood here, n'est-ce pas?


• One of the stores on the pier sold marshmellow guns... and I misread a sign that said "low carb marshmellows" as "low crab marshmellows"  Definitely a "huh?!?" moment.


• Lastly, saw another business on the way back to Fryeburg.  "Mediocre Deli".  Again.. not sure about the naming choice... gotta be a story behind that one.

Where are we again?

I could have sworn Allison told me we were coming to work at a camp in Maine.  I remember heading roughly northeast as we drove over the three days.  We passed through St. Louis, then transited Illinois and Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania, then across New York/Connecticut/Massachusetts... yes, I KNOW we drove to Maine.

So how did we end up in Seattle?

There has been an inordinate amount of rainfall so far since camp has started.  A local told us that there was not as much snow this winter, so he thought the rain was making up for it...

The campers might not enjoy it so much (except for the fact that bugles blow an hour later on rainy mornings... they get to sleep in!), but since I basically work from my cabin, and have a nice view over a small hillock and forest, the rain showers have made for a great office window.  I took a nice little video that shows one of the rainstorms I got to enjoy, but I'm not paying the Wordpress upgrade so you can share my rainstorm... sorry.

I can share a picture of what most of the scenic overviews have looked like:

[caption id="attachment_131" align="alignnone" width="300"] Scenic overlook in North Conway, NH, with the mountain range shrouded in rain clouds.[/caption]

Earlier this week, we had 3 straight days of rain, some of it quite torrential... and my son Logan was out in it, braving the elements on the coast of Maine.  He was on his "trip", one of the excursions that each age group takes.. this one was a "lobstering" trip... they drove to Camden, went out on a lobster boat and helped trap lobsters, then camped on the beach in tents and cooked their lobsters.  It's a great trip, and Allison and I were worried that Logan was having a miserable time of it.  Camping outdoors in heavy rainfall can really be a downer....

Oh, we of little faith.  After the trip was over, and our son avowed that he had a wonderful time, one of the staff that led the trip said that Logan was unshaken by the weather.  In his words.. "Logan just refused to be miserable".  He said Logan was a great kid and he was thrilled to have him along.  I was so very, very proud of him.

And the thought occurred to me... we could all probably learn a lesson from Logan.  He just refused to be miserable.

Refuse to be <insert your own negative phrase/verb/emotion/thought>.  Worth a try  :)

 

A Dubious Assertion, at best....

On Saturday night, Allison and I wandered over to the boys camp, Indian Acres, for the "IA's Got Talent" show. In this annual soiree, the cabins all compete in for the Grand Prize of an Extra Pizza Night, which is high earnings indeed for a handful of young men and/or boys....

As two Blues-Brothers-wannabe-Emcees kicked off the show, the panel of judges took their place at stage left. There was, of course, the increasingly requisite presence of the Simon Cowell Knockoff, the unassuming Nice Guy Judge, and then... this shady character... known as "Doctor Love", which rumor has it was actually my sons' Grand-Dan, but one could not be sure due to the high levels of bling upon his person...

[caption id="attachment_123" align="alignleft" width="225"] The notoriously corrupt judge of "IA's Got Talent"- Dr. Love![/caption]

[caption id="attachment_125" align="aligncenter" width="275"] The Judges: These men *cannot* be trusted.... (photo courtesy of Rich O. and IA/FA)[/caption]

The acts themselves ranged from the silly to almost-superb... and yet each and every one received disparaging comments from New Jersey's answer to Simon Cowell. There were literary recitations set to a male ballerina/swan dancer/somethang.... a trash can/desk/chair version of "Stomp!".... various Variations Upon a Mosquito Theme... and the default act seemed to be showing off the cabin's dancing skills to various popular tunes. One of the final acts, done by some of the oldest boys, was a "Guide to InterCamp Dances for Dummies". (The portrayal of the female halves of the equation required great quantities of Brain Bleach to eradicate from the mind's eye)

As for my boys, they were, in order from youngest to oldest: dancing The Robot; an erstwhile William Tell who can't keep his arrow on the rest before shooting; and a Mosquito Exterminator with a broom.

[caption id="attachment_124" align="alignnone" width="300"] The winning cabin.. Ryan is in the camo t-shirt and white sunglasses.[/caption]

And for the record, the overall winner?  That would be Cabin J5... Ryan's cabin!   Their dance routine garnered the most approbation from the Panel O' Judges... or the counselors paid the most graft beforehand.... we're not sure which.    Each age "unit" had an individual winner before the overall was announced.  Another Juniors cabin won the unit, and Ryan looked so very disappointed... but when his cabin won overall it was great to see his reaction.  :)

[caption id="attachment_126" align="alignnone" width="275"] Ryan's cabin celebrating their big win. Ryan is in the white jacket with colored stripes. (Photo courtesy Rich O. and IA/FA)[/caption]

The Unintentional Anthropologist

"...The long hours spent with them in the forest have enriched my life beyond measure. What I have learned from them has shaped my understanding of human behavior, of our place in nature."- Jane Goodall

It's been two days now since the campers started arriving, and this place has taken on a different air.  Up until now, everyone here has been either staff or counselors (with the exception of staff offspring).  Now, the dining room hall is filled with young 'uns of all ages, and it is fascinating to observe.

These camps were established in 1924... and that is a long time to build up customs that, while quite normal to those involved in the camp for years, make a newcomer almost feel like an anthropologist dropped into the jungle or rainforest.   The 'natives' exhibit various chants throughout meal times (except for Friday nights, which are by candlelight and supposed to be a "quiet" meal).  I freely admit that the majority of the chants are quite unintelligible to me... I feel as if I need to bring a linguist with me to decipher this dialect I've discovered.  In the meantime, I must search for the Forest Acres lingua franca if I wish to understand the goings-on....

My favorite chant of the first night was one, in which, while all the words were not clear, the intent certainly was:  the chant cycled through a long list of years, and people would stand up when the chant reached the year in which they first came to the camp.  Some of these people have been participating for a very, very long time here.  Yours truly stood up on the last verse... the "two-oh-one-two" chant.  The cheers that would resound upon the standing of a particularly popular counselor or staff member, or even a veteran camper with lots of friends was heart-warming.

So why does this matter?  What's the point of these chants and customs and traditions?  What's the point of any such things in any given group, organization, fraternity, congregation, et al?

It matters because we are made to connect with others... to fellowship.  Even a raging introvert like myself  (13-0 on the Meyers-Briggs!) has a basic need to connect with other human beings on a regular basis.   Sociologists will tell you that is why cultures build mores, customs, and traditions... as touchstones for human contact within the group.  It's comforting, surely as much so as when Linus has that blanket in his possession.

Why do we need this so much?  Because our Creator made us that way.  He made us to desire fellowship with Him... and it washes over into our earthly relationships as well.  There is much we will never understand about the Trinity, but the easiest thing to understand about it is that God exists in 3 aspects... and they fellowship with one another in love.

 

My two month "sabbatical" begins...

This year, my family was presented with a wonderful and unique opportunity.  We are going to spend two months at a summer camp in Maine.  My wife is going to work for the camp while my three boys attend it.  Since my job allows me to work from home, I'm able to come along... in the words of my boss:  "Do you have an internet connection and phone signal?  Ok, have fun"  :)

Allison's family has been involved with this camp for many years.  Back in college, she was a counselor here... and by doing this, she will get to see her mother for 2 months... which is a real blessing- because of geographical distance, she and her mom see each other maybe a couple of times a year...

Due to Matthew being involved with the daily entertainment at Vacation Bible School which ended at noon on Friday, we were forced to drive 1900 miles in 2.5 days, as our goal was to arrive by 8:00pm on Sunday, in time for the first of a weekly ritual of the camp... the Sunday night campfire.   This weekly session of sharing, singing, and skits are some of the most important touchstones of this experience.  We made it, but just barely....

[caption id="attachment_117" align="alignnone" width="300"] Our first campfire gathering[/caption]

I'm not a night person, so before this campfire was over... I was really starting to hit the wall, especially after a 12-hour drive that day. But even in my somnolent condition, I was struck by one thing so strongly that I pulled out my journal and wrote about it.

The counselors at this camp, comprised of young people of college age or just a little older, literally come from all over the world.  Many of them are former campers, and their presence added a vibrancy that was tangible, a vibrancy that comes only from young men and women in the start of the prime of their lives, who have the whole world before them... with nasty old things like mortgages and PTA meetings and what not WAY OVER the horizon.

These young folk provide the bulk of the skits, songs, and other presentations done at campfire, and the energy and commitment they have to travel this far and mentor younger kids was something to behold... it felt like a pure, raw power that could be tapped.  I felt like Rand Al' Thor, knowing that the full power of saidar was there, ready to be grabbed ahold of and used to do wonderful things.

And it also served as a reminder... yes, the countryside here is stunning... the vistas are overwhelmingly beautiful... the climate is so much more enjoyable than Texas... but in the end, it is the people that make a place magical.  These wonderful children of our Creator, (whether they acknowledge him or not), and the pure power of the hope and dreams of their lives and their young charges who will arrive in a few days... it makes this place sing.

And oh, I'm looking forward to hearing the rousing chorus... bring it!

Why did I cheer the Great Home Run Race?

" In the past decade the game and the bodies of those who play it have lost their cartoonish outrageousness, as have the statistics they produce. In the nine seasons before steroid testing, players crashed the 50-home run threshold 18 times, the 60-home run barrier six times. In the nine seasons with testing, there have been only six 50-homer seasons. Nobody has hit 60."  -  'To Cheat or Not to Cheat' by Tom Verducci, Sports Illustrated, June 4 2012

Do you remember the Great Home Run Race?   Sosa and McGuire, duking it out with each other and the ghost of Maris... and even the wraith of The Babe channeled through Maris' stress and discomfort?   How we cheered as the laughing Sammy and the taciturn McGuire stalked and hunted one of the most vaunted records in the game of baseball.

It was a heady time.  For me personally, it became a healing catharsis of sorts, helping  pull me back to baseball after the disaster of the cancelled World Series of 1994.  I remember listening with my wife to the radio in the car as McGuire tied the record.  It was a great time, and I cheered as loud as any fan returning to the Great Game.

Within just a few years, an absolute nimrod would come along and eclipse the whole thing.. both the record and feelings.  Like a harbinger of doom, that man's record chase was the crack in the door through which we all peeked and saw the filth within.... the home run chase that we cheered was a sham... a vial of snake oil sold to unsuspecting commoners at the county fair.

We should have known.  I should have known.  I have more than my fair share of cynic in me.  If this were the movie "Eight Men Out", I would be one of the sportswriters (the portly, dumpy one, not the tall, thin one) casting a jaded eye on the whole process, circling the faces of the players that I knew were doing something wrong no matter what the charged atmosphere.

So now, years later... I wonder... why did I cheer?  I wish I hadn't.

You might ask... why does it matter?  And to that, I would answer this:  one of the great attractions of baseball is that it is played by men of relatively normal statures.  I measure in at 6' 2" tall... and almost all the point guards in the NBA are 5-6" taller than I am.  Football players are ginormous.  Olympic swimmers have wingspans wider than they are tall, or can bend their feet completely back and some such.   Baseball is a game that can be played by guys like David Wells and John Kruk.   Hand-eye coordination matters more than hulking mass or freakishly perfect physiology.  Despite the heroic stature we often accord them... these boys of baseball look like us... and that is important.

Steroids changed that.  It turned the boys of baseball into something more than normal, and at the expense of their compatriots who chose not to cheat, and in violation of the trust of fans, and at great cost to themselves.  And those same steroids fueled the Great Home Run Chase, and nothing we do now can undo the taint on that year...

And I look back and think... why did I cheer?