Examining the interweb statistics for The Barnstorming and Idiots'Blog, we see that many of you are stubbornly clinging to the old instead of embracing the new. We know that old habits are hard to break, but the fact remains, in order to keep up to date on the latest, you will have to retune your RSS feeds to www.idiotsbooks.com, because that's where the party's at.

We suggest that you go there promptly to see all the fun and excitement.

Here's a link to the new site. And here's another. And yet another. Why are you still here?

This is the 657th edition of The Barnstorming and probably the last. For the past six months or so, Robbi has toiled admirably to build the new Idiots'Books web site/blog. At long last, it is complete and ready for your perusal.

The URL is the same as the old Idiots'Books site, and you can link to it by clicking here.

Some of you have written with concern about the fate of The Barnstorming and our intentions for its successor. Perhaps you will take comfort to hear that although we'll no longer be adding new content to The Barnstorming, it will remain intact and available should you ever feel the need to surf posterity for photos of Alden in various containers. As for the all-new Idiots'Blog, its look and feel might differ, but the same unexacting journalistic standards will be maintained. Meaning, there will still be lots of photos of babies with occasional mention of bookmaking and life in the barn.

Thanks to all of you who have spent your precious minutes with us on this site. It has been a lot of fun for us. Rest assured, we think the best is yet to come.

If someone can give me a rational explanation for why so many people choose to live in one small place, I would be extremely grateful. It simply does not compute.

Robbi also illustrated the lyrics to each song, which we bound together in a small book (which you can also get in PDF form when you download the album from iTunes).

Just today, Bombadil released a new video for one of my favorite songs from the album, So Many Ways to Die.

The clip is worth watching just to hear the song, but it also contains all sorts of fantastic footage of people doing inadvisable, perilous, disastrous things--a history of bad ideas: roller skating on the edge of tall buildings, throwing knives at little girls, plunging over waterfalls in barrels, fighting bulls, attempting to use a homemade jetpack, etc. It's beautiful and tragic and rife with the futile, reckless hope that makes us human.

Our turkey weighed 18 pounds. Alden weighs 18.2 pounds. In spite of this slight edge, she was wary.

When the time came to eat, she trembled with anticipation.

But when her plate arrived, heaped with turkey and other delicious things, her protest resumed.

I had no such reservations.

After stuffing ourselves, we crashed profoundly for a number of hours. When we emerged from our collective stupor, we decided a walk was in order.

Lately, Alden has been quite interested in ducks. In fact, her favorite word is probably "quack," a thing she says with great conviction whenever any duck-like object presents itself. Living on the Eastern Shore, we see lots of ducks about: real ducks, duck decoys in shop windows, and rubber ducks in the nightly bath.

This weekend, we went to see the real ducks, which gather in abundance near the town pier. We have a tendency of forgetting to finish our bread before it turns dry and unchewable. And so we decided to unload it on the ducks.

Alden took her task seriously.

She dug deep into the bag of bread, pulled back her arm to launch some crumbs toward the waiting waterfoul...

...and managed to throw her handful approximately four inches. Poor kid lacks technique. Takes after her old man, it seems.

But the ducks were not to be denied. It seems their interest in the bread outweighed their fear of the 27-inch dynamo. Alden convened with the ducks, proclaiming "quack" repeatedly as the feast continued.

And then, all of a sudden, she lost interest in the ducks and the bread and ran in a new direction.

Which is what kids do, I guess.

It was getting to be nighttime, anyway.

We got back home and Alden crashed.

All that quacking takes it out of a girl.

Once Alden had gone to bed, Robbi and I downloaded Super Mario Brothers 2 from the Wii website. Robbi and I had both loved the game when we were kids and had all sorts of shared memories about playing it. Once upon a time, I was uncommonly good at earning extra lives in the slot-machine style bonus game at the end of each level. As it turns out, I haven't lost my touch.

Yesterday was cold and crisp, but it was also the Chestertown Christmas parade, and so we bundled Alden in her cold weather finery and headed out to see the spectacle. She stood in the middle of the street as the parade approached, completely unprepared for what was coming her way.

With each passing float and marching band, she grew more incredulous.

What in the heck were these people up to?

She is a small town girl with small town sensibilities. She responded with a grim pragmatism, keeping her emotions in check.

But later in the privacy of her own home, she took out her fears and frustrations on her pancakes.

Last night, seeking food comfort in a futile attempt to ward off the reality of the coming end to the holiday weekend, I drove to New Castle, Delaware (about an hour away) for some quality pork ribs.

Seeing the feast, Alden told us she was ready to partake. We decided to let her try, wondering to ourselves how it was going to go. She may throw breadcrumbs like her sissy dad, but the kid can eat smoked pork like a champion.

When not eating and resting, we have been working dutifully on readying the new Idiots'Books web site for its upcoming debut. We don't have a firm date in mind, but we're hoping to launch in the next week or so. We'll let you know when the time comes. For now, enjoy the waning moments of your weekend. I take heart in knowing that the next batch of days off is not so far distant.

I am even turning on comments so you can have your say. Here's hoping V!agara2339 and Russ!an_Lady don't keep coming back and posting lewd (but compelling) comments. Matthew just can't help but click those links.

Here they are, in no particular order:

BRILLIANT AND LOWBROW:

THIS IS WHERE I DRAW THE LINE:

DRAW!:

I'M A LOVER NOT A WRITER:

Oh, and I forgot - we might also carry these, though we're still trying to decide whether I should draw the binkie instead of having the vector art. And whether anyone would possibly buy them:

I mean, we know we would, but you all know in what low regard we hold our child.

Any suggestions, likes, dislikes, requests, etc are welcome. You are also welcome to include comments about our fantastic hot models (compliments of American Apparel). Apparently, according to Alden, the gent with the fair hair looks like Mama. Maybe it's the skeptical sidelong glance that is fooling her.

But basically, do you like these shirts and would you buy any of them?

This is what he gestured to, breathlessly:

I have to say, I was both unimpressed and relieved. No broken glass? No freely flowing blood? It looked like the pancake-making was actually going remarkably well. Then Matthew grasped my arm, and said, "Look! Look at the one on the right! It looks just like that drawing you did, of the fat guy, with the baggy eyes, and the droopy nose!" I have to say, this didn't really narrow things down. "The guy with the money and the accounting paper glued on it, you know."

Oh. Right.

And, wow, it kind of did.

He didn't get the nose quite right, and I probably could have mentioned how his application of color left something to be desired, but all told, I think he did a decent job, given the materials at hand and the entirely inadvertent nature of its creation. It's not every day you get to eat art for breakfast. And even rarer that it's so delicious. Nice work, Matthew, nice work.

We often use the dining room table to fold the laundry, a fact that has not gone unnoticed by Alden. Yesterday we caught her in the act of combining her two favorite hobbies.

Note: Robbi's pride was only marginally damaged in the posting of this photo.

Alden expressed her keen desire to eat the gingerbread hotel. Fortunately, she was adequately restrained (if not a bit contrite).

After brunch, we headed over to Bookplate to get ready for our panel discussion. While we were getting ready to speak, we watched a letterpress demonstration.

The panel (with various people who run small presses) went well and lots of people came. Because we were busy being on the panel, we took no pictures of it. We have no good excuse for taking no pictures of the next event, an enjoyable talk by Fresh Air book reviewer Maureen Corrigan.

At 3:00 it was time for our reading. I did manage to snap this shot of Robbi regaling the crowd as they gathered.

At the appointed hour, we began. Local art patron Carla Massoni gave us a wonderful introduction, and then we read from The Baby is Disappointing, Dawn of the Fats, For the Love of God (excerpts), and Nasty Chipmunk. After reading, we answered questions and ended up having a nice discussion of what we do and why we do it.

In addition to the many Chestertonians present, friends and subscribers drove in from DC, Baltimore, and southern PA. Thanks to all who made the trek to support us.

Apparently, it has already been decided that there will be a second annual Chestertown Book Festival, to take place the weekend of October 9-10, if I remember correctly. Rest assured, I will remind you of the date at some point between now and then--but quite possibly not until moments before it begins.

Today is yet another example. This evening marks the start of the first annual Chestertown Book Festival. Former poet laureate of Maryland Michael Collier will be reading at Bookplate at 7:00 tonight. I'm sure that all you Collier fans out there would have appreciated more than 90 minutes notice.

Tomorrow's lineup is an ambitious affair of more than 30 events and more than 50 authors, poets, printers, and critics--giving readings, hosting demonstrations, sitting on panels, and hosting lunches. Here's the Festival web site should you want to have a look at what's in the offing.

Robbi and I are directly involved in two events, as described below.

Small and Independent Press Panel
12:00-1:30 p.m.

Jim Dissette, small-press author of Fierce Blessings, from Chester River Press; Dawn L.C. Miller, self-published author of A Feather From A Winged Horse; The Moon, The Menhir, and The Memory; and Champagne Dawn, under Blue Kettle Books; Matthew Swanson and Robbi Behr, author-illustrator duo of Idiots’Books; Emily Kalwaitis and Lindsay Lusby, painter-poet duo of Thread Lock Press
Back Room, Bookplate, 112 S. Cross St.

Idiots’Books Presents: Nasty Chipmunks, Funnel Cakes, and Disappointing Babies
3:00-4:00 p.m.

Robbi Behr and Matthew Swanson of Idiots’Books, introduced by Carla Massoni
Back Room, Bookplate, 112 S. Cross St.

In this latter event, we'll be reading from a number of books, including our latest, Nasty Chipmunk, and then answering questions and talking about what we do. Our friend and mentor Carla Massoni will be introducing us and helping to moderate discussion.

I'm sure your now well-formed weekend plans preclude your coming to the Festival, but if you happen to be available interested, I know we'd all appreciate the audience.

In the weeks since then, a number of delays involving plumbing, ductwork, knob mounting, and track light installation have kept us from feeling truly done with the bathroom. But all that is behind us now.

I had a doozy of a time taking good pictures of the bathroom, so here are some bad ones.

Have another look at that hand towel/houseplant/pottery tableaux. Yes, that is a Seiko Behr original.

And here, at long last, are the new washer and dryer in their glory (shown next to a six-foot adult man for scale).

Alden is convinced that the bathroom exists specifically for her amusement.

After all, it has buttons to push.

Caves to explore.

Sumptuous, loungeworthy surfaces to lounge upon sumptuously.

A nice little bench to sit upon (that happens to get quite warm in the winter months).

Even a pool!

I love the new paint, shower curtain, cabinets, and drawer pulls, but by far my favorite thing about the new bathroom is the instrument panel of the new washer. It's many colorful lights dazzle and delight me.

A pleasing cascade of electronic beeps results when each button is pushed. I find myself selecting highly customized settings just to have the chance to bask in the spectacle of light and sound.

If you have visited us once but not a second time because you were distressed by our formerly uncivilized bathroom, rest assured, you will have a very different experience this time around.

At first, Alden wasn't sure what to think of Cannon. He is taller than he used to be.

But as soon as she figured out that he had acquired a set of wheels, she was good to go.

Alden sat in the back while Cannon drove. Basically, he treated her like an overstuffed recliner. But she didn't seem to mind.

Neither did she seem to notice that they were holding up traffic.

When we got to the playground, both seemed loath to get out of the wagon.

But eventually the lure of the slide proved too powerful.

Bored with the slide, they moved on to the swings.

Disenchanted with the swings, they decided to tackle the big kid slide.

To the top.

And down again.

After the excitement of the big kid slide, Alden needed a few moments to sit and collect herself.

Suddenly, she was ready to go. She let us know by going and sitting by herself in the wagon.

I figured that she'd get bored of sitting by herself and would come back to the playground after a few minutes. I was wrong.

It was a good reunion all around. No one got hurt. Polite cheek-peck kisses were exchanged at the end.

Later tonight, Alden threw a total fit right at the top of the stairs. Perhaps she was lovesick?

Or maybe just tired from all the swinging.

After a while Alden got up, and Iggy. We opened the shades and let the light in.

Eventually 10:00 rolled around, and we opened the doors.

The crowds failed to roll in, so we sat at our desks catching up on projects.

Robbi asked me to change a lightbulb, which required a ladder. The view from up high was interesting, so I took a few photos.

Some of the original beams.

Our usually-concealed bedroom.

Robbi meddling with my computer.

Eventually there was some commerce.

I wouldn't describe today's business as "brisk," but we were competing with absolutely beautiful weather.

Six years ago today Robbi and I got married not far from the beach just outside of Savannah. Our friends were there, and our families. It was pretty nice. Back then we had not an inkling that six years later we'd be sitting in a studio in a barn in Chestertown selling books we'd made together. I don't even want to guess what we'll be doing six years from now.

This thing, for example, will be almost eight.

Impossible.

Note: The photo below, wholly irrelevant to this post, is meant to manipulate you emotionally. This baby has nothing to do with the acquisition of books. I can't guarantee that she will be on hand when you arrive. I can offer no promise that she will be looking cute or in a good mood. But seeing her there with sour cream on her lips does make you want to climb our spiral staircase and have a cup of hot tea and pull all the money out of your wallet to buy Christmas presents. Doesn't it? I mean, doesn't it?