Unfinished Dad

Amazingly, There Were No Injuries

When you haven't posted all day and you decide to fall back on the ol' photo post, you should have something better prepared than the crazier older daughter trying to hold the calmer younger daughter for a picture.  Amazingly, there were no injuries.  Really, when all was said and done the finished product could have been much worse.

California, Part IV

The first time I pulled into a western ski town I was 23 years old, scared and lonely.  I left a job and a girlfriend, well, two of the latter, back east.  I had little money saved—$1500 maximum—and little clue of what I was going to do for work or lodging.  The only thing I knew was that I was running.  Sure, my trip was under the guise of a soul-searching, life-altering dream that millions had sought before me.  But my own particular western sojourn was a sprint from responsibility.

Sometimes I tell of my Wyoming trip in a proud, footloose way.  Other times I tell of it in a sad, lost, searching way.  I like to think that, in reality, it was somewhere in between, and not completely pitiful.  The best, longest lasting thing that came out of it was one very reliable password that I still use for every website I visit.

Wyoming makes the last few miles into Mammoth all the sweeter.  Instead of leaving the east coast behind like a rotten mess to be dealt with later, I have left behind a perfect family and more love than I can express.  I am headed into the arms of friends and will soon be snowboarding in the sun.  The clock just hit 5:00 so the slopes will have to wait another day.  I like the idea of having to buy sunscreen for the mountain in the morning.

My first glimpse of Mammoth Mountain is from the bottom of a very long hill that leads to the lodge.  I have just locked my car keys in my friend’s house and the only option available to me is to hoof it.  My thoughts are cluttered with my stupidity, the effect of the altitude on my lungs, the runs that await me, and the mile that I now have to walk with my snowboard and gear, in impossibly tight boots that I haven’t worn for over a year.

Halfway up, huffing and red, an older couple who is descending passes by.  My hands are on my knees, my face is bright red, and I’m shifting my weight back and forth to try and get some feeling back in my toes.  “That one really sneaks up on you,” I choke, and they smile knowingly, but assure me that, “If you do it every day, it really isn’t so bad.”  I resist telling them to fuck off.

I have been sitting on this bench wiggling my toes for 10 minutes.  It’s time to put my free pass (Yee-aah) to good use.  The snow is still a bit firm, so I am headed to the south side where the sun hits earliest.  I learned another new and mind-boggling fact today.  If you open a tube of creamy liquid—though I assume any liquid—at altitude, it squirts out and hits you in the eye.  This must be from the pressure (or lack of it?) that is up here.  I should have put on my sunscreen at home.  I vow to ask someone about this and to aim my tube at someone else’s eye tomorrow morning.

The snow is buttery soft.  I am cruising.  My turns are as crisp as my mind.  I stare down into the valley and take note of the shape of the mountains.  They form a kind of bowl, a bowl that must be 20 miles wide.  I have never seen anything like it.  I also have never seen a run this long.  My thighs ache and it looks like I’m only halfway to my goal.  I’m meeting my host at chair 9 and I’m looking forward to seeing his face on a mountain in the middle of the Sierra Nevada, on which I am all alone.

He’s easy to pick out of the crowd, not because he’s working, but because he is gregariously talking to everyone whose pass he checks.  Sadly, only one in ten realize that he is making fun of them.  They all nod nervously and try not to offend the “super friendly” lift attendant.  Most can’t take their eyes off of the peak that looms some 3,000 feet above them.  I pull him aside to say hello and ask my lotion question.  I find out that it happens to just about everything sealed.  He tells me that if we go to the supermarket I will see all of the ice cream containers exploded in the case.  We are going tonight for sure.  He also lets me know that the “valley” I admired a few minutes ago is actually an enormous, inactive, caldera from a massive volcano that exploded thousands of years ago.  I wonder, did they snowboard that day?

I had more than my share of riding today and I’m looking forward to kicking my feet up and having a few beers.  This is apparently what everyone in Mammoth thinks every night, because one of the neighbors is currently trying to get his snowmobile off of a trailer while impossibly drunk.  He must want to ride it to the store or something.  Not so, we soon find out that his plan is to jump it off of the ten foot snow bank that was formed the last time the driveway was plowed.  He thinks he can land on another bank about thirty feet away.  See if you can guess whether or not there were any girls watching.

All of the neighbors tell him he’s crazy…and drunk.  I tell him he is brilliant…and sober.  Much debate and fear mongering ensue.  This is the result.

Where else to end but there?  Tune in next time.  I will tell of the rest of my stay and my completely relaxed flight home.  

Lost, Cont'd

Mind boggling, as usual.

Lost

No post today, because Lost (on DVR to avoid an hour of commercials) went waay too late last night.  Make sure you check out Jeff Jensen's recap on EW.com later...you won't get any work done for about an hour, but it will be worth it.

Overheard Told Directly To Without A Hint Of Reservation

I live in a great neighborhood.  We have beautiful homes, tons of shopping, and wonderful neighbors.  One such neighbor stands head and shoulders above the rest.  She is the kind of person who's love for my children knows no bounds.  We have only known her for six months, but her openness won us over instantly.  To honor her, below is a little smattering of random things that she has told us over tantrums and diaper changes.

Over a playdate outside: "(Neighbor's name deleted) is crazy.  He doesn't understand my dad.  He's just not a good sport."

Told to my wife and I last Sunday: "You guys have a really small house." Pause...More Pausing. "It's cozy though."

Minutes Later: "Your kitchen is just like the kitchen at our house in Vermont.  It's really small too."

1:30 P.M. on a random Saturday: "I got really tan because we were on vacation in Florida.  We stayed at this really nice hotel.  My parents had to spend all of our money just so we could go there."

A few minutes later that same Saturday: "I was bored at my house, so I thought I would come over here, because my parents haven't come out of their room yet.  They said it was their 'date' day."

Oh What A Feeling!

A regular reader asked a question today about my wife's hops.  In my Mother's Day photo she appears to be walkin' on air.  For those of you that have seen my wife "jump" you must think that I used Photoshop to pull that picture off.  Not so.  Instead, I used the natural wonder of our great Pine Tree State, Maine.  We traveled there in 2005, a few months before our wedding and camped from the southern tip, and the Georgetown Peninsula, to the northern tip, and Lubec.

While in Georgetown, we witnessed the first of many natural wonders during our stay.  We camped that first night at the head of Sagadahoc Bay.  In the morning I awoke with the birds and walked down to the water to take in its fog covered serenity.  There was only one problem; the water had vanished over night.  I yelled up through the woods to my wife to hurry (and explain) when I realized that I was witnessing the same pull of the moon that we have in New Jersey, times 10.  The tide had drained the mile-long bay in just a few hours.  Later that day, we took advantage of the phenomenon and walked through the mud to the, now distant, shoreline.  As you would expect, the water was incredibly shallow.  Thus, my wife's incredible ups.

Happy Mother's Day

Happy Mother's Day to the ten (god, I hope I got that number right, there's just so many) mothers in our immediate family.  May you all feel like Annie and Tilda's mom in this picture.  She's a special woman, who strikes an incredible balance between providing for us as a "father" normally would--our Ward Cleaver, if you will--and loving us in the tradition of the many wonderful women in her family who have come before her.

Oh, and yes I am sorry for posting this picture honey.  And yes folks, that is a rendition of the Toyota leap from those old "Oh what a feeling" commercials.  Classic.

This Is A Baby Blog?

Someone commented on the lack of baby pics here at Unfinished Dad lately.  Normally we at UD go through spurts of writing or photography, the two rarely overlap.  However, there haven't been any pictures of the kidlets lately because our camera is in New Jersey with Grandma.  Don't worry, the camera and the grandparents are visiting this weekend, so you should see Annabelle and Matilda soon.

Here, then, are some classics.

Two Week Annie

93 Week Annie

Zero Week Tilda

32 Week Tilda

Enjoy Jill.

Thanks Mom and Dad

When I was growing up, my Dad would always ask me, "what do you worry about other people for?"  It was always a goal of mine not to do this, but as a child you know this is difficult.  My mother took a different approach to this same mantra and would simply practice the art of public embarrassment.  She was the type to walk down the aisle of the A&P and sing a nonsensical song loudly until your face at last de-reddened.  I'm proud to say that as an adult their efforts have finally taken effect.  Below is the proof, and the real reason why the Sufjan Stevens song that I posted yesterday tugs at my proverbial heart strings.  That's right, Johnny's surfer funeral from the OC.  Take that Mom and Dad.

Word Girl

We listen to a lot of music in our house.  Even though the quotes around our "no TV" rule get bigger with every tantrum that Annie throws, we still listen to hours of music a day.  Whenever I get addicted to a new album--Sufjan Stevens Greetings From Michigan: The Great Lakes State right now--there is always one track that gets caught up in my head while my day to day happens.  Like this.

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This week however, the tables were turned.  When I climb the stairs I sing, When faced with a catastrophe, you need the living dictionary.  When I make dinner I belt out, From the Planet Lexicon watch out villains here she COOOOOMMES.  Do you know whom of which I speak?  If you have kids or impeccable television taste you may.

If you don't, do me a favor, every Monday at 5:00 park yourself on the couch (with or without kids) and watch Word Girl on PBS.  There's no need for me to explain the nuances of Captain Huggyface or the Botsford Family.  Just lose yourself in the theme song and figure the rest out later.