Accommodatingly

Annoyed by Harvard Coop ejecting students for writing down ISBN numbers? Why not go directly to their website and let them know what you’re teaching? Your students may thank you for it.

Take a look– this time you should be able to see it!– at Jessie’s cool new project (link fixed), which has now, really, gone live.

Jessie’s really cool project did not in fact go live today, but I thought it did and posted a link that won’t work for you unless you are Jessie, are one of her co-workers, or are working on a computer she’s recently been using (which is why I thought it had gone live). Whoops. We’ll link to it as soon as it’s something you can actually see: many apologies to our only temporarily frustrated friends. (Is there a category called “overenthusiastic bonehead husband”? or maybe just “red-faced mistakes”?)

Walden pond

Originally uploaded by Jessie and Steve

A few weekends ago, two wonderful friends came to visit and prompted us to join them for an early-evening swim in Walden Pond. It was idyllic, if a bit chilly, and although he was a bit timid at first, eventually Nathan splashed in the water and dug in the sand with gusto. I thought to myself, “Why haven’t we come here every spare day since we moved?” and also, “We’ll have to come once more before it gets too cold to swim.”

Last Saturday was hot and sticky–a perfect day for a swim in the pond. We once again waited until late in the day to head out, figuring it would be less crowded. I donned my swimsuit and a pullover, packed Nathan’s gear, and the three of us were off. When we left the house, the skies were blue; Nathan was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing the Pond again. However, as we approached Concord, the skies darkened threateningly. To make matters worse, we arrived a 5:05pm, and the park had just closed its doors until 6pm–a completely asinine policy, particularly post-Labor Day when the days are getting shorter. Undecided about what to do, we drove around downtown Concord, stopped in a parking lot for a bathroom break and diaper change, and watched the skies turn black with roiling clouds and the lightning start. We finally gave up and drove back home, disappointed.

Yesterday, it was gloomy all day until mid-afternoon, when the sun started making an appearance in ever-increasing patches. “We should go to the park,” hubby and I said to each other, deciding that we should try Walden Pond once more. I packed up some snacks, diapers, and a full change of clothes for Nathan and we headed off once more, hoping that the gray clouds still lingering about were all headed east while we drove west.

When we arrived at the Pond, the parking lot was practically empty and the sun was shining. We speculated on whether the stroller could handle the hiking path around the pond, decided that it was worth a try, and set forth. The walking path embarks right next to the beach where Nathan had enjoyed himself so a few weeks back, so of course he insisted on going down to the water. Seeing other small children wading on the shore, we figured what the heck. His socks got a soaking in his eagerness to experience the wonders of the water again, but we took them off, returned his faux-crocs to his feet, rolled up his pants, and sent one shoeless parent into the drink with him.

All was splendid for a few idyllic moments. I snapped a photo or two on the cell phone of our lovely blond boy wading in the glistening pond. Steve threw a rock into the pond, and Nathan cheerfully threw his own rock, then, off-balance from the effort, bellyflopped into the two-inch water.

He was shocked, but surprisingly okay with things after I changed him into dry clothes, and eager to return to the water. We nipped that in the bud and opted instead for a walk around the pond. It was beautiful.

Maybe next week we should just bring our suits. Indian summer, anyone?

A bunch of high schoolers did a really nice thing.

*clap* *clap* *clap*

Cappie delights us by forcing a game five. (Geno, as usual when he’s the guest commentator, predicted the plays, sometimes minutes before they took place.)

I’m now blogging here. Please send suggestions if you have them, even if they seem unrelated to poetry. Yes, it’s a lit-blog gig.

I have new poems here, one about a kitchen tool, and one about Robert Lowell flying over Connecticut. Well, maybe it’s secretly about Walter Mondale Robert Lowell. Or is it about Chris Dodd Walter Mondale?

I also praise Elizabeth Treadwell here.

Nathan got discombobulated this morning because we rolled in through the back door at day care and he was shocked to find himself in the day care room: we walked all the way down the long hall to the front entrance and then re-entered the day care center through the correct door. It’s like watching a well-made television show and not wanting to miss the credits. Or something. In any case, our little guy quickly recovered: he clearly likes having some playmates there.

From Jordan, the most disgusting way to make yourself finish a long piece of writing– and one of the most effective.

After all my making fun of people who buy expensive strollers and touting the merits of the good old Gracos, I must admit I really covet this.

Well, I had to call this miscellany-style post something, and it’s a neat ice cream flavor Jessie found last week. As neat as I’ve tasted recently unless you count the best ice cream store in the world. (Sorry, Izzy; you are tied for second best, though.)

Two hours ago we got back from Willimantic, where we celebrated Jessie’s mom’s birthday and Jessie’s mom’s husband’s mom’s birthday. Nathan got to chase a ball, and kick a ball, and watch a ball kicked by, his affectionate cousins, whose names he likes to say. It’s a bit of a drive, but not bad if Nathan (a) sleeps or (b) wants us to sing children’s songs— we got (a) on the way down and (b) on the way back– and it’s certainly easier than flying. Yep, that’s one of the reasons we moved.

Should I write an essay entitled “Science Fiction as an Ethnic Literature”? Somebody should. I’m afraid that I’ve taken on an assignment (no, a different assignment) that requires me to read all of Philip K. Dick, which is like, and yet in another way not in the least like, having to read all of Swinburne. For a third assignment short article, I need to find out– tomorrow if possible– whether it’s true, or whether it’s more of an urban legend, that few Americans cared much about Paul Revere until Longfellow versified his midnight ride. UPDATE: the Paul Revere archive-and-tourism folks say it’s true. (I still want a print source, though. [shakes head])

I owe about ten people mix CDs. And in a couple of weeks they’re going to get them.

I owe many more people than that thanks and some sort of detailed update on our first month or so in Massachusetts: it’s neat to get so many queries, but scary to think about how many I may not answer directly. Come visit us when you can, o friends who live elsewhere. And tell us, if appropriate, just what you saw and ate at the State Fair. We miss the fair: age cannot wither, nor can custom stale, its infinite variety of food on sticks…

Partial Nathan update: he’s super-interested in opposites– up and down, new and old (and the associated word “time”), on and off (bathroom faucets now say “on” and “off,” rather than “off” and “no”), small and tall, Sox and Yankees (really– he loves saying “Go Sox!”) and the fact that 6 becomes 9 upside-down, while N becomes Z on its side.

As Brazelton’s research predicted, our extroverted, neophilic child loves the stimulation of his day care but sometimes, about half an hour after we bring him home, gets cranky and needy and desirous of Mommy’s (in particular) attention, maybe in part because he can “misbehave” around us and blow off cranky steam, while at work at day care he wants to behave.

Jessie reviews a cool memoir in the new Rain Taxi; it’s also the Powells review of the day today.

Unless things go pear-shaped I should be blogging here soon. Stay tuned. Oh, and support the Mercury if you can. All they need now is two out of three.

Having traveled a whole lot with our little guy, I was highly amused by this tidbit: Babies on a Plane:

[T]here have been plenty of times I’ve been on a plane with my one-and-a-half year old son Milo when I would have given anything for a couple of swigs of whiskey, or when I had to restrainI have traveled with my son almost every month since his birth, and each trip holds some new nadir of absurdity. myself from screaming “I WANT TO GET OFF THE PLANE TOO, BUT DO YOU SEE ME BASHING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WINDOW AND YELLING ‘OFF OFF OFF?’ WELL, DO YOU?”

I realize I’ve been lax in the blogging lately. Life has been pretty wall-to-wall these past weeks, and I’ve had very little brainpower at the end of the day for life analysis. Today Nathan started his new daycare, which he seemed to totally love and groove on start to finish. He also now “reads” us two books from cover to cover: Hug by Jez Alborough (which has all of three different words, repeated, but he reads them with appropriate emotion), and Swimsuit by Kit Allen. He’s gotten to the point where he can recite large sections of many of his books, and chatters randomly throughout the day saying things like “Tweetle beetle buttle bipple buppuh…” (some of you may get the reference). Language explosion, anyone?