One from the archives

We were worried there for a while, but he's turned out ok.



"Want some dip with that?"

Turkey Day Pictures (mostly for Emma...

...who we missed very much!)

Julian and Nonna

Here's a recent shot of J2 with his Nonna...

Once More, With Feeling...

Here's the same video in higher resolution for certain relatives who are picky about such things (Like Scott "Uncle Fun" "Terabyte" Smith)

Julian Jolly Jumping

Wouldn't want to leave Julian out!

BTW

Jonas is now on youtube!

Dulce Domum

"...it was good to think he had this to come back to, this place which was all his own, these things which were so glad to see him again and could always be counted upon for the same, simple welcome."

[The Wind in the Willows, as my quote in our senior yearbook]

Well, apparently I got at least one thing right during our Senior Year. I didn't mean to predict the future...

Yesterday I took Jonas and Julian up to the top of Mount Pollux while Sam worked on her comparative religions curriculum. I was in a despondent mood; too much writing, housework, all-work-and-no-sleep makes Ian a dull boy. Sam knew that a dose of fresh air would help me feel better (she is more experienced at managing two boys solo on too little sleep, after all).

What neither of us could predict was the exact effect of the fresh air on my mood state. As with any treatment, the possibility of interactions with other treatments must be considered.

So, I'm lightheaded from not enough sleep, and off I go with the baby on my back in a pack and Jonas in his stroller ("I'm in the McClaren, where are you?" :-) until we get to the grass. J is in fine form, chatting and kicking his feet. He jumps out of the stroller immediately as we reach the parking lot near the top, and starts quizzing me about the differences between meadows and orchards, as well as the chances that the friendly looking gentleman at the top might be a bully (very low!). J spots some dandilion (sp?) stems that are still covered with seeds, and gets very excited. Soon he is dashing about, picking them singly and in bunches; blowing, tossing, running, delighted by the plume of seeds carried away by a hint of an autumn breeze. Julian (J2?), meanwhile, has drifted off to sleep in the backpack, his effortless comfort giving an entirely new meaning to the term "rubbernecking".

Meanwhile I'm caught in a whirlwind; Jonas playing out a moment that I'm quite sure I would have lived had we moved here sooner, Julian playing out many moments I did live, by all reports. And in my head, memories that really did occur on that hilltop during another time in my life when sleep deprivation was as much the rule as the exception. Choruses of California Dreamin', voices of authority (anyone remember "ours are much brighter!"?), sprints up the hill to catch the sunset before settling down in my squeaky chair at 277 Middle Street to write about Shakespeare for John Warthen.

I talk to my students about the power of stimuli to reinforce memory; "wear your stethoscope around your neck in lecture, just like you do on the hospital floor" I tell them. But even I couldn't anticipate the combined effect of an internal state (my own fatigue) and a location that had great emotional importance during an earlier part of my life in this town. Perhaps the fact that I haven't spent much time there during my adult life in Amherst boosted the effect, I don't know.

The result was a telescoping of time, with four eras of my life collapsing in on each other. Dad has spoken of his own experiences of bridging generations in our family, and I suppose this would belong in the same category. I can tease apart the elements that represent each era; the squeak of the backpack that I rode in myself as a baby, the hilltop looking for all the world like a corner of our farm in Ohio, Jonas' delight in his natural playthings being a script borrowed from that very same pastoral setting. My own memories of Mount Pollux would have to be some form of voice over, or perhaps a dream sequence shot through soft focus would suit the melodrama of adolescence.

And there is Ian the Dad, playing out his inner drama, while J1 plants dandilions and laughs, and J2 sleeps like a baby. Much as it was wrenching, I wouldn't trade it for the world. It has been said that one can never go home. I would offer that one can try. There are benefits; taking my own children trick or treating to the houses of childhood friends (Zak B. where are you now?), calling up a well respected local CPA bolstered by the added confidence that he is the father of another old friend (Cheryl, are your ears burning?). But one had better be prepared to get caught in little tears in the fabric of time when one is least expecting it...

Step in to our...

I have no excuse for blogging instead of getting my work done at this moment.

I just can't resist jumping on to note that Jonas and I are happily holed up in our newly re-worked office while the rain comes down outside. He's watching his beloved "land before time" on the headphones on the laptop from Scott, while I should be working...

We're so lucky to have such generous people in our lives! We just don't have the extra capacity to be overhauling anything, even our most vital workspace. So our eternal thanks to Tom B. who made the epic trek to Ikea with us, and spent long hours assembling the bounty with me. And to Ilana, whose propensity for organizing just might actually be a match for the chaos quotient around here, and to J and J's many grandparents, who have offerred timely play dates while sam and I struggled to get this place in order.

We really do appreciate your help more than you can know!

Ian

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Halloween pics