Sail Away

It's been a spectacular week in the East End (of LI). The ocean has been the perfect temperature and color. Striped bass are running in schools so huge they appear as roiling dark shapes heading west in blue jello. The nights have been cool enough for quilts and the mornings hold enough of a chill that you need to seek a sunny spot to perch for your first cup of coffee.
Sister-in-Law-Mactech lives out here full time. She's a learning specialist in a public elementary school about a third the size of The Burpie Cow-Wow School. Her summers are non-stop fun and we get to tag along. Last week she suffered a slight set-back as the thwarted terrorist plot made necessary the cancellation of her plans to fly to London this week to see the musical, Billy Elliot with the other sisters-in law.
She didn't waste any time filling her dance card and so last night we got to participate in a dinner party on a 52 ft. boat in Peconic Bay. The boat belonged to a fellow-teacher and her husband. He grew up in a marina and understood how to deal with all that crap behind the door they called "below."
I loved the boat with its miniature bedrooms and heads. And I was astounded at how easy they made cooking and serving a dinner for 12 seem. Well, served to 10 of the 12 because two of our party spent the evening in the stern (is that right? The back?) silently staring straight ahead or leaning over the side doing some unanticipated chumming. Seasickness is pretty much identical to the nausea of pregnancy for those of you currently moving through that state. Everyone else was sympathetic as there wasn't one of us who hadn't been there - either seasick or pregnant. I remember a particularly bad ferry ride to Block Island. I wouldn't get back on the boat at the end of our stay. Mac-husband had to take me back by air in a puddle jumper and then we had to find a way back to our car at the ferry terminal in Point Judith.
The water on Peconic Bay was unusually choppy last night. The wind kicked up as a low-pressure front moved in. Today it is here in earnest and the skies have opened and poured out for the first time in about 10 days. So it's not a beach day. It's definitely a blog, listen to music, read and eat day.
I'm in my last two weeks of summer vacation. But I'm not going to feel bad about it ending. I'm having a good time now.

Summer of '73

The quality of this photo is poor but if you look closely you will pick up a certain heaviness. The chin needs support. The lips are pressed closed and the nose is crinkled – a miasmic protest against the normally bracing scent of the sea. I was probably about six weeks pregnant in this picture. It was my second pregnancy feeling lousy but not out of control awful. I was due in March and delivered a boy, the younger brother of Megan MacTech whose gestation brought me to my knees – in front of a porcelain bowl more tha once a day, and with nothing of substance in my stomach ( I actually grew afraid of eating food) only a bitter viscous egg-yolky blob would jet out.
This image of my face came to memory recently as I saw its exact replica on my daughter. She is due in February and she's just coming through the worst of this.
They say this aversion to so many foods and their smells is a protection – a preventitive against ingesting toxins that might be harmful to a developing fetus. That's pretty amazing when you think about it. As I told Unwellness, the pains of childbirth can be forgotten but this queasy sick fog that envelopes you for weeks (even months sometimes) is hard to forget. Long after the bundle of joy has been delivered you'll remember, like whenever a stomach flu grabs hold or the morning after a particularly celebratory night or even when you think about something you said or did that you wish had never happened. I wish I had morning sickness to steer me clear of those toxic moments.

Reality Check

I adore the above child, Grandbaby MacTech. So I volunteered to keep him out at the beach while mom, dad and "pop-pop" returned to work. I am not a stranger to the labors of childcare having raised a couple from scratch and spent the better part of my lifetime shepherding the lambs of others in a school setting – still the relentlessness of being alone with a two-year old for hours on end can be shocking even for one whose eyes are as open as mine.
He does not like me out of his sight and if I sneak into the kitchen to make a gin and tonic (after 5 of course) The "where nana go?" litany begins. He likes to vacuum, swiff and wet mop. (yes it could be worse, he doesn't set fires) The thing is he likes me to participate. "nana do it, too?"
He also enjoys zooming little cars and trains around the floor as he delivers bits and pieces of junk he missed in his vacuuming. This endeavor doesn't always go as smoothly as he'd like and when tracks come apart or carefully loaded cars tip over he'll start to throw things and groan loudly.
He cooks with a pretend microwave which goes crashing to the floor every time he slams the door hard, yet he will not consent to leaving it on the floor. It must be on the kiddie table (and nana must place it there, over and over again)
Every 30 minutes or so he stops, looks into the distance and exclaims, "tramp killed da rat." or "Ya 'member da naughty cats?" an allusion to scenes in Lady in the Tramp which I let him watch before bedtime every night, and no, he isn't having nightmares, he sleeps quite soundly until 5:45 or so when our day begins again.
His midday nap allows for the writing of this post otherwise I dare not open the computer as he takes over, slamming on the keyboard and demanding the Thomas the Tank Engine website. ( I can sing you the Thomas and Friends song by heart or "We are Siamese..." if you please.
Soon he will wake and I'll hustle him down to the beach where the surf has kicked up the past few days - the break water too difficult for a short person to broach with a baby in tow and so we'll have to stay in the white water, splashing and squealing, nana at a 90 degree angle to herself with a 35 pound "sinker in a floatie" tugging at her arms. We'll dig tunnels and make endless cakes for immediate smashing and find pretty shells for mommy. We'll eat pretzels and ice cream. I'll do my best to tire him out so he'll snooze in the car on the ride back to Brooklyn tonight. He'll wake tomorrow to city sounds and mommy hugs.

Summer – Why I Still Like It

There's been a lot of complaining about the heat this week prompting questions of "What do you hate more, NY summers or NY winters? So, it's been hotter than hell day after day (even at the eastern end of LI). Summer is better than winter. I will never get over my childhood crush on this time of year.
You can lie in bed in the morning for what seems like hours and when you get up it's still before 8:00 o'clock.
The local produce and fish are outstanding.
I actually drink less alcohol but enjoy it more.
I rarely, if ever, get sick in the summer.
Swimming in the ocean is theraputic.
Outdoor showers - the best.
It's often daylight when Mactech-husband returns from work.
Going out in the city on summer nights is always fun.
Air-conditioning makes sleeping possible.
The break in everyone's routine allows an amnesia to cover the fact of how bad that routine can become and make you believe things could change for the better.

Birthday Number 80

My mom turns 80 tomorrow. I threw a small party last Saturday night to commemorate the event. It was the first time my brothers and I were all together since our father's death in 1998. Two or three of us – frequently, but rarely all four of us.
With all of my air-conditioners cranked up to the limit the house was comfortably cool and it was pleasant enough to eat out on the deck once the sun went down. Mom-Mactech is notoriously heat-sensitive but she didn't complain once.
The menu:
Filet mignon and sirloin steak, green salad, tomatoes & mozzarella with basil, a surprisingly good watermelon and mint concoction, my own special potato salad, and a fabulous coconut angel food cake from The Two Little Red Hens Bakery.
We had purchased the meat (huge quantities) at the new Fairway in Red Hook, a couple of nights before. My first time in the store and I was pretty impressed. We filled the cart in no time. Luckily we have an extra fridge in our basement where these bulky items could be stored until needed.
About twenty-four hours after the Fairway shop I took a FreshDirect delivery of more food stuff (you can never have too much food stuff at a party) and began hauling it down to the basement where I discovered that the refrigerator door had not been properly closed the night before. The motor was panting and the inside of the thing was sweating bullets. It did not feel the least bit cold in there either. Yikes! All that meat! I closed it tight and immediately called Tech-husband at work, not being willing to shoulder this distressing news by myself (and after all he was the one who put all that meat in there and then didn't shut the door)
"Let's just throw it all out and start over tonight with another trip to Fairway." I announced with resignation.
"Shit." he exclaimed.
MachTech husband was not going to take this lying down. He immediately called the owner of a rather celebrated restaurant in the Slope, a finicky guy who knows and loves food, and explained the turn of events. He brought the chef out of the kitchen to consult.
The verdict was this: The refrigerator would not have "lost its cool" for several hours and in fact was still running and reducing the temperature of itself and the area around it. The meat, due to its size would not warm that quickly to the core. We would be cooking it to 127 degrees, killing off - whatever - I don't want to think about that. And anyway that kind of bacteria only affects small children and old people. (did we mention it was an 80th birthday party with a 2 year old in attendance?)
End of story. We cooked and ate the meat. It was delicious. Everyone was fine.

The Terror Target List

Soon after September 11th, when we were constantly being warned that we were on Orange Alert in NYC, mactech-husband mentioned that we should air-drop (on potential terrorist countries in the mideast) maps of possible targets in the midsection of the US. "They only seem to know about places on the coasts. It's a big country."
Apparently he was on to something. Today's Times has a front page article on the National Asset Database. (This is the "data" by the way, by which Homeland Security divvies up their zillion dollars worth of antiterrorism grants).
According to the list of resources that could be potential sites of "terror," Indiana, with 8,591 posible targets, has more than any other state. New York has 5,687, California, 3,212.
I'm sure glad the Times is getting this news out. Leave us and the left coast out of the terror-planning, you terrorists. We're small potatoes.
Amish Country Popcorn (on the list), in Berne, Indiana - watch your back.

Away

I'm liking the new head of BCS. The first e-mail I ever send to him? mind you, he doesn't know me from a hole in the BCS wall - is a request to take Wednesday, Thursday and Friday off this week, you know, to make it a whole week away from school. Technically, I'm on duty all of July and off in August, but since I probably will need to work a good part of August too, it didn't seem a far-fetched request. Coming off of a couple of years where we all seemed to be challenged to compete for the title of who can work the most - I was a bit skittish about asking.
His response -"if you say it works, it works for me, enjoy the time with your family."
We drove out to Quogue, Saturday morning. The house has had some improvements over the winter and we're loving the new outdoor shower. Baby Mactech was up at six today so an early trip (open at 8:00) to Target was in order. His B-day is this week so whatever he hauled off the shelves went into the basket.
"Buy it. Buy it."
What a red-blooded American boy.
The picture below represents the first celebrity sighting of the season. Adrian Grenier (Entourage) was at the beach.