Do we have to leave Brooklyn?

These last few weeks have been all about reconnecting with our Brooklyn posee and enjoying a classic New York Indian summer. As lovely as Vienna is, I know I'm not exactly ready to leave it all behind. It's going to be especially tough to say goodbye to Lindsay-- our babysitter. Learning how to survive without her will be the year's biggest challenge.

This morning she took the boys for a spin around the block before dropping Peter off at chess. Then they were on their way to Party City to pick up favors for Sunday's birthday bash.

Meanwhile Parker took off in the opposite direction heading to Underwood park yelling: "Parker bike fast now."

Dinner party success

We hosted a

dinner party for a handful of Fort

Greene people at my friend Cori Brown's pad Saturday night. (Too bad Cori had to go home the day before for a family emergency.) I wish I could say this was all my doing, but my co-host Wendy Ing deserves the credit. I did manage to prepare the beef bourguignon and the chocolate cake. Meanwhile she sewed up a tablecloth (!) and napkins and trucked in a full kitchen (including vases, votives, tea towels, serving dishes and cheese knives.)

Our seven-pound red snapper was almost too beautiful to cut into.

Between courses we played "name the top filmakers" (the criteria is they have to have made four or more great movies): Hitchcock, Kubrick, Pollanski, Fellini, Ingmar Bergman--but not Orson Welles because he only has two greats--not four. For some inexplicable the guys gravitated toward the East end of the table to compare taxes between provincial Denmark and melting pot, USA. Meanwhile our end began to bemoan the loss of independence kids have today until somebody ran down the who's who of sexual predators in Fort Greene. Who'd have guessed there are like 20 on Clinton Ave alone.

At 2am as we're doing dishes and packing up plastic bins full of dinnerware and hauling it back up three flights of stairs, Wendy says: "This is so fun, and it really wasn't too much work at all. I can't wait until you come back so we can do it again." Cheers!

I'm praying Wendy's ever-positive spirit is contagious and will rub off on Timi. I can't believe how much I'll miss her next year...along with all the rest of the Brooklyn, New York and upstate crew. Some people are scared of swine flu and the neighborhood pervs. Not me. I'm terrified of ten months without me pepes. Oh well, there's always the neighbor's plum schnapps to lift me spirits.

The Mars Crystal Reaper Makes its Debut at Underwood

Driving the Rover was loads of fun for the whole gang...until Otto decided to send it into orbit with his foot upon which it shattered into 964 pieces. Was Peter heartbroken? Nope. In his own words: "That's Otto. I'm used to him by now."

Where Loubelwha Go?

It's our first day back in Brooklyn and this morning after breakfast Parker cocks his head and asks: "Mama, Mama, where Loubelwha go?" (Loubella is a pony owned by Kitty, our next door neighbor in High Falls. Bringing carrots to Loubella every morning was Parker's daily ritual.)

"Loubella was still at her house in High Fall," I said.

Parker looked at me and said, "No Bwookyn. Parker go back home. Loubelwha want carratya now."

Back to Bwookwn, bikes, boards and all

Today on the way out of High Falls I had to put on my sunglasses so nobody would see my tears. I was crying for two reasons: Parker turned two, which means--even though he looks like overgrown bok choy, he's officially not a baby anymore. And we said goodbye to our magical country living for ten months. We packed up High Falls for the year and headed back to Brooklyn.

We loaded up the car with skis, bikes, snowboards, bags and the lot---everything except Parker's balance bike. A few minutes later I spotted Parker climbing into his carseat, his little orange strider at his feet. He'd heaved it into the car when we weren't looking. He pointed to it and proclaimed: "Parker take bike Bwookwn." Guess he convinced us!

Is normal too much to ask for?

Dad flew Peter home from Oklahoma City today. We picked him up at the Newark Airport on the way home to Brooklyn from High Falls. I did manage a hug and kiss before he scoped the LEGO Mars Crystal Reaper in the rear window. This was the present that Timi ordered two months before his birthday--arghh! I'd said he couldn't build until after he'd returned from Oklahoma City. I'm certain he would have begun assembling right at airport curbside if security hadn't ushered us out. During the car ride home, I asked what he'd done in Oklahoma City. Our conversation went like:

"I heard you went to the zoo with Tyler."

"Yeah. Tyler likes playing little Legos too. We took apart the castle and built this digger attached to space station from another universe. Mama do you like the Mars Crystal Reaper?"

"Sure Bear, I think so. Gigi said you had a front row seat for the sea lion show."

"Is that what those animals were? Well, I didn't think you liked the mars reaper because the aliens aren't really real. When can we look up the Mars Rover on Wikipedia"

"Maybe tonight. I like plenty of things that aren't real. How did the puppet-making with Kelly go."

"When? I don't like puppets. If the Mars Rover goes 196 miles/hour is that faster than the speed of light?"

I went to the computer tonight to look up Ausberger's and how to talk to your son, and was greeted by a thoughtful email about Peter from my mom's friend Betsy. She's met Peter and mom for lunch a couple days before, and explained that Peter greeted her and even spoke. Bless her! One never quite knows if he'll say something in English, German, Plutonian, Blahelian or nothing at all. It was heartening to hear from Betsy that her son Clark was also preoccupied with Legos and seems to have grown into a normal human capable of conversing about subjects that don't need to be stabilized, attached, supported, controlled or reaped.

The truth is my little lego geek has me right where he wants me. Tonight before bed he asked me for milk. I said not after you've brushed your teeth. He turned on his dimples and said, "Mama, if I were you and I had a son, I'd do it for him." How could I resist?

Timi Survived the Shawanagunks and Croquet too

Mission Accomplished. Sunday morning Timi pulled out from behind a crop of trees off Mohonk Mountain Road and pedaled right into a pack of official racers in Ulster Count's famed half-ironman: Survival of the Shawanagunks. Let the games begin.

It was a beautiful day for exercise. Timi biked 28 miles, ran uphill 4 miles, swam 1.1 miles across Lake Awosting, ran 5 miles, swam .5 miles across Lake Minnewaska, ran 8 miles, swam 0.5 miles across Lake Mohonk, he ran 0.7 mile to skytop. Total time: 5 hours, 56 minutes.

Despite all our predictions, race workers did not attempt to throw the bandit out. Several volunteers questioned his lack of chip and number, but he threw them off the scent by claiming he'd overslept and missed the start. They waved him on and wished him luck the first few transitions. But by transition number four and five they began to get wise. By the final lap up to sky top--race organizers had radioed back to headquarters for an ID on the Austrian in the white t-shirt with no number and a rental bike.

That's when they knew: he'd poached the race. Race founder Don Davis came over to shake his hand at the finish, but clearly wasn't amused: "Congratulations Mr Johnstone. Hope you enjoyed it because this SOS will be your last." (Honestly, I wouldn't be so sure. This man has obviously never been on the receiving end of a discussion with a very persistent Timi.)

Get a look at the gear: the rental bike from Table Rock, the overextended post, the climbing helmet complete with rainbow flag. At least he didn't wear his leather shoes from Vienna.

He looks strong coming in after the biking. He takes off his shoes. Parker hands him a power bar. And he's off. Good luck.

The run went along the ridge line. Destination: Skytop. (The first pic is him at the finish)

Afterwards at Adam and Sabina's annual croquet party, everybody wants to know what happened. It's an epic tale. The audience was captive--until the food came out. That's okay. He kept talking...so what if everybody had stopped listening.

Croquet party was the best ever. The food was outstanding, and not only did I not come in last this year, I actually won my first round. Sunday was indeed a miraculous kind of day.

Watch out SOS, here he comes!

Timi, Parker and I made it home from Oklahoma City in record time--six hours from the door of my parent's house on Quail Creek Rd to the Main Street Bistro in New Paltz. (Peter will be delivered back to Brooklyn by his Grandaddy on Monday.) Still digesting a bagel and a round of eggs benedict, Parker dragged me over to the running store so he could smooch Tramp, a friendly looking, four-legged fellow that he'd spotted from the corner of Main Street. Timi trailed along behind. Big mistake. Entering the running shop reminded Timi that the Survival of the Shawangunks, Ulster County's legendary half-ironman, was on Sunday. I was hoping he'd forgotten all about it.

A 45-minute discussion about how exactly one swims with your shoes on (race rules) with the store manager, that's Tramp's owner, led Timi to the following conclusion: the best possible shoe would be his handmade, Viennese-leather lace-ups. Whoever claims you need brains to earn a PhD must not have known Timi. At least, after 18 miles of running, 38 miles of biking, and 3 miles of swimming, maybe it'll finally be time to bury those pitiful shoes. May they rest in peace.

The day was yet young at 3pm, and Timi's mind was ablaze with training possibilities, so we set for home. I was pleasantly surprised to find an overnight guest, the lovely (even at six-months pregnant) Abby Clough, waiting on our breezeway. Just what we needed: a distraction. We popped some beers and visited about our summer holidays and pondered tomboy names. Just when I was certain training and the SOS were again a distant memory, Abby mentioned her fondness for Wilder, a name they'd come across on a sign recently in New Hampshire. Calling the baby Wilder Lawless must have reminded Timi that he still had illegal business to attend to himself in the park that evening. Abby, Parker, Winston (Abby's dog) and I took off on our walk toward Cherry Hill road. And Timi commenced PHASE Three of SOS training. It was ten minutes to six, and he had no phone.

He pedaled from our garage to the Lake Awosting parking lot via Kerhonkson. He ran to Lake Awosting. Swam across the lake under a gorgeous, albeit moonless, sky. Ran back down along Hamilton Path (and claims he almost fell off the cliff for lack of light). He finally arrived back at the parking lot, mounted his bike and proceeded back home via Clove Valley Road. It was pitch black, and he had to hoot like an owl the entire ride home to frighten away any deer that might be lurking in the road. In several sections, he had to stop and walk his bike because it was so hard to see which way the road went. His biggest fear was hitting some animal, being thrown off his bike, knocked out and then run over by a car and left for roadkill.

Around 9pm, Abby and I sat down to watch Mad Men. "Where's Timi?" she asked. "Wasn't I worried?" Not really. I refused to worry about him until the clock struck midnight.

Just before my prince reached Clove Valley extension, a local in a pick-up truck, out poaching boulders for his vegetable garden, slammed his foot on the breaks just in time. He pulled alongside Timi, rolled down the glass and said: "I have just one question. Are you mental?" The man couldn't believe he'd almost run over a lone warrior biking in the pitch dark.

Timi replied that his wife thought he was. The man said, "Hop in, I'll take you home to her." Timi slid his bike in next to the stolen boulders and jumped in the cab. He arrived back at the house at 10:30 PM. Exhausted. Elated.

Training Log for the day:

Bike: 21 miles

Run: 10 miles

Swim: .5 mile

His ability to start? To finish? All bets are on. Who wants to start the pool?

Day 4 in OKC: The next wave of cousins arrive

Today it was out with Mom's side of the family, in with Dad's. Peter plays train with second cousins: Tyler and Evan and his friend Collin. Timi sneaks off for a bit of boating with Cousin Mark. Ashley holds Baby Emery. Peter plays dunk the second cousin with Katie.

perty as a picture

Ahhh shucks, doesn't this make y'all want to visit Oklahoma? I sure do love those dusty-red, big sky sunsets.

cross-training continues

Timi managed to find an overhanging traverse in the heartland. I just missed the shot of the canal ferry driving underneath him as he campused the struts.

My apologizes to Ashley

Ashley Dahnke came by with a generous gift for Peter, Parker and Cousin Carson in a big yellow bag. I snatched it out of her hand on the way in and stashed it in the closet before Peter could train his eyeballs on the bag's big block-red letters: L-E-G-O...the one and only word he can read. Sorry Ash.

The Kelly Cousins arrive in OKC

Three hands on deck: Cousin Trent, Cousin Ryan and Timi head off for a sail on Lake Hefner. Back at home the pool was already in spa mode; the wine poured. We loaded up the tub with the cousins, while the grandmother looked on. Aunt Jean and Uncle JC were there too. Meanwhile the youngest cubs got busy playing taxi on the ledge.

Uh-oh, Timi's in Training

A few evenings ago, I looked at my husband and knew something was afoot. He was swimming aggressively in the Moriello Pool in New Paltz, chasing a 70-year old woman in a pink swim cap, who he clams swam faster than everybody at Moriello that day, including him. 

A few days later, he came into the house dripping with sweat, grinning like a cat. The story unfolded immediately. He'd just ridden home from Jack & Luna's via Kerhonkson. A loop that took him at least 25 miles out of his way. He'd finished his work day at 4pm same as everyday, (the time when Jack and Luna's closes.) He removed his pants stashed them, along with his computer bag and wallet, in the parking lot of Jack and Luna's. We had a dinner to go to, so he texted Lindsay, our babysitter, to pick up the bundle on her drive in. 

Attired in a pair of boxers, and a polo, he proceeded to mount his bike (a 15+ year-old hand-me-down mountain bike from his friend Adam, with busted gears) and ride along Route 209 to Kerhokson. (about 8+ miles) Then he pedaled back up 44/55 past Minnewaska State Park. (another 8+ miles, all uphill). He took a left on Clove Valley Road, and road along the backside of the valley to Clove Valley Extension, to 6, to Berme and then back home. 

Reasonable powers of deduction, gathered after 7 years of marriage, helped me piece together my clues. The logical conclusion: he's training for Survival of the Shawanagunks, a half-iron man that takes place in two weeks, on Sept 13th. The fact that he has not registered, has no number and no conceivable way of acquiring one is, of course, of minimal concern. (The idea of buying one on Ebay was bandied about for a few minutes, but dismissed when no sellers were found.) Still, he seems, unperplexed, and the training continues. Phase two: the run, starts in Oklahoma today. 

Can You spell Obsessed?

We are in Oklahoma City this week for Labor Day. My friend Margaret and her family fly in today. I have a mini high-school reunion at Johnnies hamburger joint at 4:30 tomorrow. Tomorrow morning the Kelly Cousins arrive from Dallas for a two-day visit. On Monday we're entertaining all the Raupe/Hanstein Cousins out by the pool. Anybody else want to come? 

We purposely didn't bring any legos for our trip so Peter would engage with the family. It didn't stop him from sniffingout two lego catalogues in my mom's closet. He stayed awake in bed until 9pm last night looking at the catalogues, and this morning when I went into the kitchen at 6:30, he was already sitting at the table perusing the booklets, saying the names and the number of pieces out loud. He says he's going to receive a new one for each birthday.This year, for his 5th birthday, he wants the Mars Crysal Reaper, aka, the Mars Rover. He really wants the Taj Mahal too. It has 5009 pieces next to it. I pointed to the recommended age next to the picture, and asked him to read it. He said, I don't know "s". "It's not a letter, it's a number Sweetie." "Hmmm, C?" "No, it's a number, the number 16. You have to be able to count to 5000 first, and knowing your ABC's wouldn't hurt either."