One guy's account of the trials, tribulations, and offbeat characters from one old-fashioned ice cream and candy shop just west of Mt. Tom, in the tiny hamlet of Easthampton, Massachusetts.
With the first use of the word 'snow' by Ashley over at the 22 News desk today, Halloween next week, and the end of Daylight Savings Time not far behind, it seems safe to say 'off-season' has officially returned to Mt. Tom's and me.
The lines are rare from here until early Spring, and the crew schedule is much thinner. Meanwhile, the espresso machine steps it up for those deep dark hot chocolates, hot apple ciders, and Chai lattes. Thankfully, we live in New England where her hearty residents have been known to hold a cone with a down-filled mitten while walking through a blinding snowstorm.
May thru September are a whirlwind for we ice cream purveyor folk, and that's a very good thing. In these latitudes, you definitely gotta make hay when the sun shines from high in the sky. With your support, it's been another banner year. So a wholehearted thanks for coming out all summer. And for telling your friends about us. That's the part that really makes the difference, and I can't thank you enough. We'll keep making the best ice cream we can, and if you keep telling your friends, this little adventure I started now eight years ago will be around for many, many more.
Last time I blogged, I mentioned a few off-season projects I was kicking around for the trusty Diaries. One is the Sundae Experiment - stay tuned. That one, although takes some time, is really fun, and I still plan to continue it now that I've gotten my life back.
The other was to take a stab at a rewrite/reprint of the original Ice Cream Diaries. You may have caught the first episode here a month ago or so. After rereading a few more of those early rants, I've decided not to redo the whole set. Although there are definitely some great nuggets in there and it certainly captured those early days, at least for me, I realize they might be better left where they lie. You're welcome to peruse them at your leisure if you haven't already, and I have every intention of stealing material from them for future projects, but I'm scrapping plans for a rewrite. I wasn't technically a kid back then, but in entrepreneur time I definitely was, and while I've shaken those start-up jitters along with a bit of the thrill of the newness of it all, it's still a great gig, and I wouldn't trade it for eight years of weekends off.
Speaking of writing, next up, Novel-in-a-month, 50,000 words in 30 days, who's with me? If you don't see many blog posts around here next month, it's not for lack of writing anyway. Wish me luck. I have only scattered thoughts and random notes, but I figure I'll just hatch a few characters and see where they take me. Should be fun..
Along with burying myself in this challenging project, my other November goal is go on an internet diet. I can't deny that Facebook, email, Google News, MassLive, and the like have changed the way we live and interact. Sometimes, though, it just feels like too much information. I know that probably sounds a bit hypocritical coming from someone writing in his blog for anyone to see. I just thought it might be refreshing to see if I could live without constantly knowing what all my 'friends' are doing, or about the next war casualty that happened just twelve minutes ago. With all that reclaimed free time and a couple good ideas, 50,000 words should be a piece of cake.
Ice cream cake of course.
And if you're out and about for the upcoming Easthampton ArtWalk, I hope you can pop in and take peak at some of my favorite new and local images. My untitled show starts with the November ArtWalk on the 12th.
This week's Sundae experiment presented me with a new challenge. My 'subjects' were relative strangers to me. As you probably noticed, my first three interviews involved friends, which in itself was cool and interesting, but they were 'safe', for lack of a better word. How would things go with someone I knew only in passing (e.g. getting ice cream every week)? Someone who didn't allow me the head start of already having a pretty good feel for who they were and where they came from. I must admit I was a little more anxious for these next two, but as luck would have it, I picked a couple of great and easygoing folks who made it as easy as chatting with old friends. It was a warmish sunny day, so I decided to take it to the backyard of the shop, overlooking one melting Nashawannuck Pond.
My two Sundae Experiment volunteers, Jassen and Ali, are married, and although there's definitely a similar theme to both of our conversations, I've decided to post just one at a time. I particularly enjoyed the story of how these two ended up together, but you're going to have to wait until Ali's piece for that part...
Up first, Jassen..
What’s the favorite part of your day?
I'd have to say when I get home and start cooking dinner. I like what I'm doing, but I've always wanted to be a chef. My mind goes away when I start chopping vegetables and getting spices prepared, just getting dinner ready. I love the smells that come off the stove or out of the oven.
What do you do for a living?
I work in sheet metal. I write programs that punch out the metal and bend it. Stuff like that.
Is your career a big part of your life? In other words, do you work to live or live to work?
I work to pay for what I live for. I go to work and while I'm there I'm completely dedicated, but the minute I get out, I'm out and it's time for my life. I try not to let the two mix. I don't bring work home. I do have to work overtime sometimes and once in a while I do think about stuff at home, but I try hard not to. Luckily, there’s not a lot I can do at home anyway.
Do you have any kids?
Actually, you’re the fifth one to know, we are now expecting.
Congratulations!
It’s exciting and nerve-wracking a little. We've planned it so it's not like it's 'oh my god'.
I can edit that out if you're not ready to go 'public' with the good news.
No, it's ok. I think most people know already.
You've always struck me as a happy guy, with an easy laugh.
I am. Why worry about things you can't control. Live each day, enjoy it.
Do you think about it much or just live your life?
I don't know if I work at being happy. I just let the little things make me happy. Like driving to work and the sun is coming up, and the sky is bright red. That puts a smile on my face. It’s the little things. I enjoy the little things. At the same time, I try not to sweat the little things. I try to stay pretty upbeat about everything, as long as I'm healthy, my wife is healthy, and my family is around.
Which is more important - money or time?
Time, definitely.
I wouldn't sacrifice time for more money at work. What good is money if you're at work all the time, not doing the things you want to do? I don't know, I try not to live beyond my means, but money definitely isn't happiness.
Here’s a variation of a question I’ve asked a few times now, customized just for you – what advice would you have for your newborn baby as he or she enters the world?
Never eat yellow snow. (laughs)
I don't know. I guess it would be treat others as you want to be treated. I know it's very cliché, but it's also very true. Treat everyone equally. Never hold a prejudice before you get to know them.
Then it's fine to hate them. I’m kidding.
If you really don't get along with someone, you don't have to get along. Just don't be evil for the sake of being evil.
It's simple stuff, but it really does go a long way.
It is. I guess that's just the way I try to live.
Everyone tries get more, and have more, and do more. Just tone it back a little bit. This is fantastic; we’re sitting here by the pond on a sunny Sunday and eating ice cream. This is as complicated as I want to be right now.
Is there a person, place, book, or event that had a significant influence on you?
There's this one summer about five or six years ago, I'd just gotten out of a bad relationship. I went home to see my parents, not related in any way to my break-up, just a visit. I told my Dad a buddy of mine had taken me out fishing in kayaks recently. I told him we should buy kayaks. We'd always gone fishing. Well, we did and when we got the kayaks, we ended up going every Sunday for that entire summer. We’d meet at 8 in the morning, have breakfast, load up the kayaks, and go fishing. I spent every Sunday of that entire summer in this boat, on one of the local ponds. You learn a lot about yourself when you're trying to catch a fish with a little plastic worm. You think about a lot. There’s a ton of time while you wait for that nibble on the end of the line.
The reason I brought up the bad relationship is because that summer it was fresh in my mind - what went wrong, what happened, how did it happen? What do I want out of the next one? I’m always trying to improve. That's just where everything kind of clicked. Just fishing and thinking about life. What do you want out of it? I used to be on the go all the time - in Boston every weekend, go, go, go. Just slowing down that summer is what really changed my perspective on things. Slow it down. This is all your need – a piece of string, a hook, and a worm. And someone to hang out with. That's really all you need.
Relationships can be good like that, even when they end badly. I think it's when you actually grow the most. It’s easy to not think about stuff when things are going well.
That summer was awesome. Talking with my Dad. We had separate kayaks - he'd go one way, I'd go the other, and we’d meet in the middle. ‘How'd you do?’ Then there were other times when we'd just follow each other along the shoreline and just talk about stuff. ‘What do you think about this? What should I do about that?’
I bet if I interviewed your Dad, he would probably tell the same story. Quality time like that with Dad can be rare and precious. Guys don't usually have long conversations with each other.
I agree, even now if I call him up it's a three minute conversation. ‘How are you doing? Good and you? Fine, I’ll talk to you later.’ But we do still go fishing. Our schedules have changed a bit, but when we go it's just like it was that summer. How's married life, the house, the job, etc.? It expands from there. It starts with a simple ice breaker then goes on to many things about life.
Things are clicking right along for you. That's great.
Life is good. That’s not to say I don't have any stress, because everybody does but I try to make the most of it. You never know what's coming next.
You know one thing that's coming next for you, good luck with everything. I'm sure you're going to be a great Dad. And thanks for joining me, it’s been fun.
I agree, this was fun, and thanks for the ice cream.
I don't need a lot of words to introduce this next sundae experiment volunteer. Suffice to say, the project is progressing nicely. During this great conversation about life and change with my good friend Joe, I began to discover that this whole interview process is more about not holding onto the questions so tightly, listening, and just letting the natural flow of the conversation take itself where it wants us to go.
Art imitating life once again.
What’s the best part of your day?
Breakfast. I made breakfast this morning. It's nice to make breakfast for someone who appreciates it.
Is that a different answer now that you’re with someone?
Yes, my time alone taught me an appreciation for the simple pleasures. Now that I’m with someone again, sharing those things is key. Breakfast is something simple; it's how you start your day, and it sets the tone for the day.
Define happiness.
Happiness is a tough call for me as it encompasses so many different things. You can be happy with different parts of your life, but not necessarily be happy overall. Right now, it goes back to simplicity for me. A year ago did a re-evaluation of my life, and I figured out what made me tick, who I was as a person and what I was really looking for out of life. I cut a lot of things out of my life I felt weren't necessary. The things that make me happy are the simplest things. It’s not about money for me, it's about my kids... about seeing them... about seeing smiles on their faces. Bringing a little joy to someone else brings a huge amount of joy to me now. Whereas before, I think I was a very selfish person and really didn't think about other people a lot. I went through a rōnin period. I discovered that happiness is not about money or things. It’s about surrounding yourself with people that care about you and that you, in turn, care about.
I know some things about your past. You lost your father after a long illness. Yet, it doesn’t seem that this triggered such a self-evaluation. Why now?
It was a culmination of many things. I think it was mostly my divorce which became final February of last year. All through the separation I sort of abstractly understood that my life was going to change. At that point, I realized I had a chance to remake my life a little bit, in the way that I wanted it to be. It was a chance to make changes that I'd only given half-hearted attempts before - an opportunity to start over.
Did you have any help with these changes? Books?
I'm a very introspective person, so for me it was more internal than reading any sort of self-help books or anything like that. All along I knew the kinds of things I needed to do, but it wasn't until I was forced to that I did. The dynamic changed. With the kids, it certainly changed. Most people do this when they have the kids. Their outlook changes. They become much more focused on the kids, and for me I don't think that ever happened. I think that was what was wrong with my life. I didn't understand that for me, my kids are a huge part of what I do and my motivation. Now I really think about how my decisions affect them.
At that point, you were no longer living with kids. The empty apartment effect perhaps?
One big point for me is I have a good relationship with my ex-wife. We have issues from time-to-time but for the most part it's very good. We get along better now than we did for years. We both are focused on the kids. Both of us just failed to live up to what was needed in the relationship. She’s become the friend that I think was lost along the way.
It was two years ago, Thanksgiving day. I went over and had dinner with the kids. It felt like a family. It felt good. Then I went home to an enormous house where I was house-sitting at the time. Suddenly, I was surrounded by this other family's happy life. It was really depressing to realize I truly was alone...alone of my own doing... the result of a choice that I had made – my getting divorced. It was a point where I realized I didn't like, in a lot of ways, who I had been. I realized if I was ever going to be happy again, if I were to ever get to a point where I liked who I was, liked the dynamic between me and my kids, me and anybody, I needed to make some major changes in myself.
That’s the upside of when bad things that happen to us, sometimes it forces us to deal with stuff.
I think that's true and you know this from our conversations already. But my ex-wife and I did not have the classic “bad” relationship. We weren’t fighting constantly. The kids weren't aware there was anything wrong. We were just incapable of communicating with one another. I knew my life wasn't right and wasn't going where I wanted it to, and as much as I loved my ex, I wasn't doing her any favors, nor myself and certainly not my kids.
More often, it's easier to do nothing.
I understand the power of entropy in your life. To make a change often requires an enormous amount of effort and a lot of soul searching. Thanksgiving was the cornerstone, and I think the capstone was moving over here to Easthampton and really feeling I had created something new.
That's a great story. Suffice to say, you're happy now. Or happier?
Happier. I have my moments of course. My problem is that professionally I'm not where I want to be. I'm doing a job, I don't have a career.
Sometimes you have to break things down, and work on one aspect of your life at a time.
A part of this worst time in my life, right around when I split with my ex, my personal life was in the toilet. I was miserable all around. It was just so overwhelming for me. I'm not a person who would classify myself as depressed, but I would have to say I was depressed. There were times when I'd come home and just want to sleep. For me, it was definitely a step by step process, getting my life in order one thing at a time. It was my personal life most of the time, although I wanted to get my professional life in order too because that affects where you want to go. I got my personal life in order first. I feel fortunate to have someone in my life now who's important to me, that has similar interests, similar problems as well, both of us struggling to find ways to do what we want to do versus just what you have to do to get by.
As a father, you can answer this question better than my first two interviewees. What advice would you give your kids when you drop them off at college?
I've actually thought about this one, since I read it in the first interview. I've expressed this to my children already. Don't rely too much on planning. Don't feel like the decision you make today is something you will have to live with the rest of your life as far as the kind of things you're looking at in college. I think back to when I went to college myself, and my life is in such a different place than it was at that time. Back then I was reacting to all the things around me, and I didn't know who I was. You're a kid and you're expected make a decision – What's your major going to be? Where are you going with your life? It's absurd to ask someone that at that age, an eighteen year old kid, to make that kind of life decision. Circumstances are going to change, you just never know.
But you may just need to pick a direction. I went to school for engineering, and look where I am now.
For me, what I will always express to my children – do what you love. Look for that thing you want more than anything else. I think for me I always was thinking along the lines of ‘what do I need to do to have enough money to buy a house?’ and all the other transient things you go through in your life. But, the overarching theme in your life... What do you love? What makes you tick? What makes your heart beat a little bit faster? Too many of us get caught up in a career. What's going to pay the bills? What's going to move me up the ladder? What do our parents want? For me, my father never pushed me in any direction. He was physician, and Mom was a nurse. I had no desire to go into medicine. He was an old school doc and did house calls. The medical profession is not that world anymore. I wasn't interested in the direction it had gone. I didn't know what I wanted. I was interested in aviation and wanted to fly. But I didn't want to go into the military. To become a professional pilot as a civilian is nearly impossible. I bounced around for a long time and don't think it was until I moved to Massachusetts that I really got that love of the arts and writing. It had always been there, but I had never thought of it as a viable career choice. But I was fortunate, I landed in the best place in the U.S. for the kinds of things I wanted to do.
Is that still where you're headed?
I've been revisiting projects I had been wanting to do for a long time. For the most part, I had only been thinking about them. Having someone behind me that needles me if I don't do it, that helps a lot. It's one thing to have supportive people around you (‘you can do this, you have the talent... ability’), but I've never had someone consistently behind me saying 'Why aren't you doing that?' Why aren't you working on that project?' At times, it's a slippery slope. You don't want to feel like you're being hectored into anything, but you also want a strong force behind you. I'm not good at self-discipline by any means.
There's always a million reasons not to do something.
Absolutely.
This metamorphosis has made you a better parent.
Very much so. And I think I'm supportive of anything my kids want to do. I give them as much guidance as I can. But I realize they're going to go off and make their own lives. My father was the kind of person that never gave any specific direction or push towards anything as a career. But he was a larger than life figure, and always gave me a sense of approval or disapproval with everything I did – very strongly. Whereas with my kids, while I'll support them, I would never tell them not to do something because it's not practical or not a good way to make a living. We often end up falling into a career we don't like and makes us miserable and then twenty years later find ourselves wondering where we went wrong.
It can be hard for parents to encourage kids to go into a profession like art or music where they know it will likely be a struggle.
Absolutely, but they will have that struggle inside themselves regardless. An artistic type, if they are working in a lab someplace or as an insurance adjustor, will have that feeling that the soul inside of them is just withering. And the struggle that you have as an artist is nothing compared to the struggle you have doing something you don't love.
Thoreau says most of us live 'lives of quiet desperation'. Do you agree?
Certainly. Absolutely. The thing is, I think a lot of people are very good at fooling themselves, at least temporarily, into feeling what they're doing is ok - they've made that choice to sell out, or do what they feel they had to do. It hits people on a cyclical basis where they understand they aren't doing what they should be. When that happens... that realization is a terrible thing.
This realization can spark two reactions – ignore it or fix it.
Yeah, you bolt. I think that's partially what I did to a certain extent. For years, I didn't know what I wanted. I still don't know exactly what I want. But at least I know the parts of my life I want to examine more, and I know that it's impossible to ignore those things. They’re always going to rear its ugly head down the line if you don't take the time to at least put some effort into doing what you want.
Any last thoughts?
For my daughter on her fifth birthday, I made a little container with five things I thought she needed throughout her life. Two of those were a pencil and a pen. The pencil, in order to write down those things that change, and the pen to write down those that are constant. I told her that she will be tempted to use the pen... to hold it in her hand and start to write with it often, but always to use the pencil. She should be open to change and not to think about life in absolutes. You can always make changes in your life.
Did I earn my ice cream or am I going to have to pay for it?
No I think that's a keeper. Thanks for sharing your story.
Just wrapped up the write-up on interview/sundae conversation number 2. Interview skills slightly better. Questions a little more refined. This time my 'subject' actually had the sundae, so I got to see how the timing worked out. Not sure yet if his sundae consumption speed is typical, but he finished in around 15 minutes, nearly perfect amount of time for me to fire a generous number of questions. The project is progressing nicely. Now it's about 'just doing it'. Got a good number of takers, but can always have more, so don't hesitate to drop me a line or mention your interest next time you're in the shop.
So without further delay, let me introduce Peter...
How would you define happiness?
Happiness to me is about having things and people you like around you and having goals with those people and things. These are goals that are attainable, that you believe are attainable, so you can make progress toward them, so that you’re content with what you have but also seeing something growing from that.
What makes you happy?
Having something or being in a situation that isn't happy or is upsetting and figuring out how to turn it into something good. I try to look at it as a whole then break it down, and figure out ways to make it better. It makes me happy when I can help people appreciate how you can turn something into a happy situation even if it's not. It’s easy to be happy on Christmas morning, but it’s the not-so-perfect days that really help determine your level of general happiness.
Describe a person, place, book, or event that had a significant impact on you.
When I was in high school, I skied, but I wasn't very good. I really wanted to be better so I joined the ski team at Berkshire East. I was horrible at first, laughed at even. But I kept working at it and got better and better. It was the perfect time, because I was young and impressionable. I learned that if I worked hard at something I could be successful. It was a huge confidence booster. That experience has been a lesson that has carried forward my whole life.
What would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?
That's what I'm doing right now!
Maybe I would become an astronaut and go to Mars. I’d love to explore somewhere new. There are so many other factors in that beyond what I can do, but I really like the idea of exploring somewhere unexplored. Mars would be good.
How would your life change if you won $5 million in the lottery?
I don’t think much of anything would change. Would I quit my job? I’d probably do something similar than what I'm doing now. The difference would be I’d have more freedom to experiment, since I wouldn't have to worry about it being profitable. Something to do with electronics - learn more about electronics and go from there. It would be fun to invent educational games for kids, on an I-pad maybe. A game that could become part of their classroom - interactive. Kids could play each other. They could do it at Mary's orphanage.
You’re dropping your kid off at college for the first time. What advice would you share?
When I went to college someone told me don't eat the pizza. She told me this because when she went to college she gained a lot of weight, and it was because she and her friends ate pizza all the time. So I never ate pizza in college.
That’s too bad. College is all about eating pizza.
I know, it’s true. I didn’t gain as much weight, but I really did miss pizza.
Why are we here?
For the free sundae.
You just finished it, so why are you still here?
The reason we're here sounds sort of egotistical. It’s to satisfy ourselves. I came about because I wanted to satisfy myself. But then again if I wasn’t here there would be no me to answer that question. Does that make sense?
So what really matters? Places like this matter. I can get ice cream lots of places, but what we need is a place that has good ice cream. It makes you appreciate good things. It’s about finding places and things that can be found everywhere but are just better. And they make you want to be better.
Ok, you can have another free sundae for that last answer.
Let me just start by stating for the record, Mary is a very good friend of mine, and perhaps the happiest person I know. She recently made a career change from corporate fundraiser to first grade schoolteacher, and she couldn't be happier with her new life. That, and the fact that she's the type of friend who would do anything for you, made her the perfect candidate for being the first victim in my Sundae Experiment. It was interesting and a little awkward at times as I fumbled through my questions and honed my interviewing skills on the fly. But Mary was a great sport about everything, pausing after each question I asked to really think about her response. I took it more as a dress rehearsal, and it turned out be extremely helpful to cut my teeth on a friend, so to speak.
I got a good feel for which questions seem to work and which ones don't (ie. blank stare in response). And I learned that, at least in Mary's case, my taking notes was much preferred over recording the conversation. Puts a bit more pressure on me, so I'm hoping I'll get the green light for recording from most of my volunteers. They say after the first few minutes, the interviewee forgets all about the recording so we'll see.
Confirming to her that I wouldn't publish anything before she got a look at it and gave the a.o.k. also helped ease any anxiety she may have felt.
I quickly discovered that I may have to ask more than 5 questions. My finished piece will include 5 answers, but the conversation will probably take a few more than that. Glad I have a few pages to choose from already. I'm still toying with the idea of providing the questions in advance. Which I suppose to a certain extent I will be doing by sharing her interview and others along the way..
One thing I didn't get to check was how long I would have to conduct each experiment. Having bought a pint of the maple bacon and shared it with friends earlier that day, she was 'ice cream'ed out' by the time our Sundae appointment came around. So instead she enjoyed an Earl Grey tea and took a 'scoop coupon' for her free sundae. I'm certain the conversation took longer than what will be 'usual', since, as I mentioned, ours was as much about me figuring out the interview process as her actually being interviewed. All that being said, it was fun, and I think it went pretty well.
Now on to the next challenge, transforming my notes into a readable entry. Here goes...
Describe a person, place, book, or event that has had a big influence on your life.
Locust Street in Kansas City. That is where my grandparents lived and where I spent my summers growing up. The days were fun and carefree, spent with family that deeply cared about me. We shared meals, bike rides, trips to the library, long talks on the front porch eating popcorn and watermelon. The pace of life was comfortable and relaxed. Those were truly special times.
If you were to do your own 'rocking chair test' today, what do you see?
I'm most proud of my relationship with my grandfather. We were very close. I am so grateful that I had the chance to know him so well. In the last few years, I had the opportunity to care for him when he was sick and be by his side when he was in the hospital. He had a tremendous amount of gratitude for life and enjoyed simplicity. I feel like the person I am today has a lot to do with the time I spent with him. I suppose my only regret is I wish I could have spent more time with him. I think of what would have happened if I had moved to Locust Street after college. Then again, if I had done that, perhaps I’d still be living in Missouri. And I am very happy and grateful for where I am now.
If you were about to drop your kid off at college for the first time, what advice would you give him/her?
Remember to balance your day. Study and do well, but also try to take advantage of the tremendous amount of resources a university has to offer. The most frustrating thing about college is not having enough hours in the day to take all the courses that interest you, join all the clubs you want, participate in all the activities…the important thing is to learn about yourself so that you can allocate you time the way you truly want to.
What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?
Dress like a princess and fly to the moon.
I'd also like make a significant contribution to the lives of children in need. I want to give them strength and stability and a nurturing environment. Perhaps find a way to improve the foster care system so that children that are in risky or difficult situations can have more support and stability in their lives. Maybe start a school where they can live and learn.
What's your secret to happiness?
Gratitude.
I'm grateful for all the love I have in my life. I have a great family and a person who cares deeply for me. I have a classroom of students that appreciate what I have to teach them. I live in a nice place with a strong and tight community. To love something or someone is to have a deep appreciation for them. I find that you can apply gratitude to nearly any situation and instantly it becomes better. Gratitude is the secret to happiness. My grandfather taught me that.
So there you have it. I hope and expect to get better at this with practice, but a good start I think. Here's to good starts.
Offer up a free sundae with all the trimmings to anyone willing to sit with me and answer 5 questions. On the record.
The conversation shouldn't take more than the time it takes to enjoy that sundae.
And it will happen on a Sunday. Only on a Sunday.
Ok, that last rule isn't etched in stone. I just liked the symmetry.
My hope is you/they will let me take a quick photograph of our Sunday sundae conversation.
I'm sure you're already wondering... So what are the questions? And what exactly does 'on the record' mean?
I'm still making final cuts to the list of questions I've scratched into my trusty travel journal over the course of last month's break, or 'January of Jim' as I like to call it, but I can give you a rough idea. Perhaps you've read my little 'life as I see it' picture book.. you know the ice cream tattered one that sits on the soda fountain counter here at Mt. Tom's. In case you haven't seen it, click here - Hand-me-downs: Some Slightly used Tips on Life for my Little Brother. In a nutshell, consider this your chance to share with the world (ok, maybe not the whole world but our little world) a few of your own thoughts on life, liberty, and the pursuit of being happy.
My plan is to transcribe our sundae chat, savor it for a little while, then edit it up into a short essay. When I've got a decent sized stack of sundae chats, I hope to assemble them into a book entitled, wait for it, The Sundae Experiment. I have a bunch of other names in my journal too, but SE is my favorite right now.
I think it'll be fun. A great chance to learn. To write. To share. As you know from the silence around this blog during a good part of the summer, now is prime writing time for me. My best chance to get some momentum before the high season returns. I'm definitely hoping to share a few conversations here along the way. And don't worry, there's no pressure. You'll be the first critic of the finished product, long before it hits the Ice Cream Diaries or the aforementioned book. And if it's not to your liking, we scrap it and forget it ever happened. Worst case, you got a free sundae out of the deal.
If you're a regular Ice Cream Diaries reader, you may remember me talking about a little writing project I completed this time last year. If not, here it is. It's affectionately called 'Novel in a Month' and is part of National Novel Writing Month, upon which November has been so dubbed. The website describes it best:
National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing on November 1. The goal is to write a 50,000 word, (approximately 175 page) novel by 11:59:59, November 30.
Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved. Because of the limited writing window, the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.
Thanks to recruiting efforts by a couple of regular customers, Kat and her mom Noreen, who themselves had already signed up to write their own first novels in a month, I threw my hat, er pen, into the ring. Starting on November 1 of 2009, I started to write. And write. And write. I wrote in the back of the shop whenever I had someone scooping out front. Instead of sharing my morning coffee with email and Facebook, I wrote. I learned to write dialog. I even took a writing retreat to a friend's condo on the coast in Old Orchard Beach, Maine.
I lived the life of a starving writer for a month. It was (using the first word that pops into my head), awesome.
I followed the website's instructions to the letter. I wrote as fast as I could, not even stopping to reread the paragraph I'd just finished. A little over a week into it, I was nearly halfway to 50,000 words. I was on fire. When I started, I had a rough idea of a storyline, but I had no clue what and who would show up between word one and 'the end'. I've often likened it to reading a book, but instead of turning the page to see what happens next, I let my fingers type it onto my computer screen. I wouldn't go so far as to say I was channeling my novel, but I often got that feeling. A writer's high like none I'd ever experienced.
And since competition is often needed to play at one's best, my co-conspirators and I pushed each other along. The NanoWriting website people sent inspiring emails. We uploaded our word counts daily and savored each little milestone along our way to 50K. It was challenging, exhausting at times, and hugely satisfying when we each got to the finish line of our own word marathons. The three of us celebrated over a great IPA and beef tips at the Apollo Grill.
The next day I sent my really, really rough manuscript to Paradise Copies for its first printing. All 63,214 words of it. Holding those 185 pages in my hands when I picked it up was another writing high, again awesome.
Having immersed myself in my tangled story of love, intrigue, and life lessons for the better part of thirty days, I quickly put the one inch stack of words down and didn't go near them for nearly a month. When I finally did give it a first read, although there were flashes of brilliance, or at least ok-ness, it really was pretty crappy.
Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.
But just like the amateur marathon runner whose only accolade for finishing is personal satisfaction, I had now written a novel, and no one could ever take that away from me.
So in February of this year, I started what turned out to be the much more difficult part of the process - rewriting. My friend Kat and I quickly set up another challenge. We were to exchange rough drafts at the end of April. I did my best to attack this phase with the same diligence and discipline as last November, but it didn't take long to realize I really did write a lot of crap. Character names changed and interchanged throughout. I overused words. Tenses flipped from present to past at the drop of an open quote. Instead of writing at 3000 words a day, it was tough to get through a few pages, even with the caffeine inspiration of my morning cup of Indigo Roasters.
Around mid-April, I finally finished the first rough pass, printed it, and swapped it with Kat. She returned that copy a few weeks later, and although I know she's an art teacher by profession, I learned she's pretty good with a red pen too. Despite all the corrective encouragement, it took me a few more months to muster the motivation to take another whack at a rewrite. This whack coming not without another competitive challenge from my friends. We had decided to claim this November as our own 'rewrite in a month' (or so) project.
Again, rewriting is brutal business. It's one thing to rewrite a 1500 word blog essay, but working through 65,000 words is a much bigger fish to fry. But we each stayed the course. And now here I sit, version 2.0 on my screen, just about to hit the send button on the email its attached to, bound for Paradise Copies. As I tell this tale, I savor a fresh wave of satisfaction for sticking with it through another tough write-around.
So what happens next? Good question. Is it a marketable manuscript? Probably not. At least not in its current form. Too personal. An intriguing storyline I believe, but the main characters bear just a little too much of a resemblance to their creator and his circle.
Could it be marketable?
Hmm.
The confident optimist in me says perhaps.
You're likely thinking, wow, that's a lot of time and effort spent on something that ends up on a shelf for no one to read but its author, perhaps from his rocking chair many years from now. Might one consider my novel a failure? A waste of hundreds of hours of time?
I don't see it that way...
I got a taste, albeit just an appetizer, of the life of a writer. To reiterate - awesome.
I got to exorcise a few demons with the assistance of a handful of characters, some plot, and lots of dialog. Who would have thought writing could be so cathartic.
I'm certain the practice (and critique from friends) has made me a better writer.
I put my mind to something difficult and saw it through.
And I now have a 55,204 word description of 'My Greatest Life Lesson'.
True to many of life's endeavors, its purpose was not be revealed until I was fully immersed. The joy really is in the journey.
What did I do with my day off this week? Power washed the green off the shady side of my house, made lunch, then mowed and raked my lawn.
Pretty exciting, eh?
Sounds like a Facebook status update.
Call me crazy, but I actually enjoyed it. There's something about facing something that needs fixing, cleaning, or straightening, investing some physical effort, and when it's all done, having something to show for it. For me, it was a shiny white back side of my house and a clean yard.
If you're a homeowner, I wouldn't be at all surprised if you too spent a chunk of this past weekend raking leaves into piles and wheel-barreling them to the woods or the compost pile. Hopefully, when you were done, you took a few minutes to jump in the biggest pile.
There are many ways to purge your yard of leaves. Of course, the classic is with a good old-fashioned rake and a fistful of leaf bags from the local hardware store. Another fine approach is with your lawn mower and its handy bag attachment. A third method is with the relatively new contraption called a leaf blower, noisy sister to the jet ski. The leaf blower never seemed quite accurate enough for my leaf-gathering efforts. Looks to me like you're just herding leaves into a general area of your yard, where I would imagine you ultimately still have to reach for the trusty rake and bag the leaves anyway.
I suppose I should include another option - hiring someone to do the job for you, thereby delegating the decision of which method to use. For the time-crunched, probably not a bad option, although I have a feeling that cold one afterward just isn't quite as satisfying. And of course, that's going to cost you a few dollars, the same ones might better spent on a sundae at your favorite scoop shop or flowers for the little lady.
So, I'd venture a theory that, in most cases, it's the good, old-fashioned rake and a couple hours in the crisp Autumn air. I'm sure most people would rather prefer to catch an afternoon nap in the backyard hammock or watch a football game than rake leaves, and I certainly had more than a few thoughts of other things I could be doing when I was out there, but I'd still argue it's not the worst chore in the homeowner's handbook. It's not that strenuous. You're outside in the fresh air. There's little thinking involved, so your mind is free to wander where it chooses. The constant shooshing sound of the rake against the leaves and the ground lulling you into a calm delta state, not unlike the sound of crashing waves or rain against the roof.
Ok, so maybe this doesn't happen to everyone, but for me it was a nice change from the constant grind of eight freezer compressors in the shop.
If it's a big yard with lots of trees, raking it can seem daunting. Like your driveway after an all-night nor'easter. But I'd argue those are the yards/driveways that are the greatest source of home care satisfaction. Just think, you probably pay a monthly fee to a place with 'fitness' in the name just to burn same amount of calories. You should be grateful for such prolific trees and the widest driveway on your street.
Perhaps grateful isn't a word that's come to mind the morning after a big snowstorm.
You probably think I'm nuts for admitting I enjoy raking, and we can certainly still be friends if you don't share my enthusiasm for yard work. Maybe I just had a little too much free thinking time while I raked, or that I just yearned to do something beside make ice cream, I'm not sure. But as I sat in my little plastic deck chair, celebratory beverage in hand, as I admired my newly groomed yard, I felt pretty satisfied. Good old-fashioned hard work, an afternoon outside, some quality thinking time, and a couple chores off my to-do list. Not too bad.
Life really is simple. We just choose to make it complicated.
ICD Disclaimer: Like my sorbet or soy gelato, this post is completely dairy-free. Sometimes, I like to use this blog as my own little creative writing outlet. It seems this is one of those times. Read on if you’d like or feel free to go back to what you were doing and come on back soon. I’m sure I’ll be ranting about something ice creamish soon, most likely a wacky new bacon flavor, a bit of Easthampton trivia, or what I did with my Tuesday morning.
Thanks for sticking around. I call this one my ‘Ode to the Dandelion’.
Last fall, I got a great housewarming gift from one of those cool regulars who, when they come to the shop for ice cream or their weekly allotment of Indigo coffee beans, it feels more like a friend popping by for a hello than a ‘how may I help you today?’ Whenever one of her family or friends buys a new house, she buys them 150 daffodil bulbs as a housewarming gift. It’s just what she does. Last year, when she got wind I had bought a house, she instantly informed me I should soon expect my doorstep to be darkened by a large box of bulbs from The Netherlands or Holland, Michigan. True to her word, the bulbs arrived last fall, just before the ‘pre-first frost planting window’ closed. I went right out and bought myself one of those fancy bulb hole digger contraptions and proceeded to spend a good long morning planting these hundred and a half bulbs, along with a few others (tulips, hyacinths, etc.) I’d purchased myself, all around my new yard. I held no high expectations that anything would actually happen come Spring. I was simply covered with dirt and chock full of hope.
Wouldn’t you know, thanks to my friend Rema’s generous gift and those few hours of bulb burying last fall, my yard right now has been transformed into a mini Keunkhof wonder garden. I went for a run a few mornings ago, and as I was cooling down with a walk around my little estate in the (East)Hamptons, I admired the impressive explosion of color and feast for bees that I, and the previous owners, had fostered. ‘Almost looks like I know what I’m doing,’ I mumbled to myself as I wholeheartedly albeit figuratively patted myself on the back and took a little time to sniff the flowers.
And then I stepped on a dandelion.
‘So what’, you say, it’s just a weed after all. A prop for kids to sing a silly song then pop the yellow flower off its stem with their little thumb. The typical reaction of a lawn owner to the sight of a dandelion, or two hundred, is most definitely not the same one my 150 daffodils have been getting from the neighbors these past few weeks, that’s for sure. I believe it’s something more like, ‘Oh crap, time to go pick weeds out of the lawn again.’
Which of course got me thinking… why is a tulip beautiful to us yet a similarly flowering annual, or is it perennial, gets its head popped off or finds its untimely end amongst a crop dusting of poison whenever it finds itself in the middle of someone’s precious green lawn?
And why am I stepping on a dandelion whilst at the same time gazing lustfully at a bed of purple hyacinths?
My wonderings got me to the usual destination of such mental unknowing, Google, and from there, Winkipedia. Perhaps the dandelion was responsible for some heinous and unspeakable crime back in its earlier days. Maybe it was to be the Dandelionflower that was originally slated to shuttle over our forefathers four score and seven plus a hundred years ago. That is until the sordid past of the dandelion was revealed, to the shock and horror of villagers across England, resulting in the bow of one ship full of rebel pilgrims scraped clean and redubbed Mayflower, just in the nick of time as it readied itself for that historic transatlantic cruise.
But I digress. Winkipedia covers all the usual aspects – origins, properties, uses. Midway through there’s a line, ‘Dandelions are fondly thought of throughout the world.’ And why not, they ‘contain abundant amounts of vitamins and minerals, especially Vitamins A, C and K, and are good sources of calcium’. Winky goes on to tell me dandelions are part of traditional Mediterranean, Asian, and Korean cooking and even have medicinal uses in many areas of the world. This versatile yellow flower is used to make wine, fancy teas, and even coffee. Hardly sounds like the resume of a weed to me. Perhaps it might help if we referred to them by their formal name - Taraxacum?
If I were a dandelion, I’d be feeling pretty good about myself right now actually, but since I’m not, my mind returns to my original pondering - why do tulips end up lounging in fancy glass vases in the center of long mahogany dining tables while the dandy ones compost in the composter?
In other words, who got to decide which flower is beautiful and which one is not?
After all, isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?
Can we start a petition or a Facebook fan page declaring dandilions the ‘in’ flower? How cool would it be if you were to wake up one Spring morning to a sea of dandilions in your front lawn and be able to say, ‘Wow, that’s so beautiful! I’m never mowing again. Where’s my camera?’
Ah, but if only my brain could stop there.
My next thought was, ‘Who decided that suntans make a person more beautiful?’ Tanning booth anyone? And ‘What makes teenage girls so mean to each other when one doesn’t conform exactly to their magazine-influenced image of ‘beautiful’? Then there’s the whole plastic surgery thing. Not sure I need to even turn onto that street right now - suffice to say, it seems like a lot of pain, risk, and expense to pay for a little self-confidence booster. Again I wonder, who got to decide what’s beautiful and what isn’t?
After all, isn’t beauty only skin, er stem, deep anyway?
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate a beautiful form when I see one, whether it be on a big screen, in a magazine, or walking down Cottage Street with her dog.
Of course, none of these vain thoughts stop me from wondering why I find what I find about these people beautiful. Although I suppose the good news is one I find beautiful may not be the same one you do, and viseversa. I'd venture so far to surmise that everyone is beautiful to someone. Shouldn't that be enough?
I can’t say I have the answer to that question, or most others for that matter, but the thought is enough for me to lift my foot off a small gathering of dandilions under my sneaker, lean over, and snap a picture.
The order came in weeks ago, twelve chocolate-dipped strawberries for pickup at noon this past sunday. It sat for weeks, in the form of a small yellow carbon-copied slip, taped on the 'cake order wall' in front of the ice cream cake decorating table. Ice cream cake orders came and went, while this small order of strawberries stayed put, quietly watching over the daily goings-on on the cake operating table below. The person who ordered them never specifically said what they were for, and it really wasn't much of our business, but sure we were all a little curious. It wasn't Mother's Day or Valentine's Day, just a random sunday in early April. During those weeks it sat in wait, I occasionally glanced over at it, each time feeling a small hint of apprehension that when the time finally came, I'd forget to buy strawberries or to come in early to get them done for noon that day. Chocolate-dipped strawberries are really only good the day you make them, that's what makes them difficult to offer on a regular basis.
Well, I didn't forget to buy her strawberries, and both Mimi and I remembered to come in a little early to get them done this past sunday. The woman who ordered them arrived a little before noon, as we were just putting the finishing touches on her dozen dippped desserts. She didn't seem to mind waiting the few minutes for them to be done, a small price to pay for freshness.
I struggled a little with the price, knowing a buck a piece was probably low, but told Mimi to charge her that price anyway. Sure, I think we could have made a little more, but as my Dad always preached to me when I was starting, 'charge what you need to charge, don't get greedy.'
Mimi showed her the nicely arranged dozen in the box. Our customer smiled widely, settled up, and was on her way.
In most cases, that's usually that.
It just so happened that yesterday I took a break from the shop action to go for a little run on the other side of Mt. Tom, around that reservoir off of route 141. If you haven't been there, it really is a beautiful little loop for a walk or jog. Anyway, I had just finished my run and was sitting on the back of my truck. As I recovered my breath and rehydrated, a woman pulled up, got out of her car, and walked toward me and the trailhead. She looked only slightly familiar. I was in my running gear and sported a pair of dark sunglasses, seemingly unrecognizable to anyone, yet the next thing I heard was, 'Those strawberries were delicious!'
It was the chocolate-dipped strawberries woman.
She stopped briefly to say hello before her stroll around the reservoir. She continued, 'My partner and I got married on Sunday in our backyard. It was really, really nice. After the ceremony, we had champagne and your delicious chocolate strawberries. It was perfect. Thanks for making them for us. It was an unforgettable and special moment for us.'
It's stories like that that make it all worthwhile. and then some.
It probably seems a distant memory as you look out your window right now, but was that some weekend or what. Temps well into the 70’s. Bright sunshine. Warm breezes. Doesn’t get much better than that around here. And for it to fall right on St. Paddy’s Day weekend, well, what more could you ask for in March. Here at Mt. Tom’s, we had lines out there door all weekend and shattered all the ‘off-season’ records. It was something, and our forearms are all still recovering. I know it seems odd to hope for rain on your day off, but Monday’s weather the perfect rest for the weary. No pressure to open up shop for another unseasonably warm day. A much needed recovery day for one slightly beat up ice cream guy and crew.
I hope you got outside to enjoy it. If you were like many around here, you probably spent a good part of your weekend in Holyoke at either the St. Paddy’s Day parade, one of the largest in the United States, or at the annual St. Paddy’s Day 10K race. I wasn’t able to get to the parade this year, but I was there for the race on Saturday. I will defer to my friend Patrick Brough, Easthampton’s photo/video man about town, for coverage of that. If you haven’t heard, there’s a group of folks organizing, planning, and fund-raising for a summer celebration to commemorate Easthampton's 225th Anniversary. I’ll have much more on that soon. For now, click here for more info or join their group on Facebook. The group put together an awesome float for the parade, masterminded by local sign extraordinaire Clay Crow.
Image by Patrick Brough.
I’m sure the parade was a blast as always, but I’m here to talk about the race. It was a 10K (6.2 miles for non-metric types). I’d often heard it was a really fun race. Thousands of runners and spectators. Huge party at the end. A few friends had been talking about it for a month or two and were not-so-subtly exerting peer pressure on me to run with them. It was a tempting idea, but 10K just always seemed out of my range. Heck, I’d never run more than 4 miles in my entire life. I’m a casual jogger, although I will get a little more serious a few weeks before one of local 5K’s I do most years. Thanks to fairly decent late winter weather and a bit more free time with the off-season pace, I was able to extend my usual 2 ½ to 3 mile jogs to 3 ½ sometimes 4 miles, although I never actually measured it. With race day weather shaping up to be one of the best ever, I figured it was now or never. Next thing I knew I was nervously picking up my number, t-shirt, and timing chip at the Wherehouse in Holyoke.
I won’t deny my anxiety level was high as I anxiously waited along with 5200 others for the announcement to line up at the starting line. I’d heard all the stories about what a tough course it was – the two mile uphill climb near Holyoke Community College (HCC) then another decent-sized hill just before the finish. ‘6.2 miles’ rattled around in my head. I wasn’t sure how my legs and lungs would feel after I pushed past my usual 3.1 mile finishing point. I’d trained for it, but was just three weeks or so of running, three times a week enough? And what about this crazy weather – was it actually too warm? Should I drink water now or not? When should I start stretching? I commiserated with a couple friends and fellow runners. One said ‘don’t worry, it’ll be fine’ and the other seemed to share my pre-race jitters.
After what seemed like forever, the announcement finally came. ‘First call for runners to line up at the starting line.’ In calm, cool fashion, my friends and I waited for second call before we started our wander over to the now jam-packed starting line. It’s hard to imagine five thousand people standing together on a small stretch of road until you’re actually in the middle of it. A sea of humanity in gym shorts and running shoes, hopping in place and chattering anxiously. I just wanted it to finally start. I was more than ready to convert my nervous energy into forward motion. A helicopter flew overhead. Not the F15 flyover I’d been hoping for, but still kind of cool. ‘Bang!’ and the race was on.
We didn’t actually start moving for a couple minutes, about the time the elite runners were nearly a mile into the course. This was fine, since we all had little chips on our shoes to click on our own individual time clocks when we passed the electronic starting line and finally click off when we crossed the finish – a place that felt about as far away as China at that moment.
The first mile was pretty sweet. Thousands of people lined the street. The cheering was deafening. A slight incline on that first straightaway gave you a view of the incredible mass of runners tightly making their way up the street. It was an amazing site and one that made me happy I pushed through my apprehensions about running it. I was still nervous about the next 5 miles, particularly the HCC hill, but I was running which felt much better than the idle waiting I’d endured for the past couple hours.
I had two goals in my head when I started. To finish and to not walk. I secretly hoped to break one hour, but having never run a full 10K, I had no idea whether that was in my realm of possibility, especially for such a warm day on such a hilly course. Having trained primarily in Easthampton, Ferry Street was the biggest hill I’d seen in the past month. I began the run with a few buddies but quickly lost them in the crowd of runners and noise of the spectators. This was planned. If I had any strategy at all, it was that I was just going to ‘run my own race’. I had hoped to find inspiration and motivation from the crowds and fellow runners, but I was competing with no one but myself. I had nothing to prove to anyone but me. A hilly, warm 10K in front of thousands of people was my challenge, and although I knew pain was coming, like most things in life worth doing, it felt good to step off the sidelines and participate.
‘Showing up is half the battle.’
My self-congratulating stage of the race was soon interrupted by the start of the dreaded two mile uphill climb. I settled into a comfortable pace and tried not to look forward too far at foreboding mountain that lay ahead. The sun beat down on my face as I turned up the music to distract me from the impending pain. The crowd had thinned considerably, but we runners were still pretty tightly packed together. As it would turn out, the field never really spread out much. There were just too many runners. The first uphill mile wasn’t bad. I scanned the crowd for familiar faces and interesting characters. It seemed I was enjoying the ride. Who would have thought. I turned up the music and wondered if I was actually in that runner’s ‘high’ people always talk about.
That first big hill flattened out, just as it was starting to hurt. ‘Hey, this course isn’t so bad,’ I thought to myself. As if it heard me mutter this, it started to incline again. And it wouldn’t stop for a good mile and a half. I dug in as the pain I’d dreaded arrived like an uninvited guest at dinnertime. A number of runners around me became walkers. Others stopped and crowded around the first water station like a lost band of desert wanderers to a watery oasis. I mumbled my first mantra ‘I will not walk. I will not walk.’ I tried to remain in the moment and focus on everything around me and not the thought of the pain of the next mile’s climb or the three miles of pavement that lay beyond that. I thought of Lance Armstrong. ‘Pain is temporary. Quitting is permanent.’ I thought of my friend with cancer and what kind of pain he endured on a daily basis. I thought of what it would feel like to be at the finish line, savoring the accomplishment with a cold beer and good friends. I drank up the metaphor like a tall glass of iced tea. Challenges in life hurt, but they make you stronger. They are what you prepare for. They are also what make you appreciate the good stuff. I exhaled my metaphoric moment and took inspiration from a man cheering from the side of the road. He had a U.S. Army t-shirt on and a pair of fatigue shorts that did nothing to conceal the prosthesis leg that kept him upright. I was in fairly significant pain, but grateful at the same time. The next half hour wouldn’t be much fun, but I would get through it, feel good about it, and perhaps even write about it.
I eventually did make it up that hill, rewarding myself with a little plastic cup of water and a dash through a sprinkler spray at the next water stop. I smiled as I looked ahead, for the first time in about a mile, to see a very happy sight, a welcoming long downhill. I picked up my pace a little, using the decline to make up a little time. I knew there was one more decent sized hill to go, so I was careful not to get too carried away. And the vain side of me wanted to be able to have a little left in the tank for what I expected would be huge crowds and a few familiar faces along the final finish. That downhill mile was almost fun. As the pain subsided from the big climb, I took the opportunity to enjoy the moment, the crowd, the other runners, and the simple fact I had survived the toughest part of the race.
Well, you’re probably tired of being in my head by now, so I’ll try to wrap things up. There was one more hill before the final turn onto the home stretch. It wasn’t nearly as long and steep as the HCC climb, but in some ways, even tougher. There just wasn’t much left in the tank, I had no idea how big the hill was, and I just wanted my running metaphor to be over. But despite my mind and body screaming, ‘just walk, who cares!’ I kept running. The crowd started to get bigger. I dug deep.
Then came the final turn. Like an answer to my prayer, the first thing that came into view was the giant banner hanging across the street, ‘Finish’. The second thing I saw was the huge crowd lining the final stretch. Thousands of cheering fans - clapping, yelling, blowing horns, banging cowbells. It was pure and delightful mayhem. That was all I needed. My body hurt, but a dose of adrenaline kicked in as I turned it on for the final dash to the finish line. I was exhausted and overheated, but my goal was in sight. I looked up at the time clock as I crossed the finish and smiled as my lungs took in as much air as I could supply. I smiled, not because of the time on the clock, but simply because I had done it. The time was irrelevant. Like money or trophies, it’s a way to keep score, but it’s a happiness that’s fleeting. Doing something you’d never done before, something that’s not easy, yah, that felt pretty good.
Image by Patrick Brough.
As did the cold beverage with friends and thousands of strangers at the finish line.
Thanks for staying with me on that, have a great day. So are you in for next year’s race?
The 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics are now officially closed. After a couple weeks of entertaining, inspiring, intriguing, and sometimes heartbreaking sports theater, the torch has been extinguished, and these games have gone out the way they came in - part giant Vegas show, part multi-media commercial for the host country, and part tribute to the hard work and dedication of the world's most elite athletes in the sports of winter. I must admit, these Olympics nearly had it all. Public tragedy. Inspiring perseverance and focus amid personal tragedy. Controversy. Malfunctions, mistakes, and miscues. Heartbreaks. A plethora of American success stories. And although it went to the country where hockey stars are worshipped like baseball players, a USA/Canada final provided the finale organizers have been fantasizing about for years. Being able to watch in HD this time made it all that much more fun to watch, almost as if you were hanging over the edge of the halfpipe as boarders completed fancy tricks overhead. Sure, there were tons of commercials, and we often knew outcomes before we tuned in at primetime, but for these past couple of dark and wintery weeks of February, it’s been a most enjoyable distraction.
Aside from being great sports entertainment, it really is inspiring to watch these athletes compete against each other at such a high level. Sure, they're representing their own country, but when it comes right down to it, each competitor is there to prove to themselves and the world that they are truly the best at what they do. It's downhill skier against downhill skier, boarder against boarder. Each individual has dedicated their life to the pursuit of excellence in their chosen sport. I have no doubt each loves what they do, whether it be skiing, skating, sledding, or even curling. I envy these athletes who are able to muster the time, means, and drive to fine tune their abilities to such a high level. For every 'fun' downhill run, though, I can only imagine the hundreds of hours of grueling weight training, cardio, study, instruction, competition, travel, personal expense, and self-sacrifice, not to mention after all those years of preparation to be able to stay mentally focused enough to perform your absolute best on one specific week, day, run, skate. While the entire world watches. For that, these athletes deserve to all the attention and adoration they receive. These are our modern day gladiators and heroes to be celebrated. When Shawn White went all out on that second run in the half-pipe snowboard competition final, having already won the gold medal, yet still completed the trick the world was dying to see and that only he could do, and by doing so pushing the envelope of what’s possible in his sport, I couldn’t help but be inspired.
When Canada’s Christopher Del Bosco crashed during the snowcross final because he wasn’t satisfied with the idea of just a bronze medal, pushing it a little too hard, I was inspired.
When Canadian figure skater Joannie Rochette completed a nearly flawless performance just two days after the tragic death of her mother, I was inspired.
And when Petra Majdic, the Slovenian nordic athlete, went on to winning a bronze in cross-country skiing, I was inspired. This she accomplished after crashing into a gully during a training run, then climbing out of that gully with two broken poles, four cracked ribs, and collapsed a lung. Under unimaginable pain, she skied three more races, coming away with a bronze medal, which she was received while in a wheelchair.
The list goes on, but that's not really what I came here to talk about. You see, besides watching the Olympics this weekend, I also attended a wedding. It was the wedding for a good friend. A young man I most often refer to as my 'little brother' or 'little' as commonly referred to in the Big Brothers Big Sisters program. If you've ever picked up my little coffee table book called 'Hand-me-downs - Some just slightly used tips on life for my little brother', you may remember I'm a big brother in that program. Rather, I was a big brother a number of years ago. When I met Ted, he was just eight years old. He had a few learning challenges but more than made up for that in street smarts and a general good nature, despite the many challenges he'd already faced in those first eight years. His parents struggled with drugs and various entanglements with the law, and as a result, were deemed unfit. As a result, Ted and his younger three brothers were being raised by their grandparents. The six of them lived sardined into a small three bedroom house in desperate need of repair, most of which took a back burner to more basic needs such as food and clothing for four growing boys. Thankfully, when the boys were taken away from their parents a number of years before that day I first met Ted, their grandparents had jumped in to help. In their own words, ‘We just couldn't see these kids, after all they'd been through already, split up into different foster homes.’
As I sat in the artificially darkened function hall near Ted’s neighborhood, I couldn't help but swell with pride for my now grown-up little brother. He had made it through an adolescence filled with thorns. Playing big brother himself to three younger brothers in desperate need of a strong father figure while himself managing to avoid the many bad things that seem to find vulnerable kids these days, he was still standing. And standing tall, right next to a beautiful young lady about to be his bride. Her name is Juli-Anne, a pretty young woman who recognized the goodness that has arisen from the ashes of an extremely challenging beginning. I'm sure I wasn't the only one in the room who felt like a proud parent as we watched our 'Teddy' and Juli-Anne profess their love to each other.
His life could have easily taken a much different turn. Over the past few years, his parents have continued to struggle, while Ted has watched his family grow by three, helplessly having to watch his own history repeat itself with three new little sisters. Each time, his parents inevitably became again unfit and his grandmother swooped in to save the children and the day. As Ted now leaves grandma’s nest, she continues to find the energy to raise more children, despite now entering her 60's. As I sat next to Ted's newest siblings, a couple of cute twin four year old girls, all I could do was shake my head.
The real moment of that wedding day for me was not when Ted danced the ceremonial slow dance with mom, although that was touching in its own way. I can’t know for sure, but I sensed that hers were tears of regret. Rather, it was when he was dancing with his grandmother. It was her love and strength that provided the sunshine under the dark shadow cast by his mother's weaknesses. Despite having already raised five children of her own, and barely having the means to provide for herself and her husband, she somehow selflessly found a way to provide her six grandkids the privilege of a normal childhood. I can really only speak for my little brother Ted, but for him, she has made all the difference. She'll never get a multi-million dollar glitzy ceremony or a medal draped over her neck, that's just the way it is. Come to think of it, she probably wouldn’t want the attention anyway. And that’s certainly not why she’s dedicated her life to these great kids. She did it out of sheer love. Just love. It didn't matter that they were her kid's kids. She could have retired to her little condo on the Maine coast or fixed up her deteriorating home, but instead she chose all the responsibilities of a parent, not once again, but six times again. She did it, and continues to do it, with an unassuming grace, and despite more than a few challenges with each of the kids along the way, she seems to hold no bitterness toward her own daughter or the world.
I believe we all have our own role to play during our brief time here. Some are destined to be able to do triple flips on a snowboard and be rewarded with adoration and a lifestyle befitting a king, while others live a life of equal dedication yet are rewarded in more meager ways such as a quiet moment before bed, a colorful drawing taped on the refrigerator, or a tearful dance with their grandson at his wedding.
It seems the world has and needs both, but to me, the real hero this weekend was not Shawn White, Lindsey Vonn, Apolo Ohno, or Bode Miller. I wholeheartedly respect and admire their talent and dedication, along with that of the rest of the athletes at these Olympic games, and I thank them for two weeks of inspiration and gamesmanship at its highest level. No, for me the real hero is, without question, my little brother Ted's grandmother, Claire. Congrats on the marriage of your boy Teddy. He truly couldn't have done it without you, and for that, you deserve gold.
And why am I stepping on a dandelion whilst at the same time gazing lustfully at a bed of purple hyacinths? 
