And then the two for ones turned six....

And so here we go again. Another couple birthdays without a party.




I know you're sorta upset. You there. You with your freckle on your left ear lobe.




And you there, too. You with your freckle on the tip of your nose.




And you with your "momma waked up," and "I almost falled out of the boat," and "look dad, I throwed the ball." I can't correct you because you're so cute.




And you with your thumb sucking. I can't correct you either.




And the tooz of you riding bikes with gears and breaks on the handle bars. And snapping your fingers as you wind your way around life.




And, like, actually throwing and catching a ball.




And tying your own sneakers.





And swimming without life jackets.




And drinking beer.





And taking walks in the woods by yourselves.




And contemplating life.




And reading books by the dozen.




And looking people in the eye when you say hi.





Okay, so maybe not the last five things. But you're six now, so it'll all be soon enough. Too soon.


And someday when you guys are sitting in your dorm room discussing how unfair it was that your mom never ever threw you a birthday party, you won't be mad at me, will you? I'm hoping that even though there was never ever a birthday party with friends- no invitations. no pool parties. no bowling parties. no arcade parties. no streamers. no mountains of presents. No. None. No.- you'll realize that maybe it was just as good, if not better, when it was just us. Just. us.

Maybe.

Running Ruminations

I'm jealous of all you
with blue crosses tattooed to your backs.
You, that have hope
draping around your necks on chains
and hymns bleeding from your eyes.
I'm chanting my way
through the swamp,
"please, please, please,"
as if my politeness
is all I'll need.
And yet, I'm trying to cross the road
a blind mole.
So please, just leave me some
tall grass to bed down in.

Pico Pico Pico and a mermaid.

Paul Bunyan wants to buy a 50 foot sail boat some day. He wants to live on it for months at a time. Bath in the ocean. Sleep on deck. Drink rum and hang upside down from the mast. I told him I would go for short trips, but he knows I want to die in the house on the hill in our happy valley. I don't want to die by the hands of dirty pirates jumping aboard to steal our rum.



So, instead, he's training his troops. His deck hands. Auggie came off the water the other day and said that they had flipped over and Paul Bunyan had to right them. He was lying. So, I'm pretty sure he's on board for any excitement that the open waters might bring.


Timmy is game too, but was very glad to be learning on the Pico Pico Pico (sorry, I have this need to say it three times) and not in the open ocean.




And both were pretty excited at the prospect of someday pooping in the ocean and drinking their father's rum.




She, on the other hand, she is training to be a mermaid.




Similar to the rust colored one we discovered on a rock in the middle of Canadian waters.




She's starting to get the mermaid hair down, matted and tangled.

And she, too, is excited at the prospect of pooping in the water.

How 'bout that?

Just sayin'

I don't read too many other blogs out there. I've got my favorites and I check in with them pretty regularly and sometimes I'll venture off on a tangent from their blogrolls. But that generally puts me off into a cyberspace land of the blues, or worse yet...land of the reports. The 'report' blogs are the ones I try to stay away from. The "I woke up this morning and had a cup of coffee, and then I went for a run, and then I read my book, and then I just about died of boredom except someone came and dumped me out of the hammock I was hanging in upside down to make my life seem so much more exciting."



But I feel like sometimes I do that. And then I start to realize that not everyone can post things like this. This is a picture of three Augusts all born in August. Now, that's pretty cool. Not everyone can do that.




And okay so maybe I can't write as well as she can. Because she could probably make this event- my youngest son holding his father's toe nail clippings- into an artistically important life changing event. Just sayin'.





But it's not everyday, if (let's say) I was reporting on yesterday's events, that you come across a cement mermaid on a rock island who was covered in a rust colored algae.




In a lake that has over 1,600 islands.





That has over 1500 miles of shoreline.




That has a maximum depth of 161 feet.





That is 227,600 acres big.






That has fish in it the size of my 8 year old daughter.





That is half Canada and half U.S.A.





That is one of the most spectacular places on earth.





I mean...if I were to try to "report" on yesterday's events, let's just say I would say that all these people jumped off a cliff. Or clifft as Auggie calls it.





Into dark bottomless waters.




Sometimes upside down.




But every time without hesitation.

Would you still read my blog?





Because the report would include something like this, which might be a little too much of that, which you've already read about, which you're probably all sick about, which no one around here can get enough of, which I'm pretty tired of taking pictures of, which I'll stop now reporting about. And maybe tomorrow we'll focus more on bald eagles, or Long Island Iced Teas, or the way the poplar leaves blow in the wind. Something definitely more vastly important than seeing an iron colored mermaid on a rock island in Canada on a very big lake. But you'll have to come back and see.

Unless this "report" has totally bored you to death and then you can move on to a more entertaining and promiscuous blog.

god speed.

6th Sun, Red Moon, Snow of 2010

Last night was Grand Council on Deer Island, the island that houses the boy's camp Paul Bunyan spent 15 summers going to.




Camp Kooch-I-Ching is where Paul Bunyan first started his career with nicotine. No, I kid. Well, not quite. But he also picked up a serious work ethic, the incredible ability to maneuver a canoe down any set of rapids, his love for working with wood, sleeping outdoors, jumping in cold water, eating Dinty More and Mac n' Cheese (together), and his appreciation for all things Native American. The camp is rich with lore. And most activities that the campers participate in lend themselves to the teachings of the Native Americans, including Native American crafts, dancing, and woodsmanship- all of which culminate in a performance on the last evening of camp.



This is the Council Ring. It is swept clean and in the center is the central fire, ready to be lit to begin the ceremony. The white lines represent parts of the Law of the Woods, which you can read a little about here.




When people enter the council ring for the performance they are not allowed to step within the white rocks. If you don't know about this rule, and or fall within the rocks by accident, the footprints you make will be raked out. And you will be "waaahed" by the crowd. Very embarrassing.




We wait patiently until we hear the drum and the dancer's bells ringing in the distance. Their cadence becomes louder as they approach the council ring from behind. Auggie and Timmy, still learning that their voices are louder than they think they are, were practically shouting, "I see them!" "There they are!" "They're coming!" sshhh. ssshh.




The ceremony begins when the herald finishes his song. Wa-ta-ho, ta-ho.

Paul Bunyan was the herald once.




And the central fire is lit.




This is Alex.




He's the best fire starter there is at camp.




He and his mullein stick are one.




And then the dances begin. We witness the Beaver, the Pigeon, the Pipe, the Snake, the Other Buffalo, the Waboos, the Cheyenne Buffalo, the Little Men, Blackfoot Dog, Kachina, etc. etc. Some are painstakingly long and boring. Others are exciting to watch because of the story they tell. Paul Bunyan has danced them all.



This is our little buddy J.R. He's not really little. He's actually one of the directors of the camp and he's quite tall, very skinny and quite tall, but we call him 'Little Buddy' anyway. Paul Bunyan sneaks out a 'Little Buddy', drawing out the buuuddy, when Little Buddy dances by. And then we see a little smile, even though the dancers aren't supposed to respond to the crowd.




This is Little Buddy's daughter- the one standing up. She is trying to figure out why daddy is dressed up so weird.




And then it gets darker and more of the older dancers start to show off their dancing skills. The little kids in the stands grow a little more restless and the night sky has lost its dusk.




And so then we know it's time for the Torch Powow to begin.




The council ring is lit up only by fire at this point.




And only the best dancers are in the ring.




And then the flaming hoop arrives.




And all you can hear is the woosh of the fiery hoop and the beat of the drum, although its lulled too.




And you become mesmerized by the dance, as the boy who holds the hoop steps in and around...




And over...




And through.

And then, in sync with the drum beat, he spins around (maybe twice) and whips the hoop up and over the crowd sitting in the council ring.

Paul Bunyan has done this.

And the herald sings one last lonely song to dismiss the crowd and we are done for the night.

Until one more winter has come and gone.