July 02, 2008
Water
We don't have public plumbing up here, which is why we have an outhouse.
It is a nice place to read a bit while gazing out at the tundra.
But we have contrived clever ways to deal with this lack. For drinking water, we harvest rainwater. It rolls down the roof and gathers in PVC gutters. It travels down this tube.
And into these buckets. We filter the rainwater with a Britta and drink it. So far, none of us has suffered as a result.
We used to have a water tower fed by a pump that drew water from the spring. The water tower used to feed various pipes, faucets, and spigots around the compoutnd. But the pump is broken and we do not have the wherewithal to fix it. For the time being, we fill these large Tupperware totes with water from the spring, drive them back to our house, and set them on the ground outside the kitchen.
Using this car battery to run a small pump, we pump water into the house for the kitchen sink and shower.
Yes, we have a shower, with water heated by propane. We get to shower once about every five days. Those are good days, those shower days.
And for the grandparents and those of you motivated only by baby pictures, here are my girls, gazing out into the world while the wind whips across the bluff.
The wind continues today. Our catch this morning was once again an improvement on yesterday. Tomorrow we fish at 10:30am. A very agreeable time to fish.
Posted by bogenamp at 09:20 PM
July 01, 2008
Windy
Today was windy, which makes fishing difficult. But after a few days of disappointing volume, a few more fish found their way into our nets this morning. We started at 8:30 today; tomorrow is 9:30. Every day gets a little more civil.
I have taken no new pictures since last time, so I'll post one of my favorites from last year. Iggy is allowed inside at night and when the weather is foul, but on sunny days, she is asked to frolic on the tundra. Invariably, she lets us know when she is ready to come back inside.
Bob, who likes to nap on the window seat, is often the first to receive the news.
Iggy sits next to me now, in the cab of the rusty pickup truck in which I sit, borrowing the weak internet signal from the satellite dish attached to the side of a local cannery. I kind of feel like Rambo in the early days.
This year Alaska has had a soporific effect on me. When not sleeping or eating, I have been asleep. I have taken more naps since we arrived than in the past 12 months combined. Hence the lack of new material. Three months of fatherhood seem to have caught up with me.
Alden continues to thrive up here, unfazed by the host of new experiences we've been throwing her way. She, too, has been doing a lot of snoozing. And sneezing. And growing. Her head is the size of Jupiter. I suppose this is just how it is with babies.
Posted by bogenamp at 09:24 PM
June 30, 2008
Arrival
We have arrived in Coffee Point, a place that barely exists. The last time I checked, it can be found on Google Maps, though you will notice that there are no roads connecting it to anywhere else. Our tiny corner of Alaska is a stretch of beach across the river from Egegik, a town with a year-round population of roughly 36. Coffee Point has a year-round population of 4, made up of our neighbor Vern and his family. For two months in the summer the place teems with people like us, here to catch the salmon and get away from billboards for a while.
Before we left Anchorage on Friday morning, we introduced Alden to her first grizzly bear. She wasn't exactly taken with the concept.
From Anchorage we flew to King Salmon, a frontier town that serves as the air hub for the various locations in the fishing district and as a jumping off point for many of the tour groups that serve this part of Alaska. Consequently, the people in the King Salmon Airport are either grubby fishing types or well-dressed people with new fleeces and telephoto cameras. There's really nothing in the middle.
In King Salmon we claimed Iggy and our coolers and chartered a plane for Coffee Point. We had figured that this particular leg of the trip would be the straw to send Alden over the edge. She had been surprisingly tranquil throughout the first three flights, but we imagined the combination of noise and erratic motion that come with flying in an unpressurized bush plane would trigger hysteria. To our surprise and delight, she fell asleep instead.
I'm ready to admit that we might have gotten a relatively good baby.
We landed in Coffee Point around 3:00pm local time, roughly 30 hours after leaving Chestertown. Roji, Maiko, Seiko, and Bob had just returned from fishing and had had a very productive day. They were tired, but also pleased, and we settled in for a big lunch followed by a long nap and a big dinner. Dinner was followed by a profound, if abbreviated sleep. We rose at 4:00am and dressed ourselves in various layers of polypropylene, cotton, latex, and rubber. We ate a hasty bowl of cereal and headed down to the beach to set up for our 5:30 opening. The Department of Fish and Game maintains tight regulation of the fishery and tells us exactly when we may begin fishing a particular tide. Starting 30 seconds early yields extreme competitive advantage and carries the risk of a $5,000 fine. And so we started fishing at 5:30 exactly. I've documented the process already elsewhere, and so I will not repeat myself here. If I am unable to insert the link, go to the top page of the Barnstorming and type Fishing 101 into the search box. You'll get the picture.
We had a disappointing catch on Saturday and so soon were back at the Behr family compound for more eating, sleeping, and eating.
Alden is taking to the tundra life quite well, though she has had to get used to certain changes. She had grown accustomed to having baths in the big tub, for example. Here, the accommodations are not so swank.
We took Alden on her first four-wheeler ride yesterday afternoon, another thing we thought might prove traumatic.
She was sanguine throughout, confirming my earlier suspicions about her tractability.
This morning we rose at 5:00 for a 6:30 opening and again were disappointed with our catch. The fish simply weren't traveling in much quantity today. At least not along our section of the beach.
Traditionally, the fishing builds gradually throughout the last few weeks of June; usually on or around the Fourth of July, the 'run' happens. The 'run' is a huge mass of fish entering the river all at once. The water is so full of salmon that they literally jump from the water, either from excitement, crowding, or (according to some theorists) to loosen egg sacs in preparation for spawning.
The run is not yet upon us. We are bracing for it. When it comes, we are at once very happy and very, very sad. Fishing is hard. It is wet and cold. It is dirty and stinky. It is uncomfortable. It is hard to pee when one is entirely enclosed in layer upon layer of fishing gear. It is often impossible to eat when the fish keep getting caught in one's net. It is frequently disruptive to one's precious sleep. The salmon are not considerate in their patterns. The Department of Fish and Game seems to delight in letting us fish at the most horrible times of day.
But last night we basked in one of the chief pleasures of being here, one of the incalculable benefits of being a commercial salmon fisherman.
Fresh king salmon sashimi, in such quantity as only a king could afford anywhere outside of Coffee Point. We ate until our bellies burst, the pains of early morning rising long forgotten.
Posted by bogenamp at 12:04 AM
June 12, 2008
Is This Your Earring?
Recently Robbi and I decided to do something that has become almost anathema in our lives. That is, we cleaned the barn. We dusted not only the exposed surfaces, but also behind and underneath various pieces of furniture. It was a discouraging and, frankly, upsetting to see the filth in which we have been living. We were clued into the desperate need to clean when friend Josh came over and, upon being offered a coaster, replied that, "It's ok, I've got a dust coaster right here." His implication, while cruel, was grounded in a painful reality. The combination of long-haired cats, exposed barn wood, and a constitutional aversion to housekeeping has yielded an untenable environment in which to raise a young child. She has the right to breathe. She has the right to use actual coasters.
And so we turned the house upside down cleaning like crazy people. I have to admit, the end result was rather gratifying.
We made solemn vows to clean regularly, vows we knew we would not keep even as the words escaped our lips. Sometimes it is important to pretend to be a responsible person, even if only for thirty or forty seconds.
In the course of the cleaning, we found this earring:
Robbi and I share a vague recollection of an earring being lost once during a party we once had. Perhaps it was the Sunday brunch in the wake of Idiots'Fest 2008? We cannot remember. If this earring belongs to you or a loved one, please let us know, and we will let you know the bounty required for its return, a sum likely to be based upon our sense of your income and your general willingness to part with funds.
Posted by bogenamp at 11:03 PM
June 01, 2008
Of Late
We have had a busy week. Our friends (and newlyweds) Lauren and Brian came to visit.
They communed happily with the baby.
But were mum on whether such a thing was to be part of their short term forecast.
Robbi painted the windows on the outside of our workroom.
I'm not sure what to say other than that the girl looks sharp in a fishing hat.
We took in the sunset with our friends Josh and Lea on the banks of the Chester River.
Josh (author of celebrated Lincoln biography Lincoln's Melancholy) spent most of the time bragging about his speedy typing, and when we failed to be impressed, demonstrated his mad skills "air typewriter" style.
Josh and Lea made some delicious tostadas.
I'll put up with a guy who brags on his typing if the payoff comes loaded with guacamole.
We spent most of the weekend frantically making books for next weekend's Museum of Comic and Cartoon Arts festival, in which we are participating.
We took an inventory of our current stock of books and realized that we are up to twenty titles in the Idiots'Books oeuvre (though the two most recent have not yet been added to the link I just sent you to). Which means that we had a lot of printing, cutting, scoring, stapling, etc., etc,. to do to get ready for the show.
Now that we are constantly in the company of a small child, making books is an even more acrobatic activity than it was before.
Contrary to what it looks like in the picture above, I am not, in fact, squashing my child with my foot. I am, in fact, gently bouncing her with the incredible Baby Bjorn bouncer, the single most invaluable piece of baby gear we own, gift from Alden's favorite Uncle Davey.
At one point, Robbi took a break to dance with Alden to the song Mushaboom, which is a nice song by Feist, if you don't know it.
At another point, I took a break to run with Iggy. When I came back, still drenched with sweat, I wondered if it was my turn to dance with Alden.
Alden didn't think so.
Already a mamma's girl, she much preferred to play supergirl with Robbi.
This baby is turning into an energetic little thing. She moves her arms wildly up and down with a kind of jarring rhythm, as if she longs to be a drummer as soon as she has the power to control her tiny limbs. She also kicks like she intends to do harm. I wonder about her motives.
But everything in motion comes to rest in the end, like this weekend and this day. And all little girls fall asleep eventually.
Tomorrow is already threatening. Many more books to make when the sun comes up.
Posted by bogenamp at 10:28 PM
May 23, 2008
Iris Zoe Vainieri
Robbi and I could hardly sleep last night anticipating this morning's trip across the bay to pay our first visit to Christian and Emily's new arrival, Iris Zoe. The fact that Alden was screaming like a lunatic for much of the night also contributed to our sleeplessness. Robbi decided to eat a large quantity of chocolate last night, and we are wondering if the caffeine contained therein might have contributed to our child's frenetic midnight thrashings about.
But I am drifting from the point at hand. First thing this morning, we drove across the Bay Bridge, through the city of Baltimore, to Towson, where Iris, with some help from Emily, made her way into the world just yesterday.
Here she is:
Robbi and I had to visit separately, as Alden, along with all other non-sibling children under 12, was expressly banned from entering the postpartum wing, for reasons of curtailing transmission of the creeping ick with which most babies are stricken.
Robbi visited first, and made a positive impression on Iris.
I visited second.
Iris did not much care for my company.
The new parents were beaming in spite of the recent trials.
Here's my old pal, Christian, with his little girl.
I'm happy thinking that some day Alden and Iris will play together. Who could have scripted such a thing?
Posted by bogenamp at 03:42 PM
May 22, 2008
It's a Girl!!! - Part 2
While I know that I have been a bum blogger of late, I am happy to break the silence with wonderful news. At 9:21 this morning, Iris Zoe Vainieri was born into this wide world, weighing in at 6lbs., 8oz.
I have no picture of the child, as I was not invited to the birthing, but one will be posted as soon as I am able to pay a visit.
Here are the proud parents:
Note that the baby in question is NOT Iris Zoe, but a model hired to help create the illusion of parenthood.
Much more to come. Welcome Iris! We can't wait to teach you all of our bad habits.
Posted by bogenamp at 12:24 PM
April 06, 2008
Even More Self-Promotion
Friends, if you have a few minutes, I invite you to read a book review I wrote for the New Haven Review. The assignment was to select a book that had been neglected by mainstream media but which I felt deserved critical attention. I chose Tales of Woodsman Pete by Lilli Carre, one of my favorite comics of all time.
In addition to being brilliant and all, Lilli is a very nice person. Which goes a long way if you ask me. I could gush on and on about her work, but I'd prefer that you read my review in all of its carefully-crafted glory.
Here's the cover to Woodsman Pete
Click here to view some pages.
And here is a link you can follow to buy it. At $7, it's one of the least expensive pieces of bliss you'll ever encounter.
Posted by bogenamp at 07:50 PM
April 05, 2008
More Self-Promotion
I was recently given the opportunity to write an article about a good friend of mine who some of you might know. Gina Coleman and I were colleagues during the five years I spent working in the Williams College admission office, and during that time worked together on minority recruitment and on the College's effort to attract students from a wide range of socioeconomic backgrounds. For three years, during the Williams' January term, Gina and I taught a course together: a field practicum that sent Williams students into local high schools to moderate a game called Quest for College. The game, which was intended to create excitement about the possibilities offered by higher education among students from disadvantaged backgrounds, is one of many early awareness initiatives in place across the country with the shared goal of leveling the playing field when it comes to access to higher education.
I left the Williams admission office in '03. Gina stayed on for a few more years, earned her PhD, and not long ago became one of the deans of Williams. She's also the women's rugby coach at the College, is the lead singer for two bands, and is a mother of two. In her "free time" she runs a nonprofit organization devoted to creating partnerships with school districts, colleges and universities, and corporations who have need of a tool like Quest for College in implementing early awareness programming in their communities.
A mere 18 months into its existence, the Quest for College nonprofit is doing amazing things. Before I re-write the entire article, I should leave room for the possibility that you might actually want to read it.
To find the article, click here and once you reach the Alumni Review home page, click on "Paying it Forward", which should be the third item under "March 2008."
Happy reading. Gina's story is so rich as to practically write itself.
Posted by bogenamp at 01:00 AM
March 23, 2008
Burying the Past
In the wake of Duke's exit from the Madness yesterday afternoon I really did try to turn the other cheek. I sat on the couch watching other teams play, teams still filled with hope of advancing, players with faces still capable of smiling. I did this for a while and realized that I did not have to suffer the indignity. I turned off the TV and asked Robbi if she wanted to go for a drive. She did. And so we set off.
We drove across the Bay Bridge to Elkridge, an area south of Baltimore, where the Westbrooks live. The Westbrooks were in high dander on account of its being Easter Eve. Jennifer Westbrook had been very busy coloring eggs.
I haven't dyed eggs in a long time. I used to love doing it. I miss those saturated colors and the smell of vinegar.
When she was done admiring the eggs, Jennifer packed them carefully into a basket.
Which she then placed outside for the Easter Bunny to find.
Apparently, the way it works in the Westbrook household is that the family provides the eggs for the Easter Bunny to hide in the yard. The Bunny's reward for all this hard work?
Some really appetizing carrots.
I think there's a good chance that the Easter Bunny might boycott this year. A Bunny has to hold himself to certain standards. Settle for some mealy carrots one year and who knows what lesser compensation might be waiting in that bowl in years to come... I'm just saying.
After the eggs and carrots were placed outside, Matt and I attended to some long overdue business.
When Robbi and I lived in Savannah a few years back, our 40-gallon fish tank sat inside our fireplace, the front edge of the tank resting on the brick lip and the back resting on my Norton Anthology of Poetry. Needless to say, at the end of our two-year stint absorbing leaky fishwater in the most humid city on the face of the earth, the book was fit only for the trash heap. Instead of throwing it away, however, I gifted it to Matt, who is really quite enthusiastic about poetry. I had a sense that he might find it morally difficult to throw away a book of poetry and enjoyed the prospects of watching him struggle with the issue.
I was correct. While Matt wholeheartedly agreed that the Norton's days of being read were squarely past, he found it unseemly to merely chuck it. And so we launched a plan to properly inter the book, when the weather was right and the moon was full.
Last night was warm and the moon hung large above the Westbrook yard. We crept into the garden with a lantern, shovel, and the Norton in tow.
Matt carefully unwrapped the remains, which had been, wisely, double-bagged.
We admired the wrecked tome.
It was still damaged, wrinkled, stained, and fetid. Ready for the grave. Ready for the misery to end.
As Matt dug, we felt the ghost of Byron flitting about. It was at once unnerving and totally rad.
Once the hole was dug, we chose a random page and read a few lines. It seemed appropriate.
We laid the Norton to rest.
And said our teary farewells.
Was there a small part of me that, in sprinkling fresh earth on the Norton's grave, was thinking of the recently departed Blue Devils of 2008, may they rest in peace? Was there a small part of me miserably lamenting the missed three pointers, careless turnovers, defensive miscues, and dispirited scowls on the faces of the players as the cruel, cruel clock measured down the waning moments of a dream?
There was, I think. My mind might have wandered down that cruel road for just a moment.
But just for a moment. After paying our respects, we covered the grave.
And marked it with a broken sculpture of an owl.
Beneath which it will rest.
Until next Easter, when we dig it up to see what the literary worms have been able to accomplish in one year's time.
On the drive home. Robbi realized that she hadn't yet done her illustration of the day. We had successfully completed our new project for the first five days of the week and weren't about to fall one day short of the goal. So she pulled out a bookmark from the Washington College Literature at the Margins Festival and set out to do an upside down, in the dark illustration. Add to this the fact that it was 11:55pm, meaning she had five minutes to complete her work before the day drew to a close.
Here's what she came up with.
We stopped for gas in Centreville. Once in the passenger seat, I penned my response, brief perhaps, but hopefully fitting.
It has been a fine Easter in the barn. We had no carrots to leave in a dish on the stoop, and so we awoke this morning to no eggs and no candy. And still no baby. Ten days remain, according to the math.
Posted by bogenamp at 11:40 PM
March 22, 2008
Mega March Malaise
Gerald's face says it all.
My Devils have made an inelegant early departure from this year's tourney.
As the final seconds of the Duke season ticked away, I considered taking to my bed for a week. Instead, I took a run with my dog, cooked some waffles, and comforted myself that there are other, more important, more meaningful things to feel good about in this life. Namely, my god-given right to cheer lustily against the University of North Carolina.
Tyler Hansbrough: even his pets would rather not be around him.
I am wise enough, mature enough to know that the ability of a group of 20-year-olds I do not know and never will to put a leather ball through a basket more times in a 40 minute span than another group of 20-year-olds I do not know and never will has no real bearing on my life or happiness.
But today, in this moment, it's very hard to make myself believe it.
Posted by bogenamp at 05:07 PM
March 20, 2008
Day Three
I repeat, we are not going to share the results of our call and response project every day. But Robbi's illustration from yesterday was so nice that I can't help but post it.
My prompt:
We sat on the couch trying to get to the bottom of whatever was wrong with Eleanor. "You're sad," I said. "I'm not," she said. Though it was clear she was, and I wasn't going to let her up until we'd launched a plan to set things right.
I wondered if it had to do with the moon or the tides or the humors--or the disappointing color of the leaves this lackluster autumn.
The curtains were closed, so the light came through green. When the wind blew, the curtains parted and a splash of white sun burst through the middle, letting us really see the room for just a moment.
And her response:
On another front, is it wrong of me to secretly hope that my baby looks just like this one? I mean, he's just so damn cute.
I do not know this child or his parents. I found his picture online. I have been doing Google searches for pictures of babies lately. So much so that a good friend just called me a "pantywaist." I agree with him completely, but nevertheless am not deterred.
And that's all. Mega March Madness has begun. If you are at work, pretend to get sick and go home immediately. Stunning upsets are already underway.
Posted by bogenamp at 09:46 AM
March 19, 2008
Boneman Travis
The other day Robbi and I were talking about creative process. When we first started the Idiots'Books venture, our works were just going to be studies, little more than sketches, and certainly not beholden to a standard as lofty as clarity or coherence. But as the months passed, we realized that we had started taking the work more seriously than we had originally intended. Expectations were raised. The production value rose. And though we still try not to pander to the gods of linear narrative, we pour some major brainpower and man hours into making each book as polished as we can. Which pleases us when we see the finished product. But this more careful, purposeful process has also starved that feckless, carefree part of both of us that wishes to produce without audience or expectation. And so we've launched a new endeavor.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I will write a quick burst of something for Robbi to respond to with an illustration. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, she will create an illustration for me to write a response to. On Sundays we will rest.
It is day three of the experiment, and so far we have not reneged on our commitment to the plan. I woke up at 3:00am a few nights back and penned my first installment.
Boneman Travis cut a stark profile among the pretty girls of Evars Street. He was thick as a tree and mean like two snakes. He ate daydreams and laughed. He coughed and favorite teacups flew from narrow shelves and shattered. He was a big man in a small space and that was how he liked it.
Sally "Frito" Jones saw his game from across the river. She bribed a man to get a boat, put on a red mask to make herself seem dangerous, and set out to sell the Boneman some swampland. The years away from the old neighborhood had changed her such that he could not now recognize the crumpled features of the girl he had once ruined.
To which Robbi responded (be sure to click on the image):
Yesterday Robbi sent me this (click on the image):
To which I responded:
It was stunning how loud he felt before the door opened, before he realized the group of little boys had grown into a pack of fearsome hunters. He saw their spears against the wall, still dripping blood or wine or motor oil, and wanted to recant the things he'd threatened in the telegram.
He wanted to, but didn't. The time had come, he knew. The forest had been burned, his home consumed. His sister and his mother gone away to somewhere warm with beaches. And so he pushed the door, in spite of the creak. And so he stood and spoke.
"Hello," he said, "I've come to ask for my honor back." He spoke as fiercely as he could, but the hunters did not look up from the table, where they hunched their backs and tore at flesh of something large and slick.
"Hello?" he said again. "I've got a gun. I'm not afraid to use it."
The hunters ate without chewing. They swallowed without tasting, ignoring him for hours as he shouted from the doorway.
Eventually, they finished and they slept. Eventually they woke and were hungry again. By then he was gone. By then they knew his voice and so they found him and killed him and ate him and went then back to sleep.
----
And I wasn't thrilled, so I tried this instead.
Rene remembers suddenly that he wasn't supposed to have been assertive. "Don't be assertive," his mother had said. "The ladies do not like it." Rene had rolled his eyes at that, sighing heavily to indicate his skepticism. "That's a good boy," his mother had said, putting a cupcake on his favorite plate. When he had finished eating, she had wiped the frosting from the corners of his mouth and had sent him up to take a bath.
Later that night, on his date with Linda, Rene is quiet through the salad course, deferential as she chews her veal, deferential as the waiter torches the creme brule.
But when he drops her off at her second story walkup and Linda leans back in her car seat and closes her eyes while parting her lips and exhaling in a hopeful sort of way, Rene surrenders to the buried urges of decades and does for himself the thing he's always wanted to. He brings his fists down squarely in the middle of the steering wheel, sounding the horn with a stunning authority. He does it three times and then stops. The car is silent. The streetlight is glaring.
"I suppose you didn't like that," says Rene.
But Linda is alert now, the hair on her wrists at attention, her eyes eager and her posture inquisitive. She doesn't say yes but she doesn't say no, and Rene wonders what to do next.
-----
The ball is in my court now. It's Wednesday, and I owe Robbi a prompt. We're not going to share these every day, I promise. But now and then, when one strikes us as worth posting, we might.
Posted by bogenamp at 09:37 AM
March 16, 2008
Quite Possibly the Most Wonderful Woman in the World
You have heard me talk of Robbi on these pages. I am fond of her. She is a fine companion. We enjoy our days together. I always consider myself very lucky to have found her.
Until yesterday. Yesterday I realized that I might just have wound up with one of the most generous, enlightened women on the planet.
By way of explanation, I'll just say that there are a few things in this world that, while very interesting to one person, are exceedingly dull to others, even others who love and care for that person very much.
A few examples:
-One's pet. People think their pets are very interesting and very special, when in reality, they aren't. People don't really like to hear about how interesting and special someone else's pet is, and yet all of us are guilty of shameless pet promotion.
-One's child. The point made above applies equally and more so, because with one's child, one is also insistent on making arguments for uncommon advancement or precocity, as in "Oh my child smiled a full three days before the baby book said s/he would. Can we have a parade?"
-One's sporting team. Sports are a fundamentally empty enterprise. People come together, agree on a common set of terms, execute a silly and pointless (if sometimes thrilling) series of actions, and make themselves and the people foolish enough to care along with them either very happy or very sad at the end of the exercise. Hearing someone's joy or woe in the wake of "their" team's win or loss is very dull indeed.
Which is why I don't talk about sports much here in spite of my almost maniacal allegiance to the Duke University Blue Devils men's basketball team. I did not share my duress when Duke was ousted from the Atlantic Coast Conference tournament yesterday afternoon by the scrappy, determined Clemson Tigers.
I did not publish the unkind adjectives coursing through my bloodstream at the thought that Tyler Hansbrough and the hated UNC Tar Heels have gained the top seed in the upcoming NCAA basketball tournament.
Tyler Hansbrough: even his mother does not like him.
I did not mention these things, though they are important to me, because I realize how unimportant they are to you.
But something happened yesterday that has compelled me to break the silence.
Yesterday afternoon I got an email from DirecTV. I figured it was a bill as I opened the message. But LO! I was wrong. It was, instead, an epiphany from on high. My wonderful wife had ordered for me the MEGA MARCH MADNESS TOURNAMENT PACKAGE, which will allow me to watch all 64 games of the NCAA tournament from the comfort of my own couch, which will allow me to watch 16 games a day this coming Thursday and Friday, eight more each on Saturday and Sunday, A TOTAL OF 48 BASKETBALL GAMES IN FOUR DAYS!@#$ I will be able to select the channel that allows me to watch four simultaneous games AT THE SAME TIME on a split screen. I will be able to casually switch between games per my pleasure. I will, in short, be in heaven.
Provided Duke keeps winning. Which they will. Because if they don't, I will fall into a long, dark funk. I digress.
I imagine that Robbi must have made this gift to me out of sympathy that biological limitations have prohibited me from the pleasure of putting on 30 pounds and incubating a young life for 38 weeks as has been her pleasure. She's just that generous.
And so, today, emboldened by sheer joy at contemplation of the coming bounty of the weeks ahead, I shout it from the mountain tops: I am a Duke Basketball fan. I am a Duke Basketball fan.
Even though I know the thought of it bores you numb, I cannot be held in check.
I realize that I shamelessly inflict uninteresting pictures of my unspecial dog with alarming frequency and suspect that I will soon be shamelessly publishing uninteresting pictures of my unspecial child.
Though, if you were the sort who enjoyed actual content about real and interesting things, you probably would look elsewhere than this blog.
Which is to say, if you're still reading, I wonder who is really to blame?
Posted by bogenamp at 11:58 PM | Comments (2)
March 13, 2008
Caught in the Act
We are back from the flower show and on to other things. Tuesday we visited our baby doctor and had Robbi's belly measured. All is well. The doctor outlined various indicators that will let us know when the time has come to depart for the hospital. Most of them are too unpleasant to describe. Several of you have asked how far we have to go to get to the hospital, given that we live (as you city slickers say) in the middle of nowhere. You may be comforted to know that the Chester River Hospital Center is, in fact, only about two minutes from the barn when traveling in a swiftly moving vehicle. Should the need arise, I could probably fashion a crude litter out of branches and burlap and drag Robbi there in less than a half an hour.
Wednesday I went to Baltimore to do a bit of work and while there, picked up Ruby, per the request of Christian and Emily, who are this weekend going to see our friend David in Sunday in the Park with George on Broadway.
Here is Ruby. She is so good.
At the appointed time, I entered the Christian/Emily household, removed the dog and her accompanying accessories, and made my swift and seamless getaway.
Or so I thought.
It turns out, my flight was witnessed by a concerned neighbor/neighborhood watch paramilitary, who reported my suspicious activity to Christian via email as follows:
"I think I witnessed a dog napping yesterday where a gentleman hustled off with what appeared to be Ruby. With the aide of a sketch artist, we worked up a rendering of the suspect. Let me know if there's anything I can do!" - Bob
If Christian had any question about the identity of the perpetrator, it was cleared up when he saw the artist's rendering. I must admit, it's pretty good.
Consequently, Christian called and accused me of stealing his dog, citing incontrovertible evidence and threatening litigation. When I reminded him that he had expressly asked me to pick up Ruby, that I was in fact doing him a favor, he seemed unmoved, ensuring me that dog theft was a hanging crime in Maryland. And who am I to argue? He is clearly much better versed in the laws of this fine state than am I.
The upshot: I have been summoned to appear before a grand jury next week and am at a bit of a loss considering it is usually Christian or Emily who advise me on matters of legal uncertainty.
The lesson here? Certainly no good deed goes unpunished. And never agree to dogsit for a lawyer.
Posted by bogenamp at 11:59 PM | Comments (2)
March 08, 2008
A Really Big Hat
Since this year's flower show lacks dinosaurs, I'll take a moment to post some Philly-related photos I have been meaning to share for some time.
For point of reference, here are the Connor Brothers. They fish off the shores of Coffee Point, where we live and work in Alaska. Their boat is aptly named Charisma.
Although I like the brothers quite a bit, I do have to endure the unflattering comparisons I suffer in light of their unambiguous manliness. Dave Connor is a pyrotechnics expert, for example, who each year, in celebration of the anniversary of nation's independence, blows up pickup trucks and 50-gallon canisters of gasoline in grand fashion. In the off-season, Mark Connor travels the world in search of adventure, intrigue, and compelling artifacts, which he brings to Alaska to share with us each summer. And Paul Connor lives well off the beaten path in the New Hampshire backcountry in a house that he fashioned with his own hands, as documented here.
The brothers earn their money in a variety of ways, one of which is working as freelancers for an outfit that is contracted to clean statues. Do you happen to know where the world's tallest standing metal statue atop a public building is? Congratulations to those of you who correctly guessed the statue of William Penn who stands proudly at 37 feet atop the Philadelphia City Hall.
When we were visiting with Paul at his home in New Hampshire in January, he shared some photos of the work he and his brothers did in cleaning the Penn statue a few months back.
Enjoy.
Here is Penn up close.
And here he is from the inside out.
Penn is hollow, and his insides can be reached through a hole in the top of his hat.
A ladder leads down into the interior.
The statue was surrounded by a tremendous scaffold.
It went right up to the tip of Penn's hat.
All three brothers were there.
Paul
Mark
And Dave
The details of the cleaning process are a bit fuzzy to me now, so I apologize if I say this wrong, but the restoration of the statue involved a combination of washing and waxing.
There was also a blowtorch involved, but that may just have been about looking tough.
The brothers had rather remarkable views of the city.
Here's the closest look you'll ever get at Penn's hands.
Or his buttonholes.
It's kind of amazing that so much effort went into producing detail that almost no one will ever get to see.
Here is the cleaning crew at lunchtime.
This week we're staying not far from City Hall. In fact, I can see it from my bedroom window, though Penn himself is swallowed up in night and fog just now.
I have spent the day in bed, sick in Philly for the second year in a row. Something about the flower show must not agree with me. I must rest up for tomorrow's marathon. The show ends at 6:00pm, and then we will spend the next 8+ hours tearing down the booth, packing up the inventory, loading the truck, and driving back to Chestertown.
I'll post photos of that pleasant experience early next week. I have no new photos for those of you on bellywatch, but here is where young Tarzan Gramangela Don Juanson McTrogdor is this week.
Looking eerily like an actual person...
Posted by ribbu at 07:19 PM
March 07, 2008
Jazzing it Up
Today was day six of the Flower Show. I realize that I haven't yet covered some of the basics. Last year's theme was Irish Spring or something associated with the culture and fauna of the Emerald Isle. This year's theme is Jazz it Up!, which basically means that everyone is wandering around with Mardi Gras beads and that every hour, on the hour, a really loud, bad marching band plays. What does a marching band have to do with Jazz, you ask? I wonder the same thing. Apparently the music is so bad and so loud, that people are driven from the area where the music is happening over to where we are waiting to sell them things. So perhaps the bad/loud music is actually a marketing strategy?
Jazz it Up also means that instead of dinosaurs (which everyone knows roam freely through Ireland) this year we have really big string instruments.
And dog topiary.
If there is some connection between jazzing it up and leafy dogs, I haven't yet grasped it.
Commerce is happening.
Thousands of people march through the convention center halls each day and hundreds of them stop by our booth to buy or peruse. Our booth is called Florabana, a clever juxtaposition of "flora" and "bana", a derivative of "ikebana", or traditional Japanese flower arranging. The theme of the booth is flower arranging. This means we sell everything one needs to arrange flowers, either in the traditional Japanese style or in a really lowbrow American style.
On the high end, we sell Seiko's containers, which anyone who has visited our barn has seen in spades. Here are a few of her containers being used in the Ikebana exhibition that is part of the flower show.
Seiko's containers are prized by arrangers for their distinctive design and exquisite execution. She is one of the most prominent figures in her field. As such, a lot of people use her pots for competitions.
On the other end of the spectrum are the blown glass rooters (hanging vases), $5 apiece, that we sell to the droves like candy. They are very shiny, and after the $28 that one must pay to get in the door of the flower show, not so hard on the wallet.
We sell a lot of rooters. Hundreds each day. People are mesmerized by them. They stand in the aisle beholding the sparkle, speculating on which color (blue, amber, pink, green, or clear) will look best in their upstairs bathroom.
One of the thrilling little "inside the flower show" tricks of the trade? Hang lots of tape inside the booth so that when the crowds show up in droves, there is always some on hand. Most of what we sell is fragile and needs to be wrapped in paper. Hence the need for hundreds of little strips of tape.
In spite of all the jazzing it up that has been going on (or perhaps because of it?), the flower show is flying past. Only three days of commerce remain. Most of us are happy about this. The lone exception:
What has Robbi so cross? Perhaps it is the fact that she is gaining about three inches circumference each day. Here's the money shot. You asked for it.
Posted by bogenamp at 12:08 AM
March 05, 2008
Pennsylvania Ho Redux
After much heroic packing...
...and some setting up...
...the flower show is under way.
In spite of my best efforts nearly a year ago to alert the Pennsylvania Horticultural Society of their unfortunate choices in sign construction, the problem persists.
Another persistent problem continues to expand.
28 days remain. The same amount of time it takes for London to be overrun by zombies after the monkeys go berzerk.
I'm hoping our story ends better than that one did.
More on the flower show tomorrow. For those of you who are wondering, this year, there are no dinosaurs.
Posted by bogenamp at 12:07 AM
March 02, 2008
Birthday and Babies
There have been complaints. I have been neglecting my duties, apparently. I haven't posted on Idiots'Fest. I haven't posted enough pictures of Robbi's enormity. Apologies, all. I have been busy.
In fact, I am shirking other duties even more important than this blog. I was supposed to have been in Philadelphia with Robbi and the other Behrs these past four days, setting up the Florabana booth at the Philadelphia Flower Show. But I have been in the midst of a 15,000 word writing assignment and have not left this barn for the 123 hours except to drive to Taco Bell in my penguin print flannel pants. Thank the lord for drive-throughs. Thank the lord for Nachos Belgrande.
I have recently reemerged from beneath the mountain of verbiage and will take a moment to reflect on some fun we had last weekend.
It was our friend Lauren's birthday. And so Robbi and I and Christian and Emily (Remember them? They are still our friends.) were invited to dinner.
Lauren, charitable girl that she is, insisted on cooking her own birthday dinner. Chicken pot pie.
There was great hilarity throughout the meal. The pot pie was right tasty. Afterward, there was cake. Charitable girl that she is, Lauren insisted on making her own birthday cake. But she did allow her fiance Brian to light the candles.
Lauren tried to blow out the candles.
I say she "tried" to blow them out because she did not succeed. In fact, she succeeded in blowing out three of 30 candles. Charitable girl that she is, she must not have wanted to offend the candles or the cake by blowing too hard. We encouraged her to blow harder. She blew harder. The candles were extinguished. We applauded loud and long.
Brian rewarded her with a very large piece of cake, which she got to make and eat too.
Lauren, charitable girl that she is, inverted every birthday party norm by giving presents to us.
Yes, it is a baby bib that says "A Good Egg."
Why does Emily have a bib on, too, you ask? It is perhaps the greatest indicator that I am fading as a blogger that I have not yet made a public pronouncement of the fact that Emily and Christian are also expecting a small, loud addition to the family.
That's right, both Christian and I are going to be dads.
We both admit we have a lot to learn.
But are nonetheless excited at the prospect.
Posted by bogenamp at 09:41 PM
February 29, 2008
A Tough Call
Well friends, we need your help. The time has come to name our child.
We have considered--and ultimately, rejected--such fine suggestions as Trogdor, Pile of Coke, and Machine Gun Boner and have settled on a few alternatives with real possibilities.
For a Boy
1) Don Johnson Swanson (one has to admit, it has a nice ring)
2) Tarzan Swanson (with this option, no middle name is needed, I think. The sheer portent of those two lovely syllables in "Tarzan" obviate the need for accompaniment.
For a Girl
1) Dawnn Jawnson Swanson (it wasn't until recently that I realized that our homage to everyone's favorite mid-80s television actor wasn't limited to our having a man-child; I do think that the double-N of Dawnn and the surprising spelling of Jawnson help increase the delight of this particular choice).
2) Gramangela Gentlyfierce Swanson (this came to me as if from on high; so complete was my happiness when I realized that not only did such a lovely sequence of syllables exist, but that there was no law of man or God that would keep me from bestowing them upon my little girl. Nothing at all . . . except Robbi).
Friends, we are at an impasse. There are two valid choices for both possibilities. We cannot know for now whether or not young Swanson Jr. will be a masculine child, but we can be prepared for whatever fate the stork might throw our way.
Chime in, if you will.
Posted by bogenamp at 06:15 AM | Comments (2)
February 26, 2008
Our New Brest Friend
Our friends Courtney and Scott had a baby about seven weeks ago. His name is David, and I must admit that he is a rather cute little thing.
Anyone who feels so inclined may view photos of the many aspects of David on the family blog.
Now, Courtney has spent the last few months in almost total focus on being a mom. She has read the books, she has done the research, and now she is an expert on the various tools and components of parenting. And so we were delighted when she presented us with a gift the other day, complete with assurances that it was the most crucial, helpful, indispensable item available to the newly-appointed mother.
We opened the gift with great anticipation and discovered...
My Brest Friend
For those of you who do not know about My Brest Friend (and friends, until just the other day, I counted myself among you), My Brest Friend is a carefully-considered donut of firm, supportive foam rubber ensconced in a soft-yet-washable casing that may be strapped tightly around the midsection of the mother to provide a comfortable, reliable, broad, and convenient platform for the act of feeding.
Robbi was inspired and somewhat overwhelmed at the thought of it.
It did not take her long to discover that My Brest Friend isn't really designed for use by 8-month-pregnant ladies.
Very disappointed but resigned to the reality that we'd have to wait to properly enjoy the new Friendship, we contemplated putting My Brest Friend back on the high shelf with all the other currently dormant baby stuff. But then we had a better idea.
"Iggy's not eight months pregnant," I said.
"Wow, this is more fun than I've had since the day we shopped for the breast pump at Target," said Robbi.
"Yeah, that was great, but this is better," I said. "Do you think that Iggy is having as much fun as we are?" I asked.
Eventually we concluded that she probably wasn't, but we chalked the whole experience up to a teachable moment. Iggy has grown all too accustomed to being the baby around here, pampered and indulged.
We're trying to prepare her for the fact that things are going to change.
But, so far at least, she doesn't seem to understand.
Man's best friend, meet Mom's brest friend. Updates to come on how this all pans out.
Posted by bogenamp at 01:20 AM
February 19, 2008
The Festival
The Festival has come and gone and fun was had by all. I could not be happier with how things went but have not yet found the time or energy to commit to full documentation. A proper entry on Idiots'Fest will come tomorrow.
For today, I urge you to check out this link. If you will indulge me, click through the top ten list.
And note that Chestertown is in Kent County.
And note, shortly thereafter, how much more fun we all would have if you lived here with us.
Posted by bogenamp at 10:49 PM
February 10, 2008
Cucumbers
What have we been up to lately? Last Thursday we had a reading/talk at the Rose O'Neill Literary House at Washington College.
Here is the little press release the College used to advertise the event.
We were asked to talk about our work and our collaboration, so we focused on two different books, talking about the differing processes that led to the creation of the two. As an example of a book that I wrote first and Robbi illustrated second, we chose Death of Henry, a macabre tale in which a bunch of donkeys get stabbed. As an example of the opposite approach, in which Robbi starts by drawing a bunch of pictures and then forces me to make a sensible narrative out of them, we read and talked about The Clearing, in which a poor songbird is senselessly strangled.
I think we managed to make two points: that there is more than one way to collaborate on an illustrated book and that Robbi and I are kind of cruel to animals.
Yesterday we took a trip to Dover, Delaware, where there are big stores like Sam's Club and Target and where there is no sales tax. We went to Sam's club in search of new tube socks, but we stayed for the hotdogs.
I ate my hotdog really fast and then I was sorry that it was gone. Robbi, on the other hand, took her time and still had a lot of hotdog left. I asked her if I could have some of hers. She said no.
I asked her if she could at least try not to enjoy the hotdog in a hurtful, demonstrative way.
She said no.
We walked the aisles of Sam's like the dizzy consumers that we are.
I briefly contemplated buying a 65-inch plasma flatscreen but then I got distracted by the 8-cylinder dune buggy. In and out of the shopping cart went a 30-foot trampoline, a yard fountain, and a log cabin playhouse for my child. In the end, we left with my new socks and some veggies for Bob and Seiko.
Already exhausted, we headed to Target with a list of baby items.
The baby section of Target is designed to confuse first-time parents and also to beguile them into spending all of their money. I had never seen such an ocean of small, soft, pastel-colored items. I was flooded with warm, protective feelings for my unborn charge. How could I not buy everything that I was suddenly certain he or she would soon desire?
How could I not, for example, purchase the penguin bowling set?
Miraculously, we demonstrated some restraint. We did purchase a changing pad, a boppy (apparently a must-have item), some terribly small socks, and a few other necessary-yet-potentially-upsetting items that will remain unnamed. I feel that we have the necessary items to get the child through it's first 20 minutes or so, at least. After that, all bets are off. I'm counting on the fact that more than a few people have volunteered to help out. I'm guessing that we have sitters lined up for at least the first 14 months, at which point, I'm hoping the child is housebroken, weaned, and fluent in at least two languages.
Iggy is starting to sense that changes are afoot. She has been getting agitated when Robbi and I hug, for example, and whenever I talk to the belly, she tries to insert her nose between me and the baby. To ease her anxiety, we have been indulging her somewhat more than I usually would.
Today I spent a few hours on the other side of the barn, moving boxes in preparation for the Flower Show.
Bob made this clever lift to help move boxes from the hayloft down to the kiln room.
Of course, I cracked my head into the boom arm within the first two minutes. So Robbi put the genius hat to new (and very helpful) use.
Here's a good shot of Seiko's kiln.
One of the items being moved to make room for more "important" things, my Amiga 500, the computer I got back in 1991.
It was a fantastic machine and I refuse to get rid of it. Robbi hates the Amiga 500 so, so much. Every time we move she rants about how the Amiga 500 comes with us.
Here is the most recent belly shot.
Robbi looks displeased because she thought that I was going to take a picture of her cucumbers, of which she was, apparently, very proud.
So here they are.
Cucumbers with lemon pepper and salt are a tasty snack, especially after 11:00pm, given that they are light and not likely to sit in the stomach all night like a plate of nachos would. And yet I think that I will make a plate of nachos now, because in 53 days I am scheduled to become a responsible adult, and for now I will make the most of my dwindling foolishness.
Posted by bogenamp at 11:01 PM | Comments (1)
February 06, 2008
Things I Never Knew
There is a new magnet on our fridge. Here it is.
To explain: Robbi and I went to "Breastfeeding Basics" at the hospital Monday night. It was the follow-up to our Pregnancy and Childbirth class. We walked in the door and I immediately sensed trouble. Whereas our childbirth class had consisted of four couples, meaning expectant mothers and fathers, there was nary a daddy to be seen in breastfeeding class. I immediately questioned my own legitimacy, but the midwife who was leading the class ensured me that fathers play a far more prominent role in the breastfeeding process than one might expect.
As the class progressed, it became clear that I had learned nothing since Saturday.
But the nice lady was patient and soon I had it figured out. Apparently all babies prefer to be held head up.
The above is how I will feed my child, but not until a month has passed and it is a confident practitioner of proper breastfeeding technique. Which is not as intuitive and straightforward as I had always expected, apparently.
I will feed my child only after the nourishment in question has been extracted from its place of origin by an instrument looking not unlike this, a pump by Medela.
After the breast pump explanation, I turned to Robbi and asked whether in her carefree girlhood she had ever imagined that she would have occasion to purchase a machine manufactured to extract fluids from her body. Robbi did not answer the question, her face a tableau of pain and consternation.
There are several positions one might employ in breastfeeding one's baby. The positions have names like "Cradle", "Cross-Cradle", and ""Side-Lying". There is also the "Football" hold, used only by running backs who have to feed their babies in the middle of games.
In order to demonstrate the various approaches, the midwife employed this friendly plush breast, which is available, so she says, from many sex ed catalogs.
It has an elastic strap on the opposite side so that it can be held, puppet style, during demonstrations. The outer skin may be peeled away for the purpose of revealing and explaining the functioning of the interior anatomy. It is a very complex thing, the breast. I thought I understood it, but I was wrong. I am disenchanted in light of our class. I am back to square one.
But back to the new refrigerator sticker. You may already know it, but apparently breast feeding is a very good idea for all sorts of reasons. Not only is the breast milk composed with an ever-changing blend of nutrients, fat, and proteins for the baby (changing to adapt to its changing needs), but it transfers immunity to many diseases from the mother to the baby, is easy to digest, and apparently, leads to a higher IQ than one might expect to find in formula-fed babies. Moms who breastfeed are, according to the research, less likely to get breast and ovarian cancer, and breastfeeding helps moms get back into pre-pregnancy shape faster. The benefits of breastfeeding seem so widespread and astonishing that it's hard to imagine that there is not some degree of exaggeration in play. Are breastfed babies also able to fly and move boulders with their minds, I wonder? It seems not out of keeping with the rest of the research findings.
We will breastfeed because, well, we live in a barn and have no good excuse not to.
Plus, look at that cute little sucker.
That's right...born to breastfeed.
Sorry to all of you who started reading this blog thinking it was going to be about insulation and sheetrock. I admittedly seem to have strayed from my original mission.
Posted by bogenamp at 08:19 PM | Comments (1)
February 02, 2008
At the Hospital
We spent eight hours in the Chester River Hospital Center today learning about pregnancy and childbirth. I went into the experience deeply skeptical that there was anything to learn. I already knew it all. Or so I thought. Apparently, this is not the correct way to hold the baby.
Did I feel foolish when the nurse pointed out my error in front of the other expectant fathers? I did. But I felt redeemed when Robbi showed herself to be no more adept.
After a little instruction, we both came around.