"I think this world is perfect..."

Two Bees

2009-07-05T09:57:00.003-04:00

As I quickly write these words, the house is alive with the sounds and movements of a family packing up and getting ready to head up to Vermont for the first installment of this year's summer vacation. I'll try to post some photos and observations from up there in the coming week.

In the meantime, here are two shots I got yesterday of bees on respective pollen-gathering missions, the top one right outside our house in the morning and the bottom at my parents' place, where we spend the day.

The bee photos offer a welcome opportunity to let people know, particularly as the mercury rises, that Haagen-Dazs is still making the best ice cream in the history of the planet, a limited-edition return engagement that was supposed to be discontinued at the end of last year but, happily, lives on. Maybe we all had something to do with that. I'd like to think so.

Betsy Ross Would Be Proud

2009-06-29T06:24:00.007-04:00

One morning a few weeks ago I was walking by the girls' bathroom when Ava called out to me and asked me to come in. She was getting ready to brush her teeth.

"Look Dad," she said. "See what I do with the toothpaste? I use the different colors to make an American flag. Isn't that cool?"

I have no idea what compelled her to do this, it happened well before any talk of Independence Day or Old Glory occurred in our house, although she has been enjoying the new season of Army Wives.

Whatever the motivation, it seemed like a perfect image to kick off a week that ends with July 4 and a long weekend that has always been my favorite of the year, because it falls right around my birthday.

Unfortunately that day is seeming less and less a motivation to celebrate, although I have to admit having the opportunity clearly beats the alternative.

Saturday

2009-06-27T09:30:00.004-04:00

This Week's Big Development

2009-06-26T07:34:00.002-04:00

Today is Madison's last day in her K-2 school, she's "graduating" and next year will be in a building that is grades 3-5. At some point over the last month or so (and after a few hundred heartfelt requests) she and Gwen worked out a plan to pierce her ears as an element of this passage, so that by the time she gets to her "big" school next year she'll be through the process with these initial earrings and able to appropriately accessorize.

Needless to say it was a pretty big moment, and something she was looking forward to and talking about for weeks. It also gave us the chance to apply some extremely powerful non-seasonal Shock And Awe, in the form of threats to cancel the piercing appointment, and of course we like to use every option currently available in our parenting arsenal.

This was not a development I particularly relished, and I actually felt a little bit sad about it as we ticked down the days to last Saturday, when Gwen and my sister went with Madison - who by all accounts was extremely brave and smiled through the whole event at a local jewelry store. Perfect little ears getting a hole punched in them, for the purposes of adornment, was not high on my agenda.

But it was something she wanted, many others in her world had already blazed the relatively harmless trail, and even though it caused my mind to fast-forward for a minute to boys, and cars, college graduation, getting married and moving out, I somehow got through it, and with the exception of these colorful little chips now hanging from our 8-year-old's ears, our world is pretty much the same.

For the moment.

Arthur Avenue Redux

2009-06-21T16:40:00.013-04:00

We marked Father's Day this year with a family excursion to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx. Managed to hit all the personal favorites, Ravioli and fresh pasta stock-up at Borgatti's (yes, we brought coolers), Madonia Brother's for bread, another extraordinary lunch of pizza and salad at Mario's. Unfortunately we discovered that Teitel Brothers is closed on Sunday, so no Fulvi Pecorino Romano, but it was still a great day. And, this time, I brought my camera.

[Mario's exterior, close-up of the menu that does not include any mention of what can only be considered one of the best pizzas you will ever have in your life, and owner Joseph Migliucci (through a glass window) making one of the aforementioned pizzas. Shhhh...]

[The boxes of Borgatti's insane ravioli that are now safely ensconced in our fridge and freezer, alone, were worth the trip. Bought enough to share with a few fortunate friends and neighbors, and also some of the homemade pasta, which starts off as large sheets that are then custom cut to five designated thicknesses. Here we see our personal semolina concierge standing over a mound of #5.]

[Ridiculous bread. Ridiculous.]

[Stopped off, again, to light a candle and say a prayer at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church.]

[Only negative of the day was discovering that Teitel Brothers isn't open on Sunday. Oh well, just another excuse to get back there soon. And we will.]

Hosta La Vista

2009-06-07T08:11:00.013-04:00

At least a half dozen different kinds of Hostas growing outside at the moment, and we're not complaining. It's like someone detonated a green bomb, and we're partial to green around here.

Fit To Print

2009-06-05T07:52:00.002-04:00

My first job out of college was reporting for my hometown weekly newspaper, and I spent the next six years as a working journalist - with a slight pause along the way to go to grad school, for journalism. My name doesn't appear in bylines anymore, but my professional life is still wrapped up in the media, so the changes and severe challenges being faced by print publications right now have obviously been of interest.

I made the transition from reporting to media relations in the mid-90s, and since then have watched print outlets confront at least three seismic shifts that rank right up there with telegraph to telephone, horse-drawn carriages to automobiles, candles to electricity.

The first was the move to a 24-hour news cycle. When I was reporting in the late '80s and early '90s, the creation of a newspaper was like a giant wave that grew, gained momentum and then crashed down on a significantly better-informed beach once a day, or once a week, depending on frequency. You came into the office with stories in process, or just in your head, or found them waiting on the assignment desk when you got there, and then went about your job of gathering facts, attending meetings, talking to people and - in most cases - filing the result of all this activity before you went home. The finish line was relatively predictable, it could be pushed to the limits at times, or accelerated on those dreaded days when some production issue or extraordinary occurrence resulted in a declaration of "early deadlines," to the hassled groans of the editorial staff.

Then everything changed, and the ability to publish news on the Web resulted in a true round-the-clock news cycle. The only way static, once-a-day newspapers could compete with online news sources, cable networks, radio stations and e-mail alerts was to put their stories online, and it took newspapers probably a good five to 10 years figuring out how to make that transition. It was like taking a factory with one shift that came to a logical conclusion at a regular interval, resulting in a finished product, and instructing it to start cranking out different forms of that product all day long, with customers stopping by at any time to grab a piece, while still expecting the morning delivery that attracted them to factory in the first place. Never mind that it's a competitive industry and this need for incremental updates and transparency didn't really mesh that well with a core value driver/differentiator, namely scoops.

Eventually, newspapers were able to adapt to the 24-hour news cycle, largely by shifting content and incremental story updates onto Web sites that were available to both subscribers and non-subscribers for free. But, however they got there, the transition to serving up news whenever it broke, while still maintaining the commitment to creating the regularly-scheduled programming, was ultimately achieved.

And then two things happened, one of which was predicted in the J-School classes I sat in more than 15 years ago and another that no one expected. At long last, the "print is dead" prognosticators started to be right, or at least right enough that the businesses built around gathering, publishing and shipping news and information to people started to notice. The shift to online news sources, in myriad forms, actually began to happen, especially among young people who had never subscribed to a print publication and probably never would. And this all-important constituency (the future) has been conditioned to expect online content and services to be provided without cost - call it the Napster effect, or the Google effect, most recently the Hulu effect - but this critical audience inherently expects Web-enabled content and tools to be provided gratis.

While traditional newspapers were struggling to adapt to the changing habits and expectations of its paid subscribers - the other shoe hit the floor, in the form of the most severe economic crisis in decades and the sudden evaporation of advertising dollars. This loss of revenue only exacerbated the steady migration of profitable classified ads (real estate, employment, and others) to online platforms and services. If crisis #1 was forcing print media operations into a systematic and hopefully strategic contraction and retrenching, crisis #2 knocked the buildings down and left those left standing trying to navigate their way out of the rubble.

I wrote for newspapers large and small in my years as a journalist. Under both scenarios, I was the common denominator - a person with a pad and a pen and ability to go out and find a story and some relevant quotes, and bring it all back to a waiting newsroom and, ultimately, the reader. That core function was performed for scrappy weeklies or within the velvet coffins of over-resourced and institutional big-city dailies. And that's part of the problem. Simply put, the trimmings and trappings of the large urban daily are unsustainable, given the harsh realities the industry is facing on several levels.

Go into any major city in America and try to find the location of the hometown paper, more often than not you'll wind up in a large and fancy (if weathered) office building in the center of town, high rent payments or valuable real estate wrapped up in the enterprise and the price/cost equation. Maybe that made sense at one time - easy access to the courts, police or government offices that generated much of the copy - but it doesn't anymore. Especially today, when a savvy reporter with a notebook computer, cell phone and wireless Internet access effectively qualifies as a roving newsroom. Throw in a digital camera and, on occasion, that one individual can knock out the need for a centrally-dispatched photo staff, too.

I'm not suggesting that large preeminent dailies are going to be able to convert entirely to a fleet of one-man-band news gatherers working out of converted motor homes in order to adapt to the current environment, but the machinery that has been created and preserved over many decades does need to move in that direction - already has begun to move, painfully, in that direction. Elaborate and centrally-located big city newsrooms, or enormous suburban installations, simply don't make sense today. There's no need to submit a Freedom of Information request from an address in mid-town Manhattan that has a trendy restaurant in the marble lobby, when one from a much more modest facility serves the same purpose and generates the same response.

But the news isn't all bad, because the inevitable shift from print to online/electronic content distribution does carry with it a potentially life-saving development for the industry, or at least some tangible good news, in the form of lower production costs. I was driving by an enormous New York Times printing facility in Queens a few months ago, a truly gigantic building, rows and rows of 18-wheelers parked outside, can't even imagine the raw materials and machinery employed inside, not to mention the staff - all to work through the night stamping words and images on pieces of paper so they could be loaded into the trucks and shipped to my community, and then handed off to someone tasked with driving by my house around 6 a.m. and throwing the finished product out of a passing car in the general direction of the front door. Intelligent people can differ on the value and tactile benefits of receiving a paper in physical form, but there's no getting around the fact that all of the content that printing plant and resulting chain of events facilitated was available to me, with a few keystrokes and mouse clicks, in the comfort of my own home hours before it ever arrived on my doorstep. With better quality photos on a high-resolution screen, interactivity, the ability to search and share and probably a dozen other benefits I'm not thinking of and one enormous advantage to the newspaper itself - printing and delivery costs that round down to approximately zero.

Efficiencies derived through more limited physical production, as readers increasingly shift to digital distribution, should help to sustain and support the news gathering process, which is really what this is all about - paying for the newsroom. And, by and large, people will agree to pay for the operation of the newsroom, because they want quality journalism, they want information, they want a group of people out there in a position to serve as their eyes and ears, with the freedom to dig where it counts. Whether out of legitimate curiosity or just a desire to sound intelligent and current at the neighborhood cocktail party, there's a reason "did you see that thing in the paper," continues to endure as a conversation starter and bedrock question in our society. And that's not going to change. People are curious, about all sorts of things.

No one knows exactly how this is all going to go, what specific permutations will be attempted or succeed in the broader efforts to save the American newspaper, but there are at least three points that seem likely to play in any solution, as the industry seeks to reinvent itself.

#1, Commitment to localism. Local news is key, and rare, and valued by readers far more than the wire service story about an explosion in Belize. Town, county and even state governments, schools, crime and law enforcement, the new restaurant around the corner and whether or not it's any good, plans to renovate the community park - these are significant threads in the fabric and quality of people's lives, and too often they are ignored, or understaffed. The hometown newspaper (regardless of the size of the hometown) is best positioned to serve as the definitive expert and observer of its own community, an authoritative source of information that is not available from any other outlet in quite the same way, whether in print or online.

When I started this post, the top U.S. headline on Google News has to do with the dedication of a Ronald Reagan statue in Washington, and there were 851 different stories to choose from. The word overkill comes to mind. But coverage of budget cuts in your local school district and the possible impact on the size of the class your child sits in every day? The fate of that abandoned building you drive by on the way to work? Why there isn't a traffic light or stop sign at that intersection where cars keep bumping into each other? Underkill city. Run authoritative wire copy for the review of the new iPod or feature film, and staff the small stuff, in new and novel ways, because that information isn't coming from anywhere else.

#2, Stop giving it away. The evolution of the 24-hour news cycle and belief in the value of Internet eyeballs to advertisers resulted in a near-unanimous decision by newspapers to charge for their content in print and give it away online. Clearly this approach is not working, and whether it's the short-term impact of a dismal advertising market, failure to truly unleash the potential of the technology or fundamental disconnect between allocating precious resources to produce something of value and then slapping a "free" tag on it, it's time for a new approach. There are challenges, as noted above, with getting the Internet generation to pay for anything available online, but it makes more sense to at least try to educate new behaviors than it does to stick with the ostrich routine and pretend the current dynamic is as good as it's going to get.

Print subscribers should have access to a paper's online presence as part of their deal, and online-only customers should be provided a way to pay for access at a discounted rate that reflects the comparatively cost-effective way they are consuming the editorial product. Customers should be allowed to enable RSS readers and other developing consumption vehicles so they can consume the content they've paid for in ways that work for them, and to e-mail live links to individual stories to as many people as they want - call it a limited distribution license - which will enhance the value of a subscription, promote the sense of "community" and serve as viral marketing for the newspaper. No one is going to subscribe to their hometown newspaper because they read one of its stories on Google News, but they sure might if a relative or friend e-mailed them a piece that was particularly valuable or insightful.

#3, Find efficiencies everywhere, but don't cede authority, commitment to quality or editorial structure. Like it or not, the evolution of blogs and Twitter and other online publishing tools means that legitimate newspapers are and will continue to compete for eyeballs with an expanding array of content creators who are sitting in their pajamas at 3 p.m. and munching on cold pizza between the keystrokes. That's the way it is. But there is value in credibility, and the reporter/editor structure has endured for as long as it has because it works, and delivers news and information with a degree of accuracy that is neither expressed nor implied by a lone blogger grabbing a piece of hearsay or crafting a personal opinion and pushing the publish button. Not to take anything away from anyone trying to add their own personal voice to the conversation, but standards are important, and long-developed newspaper brands are meaningful, and strategic evolution must preserve these advantages and bona fides.

This is not in any way intended to minimize the huge disruptions and challenges being faced by newspapers and in newsrooms across the country, or to provide an answer to every pressing challenge. The loss of jobs and resources suffered by print media outlets - including the demise of bedrock daily newspapers like Denver's Rocky Mountain News - has been nothing short of catastrophic. But unlike other industries that faced difficult transitional moments and didn't survive, newspapers (with or without the "paper") will find a way to endure, because news is news, news is valued, and news is needed.

Shades Of June

2009-06-02T08:04:00.002-04:00

Same flower/bud combo, separated by about 10 hours. I asked Gwen to pick her favorite but she liked them both, so here they are.

Don't Want To Live On The Moon

2009-05-31T21:13:00.003-04:00

Sang this song to Ava tonight at bedtime, by request, and it reminded me of the best version I've ever heard, performed by Ernie and Aaron Neville on Sesame Street, years ago. Enjoy.

An Afternoon On Arthur Avenue

2009-05-31T12:18:00.016-04:00

A few months ago, I got a call from my Dad. He said a friend of his was headed into the Bronx, Arthur Avenue, to buy some kind of imported grating cheese he'd been eating since he was a kid. He asked if we wanted any, and even before I knew the details I was on board. I loved the idea - in a world of $5-foot-longs, Domino's Bread Bowl Pasta and Olive Garden marketer/chefs hard at work on the next ludicrous concoction able to be drizzled on a plate in slow motion, accompanied by breathless voiceover ("16-cheese frozen shrimp and truffle-dusted manicotti, with anchovy essence and imported Tuscan soil") - of an artisanal product retrieved from a childhood store, on a street that is more or less frozen in time.

The source was a little shop that has been in operation on the same corner since 1915, a packed-to-the-rafters deli-type place called Teitel Brothers, and the cheese was Fulvi Pecorino Romano, which they sell for $6.99 a pound. We got our allocation, and loved it. If the pasta-eating world is divided into Parmesan (Parmigiano-Reggiano in its highest form, green shake can of Kraft pre-grated sand in its lowest) and Romano camps, we're Romano people. Before we tried the Fulvi, the high-water mark was without a doubt imported Locatelli. The Fulvi had that great sharp tang, but with a little fuller flavor, a little richer, buttery hints that took that distinctive and welcome bite on top of pasta and red sauce to a new and slightly more intoxicating place.

It was incredible, and we quickly ran out of our supply. We discovered that Teitel Brothers is more than happy to ship its wares, which include very good and very reasonably priced unfiltered and first cold pressed olive oils, and went in on a few mail order deliveries. Then my Dad suggested we all drive in one weekend and get the full Arthur Avenue experience, and the invitation turned into a great and memorable Saturday afternoon.

My first impression was that Arthur Avenue was what you hoped Little Italy in Manhattan would be, but isn't. Whatever the history, Little Italy - to me - has turned into a fairly limited string of tourist trap restaurants. Sure, there's an enduring presence or two thrown into the mix, but the place today is like a theme park version of an old working Italian enclave, like when they stopped letting visitors tour the actual Hershey factory in Pennsylvania and instead shifted the interest and the masses to a theme-park ride along the lines of "It's A Small World," with piped in cocoa aroma.

Arthur Avenue is real, a street buzzing with activity and, more importantly, authenticity. We started off with lunch at Mario's Restaurant, which has been cranking out memorable meals since 1919. Every old school Italian joint within 50 miles of Times Square has its own version of the "Sinatra used to eat here" story, but sitting in a place like this you can actually believe it. We had terrific house salads and the pizza, which doesn't even appear on the menu (legendary foodie Ed Levine has the backstory on that), was right up there with Pepe's and Totonno's on our short list of best pies ever. A crust that can only be described as perfect, nice chunks of crushed tomatoes in the sauce, high-quality cheese. It really doesn't get much better, and another Mario's pie is, in itself, worthy justification for a return trip.

But there is so much more to see, experience and eat on Arthur Avenue. We wandered into at least three busy and seemingly thriving bread bakeries located within about a block of each other. One of them had a sign in the window seeking a part-time baker, and the romantic notion of temporarily shelving the day job in favor of a couple of months getting up at the crack of dawn and driving to Arthur Avenue to make bread lived until roughly the moment when I mentioned it to Gwen. The girls had some homemade lemon ice that passed the sweet/tart balance test with flying colors. I grabbed a very respectable espresso at a one of the many pastry shops.

We went into Teitel Brothers and stocked up on Fulvi cheese and big tins of olive oil, the place was a swirl of crowds and activity and pleasant aromas that obviously didn't come through when placing mail orders over the phone. Unbelievable value, the price of every single item we'd seen elsewhere was significantly discounted within the walls of this special little vortex.

We were told in advance not to miss the chance to stop off at Borgatti's and pick up some of their fresh pastas, particularly the ravioli. We did, bought a box of small cheese ravioli and fired them up when we got home that night. And even though we were already stuffed they were without a doubt the best ravioli we had ever had, insane little pillows of semolina and cheese, ready for whatever kind of dressing you had in mind or even eaten right out of the colander.

I have no doubt that we merely scratched the surface on our little Saturday afternoon excursion, but I know for certain that we "got" the place, succeeded in hitting a number of its high points and - especially with the summer months ahead - will absolutely be back. Back for more pizza and salads at Mario's, more olive oil/cheese stock-ups at Teitel Brothers, more ravioli and fresh pasta from Borgatti's, more bread, light a candle or two at the Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church, maybe even take in a Mass on a street that takes you back in time, and treats you very well when you're there.

***

[New visitors arriving by virtue of a very gracious link from the good people over at Serious Eats might enjoy a few previous posts, including our Sunday Sauce recipe and nod to Rao's, or tribute to the late California pizza pioneer Ed LaDou, or strategy for creating ridiculously good, ridiculously slow-roasted tomatoes. Feel free to wander around and make yourself at home. And thanks Ed.]

Passing Through

2009-05-20T07:51:00.004-04:00

Came downstairs and just a couple of minutes into the typical routine of making coffee, unstacking the dishwasher, getting Ava her milk, putting on Cyberchase and the dozen or so activities that make up every morning, Gwen looked out the window over the sink and immediately exclaimed, "DUCKS! We have ducks in our backyard!"

Grabbed the camera and went outside and there they were, two beautiful Mallards, strolling on the grass. We grabbed some bread and tried to feed them but they quickly wound their way around the house, across the front lawn and briefly ended up in the road, before disappearing.

I went back out a little while later with more bread to see if they were still around but they were gone, and as I trudged back up the front walk I felt a little like Tony Soprano in one of the early seasons, when the ducks that had made a temporary home in his pool flew off, never to be seen again. It was nice while it lasted and an interesting start to the day.

Radio City/i Field

2009-05-14T07:24:00.002-04:00

Rare and fortunate set of circumstances had me inside two New York City landmarks (one old, one new) over the last couple of days - Radio City Music Hall and Citi Field, the new home of the New York Mets. Squeezed off a few iPhone photos along the way.

I've always loved Radio City, from the sign outside to the meticulously preserved retro interior, the history of the place really comes through, it's almost like walking back in time, to a night out in the city 60 or 70 years ago. Seems like from an aesthetic perspective what you're getting inside today is basically what you would have gotten back then, despite the changes (some good, some bad) that have taken place on the other side of the doors. I saw Radiohead there on the OK Computer tour - probably my favorite live show ever - and that band in that venue alone provided something of an anachronistic masterpiece.

I was excited to take in a game at the new Citi Field and the experience did not disappoint. Yes, as many before me have observed, they need to find a way to inject more "Mets" into the space, hopefully it's something they'll address over time. Not to take anything away from Jackie Robinson or his achievements, but as a lifelong Mets fan I'd gladly trade part of his historic pavilion for a little bit of Jesse Orosco's victory collapse of 1986, Mookie flying down the first base line in the direction of some guy with a "B" on his hat, something of Tom Terrific before he was banished... hell, I'd take a Bruce Boisclair bench stuck in a corner somewhere at this point.

But it's an amazing place to see a game, a huge upgrade over Shea, which we were happy to visit with the girls in its closing moments. Citi Field feels wider and more spread out, it's amazing how open the place is, you can leave your seat and wander up to the concession stand and not miss a thing, no more long concrete tunnels as barriers to the action and staring up at a bad video monitor to track the game while waiting for a hot dog or $7.50 beer. It's beautifully done and unbelievably fan friendly. Cool breezes flowing through the place, motion-activated water, soap and hand towels in the rest rooms, what more could you want?

My first game there was a 12-inning loss to the hated Atlanta Braves, after significant excitement along the way, a home-team grand slam and other incremental highlights that did not pan out in the end. Basically a microcosm of more than four decades following the team, and a perfect christening of the new address.

Stages

2009-05-10T11:58:00.003-04:00

Figures this humble little "Daddy Blog" would turn three on Mother's Day, but the parenting moments documented here have always been very much a team effort, so I'm not complaining. In preparation for the anniversary, I went back and read some of the early posts, girls were 5 and 3 when this all started, and it's amazing to breathe in and appreciate the changes and growth we've seen over a relatively short period of time. At some point in this process Madison and Ava wandered over and we looked at the old pictures and read some of the text and much laughter ensued, which confirmed my long-held view that this is all worth it.

I've been focused on stages lately, which seems appropriate for a milestone post. This is #286 in the event anyone's counting. I certainly haven't been lately, although I'm not yet ready to free my limited audience with a Larry Sanders-esque "you may now flip" sign-off. We'll keep plugging away here, I think I have the domain registered through 2016 or something, so mothballs aren't anywhere in sight. Although we make no warranty, expressed or implied, regarding frequency.

When I started this blog we were just approaching the end of the baby stage, that brief period during which basically everyone we knew had kids, were having kids, thinking about having kids or found themselves somewhere in that unique and indescribable place. Strollers, bottles, diapers, "Music Together" classes "Hello... everybody, so nice to see you," the first few "artistic" dashes of paint on a large piece of a paper. Carrying everything you could possibly imagine with you at all times, in preparation for any possible contingency or development. The "process" of life at that point seems even more daunting looking back than it probably was at the time.

Now most of the people in our circle have moved into the "pets" stage, feels like every week or so there's a new dog or cat emerging somewhere, I get the highlights in mid-afternoon phone calls from Gwen that she and the girls went over to someone's house to meet some kind of furry arrival, of course now that we have two cats it's the dogs that really seem to captivate Madison and Ava. Sorry kids, we're not going there. Yet. Feel bad about saying no, because I remember growing up the idea of a dog of my own was like the one glaringly unattainable objective, I just couldn't get there, regardless of how or how often I asked. I was somehow able to convince my parents to pay for television, but a little puppy running around that was "mine" was a nonstarter.

I was on a business trip recently and went to dinner with a group of parents who were in the "teenage years" stage, on the early side. The conversation gravitated to the appropriate age for first cell phones (consensus at the table was 12 or 13), monitoring online behavior and interactions, social networking sites, dating, who's driving and what time will you be home and other fun issues. And after ordering eight more drinks I took comfort in the fact that we're not there yet, not close to there yet.

And then I came home from work one night last week and was greeted by Madison asking whether or not she had "an e-mail," because one of her friends in her Second Grade class had asked if she could send her a message. Years ago on that happy day when we first found Gmail, I set up accounts for everyone in the family, and told Gwen that by the time the girls were old enough to use theirs a Gmail address was going to be the modern-day equivalent of a Social Security number. I still hold this view, although Madison expressed interest in hers a little too early to really validate the prediction. All apologies to Larry and Sergey.

I told her she did, in fact, have "an e-mail" and then we went into the account and cleared out the hundreds of spam messages she'd received, all the notifications of upcoming Laurie Berkner Band appearances and she started fresh, picked her own "theme" (Summer Ocean) and everything. Has been kicking messages back and forth with a couple of friends for the last few days and it's all cute and innocent at this point, friendly phonetically spelled greetings and good wishes, but the signs are clear, we're headed into another stage. Nothing is ever really too far away, once you've entered the continuum. And, wherever you happen to be along the way, whatever link in the chain you are currently focused on, two words most definitely apply.

Buckle up.

In The Moment

2009-04-17T22:42:00.005-04:00

I really had no intention of leaving that last (heavy) post up on top of the site for quite so long, such is the sorry and neglected state of my blog. No real excuse, just life and feeling increasingly busy and diverted. At least once a day I remind myself of the need to hit "publish," just haven't been able to get there. I've actually started getting friendly "I love your blog, but wish you would update more often" e-mails from readers - yes, they're still out there, somewhere. Clearly, something has to be done.

No real agenda here tonight, other than a brief update. We've been watching American Idol at home again this season, usually breaks down into the adults at night and catching the girls up the next morning via the DVR. Saw Miley Cyrus sing "The Climb" during the results show Wednesday and couldn't help thinking she looked uncomfortable and a little wide-eyed. Trying too hard, especially at the beginning, maybe spooked by performing on a "here's how you did" talent show in front of a panel of judges who routinely rip people up for being pitchy or uninspired or some other unforgivable sonic error. For whatever reason, even after all the success, a "biggest thing going" tour and new hit movie, Ms. Cyrus looked fairly rattled standing there in front of Simon and crew.

Next morning Madison settled into the replay while we made coffee, lunches, fed the cats and went about our typical morning routine. Breakfast was served and she wandered into the kitchen.

"Did you watch Miley Cyrus?" I asked.

"Yeah, she looked nervous," she responded. "It was good, but she looked nervous."

I said I had the exact same reaction, which brought a smile.

Later in the day I finally got around to dialing up that Susan Boyle video that everyone is talking about and e-mailing around, and was amazed. A more recent version of Paul Potts, and a performance just as improbable and moving. Here's a woman who had every reason to be terrified beyond the ability to speak, let alone sing, and she rose to the occasion, blew people away and changed everything.

What better example could there be that it really is all about the moment, and what you bring to it, regardless of what came before or might come next. Big or small, fill it up. Don't hold anything back, make excuses or allow yourself to think that it doesn't really matter this time around, there will be other times. Don't grab that crutch. Make it count, be present and bring it, everything you've got, every time.

Long Way To Go

2009-03-28T20:50:00.014-04:00

When we moved into this house a few years ago, one of the things we got used to seeing was this one guy from maybe six or seven doors down walking a big wooly dog around the neighborhood. Never really got to know him, can't say we ever spoke except to roll down the window and say hello, but he was the kind of walker who would smile at a car driving by and sometimes give a little wave, a reassuring part of the scenery.

Turns out he had cancer, diagnosed about five years ago and the prognosis at that time was that he had five years to live. He had a wife and a young son and I'd say about a year ago the nightly walks with the dog stopped, and he dropped out of sight. Window blinds frequently closed, cars coming and going at odd intervals.

We're friendly with the people who live across the street, and more often than not when we were over there so was this man's son, while he was off getting some kind of treatment and trying as hard as he could to stay alive a little longer, his wife shuttling him back and forth to the city or somewhere else. They were both teachers and she was trying to make it all work. The job, the son, the husband and his grave illness.

I saw him probably six or seven months ago, driving by on my way to work, walking very slowly between his front door and car, extremely thin, using a cane to brace every step. It was terrible to see, he was dying.

I pass their house on the way out of our development every morning, and on the way back every night, and occasionally when my mind wasn't somewhere else I'd look at the new siding they'd recently put up and think about what they were dealing with inside, wonder what he was doing or thinking, trying to fight for life while coming to terms with the inevitable. What must it be like, to know. The last falling of the leaves you are likely to see, the last cool October night. The recognition that the rusty towel bar in the bathroom that always annoyed the hell out of you is destined to have the last laugh. Envying the permanence of trees.

A few months ago things seemed to be looking up, at least for the moment. The experimental regimen he'd undergone had helped him put on some weight, he looked almost normal again. Gwen said she'd heard he was doing well.

She called me at work Thursday and in a trembling voice said that as the big yellow school bus pulled up that afternoon they were taking him out of the house on a stretcher, ambulance waiting, he'd taken a severe turn for the worse. His son got off the bus to see the paramedics wheeling his father down the front walk, oxygen mask on his face, I can't even imagine.

He died the next morning. Since then there have been large collections of cars parked outside the house, paying respects and gathering to grieve. We talked to the girls about it and they seem to grasp what has happened, very focused as one might imagine on the man's young son, Jack.

"He's 8, Dad," Madison told me in the car earlier today. "He's in third grade."

"Is that right," I said. "Third grade?"

"Yeah. He has a long way to go without a Dad."

The line hit me hard in the moment and it's still here right now, exactly as she said it. Ten words. Perfect, terrible and real.

He has a long way to go without a Dad.

Cherish every moment. Every breath.

Google Doodle

2009-03-20T08:40:00.002-04:00

Been going way too long between posts these days and I'm not trying to imply that this really qualifies as a meaningful entry, but just wanted to mark the first day of spring - which arrived along with snow flurries - and mainly to salute Google for maybe the best and most relevant "Doodle" to ever grace a computer screen in our house, courtesy of the brilliant and beloved Eric Carle.

Showed the image to both Madison and Ava this morning and they were able to identify the source immediately, with no prompting and no clues. Reading someone's books a few hundred times on the way to bed will build that kind of recognition.

Happy spring.

The Game That Has Taken Over Our House

2009-03-11T08:47:00.003-04:00

And Ava, who is all of 6, has firmly established herself as Family Champion.

Absolutely ruthless in her use of +4 wild cards, and ability to "catch" players who fail to declare "Uno" at the appropriate time.

Hands

2009-02-28T08:56:00.017-05:00

Gwen and the girls drove up to Vermont a couple of days ahead of me last week, and on the way they stopped off at the Yankee Candle Company's factory and flagship store in Massachusetts. We'd run in there before to buy some candles, but this was more of a field trip, and the many kid-friendly attractions and crafts included the wax hands pictured above.

Sounded like a really interesting activity, the girls dipped a hand in cold water and then into some lukewarm wax, then back and forth between the water and the wax a few more times to build up the layers before the creation was gently eased off. I loved the look of them, but was really struck by the fact that - even though they were about the same size - I could immediately tell which was which, because the positioning and expression in the fingers so clearly reflected Madison and Ava's corresponding personalities.

Madison's hand is on the left, extended and probing, wondering how hot the wax was going to be before she committed herself to it. I would be willing to bet she took some time with this, especially the first dip. Careful and cautious. Curious. Delicate.

Ava's on the right, fingers clenched in a loose fist, thumb protruding slightly. Got herself ready and then just went, her introduction to the wax must have been more of a dunk than a careful dip. Bold, fearless. "I'm doing this," and that's it. Less nuance, more visceral. Plowing ahead with confidence.

These little creations now live on the base of the window above our kitchen sink, and it's amazing to be able to look at them and see our kids, both of them, in their full form and being, off of just one hand, one moment, frozen forever in pink wax.

There... They... Go...

2009-02-22T17:18:00.020-05:00

We've been pretty good about getting the girls up on skis at least a few times each of the last three or four winters, which is saying something since Madison will be 8 next month and Ava just turned 6. Like everything else, we started off slow. Couple of lessons a season, half a day in a kids' program that included time on the bunny slopes and inside the lodge having something they called lunch and working on a generic craft project.

First few installments we actually stood outside and watched them ski the whole time, taking pictures and video. At some point we felt comfortable enough to spend the lesson or the program in the relative comfort and warmth of the bar, drinking hot cocoa and Magic Hat and witnessing the little dose of snowbound training through the window. We pushed ourselves to make it happen, and by the end of last year Madison actually went up on the lift with an instructor and turned up at the bottom of the mountain, smiling, unscathed and wanting to go back up again.

We were in Vermont between Christmas and New Year's, and by then Madison's practice sessions were all lifts and beginning trails, she had completely left the safety of the little "learning zone" and its tow ropes behind. Ava's last run that trip followed a ride up on the lift, and even though she flew down the mountain out of control for the last 100 feet or so and ended with an epic wipeout, once the tears subsided she was game for more. It was becoming clear that one of us was going to have to get back on skis, if only for the kids, and that moment arrived on Thursday.

We were up with my parents, my sister and her son, and when the girls wrapped their 12 to 1 p.m. lessons Dad was there to greet them - on skis and ready to go. Madison was fighting off a fever and had not been feeling well, but she gamely went on and we took to the lift. Had a couple of great runs, I could not believe how well she handled the trail and stayed in control, even under the weather. We hit the base after the second run and Ava was there with Gwen and asked me to take her up on the lift. "No," was my immediate reaction, I remembered Christmas Week and did not want to get her in over her head. But she persisted in her demands, and Madison needed a hot chocolate break anyway, so up we went.

And it was unbelievable. She fell a few times on that first run, but got right back up and we made it down. I asked if she wanted to go again and got a no-hesitation yes, so we did. Zero falls that next run. Up and down three more times and it was all terrific. We shifted to a more advanced lift for the last run of the day and a slightly longer and bumpier trail and it was a mistake - nightmare descent with several falls and tears, mainly out of frustration. It was not the way to end a learning day but unfortunately our day had to end there.

Friday it snowed - heavy blanketing snow. Gwen took the girls ice skating with my sister and nephew and I went shopping for dinner food. By Saturday morning the clouds were gone and had turned into beautiful blue skies and fresh snow. Madison was still sick and in no shape to spend a day on the mountain. I asked Ava whether or not she wanted to go skiing with me and got an immediate yes. So Gwen and Maddie dropped us off before going into town for some outlet shopping, and Ava and I had what was, without a doubt, the most enjoyable day of skiing of my life. Nothing else even comes close.

Three or four runs down the starter trails just to get going, then I asked if she wanted to go to that longer lift - the scene of Thursday's last-run breakdown - and she said she did. Went down that time without falling, went back again later and just experienced a few baby tumbles. At some point she said she was cold and asked if we could go inside for a hot cocoa in the lodge. We did, although I knew that was going to be trouble later on.

Back outside for another few runs and then I experienced the nightmare moment for any father alone with a 6-year-old daughter - especially on a ski mountain - "Daddy, I have to go potty." I briefly considered trying to reach Gwen on the cell phone to see if she was within 25 miles of our location and able to come facilitate the request, but ultimately decided to man up and deal with the situation at hand.

We went into the lodge, found the Men's room and took a deep breath near the door. I picked Ava up and asked her to close her eyes, which she did. Pushed open the door and made a B-LINE for the handicapped stall, which mercifully enough was available. This is in ski boots and full winter gear, mind you. Ava started talking to me in the stall and I was answering in whispers and she asked why. I said because we were in the MEN'S ROOM, and she whispered back, "does that mean we're going to get in trouble?" "No, we're not going to get into trouble," I responded. "Let's just go potty."

Mission accomplished and after saying, "Don't touch ANYTHING" about a dozen times, I picked her up, asked her to again close her eyes and flew out of the room. Back on the slopes for another few runs before we were ready to wrap things up and called Gwen for a pick-up. Even with the potty break, it was an amazing day skiing with my 6-year-old, Ava, a great payoff after all those lessons, trips back and forth to the mountain, equipment and encouragement. And it's only the beginning.

Smoking

2009-02-10T08:41:00.003-05:00

Our house, five minutes ago.

Madison (who turns 8 next month) - "Dad, did you hear about Michael Phillips?"

Me - "What about him?"

Madison - "They found out he was smoking, and then he got suspended from swimming. He's not allowed to swim for three months."

Me - "Oh, my."

Madison - "I don't understanding why he can't swim because of smoking, I mean, it's not good to smoke, but it's not illegal. I asked Mom and she said maybe his team had a special rule against smoking."

Me - "Hmmm."

(I opted to let Gwen's explanation stand and not go down the road of what he may have been smoking, that there are different things one can smoke, and some of them are illegal. Seemed unnecessary in the moment and at this age. In any event, thanks Mike.)

Snicker To The Doodle

2009-02-03T07:23:00.006-05:00

Gwen and Madison were away last weekend at an off-site birthday party, just me and Ava holding down the fort here. On Sunday morning, she expressed an interest in baking some cookies, which seemed like a perfect follow up to the pasta we made at home Friday night and the pizzas we were planning for dinner Sunday. I drew the line at morning bagels.

Went to the shelf and pulled out one of our Magnolia cookbooks, More From Magnolia, and settled on the recipe on page 24, Snickerdoodles. Gwen is our resident baker, but this appeared to be an easy and straightforward execution, with limited ingredients, so we took it on. Ava was able to help at numerous steps in the process, and it turned into a great activity with delicious results we are still enjoying. The Magnolia recipe makes three dozen cookies, and here it is:

Ingredients:
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons cream of tartar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 1/2 cups sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
2 tablespoons milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

[Separate bowl - combine 6 tablespoons sugar, mixed with 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon, for sprinkling on the dough prior to placing in the oven]

In a small bowl, combine the flour, cream of tartar, baking soda and salt. Set aside.

In a larger bowl, cream the softened butter and sugar until smooth, this takes about two minutes. We had not planned ahead on the "softening the butter" part and got some welcome help through a few 10-15 second blasts in the microwave.

Add the eggs, milk and vanilla and beat well. Combine with the dry ingredients and mix thoroughly. Wrap the dough tightly with plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for two hours.

As the clock is winding down on those two hours (we played Mario Kart and Iron Chef America on the Wii to kill the time), preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Use a teaspoon to drop rounded portions of the dough onto ungreased cookie sheets, leaving several inches between each wad of dough for expansion. They really will flatten and spread out. Before placing in the oven, sprinkle generously with the cinnamon-sugar mixture.

Key word here is "generously," we found that the best cookies we made were the ones that basically looked like brown sugar castles going into the oven, not the first few sheets, which received only a light dusting of this magical powder. If it looks like too much sugar/cinnamon, it might not be enough. If it looks obscene, you're on the right track.

Bake the cookies for 12-14 minutes, cool on the sheet for about 5 minutes and then place on a wire rack to cool completely, assuming of course that the cookies are able to make it from the sheet to this rack without falling victim to hungry bakers. Our initial efforts were unable to navigate this difficult terrain, until we'd each had about a half dozen and fell into sugar-induced comas. Latter batches were more long-lived.

Enjoy.

True

2009-01-27T08:24:00.001-05:00

Driving to the supermarket with Ava on Sunday, she agreed to a breakfast of fresh strawberries, green grapes and cantaloupe that morning with one of the market's great fresh baked bagels as a follow-up.

"Dad, can I get cream cheese on my bagel?"

"Well, no, we can't really do that in the store. We can either munch on the bagel plain while we're shopping or we can keep it in the bag and put on cream cheese when we get home."

"No, it's OK, I'll just eat it there," she says. "It's hard to stare at a bag with a bagel in it."

Moment

2009-01-19T10:36:00.002-05:00

About 6:45 a.m. local time Saturday morning, walking slowly down Aruba's Palm Beach, headed to the Playa Linda timeshare. Early light. "Turn Up The Sun" by Oasis cranking through the iPhone earbuds. Slow-motion surf occasionally lapping up against your toes. Stopping and reaching down at times to pick up a particularly good specimen of brain coral. Perfect.

Walk past Pelican Pier and start scanning through the occupied Chickees. There's Geraldine, 89, up at 4:30 to make sure she got another good one, right at the water's edge. Goes by Mom, Grandma and Great-Grandma to various members of our small group on this trip. Waiting with the good coffee they put out at the resort, some quiet conversation and a smile. You brought along the Monte #1 you bought the other night after an "adults-only" dinner with Gwen, spark it up to go with the coffee. "Please don't mention this to the girls," you say. She agrees.

We're pretty sure this is year #15 and she claims it's her last. Two weeks solid sitting on a beach and she's not a sand person. Says she smokes too much down here, eats too much, gambles too much in casinos that have neither been punitive or overly kind. She'll do 12 hours under a Chickee in a day, not accounting for bathroom breaks and running back to the room at some point to retrieve the remnants of last night's dinner, which she'll eat for lunch.

They put out more coffee mid-afternoon, fuel for a final linger, then the bags and towels will be packed up, the spot on the sand surrendered for the night in favor of showers, getting dressed in some (slightly) more formal clothes and dinner plans. Back again tomorrow. Early.

15 years, 15 vacations, ending on this morning, in this spot. That's what she says anyway. We'll see how things turn out. But we are grateful to have been along for much of the ride. And for this moment.

View From The Lounge (Day 7)

2009-01-16T17:02:00.003-05:00

Heading home tomorrow and, I have to say, we are ready. Another great Aruba trip is coming to an end. I know we are going to find bitter cold waiting on the other side of the flight, but also our own beds, and cats, and kitchen. And we miss them. Spent part of today sitting around the lazy river pool working out grocery lists and looking forward to two days of quiet “recompression” before the world really kicks back in Tuesday morning.

This year’s installment was like all the others, new moments in largely familiar settings. Days around the Marriott pool and trips to the swim-up bar, walks down the beach to visit with great-grandma sitting under a Chickee at Playa Linda, to play in the sand or enjoy the terrific morning coffee they put out there. Dinners at El Gaucho (2), and Aqua, Chalet Suisse and Hostaria Da’Vittorio.

We wavered on the half-day Baby Beach excursion this year, ultimately let the girls make the decision (yes) and it provided another major highlight. There’s just something about that spot that makes this vacation complete. The powers that be seem to agree, for the first time in years we noticed signs of development and improvement down there and maybe the construction of some amenities to go along with the gentle and uniquely welcoming little cove.

We stopped off for Taco Bell take-out on our way back to the hotel that afternoon, and there’s maybe no higher calling for a bean-and-cheese burrito than providing sustenance to someone who just spent three hours digging in the sand and enjoying the plentiful sun at Baby Beach. More or less ruined dinner, not that we minded.

We’ve got a few hours left to play with tomorrow morning, a final trip to the pool, last sunscreen application, a few more laps around the lazy river, back up to the room to get changed, cab to the airport, killing time at the gate, boarding, flying, landing, finding the baggage and the car service guy, driving down familiar streets, and home.

Home.

Eighth Is Enough

2009-01-13T08:25:00.002-05:00

Wasn't going to post on the 2008 Weblog Awards again. Over the last few days we'd checked in on the voting from time to time and the inevitable result seemed clear - eighth. We weren't going to win this time around, or even contend, and given the quality of the competition we were OK with that. We got comfortable with the idea of eighth, started liking the symmetry of the number, all that good stuff. We had triumphed over last year's tenth place finish. We were moving on.

Checked in this morning and the very fine blogs that had been firmly established in the ninth and tenth spots seemed, well, a little too close for comfort.

So, between wrestling sunscreen onto the kids and heading out for another day floating around the lazy river, we figured we would make one final appeal - on the final day of voting - to our loyal readers and subscribers to hit this link and cast one final vote for "I think this world is perfect..." as the best parenting blog of 2008.

A grateful blogger thanks you.