Spelling ROHL on the dunes

Over Christmas break my brother, his wife, and their two-year old were up from Arizona for some holiday time in the NorthWest. When ever we get folks in from out-of-town we get to head out to all sight-seeing spots and remember why we love our region. The day after Christmas we headed out to the coast to get some time on the beach despite the 30 degree temps and heavy mist.

Most of our group had lunch in the car as we parked by the sea, while my brother and I climbed the cliff above the shore and listened to the thunder cracks of waves breaking about 200 yards out in the ocean. We walked around Seaside, where we lived before moving to California when I was 12, and spent too much money at the arcade. My dad, Brother, and I had a couple shoot outs at the basketball game and we all collected tickets playing skeet ball with the little boys. Turning in tickets for candy we took a ride on the carousel before heading to the long stretch of beach where you can drive your car.

Primo got behind the wheel and ping ponged us from shore to dunes always threatening to get us stuck in one or the other. We stopped and ran around like crazy people and generally had a silly time acting like kids. After a couple of pictures we loaded everyone back up in the car sans wet clothes and trekked the hour drive back to my parents house. It was a great time at the coast and quiet car ride home as sleepy folks cozied up to each other and napped solidly. While the surroundings were lovely it was really the people who made the trip so great. We all forgot about the cold wet weather and just found the adventure in each stop, and experienced the trip like our kids did. We ran around the beach, chased birds, and drove like drunken weebles laughing all the time. For me the best part is that look in Primo’s eyes as I got out and chased him down the beach while the car was still moving. His pure joy and wonder was all pouring out of him and looked at me like he couldn’t believe that was really happening. I often feel like I don’t go all in like that with the boys so it’s nice to let loose and be goofy when I can.

We go to Cape Cod and stay in the town of Chatham. Because we return to the same town, the same house (my in-laws’), the same beaches year after year, certain traditions and rituals have emerged. I can find pictures of the kids in the same spot, almost the same pose, from every year of their lives. Scrolling through those images is a fascinating way to watch them grow up before your eyes — almost time-lapse.

Despite the many traditions and familiar locations, each year seems to have a theme. This year’s was “sailing.”

Take all the stereotypes you have of “summering on Cape Cod” and overlay those with all the images conjured by the name “Chatham Yacht Club” and you will have exactly the wrong idea of how we spent our summer. The Club, like our entire Cape experience, is modest and authentic, weathered and casual, and not a little sandy. The club itself is almost a hundred years old, and the clubhouse looks it. It’s more a shanty than a clubhouse, with a long pier extending into a sheltered cove.

To get to the clubhouse, you have to cross in front of the first tee-box of maybe the stuffiest country club in New England. That’s pretty much the only snobbery you’ll come across in the whole experience. The clubhouse is bustling with kids running everywhere, hauling boats on carts, sails, gear. Nearly all of them in life jackets. Presiding are a few salty adult volunteers and a corps of college-age instructors. The whole thing runs more like a summer camp than a yacht club with kids taking lessons a couple of days a week, joining in races other days. The cost of joining and lessons together was similar to what we paid at other day camps this summer.

But sailing lessons were the richest of the experiences they had this summer.

If they took a second to get beyond the perception of elitism that clings to sailing (which is funny because entry level sailing is lots cheaper than power boating), I think lots of parents would agree that it’s an ideal activity for kids over 8 or 9. To me the sailing curriculum includes: water safety, basic boating rules, awareness of natural world, locomotion detached from internal combustion, independent thinking, geometry, collaboration, strategy, care taking and gear maintenance, making friends, and snacks.

Go ahead and name a summer activity that combines mind and body (and even spirit) more than sailing.

So today, on the first day of school, I’m thankful for sailing. And for the first day of school.

Cheers.

With the grind that comes along with the weeks and months that go by it’s easy to get tunnel vision. The little moments when we are together as a family without anything on the agenda except spending time with each other – those moments tend to bring everything into focus. Time slows down and a sense of peace seems to take hold. Those moments are the one’s that help me reset from whatever stress may be weighing on me. As little as those moments might be they are memories I file away in the back of my mind. All the stresses and worries that seem to anchor me down are minor in scope. Everything that makes me happy and fulfilled is right in front of me.

None of it would be possible if it weren’t for a marriage that took place eight years ago today. Walking down that aisle in a chapel in Las Vegas after we became husband and wife was the start of a beautiful union. Many of life’s obstacles have come our way and together we have leaned on each other. My wife has helped shape me into a better person and together we have made a family. One that fills me with love and happiness. To a great eight years and to many more happy anniversaries, my love.

Anyway, managing to drive a total of 1,704 miles during our 10-day holiday in Brittany with a wife and two young children without tearing out my hair/pushing them out of the moving car/slitting my wrists is another story. What I want to do now is give you my French Observations. I’ve capitalised the first letter of ‘observations’ because I feel this is important.

Language

French people sound like Pingu when they talk.

I was surprised, actually, how much French I knew when push came to shove. And by ‘push came to shove’, I mean gesticulating wildly whilst talking English so slowly I sound like I’ve had three fillings at the dentist and turned deaf at the same time.

My son, however, was fascinated by this magical foreign language. Every time I ‘conversed’ (read ‘gesticulated’) with a French national he would watch on, wide-eyed. One night Isaac and I were walking down to the campsite swimming pool behind a family, two parents and two kids. They were making these unintelligible sounds.

“That’s French.” I tell Isaac, who draws a long breath in excitement.

We overtook the family, and I began to make out a few words. English words. Turned out, the family weren’t French. They were just talking in an Irish accent so thick you could spread it on your croissant and have it for breakfast.

Women

The notion that all French women are slim, smoky-eyed brunettes was somewhat challenged when I was served a crepe by a woman with a moustache that could rival Stalin. That is all.

Ooh la laa, not.

Food

I ate my body weight in pain au chocolat, which is French for ‘Chocolate Pain’. As a result, I have gained many pounds in fat during our short break. I know this, because it’s difficult to look down now and when I finally do I can’t see my toes. And when I stand at a urinal I have no idea in which direction I’m truly facing.

Driving

French people drive much, much better than English people.

French drivers:

• Drive at the speed limit
• Drive in the slow lane instead of overtaking thin air, as the British do.

On our vacation we enjoyed a couple of camp fires and the cooking of things on sticks. I wrote about the corn cob fire and the hotdogs yesterday but today I want to look at a different camp fire cooking. Part of the vacation was spent in Ponca State Park in Nebraska where we thought we were going to be camping in tents or some other primitive housing. Instead we were met with four bedroom houses with large stone fire places and multiple decks. It was a much more civilized way to camp and I for one was thankful for the soft bed after a long travel day. There were still fire pits out front so we put together a bond fire with the help of only five people, two lighters, and can of lighter fluid. OK there was no lighter fluid involved, just a couple of old boy scouts trying to stoke the flames. We had some metal sticks, a bag of giant marshmallows, graham crackers, and Hershey’s Chocolate bars to make smores. The boys loved stabbing the marshmallows and lighting them on fire but they would have nothing to do with the resulting smores. Segundo wouldn’t even try it and started crying hysterically when I encouraged him to give it a go. It felt odd needing to talk my three year old into eating chocolate marshmallow gooey graham crackers. What is wrong with this kid? I demanded a paternity test on the spot. I finally gave up trying the Dr. Seuss “Try it, try it and you may, try it and you may I say” routine and just ate the smore myself. That boy just ain’t right I tell ya.

Every person wants to take a vacation every now and again, and one of the large expenses when going far away is the airfare that you have to pay for! In honor of Summer coming soon and knowing that many of my readers are planning some fun getaways, I have partnered with Local Pages (www.localpages.com) to help one lucky family get some relief on their airfare for that upcoming trip. One lucky reader will be provided with $7 toward any restaurant found on Local Pages.

I have to say that prior to working with Local pages, I was not as aware of their services, but in reviewing the site, I was amazed at the amount of local coupons, discounts, and advertising that the site provided. The site also had a ton of shopping deals available also. If you haven’t checked out Local Pages, you definitely should today!

Giveaway

Continue reading »