Limping into 2007
I'm fine. The Saint is fine. The kids are fine. (Daughter got her first haircut this afternoon, and she's ecstatic, not fine.)
When I said, "limping," I meant literarily, to coin a new word.
Remember your high school history classes?
Okay, I mean: Pretend you remember your high school history classes. I majored in History and wallowed in inane details.
All that crap about European explorers sailing from Spain and Portugal to the New World? Any of that ring a bell? Ever read the translations of the explorers' journals? They all dreaded the Horse Latitudes. Near the Equator, where the winds died.
The. Ships. Would. Just. Drift.
Sailing without wind can be a bit arduous.
To lighten the ships, the explorers would push their horses overboard so less powerful breezes could fill the sails and propel the boats toward better winds.
I'm inching through the Horse Latitudes now. With this book. Hence: Literarily.
I mean, I should be crashing toward the climactic scene, but writing the damned thing is... The winds have died. I'm looking for a breeze.
It took me four and a half hours to hit my thousand-word quota this evening.
During my last writing session, I hit a thousand in 70 minutes.
I know the winds will come back soon. They always do. I'm not worried, but I'm not exactly moving. I'm looking forward to my upcoming Albany Research Adventure with the Saint (and with my brother, who may still be unaware that he's the tour guide).
On a totally unrelated note, Kelly Malloy has a couple of great posts, but they're not about writing. The first is about the stellar New Year's Eve party we celebrated with our friends the other night.
Here's the deal. There are ten of us: Five couples, each with a child roughly the age of my Middle Child. All these kids of roughly the same age were in Kindergarten together, then they all played on the same Little League Team (for two seasons). We've been hanging out for three years, going on four. We've never needed an excuse to party, but the built-in holidays are wild.
We spent New Year's Eve as part of that group. Five couples. Eleven kids (plus another half couple and two more kids making guest appearances, like Tom Berenger in the last season of Cheers).
Food everywhere. Toasted ravioli. Stuffed eggplant. Crab cakes (Further proof that God exists). Stuffed mushrooms. Taco dip (the Saint's). Swedish meatballs (mine). Shrimp. Champagne, beer, wine, great company, lots of football, about 38 crazy-ass conversations and at least as many vows of secrecy...
Best New Year's Eve ever. Yes, Christmas was also the Best Christmas Ever. So shoot me for repeating the phrase. Repeating it doesn't make it false. At around 11, we had dessert, a spectacular chocolate trifle-- not my mother's, but still spectacular, and a champagne toast.
We partied until midnight. Toasted some more. Hugs, kisses, blah, blah, blah. Then, like old, married people, we packed up the kids and drove home (every couple had a designated driver).
Here's the kicker. At Chez Hurtubise, we were all in bed by 12:20. The kids slept until 11:00. I only woke up once. (My cousin Matt, the recent groom, roused me with a text message at 2:29 a.m. to tell me he'd required some assistance leaving a restaurant the night before. How is this relevant, besides waking me from an entirely pleasant dream? The Saint and I provided the gift card to the San Diego version of said restaurant as a wedding present, and it's also where Joe Konrath and I chowed down after drinks with Jerry Healy in Boston.)
But I went back to sleep. And the kids didn't come downstairs until 11 a.m.
Do I have great kids or what?
Which leads me to Post Number Two from Kelly Malloy. Let me refresh your memories with this rant about my recent parental failure.
Then read Kelly's post carefully.
"D" is Middle Child. No, he DID NOT spill the beans. No, he DID NOT crap down the chimney and ruin Christmas for his friend.
I believe I hear a refrain: Do I have great kids or what?
Let's blame the Saint for that.
In the meantime, does anybody have a horse I can toss off a boat?
Adam
When I said, "limping," I meant literarily, to coin a new word.
Remember your high school history classes?
Okay, I mean: Pretend you remember your high school history classes. I majored in History and wallowed in inane details.
All that crap about European explorers sailing from Spain and Portugal to the New World? Any of that ring a bell? Ever read the translations of the explorers' journals? They all dreaded the Horse Latitudes. Near the Equator, where the winds died.
The. Ships. Would. Just. Drift.
Sailing without wind can be a bit arduous.
To lighten the ships, the explorers would push their horses overboard so less powerful breezes could fill the sails and propel the boats toward better winds.
I'm inching through the Horse Latitudes now. With this book. Hence: Literarily.
I mean, I should be crashing toward the climactic scene, but writing the damned thing is... The winds have died. I'm looking for a breeze.
It took me four and a half hours to hit my thousand-word quota this evening.
During my last writing session, I hit a thousand in 70 minutes.
I know the winds will come back soon. They always do. I'm not worried, but I'm not exactly moving. I'm looking forward to my upcoming Albany Research Adventure with the Saint (and with my brother, who may still be unaware that he's the tour guide).
On a totally unrelated note, Kelly Malloy has a couple of great posts, but they're not about writing. The first is about the stellar New Year's Eve party we celebrated with our friends the other night.
Here's the deal. There are ten of us: Five couples, each with a child roughly the age of my Middle Child. All these kids of roughly the same age were in Kindergarten together, then they all played on the same Little League Team (for two seasons). We've been hanging out for three years, going on four. We've never needed an excuse to party, but the built-in holidays are wild.
We spent New Year's Eve as part of that group. Five couples. Eleven kids (plus another half couple and two more kids making guest appearances, like Tom Berenger in the last season of Cheers).
Food everywhere. Toasted ravioli. Stuffed eggplant. Crab cakes (Further proof that God exists). Stuffed mushrooms. Taco dip (the Saint's). Swedish meatballs (mine). Shrimp. Champagne, beer, wine, great company, lots of football, about 38 crazy-ass conversations and at least as many vows of secrecy...
Best New Year's Eve ever. Yes, Christmas was also the Best Christmas Ever. So shoot me for repeating the phrase. Repeating it doesn't make it false. At around 11, we had dessert, a spectacular chocolate trifle-- not my mother's, but still spectacular, and a champagne toast.
We partied until midnight. Toasted some more. Hugs, kisses, blah, blah, blah. Then, like old, married people, we packed up the kids and drove home (every couple had a designated driver).
Here's the kicker. At Chez Hurtubise, we were all in bed by 12:20. The kids slept until 11:00. I only woke up once. (My cousin Matt, the recent groom, roused me with a text message at 2:29 a.m. to tell me he'd required some assistance leaving a restaurant the night before. How is this relevant, besides waking me from an entirely pleasant dream? The Saint and I provided the gift card to the San Diego version of said restaurant as a wedding present, and it's also where Joe Konrath and I chowed down after drinks with Jerry Healy in Boston.)
But I went back to sleep. And the kids didn't come downstairs until 11 a.m.
Do I have great kids or what?
Which leads me to Post Number Two from Kelly Malloy. Let me refresh your memories with this rant about my recent parental failure.
Then read Kelly's post carefully.
"D" is Middle Child. No, he DID NOT spill the beans. No, he DID NOT crap down the chimney and ruin Christmas for his friend.
I believe I hear a refrain: Do I have great kids or what?
Let's blame the Saint for that.
In the meantime, does anybody have a horse I can toss off a boat?
Adam
Labels: Christmas, Family and Friends, The Kids, The Manuscript, The Saint
posted by Adam Hurtubise at 12:18 AM
3 Comments:
Yeah you have great kids. Probably my favorites of all. And while I admit to not being designated...I do actually remember some things. But not meatballs. I brought some home, put them down somewhere before I crashed....Hubs found them the next morning and told me he had to toss them :(
Kelly
Sounds like a grand time!! Happy New Year!!
And the horse thing breaks my heart. Try sandbags instead!
Kelly--
We still had meatballs left until Wednesday...
Elizabeth--
Ummm... I'm not going to fret over horses that died 500 years ago, if only because I have neither a boat nor a horse to toss from it right now.
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