Real Life Conversations with JT: Wasted Youth edition

The backstory: Driving back to Clovis from the San Francisco airport on Tuesday afternoon tried the patience of a certain young man who was eager to play with his cousins. While stuck in some slowed traffic on Highway 99, the boy had a look around and sighted a truck on the Highway. The back of the truck read "Young's."


JT: Mama, do you see that truck?

Mama: Yes.

JT: Well none of us will be young by the time we finally get to Clovis.

Though the car erupted with laughter, JT still scowled. Getting a good laugh is only so much comfort when a boy is seeking to jump in the pool with his cousins.

Real Life Conversations with the Sassafras Dad

The backstory: Last Sunday afternoon, because Mother Nature was thwarting my plans to paint the porch, I turned on the telly to find a baseball game to watch while I folded laundry. The Mets were playing the Cardinals, Sassafras Dad's favorite team. The Mets were winning. So I gave my Dad a call to harass him.

Me: I see that your Cardinals are struggling this afternoon.

Dad: Don't talk to me about that.

Me: Gee Dad, why so sensitive?

Dad: I can't watch the game out here. Whenever I turn on the television to watch a game it's ether the damned Yankees or the freakin' Red Sox. Yesterday the only game I could see was the Yankees playing the Red Sox. Screw that.

I know from long experience how the Sassafras Dad feels about the Yankees and the Red Sox, so caution is called for, lest he explode in a diatribe about the multiple reasons that the Yankees and the Red Sox suck. But before I could say anything, Dad offered up one more thought:

Dad: The only good thing about the Yankees playing the Red Sox is that you are guaranteed one of those bastard teams will lose.

Me: Well okay. So Dad, how's the weather out your way?

Hell Hot

I grew up in California's Central Valley, in a town called Clovis. Clovis is located snug at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains and my memory is that the seasons are mostly gentle there. It rarely froze in the winter (and when it did, my mother regarded it as a decorative opportunity, persuading my father to water the wire fence so she could enjoy the resulting icicles). But the summers were hot. For days on end, we'd have temperatures in the low 100s. There was little humidity and we had a swimming pool, so it was manageable. But come August you could expect several days of 100 degree plus temperatures.

We head west for a visit today, and so I have lately been checking the Clovis forecast. Someone at the National Weather Service clearly has a sense of humor. When I check the forecast for Clovis, if a hot day is in the offing, the NWS features a tiny photo of a burning orange horizon, with a hazy flaming sun high in the sky. It looks so hot that the pale-skinned will immediately crisp up. Those of us unwise enough to go outdoors with barefoot feet will painfully discover that our feet have been instantly seared to the ground. That picture looks like the surface of hell.

Though I was afflicted with the chronic teenage desire to get the hell out of Clovis, I like to visit these days, largely because of the abundance of good Mexican food and because I expect to spend the next two weeks dozing in the shade of Auntie KO's pool. As the forecast suggests, I will be packing a great deal of summer clothing. It would seem that no sweater is required.

No Shirt; Big Problem

I first noticed this phenomena when I moved to New Jersey six years ago: A lot of men around here seem to feel that shirts are optional clothing in the summer.

I'm not talking about young men swimming at the local pool, either. I'm talking about men in their 50s, cutting the grass in their front yard, sitting on their front porch, or visiting with their neighbors, sweating profusely and showing the whole world that they enjoy a 6-pack of Bud (and not Bud Lite, either, if you get my drift).

I understand that we can't all of us have a perfect body. And I understand that the summer months can be warm. But there is no earthly explanation for the desire of these yankees to show off their hairy, white bellies.

Nowhere was this regional obsession more clearly evident than at camp. Each morning, as I took a walk to the indoor plumbing, I would be greeted by shirtless men of a certain age. There are a lot of Canadians at camp, but none of them felt the need to be semi-nude. Instead, it was always the dudes from New York, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, and New Jersey.

It's a bit disconcerting to see this sight. And all I can say is please, for the love of God, put on a damned shirt.

Indoor/Outdoor Mama

When JT was first born and I had been home with the baby for a couple of weeks, there was a day when I was suddenly overwhelmed by the parenting task at hand. I looked at this tiny baby and thought: I have to teach him to sleep by himself, to give up diapers, to drink from a cup, to read, to ride a bike, to drive a car, to hold down a job.....The list in my head was endless. I was momentarily overwhelmed and paralyzed by the task at hand.

Then I relaxed. At less than 10 pounds and still snuggled in a blanket, it seemed to me that I had some time to get a plan for these things and the zillions more that would surely occur between that moment and some point in the infinite future when then-baby Taylor would be an adult. Plus, I had the benefit of a partner in parenting in the form of JT's other mom. Having a partner in this venture was an enormous comfort.

These days I've been a single parent for more than two years. And in the midst of daily living, I know better than to borrow trouble in the form of worries about the future. Since I was suddenly handed the job of parent, party of one, I have overseen a successful campaign to teach JT to read; I taught him to ride his bike and to swim; to start the washer and dryer; to make his own bed; to get into (and out of!) the shower on his own (without several gallons of water ending up on the bathroom floor). If I put my mind to it, I could create a much longer list. I don't borrow future worries, though I miss having a partner in the parenting venture.
When we were camping, I realized that I have come to think of myself as a multiple-skill parent. The world is JT's oyster and it's my job to make sure that he can manage as much of it as possible. I do that by showing him that I can make things happen for our family of two. I'm proud that I can load the bikes on to the back of the car, drive us 330 miles to camp in the woods, set up our tent, blow up the air mattress, and make some room for fun.

While in those woods, I teach him to respect the beauty and diversity of nature, enjoy a romp in the ocean with his buddy D, relish a meal made at camp, climb to the top of the nearby lighthouse, and to appreciate the serenity of waking up in a tent in the woods each morning.


We've just completed our third summer camping trip and it would be unthinkable without the help and companionship of our good friends the R-K family. They first gave me the courage to try this trip and they are the backbone of my efforts. I couldn't get it done without them.
On the way home from our camping trip, I realized that I now think of myself as an Indoor/Outdoor Mama. I can keep a comfortable and orderly household featuring home-cooked meals and clean laundry. I can also show JT the joys of the outdoor world: our garden, camp in the woods, the feel of washing up with an ocean wave; and even the beauty (and increasingly funky smell) of days without bathing.
I haven't done this all by myself. I have had the help of friends and family who graciously understand my nearly paralyzing inability to ask for help, and then help me anyway. I am a multi-purpose Mama, doing her level best to see that JT masters all the skills needed to have a happy life. I miss the help and quiet support of having a fellow parent. I expect that I always will. But I am getting the job done on a daily basis. And that is a comfort as I face the uncertainties of the future.

Real Life Conversations with JT, Bunny o' Clock edition

The backstory: It's Day 2 of our camping trip and after several hours of riding his bike around and around camp, JT decides to ride the Bunny o' Clock trail with me. It's 4:50 pm and we are riding westward on the trail, counting the bunnies as we pass them by. There is some shade, but mostly it's hot.

JT: Mama, I finally realized why I am so tired.

Mama: Oh, yeah?

JT: Yeah. I'm tired because I am so sleepy.

Well, that will do it every time.

Blame Game

Over the next few weeks, I will post pictures and reflections from my camping trip at Cape Cod. Below is the first of those postings.

There is a lot of bike riding at camp, and often we ride our bikes down the hill to the indoor plumbing. We are not alone in riding bikes through camp, and many kids ride around camp at all hours of the day and evening (especially the young teen crowd).

JT and D don't ride their bikes in the dark. For one thing, they are 8 and 6, and don't ride without parental permission. For another, because they are 8 and 6, they aren't caught up in the idea of impressing their fellow kids by demonstrating how little they care for their parents' opinions. The upshot: no bike riding at night for the boys.

One evening, as JT and I were walking down the hill for our final toothbrushing of the day, several kids on bikes passed us. It was dark and we were carrying a light. They had no lights on their bikes and were clearly having trouble seeing the road (let alone one another). As they passed, JT and I exchanged a look, the kind of look that said, "those kids aren't so smart."

About 45 minutes later, we were in our tent, quietly reading books. We heard some more kids bike by in the dark, and from their conversation, they were a little confused about where they were going. JT looked at me and said, "I blame the parents."

I snorted with laughter.

The House Wine Around Here

There is a joke in the South that the house wine of a southern household is iced tea. And, in fact, I never have been in a southern household that didn't feature iced tea. The years I lived in the south taught me a fondness for sweet iced tea (known simply as sweet tea) as well as the unsweetened stand-by that my mother made when I was growing up.

In the summer, I always have at least one fresh pitcher of iced tea on my counter. It's the first thing that I offer a guest in my home. I make it southern-style, by steeping three tea bags in 3 cups of boiling water for 15 minutes. Then I remove the tea bags and add ice and cold water to fill the pitcher to the rim. If it's sweet tea that you want, dissolve a half cup of white sugar in the boiling water before you add the tea bags.

A pitcher of iced tea was the very first thing I made when I returned from camping on Wednesday evening. It's the house wine of Sassafras House.

Bookish

One of the best parts of camping is the sheer volume of reading and writing that I get done. I started an amazingly long (1474 page) book at the start of July and I finished it just before departure for camp. I keep track of all the books I read for pleasure's sake, and since this is the mid-point of the summer, it seemed like a good time to review what I have read so far this year:

January
Dai Sijie - Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress
L.M. Montgomery - Anne of Green Gables
L.M. Montgomery - Anne of Avonlea
Kazuo Ishiguro - Never Let Me Go
Elizabeth Birkelund Oberbeck - The Dressmaker
L.M. Montgomery - Anne of the Island
Laura Ingalls Wilder - The Long Winter
Jon Krakauer - Into the Wild

February
L.M. Montgomery - Anne of Windy Poplars
Jane Rule - The Young in One Another's Arms
Roddy Doyle - The Woman Who Walked Into Doors
L.M. Montgomery - Anne's House of Dreams
Jon Krakauer - Into Thin Air

March
Greg Mortenson &
David Oliver Relin - Three Cups of Tea
Lillian Jackson Braun - The Cat Who Had 60 Whiskers
Frances Hodgeson Burnett - The Secret Garden
Miss Read - Farewell to Fairacre
John Mortimer - Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murder
Kirby Larson - Hattie Big Sky

April
Willa Cather - O Pioneers!
Maggie O'Fallon - The Vanishing Act of Esme Lennox
Blanche Wiesen Cook - Eleanor Roosevelt, volume I, 1884-1933

May
Sara Gruen - Water for Elephants
Doris Kearns Goodwin - No Ordinary Time

June
Sarah Graves - Nail Biter
Bill Bryson - Notes from a Small Island
Bill Bryson - I'm a Stranger Here Myself
David Guterson - Snow Falling on Cedars
Jon Katz - Death by Station Wagon
Tim Brookes - The Driveway Diaries

July
Vikram Seth - A Suitable Boy

I thought about nominating some standouts from this list (the books I'd highly recommend) but that list is nearly as long as the list of books that I did read......which I think suggests that I only read books that strongly appeal to me. So, I recommend most of them, depending on your mood. Want to remind yourself why you love books? Try Balzac and the Chinese Seamstress. Need a good laugh? Try the Bryson books from this list (or any other that he's written). Interested in a book with a strong sense of place and time? Give Snow Falling on Cedars a look. Like to immerse yourself in a multi-layered story of family, political change, and the meaning of love (and have a lot of time on your hands)? Try A Suitable Boy.

I could go on and on in the vein......which is probably the number one reason that I love books so very much.

Thoughts on Camping

For me, camping is about the experience of a modified return to nature (and I mean a good and benevolent nature.....Rousseau's nature; not Hobbes). Though I am a big fan of electricity and the internet, I enjoy the break from my technological life that camping represents. I write in a regular paper diary while I am away and I read and read and read. We go to bed when the dark settles over camp and we wake up when the sun rises over the shady pine trees. Experience tells me that I will return to my daily life with greater enthusiasm for the ease of daily living in the 21st century as well as a respect for the simple things that are more timeless in their appeal.

JT brings some toys when we head off to camp, but usually the things that become most valuable are the sticks and special trees that he and his buddy D find in the pine forest where we camp. The boys dig in the sand on the beach and collect treasures from the ocean. They ride their bikes for miles and miles and miles, fueled by games from their imagination.

JT has never complained about the lack of television or things to do when we camp. Camping teaches him that a strong body and an imaginative mind are the two things we need the most in life. And that's what I value the most about our retreat to nature.