A Whole Week Without Blogging
The funny part is that I tried to blog much of last week. But my home internet connection went down four times between Sunday and now.
We haven't even been here since Friday. So, four outages in internet service between Sunday and Friday. You didn't need to visit this blog: You could hear me, even in Norway and the Netherlands.
Friday, we drove to Fly Creek. My Mother turned... a big number... in January. My Dad turned... a big number +10 in February. They had their big party Friday night.
The Saint, the kids and I drove from Boston to be there.
The catch, you ask?
It's pretty much due West from Boston to Fly Creek, roughly 250 miles. The last big snowstorm of this winter hit at 11:30 Friday morning. It came from the South and moved due North along a 300 mile front. For those who don't like snow, math or geography, I'll translate:
We got in the car at 11:40 Friday morning. It was snowing. All the way to Fly Creek, it was a blizzard. In the Berkshires, it was a whiteout. What normally takes four to four and a half hours took nearly six, with no stops. One major interstate had one lane open.
We took the Jeep and we had it in four-wheel drive the whole way. Not good for our gas consumption, but great for our sanity. The Saint drove, by the way. Another boost for our mental stability.
(In comparison, today on the way back, the whole trip was just over four hours, including a stop for lunch.)
My parents' party was typical of one of theirs: Started early, went late, and every guest had a blast. My rock-star grandmother danced a hole in the floor. I caught up with a bunch of folks.
Yesterday was more of the same, but much mellower. First time I've ever hoisted a stout in Cooperstown on St. Patrick's Day, believe it or not. To the friends I perhaps should have phoned but didn't: I'll catch you next time. This was a drive-by.
Daughter's day care provider is on vacation, so Daughter, the Princess, gets a week with Mimi and Grampie, who will treat her like a Queen. We miss her already, but at least nobody will be calling me a fart head this week.
I brought my computer and planned to write yesterday. I haven't written since Thursday, so I'm behind schedule again. But I don't care.
This afternoon, when we got back, we had 4-6 inches of snow in the driveway. Mother Nature had thoughtfully baked and re-frozen the snow into an icy crust in the meantime, so what would have taken an hour for me to shovel on Friday took Oldest Son, Middle Child, the Saint and me two hours to hack to pieces today. It's not even really finished. We simply declared victory and went inside. My mother sent us home with lasagna and other delicacies. Those are cooking now.
We are all sore. But we are home. And I have 2,000 words to write this evening.
In the meantime, if you're a rock and roll fan, go check out Dave Guarino's blog. He threw up a post last week to which I'd meant to alert you, while my ISP was AWOL. Click here for a direct link to Dave's homage to The Joshua Tree's twentieth anniversary.
My favorite U2 song, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", is on that masterpiece. It's also the album that hooked the Saint on U2.
Be sure to check the comments, too. They're piling up, and they're also worth reading. I'm not talking about my comment, which was, basically, "Nice job, Dude," which translates, loosely, to "I wish I'd thought of that." Dave's wife Heidi was particularly prescient. Her description of Dave at a U2 concert is nearly word for word how I'd describe the Saint at the same venue (and how the Saint would describe me at a Springsteen show).
Back to writing.
Adam
We haven't even been here since Friday. So, four outages in internet service between Sunday and Friday. You didn't need to visit this blog: You could hear me, even in Norway and the Netherlands.
Friday, we drove to Fly Creek. My Mother turned... a big number... in January. My Dad turned... a big number +10 in February. They had their big party Friday night.
The Saint, the kids and I drove from Boston to be there.
The catch, you ask?
It's pretty much due West from Boston to Fly Creek, roughly 250 miles. The last big snowstorm of this winter hit at 11:30 Friday morning. It came from the South and moved due North along a 300 mile front. For those who don't like snow, math or geography, I'll translate:
We got in the car at 11:40 Friday morning. It was snowing. All the way to Fly Creek, it was a blizzard. In the Berkshires, it was a whiteout. What normally takes four to four and a half hours took nearly six, with no stops. One major interstate had one lane open.
We took the Jeep and we had it in four-wheel drive the whole way. Not good for our gas consumption, but great for our sanity. The Saint drove, by the way. Another boost for our mental stability.
(In comparison, today on the way back, the whole trip was just over four hours, including a stop for lunch.)
My parents' party was typical of one of theirs: Started early, went late, and every guest had a blast. My rock-star grandmother danced a hole in the floor. I caught up with a bunch of folks.
Yesterday was more of the same, but much mellower. First time I've ever hoisted a stout in Cooperstown on St. Patrick's Day, believe it or not. To the friends I perhaps should have phoned but didn't: I'll catch you next time. This was a drive-by.
Daughter's day care provider is on vacation, so Daughter, the Princess, gets a week with Mimi and Grampie, who will treat her like a Queen. We miss her already, but at least nobody will be calling me a fart head this week.
I brought my computer and planned to write yesterday. I haven't written since Thursday, so I'm behind schedule again. But I don't care.
This afternoon, when we got back, we had 4-6 inches of snow in the driveway. Mother Nature had thoughtfully baked and re-frozen the snow into an icy crust in the meantime, so what would have taken an hour for me to shovel on Friday took Oldest Son, Middle Child, the Saint and me two hours to hack to pieces today. It's not even really finished. We simply declared victory and went inside. My mother sent us home with lasagna and other delicacies. Those are cooking now.
We are all sore. But we are home. And I have 2,000 words to write this evening.
In the meantime, if you're a rock and roll fan, go check out Dave Guarino's blog. He threw up a post last week to which I'd meant to alert you, while my ISP was AWOL. Click here for a direct link to Dave's homage to The Joshua Tree's twentieth anniversary.
My favorite U2 song, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", is on that masterpiece. It's also the album that hooked the Saint on U2.
Be sure to check the comments, too. They're piling up, and they're also worth reading. I'm not talking about my comment, which was, basically, "Nice job, Dude," which translates, loosely, to "I wish I'd thought of that." Dave's wife Heidi was particularly prescient. Her description of Dave at a U2 concert is nearly word for word how I'd describe the Saint at the same venue (and how the Saint would describe me at a Springsteen show).
Back to writing.
Adam
Labels: Cooperstown, Dad, David Guarino, Mom, The Kids, The Saint, U2
posted by Adam Hurtubise at 5:31 PM
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