In Which Our Heroine Spends Friday with the Squad
Milhouse Update: Miles rowed today: 8. Total miles: 20. Money pledged: $1170. We're getting better. Drills are good for people.
The kids have been working hard all week, what with double practices. So Friday, I told them that if everyone brought in five dollars, we could hang out in between practices, order pizza, and watch DVDs. Which is exactly what we did. The kids were really good. They had an excellent first practice, long, with some good rowing. Although I added yet another adventure to my rather traumatic season so far. Dale had been nice enough to bring us the Lesley wakeless launch. I checked it over when I got there, and it looked set up. Lifejackets, paddle, the essentials. Engine started up on the first pull, no problem and we were off. 100m down the river, we stopped, and the engine wouldn't start again for love or pulling. This was because, as I figured out *20* minutes later (not so quick on the uptake, is me) Dale had safely put away the gas can so that it wasn't sitting out overnight in the boat. Which is precisely what you're supposed to do. Not being used to the boat, I wasn't expecting to see it there. But since the boat isn't particularly complex or different from the other boats, really is was just me being not so bright! We (one of the kids and I) paddled back to the dock and got the gas tank. Problem solved. This was almost as rich as the afternoon's adventure. I pulled up in the launch to three seat shouting "Scott, take half a stroke!" followed by the coxain shouting about five times consecutively, each time more and more aggressively "SCOTT TAKE HALF A STROKE!" Scott, of course (otherwise it wouldn't be much of a story), was just sitting there happily, without taking a stroke. From the bottom of my toes, I brought up a shout. "SCOTT!!!!! TAKE HALF A STROKE! AND IF YOU'RE NOT GOING TO LISTEN TO YOUR COXSWAIN, YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEM TO ME AND I'M GOING TO HAVE AN AWFUL LOT TO SAY!" It turns out that three seat was actually working with the coxswain to perfect her tone to be more aggressive than more cheerleading. Scott had indeed taken the requested half stroke the first time. But dagnabbit, he took it again when I shouted! When I found out the full story on the dock, I apologized to the kids, which they more than deserved, then burst into laughter when three seat informed me "well, you did give a really good example of an aggressive tone which gets results." They understood what I was doing and the mistake I had made. And they accepted my apology, thankfully. It was a fun day with the kids, but slightly tiring. While my kids followed the rules really well (and offered great home made cookies to the Head of the Charles staff, Dale and other people to keep us in good stead), it was still my responsibility as the adult in question to be there and make sure they followed the rules. Not a problem, but it does mean keeping tabs on them, which just gets tiring after a while! Or maybe it was the practices. While the rowing is getting better, the coxing is also getting better. In a flat out scary way. She's taking turns so tight it is giving me chest pains to watch. The mantra "she's not going to make it, she's not going to make it, she's not going to make it, Holy Hannah! Wow that was a sweet turn!" is going to kill me.
Love,
Anne
Saturday, April 26, 2003
Friday, April 25, 2003
Team Milhouse Today
Miles rowed today: 6. Total miles rowed: 12. Money pledged: $1030. Today's progress was a little frustrating. We're getting the rigging checked on the boat. Honestly, it wasn't so bad. Compared to other rowing programs I've had, it was about par. A long slog, and we get somewhere, but it doesn't fly. But luckily, Liz and I have the image of the 20 stroke pieces we've taken. To quote Mazda, zoom zoom zoom! It will happen. There is something about the stroke seat that isn't getting the oomph. The rowing chair at CBC is going to take a measure of it. And I am going to read my sculling books and rack my wee brain for drills that will improve us. As one of the great rules of rowing is "row the boat you've got." Also paraphrased in the mantra "suck it up, buttercup." We can do it. We are Team Milhouse!
The more I think about the Milhouse concept, the more I think it is truly fitting. I mean, we're going to row in the Head of the Charles but in the Championship event. Neither of us have rowed much in the last two years, and we're out of shape! (Well, Liz is in better shape than I am.) Ok, we're starting now, and with my great motivation we'll be fitter than something really fit by the race, but we'll be up against national and international caliber rowers. Complete "My Mom says I'm cool." territory. And the whole point of it is we'll have a blast. So much fun. And in the meantime, we'll raise as much money as we can for charity, which is almost a better point.
In the meantime, the children continue to delight me. They work so hard, and it really really is paying off. For all of them. There are one or two who seem to be a little apprehensive that they aren't progressing the way they should, or at the pace that others are. But the point is that they are progressing, and continuing to progress. I'm thrilled with them all. TOmorrow, I'm hoping we'll get to race BB&N in the afternoon. More of a friendly than anything else if we can arrange it. I hope we can win. But in the meantime, between the practices we're staying in the boathouse, watching movies, and having some pizza. A little party for the squad.
Off to the tub. The lats need a soak.
Love,
Anne of the stroke seat
Miles rowed today: 6. Total miles rowed: 12. Money pledged: $1030. Today's progress was a little frustrating. We're getting the rigging checked on the boat. Honestly, it wasn't so bad. Compared to other rowing programs I've had, it was about par. A long slog, and we get somewhere, but it doesn't fly. But luckily, Liz and I have the image of the 20 stroke pieces we've taken. To quote Mazda, zoom zoom zoom! It will happen. There is something about the stroke seat that isn't getting the oomph. The rowing chair at CBC is going to take a measure of it. And I am going to read my sculling books and rack my wee brain for drills that will improve us. As one of the great rules of rowing is "row the boat you've got." Also paraphrased in the mantra "suck it up, buttercup." We can do it. We are Team Milhouse!
The more I think about the Milhouse concept, the more I think it is truly fitting. I mean, we're going to row in the Head of the Charles but in the Championship event. Neither of us have rowed much in the last two years, and we're out of shape! (Well, Liz is in better shape than I am.) Ok, we're starting now, and with my great motivation we'll be fitter than something really fit by the race, but we'll be up against national and international caliber rowers. Complete "My Mom says I'm cool." territory. And the whole point of it is we'll have a blast. So much fun. And in the meantime, we'll raise as much money as we can for charity, which is almost a better point.
In the meantime, the children continue to delight me. They work so hard, and it really really is paying off. For all of them. There are one or two who seem to be a little apprehensive that they aren't progressing the way they should, or at the pace that others are. But the point is that they are progressing, and continuing to progress. I'm thrilled with them all. TOmorrow, I'm hoping we'll get to race BB&N in the afternoon. More of a friendly than anything else if we can arrange it. I hope we can win. But in the meantime, between the practices we're staying in the boathouse, watching movies, and having some pizza. A little party for the squad.
Off to the tub. The lats need a soak.
Love,
Anne of the stroke seat
Thursday, April 24, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Is Present at the Birth of Team Milhouse
Well, that's your typical day around here. Today was race day for the kids. Up and out of the house nice and early. It was an astounding thing, and a testament to the mothering streak that I have that I was running around the flat at 6:30 in the morning going "they're going to be cold, they'll need hats, where are my hats?" I have no children, but suddenly I am mother to the novice squad. Three hats and an ear warmer later, plus shirts, oranges, power bars and water bottles at the ready, I headed into Cambridge, hopeful yet still having to pray that everyone turned up. Which they did. We got up there, got rigged, got the directions and got on the water, no problem. I was in proper coaching mode - supportve, excited, answering questions and once they shoved off, ready for my heart attack any minute. They were out of range to see at the start, but when they rowed by me, they appeared to be rowing fine. Not great, not as great as I've seen them, but fine. Which is why I could not understand why we were so far behind another crew that was really rowing quite badly. I was shocked, stunned and very confusd. So when they landed, I asked them what happened, stressing that I was proud of them and how well they had rowed. Apparently, I missed all the fun! Crabs galore, tipping, "we thought we were going to fall in," and two seat's seat coming off the slide. Apparently, they had the other squad until they came off the slide. "But we did what you told us coach, we picked it up on the next stroke." and the kids seemed in good spirits. I am quite proud of them, but I think we can do even better in the next race, whenever that is.
Then in the afternoon, it ws time for my practice. Now that Liz and I have our HOCR entry, we are kicking into the high practice gear. Every day. But we still had to sort out our membership at CRI so that we could row our arranged boat there. As our ongoing luck would have it, we ran into the CRI director outside CBC. I've been friends with Alyson for years now, and have great respect for her. So I told her the situation, and she sorted it out, there and then, and told us what we had to do. It was that easy. It is all amazing to think that not even a month ago, none of this was happening, and now all of the sudden, without too much effort we've found a boat, a Head of teh Charles entry and in two days have already raised $1000. (Of course, we still have $1000 to go. And we'd love to get more than the minimum. If you want to contribute, please e-mail me.) All of which prompted Liz, as we were going through the gate of the club, to utter the now fateful words:
"Everything's coming up Milhouse!"
This line from the Simpsons just cracked me up. Bent me over double laughing. Liz knows when to utter the good line. After a tiring week, this was exactly the relief needed. I went into the bathroom to change, and came out and announced to Liz that sadly, we were now "Team Milhouse." I'm right behind this. I think it is great. If anyitng, I'm a little toooooo into it. Go Team Milhouse.
I've just noticed that I am sooooooooooo tired I can barel focus. More tomorrow.
Love,
Milhouse!
Well, that's your typical day around here. Today was race day for the kids. Up and out of the house nice and early. It was an astounding thing, and a testament to the mothering streak that I have that I was running around the flat at 6:30 in the morning going "they're going to be cold, they'll need hats, where are my hats?" I have no children, but suddenly I am mother to the novice squad. Three hats and an ear warmer later, plus shirts, oranges, power bars and water bottles at the ready, I headed into Cambridge, hopeful yet still having to pray that everyone turned up. Which they did. We got up there, got rigged, got the directions and got on the water, no problem. I was in proper coaching mode - supportve, excited, answering questions and once they shoved off, ready for my heart attack any minute. They were out of range to see at the start, but when they rowed by me, they appeared to be rowing fine. Not great, not as great as I've seen them, but fine. Which is why I could not understand why we were so far behind another crew that was really rowing quite badly. I was shocked, stunned and very confusd. So when they landed, I asked them what happened, stressing that I was proud of them and how well they had rowed. Apparently, I missed all the fun! Crabs galore, tipping, "we thought we were going to fall in," and two seat's seat coming off the slide. Apparently, they had the other squad until they came off the slide. "But we did what you told us coach, we picked it up on the next stroke." and the kids seemed in good spirits. I am quite proud of them, but I think we can do even better in the next race, whenever that is.
Then in the afternoon, it ws time for my practice. Now that Liz and I have our HOCR entry, we are kicking into the high practice gear. Every day. But we still had to sort out our membership at CRI so that we could row our arranged boat there. As our ongoing luck would have it, we ran into the CRI director outside CBC. I've been friends with Alyson for years now, and have great respect for her. So I told her the situation, and she sorted it out, there and then, and told us what we had to do. It was that easy. It is all amazing to think that not even a month ago, none of this was happening, and now all of the sudden, without too much effort we've found a boat, a Head of teh Charles entry and in two days have already raised $1000. (Of course, we still have $1000 to go. And we'd love to get more than the minimum. If you want to contribute, please e-mail me.) All of which prompted Liz, as we were going through the gate of the club, to utter the now fateful words:
"Everything's coming up Milhouse!"
This line from the Simpsons just cracked me up. Bent me over double laughing. Liz knows when to utter the good line. After a tiring week, this was exactly the relief needed. I went into the bathroom to change, and came out and announced to Liz that sadly, we were now "Team Milhouse." I'm right behind this. I think it is great. If anyitng, I'm a little toooooo into it. Go Team Milhouse.
I've just noticed that I am sooooooooooo tired I can barel focus. More tomorrow.
Love,
Milhouse!
Wednesday, April 23, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Goes Racing!
This time yesterday, I wasn't racing. This time today, there are two on the calendar. The first is tomorrow: the CRLS novices have their first race! Up in Lowell, against Lowell. All organized at the last minute. I only got the e-mail about it at lunch. Then I had to go to practice to make sure we'd have enough kids. We did. Our regular cox won't be there, but everyone else will, which means we take our fifth kid and make him a cox. Who is our fifth kid? In this case, it is the smallest one. No erg or seat racing to find out who is the slowest on a weight adjusted basis. Thankfully, I had taught them the racing start in the morning practice, so we could refine it with power tens and some long pieces at the afternoon practice. The kids are getting fast. Tomorrow we find out if we're fast enough. Fingers crossed!
The other race of the day is the Head of the Charles. Liz and I have committed to doing it, and the miracle is that we know we have an entry secured, and it is only April. How is this possible? Because we have been admitted into the charity program. This means we have to raise a minimum of $2000 by July 1 for any combination of the Red Cross, Cambridge Community Foundation, The Home for Little Wanderers, Community Rowing Inc. and/or Access Sport America. I'm on the pledge trail, and the money is coming in already. If you want to pledge, e-mail me please! (anne@goannego.com). The real bonus is that in every prior year the program has been run, the Head of the Charles has either matched donations, or donated a lump sum to the charities in question, so you definitely get more bang from your buck for making a donation, and of course everything is tax deductible to the fullest extent of the law. So now Liz and I have to get going, get training, get ready. Of course, knowing already means that we can start in earnest NOW. Expect times from time trials to be posted here in the near future. And lots of boring things about drills, pieces, and the like. Of course, I thrive on it. First post race acceptance practice is tomorrow, after the kid's race.
Must sleep! Must rest!
Love,
Speed Racer
This time yesterday, I wasn't racing. This time today, there are two on the calendar. The first is tomorrow: the CRLS novices have their first race! Up in Lowell, against Lowell. All organized at the last minute. I only got the e-mail about it at lunch. Then I had to go to practice to make sure we'd have enough kids. We did. Our regular cox won't be there, but everyone else will, which means we take our fifth kid and make him a cox. Who is our fifth kid? In this case, it is the smallest one. No erg or seat racing to find out who is the slowest on a weight adjusted basis. Thankfully, I had taught them the racing start in the morning practice, so we could refine it with power tens and some long pieces at the afternoon practice. The kids are getting fast. Tomorrow we find out if we're fast enough. Fingers crossed!
The other race of the day is the Head of the Charles. Liz and I have committed to doing it, and the miracle is that we know we have an entry secured, and it is only April. How is this possible? Because we have been admitted into the charity program. This means we have to raise a minimum of $2000 by July 1 for any combination of the Red Cross, Cambridge Community Foundation, The Home for Little Wanderers, Community Rowing Inc. and/or Access Sport America. I'm on the pledge trail, and the money is coming in already. If you want to pledge, e-mail me please! (anne@goannego.com). The real bonus is that in every prior year the program has been run, the Head of the Charles has either matched donations, or donated a lump sum to the charities in question, so you definitely get more bang from your buck for making a donation, and of course everything is tax deductible to the fullest extent of the law. So now Liz and I have to get going, get training, get ready. Of course, knowing already means that we can start in earnest NOW. Expect times from time trials to be posted here in the near future. And lots of boring things about drills, pieces, and the like. Of course, I thrive on it. First post race acceptance practice is tomorrow, after the kid's race.
Must sleep! Must rest!
Love,
Speed Racer
Monday, April 21, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Jumps Out of the Frying Pan Into the Fire
Well, that is one week down, lots of work ticked off. So it is Easter vacation week. And what does it mean? It means.......twice a day practices with the niblets. Trying to arrange races. Getting the kids to turn up, when they'd rather be on vacation. Hey, so would I! Plus, tomorrow I'll squeeze in my first practice run as a Make Way for Ducklings Tour Guide. I shall be taking my favorite three year old, and possibly one of her friends, on a practice run through Beacon Hill. Then I can do it later in the week for Liz, to practice as well. Do I know my column types? Here's hoping.
Still, to celebrate the Easter holiday, I headed out to church this morning. Pomp, circumstance, all the full works. Say what you like about Trinity, they do manage to put on the full palaver pretty well. I was going to go to the 6pm service with Matt, but he had given up maple syrup and beer for Lent, and decided that he couldn't make it another day without maple syrup. So we opted for the earlist service Trinity had, which seems to have been a good call as the 8am service, despite there being no parking and major barricades due to tomorrow's Marathon ending there in Copley Square, was almost standing room only, and there was a line around the block when we left, 45 minutes before the 10am service. Wise move on our part. And we even managed to snag a parking space. It is funny going to church with Matt, as there is a torn commitment there. Our friend Tim sings in the choir of another church in Cambridge. So somedays it seems like dueling Episcopalians - which church should we go to today???? Somehow this seems slightly inconsistent with Christianity in its way.
Bracing for tomorrow,
Love,
Anne
Well, that is one week down, lots of work ticked off. So it is Easter vacation week. And what does it mean? It means.......twice a day practices with the niblets. Trying to arrange races. Getting the kids to turn up, when they'd rather be on vacation. Hey, so would I! Plus, tomorrow I'll squeeze in my first practice run as a Make Way for Ducklings Tour Guide. I shall be taking my favorite three year old, and possibly one of her friends, on a practice run through Beacon Hill. Then I can do it later in the week for Liz, to practice as well. Do I know my column types? Here's hoping.
Still, to celebrate the Easter holiday, I headed out to church this morning. Pomp, circumstance, all the full works. Say what you like about Trinity, they do manage to put on the full palaver pretty well. I was going to go to the 6pm service with Matt, but he had given up maple syrup and beer for Lent, and decided that he couldn't make it another day without maple syrup. So we opted for the earlist service Trinity had, which seems to have been a good call as the 8am service, despite there being no parking and major barricades due to tomorrow's Marathon ending there in Copley Square, was almost standing room only, and there was a line around the block when we left, 45 minutes before the 10am service. Wise move on our part. And we even managed to snag a parking space. It is funny going to church with Matt, as there is a torn commitment there. Our friend Tim sings in the choir of another church in Cambridge. So somedays it seems like dueling Episcopalians - which church should we go to today???? Somehow this seems slightly inconsistent with Christianity in its way.
Bracing for tomorrow,
Love,
Anne
Saturday, April 19, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Tortures Small Helpless Children
There are many joys in being a rowing coach. Great financial reward isn't one of them, of course, but still there are rewards. Depending on your point of view, one of them is making small children suffer. This is almost a universally accepted perk of the job. In fact, when I was sitting in the Good Life last week, the waitress came up to us while I was saying "I made her cry." (referring to obnoxious lying teenager, not one of my kids I hasten to add.) and said "What do you DO?" When I told her I was a high school rowing coach, she offered to bring me a stronger drink. But today, it was my turn to torture "my" kids. We were all set to row, but the launch was up on the dock being repaired, so it was time for land training. Break out the ergs, little children. Today we are going to discover our lactic acid production. 1000m, two minute rest. Repeat five more times. I tried to be diplomatic. I announced from the start that they were allowed to curse me. They didn't understand at first, but it didn't take long. But still, they double checked first. "We're allowed to hate you?" "Yes, you can hate me." "Anne" "Yes?" "Um, I really hate you right now." "Good, then everything is as it should be." They're really turning into rowers. How can I tell? Because all of them when they finished said "I really hated it while I was doing it, but now that I'm done it feels really good." As I said, all is as it should be. Tomorrow, two of them are coming to scull with me, which should be much fun.
Well, I have trained for my next job now. I am to be a "Make Way for Ducklings" tour guide. This will take up my mornings, when rowing takes up my afternoons. I will lead groups of 15 kindergarteners around Beacon Hill, through the State House, and down Charles Street. "With a tilt of their bill and an extra swagger in their waddle." I also teach them about architecture (different types of columns, which has required my learning them first, window types, boot scrapers, that sort of thing). Unfortunately, I wasn't thinking as I learned the tour and forgot to wear my sunblock and am now a bit pink across the old nose. And I don't think I impressed my boss by losing my book and file the first day! They do have lots of extra copies lying about apparently. Still, not the way to go first day out. Sunblock now acquired and applied without mercy. SPF 30.
Happy Easter, all!
Love,
Anne
There are many joys in being a rowing coach. Great financial reward isn't one of them, of course, but still there are rewards. Depending on your point of view, one of them is making small children suffer. This is almost a universally accepted perk of the job. In fact, when I was sitting in the Good Life last week, the waitress came up to us while I was saying "I made her cry." (referring to obnoxious lying teenager, not one of my kids I hasten to add.) and said "What do you DO?" When I told her I was a high school rowing coach, she offered to bring me a stronger drink. But today, it was my turn to torture "my" kids. We were all set to row, but the launch was up on the dock being repaired, so it was time for land training. Break out the ergs, little children. Today we are going to discover our lactic acid production. 1000m, two minute rest. Repeat five more times. I tried to be diplomatic. I announced from the start that they were allowed to curse me. They didn't understand at first, but it didn't take long. But still, they double checked first. "We're allowed to hate you?" "Yes, you can hate me." "Anne" "Yes?" "Um, I really hate you right now." "Good, then everything is as it should be." They're really turning into rowers. How can I tell? Because all of them when they finished said "I really hated it while I was doing it, but now that I'm done it feels really good." As I said, all is as it should be. Tomorrow, two of them are coming to scull with me, which should be much fun.
Well, I have trained for my next job now. I am to be a "Make Way for Ducklings" tour guide. This will take up my mornings, when rowing takes up my afternoons. I will lead groups of 15 kindergarteners around Beacon Hill, through the State House, and down Charles Street. "With a tilt of their bill and an extra swagger in their waddle." I also teach them about architecture (different types of columns, which has required my learning them first, window types, boot scrapers, that sort of thing). Unfortunately, I wasn't thinking as I learned the tour and forgot to wear my sunblock and am now a bit pink across the old nose. And I don't think I impressed my boss by losing my book and file the first day! They do have lots of extra copies lying about apparently. Still, not the way to go first day out. Sunblock now acquired and applied without mercy. SPF 30.
Happy Easter, all!
Love,
Anne
Thursday, April 17, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Frightens the Chickens
The complexities of rowing can get on your nerves sometimes. Or really, maybe it is just the complexities of the weather. Yesterday was completely beautiful, temperature wise. I was excited to be scheduled to row that afternoon. I was at the boat club early to do work, and Jane was there to go out with Peggy. Envious, yes, but I knew it would only be a couple hours. And first there was my practice with the children to complete. This was the big day - they were going to row all fours. They all arrived in a group, bright and early, so we were out quickly. In a wind that had to be experienced to be believed. Just astounding. Not to mention that since the weather was warm, EVERY HIGH SCHOOL CREW ON THE RIVER was out and doing their thing. It was like rush hour on the M25 out there. In a high wind. My heart is never going to take the strain of this season, I swear. But the kids did well. I was very proud. Somewhere, somehow, they are learning to row, and frankly I'm left with this feeling that I don't really have anything to do with it. Sure, I tell them lots of stuff and make them do drills, but at the end of the day they've got to want it, and they've got to learn it. And suddenly, they had. A wonderful moment. If rather a terrifying one as now all of the sudden they were going along in and amongst the other crews. I suppose it is like a parent watching their child getting their learner's permit and waiting for the car to crash.
In the end, when it was my time to practice with Liz, it was too windy to do anything. We launched, we landed. To do drills and the like it was just getting to be too much. So we gave up and lived to row another day. And we decided that that day would be the next day, when it was forecast to rain, but rain usually makes the water flat. Cold, sure, wet, sure, but we have gear for that.
We were wrong. There was no rain. There was, however, as I turned up to the boathouse, a wind gust that offical records later revealed dropped the temperature 20 degrees in 10 minutes. 38 degrees in an hour. Not to mention putting white caps on the water. Eight car windows blew out in Cambridge, a roof blew off, and a cinder block wall went down from the wind. I decided then and there that there would be no rowing in the double that night. My kids did land training. Liz turned up and we pondered whether or not to go. Being in the mind set of having seen what I had seen, I was resigned to not rowing, but Liz accurately pointed out that the water really wasn't so bad at this point and we should just suck it up, maybe not drill, and row. Which is what we did. Correct call on Liz's part. Rowing was wonderful. More discovery of boat speed. It is quite amusing to me. You're working very hard, and all that happens when you find the boat speed is that you just become inspired further. I must ride my bike every where to increase my cardiovascular stamina! I must eat better! I must do bench pulls, I must, I must, I must do everything in my power to dedicate myself to this boat and this feeling and go this fast for miles and miles and miles. I must quit my job (I have a job?) and train all day, every day. Lunacy, I know, but even Liz admits she's thought much the same. "I'll just take the summer off and row with Anne." - it is a seductive proposition. Unfortunately, neither of us can afford such a thing. But the cold had meant that over my *bright* orance fleecey stretchy top and blue shorts I had thrown on an old sweatshirt that was lying in the boathouse. Roughed up and slightly too small, it was good for rowing as it was an extra layer, but being too short it wouldn't get caught in the boat tracks. Heading home, I caught sight of myself. No wonder no one wanted to sit next to me on the bus. Sweaty, multicolored, grubby too small sweatshirt, green ankle socks with sandals. Gives kids nightmares, it does. And of course it seems perfectly normal to me. Most people see the sandals and socks and think "European" - I think "rower."
The time is still crazy busy, I shall sleep one of these days.
Love,
Anne
The complexities of rowing can get on your nerves sometimes. Or really, maybe it is just the complexities of the weather. Yesterday was completely beautiful, temperature wise. I was excited to be scheduled to row that afternoon. I was at the boat club early to do work, and Jane was there to go out with Peggy. Envious, yes, but I knew it would only be a couple hours. And first there was my practice with the children to complete. This was the big day - they were going to row all fours. They all arrived in a group, bright and early, so we were out quickly. In a wind that had to be experienced to be believed. Just astounding. Not to mention that since the weather was warm, EVERY HIGH SCHOOL CREW ON THE RIVER was out and doing their thing. It was like rush hour on the M25 out there. In a high wind. My heart is never going to take the strain of this season, I swear. But the kids did well. I was very proud. Somewhere, somehow, they are learning to row, and frankly I'm left with this feeling that I don't really have anything to do with it. Sure, I tell them lots of stuff and make them do drills, but at the end of the day they've got to want it, and they've got to learn it. And suddenly, they had. A wonderful moment. If rather a terrifying one as now all of the sudden they were going along in and amongst the other crews. I suppose it is like a parent watching their child getting their learner's permit and waiting for the car to crash.
In the end, when it was my time to practice with Liz, it was too windy to do anything. We launched, we landed. To do drills and the like it was just getting to be too much. So we gave up and lived to row another day. And we decided that that day would be the next day, when it was forecast to rain, but rain usually makes the water flat. Cold, sure, wet, sure, but we have gear for that.
We were wrong. There was no rain. There was, however, as I turned up to the boathouse, a wind gust that offical records later revealed dropped the temperature 20 degrees in 10 minutes. 38 degrees in an hour. Not to mention putting white caps on the water. Eight car windows blew out in Cambridge, a roof blew off, and a cinder block wall went down from the wind. I decided then and there that there would be no rowing in the double that night. My kids did land training. Liz turned up and we pondered whether or not to go. Being in the mind set of having seen what I had seen, I was resigned to not rowing, but Liz accurately pointed out that the water really wasn't so bad at this point and we should just suck it up, maybe not drill, and row. Which is what we did. Correct call on Liz's part. Rowing was wonderful. More discovery of boat speed. It is quite amusing to me. You're working very hard, and all that happens when you find the boat speed is that you just become inspired further. I must ride my bike every where to increase my cardiovascular stamina! I must eat better! I must do bench pulls, I must, I must, I must do everything in my power to dedicate myself to this boat and this feeling and go this fast for miles and miles and miles. I must quit my job (I have a job?) and train all day, every day. Lunacy, I know, but even Liz admits she's thought much the same. "I'll just take the summer off and row with Anne." - it is a seductive proposition. Unfortunately, neither of us can afford such a thing. But the cold had meant that over my *bright* orance fleecey stretchy top and blue shorts I had thrown on an old sweatshirt that was lying in the boathouse. Roughed up and slightly too small, it was good for rowing as it was an extra layer, but being too short it wouldn't get caught in the boat tracks. Heading home, I caught sight of myself. No wonder no one wanted to sit next to me on the bus. Sweaty, multicolored, grubby too small sweatshirt, green ankle socks with sandals. Gives kids nightmares, it does. And of course it seems perfectly normal to me. Most people see the sandals and socks and think "European" - I think "rower."
The time is still crazy busy, I shall sleep one of these days.
Love,
Anne
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Discovers Boat Speed
Ah, boat speed. Liz and I went out yesterday in one of the CBC boats. Now, we've done this a couple of times now. And it hasn't been bad. In fact, quite the opposite. The first go round was enough fun to get us to want to do it for the rest of the season. The second time was fun enough to be a little frustrating, because we could see the amount of work we had to do. But, ah, this last time. What a difference a little rigging makes.
For those of you not in the know, rowing is actually a very technical sport. The simple version of the technical bits are that if you think of a lever, if you put the fulcrum at the right point, you get a lot more lift for a lot less effort. There are roughly a bazillion different little adjustments you can make in a boat to rig it to your size, relative body strength, wind conditions. For a better discussion than this, read pages 257 onward in Peter Topolski's "True Blue" - it is the best description of rigging and boat placement I've ever read. But getting back to Liz and I, we put the boat in the water to discover that someone had moved my footstretchers back very far in the tracks. Certainly much further than I had ever had them before. I had been planning on moving them back a bit anyway to see if it helped my front end catch, but not this much. I checked the positioning of my hands at the finish, and it seemed that I could move a bit back, but something in me made me leave it. Whatever that something was, I now bow down and worship it. It was astounding from the first stroke. Which should have been very heavy and slow on the oars, as we were moving from a dead stop and I was pulling Liz to warm up, so there was her weight dead in the boat. I know what this feels like. Or rather, is supposed to feel like. This was far, far, far too easy. And fast. The boat was already moving through the water far quicker than it should at this stage. I took a couple more strokes. It was insanely easy. I mentioned it to Liz, but of course she couldn't appreciate it. Yet. She did soon though. After my warm up, she had hers and then it was time for me to join in. On the second stroke you could hear her say "wow!" It was that amazing. We paddled up to CRI with relative ease, and then figured out what to do next. The boat was set better, the steering was highly responsive, and there was of course the speed. The speed! We thought it out and opted to do some drills to improve our technique, which was without question rusty and in need of improvement. We've both been out of practice a couple years, and while I'm a sculler at heart and primary experience, Liz is a sweep rower with only a rough dozen sculling outings. Time for the drills. And it worked. We started improving. We did the drills individually, which lets the other person set the boat. Liz made loads of improvement in her roll up timing and her power application. Then I did the same drill. And I realized I was "skying" at the catch, which is at the last second lifting your oars in the air before setting them down in the water. This is bad for a couple reasons. 1) The lift up throws off the balance of the boat. 2) The act of putting them up into the water tends to mean that when you finally put them into the water, you place them too deeply, which gives an inefficient stroke. Having noticed this during the drill, I tried to rectify it. And the strokes when I rowed correctly were astounding. If you get a certain amount of speed out of an Empacher, you get a hum from the rush of the air bubbles running under the hull. I actually managed to get the hum while rowing solo, lugging Liz around. (Poor thing, on her drills she had to lug my fat butt around.) Stunned, I was stunned. Liz couldn't belive it either. Inspired, we gave it a push for thirty strokes to try us out. I can't say it went that well, but over all the effect was positive. Which is how these things go. It is all easy enough during a slow painstaking drill. Then you have to think about it at speed, with the boat not balanced for you by someone else, steering, etc. But I could feel it on some strokes. We both could. I didn't want to land, but I did have to get back to the library. But now Liz and I are both so excited. Even more so than before.
This led to some interesting challenges. First, we had to find a boat. The CBC rules are quite firm - Liz, not being a member, can row with me 10 times in a calendar year. There is not a way around this rule, it is sacrosanct. I asked anyway, not expecting the Rowing Committee to say yes, but rather hoping that their answer would provide some clues about how to proceed next. Which it did. In short, if we could find another boat that wasn't a club boat and convince someone to let us row it, we could do that. But people don't have a double laying around usually. Plus, to add to that the boats are built for efficiency for particular weights. So it had to be a heavyweight double. Just to add a little challenge to it. Amazingly, the problem is already solved. My friend John owns a heavyweight Empacher double. And he is willing to let Liz and I use it. He just has to get it down here. We're negotiating a price of some sort for the season. In the meantime, beer and dinner! Huzzah! Huzzah! Viva my current serendipity. There is no logical reason why it should be this easy. But it was, so I'll be grateful for what I've got.
I'm still so amazed by the boat speed we found. In a nutshell, we're totally out of shape, we're very well out of technique, out of practice, and Liz isn't a sculler. And we're STILL going faster than I've ever gone in a boat before. Wheee! To make a bad joke, I'm not a fast woman, but I want to be.
All this is good. We've decided to put ourselves in the lottery for a Head of the Charles (HOCR) entry. We stand about a 50% chance of being successful. But the real fun is once we clear the mere entry hurdle. For most events, there are three or four classifications. The club, the lightweight, the championship and the masters. Masters are old people - by HOCR standards everyone in the boat must be over 30 and average age has to be 40. Anyone can enter the champ events. You have to qualify for the club events, but you qualify by *not* competing in Olympic, national team, or world championship trials or having come within 5% of the winners time in an HOCR event in the two years previous. So in short, the slower people (they're still pretty fast) are in club. And lightweights are under 165 lbs for men, 130 lbs for women. But for the double, there are only two classifications: champ and masters. We're not old enough for masters, so hey presto! We'd be in the champ events. We're not competing to win - that wouldn't be fun. But it will be interesting to see where we wind up in the pack. Of course, we first have to get that entry.........
And then, of course, there was today. Internship, good but busy. Then presentation. Good, but always stressful. It is my only grade after all. And then a meeting with the athletic director over the girl who quit when I yelled at her. While without question I was inappropriate, the parents have decided that any criticism of their beloved daughter would have been "unwarranted" as this is a girl who "has consistently given her best" to the squad. I want to know who they're talking about. The girl almost quit early last week anyway. When I see her on the runs, she's walking. She's disrespectful. She didn't pay attention to the safety video - she was ignoring it talking to her friends. She didn't pay attention during the safety lectures - she was ignoring it talking to her friends. She was warned three times by me and once by Dale. Her parents say she was standing up for the other kids. I don't see how, seeing as all three times she was leading the kids in being where they weren't supposed to be, and they were being loud which they weren't supposed to be. What is to stand up for? And if you even want to make that argument, bad mouthing the coach the minute she leaves the room isn't standing up for yourself. I'm lucky enough to have the full backing of Dale and the athletic director. Which is good, as the parents are meeting with them tomorrow. I'm not invited, as the parents don't seem to see the wisdom of speaking to me about it. The attitude of the parents pretty much tells you everything you need to know about the kid.
To add to the fun, I now get the pressure from the CBC members (since I am also a member) to see if I can crack down on the kids being loud and running around the boathouse. Look for me squeezed between that large rock and that very hard place. I'm going to be a hot topic at the next parents meeting. I'll have to double check my medication levels before that one I think. I'm still debating quitting, just because the season is so aggravating. Most amusing statement of the day is that the girls don't like me because I make them follow the rules. What is a girl to do???????
Go to bed, that's what. Sleep, perchance to dream.
Love,
Coach
Ah, boat speed. Liz and I went out yesterday in one of the CBC boats. Now, we've done this a couple of times now. And it hasn't been bad. In fact, quite the opposite. The first go round was enough fun to get us to want to do it for the rest of the season. The second time was fun enough to be a little frustrating, because we could see the amount of work we had to do. But, ah, this last time. What a difference a little rigging makes.
For those of you not in the know, rowing is actually a very technical sport. The simple version of the technical bits are that if you think of a lever, if you put the fulcrum at the right point, you get a lot more lift for a lot less effort. There are roughly a bazillion different little adjustments you can make in a boat to rig it to your size, relative body strength, wind conditions. For a better discussion than this, read pages 257 onward in Peter Topolski's "True Blue" - it is the best description of rigging and boat placement I've ever read. But getting back to Liz and I, we put the boat in the water to discover that someone had moved my footstretchers back very far in the tracks. Certainly much further than I had ever had them before. I had been planning on moving them back a bit anyway to see if it helped my front end catch, but not this much. I checked the positioning of my hands at the finish, and it seemed that I could move a bit back, but something in me made me leave it. Whatever that something was, I now bow down and worship it. It was astounding from the first stroke. Which should have been very heavy and slow on the oars, as we were moving from a dead stop and I was pulling Liz to warm up, so there was her weight dead in the boat. I know what this feels like. Or rather, is supposed to feel like. This was far, far, far too easy. And fast. The boat was already moving through the water far quicker than it should at this stage. I took a couple more strokes. It was insanely easy. I mentioned it to Liz, but of course she couldn't appreciate it. Yet. She did soon though. After my warm up, she had hers and then it was time for me to join in. On the second stroke you could hear her say "wow!" It was that amazing. We paddled up to CRI with relative ease, and then figured out what to do next. The boat was set better, the steering was highly responsive, and there was of course the speed. The speed! We thought it out and opted to do some drills to improve our technique, which was without question rusty and in need of improvement. We've both been out of practice a couple years, and while I'm a sculler at heart and primary experience, Liz is a sweep rower with only a rough dozen sculling outings. Time for the drills. And it worked. We started improving. We did the drills individually, which lets the other person set the boat. Liz made loads of improvement in her roll up timing and her power application. Then I did the same drill. And I realized I was "skying" at the catch, which is at the last second lifting your oars in the air before setting them down in the water. This is bad for a couple reasons. 1) The lift up throws off the balance of the boat. 2) The act of putting them up into the water tends to mean that when you finally put them into the water, you place them too deeply, which gives an inefficient stroke. Having noticed this during the drill, I tried to rectify it. And the strokes when I rowed correctly were astounding. If you get a certain amount of speed out of an Empacher, you get a hum from the rush of the air bubbles running under the hull. I actually managed to get the hum while rowing solo, lugging Liz around. (Poor thing, on her drills she had to lug my fat butt around.) Stunned, I was stunned. Liz couldn't belive it either. Inspired, we gave it a push for thirty strokes to try us out. I can't say it went that well, but over all the effect was positive. Which is how these things go. It is all easy enough during a slow painstaking drill. Then you have to think about it at speed, with the boat not balanced for you by someone else, steering, etc. But I could feel it on some strokes. We both could. I didn't want to land, but I did have to get back to the library. But now Liz and I are both so excited. Even more so than before.
This led to some interesting challenges. First, we had to find a boat. The CBC rules are quite firm - Liz, not being a member, can row with me 10 times in a calendar year. There is not a way around this rule, it is sacrosanct. I asked anyway, not expecting the Rowing Committee to say yes, but rather hoping that their answer would provide some clues about how to proceed next. Which it did. In short, if we could find another boat that wasn't a club boat and convince someone to let us row it, we could do that. But people don't have a double laying around usually. Plus, to add to that the boats are built for efficiency for particular weights. So it had to be a heavyweight double. Just to add a little challenge to it. Amazingly, the problem is already solved. My friend John owns a heavyweight Empacher double. And he is willing to let Liz and I use it. He just has to get it down here. We're negotiating a price of some sort for the season. In the meantime, beer and dinner! Huzzah! Huzzah! Viva my current serendipity. There is no logical reason why it should be this easy. But it was, so I'll be grateful for what I've got.
I'm still so amazed by the boat speed we found. In a nutshell, we're totally out of shape, we're very well out of technique, out of practice, and Liz isn't a sculler. And we're STILL going faster than I've ever gone in a boat before. Wheee! To make a bad joke, I'm not a fast woman, but I want to be.
All this is good. We've decided to put ourselves in the lottery for a Head of the Charles (HOCR) entry. We stand about a 50% chance of being successful. But the real fun is once we clear the mere entry hurdle. For most events, there are three or four classifications. The club, the lightweight, the championship and the masters. Masters are old people - by HOCR standards everyone in the boat must be over 30 and average age has to be 40. Anyone can enter the champ events. You have to qualify for the club events, but you qualify by *not* competing in Olympic, national team, or world championship trials or having come within 5% of the winners time in an HOCR event in the two years previous. So in short, the slower people (they're still pretty fast) are in club. And lightweights are under 165 lbs for men, 130 lbs for women. But for the double, there are only two classifications: champ and masters. We're not old enough for masters, so hey presto! We'd be in the champ events. We're not competing to win - that wouldn't be fun. But it will be interesting to see where we wind up in the pack. Of course, we first have to get that entry.........
And then, of course, there was today. Internship, good but busy. Then presentation. Good, but always stressful. It is my only grade after all. And then a meeting with the athletic director over the girl who quit when I yelled at her. While without question I was inappropriate, the parents have decided that any criticism of their beloved daughter would have been "unwarranted" as this is a girl who "has consistently given her best" to the squad. I want to know who they're talking about. The girl almost quit early last week anyway. When I see her on the runs, she's walking. She's disrespectful. She didn't pay attention to the safety video - she was ignoring it talking to her friends. She didn't pay attention during the safety lectures - she was ignoring it talking to her friends. She was warned three times by me and once by Dale. Her parents say she was standing up for the other kids. I don't see how, seeing as all three times she was leading the kids in being where they weren't supposed to be, and they were being loud which they weren't supposed to be. What is to stand up for? And if you even want to make that argument, bad mouthing the coach the minute she leaves the room isn't standing up for yourself. I'm lucky enough to have the full backing of Dale and the athletic director. Which is good, as the parents are meeting with them tomorrow. I'm not invited, as the parents don't seem to see the wisdom of speaking to me about it. The attitude of the parents pretty much tells you everything you need to know about the kid.
To add to the fun, I now get the pressure from the CBC members (since I am also a member) to see if I can crack down on the kids being loud and running around the boathouse. Look for me squeezed between that large rock and that very hard place. I'm going to be a hot topic at the next parents meeting. I'll have to double check my medication levels before that one I think. I'm still debating quitting, just because the season is so aggravating. Most amusing statement of the day is that the girls don't like me because I make them follow the rules. What is a girl to do???????
Go to bed, that's what. Sleep, perchance to dream.
Love,
Coach
Sunday, April 13, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Goes to New York and Buys a Bay Tree
Ah, my new bay tree. Which was abandoned last night in a locker here at the law school but will come home with me this afternoon. After the working is done for the day, and dagnabbit, there's a lot of that to be done.
I suppose the natural place to start the story is Friday. Friday started out pretty well. I was tired from going to bed late, and of course getting up early to be downtown for meetings, but the 10 o'clock meeting was good, the 11 o'clock was fun meeting for a bagel to give Liz her Dar Williams ticket for Saturday night, then the two o'clock went well, over and done with quickly, and as it started to rain and get ooky I headed out to practice, thinking I would get to the boathouse early and unwind there. The benefits of membership and all that. And as I walked, and got my cup of tea at Darwin's (as is my wont, custom and practice), I finally popped into the store two doors down from it that makes all the beautiful beautiful wood furniture. I stare at this place every time I go by, but I had never gone in before. I could see the prices, and my luxury is that cup of tea! My official excuse was the auction; I was hoping they had something like a box or whatever they would donate to us. They were utterly wonderful! It would appear we have an incredibly beautiful end table, valued at $750 (which personally I think is a bit cheap - it is a gorgeous piece). The problem of course now is that I really really want this table. I think it is a good price for what it is, and I could maybe get it a little cheaper at the auction, but I would still need plenty of cash for it and even were I to come up with such cash, there are other things it needs to go for at the moment, such as rent, food, and wick away socks. Still, it is in June. I can dream. And well, with what money I do have, I can bid so that CRI will make the most money possible on this table.
So I continued my trek to the boathouse, with a happy little "this auction's going to be great, we're going to raise so much money for CRI" spring in my step despite the fact it was raining quite hard, windy, and frankly such miserable weather that not even the colleges were out rowing. I got to CBC, had a quick chat with Nick about coaching the niblets, some tips, some technique questions (he is a college coach, and a former Ukranian champion sculler. Disipline!), and then retired to the library to work stuff out. But not for long. The varsity girls had somehow gotten let into the kitchen and were hiding in there. Fine, but they're being noisy. Plus, they're not supposed to hide in there. They are supposed to come in, go to the bathroom and leave. It is not their clubhouse, we are there at the sufference of CBC and frankly a LOT of CBC people don't like the CRLS kids. So part of my job, walking the line between being a CBC member and a CRLS coach is trying to get CBC to like us more. We struck a big blow in our favor when the novices turned up and helped clean up the boathouse the other week. But no, this time it is the varsity girls doing what theyr'e not supposed to be doing, where they're not supposed to be. So I went in and kicked them out, and proceeded to get a bunch of lip back from one girl. This, of course, is the same girl who leads the way in disrespecting the coaches, equipment, safety, etc. I don't have to deal with her often, but she burns my buttons anyway as I get driven crazy when Dale's busting hard to keep this program going and she's there doing her best to keep it from succeeding. I can't figure out why she's there, but she's not my problem. She's Dale's. Until she's in my face, despite the fact she's in my boathouse and she's not following the rules. Never mind. Kick them out, talk to Dale, Dale talks to them, tells them not to be loud. Then, unfortunately, one of the girls reveals that she's been driving to practice. This is megastrictly uber verboten. They all know it. Heck, they've all signed rules that they've supposedly agreed to be bound by. It is a massive legal liability issue. Dale, having just announced lineups, sent all the girls home. He's just as fed up and burned out as the rest of us - the varsity girls have failed to row the same lineup twice as they can't be bothered to turn up for practice on a regular basis. I can honestly say if I was in charge of his girls, I'd probably have quit by now. I may quit yet. My novice kids are incredibly fabulous (this cannot be underemphasized), but the rest are in your face, up your nose, trying to get in your way because they think it would be fun. There are five varsity girls that seem super keen, dedicated, actually want to row, and also give Dale the respect he deserves. The rest can be a misery. That said, I personally wouldn't have sent all the girls home, just the one in violation and just picked up without her. But a) he knows his crew far better than I do, and b) it is his program to run his way. If he wanted to send them scuba diving in the Ascencion Islands because he thought it would improve their rowing, that's his perogative. Although come to think of it, if he did that, I would try to join them. Hmmmmm. Thinking thinking....is there a way to justify such a trip?
Having been sent home, the girls didn't go home. They went back into the kitchen area. I really don't care if they're there, but they can't be loud. They're directly under the Head of the Charles' directors office there, and if they're running a risk of disturbing him, or god forbid another club member (many of whom find the children disrespectful anyway, and some of whom actually resigned in protest when CRLS was allowed to use the space) its my job to say "girls, stop it." The response previously had been a most pathetic "we didn't know anyone was here." That doesn't cut it. A) They're not supposed to be there in the first place, and B) Whether or not they knew someone was there, it isn't their club and they need to treat that with the respect it deserves, seeing as they get massive benefit from the CBC members through use of excellent and highly expensive facilities on the river. Not to mention C) the logic that not knowing someone was there means you can violate every rule you've signed off on is something that only a punk teenager would pull. Unfortunately, that's what we were dealing with.
The noise level came up. I came out of the library and said "You have to be quiet." Then, to be certain, I left the door to the library open. The obnoxious girl started slamming me thinking I couldn't hear, and then just shut the door to the kitchen. I left them to it, so long as they weren't loud. Within five minutes, the noise through the closed door was even louder than it had been the two times previously. That. Was. It. I was in the kitchen, and I was yelling. How could I not yell? There was no other way to be heard. I reminded them this was the third time I'd spoken to them that day, and Dale had spoken to them as well. And then I pointed out they'd been sent home, and this was not their home, so what were they doing here? Get. Out. (I suppose it is worth mentioning that it was still cold and pouring with rain at the time, which is no doubt why they were so keen on hiding in the kitchen in the first place.)
They got.
But not without one last final salvo from the obnoxious one. I really do not know who this girl thinks she is, but I am finished with her. But first I have made myself more than perfectly clear. I was in her face, big time. Thankfully, she finally shut up in the face of superior lung power (you know, if she actually worked out, she too might have lung capacity. Hmmmm.) , thus proving miracles exist. I pointed out to her that she had failed to row that day (as had they all, through their own behaviour), she failed to show respect to any of her coaches, she completely failed to respect the fact that I busted my ass so that they could row and get better facilities there, or that anyone else did anything. Then I went back inside into the warm. I was so angry my hands were shaking. They'd been given three warnings by me, one by Dale, what was the problem with these kids? Then I went down and told Dale what had happened, and that I felt I'd been a little out of line. Then a parent came down to check with Dale what was going on as she said she was the only parent who seemed to know there was no practice. Dale pointed out that the girls had been sent home, and should have been running back to school. Then she said that something was going on upstairs, and that a girl said one of the coaches pushed her. WHOA! I never touched her. Never would, never will. Obnoxious girl is now obnoxious lying girl, but the bigger problem here is the classic one that rightfully so, an adult accused of such actions against a child needs to make certain of whether or not the statement is true. Children get discounted every day when they complain against adults, which is why many children never report child abuse. The abuser tells them no one will ever believe them, and the kid feels they're right. I do feel this is the way it should be, mainly because I can't come up with a better system to address the problem, but it means that suddenly, I'm the one who's gotta act fast because it is MY reputation on the line, and for something I didn't do. Hey, if I've done something wrong, I'll take the consequences (as one should) but I'm not going down for something I didn't do. Particularly for this girl. Luckily, when confronted by Dale she immeditely admitted in front of many people that I never touched her. Whew. Big relief. Any person who says such a thing will have a writ for defamation on their doorstep as soon as I can draft one up. For as Iago said in Othello (Act 3, Scene 3, for those who want to know):
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands:
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.
Dale sent me home. I went to town. I was supposed to be meeting Mike for a drink before going to Hartford, but now I had an extra hour and a half. Mike was thankfully ready to leave the office anyway. I sent a quick e-mail to Dale asking whether or not I should quit (I'm thinking about it, I really am. If I stay, it is for the good kids. Which is who we do this for anyway, let's face it.) and headed to the Good Life. Where Mike let me vent, and bought me cosmopolitans and buffalo wings until it was time to hop the bus. Frankly, by that time I was slightly unsober, but I felt better. Off to Hartford. Reed met me at the station, still in the miserable rain, and we went off to his house where I was plied with peppermint tea and a video he had to watch to determine whether or not he wanted to show it to his class (Reed is a professor of comparative religions) about the evolution of the Christian faith from small following to the foothold of what it is today, and then we went to bed. (Me in the bedroom, Reed on the kitchen floor. Yes, I do feel guilty about this! I would happily have slept on the kitchen floor!) Except I couldn't sleep, which was shocking since I'd only grabbed four hours of sleep a night for the last two nights. But I stayed awake and after lying there for an hour and a half in the dark, I got up and starting knitting. The scarf got nice and long. Finally I fell asleep around 4, only to get up again at 7 to hop the bus at 8 to NYC. The bus ride was a nightmare. The weather was so bad that there were accidents on the road and it took us an extra hour and a half long to get to town. So I got to Harter's hotel to discover a message saying he'd meet me at Bloomingdale's at 1. This wasn't going to leave too much time - I had to find when my train was. Luckily, you can do this all by phone. I got a reservation for the train at 4:03. Perfect. Then I had 50 minutes before I had to meet Harters. Since I was at Union Square, my old stomping grounds, I wandered through the farmer's market, which is what I used to do on Saturdays when I lived there. There were loads of herbs, but nothing special. And lots of flowers and branches, but nothing I could really take home with me. This was just window shopping. But then, there it was, bay tree seedlings for sale. I have been looking for a bay tree for about three years now. I couldnt' find one, and here were five staring me in the face. All priced at $10, but there was a smaller one which would be easier to take home on the bus (not to mention lug around all day) for $5. Sold! Sold! Sold! And then me and the tree went to meet Harters.
Harters, as ever, looked great. But we didn't have much time, so we grabbed a cab down to Wall Street. I'd forgotten about NYC cabs. Harters, of course, hadn't had the experience before. This cabbie was particualrly off his trolley. I think at one point he managed to be in three lanes at once on the FDR. At sixty miles an hour. With some truly awful music turned up so loud he couldn't hear Steve as him to turn it down. Steve felt carsick when he got out. So we went for a walk and then two blocks later there we were at Ground Zero. I'd thought a lot this week about whether or not I wanted to go there. At first, I thought it would be good. Then with the week so stressful, I thought that it would not be good right now. And I was still on that mindset. But of course I had not articulated it to Steve, so I was dealing with the suprise. I think my reaction is slow and a bit delayed. At the moment it was just this overwhelming sense that it had all been vaporized. (Of course, there has been excavation.) First Peter was here, and then he wasn't. And at the same moment, the Twin Towers were there and then they weren't. And aren't. And there is currently no real concrete memorial to say "here were disappeared many people, including Anne's friend Peter, who got up in the morning, boarded a plane, and then wasn't here anymore." (Peter was many people's friend, but this is personal.) But there we were, and the next immediate step was to get some lunch. Amazingly, the weather had cleared, it was warm and the sun was shining. So we ate outside, which seemed so incredibly decadent. Lobster rolls, a bottle of chardonnay, ah, life is nice. And then a rush back to the train station, quick kiss goodbye, joy because he's coming up to spend the weekend in a month (he keeps being in the country because the home company is bringing him over from London to NYC for things.) and dash to the train, just catching it with a couple minutes to spare. It got me to Boston at 7:47, with Dar starting at 8. I just made it.
Was it worth it? It was so worth it. The opening act was the Ben Taylor band. Ben is James Taylor and Carly Simon's son, and it turns out he is the new millennium embodiment of his father. Shut your eyes and listen to the voice and you won't be able to tell the difference. Bit more rocking though. And good fun. Although at one point he made everyone get up and dance. People did it, led by my friend Lolo. Good fun, but we were in the front row of the balcony and you could feel the floor move up and down as people hopped to the beat. A little unnerving. And then it was time for Dar. I haven't seen her in concert before. But man, she rocks out! I wasn't expecting that somehow. I was expecting something more plaintive. And occasionally, when it was just her and her guitar, it was. And then she'd go back to rocking on. Awesome. Totally awesome. Caught myself singing "And I can't believe what they're saying, they're saying I can leave tonight, start over on Spring Street, I'm welcome any time." in the shower this morning. It makes me want to exercise. And I will exercise today. I'm meeting Lizzie at three thirty to row,a nd the weather is good enough for it too. But first, I have to prep tomorrow's presentation. So I ought to get to it. Much work to do!
Love and good behaviour!
Anne
Ah, my new bay tree. Which was abandoned last night in a locker here at the law school but will come home with me this afternoon. After the working is done for the day, and dagnabbit, there's a lot of that to be done.
I suppose the natural place to start the story is Friday. Friday started out pretty well. I was tired from going to bed late, and of course getting up early to be downtown for meetings, but the 10 o'clock meeting was good, the 11 o'clock was fun meeting for a bagel to give Liz her Dar Williams ticket for Saturday night, then the two o'clock went well, over and done with quickly, and as it started to rain and get ooky I headed out to practice, thinking I would get to the boathouse early and unwind there. The benefits of membership and all that. And as I walked, and got my cup of tea at Darwin's (as is my wont, custom and practice), I finally popped into the store two doors down from it that makes all the beautiful beautiful wood furniture. I stare at this place every time I go by, but I had never gone in before. I could see the prices, and my luxury is that cup of tea! My official excuse was the auction; I was hoping they had something like a box or whatever they would donate to us. They were utterly wonderful! It would appear we have an incredibly beautiful end table, valued at $750 (which personally I think is a bit cheap - it is a gorgeous piece). The problem of course now is that I really really want this table. I think it is a good price for what it is, and I could maybe get it a little cheaper at the auction, but I would still need plenty of cash for it and even were I to come up with such cash, there are other things it needs to go for at the moment, such as rent, food, and wick away socks. Still, it is in June. I can dream. And well, with what money I do have, I can bid so that CRI will make the most money possible on this table.
So I continued my trek to the boathouse, with a happy little "this auction's going to be great, we're going to raise so much money for CRI" spring in my step despite the fact it was raining quite hard, windy, and frankly such miserable weather that not even the colleges were out rowing. I got to CBC, had a quick chat with Nick about coaching the niblets, some tips, some technique questions (he is a college coach, and a former Ukranian champion sculler. Disipline!), and then retired to the library to work stuff out. But not for long. The varsity girls had somehow gotten let into the kitchen and were hiding in there. Fine, but they're being noisy. Plus, they're not supposed to hide in there. They are supposed to come in, go to the bathroom and leave. It is not their clubhouse, we are there at the sufference of CBC and frankly a LOT of CBC people don't like the CRLS kids. So part of my job, walking the line between being a CBC member and a CRLS coach is trying to get CBC to like us more. We struck a big blow in our favor when the novices turned up and helped clean up the boathouse the other week. But no, this time it is the varsity girls doing what theyr'e not supposed to be doing, where they're not supposed to be. So I went in and kicked them out, and proceeded to get a bunch of lip back from one girl. This, of course, is the same girl who leads the way in disrespecting the coaches, equipment, safety, etc. I don't have to deal with her often, but she burns my buttons anyway as I get driven crazy when Dale's busting hard to keep this program going and she's there doing her best to keep it from succeeding. I can't figure out why she's there, but she's not my problem. She's Dale's. Until she's in my face, despite the fact she's in my boathouse and she's not following the rules. Never mind. Kick them out, talk to Dale, Dale talks to them, tells them not to be loud. Then, unfortunately, one of the girls reveals that she's been driving to practice. This is megastrictly uber verboten. They all know it. Heck, they've all signed rules that they've supposedly agreed to be bound by. It is a massive legal liability issue. Dale, having just announced lineups, sent all the girls home. He's just as fed up and burned out as the rest of us - the varsity girls have failed to row the same lineup twice as they can't be bothered to turn up for practice on a regular basis. I can honestly say if I was in charge of his girls, I'd probably have quit by now. I may quit yet. My novice kids are incredibly fabulous (this cannot be underemphasized), but the rest are in your face, up your nose, trying to get in your way because they think it would be fun. There are five varsity girls that seem super keen, dedicated, actually want to row, and also give Dale the respect he deserves. The rest can be a misery. That said, I personally wouldn't have sent all the girls home, just the one in violation and just picked up without her. But a) he knows his crew far better than I do, and b) it is his program to run his way. If he wanted to send them scuba diving in the Ascencion Islands because he thought it would improve their rowing, that's his perogative. Although come to think of it, if he did that, I would try to join them. Hmmmmm. Thinking thinking....is there a way to justify such a trip?
Having been sent home, the girls didn't go home. They went back into the kitchen area. I really don't care if they're there, but they can't be loud. They're directly under the Head of the Charles' directors office there, and if they're running a risk of disturbing him, or god forbid another club member (many of whom find the children disrespectful anyway, and some of whom actually resigned in protest when CRLS was allowed to use the space) its my job to say "girls, stop it." The response previously had been a most pathetic "we didn't know anyone was here." That doesn't cut it. A) They're not supposed to be there in the first place, and B) Whether or not they knew someone was there, it isn't their club and they need to treat that with the respect it deserves, seeing as they get massive benefit from the CBC members through use of excellent and highly expensive facilities on the river. Not to mention C) the logic that not knowing someone was there means you can violate every rule you've signed off on is something that only a punk teenager would pull. Unfortunately, that's what we were dealing with.
The noise level came up. I came out of the library and said "You have to be quiet." Then, to be certain, I left the door to the library open. The obnoxious girl started slamming me thinking I couldn't hear, and then just shut the door to the kitchen. I left them to it, so long as they weren't loud. Within five minutes, the noise through the closed door was even louder than it had been the two times previously. That. Was. It. I was in the kitchen, and I was yelling. How could I not yell? There was no other way to be heard. I reminded them this was the third time I'd spoken to them that day, and Dale had spoken to them as well. And then I pointed out they'd been sent home, and this was not their home, so what were they doing here? Get. Out. (I suppose it is worth mentioning that it was still cold and pouring with rain at the time, which is no doubt why they were so keen on hiding in the kitchen in the first place.)
They got.
But not without one last final salvo from the obnoxious one. I really do not know who this girl thinks she is, but I am finished with her. But first I have made myself more than perfectly clear. I was in her face, big time. Thankfully, she finally shut up in the face of superior lung power (you know, if she actually worked out, she too might have lung capacity. Hmmmm.) , thus proving miracles exist. I pointed out to her that she had failed to row that day (as had they all, through their own behaviour), she failed to show respect to any of her coaches, she completely failed to respect the fact that I busted my ass so that they could row and get better facilities there, or that anyone else did anything. Then I went back inside into the warm. I was so angry my hands were shaking. They'd been given three warnings by me, one by Dale, what was the problem with these kids? Then I went down and told Dale what had happened, and that I felt I'd been a little out of line. Then a parent came down to check with Dale what was going on as she said she was the only parent who seemed to know there was no practice. Dale pointed out that the girls had been sent home, and should have been running back to school. Then she said that something was going on upstairs, and that a girl said one of the coaches pushed her. WHOA! I never touched her. Never would, never will. Obnoxious girl is now obnoxious lying girl, but the bigger problem here is the classic one that rightfully so, an adult accused of such actions against a child needs to make certain of whether or not the statement is true. Children get discounted every day when they complain against adults, which is why many children never report child abuse. The abuser tells them no one will ever believe them, and the kid feels they're right. I do feel this is the way it should be, mainly because I can't come up with a better system to address the problem, but it means that suddenly, I'm the one who's gotta act fast because it is MY reputation on the line, and for something I didn't do. Hey, if I've done something wrong, I'll take the consequences (as one should) but I'm not going down for something I didn't do. Particularly for this girl. Luckily, when confronted by Dale she immeditely admitted in front of many people that I never touched her. Whew. Big relief. Any person who says such a thing will have a writ for defamation on their doorstep as soon as I can draft one up. For as Iago said in Othello (Act 3, Scene 3, for those who want to know):
Good name in man and woman, dear my lord,
Is the immediate jewel of their souls:
Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands:
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.
Dale sent me home. I went to town. I was supposed to be meeting Mike for a drink before going to Hartford, but now I had an extra hour and a half. Mike was thankfully ready to leave the office anyway. I sent a quick e-mail to Dale asking whether or not I should quit (I'm thinking about it, I really am. If I stay, it is for the good kids. Which is who we do this for anyway, let's face it.) and headed to the Good Life. Where Mike let me vent, and bought me cosmopolitans and buffalo wings until it was time to hop the bus. Frankly, by that time I was slightly unsober, but I felt better. Off to Hartford. Reed met me at the station, still in the miserable rain, and we went off to his house where I was plied with peppermint tea and a video he had to watch to determine whether or not he wanted to show it to his class (Reed is a professor of comparative religions) about the evolution of the Christian faith from small following to the foothold of what it is today, and then we went to bed. (Me in the bedroom, Reed on the kitchen floor. Yes, I do feel guilty about this! I would happily have slept on the kitchen floor!) Except I couldn't sleep, which was shocking since I'd only grabbed four hours of sleep a night for the last two nights. But I stayed awake and after lying there for an hour and a half in the dark, I got up and starting knitting. The scarf got nice and long. Finally I fell asleep around 4, only to get up again at 7 to hop the bus at 8 to NYC. The bus ride was a nightmare. The weather was so bad that there were accidents on the road and it took us an extra hour and a half long to get to town. So I got to Harter's hotel to discover a message saying he'd meet me at Bloomingdale's at 1. This wasn't going to leave too much time - I had to find when my train was. Luckily, you can do this all by phone. I got a reservation for the train at 4:03. Perfect. Then I had 50 minutes before I had to meet Harters. Since I was at Union Square, my old stomping grounds, I wandered through the farmer's market, which is what I used to do on Saturdays when I lived there. There were loads of herbs, but nothing special. And lots of flowers and branches, but nothing I could really take home with me. This was just window shopping. But then, there it was, bay tree seedlings for sale. I have been looking for a bay tree for about three years now. I couldnt' find one, and here were five staring me in the face. All priced at $10, but there was a smaller one which would be easier to take home on the bus (not to mention lug around all day) for $5. Sold! Sold! Sold! And then me and the tree went to meet Harters.
Harters, as ever, looked great. But we didn't have much time, so we grabbed a cab down to Wall Street. I'd forgotten about NYC cabs. Harters, of course, hadn't had the experience before. This cabbie was particualrly off his trolley. I think at one point he managed to be in three lanes at once on the FDR. At sixty miles an hour. With some truly awful music turned up so loud he couldn't hear Steve as him to turn it down. Steve felt carsick when he got out. So we went for a walk and then two blocks later there we were at Ground Zero. I'd thought a lot this week about whether or not I wanted to go there. At first, I thought it would be good. Then with the week so stressful, I thought that it would not be good right now. And I was still on that mindset. But of course I had not articulated it to Steve, so I was dealing with the suprise. I think my reaction is slow and a bit delayed. At the moment it was just this overwhelming sense that it had all been vaporized. (Of course, there has been excavation.) First Peter was here, and then he wasn't. And at the same moment, the Twin Towers were there and then they weren't. And aren't. And there is currently no real concrete memorial to say "here were disappeared many people, including Anne's friend Peter, who got up in the morning, boarded a plane, and then wasn't here anymore." (Peter was many people's friend, but this is personal.) But there we were, and the next immediate step was to get some lunch. Amazingly, the weather had cleared, it was warm and the sun was shining. So we ate outside, which seemed so incredibly decadent. Lobster rolls, a bottle of chardonnay, ah, life is nice. And then a rush back to the train station, quick kiss goodbye, joy because he's coming up to spend the weekend in a month (he keeps being in the country because the home company is bringing him over from London to NYC for things.) and dash to the train, just catching it with a couple minutes to spare. It got me to Boston at 7:47, with Dar starting at 8. I just made it.
Was it worth it? It was so worth it. The opening act was the Ben Taylor band. Ben is James Taylor and Carly Simon's son, and it turns out he is the new millennium embodiment of his father. Shut your eyes and listen to the voice and you won't be able to tell the difference. Bit more rocking though. And good fun. Although at one point he made everyone get up and dance. People did it, led by my friend Lolo. Good fun, but we were in the front row of the balcony and you could feel the floor move up and down as people hopped to the beat. A little unnerving. And then it was time for Dar. I haven't seen her in concert before. But man, she rocks out! I wasn't expecting that somehow. I was expecting something more plaintive. And occasionally, when it was just her and her guitar, it was. And then she'd go back to rocking on. Awesome. Totally awesome. Caught myself singing "And I can't believe what they're saying, they're saying I can leave tonight, start over on Spring Street, I'm welcome any time." in the shower this morning. It makes me want to exercise. And I will exercise today. I'm meeting Lizzie at three thirty to row,a nd the weather is good enough for it too. But first, I have to prep tomorrow's presentation. So I ought to get to it. Much work to do!
Love and good behaviour!
Anne
Friday, April 11, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Has a Busy Busy Day
Well, after a week in which numerous overseas e-mails were sent regarding domains, servers, ownership, etc of this website, somehow it all came together and I'm back up and running. It is amazing how one can miss blogging. Having spent a year effectively journalling my life, it was odd to have it out for a week.
And what a week it was. My friend Liz says my life is very serendipitous. This was proved this week. Thursday, I ran into and had drinks with a friend I hadn't seen for a year and a half. Friday, dinner here as planned. Saturday, I was wiped out. So I went to sleep. I was awakened by a phone call from my friend Tel. She needed a babysitter, and NOW. I hopped the train, and immediately ran into Kit, which was odd as a) I haven't seen him in a while, and b) he doesn't take the train since he has a car and three (he revealed he got a new fixed gear he loves) bikes. Very "Sliding Doors" but good. Sunday was relatively uneventful, seeing as I spent it asleep. Some kind of mild bug or something. Monday, log on to the e-mail and bestest friend in the whole world (and I've travelled it, looking for another one) Harters sends me a quick e-mail saying "Hey, are you free for lunch on Saturday? I'm in NYC from Wednesday to Saturday night. Please come meet me." Um, sure! I would move heaven and earth for that man. It is a strange bond, but a wonderful one. I could live with him for the rest of my life quite happily, but couldn't actually date him. People tend to interject when I say this and say "Oh, so he's like a brother." but no, it is different and stronger than that. With everything I have to do this weekend, I wouldn't run to NYC for my brothers! (Or my sisters.) The next day, my cousin popped up out of the blue after a couple years of drifting out of touch. We're getting together on Tuesday.
It is very exciting to see who or what pops up next! Granted, time is passing quickly. Harters is coming back in May, and Emma will be here in June, the same week as James, Charles and Denver.
In the meantime it is all very very busy. I have had a different deadline every day this week, what with writing, classes, presentations, and things. It will be the same thing next week. I had to say to someone this week "You are my Thursday deadline. Is that ok?" They seemed shocked I was operating on such a scale.
And in the midst of all this business, there has been such foul weather. I described it to someone as the feeling you get when you go on a date with someone, and then you wait for them to call, and they don't. You never quite give up hope that they're going to, at least for a while anyway, but you get very cranky as it becomes obvious that they just aren't. And after 10 days ago and rowing four days in a week, and biking all over, and just generally soaking up spring like a sponge, having ten days to sit around and watch it snow is leaving bald patches where I'm pulling my hair out. And that's just my personal rowing/fitness. It is even worse with the kids. We haven't had much water time because the weather is so miserable, and we're not getting any. Luckily, I discovered the sliders at CBC and we've been learning our racing starts on those, and tonight we actually practiced timing all fours in the tanks at MIT. (A favor for which I was up late last night baking lemon iced cookies to stay on the good side of Ian, the one MIT rowing coach I've never met.) Tomorrow, hopefully not in the rain, we try it all by fours. Fingers stay crossed.
And then of course, there are classes. I have lucked out (in the middle of my serendipity) of exams entirely. Two credits of internship, two credits of International Intellectual Property Licensing now hanging on Monday's presentation on restrictions on reverse engineering, for which I have been corresponding with the Finnish patent board via e-mail (don't ask), a conversion which was just made on Tuesday. Until Tuesday morning, we were having an exam. And then of course my presentation, already given, for Comparative Legal Systems. We're still presenting them. In fact, today's class very nearly degenerated into an international incident. A Mexican lawyer was giving her presentation on the Mexican legal system, and a Swedish lawyer referred to Mexico as "uncivilized" and then proceeded to stick her foot in even further. Once it was well and truly degenerating, the Mexican lawyer informed the Swede that "as a lawyer, you may wish to choose your words with more care." Ouch, baby. It went downhill from there.
Well, it is now 2am and I've been up since six. I"m tired, and I need my sleep. Tomorrow is yet another very very busy day.
Love,
Anne
Well, after a week in which numerous overseas e-mails were sent regarding domains, servers, ownership, etc of this website, somehow it all came together and I'm back up and running. It is amazing how one can miss blogging. Having spent a year effectively journalling my life, it was odd to have it out for a week.
And what a week it was. My friend Liz says my life is very serendipitous. This was proved this week. Thursday, I ran into and had drinks with a friend I hadn't seen for a year and a half. Friday, dinner here as planned. Saturday, I was wiped out. So I went to sleep. I was awakened by a phone call from my friend Tel. She needed a babysitter, and NOW. I hopped the train, and immediately ran into Kit, which was odd as a) I haven't seen him in a while, and b) he doesn't take the train since he has a car and three (he revealed he got a new fixed gear he loves) bikes. Very "Sliding Doors" but good. Sunday was relatively uneventful, seeing as I spent it asleep. Some kind of mild bug or something. Monday, log on to the e-mail and bestest friend in the whole world (and I've travelled it, looking for another one) Harters sends me a quick e-mail saying "Hey, are you free for lunch on Saturday? I'm in NYC from Wednesday to Saturday night. Please come meet me." Um, sure! I would move heaven and earth for that man. It is a strange bond, but a wonderful one. I could live with him for the rest of my life quite happily, but couldn't actually date him. People tend to interject when I say this and say "Oh, so he's like a brother." but no, it is different and stronger than that. With everything I have to do this weekend, I wouldn't run to NYC for my brothers! (Or my sisters.) The next day, my cousin popped up out of the blue after a couple years of drifting out of touch. We're getting together on Tuesday.
It is very exciting to see who or what pops up next! Granted, time is passing quickly. Harters is coming back in May, and Emma will be here in June, the same week as James, Charles and Denver.
In the meantime it is all very very busy. I have had a different deadline every day this week, what with writing, classes, presentations, and things. It will be the same thing next week. I had to say to someone this week "You are my Thursday deadline. Is that ok?" They seemed shocked I was operating on such a scale.
And in the midst of all this business, there has been such foul weather. I described it to someone as the feeling you get when you go on a date with someone, and then you wait for them to call, and they don't. You never quite give up hope that they're going to, at least for a while anyway, but you get very cranky as it becomes obvious that they just aren't. And after 10 days ago and rowing four days in a week, and biking all over, and just generally soaking up spring like a sponge, having ten days to sit around and watch it snow is leaving bald patches where I'm pulling my hair out. And that's just my personal rowing/fitness. It is even worse with the kids. We haven't had much water time because the weather is so miserable, and we're not getting any. Luckily, I discovered the sliders at CBC and we've been learning our racing starts on those, and tonight we actually practiced timing all fours in the tanks at MIT. (A favor for which I was up late last night baking lemon iced cookies to stay on the good side of Ian, the one MIT rowing coach I've never met.) Tomorrow, hopefully not in the rain, we try it all by fours. Fingers stay crossed.
And then of course, there are classes. I have lucked out (in the middle of my serendipity) of exams entirely. Two credits of internship, two credits of International Intellectual Property Licensing now hanging on Monday's presentation on restrictions on reverse engineering, for which I have been corresponding with the Finnish patent board via e-mail (don't ask), a conversion which was just made on Tuesday. Until Tuesday morning, we were having an exam. And then of course my presentation, already given, for Comparative Legal Systems. We're still presenting them. In fact, today's class very nearly degenerated into an international incident. A Mexican lawyer was giving her presentation on the Mexican legal system, and a Swedish lawyer referred to Mexico as "uncivilized" and then proceeded to stick her foot in even further. Once it was well and truly degenerating, the Mexican lawyer informed the Swede that "as a lawyer, you may wish to choose your words with more care." Ouch, baby. It went downhill from there.
Well, it is now 2am and I've been up since six. I"m tired, and I need my sleep. Tomorrow is yet another very very busy day.
Love,
Anne
Sunday, March 30, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Longs to Strike a Few Blows in the Name of Peace
It is wrong to hit people. I know this. But sometimes, you just feel a need to slug certain people at certain times in the jaw. Yesterday, after an already long morning of rowing (which ws fun) and then coaching (also fun), I headed off to the library. I am operating under some serious deadlines. I had forgotten, however (if I don't write it down, I'd forget anything these days) that there was a peace demonstration on the Common which I had entirely intended on participating in. But....the deadlines. Whatever the deadlines, I could spare an hour or two of my time to lend my support to something I whole heartedly support. Some things just get prioritized. Even if I forgot them.
I headed out of Park Street station to encounter about 50 PRO war demonstrators. I couldn't even believe it. If these people are representative of why 70% of Americans support the war, or at least according to polls they do, the explanation for why we do is that we are stupid beyond belief. Holding such signs as "America, Love it or Leave it", "Neville Chamberlin Fan Club" and "Go USA", I was imediately caught off guard by someone shouting to support our troops. Well, people, you all know my answer to that. And I answered. "I support our troops. My nephew is out there on the Kitty Hawk. And I support them so much I don't believe they should be being shot at for this unjustified action." This seemed to throw him a bit. So he told me that if I didn't like America, I should leave it. I asked him if he'd been to any other countries. Without answering my question, he asked me if I had been to any other countries, and I told him that indeed I had been to 32 other countries, and if he hadn't been to any others, maybe he ought to actually try to find out what he was talking about. So then he told me I was unAmerican. I then enquired as to how exercising my Constitutionally protected first amendment rights of free speech and the right to assemble for precisely such purpose made me unAmerican. "Our guys are out there protecting your rights!" "They're not protecting my rights. The whole shebang is called "Operation Liberate Iraq." That's about liberating Iraq, not protecting my rights." By now, the guy was totally losing it. So I suggested that if he so supported this operation, that he volunteer for the armed services and get thee hence to the front lines. Discussion over, he was speechless.
And hour and a half of peaceful exercise of my Constitutionally guaranteed rights of free speech and assembly, I made my way to the computer lab. After a bit of work I overheard a conversation by the guy across from me where he was whining about how he couldn't respect the protestors because they were protesting the establishment, but wearing clothes from Banana Republic. I had to speak up to point out that they weren't protesting the establishement, they were protesting the war in Iraq. This seemed to throw him. "Well, I support our troops" he said. And we're off.......
It is dangerous to be well read and opinionated in this country. No one knows what to do with you!
Back to work!
Love,
Anne
It is wrong to hit people. I know this. But sometimes, you just feel a need to slug certain people at certain times in the jaw. Yesterday, after an already long morning of rowing (which ws fun) and then coaching (also fun), I headed off to the library. I am operating under some serious deadlines. I had forgotten, however (if I don't write it down, I'd forget anything these days) that there was a peace demonstration on the Common which I had entirely intended on participating in. But....the deadlines. Whatever the deadlines, I could spare an hour or two of my time to lend my support to something I whole heartedly support. Some things just get prioritized. Even if I forgot them.
I headed out of Park Street station to encounter about 50 PRO war demonstrators. I couldn't even believe it. If these people are representative of why 70% of Americans support the war, or at least according to polls they do, the explanation for why we do is that we are stupid beyond belief. Holding such signs as "America, Love it or Leave it", "Neville Chamberlin Fan Club" and "Go USA", I was imediately caught off guard by someone shouting to support our troops. Well, people, you all know my answer to that. And I answered. "I support our troops. My nephew is out there on the Kitty Hawk. And I support them so much I don't believe they should be being shot at for this unjustified action." This seemed to throw him a bit. So he told me that if I didn't like America, I should leave it. I asked him if he'd been to any other countries. Without answering my question, he asked me if I had been to any other countries, and I told him that indeed I had been to 32 other countries, and if he hadn't been to any others, maybe he ought to actually try to find out what he was talking about. So then he told me I was unAmerican. I then enquired as to how exercising my Constitutionally protected first amendment rights of free speech and the right to assemble for precisely such purpose made me unAmerican. "Our guys are out there protecting your rights!" "They're not protecting my rights. The whole shebang is called "Operation Liberate Iraq." That's about liberating Iraq, not protecting my rights." By now, the guy was totally losing it. So I suggested that if he so supported this operation, that he volunteer for the armed services and get thee hence to the front lines. Discussion over, he was speechless.
And hour and a half of peaceful exercise of my Constitutionally guaranteed rights of free speech and assembly, I made my way to the computer lab. After a bit of work I overheard a conversation by the guy across from me where he was whining about how he couldn't respect the protestors because they were protesting the establishment, but wearing clothes from Banana Republic. I had to speak up to point out that they weren't protesting the establishement, they were protesting the war in Iraq. This seemed to throw him. "Well, I support our troops" he said. And we're off.......
It is dangerous to be well read and opinionated in this country. No one knows what to do with you!
Back to work!
Love,
Anne
Saturday, March 29, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Develops a Deep Relationship with a Chair
The thing about starting from scratch to get back into shape is that a gal gets a bit stiff in the old muscles. This was without question the case when I woke up yesterday morning. Unfortunately, I was waking up in the morning to go erg a 6K with Matt. I did loosen up a bit for that, and then cycled home, but frankly I was tired. And still stiff. Never mind. There was life to get on with. I desperately needed a haircut, and luckily I was booked in with Roger at 11:30. Or so I thought. On arrival, I discovered I was actually booked in for 12:30. This turned out to be quite fortuitous. I went to Tealuxe, got some tea, brought it back, and they let me sit in the chair for 40 minutes. This may not sound so significant, except that the chair at the salon is one of those that massages your back while you sit in it. Ahhhh. Ooooooo. I was worried I would get kicked out for making obscene noises, so I tried to stay as quietly obscene as possible. By the time I stood up, all the stiffness in my back had disappeared. Ahhhhh. Ooooo. And a bitchin' new do to boot.
Then, in a fit of "If I can't interview for a job, I"m not going to look like I'm going to interview for a job" I had my nose pierced again. (I did this once before, when Testa didn't give me a job.) I like it, but it hurts more than it did last time. Still, it isn't permanent, like a tattoo. Pretty much the second I take it out it will heal over. But I like it in the meantime.
Then it was time for the kids to get back out on the water, and I have to say they did really really well. Stiff as boards from fear, but still much improved rowers. Things were fine, there was no flipping, and then we hit land, where everyone started confessing how nervous they had been. Of course, I don't think this was an unnatural reaction at all.
Still, my body isn't built to take this any more. I got up this morning to row with Jonathan, and while I haven't stiffened up I did fall asleep on the sofa this morning. So tired.
Back to bed. On the water at 7!
Love,
Anne
The thing about starting from scratch to get back into shape is that a gal gets a bit stiff in the old muscles. This was without question the case when I woke up yesterday morning. Unfortunately, I was waking up in the morning to go erg a 6K with Matt. I did loosen up a bit for that, and then cycled home, but frankly I was tired. And still stiff. Never mind. There was life to get on with. I desperately needed a haircut, and luckily I was booked in with Roger at 11:30. Or so I thought. On arrival, I discovered I was actually booked in for 12:30. This turned out to be quite fortuitous. I went to Tealuxe, got some tea, brought it back, and they let me sit in the chair for 40 minutes. This may not sound so significant, except that the chair at the salon is one of those that massages your back while you sit in it. Ahhhh. Ooooooo. I was worried I would get kicked out for making obscene noises, so I tried to stay as quietly obscene as possible. By the time I stood up, all the stiffness in my back had disappeared. Ahhhhh. Ooooo. And a bitchin' new do to boot.
Then, in a fit of "If I can't interview for a job, I"m not going to look like I'm going to interview for a job" I had my nose pierced again. (I did this once before, when Testa didn't give me a job.) I like it, but it hurts more than it did last time. Still, it isn't permanent, like a tattoo. Pretty much the second I take it out it will heal over. But I like it in the meantime.
Then it was time for the kids to get back out on the water, and I have to say they did really really well. Stiff as boards from fear, but still much improved rowers. Things were fine, there was no flipping, and then we hit land, where everyone started confessing how nervous they had been. Of course, I don't think this was an unnatural reaction at all.
Still, my body isn't built to take this any more. I got up this morning to row with Jonathan, and while I haven't stiffened up I did fall asleep on the sofa this morning. So tired.
Back to bed. On the water at 7!
Love,
Anne
Thursday, March 27, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Sees Who Shows Up for Practice
It really quite amazing how just a little swim in some cold water really tires a gal out. I slept 12 hours last night, and even after that spent most of the morning lounging around on the sofa. I did go down to the boathouse early, to see if there was damage to the boat. There was, a little bit, but nothing unrepairable. So who would turn up to repair it? Or who would have been put off after yesterday's little swim? I waited on tenterhooks. Amazingly, every single kid turned up, even stroke seat, who it turns out sprained his ankle yesterday when his foot didn't come out. Boat repair was done by the kids, who are now vested in it, and who also were approached by the Filippi rep to help move a boat, for which they were all given calendars with hunky Italian rowers. Hey, its week two. They're captivated by this. They're hooked into it now. And it is all about the tchotchkes. And the water time.
Speaking of water time, I then amazed myself by hitting the water after practice for my first outing in a double this year. In the off season, I always say that I love rowing but I wonder do I really love it as much as I think I do? And then I get out there and realize that I love it a whole lot more. Which is exactly what happened tonight. I went out in the double with my friend Liz, who knew about yesterday. I used to teach youth learn to row with Liz, and in fact she has seen me wade into the river up to my waist to pull in an 8+ of kids who couldn't dock due to inexperience and wind. But she was still mighty impressed with this squad, watching them do their jumpies and their situps. And as she realized when we got in for our "day after" team photo (me still in the Golden Gopher sweatshirt as it was the only dry thing in the house!), even standing next to me, these are big kids. Go team go!
I had a big decision out on the river with Liz - what to do for the season. I have been of the mindset to re-join the CRI competitive women's team. But I wasn't quite convinced. Something was holding me back. At heart, I am a sculler. And I really love the double scull. If it works, you really form a bond with your teammate for good times and bad. In the comp squad, dealing with 35 different, strong personalities gets wearing. I really want to turn up, row, work hard at my rowing and then just not get so involved with the rest of it. Racing is fun, but only if you let it be. As Liz and I put it "racing is fun, and the boys are so fine!" which is why we want to race. And the decision was made.......no CRI, just Liz and I in the double. Its a good decision, and it fits well. You just know about things sometimes, and this is so easily the right thing for me right now. See seems psyched, and I definitely am. Roll on fitness! Now to just find some adjustable spacers for the riggers. The Knauth is rigged a bit high..........
Tired again this evening, but only for the very best reasons.
Love,
Anne
It really quite amazing how just a little swim in some cold water really tires a gal out. I slept 12 hours last night, and even after that spent most of the morning lounging around on the sofa. I did go down to the boathouse early, to see if there was damage to the boat. There was, a little bit, but nothing unrepairable. So who would turn up to repair it? Or who would have been put off after yesterday's little swim? I waited on tenterhooks. Amazingly, every single kid turned up, even stroke seat, who it turns out sprained his ankle yesterday when his foot didn't come out. Boat repair was done by the kids, who are now vested in it, and who also were approached by the Filippi rep to help move a boat, for which they were all given calendars with hunky Italian rowers. Hey, its week two. They're captivated by this. They're hooked into it now. And it is all about the tchotchkes. And the water time.
Speaking of water time, I then amazed myself by hitting the water after practice for my first outing in a double this year. In the off season, I always say that I love rowing but I wonder do I really love it as much as I think I do? And then I get out there and realize that I love it a whole lot more. Which is exactly what happened tonight. I went out in the double with my friend Liz, who knew about yesterday. I used to teach youth learn to row with Liz, and in fact she has seen me wade into the river up to my waist to pull in an 8+ of kids who couldn't dock due to inexperience and wind. But she was still mighty impressed with this squad, watching them do their jumpies and their situps. And as she realized when we got in for our "day after" team photo (me still in the Golden Gopher sweatshirt as it was the only dry thing in the house!), even standing next to me, these are big kids. Go team go!
I had a big decision out on the river with Liz - what to do for the season. I have been of the mindset to re-join the CRI competitive women's team. But I wasn't quite convinced. Something was holding me back. At heart, I am a sculler. And I really love the double scull. If it works, you really form a bond with your teammate for good times and bad. In the comp squad, dealing with 35 different, strong personalities gets wearing. I really want to turn up, row, work hard at my rowing and then just not get so involved with the rest of it. Racing is fun, but only if you let it be. As Liz and I put it "racing is fun, and the boys are so fine!" which is why we want to race. And the decision was made.......no CRI, just Liz and I in the double. Its a good decision, and it fits well. You just know about things sometimes, and this is so easily the right thing for me right now. See seems psyched, and I definitely am. Roll on fitness! Now to just find some adjustable spacers for the riggers. The Knauth is rigged a bit high..........
Tired again this evening, but only for the very best reasons.
Love,
Anne
Wednesday, March 26, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Goes for a Wee Swim with her Squad
Cripes, I'm pooped. An afternoon of adventure on the high seas does that to a gal. Cycled down for practice, clambered into the survival suit, waited for the kids to turn up. Except that two were striking sets for the play, and one has broken out in a bad rash and so had a doctors appointment. So three boys, and a recruited coxswain. What to do? Stick me in bow seat, that's what to do. So out of the survival suit, and into the boat. All was going well when three seat caught a crab and it turns out that his gate wasn't on tight. Up, up, up, and............ flip. Into the water, the whole lot of us. And the water was *very* cold. Remember, the ice was still fourteen inches thick on this part of the river last week. Of course, this is why we watch the safety video every year, which indeed we did last week. So everyone knew to stay with the boat. Immediate problems: stroke seat can't get his feet out of the shoes and can't kick out because he has brought his head up in the rigger, so he is twisted at an angle that stops him kicking (with a mild bit of panic) and the coxswain is so tiny she's chilling off faster than everyone else. Calm stroke down, get coxie on top of the boat (as you lose heat faster through the water than through the air) grab hold of the boat and start towing boat and kiddies to shore. In the meantime, shout to people on shore to call 911, request an ambulance and tell them we have kids at risk of hypothermia. And be sure to do it *all* very calmly, despite being pissed at being out of survival suit as this is precisely what its designed for. It worked. All kids out of the water safely, but coxie was shivering quite hard. Get her out of her wet things, and get her wrapped in blankets. The ambulance arrived quickly and we were all taken to Children's Hospital. So there I was, having to phone parents and say "Um, terribly sorry, not to worry, but could you just pick your child up at the Childrens' Hospital ER? Oh, and bring some dry clothes." Luckily, the parents took it all very very very well. The kids were recovering well, and then I realized that *I* had no dry clothes, shoes (shoes are at the boathouse) or way home. I thought about who to call. My few friends with cars were actually out of town. I tried to call Patrick. Not there, and home now way out in Natick. Lora? In Philly on business. Um? Mike. Mike was a good idea, because not only did he have a car, he doesnt live *that* far from me, and bonus of bonuses, he would have a sweatshirt and sweatpants I could borrow that might actually fit, as he is closer to my size than many of my friends. Damn. He's not in the office. Home? Not yet. Try again. Whew. Home, and willing to come in and get me. And bring sweatshirts! Mike, patent lawyer and hero to the masses. Well, hero to me, and I'm massive.
Up til this point I felt fine. Parents started coming in, and I felt fine. Then, while talking to one of them, I started to not feel very fine at all. So I lay down for a bit. Of course, this is the minute before Mike turns up. So instead of being able to hop up, change my clothes and go, I wound up having to lounge around and be sick for a bit. The kids, of course, are all "ooooooo, who's this? Coach has a personal life!" I expect questions tomorrow, to which the answer "none of your business" somehow seems to be poking a situation the wrong way. I shall have to think of the appropriate response. I do have a personal life, but Mike is not involved in the way the kids are thinking.
One of the mothers actually took photos of us. First team photo for our new slogan (coined by one of the parents) "CRLS Novice Crew: Only the Bouyant Survive."
But cutting a long story long, in the end, I was fine, the kiddies were fine, and Mike took me home in the car that comes with the bun warmer. I am now eternally indebted to Volkswagon. I have to wash my clothes (which somehow seems paradoxical since they're already soaking wet. Maybe I should just throw some soap on them.), wash the Golden Gophers sweatshirt (Mike is from Minnesota), and get some sleep!
Practice is tomorrow at 3:30!
Love,
Coach
Cripes, I'm pooped. An afternoon of adventure on the high seas does that to a gal. Cycled down for practice, clambered into the survival suit, waited for the kids to turn up. Except that two were striking sets for the play, and one has broken out in a bad rash and so had a doctors appointment. So three boys, and a recruited coxswain. What to do? Stick me in bow seat, that's what to do. So out of the survival suit, and into the boat. All was going well when three seat caught a crab and it turns out that his gate wasn't on tight. Up, up, up, and............ flip. Into the water, the whole lot of us. And the water was *very* cold. Remember, the ice was still fourteen inches thick on this part of the river last week. Of course, this is why we watch the safety video every year, which indeed we did last week. So everyone knew to stay with the boat. Immediate problems: stroke seat can't get his feet out of the shoes and can't kick out because he has brought his head up in the rigger, so he is twisted at an angle that stops him kicking (with a mild bit of panic) and the coxswain is so tiny she's chilling off faster than everyone else. Calm stroke down, get coxie on top of the boat (as you lose heat faster through the water than through the air) grab hold of the boat and start towing boat and kiddies to shore. In the meantime, shout to people on shore to call 911, request an ambulance and tell them we have kids at risk of hypothermia. And be sure to do it *all* very calmly, despite being pissed at being out of survival suit as this is precisely what its designed for. It worked. All kids out of the water safely, but coxie was shivering quite hard. Get her out of her wet things, and get her wrapped in blankets. The ambulance arrived quickly and we were all taken to Children's Hospital. So there I was, having to phone parents and say "Um, terribly sorry, not to worry, but could you just pick your child up at the Childrens' Hospital ER? Oh, and bring some dry clothes." Luckily, the parents took it all very very very well. The kids were recovering well, and then I realized that *I* had no dry clothes, shoes (shoes are at the boathouse) or way home. I thought about who to call. My few friends with cars were actually out of town. I tried to call Patrick. Not there, and home now way out in Natick. Lora? In Philly on business. Um? Mike. Mike was a good idea, because not only did he have a car, he doesnt live *that* far from me, and bonus of bonuses, he would have a sweatshirt and sweatpants I could borrow that might actually fit, as he is closer to my size than many of my friends. Damn. He's not in the office. Home? Not yet. Try again. Whew. Home, and willing to come in and get me. And bring sweatshirts! Mike, patent lawyer and hero to the masses. Well, hero to me, and I'm massive.
Up til this point I felt fine. Parents started coming in, and I felt fine. Then, while talking to one of them, I started to not feel very fine at all. So I lay down for a bit. Of course, this is the minute before Mike turns up. So instead of being able to hop up, change my clothes and go, I wound up having to lounge around and be sick for a bit. The kids, of course, are all "ooooooo, who's this? Coach has a personal life!" I expect questions tomorrow, to which the answer "none of your business" somehow seems to be poking a situation the wrong way. I shall have to think of the appropriate response. I do have a personal life, but Mike is not involved in the way the kids are thinking.
One of the mothers actually took photos of us. First team photo for our new slogan (coined by one of the parents) "CRLS Novice Crew: Only the Bouyant Survive."
But cutting a long story long, in the end, I was fine, the kiddies were fine, and Mike took me home in the car that comes with the bun warmer. I am now eternally indebted to Volkswagon. I have to wash my clothes (which somehow seems paradoxical since they're already soaking wet. Maybe I should just throw some soap on them.), wash the Golden Gophers sweatshirt (Mike is from Minnesota), and get some sleep!
Practice is tomorrow at 3:30!
Love,
Coach
Monday, March 24, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Has the First Cardiac Arrest of the Season
One of the lovely things about being a novice rowing coach is that you can plan your cardiac arrests. The first on-water outing of their rowing lives is bound to shorten the life of the coach by a good five years. The challenge is to not get the kiddiewinkles (I have begun to think of them as "the novitiate") to enjoy rowing, not flip, not run aground, not drown, not get impaled, not break a rib from catching a crab, not hit a bridge, not hit another boat, not break an oar, somehow travel some distance, and then turn them around, get them back through the bridge, get them turned around again (because there are only certain places where it is safe to turn), and then land them without breaking the front of the boat off. In the meantime, as a coach, you have to keep it upbeat, and also manage to not ram the coaching launch into their boat or oars, and while you're at it, try not to swamp their boat (or others on the river) with wake. This is the real reasons why boat clubs require their coaches to maintain up to date certification in CPR - to save other coaches. Our hearts take a severe pounding. I was luckily spared a few of my scheduled cardiac arrests by having an experienced coxswain to steer the boat and give my kids commands. THis seemed to work well for everyone - the coxswain said she received good experience from it.
How great are my kids? I'll tell you. They run without complaining. They do their situps and jumpies every day, again without complaining (although one maintains steadfastly that they are going to die, but has not let this stop him from doing them in any way), and the one who overslept on Saturday and missed our launch actually hung around the outside of the boathouse waiting for us to come back, went off on his run as directed without complaint, and then stayed and did his situps and jumpies with the team despite the fact he didn't get to row all day. Amazing. I *adore* these children, I really do.
Sadly, in the midst of all this, Elenarda has gone home. Sadness. It was good to have her here, and the baby was absolutely adorable! I just didn't get to spend enough time with her! It has been four and a bit years, and ten days with my working hard meant that I wasn't around nearly enough! Still, it was great to catch up with her, and she seems to have had a good time, despite my being run flat. Although I was comfy on the settee, it will be good to sit in my own bed tonight. It is strange to be in the flat on my own, though. I keep wondering if the baby is all right!
I think I am about due for a cardiac for another reason - I caught sight of my stomach in spandex this week and I did *not* like what I saw! Time to do some situps and jumpies of my own. ALthough I have started biking again, but it is just to practice and back. Only 7 miles-ish a day. I need to be rowing again. Hopefully the four oared rule disappears this week, and the minute it does, I'm out there. Everyone's violating it anway, but I'm not risking it. How can I expect the kids to follow my rules, when I don't follow the club rules? Not to mention that since there's no more company, I can eat spa food. Salad festivals. Whoohoo! Gotta lose that gut. Spandex season is nigh.
The news of the war is on 24/7. The thing that is really getting me is the implication in this country that because I am against the war, I do not support our troops. I support our troops greatly - my nephew is out there on an aircraft carrier. But I don't believe they should be risking their lives on this when diplomacy hasn't had the chance to pan itself out. Inspections were working - why this? And if I was British, I would be ticked! The US seems to be killing the Brits, not the Iraqis! We're the ones shooting their planes, etc. Not good.
Somehow, I feel so cultured. I have actually seen an Academy Award nominated foreign film. The Finnish one. In Finland! Huzzah! So multiculti.
Love and situps,
Anne
One of the lovely things about being a novice rowing coach is that you can plan your cardiac arrests. The first on-water outing of their rowing lives is bound to shorten the life of the coach by a good five years. The challenge is to not get the kiddiewinkles (I have begun to think of them as "the novitiate") to enjoy rowing, not flip, not run aground, not drown, not get impaled, not break a rib from catching a crab, not hit a bridge, not hit another boat, not break an oar, somehow travel some distance, and then turn them around, get them back through the bridge, get them turned around again (because there are only certain places where it is safe to turn), and then land them without breaking the front of the boat off. In the meantime, as a coach, you have to keep it upbeat, and also manage to not ram the coaching launch into their boat or oars, and while you're at it, try not to swamp their boat (or others on the river) with wake. This is the real reasons why boat clubs require their coaches to maintain up to date certification in CPR - to save other coaches. Our hearts take a severe pounding. I was luckily spared a few of my scheduled cardiac arrests by having an experienced coxswain to steer the boat and give my kids commands. THis seemed to work well for everyone - the coxswain said she received good experience from it.
How great are my kids? I'll tell you. They run without complaining. They do their situps and jumpies every day, again without complaining (although one maintains steadfastly that they are going to die, but has not let this stop him from doing them in any way), and the one who overslept on Saturday and missed our launch actually hung around the outside of the boathouse waiting for us to come back, went off on his run as directed without complaint, and then stayed and did his situps and jumpies with the team despite the fact he didn't get to row all day. Amazing. I *adore* these children, I really do.
Sadly, in the midst of all this, Elenarda has gone home. Sadness. It was good to have her here, and the baby was absolutely adorable! I just didn't get to spend enough time with her! It has been four and a bit years, and ten days with my working hard meant that I wasn't around nearly enough! Still, it was great to catch up with her, and she seems to have had a good time, despite my being run flat. Although I was comfy on the settee, it will be good to sit in my own bed tonight. It is strange to be in the flat on my own, though. I keep wondering if the baby is all right!
I think I am about due for a cardiac for another reason - I caught sight of my stomach in spandex this week and I did *not* like what I saw! Time to do some situps and jumpies of my own. ALthough I have started biking again, but it is just to practice and back. Only 7 miles-ish a day. I need to be rowing again. Hopefully the four oared rule disappears this week, and the minute it does, I'm out there. Everyone's violating it anway, but I'm not risking it. How can I expect the kids to follow my rules, when I don't follow the club rules? Not to mention that since there's no more company, I can eat spa food. Salad festivals. Whoohoo! Gotta lose that gut. Spandex season is nigh.
The news of the war is on 24/7. The thing that is really getting me is the implication in this country that because I am against the war, I do not support our troops. I support our troops greatly - my nephew is out there on an aircraft carrier. But I don't believe they should be risking their lives on this when diplomacy hasn't had the chance to pan itself out. Inspections were working - why this? And if I was British, I would be ticked! The US seems to be killing the Brits, not the Iraqis! We're the ones shooting their planes, etc. Not good.
Somehow, I feel so cultured. I have actually seen an Academy Award nominated foreign film. The Finnish one. In Finland! Huzzah! So multiculti.
Love and situps,
Anne
Saturday, March 22, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Enjoys A Film
Ah, the movies. War rages in Iraq, the peace protestors scuffle with the people supporting the war, the people outside my window are arguing about something or tuther. But I'm watching my violence just the way I like it. Big and fake. "The Quiet Man" - one of my favorite movies of all time. Any movie where John Wayne is felled not just once but twice with punches that quite obviously don't connect is the way it should be. I remember mourning last year that it wasn't shown on St. Patrick's Day, the way it usually is. And here it is.
It is the way to unwind after a fairly long day. I made up my internship day today, which always means an early start, and then had to go immediately to coach the kiddies, who continue to do well. By the time I got home, I was a bit beat. And yet, still excited for tomorrow. First full day on the water for them. The problem of course being that with the weather suddenly turning nice, every lunatic and their mother who hasn't been out on the water all winter will be out there, getting in the way. Or more accurately having us get in theirs. The kids are doing well, but that first day is quite a handful. In fact, the first few are a spectacular handful. But the kids will be all right to me, so long as I don't have to do what I had to do a few years back in a high upstream wind and wade in up to the waist to bring them to the dock. They had their first erg test yesterday, and they did well. Then, to show them how it is to be done, I did one. Only one thousand meters, but I have to say, ow ow and ow again. It would appear I am out of shape. Rather. Tomorrow's the big day!
Love,
Anne
Ah, the movies. War rages in Iraq, the peace protestors scuffle with the people supporting the war, the people outside my window are arguing about something or tuther. But I'm watching my violence just the way I like it. Big and fake. "The Quiet Man" - one of my favorite movies of all time. Any movie where John Wayne is felled not just once but twice with punches that quite obviously don't connect is the way it should be. I remember mourning last year that it wasn't shown on St. Patrick's Day, the way it usually is. And here it is.
It is the way to unwind after a fairly long day. I made up my internship day today, which always means an early start, and then had to go immediately to coach the kiddies, who continue to do well. By the time I got home, I was a bit beat. And yet, still excited for tomorrow. First full day on the water for them. The problem of course being that with the weather suddenly turning nice, every lunatic and their mother who hasn't been out on the water all winter will be out there, getting in the way. Or more accurately having us get in theirs. The kids are doing well, but that first day is quite a handful. In fact, the first few are a spectacular handful. But the kids will be all right to me, so long as I don't have to do what I had to do a few years back in a high upstream wind and wade in up to the waist to bring them to the dock. They had their first erg test yesterday, and they did well. Then, to show them how it is to be done, I did one. Only one thousand meters, but I have to say, ow ow and ow again. It would appear I am out of shape. Rather. Tomorrow's the big day!
Love,
Anne
Thursday, March 20, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Races A Bus
Well, this is it. Supposedly the deadline has come and gone, and I guess we're at war. I don't officially know, as I am hiding from the news. Yesterday, under the strains of war impending, I got on my bike can cycled to practice. First time on the bike in ages, and was totally loving it until I suddenly had flashbacks to cycling home from practice after watching the Twin Towers fall while we were in the boathouse on 9/11. High anxiety all day - I think it came through in the e-mails I was sending. I felt almost compelled to e-mail my English friends to declare that I hadn't voted for Bush, and I thought the war was a bad idea. My friend Neil returned the e-mail immediately with: send phone number, I'm calling now! He did call, mostly because we've been trying to catch up via phone for months, but I think he thought this was important. He was very reassuring, I must say. Then again, a quick phone call to my doctor for a rather minor medication adjustment also helped considerably. This is the problem with my horomones - too much adrenaline. If the fear in the whole "flee or fear" response gets going, wowsa. Still, at least knowing why it is going on means that I can do something about it, and I recognize the symptoms, so things get sorted out pretty quickly.
The most important thing about the above paragraph is the fact that I have gotten my fat butt back on the bike. Yeah! I *love* riding my bike around. Love it, love it, love it. And of course, day one is never so bad. It was day two (today) that was a bit tricky. A wee bit tired, I was. But coming home, just as I hit Harvard Square, I noticed a number 86 bus heading homewards. I wound up racing it home. I had a good distance on it until I hit Market Street, despite the fact the bus took the short Western Ave route, and I felt like having fun and taking the long bike path along the river. But when I hit Market Street, it became neck and neck. Mostly because it is a long hill, and I am pokey on the hills. Market Street is hardly an Alp. But I was still pokey. The bus, of course, had the speed advantage on me, but has to stop almost every block. So it would pass me, I would pass it, it would pass me. The race was on! I won, but I have to say only by about five feet. And I also have to say, I am one pooped girl from it. But better for it.
In all this cycling, I cannot omit the where and who I was cycling to. It was the first days of practice for my novice crew kids. I admit, I was a little nervous about it all. Teach them to row, race them in a month, and in the meantime instill boat safety skills and a phenomonal love of rowing. Could I do this? I hoped I could, but of course one never knows until you try.
Well, I have met the children and gotten started. I *love* my kids. I could not have asked for a better bunch of kids. There are only six of them, five boys and one girl, but doggone it they're wonderful. The shortest one (your ideal rower is a tall one, but it isn't mandatory) has picked up the form very quickly, and seems to already be thinking it through. He turned in the fastest erg score today. The one girl started off as rather shy, but seems to be adapting into it well, and I really truly hope she sticks with it. I think training with the boys (she can only race with them as a cox, but I can train her with them, and will try my damnest to make sure she races somehow other than as a cox, as if she puts in the effort she deserves it. And I usually get my way.) will make her a better rower faster in the end. The other boys are fun to work with, are getting the form quickly, and seem prepared to work hard. They also all seem to be built to be future Olympians. They've already adapted to the fact that they have to do 50 situps and 50 jumpies at the end of every practice. It seems to be making them tired (even the boys) but they're incorporating it well.
I told them today about how when I got this job, Mike said "I predict they will all either be future hall of famer Ivy League rowers or join the chess club." I can agree with him. And it don't look like these boys are joining the chess club! Or the girl, who I mistakenly keep calling by the name Rebecca. It is *not* her name, and it doesn't even sound like her name (which I won't post here in the interests of child privacy.).
We've had two erg days so far, with the infamous "swim test" sandwiched in between. Every year, both for their safety and our insurance, the children all dive in fully clothed, tread water for five minutes, and then (still fully clothed) have to swim four lengths of the pool. They all jumped in, and my immediate thought was "where is my camera when I really need it?" But even today they did their situps with more ease, and their jumpies seemed a little higher.
We have met the enemy, and they are the varsity. We are after their seats! We are CRLS Novice Crew!
Parent contact so far has been positive. Whew!
Well, while I'm typing this, my e-mails have blipped up to announce we are officially at war. I pray for peace, for the safety of the civilians, and that all our soldiers may come home safely to those who love them.
Love,
Anne
Well, this is it. Supposedly the deadline has come and gone, and I guess we're at war. I don't officially know, as I am hiding from the news. Yesterday, under the strains of war impending, I got on my bike can cycled to practice. First time on the bike in ages, and was totally loving it until I suddenly had flashbacks to cycling home from practice after watching the Twin Towers fall while we were in the boathouse on 9/11. High anxiety all day - I think it came through in the e-mails I was sending. I felt almost compelled to e-mail my English friends to declare that I hadn't voted for Bush, and I thought the war was a bad idea. My friend Neil returned the e-mail immediately with: send phone number, I'm calling now! He did call, mostly because we've been trying to catch up via phone for months, but I think he thought this was important. He was very reassuring, I must say. Then again, a quick phone call to my doctor for a rather minor medication adjustment also helped considerably. This is the problem with my horomones - too much adrenaline. If the fear in the whole "flee or fear" response gets going, wowsa. Still, at least knowing why it is going on means that I can do something about it, and I recognize the symptoms, so things get sorted out pretty quickly.
The most important thing about the above paragraph is the fact that I have gotten my fat butt back on the bike. Yeah! I *love* riding my bike around. Love it, love it, love it. And of course, day one is never so bad. It was day two (today) that was a bit tricky. A wee bit tired, I was. But coming home, just as I hit Harvard Square, I noticed a number 86 bus heading homewards. I wound up racing it home. I had a good distance on it until I hit Market Street, despite the fact the bus took the short Western Ave route, and I felt like having fun and taking the long bike path along the river. But when I hit Market Street, it became neck and neck. Mostly because it is a long hill, and I am pokey on the hills. Market Street is hardly an Alp. But I was still pokey. The bus, of course, had the speed advantage on me, but has to stop almost every block. So it would pass me, I would pass it, it would pass me. The race was on! I won, but I have to say only by about five feet. And I also have to say, I am one pooped girl from it. But better for it.
In all this cycling, I cannot omit the where and who I was cycling to. It was the first days of practice for my novice crew kids. I admit, I was a little nervous about it all. Teach them to row, race them in a month, and in the meantime instill boat safety skills and a phenomonal love of rowing. Could I do this? I hoped I could, but of course one never knows until you try.
Well, I have met the children and gotten started. I *love* my kids. I could not have asked for a better bunch of kids. There are only six of them, five boys and one girl, but doggone it they're wonderful. The shortest one (your ideal rower is a tall one, but it isn't mandatory) has picked up the form very quickly, and seems to already be thinking it through. He turned in the fastest erg score today. The one girl started off as rather shy, but seems to be adapting into it well, and I really truly hope she sticks with it. I think training with the boys (she can only race with them as a cox, but I can train her with them, and will try my damnest to make sure she races somehow other than as a cox, as if she puts in the effort she deserves it. And I usually get my way.) will make her a better rower faster in the end. The other boys are fun to work with, are getting the form quickly, and seem prepared to work hard. They also all seem to be built to be future Olympians. They've already adapted to the fact that they have to do 50 situps and 50 jumpies at the end of every practice. It seems to be making them tired (even the boys) but they're incorporating it well.
I told them today about how when I got this job, Mike said "I predict they will all either be future hall of famer Ivy League rowers or join the chess club." I can agree with him. And it don't look like these boys are joining the chess club! Or the girl, who I mistakenly keep calling by the name Rebecca. It is *not* her name, and it doesn't even sound like her name (which I won't post here in the interests of child privacy.).
We've had two erg days so far, with the infamous "swim test" sandwiched in between. Every year, both for their safety and our insurance, the children all dive in fully clothed, tread water for five minutes, and then (still fully clothed) have to swim four lengths of the pool. They all jumped in, and my immediate thought was "where is my camera when I really need it?" But even today they did their situps with more ease, and their jumpies seemed a little higher.
We have met the enemy, and they are the varsity. We are after their seats! We are CRLS Novice Crew!
Parent contact so far has been positive. Whew!
Well, while I'm typing this, my e-mails have blipped up to announce we are officially at war. I pray for peace, for the safety of the civilians, and that all our soldiers may come home safely to those who love them.
Love,
Anne
Monday, March 17, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Accumulates Some Knowledge
Today is the day of the odd knowledge accumulation. So far today, I have learned: (Click on the colored text to link to an explanation of the statement.)
1) That I can not be a blood donor in the USA since I lived in the UK for more than three months since the 1980. Apparently, my week in the Falklands qualifies in this total as well!
2) According to none other than the New York Times, the BBC and the Guardian, a talking fish has spoken a portend of the end of the world, or possibly a warning against the war in Iraq. The theological implications of the fish being slaughtered immediately after speaking does not appear to have yet been analyzed.
3) I more than doubled my score on Celebdaq when I correctly predicted last week that Prince Charles would get loads of press this week. This time last week, 18,000 pounds. This week? 52,000. Dividends. Love them.
4) The people from my boat club are officially crazy with the cold.
5) The March Madness lineups are in! And apparently BC not making the dance is newsworthy.
6) And of course, we're headed to war on the 24 hour countdown.
Love and prayers for peace,
Anne
Today is the day of the odd knowledge accumulation. So far today, I have learned: (Click on the colored text to link to an explanation of the statement.)
1) That I can not be a blood donor in the USA since I lived in the UK for more than three months since the 1980. Apparently, my week in the Falklands qualifies in this total as well!
2) According to none other than the New York Times, the BBC and the Guardian, a talking fish has spoken a portend of the end of the world, or possibly a warning against the war in Iraq. The theological implications of the fish being slaughtered immediately after speaking does not appear to have yet been analyzed.
3) I more than doubled my score on Celebdaq when I correctly predicted last week that Prince Charles would get loads of press this week. This time last week, 18,000 pounds. This week? 52,000. Dividends. Love them.
4) The people from my boat club are officially crazy with the cold.
5) The March Madness lineups are in! And apparently BC not making the dance is newsworthy.
6) And of course, we're headed to war on the 24 hour countdown.
Love and prayers for peace,
Anne
Saturday, March 15, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Is a Horrible Hostess
Administrative stuff first: the archives now work. Really click on a link and find out. I didn't post on the site while I was in China. If you want to read about that time, check out yahoogroups.com/goannego. If you're looking for cotimundi, and I'm always amazed how many people are, they're in the last week of January, 2002.
Anyway. Bad hostessing. So poor Elenarda, having arrived and begun to combat jet lag last night, was today dispatched down to the center of town, and just really dropped there. Because I was already booked to spend the day at a seminar on Trade Secrets. From nine in the morning until five in the afternoon, lunch included. So after a quick pointing to the T stations, here is the school, here is the State House, here is the T station, I left her to it. It doesn't seem to have gone too badly. She had other friends coming in for the weekend, and the first one was arriving on the 11:30 train. Between meeting her, and getting her to the hotel, spots of lunch and things, time seems to have passed quickly. She was fine.
Time was probably passing more quickly for her than for me. The thing about seminars is that you get some good speakers, and you get some bad speakers. The first thing that I noticed was that apparently to be a prominent trade secret attorney, if you are male, you have to be a) not very tall (as in, short), b) have a beard, and c) be relatively bald. It seems to be the case that the more prominent you are, the more profound your combover. I have to say, the panel of men sitting waiting to speak all came from the same cloth. But they knew what they were doing. Trade Secrets, trade secrets, trade secrets. I suppose I should comment that the woman who opened the panel was also very good, but was not short, did not have a beard, and did not seem to be going bald.
And then I noticed that my friend Ralph was there. Even better luck! Not that Ralph and I would be chatting during the presentations, but it did add a fun element to it to be sitting there with him.
The thing is, the papers preapred with the presentations were very comprehensive, and now I have to read them! My internship is having me make a presenation to it's sales force about confidentiality agreements, non disclosure agreements, etc, so this is right up that alley. I feel that I got a very practical grounding for preparing for making this presenation.
The one bad bit of news was talking to a partner from a big firm in town. He described the current market as a "nuclear winter." I don't think this is a positive sign looking to the immediate future of the market.
Oh, so tired. These last couple of postings have barely been coherent. I'm sorry, but I'm a bit wiped out of late. I shall try to do better. Or, as Ethan says, "there is no try, there is only do."
Love,
Anne
Administrative stuff first: the archives now work. Really click on a link and find out. I didn't post on the site while I was in China. If you want to read about that time, check out yahoogroups.com/goannego. If you're looking for cotimundi, and I'm always amazed how many people are, they're in the last week of January, 2002.
Anyway. Bad hostessing. So poor Elenarda, having arrived and begun to combat jet lag last night, was today dispatched down to the center of town, and just really dropped there. Because I was already booked to spend the day at a seminar on Trade Secrets. From nine in the morning until five in the afternoon, lunch included. So after a quick pointing to the T stations, here is the school, here is the State House, here is the T station, I left her to it. It doesn't seem to have gone too badly. She had other friends coming in for the weekend, and the first one was arriving on the 11:30 train. Between meeting her, and getting her to the hotel, spots of lunch and things, time seems to have passed quickly. She was fine.
Time was probably passing more quickly for her than for me. The thing about seminars is that you get some good speakers, and you get some bad speakers. The first thing that I noticed was that apparently to be a prominent trade secret attorney, if you are male, you have to be a) not very tall (as in, short), b) have a beard, and c) be relatively bald. It seems to be the case that the more prominent you are, the more profound your combover. I have to say, the panel of men sitting waiting to speak all came from the same cloth. But they knew what they were doing. Trade Secrets, trade secrets, trade secrets. I suppose I should comment that the woman who opened the panel was also very good, but was not short, did not have a beard, and did not seem to be going bald.
And then I noticed that my friend Ralph was there. Even better luck! Not that Ralph and I would be chatting during the presentations, but it did add a fun element to it to be sitting there with him.
The thing is, the papers preapred with the presentations were very comprehensive, and now I have to read them! My internship is having me make a presenation to it's sales force about confidentiality agreements, non disclosure agreements, etc, so this is right up that alley. I feel that I got a very practical grounding for preparing for making this presenation.
The one bad bit of news was talking to a partner from a big firm in town. He described the current market as a "nuclear winter." I don't think this is a positive sign looking to the immediate future of the market.
Oh, so tired. These last couple of postings have barely been coherent. I'm sorry, but I'm a bit wiped out of late. I shall try to do better. Or, as Ethan says, "there is no try, there is only do."
Love,
Anne
Friday, March 14, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Goes All Girlie
It is snowing, but spring has still entered into la casa del Anna. First, Elenarda has arrived. Complete with bairn, and there's nothing like a baby about to make one feel springy. Plus, she has brought over for me a nice new outfit from Sally's - very springy. Cream trou and a girly silk blouse. Lighter than air, that thing is. Looks great. The trousers will look even better when I lose five pounds, but roll on cycling to practice and sculling, and we'll be fine. By Memorial Day (when one can wear white trou without being arrested by the fashion police), I'll be a svelte babe again.
And I will smell like one too. Because Elenarda has armed me with my favorite delights in the world. Products from Lush. Why Lush does not have a shop in Boston or the USA for that matter I don't know. But they don't. Consequently, Lush products must be hoarded at all costs. The bath bombs, the soaps, the massage bars, more bath bombs, and just because she liked the name something called "Buffy the Backside Slayer." I, too, have considered caving at that one. She's bought me some lovely dusting powder to go with the shirt. In the Lush tradition of things having odd names, it is called "Silky Underwear." But darn, I smell good!
Getting poor Elenarda here was an event. First off, it started snowing again. Nothing major, but snowing. Then, she was loaded down with baggage (all pressies for me, near as I can tell. And baby gear!) and baby. I thought the best way to see Boston for the first timewould be to take her on the boat from Logan to downtown, and we did this, but the snow meant that you couldn't see a darn thing! So that was a bit moot. We managed to grab a cab, or actually a livery car (fixed rate. Excellent.), and the driver went out of his way to show her around, give her the guided tour, the whole nine yards. Beacon Hill, Back Bay, all of it. Gaslights in the snow. She seems very impressed! We shall see tomorrow. Then becomes the whole challenge of her getting around.
Love,
Anne
It is snowing, but spring has still entered into la casa del Anna. First, Elenarda has arrived. Complete with bairn, and there's nothing like a baby about to make one feel springy. Plus, she has brought over for me a nice new outfit from Sally's - very springy. Cream trou and a girly silk blouse. Lighter than air, that thing is. Looks great. The trousers will look even better when I lose five pounds, but roll on cycling to practice and sculling, and we'll be fine. By Memorial Day (when one can wear white trou without being arrested by the fashion police), I'll be a svelte babe again.
And I will smell like one too. Because Elenarda has armed me with my favorite delights in the world. Products from Lush. Why Lush does not have a shop in Boston or the USA for that matter I don't know. But they don't. Consequently, Lush products must be hoarded at all costs. The bath bombs, the soaps, the massage bars, more bath bombs, and just because she liked the name something called "Buffy the Backside Slayer." I, too, have considered caving at that one. She's bought me some lovely dusting powder to go with the shirt. In the Lush tradition of things having odd names, it is called "Silky Underwear." But darn, I smell good!
Getting poor Elenarda here was an event. First off, it started snowing again. Nothing major, but snowing. Then, she was loaded down with baggage (all pressies for me, near as I can tell. And baby gear!) and baby. I thought the best way to see Boston for the first timewould be to take her on the boat from Logan to downtown, and we did this, but the snow meant that you couldn't see a darn thing! So that was a bit moot. We managed to grab a cab, or actually a livery car (fixed rate. Excellent.), and the driver went out of his way to show her around, give her the guided tour, the whole nine yards. Beacon Hill, Back Bay, all of it. Gaslights in the snow. She seems very impressed! We shall see tomorrow. Then becomes the whole challenge of her getting around.
Love,
Anne
Thursday, March 13, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Runs Out of Time
Well, that is that. The flat is *not* clean, although the lounge is making a stab at being tidy. The laundry is *not* done. Ellie has said she's fine with this. I really don't think she fully appreciates the situation! But nevermind. I still have tomorrow morning! Which should be just enough time to scrub the tub and wash the dishes. I can but hope, eh? Even the poor kitty, groomed as he is, isn't looking so hot at the moment seeing as it is time for him to shed his winter coat. Everything that comes out is out, but it still gives his fur a rather clumpy look.
Spring is really lurking just around the corner. Boat Race lineups have been announced, and one of Chris Clarke's kiddies made it into the Topolski dark blue boat. Clark was quoted in the Telegraph about the whole Boat Race Mutiny 16 years on, and still sounds like an unrepentant chid. He's a coach now - I cannot help but wonder how ballistic he'd go were one of his coachees to try such a stunt as he did. Never mind. He did make it terribly embarassing to be an American abroad and wanting to row, though!
Indeed, there is enough spring springing that Harvard and Radcliffe were out in 8+s this afternoon. Frankly, I have to say this was not the wisest thing they could have done. Firstly, there was only about a 500m stretch where they could go before having to spin, and secondly there were large chunks of ice floating down the river. At 14" thick, and five or six feet long, they'd knock a serious hole in a boat which would be expensive to repair. The ice near the dock is still thick enough for me to stand on, and stand on it I did. Ok, so it took a lot of prompting to get me to do it first. But it really does have me drifting off into daydream after daydream of sculling next week. Even though we are supposed to get three inches of snow tomorrow, it is supposed to be 10C all weekend and most of next week, so with the ice already broken up and drifting down, by Monday we should be good to go. But to scull I'll have to wait for the four oar rule to be lifted. It can't be too long!
I met a hottie named David yesterday, but I'll never see him again, so I will just leave that issue there.*Sigh.*
Poor old Ellie must be leaving her house right about now. Eek! It is all happening! It is happening!
In addition to everything else, I have to start coming up with workouts for my kids. Monday starts practice! Whoohoo! Time to get down to it!
Love,
Anne
Well, that is that. The flat is *not* clean, although the lounge is making a stab at being tidy. The laundry is *not* done. Ellie has said she's fine with this. I really don't think she fully appreciates the situation! But nevermind. I still have tomorrow morning! Which should be just enough time to scrub the tub and wash the dishes. I can but hope, eh? Even the poor kitty, groomed as he is, isn't looking so hot at the moment seeing as it is time for him to shed his winter coat. Everything that comes out is out, but it still gives his fur a rather clumpy look.
Spring is really lurking just around the corner. Boat Race lineups have been announced, and one of Chris Clarke's kiddies made it into the Topolski dark blue boat. Clark was quoted in the Telegraph about the whole Boat Race Mutiny 16 years on, and still sounds like an unrepentant chid. He's a coach now - I cannot help but wonder how ballistic he'd go were one of his coachees to try such a stunt as he did. Never mind. He did make it terribly embarassing to be an American abroad and wanting to row, though!
Indeed, there is enough spring springing that Harvard and Radcliffe were out in 8+s this afternoon. Frankly, I have to say this was not the wisest thing they could have done. Firstly, there was only about a 500m stretch where they could go before having to spin, and secondly there were large chunks of ice floating down the river. At 14" thick, and five or six feet long, they'd knock a serious hole in a boat which would be expensive to repair. The ice near the dock is still thick enough for me to stand on, and stand on it I did. Ok, so it took a lot of prompting to get me to do it first. But it really does have me drifting off into daydream after daydream of sculling next week. Even though we are supposed to get three inches of snow tomorrow, it is supposed to be 10C all weekend and most of next week, so with the ice already broken up and drifting down, by Monday we should be good to go. But to scull I'll have to wait for the four oar rule to be lifted. It can't be too long!
I met a hottie named David yesterday, but I'll never see him again, so I will just leave that issue there.*Sigh.*
Poor old Ellie must be leaving her house right about now. Eek! It is all happening! It is happening!
In addition to everything else, I have to start coming up with workouts for my kids. Monday starts practice! Whoohoo! Time to get down to it!
Love,
Anne
Monday, March 10, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Stays Busy
Too much, too much. Still grinding away under the various guns, but it is starting to pay off. Elements of cleaning are starting to take hold (must scrub tub). I've installed shelves, and may install a few more. Although I can't figure out yet how installing the shelves make the room seem bigger, but they do. Works in progress are progressing. This is all good. I have *even* managed to get some laundry done as well, thank heavens. The tradeoff for this, unfortunately, has meant staying inside much of the weekend. Drat - we had good weather this weekend. Missed it.
I missed a couple things actually. One of which was my lunch meeting. I have been a little forgetful of late, but this was teh most spectacular. I woke up in the morning and re-arranged one meeting so I had more time for my lunch meeting. Then I went into school, and got grinding away (or tried to grind away. Two people, one of whom I knew, were chatting away in the computer lab. Loudly. After half an hour I got up and went to lunch. When I came back, they were still at it. Would NOT stop. Grrrrrr. Very distracting.) I completely forgot about my lunch meeting. When it was time for lunch, I went, grabbed a burger, ate it downstairs and realized 45 minutes later that I had completly forgotten about my lunch appointment. Cellphones were set a-ringing but to no avail. Certainly my most spectacular forgetfulness to date.
Last night was babysitting. Such fun! The problem is that I'm quite positive I was not as bright as Catherine when I was three, and in fact am not as certain that I am that bright even at 32. She certainly explained rowing to me in new and unique terms. But the fact of the matter is that Catherine and her sister are just marvellous children. Dinner, bath, movie, bed, not a problem, no tears, no hassle, and when they were asleep I just thought "really, is that it?" Somehow it felt just too easy. Well behaved children are such a joy.
So interesting, busy, and then came Sunday night. Sunday night is one of my favorite times of the week - a relaxed transition into the new week. But not tonight. More work, installing of the shelves, getting dinner together, and then just as I was settling in, the phone calls started. Why is no one else happy this evening? And further, why is it that they call me for advice, and when I give it, they start shouting at me? I got the message "please call me before 8 - I need some legal advice." In short, the transmission is gone and the warranty company doesn't want to pay for it, and instead are having it taken apart to be inspected. I was asked if I could write a letter saying I was an attorney, I had been informed of the situation, and that the person in question was not the sort of driver to burn out a transmission so quickly. First off, this wouldn't do anything, as the mere might of being a lawyer is useless, as anyone with a law degree will be the first to tell you. Secondly, I haven't seen this person drive in a couple of years, so I have no recent basis on which to judge whether or not they could burn out a trannie, particularly since I don't know what it takes to do that. And the last time I did drive with them, they were racing cars at intersections, so I really couldn't in good conscience testify that they were a good driver. But I didn't go into all this, as there was no point. I just said that such a letter wouldn't help. I did, however, give some advice which should be much more practical towards getting the problem resolved. And for that I just got shouted at. Honestly, I nearly hung up. I wish I had. Could have saved me some yelling at.
The next phone call to come in wasn't any better. A friend is changing jobs. The stress is making him difficult to deal with. But friends are friends, and he therefore deserves my love and support. But the stress on his end just constantly makes me want to go "why are you shouting at me?" In fact, I have asked that question a couple times. There is no good answer. Now that the job change is happening (out of the old, new is tomorrow) I am hoping things will calm down a bit. It is undermining my medication!
Love,
Anne with Shelves
Too much, too much. Still grinding away under the various guns, but it is starting to pay off. Elements of cleaning are starting to take hold (must scrub tub). I've installed shelves, and may install a few more. Although I can't figure out yet how installing the shelves make the room seem bigger, but they do. Works in progress are progressing. This is all good. I have *even* managed to get some laundry done as well, thank heavens. The tradeoff for this, unfortunately, has meant staying inside much of the weekend. Drat - we had good weather this weekend. Missed it.
I missed a couple things actually. One of which was my lunch meeting. I have been a little forgetful of late, but this was teh most spectacular. I woke up in the morning and re-arranged one meeting so I had more time for my lunch meeting. Then I went into school, and got grinding away (or tried to grind away. Two people, one of whom I knew, were chatting away in the computer lab. Loudly. After half an hour I got up and went to lunch. When I came back, they were still at it. Would NOT stop. Grrrrrr. Very distracting.) I completely forgot about my lunch meeting. When it was time for lunch, I went, grabbed a burger, ate it downstairs and realized 45 minutes later that I had completly forgotten about my lunch appointment. Cellphones were set a-ringing but to no avail. Certainly my most spectacular forgetfulness to date.
Last night was babysitting. Such fun! The problem is that I'm quite positive I was not as bright as Catherine when I was three, and in fact am not as certain that I am that bright even at 32. She certainly explained rowing to me in new and unique terms. But the fact of the matter is that Catherine and her sister are just marvellous children. Dinner, bath, movie, bed, not a problem, no tears, no hassle, and when they were asleep I just thought "really, is that it?" Somehow it felt just too easy. Well behaved children are such a joy.
So interesting, busy, and then came Sunday night. Sunday night is one of my favorite times of the week - a relaxed transition into the new week. But not tonight. More work, installing of the shelves, getting dinner together, and then just as I was settling in, the phone calls started. Why is no one else happy this evening? And further, why is it that they call me for advice, and when I give it, they start shouting at me? I got the message "please call me before 8 - I need some legal advice." In short, the transmission is gone and the warranty company doesn't want to pay for it, and instead are having it taken apart to be inspected. I was asked if I could write a letter saying I was an attorney, I had been informed of the situation, and that the person in question was not the sort of driver to burn out a transmission so quickly. First off, this wouldn't do anything, as the mere might of being a lawyer is useless, as anyone with a law degree will be the first to tell you. Secondly, I haven't seen this person drive in a couple of years, so I have no recent basis on which to judge whether or not they could burn out a trannie, particularly since I don't know what it takes to do that. And the last time I did drive with them, they were racing cars at intersections, so I really couldn't in good conscience testify that they were a good driver. But I didn't go into all this, as there was no point. I just said that such a letter wouldn't help. I did, however, give some advice which should be much more practical towards getting the problem resolved. And for that I just got shouted at. Honestly, I nearly hung up. I wish I had. Could have saved me some yelling at.
The next phone call to come in wasn't any better. A friend is changing jobs. The stress is making him difficult to deal with. But friends are friends, and he therefore deserves my love and support. But the stress on his end just constantly makes me want to go "why are you shouting at me?" In fact, I have asked that question a couple times. There is no good answer. Now that the job change is happening (out of the old, new is tomorrow) I am hoping things will calm down a bit. It is undermining my medication!
Love,
Anne with Shelves
Saturday, March 08, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Gets a Little Overbooked
Ah, the runaround. I'm on it. I'm doing it. It is fun though. It started Wednesday. Leave work, go to meeting, go to church for Ash Wednesday (40 minutes late! Eep!), go to dinner, go to BED! Had to go to bed, as Thursday it was doctor's appointment at 8, court date at 9, work by 10, out of work, dinner with Liz, go to bed again. Because Friday it was morning phone meetings, go to work, leave, meet Matt, then go meet Tim, then go meet Suffolk classmates for reunion drinks, then another meeting. Eek!
It isn't going to end as far as I can see. Even this weekend, I have a TONNE of work to do, somewhere sandwiched in around a breakfast meeting tomorrow, lunch meeting, dinner meeting and then babysitting. Sunday's not much better. And I have REALLY got to get this place whipped into babyworthy shape for Elenarda arriving on Thursday. Ummmmmmmmm.......that is going to take rather a lot of effort.
I'm looking forward to her visit, but between paid work, work that doesn't involve being paid, and all kinds of other things, I'm starting to wonder when I'll actually see the poor girl! Things are getting swamped.
The temp job at the moment is quite wonderful. I am cataloging the score collection for the Harvard University Jazz Band. Yes, these people are band geeks. I keep waiting for someone to say "one night? At band camp?" but I have to say that they are exceptionally nice people, and in terms of the staff I'm working with, exceptionally bright and fascinating people. I seem to be on a crash course to learn about jazz, and it is working. I work at the computer of whomever is outside the office at the time, and today that was Professor Everett. The work itself is not so terribly fascinating, just your basic compiling of information, but never mind, the atmosphere is relaxed. In fact, maybe a little too much so. I had been encouraged to use Prof. Everett's CD player, so I grabbed the CD off the top of the stack and hit "play." Ella Fitzgerald and Count Basie. Big band at its finest. Not only could I sing along (no one was on the entire floor to hear, thank heavens for small mercies), but when you listen to that sort of music, everything you do winds up having a bit of a flourish to it. Bit of zing, bit of zap. Ta da! Somewhere, I'm sure I'm on CCTV, and there is a security guard watching me, and just cracking up all day long. Rarely has entering data into an Excel spreadsheet caused such zing.
Much to do, must sleep and prepare for the weekend.
Love,
Anne
Ah, the runaround. I'm on it. I'm doing it. It is fun though. It started Wednesday. Leave work, go to meeting, go to church for Ash Wednesday (40 minutes late! Eep!), go to dinner, go to BED! Had to go to bed, as Thursday it was doctor's appointment at 8, court date at 9, work by 10, out of work, dinner with Liz, go to bed again. Because Friday it was morning phone meetings, go to work, leave, meet Matt, then go meet Tim, then go meet Suffolk classmates for reunion drinks, then another meeting. Eek!
It isn't going to end as far as I can see. Even this weekend, I have a TONNE of work to do, somewhere sandwiched in around a breakfast meeting tomorrow, lunch meeting, dinner meeting and then babysitting. Sunday's not much better. And I have REALLY got to get this place whipped into babyworthy shape for Elenarda arriving on Thursday. Ummmmmmmmm.......that is going to take rather a lot of effort.
I'm looking forward to her visit, but between paid work, work that doesn't involve being paid, and all kinds of other things, I'm starting to wonder when I'll actually see the poor girl! Things are getting swamped.
The temp job at the moment is quite wonderful. I am cataloging the score collection for the Harvard University Jazz Band. Yes, these people are band geeks. I keep waiting for someone to say "one night? At band camp?" but I have to say that they are exceptionally nice people, and in terms of the staff I'm working with, exceptionally bright and fascinating people. I seem to be on a crash course to learn about jazz, and it is working. I work at the computer of whomever is outside the office at the time, and today that was Professor Everett. The work itself is not so terribly fascinating, just your basic compiling of information, but never mind, the atmosphere is relaxed. In fact, maybe a little too much so. I had been encouraged to use Prof. Everett's CD player, so I grabbed the CD off the top of the stack and hit "play." Ella Fitzgerald and Count Basie. Big band at its finest. Not only could I sing along (no one was on the entire floor to hear, thank heavens for small mercies), but when you listen to that sort of music, everything you do winds up having a bit of a flourish to it. Bit of zing, bit of zap. Ta da! Somewhere, I'm sure I'm on CCTV, and there is a security guard watching me, and just cracking up all day long. Rarely has entering data into an Excel spreadsheet caused such zing.
Much to do, must sleep and prepare for the weekend.
Love,
Anne
Wednesday, March 05, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Panics, But Just a Little
Sometimes I do worry about my mental state. I have been forgetful of late, but just a little. Still, I need to write things down a bit better. My friend Elenarda is coming to visit next week. (You can read about someone else's opinion of me back in college here. Just check the Feb 28 entry.) I'm looking forward to it. That's certainly not the problem. The problem is that I thought she was coming the week *after* that and there is lot of cleaning that needs to be done in the meantime. A whole lotta cleaning. And some shelfs need to be installed. And some other things need to be done too. Like, oh, more laundry.
Never mind. I have plans this weekend. I get to babysit. I realize that to most people this is not some sort of an honour, but I love it. So long as it is the right child. And this weekend is definitely the right child. Catherine, who is almost three, is one of my absolute favorite children in the entire world. Smart as a whip, very curious, very energetic, and since she has been raised well, she is very polite to boot. Ok, so she needs reminding every so often, since she is only almost three, but still. I adore her. She's terribly fun. She now has a five month old sister named Clara. I'm babysitting Clara as well, but I haven't met her yet. I'm sure she'll be fine.
This is part of the whole happiness deal. Since I'm all happy again (oh, the joys of modern pharmaceuticals), I feel that everyone else should be happy. What would make Catherine's mother happy is a night out with her husband. What would make Catherine's dad happy is a night out with his wife. And what would make me happy is to babysit the kids. So all in all, everyone's a winner. The kids really are that wonderful. I'm good friends with the mother, who is a wonderful woman, but I really do think that many of the times I call her, it is so that I can ask her if she wants to drop off Catherine so that she and I can play. She's that charming. And bright. I've seen her come over to my bookshelf, pick out Calvin and Hobbes, and bring it over for me to read to her. She thought it was a children's book because of the colours and pictures on the front. Of course we didn't read that, we opted for Curious George, but still I was impressed for a girl at (then) two and a half.
I'm also having drinks with some friends on Friday. I haven't seen them since before I left for China, so I'm very glad about that as well.
During the days this weekend, well, that's more work. Particularly in light of the forthcoming arrival.
And of course, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. For reasons I've never quite figured out, Ash Wednesday is one of my favorite religous holidays. I think it is all the contemplation of mortality, which seems a little odd to me given my complete inability to deal with death.
I think everyone needs this sort of break. Lola was over here this evening for pizza and fun, and she was so exhausted I kicked her out early, poor thing. It's only Tuesday!
Love,
Anne
Sometimes I do worry about my mental state. I have been forgetful of late, but just a little. Still, I need to write things down a bit better. My friend Elenarda is coming to visit next week. (You can read about someone else's opinion of me back in college here. Just check the Feb 28 entry.) I'm looking forward to it. That's certainly not the problem. The problem is that I thought she was coming the week *after* that and there is lot of cleaning that needs to be done in the meantime. A whole lotta cleaning. And some shelfs need to be installed. And some other things need to be done too. Like, oh, more laundry.
Never mind. I have plans this weekend. I get to babysit. I realize that to most people this is not some sort of an honour, but I love it. So long as it is the right child. And this weekend is definitely the right child. Catherine, who is almost three, is one of my absolute favorite children in the entire world. Smart as a whip, very curious, very energetic, and since she has been raised well, she is very polite to boot. Ok, so she needs reminding every so often, since she is only almost three, but still. I adore her. She's terribly fun. She now has a five month old sister named Clara. I'm babysitting Clara as well, but I haven't met her yet. I'm sure she'll be fine.
This is part of the whole happiness deal. Since I'm all happy again (oh, the joys of modern pharmaceuticals), I feel that everyone else should be happy. What would make Catherine's mother happy is a night out with her husband. What would make Catherine's dad happy is a night out with his wife. And what would make me happy is to babysit the kids. So all in all, everyone's a winner. The kids really are that wonderful. I'm good friends with the mother, who is a wonderful woman, but I really do think that many of the times I call her, it is so that I can ask her if she wants to drop off Catherine so that she and I can play. She's that charming. And bright. I've seen her come over to my bookshelf, pick out Calvin and Hobbes, and bring it over for me to read to her. She thought it was a children's book because of the colours and pictures on the front. Of course we didn't read that, we opted for Curious George, but still I was impressed for a girl at (then) two and a half.
I'm also having drinks with some friends on Friday. I haven't seen them since before I left for China, so I'm very glad about that as well.
During the days this weekend, well, that's more work. Particularly in light of the forthcoming arrival.
And of course, tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. For reasons I've never quite figured out, Ash Wednesday is one of my favorite religous holidays. I think it is all the contemplation of mortality, which seems a little odd to me given my complete inability to deal with death.
I think everyone needs this sort of break. Lola was over here this evening for pizza and fun, and she was so exhausted I kicked her out early, poor thing. It's only Tuesday!
Love,
Anne
Monday, March 03, 2003
In Which Our Heroine Achieves Domesticity
Well, after a long week of selling T passes at Harvard (a job which is suprisingly more interesting than it sounds, if for no other reason than my perkiness quotient just goes up all day - it is an interesting phenomenon to me. This is not even considering the fact that somehow I have managed to start to make friends with some of the people I have sold T passes to - two of them are e-mailing me about careers in patent law and one, God love him, is hooking me into the anti-war effort. This is what happens when you comment on someone's "No War in Iraq" button.), I acheived domesticity all weekend. I was supposed to have pancakes with Lolo on Saturday morning, but she was too tired from a hot date on Saturday night, so I headed off to my first meeting of the parents.
Why am I meeting with parents? Because I am the new novice boys and girls rowing coach for Cambridge Rindge and Latin School. Practice starts March 17, we race a month after that. It is my job a) to teach them to row (they haven't before), b) make it fun, c) keep it safe (I'm a *bear* about safety), and d) who knows maybe we'll even win something. I must say though that winning isn't my priority. I suspect it is for some of the parents, but it is much more important to me to instill love of the sport and the safety aspects in them. Winning is about how well you row on the day comapred to everyone else. If the competition is weak, you can be bad and still win, and if the competition is strong you can turn in the row of your life and still lose by a country mile. So I met the kids. My initial impression of them is .... terrified. They didn't even get to meet me until they'd had an hour meeting with parents in tow of being told "don't get detention, don't do drugs, don't miss practice, don't do this, don't do that, if your grades aren't high enough" and so on. They've never done it before, they don't really know yet what it involves, and two weeks before they even get to touch a boat they get put into the whole "this is everything that can go wrong" deal of it all. The parents had loads of questions, the kids were pretty quiet (there weren't that many, I will meet more next week) and I now have a survival suit. It is windproof, waterproof, quite warm (I think there's neoprene or something similar in it) and basically looks like a big snowsuit. I am quite certain I owned something similar when I was two. Certainly the minute I put it on and zipped it up I immediately had to disrobe due to a sudden urge to pee. It is also bright yellow. You could certainly find me in a snowstorm with it. Or bobbing up and down in the middle of the river. It will be great for coaching. Rowing at least you work out, you exercise, you stay warm as long as you're working. Coaching you're stock still, the wind is nipping at you from being in the motorboat, and often it is raining to boot. Rowing in the rain, I like. Coaching in the cold rain, not so much. Of course, even with rowing in the rain, its all about the right gear. Coolmax is the biz. And with coaching is also the gear. Thus, the survival suit. Though I have to say sexy it is not. Somewhere between fisherman and astronaut. My friend Elenarda is arriving the 19th of March. The woman hasn't seen me in years. This will no doubt be quite a vision for her. She will no doubt turn around and run fleeing back to England, baby in her arms.
The survival suit, I have to say though left me feeling a little less than feminine. So I came home and drew a bath and threw in the old Lush bath bomb, complete with salts and rose petals. Chickiness reigned supreme, so I was able to shove myself into a pair of trou (they're getting snugger every minute and workouts cannot start any too soon for me) and head off to Waltham for dinner with some friends. Even this had an air of domesticity to it - Mike had very socially set up an even number of lads and lasses for an Indian meal out. With one married couple and a mix of people who knew each other and who didn't, it had that air of a very grown up dinner party. Good fun, good people, good food, and somehow I felt a bit immature with it all. Aren't grown ups supposed to do this sort of thing, not me? Ok, so there was also a bit of envy - I want to have real furniture I picked out myself! Mike's taste seems to be pretty decent.
That's ok, as this morning I accelerated full on into happy families. Jim came over and picked me up for brunch. In typical fashion, we didn't actually *eat* our french toast et al until three in the afternoon, but still. I made the mistake of telling his son to go wash up for lunch and was promptly corrected by son that we were having breakfast. Lunch to Will means that Sunday is almost over and its time to start thinking about school in the morning, so breakfast to him is a key component of the denial that it is Sunday. After that it was what Sundays I think are supposed to be. A bit of lounging around, catching up, not really talking about anythng in particular, and soon enough it was time for dinner (which is what happens when you don't eat breakfast until three), with which I was actually helpful as I had trimmed my rosemary bush before I went over and was armed to the teeth. Next thing you know, it is roast chicken dinner with spinach, avacado and pistachio salad. Mmmmmm. And then the three of us sat and watched "Jimmy Neutron: the Movie." It was all terribly happy families. But again, I'm way too young for all this. I'm too young to be married, too young to have a child (much less a 12 year old one) too young for dinner parties and parent/coach meetings. I am only 32 after all.
Tomorrow, internship. Contract clauses galore.
Love,
Anne
Well, after a long week of selling T passes at Harvard (a job which is suprisingly more interesting than it sounds, if for no other reason than my perkiness quotient just goes up all day - it is an interesting phenomenon to me. This is not even considering the fact that somehow I have managed to start to make friends with some of the people I have sold T passes to - two of them are e-mailing me about careers in patent law and one, God love him, is hooking me into the anti-war effort. This is what happens when you comment on someone's "No War in Iraq" button.), I acheived domesticity all weekend. I was supposed to have pancakes with Lolo on Saturday morning, but she was too tired from a hot date on Saturday night, so I headed off to my first meeting of the parents.
Why am I meeting with parents? Because I am the new novice boys and girls rowing coach for Cambridge Rindge and Latin School. Practice starts March 17, we race a month after that. It is my job a) to teach them to row (they haven't before), b) make it fun, c) keep it safe (I'm a *bear* about safety), and d) who knows maybe we'll even win something. I must say though that winning isn't my priority. I suspect it is for some of the parents, but it is much more important to me to instill love of the sport and the safety aspects in them. Winning is about how well you row on the day comapred to everyone else. If the competition is weak, you can be bad and still win, and if the competition is strong you can turn in the row of your life and still lose by a country mile. So I met the kids. My initial impression of them is .... terrified. They didn't even get to meet me until they'd had an hour meeting with parents in tow of being told "don't get detention, don't do drugs, don't miss practice, don't do this, don't do that, if your grades aren't high enough" and so on. They've never done it before, they don't really know yet what it involves, and two weeks before they even get to touch a boat they get put into the whole "this is everything that can go wrong" deal of it all. The parents had loads of questions, the kids were pretty quiet (there weren't that many, I will meet more next week) and I now have a survival suit. It is windproof, waterproof, quite warm (I think there's neoprene or something similar in it) and basically looks like a big snowsuit. I am quite certain I owned something similar when I was two. Certainly the minute I put it on and zipped it up I immediately had to disrobe due to a sudden urge to pee. It is also bright yellow. You could certainly find me in a snowstorm with it. Or bobbing up and down in the middle of the river. It will be great for coaching. Rowing at least you work out, you exercise, you stay warm as long as you're working. Coaching you're stock still, the wind is nipping at you from being in the motorboat, and often it is raining to boot. Rowing in the rain, I like. Coaching in the cold rain, not so much. Of course, even with rowing in the rain, its all about the right gear. Coolmax is the biz. And with coaching is also the gear. Thus, the survival suit. Though I have to say sexy it is not. Somewhere between fisherman and astronaut. My friend Elenarda is arriving the 19th of March. The woman hasn't seen me in years. This will no doubt be quite a vision for her. She will no doubt turn around and run fleeing back to England, baby in her arms.
The survival suit, I have to say though left me feeling a little less than feminine. So I came home and drew a bath and threw in the old Lush bath bomb, complete with salts and rose petals. Chickiness reigned supreme, so I was able to shove myself into a pair of trou (they're getting snugger every minute and workouts cannot start any too soon for me) and head off to Waltham for dinner with some friends. Even this had an air of domesticity to it - Mike had very socially set up an even number of lads and lasses for an Indian meal out. With one married couple and a mix of people who knew each other and who didn't, it had that air of a very grown up dinner party. Good fun, good people, good food, and somehow I felt a bit immature with it all. Aren't grown ups supposed to do this sort of thing, not me? Ok, so there was also a bit of envy - I want to have real furniture I picked out myself! Mike's taste seems to be pretty decent.
That's ok, as this morning I accelerated full on into happy families. Jim came over and picked me up for brunch. In typical fashion, we didn't actually *eat* our french toast et al until three in the afternoon, but still. I made the mistake of telling his son to go wash up for lunch and was promptly corrected by son that we were having breakfast. Lunch to Will means that Sunday is almost over and its time to start thinking about school in the morning, so breakfast to him is a key component of the denial that it is Sunday. After that it was what Sundays I think are supposed to be. A bit of lounging around, catching up, not really talking about anythng in particular, and soon enough it was time for dinner (which is what happens when you don't eat breakfast until three), with which I was actually helpful as I had trimmed my rosemary bush before I went over and was armed to the teeth. Next thing you know, it is roast chicken dinner with spinach, avacado and pistachio salad. Mmmmmm. And then the three of us sat and watched "Jimmy Neutron: the Movie." It was all terribly happy families. But again, I'm way too young for all this. I'm too young to be married, too young to have a child (much less a 12 year old one) too young for dinner parties and parent/coach meetings. I am only 32 after all.
Tomorrow, internship. Contract clauses galore.
Love,
Anne
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