After careful deliberation, we undertook the application process for kindergarten for next year for private school for the Boy Child. My wife and I both thought that he might be better off in a smaller, more caring environment. He is a very gentle soul and we are concerned that he might bruise, emotionally, a little too easily in public school. His sister, by contrast, is knocking the cover off the ball in public school and we have no immediate plans to change her school address. But the Boy Child, him we worry about. Or, at least, I did.

The Boy Child took part in the Cello Master Class this weekend at his music school. He played with his group from 9-10 and the entire cello student body played from 1:30 to 2:30. The teacher during the morning class asked the Boy Child how old he was and he replied: “four and 11/12ths”. So cute. The Boy Child was in the lowest level for the big class. He was adorable, by the way, dressed in his bow tie and blue button down shirt (which I didn’t even bother trying to tuck in), with his blond hair falling over his forehead as he bent over his cello in great concentration. At one point in the big class, held in the small auditorium with all the parents in attendance, the teacher asked if the class knew the French folk song composition and the Boy Child raised his hand. At that point, the boy behind him, a bratty little know it all, shouted at the Boy Child that he did not know the song. The Boy Child did know the song, in his mind, but did not know how to play it, you see. Anyway, the room went silent with everyone turning to look at the two and the Boy Child turned around and replied that he did too know it and the kid yelled back at him again, in a very nasty tone. The Boy Child turned again and exclaimed, heatedly: “You have never been in my class you so don’t know what I know or what I don’t know.” And that was that. The brat resigned the field. I was pleased that he stuck up for himself and did it so well – something I might have thought was beyond him.

We stayed after class for the Master Concert – a pillow concert lasting an hour, with four cellists playing. Afterwards, he ran around and played. And got into a fist fight. That’s right, my gentle little son went toe to toe with an 8 year old and traded blows until a teacher broke it up. The older kid hit the Boy Child first and the Boy Child hit back. The Boy Child came up to me after and was about to start to cry when he saw me and I told him that he better not cry, that I did not want to see him cry, that he had to suck it up and hold it in and not give the older kid, a bully, the satisfaction of seeing him cry. And he did, too. He bit it back and stood up and did not cry. I told him that while I was proud of him, he did not do a very good job of fighting and I was going to teach him how to fight when we got home. He continued, by the way, to make remarks to the other kid until we left. The spirit, you see, was not touched. He was excited to go home, he told me, and learn how to fight.

We got home and we began the lesson. I told him that the problem was that he hit this other kid, who we will call the “bully”, because he was angry and because he wanted the bully to know he was angry. This was wrong. If you are only angry, you use words, you don’t need a fist. If you need to hit someone, you have to do it to hurt and not just because you are angry. So, we spent a half an hour learning how to throw a short jab into the face. A short punch, starting from the shoulder and snapping it into the face with the intention of punching through the target. One of those to the nose will end any fight and eliminate the possibility of the Boy Child ever being picked on again.

The Girl Child participated in the lesson, too, by the way. She wanted to work on her fighting. The bully was lucky, quite lucky, that she did not see him punch her brother because she would have clocked the other kid. That is how she has been raised. The bullyÂ’s most regular source of exercise appears to be pushing a bow across the cello strings and pushing around his younger sister. The Girl Child has gotten to be one solid piece of muscle from her riding and if she had hit this kid, he would have collapsed like a cheap paper bag. No question. I am sure from this just from seeing how her wrists and hands have gotten stronger from the riding, not to mention her core. She is one tough cookie. And yes, she certainly can throw a punch.

Anyway, I told the Boy Child that I was so very proud of him and asked him if he knew why. He asked me: “Because I stucked up for myself?” Exactly. I have tried to teach him and his sister to stick up for themselves and each other but when push comes to shove, as it did, only they can make those decisions. I can teach them how to do it better, how to make a fist and throw a solid fight-ending punch, but I am so glad that I don’t have to try to teach them now not to be a victim for some bully.

His application to this private school was waitlisted. We found out on Saturday. I no longer think it makes a difference whether he goes to the very sweet, very supportive, small private school or whether he goes into the local public school. HeÂ’s going to be fine wherever he goes. He can stick up for himself, both orally and physically, and he is going to take that self-confidence with him into any situation; heÂ’s earned it himself. He didnÂ’t give up and he didnÂ’t let the bully see him cry. You may not agree with me about the morality of teaching a not quite five year old how to bloody another childÂ’s nose (and you can be sure he has learned that and we will continue to practice how to do it), but I trust you will agree that it is entirely wonderful that he values himself enough not to allow another impose on him, no matter what the size or age or strength difference.

So, yeah, I was proud because he stucked up for himself. He got it exactly right.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:19 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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1 Oh, well done!! However, if one must fight, fake a knee to the groin, the when the opponent bends forward to cover, a quick blow to the larnyx should drop 'em with no loss of blood. ; )

Posted by: Christina at February 13, 2008 03:59 PM (7igc6)

2 You did exactly right. I might add that the idea is to fight until the fight is broken up, otherwise a sneak may try to sucker your kids into letting up. Bravo to all of you.

Posted by: Ted at February 13, 2008 05:34 PM (yRolC)

3 Good for the Boy Child! You story nearly brought a tear to my eye - I think I share your pride!

Posted by: Phoenix at February 14, 2008 10:06 AM (4N2f4)

4 Well, thanks everyone. I was sure that my approach to this was going to stir up a huge amount of negative commenting. Nice to see that I am not too far off the mainstream.

Posted by: rp at February 14, 2008 10:41 AM (op1yW)

5 Nothing wrong with teaching the BC to defend himself which is much different than teaching him to fight. One other thing...remind me to never, ever make Christina mad.

Posted by: Howard at February 15, 2008 05:14 PM (u2JaN)

6 Hey, great blog...but I donÂ’t understand how to add your site in my rss reader. Can you Help me, please

Posted by: RobD at October 06, 2009 03:56 PM (NOblk)

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How did that happen, you might ask? After persistently, but really nicely, asking the newspaper guy at the train station to start carrying the New York Sun in addition to the New York Times -- I cannot stand the Times anymore -- he has kindly agreed to order ONE copy of the Sun for me every day. How cool is that? My very own special order.

Yup, the commute just got a whole lot better.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:17 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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The Girl Child, as my regular readers know, is a rider. You may also know that she just turned 7 last month. So, while she is a rider, she is just a small rider, although she is very good. She has been asked to ride with the older, more experienced group, taught by a somewhat less coddling type of teacher. She rode with that woman yesterday and they jumped verticals. This is a big change and I did not expect to see her on the verticals for some time -- she's not been doing cross rails for that long, really.

I am more than a little bit in awe of this little girl.

I was less awed by how she managed to throw up three times last night. I am hoping for less throwing up and more sleep tonight. Much more sleep.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:12 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Someone once said that the race may not always go to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that's the way to bet. The same can be said for squash. The match may not always go to the younger by 15 years guy, the thinner and taller guy, the guy with longer arms and longer legs, but that's not a bad way to bet.

Except, of course, for last night. That was when I beat up a 25 year old guy in straight games (3-0) by the scores of 9-4, 10-8, 9-4 and saved my club team from being swept in a 9 match challenge for a pretty silver cup that the other team ended up retaining.

I am still, hours and hours later, pretty damn pleased. And the best part is my knees don't even hurt today. Woo hoo!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:02 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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I had to call to run a question past the insurance people with respect to an application for a disability policy for the firm. The form asked if I had received surgery before or if I had been advised to have surgery. So I called:

Me: This question on the form, does it require me to disclose voluntary surgery?

Her: Well, what kind of voluntary surgery?

Me: A vasectomy and I am not at all sure that I recall it being voluntary, come to think of it.

Her: Gosh, no. That's personal. We want to know if you have had back surgery, or, gahd fuhrbid, can-suh.

To borrow from Cindy Adams, only in New York, kids, only in New York.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 01:42 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Now that my trial has ended, I was actually able to take the entire weekend away from the office. As would be my custom, I threw myself at it.

*Friday night -- martini night and dinner with friends

*Saturday

--take all three kids, who are up waaaay too early, with me to the grocery store to stock up on Super Bowl type food;

--feed the kids breakfast;

--take the Girl Child to her riding lesson and stay to watch. Try not to judge her too much as she whacks the pony on the butt with her crop because heÂ’ll buck if that happens and she thinks that's fun;

--bake a batch of chocolate chip cookies from scratch with some small help from the kids;

--oversee the Girl Child as she prepared, in her own words and her own hand, two cards to go with the two plates of cookies;

--take the cards, the cookies, and the whole family to the firehouse and the police station to thank them all for keeping us safe;

--get a tour of the firehouse and watch the kids be allowed to sit in the driver seat of the biggest of the trucks. The baby (not quite two, yet) went right for the wheel with the left hand and the shifter knob with the right and turned and gave us quite the most self-contented grin I have seen in quite some time;

--get a tour of the police station, including the booking room, the cells, the 911 communications center, and the break room. Get a special introduction to the blood hound and be allowed to play with him in the parking lot.

--explain to the children what "say no to drugs" means on the way home from the police station. The Girl Child saw it on a poster and wanted to know. We told her about how drugs were bad and if people tried to give her any, she should turn them down. She wanted to know from us how she would know, asking, would it say drugs on the side of the thing?

--take the children home to turn them over to the babysitter so we could go off to an adult's only dinner party

--go to a dinner party and have great fun with a whole wide range of people (ranging from investment bankers to music industry types). Get home late.

*Sunday

--Get up early and hit the paddle courts for my first paddle experience since New Year's Day. Realize that a three week break has somehow magically improved my game. Walk off the court feeling like a million bucks, although a confused million bucks, and with an invitation to a Super Bowl party, which I decline with great regret;

--Go home to switch off with the Viking Bride as she headed off to dance class, pulled the baby into the shower with me, then went downstairs to begin the pot of mega-chili (YAY!);

--take the Girl Child to Sunday School and come home to finish the chili preparations while feeding something inappropriate to the boys for lunch and then put them down for their naps;

--pick up the Girl Child, take her home to feed her, and then take her to the aquarium for a birthday party;

--come home, pick up the boys and the Bride, take them to a playground for a half an hour and then take them all to the aquarium to see the sharks while we wait for the birthday party to let out;

--bring everyone home, feed them dinner, and turn on the Super Bowl;

--watch the first half with the children and the second half without;

--offer up my thanks and joy when the Giants take home the trophy.

All in all, it was a pretty packed weekend, wouldn't you say?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:09 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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New York won the Super Bowl, as I am sure you all know. The Giants were the subject of a parade down by the Wall Street area. Giants fans were in evidence all over midtown Manhattan today.

An observation.

The Giants, heavily hoped for underdogs, won. Yet:

*No cars were burned or overturned;

*No riots broke out;

*No storefront windows were broken;

*No assaults reported;

*No property damage noted;

*In short, nothing bad happened in New York as a result of excited celebration.

Almost makes you think New Yorkers have some experience with a sports team winning, huh?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:45 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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It is most certainly not progress that I sit at my keyboard today, looking out the window at an overcast sky, while the Mardi Gras celebration in New Orleans works its way ever closer to the Hurricane fueled culmination of months of exuberant self expression.

I miss New Orleans. I miss the New Orleans I used to know, used to live in, used to love. I sometimes sort of miss the 23 year old kid who lived there in that time. The New Orleans I loved has been washed away by greed, corruption, and incompetence as the flood waters inundated the city in an almost biblical fashion.

But I can cast my mind back just the same and remember how I used to spend Mardi Gras. For many, Mardi Gras is spent in an alcoholic haze, oggling naked women in the French Quarter. That has its charms, to be sure. But I preferred a more Uptown approach to Mardi Gras.

I would float, with friends, from house party to house party. There was always something yummy to eat, happy to drink, and use of a bathroom (always appreciated). The houses were some of the most beautiful in the Garden District and occupied, in some cases, by some of the oldest families in the city. They were also close by to St. Charles Avenue and thus convenient to get to the parade and catch stuff.

So, as I sit here in very un-Mardi Gras New York, with zydeco music playing softly in the background, working on a contract, I taste bourbon and cheese grits and dream of humid air and masked people on floats throwing cheap beads.

That was a heck of a time.

Happy Mardi Gras, y'all!

Posted by: Random Penseur at 12:45 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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Neither me nor my poor neglected blog have really gone anywhere. Indeed, I was quite pleased to remember my password. It feels, what, kind of nice to see the familiar blog-entry screen and to watch the letters march across the space.

Sorry for not calling or writing or anything. I was on trial. It was quite intense. 14-15 hour days were the norm. I worked every day of every weekend. I am happy to have it behind me but for the post-trial briefs. Those are coming down the pike.

I have re-grouped. I have slept through the night for the first time in weeks -- no more waking up between 2:30 and 3:15 to wonder about whether I should include a line of questioning in my examination outline or whether I somehow blew a pre-trial submission deadline (never). No, the alarm clock is waking me now. I am returning slowly to the gym -- which is painful. I am sending out emails to clients who I put on hold to let them know I am available to help them again. I am paying bills and attending to personal details (just beat the deadline to sign the Boy Child up for little league for the spring).

In short, I am attempting re-entry. I am still probably not quite the best company in the world right now and need some time to re-gain my usual patience with my children and their needs.

But, it is coming.

Anyway, point of curiosity. I have not blogged in weeks and yet site-meter claims my daily visits are rising? Why are you all coming to see the blank space? Or, heaven forfend, is the blank space generally more interesting than my writing?

Anyway, nice to be back, y'all.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:54 PM | Comments (14) | Add Comment
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1 I come by each day to see if the blank screen has words on them. Low and behold! Today there are words. Good to see you back. You were missed.

Posted by: jules at January 31, 2008 03:58 PM (XA8OW)

2 Yeah, like Jules said. Plus, I'm curious to see what kind of uber-cool stuff you've done lately. So did you win?

Posted by: Howard at January 31, 2008 04:30 PM (u2JaN)

3 still here! glad to see you are, too. Very glad to hear that all is well.

Posted by: Mandalei at January 31, 2008 05:01 PM (8cmrr)

4 I missed you! You are a sane voice in my blog-rounds for the day! Yes, I have others who are sane too, but then I have..."the others" I can't stop reading and when you do not blog the balance is completely off!

Posted by: Amber at February 01, 2008 11:08 AM (zQE5D)

5 You see, here's the deal. I keep checking in to see the white space, and when I stop, you finally post. I do not know why it works that way, it just does. Glad to see you back. I've missed you. Now post some GC and BC stories.

Posted by: Kathy at February 03, 2008 01:24 PM (b6/ZS)

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Posted by: free download at December 05, 2008 10:59 AM (MyIHi)

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I feel a bit stuck, whipsawed by life this weekend. On Friday, on a piercingly, achingly cold and beautiful day, I spoke to a group of some thirty people gathered together to witness the burial of my cousin, Don. I called him Donny, actually. I was the only one there who called him Donny. Donny was 69 years old when he was struck down by terminal bone cancer. I miss him, already.

I stood at the grave and remembered how when I was a senior in college, or just before senior year, my grandfather and Donny took me out to visit the two cemeteries where our families are buried. We had lunch in between the visits. We went to the first one, where my grandfather now rests, buried next to my grandmother, which is where my grandfather and his family line are buried. The second cemetery holds the remains of the family of my maternal grandmother's relatives, the branch Donny was part of. Actually, since Donny had no children, the family name of my maternal grandmother has disappeared. Anyway, Donny and my grandfather told me that they wanted me to know where the family graves were because one day it would be my responsibility to make certain that the graves were cared for, to make sure that those who came after me would know something about the people who were buried in these places.

I had not been back to my grandmother's family's graves since that visit, some 18 years ago. It seemed to me that it was too soon to be back now. 18 years? That would have put Donny at just over 50, only 10 years older than I am now. Donny seemed to young to die and too close to me in age for me to feel that it was ok for him to die, that it was part of the natural order of things for him to leave this earth. But, of course, he has.

I spent Saturday morning and afternoon consumed by the Girl Child's birthday party. She will be 7 quite soon and we held her party yesterday. As per custom, we went to a local gymnastics place and ran around before she had her cake. Her cake, per her request, was an ice cream cake with a picture of her dressed in her horse show clothes and sitting on one of her favorite horses. It came out pretty darn cool, actually. As for the party, I won't ask you to guess who was the only parent there who threw himself into all the games, chasing the kids around, being chased around, having balls thrown at him and throwing them back, and generally wringing every second of fun from the party that he could. Yup, that was me. The Girl Child, the Boy Child and the Baby all had an excellent time, as did I.

My father turned 65 yesterday, the same day we celebrated the Girl Child's birthday.

That evening, before we took my father out for dinner, we drove into the city for a packed house memorial service for Donny. Seriously, it was standing room only. That was quite a tribute for my cousin. All of the speakers who spoke about him spoke of qualities that spoke of another man, although they did not know this. See, Donny's father died so terribly young, in his 40's, of a heart attack. Donny's father, Sam, my grandmother's oldest brother, actually put my grandmother through college during the Great Depression. Donny kind of grew up in my grandfather's house and, as Donny himself told me, my grandfather, his uncle, became a father to him. Donny did his best to emulate my grandfather -- he looked up to him so much. The qualities they spoke of in Donny at the memorial service, those qualities were learned from my grandfather. It would have made my grandfather so proud to hear people speak of his nephew like that last night. Just the same, it would have devastated my grandfather to watch his nephew die from this horrible disease.

After the service, we took my father out for his birthday. It was generally quite nice, albeit quiet and even a bit subdued due to the circumstances.

And so, I feel a bit whipsawed. Pulled between the too early death of my cousin and the celebrations of the lives of my father and my daughter.

I cannot quite figure out where or how to end this. I am not sure I even started this post with a destination in mind. So, maybe, I will just stop here.

Rest in peace, Donny. If its ok, and I know from the memorial service that everyone else called you Don, I am going to keep calling you Donny. After all, and since you kept my father company in the hospital some 40 years ago waiting with him while I was born, I have only called you Donny. It isn't a bad thing to have people call you by the name you were known as a child, even when you are dead, is it?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:37 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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1 It's moments like those when you really come to understand the phrase "life goes on", I guess. My condolences on your loss.

Posted by: caltechgirl at January 06, 2008 09:11 PM (IfXtw)

2 I'm so sorry for your loss, RP. Donny sounds like he was a good man.

Posted by: Kathy at January 09, 2008 02:19 PM (lFNXR)

3 RP, I am so sorry. {{{{hugs}}}}

Posted by: Amber at January 10, 2008 11:22 AM (zQE5D)

4 My condolences RP. It's always difficult to lose those we love most. This past year I lost my dad and step-dad within 5 months of each other so I do know how you feel. The juxtaposition of life and death is perhaps the hardest thing to contend with, especially in this day and age when we are really not given time to grieve. I'm really grateful that upon the 2nd death my firm insisted I take bereavement leave. That time was extremely necessary for me to mourn profoundly and be able to return as a very effective person, not only at work but also in my life and that of my community. I hope you are able to take time to mourn and emerge with the solace of wonderful loving memories like you described in your post. A virtual hug is sent your way.

Posted by: michele (of letters from nyc) at January 16, 2008 02:51 PM (cV7Xy)

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I knew, intellectually, it was supposed to be a bit chilly this morning. But as I left the house and turned on the engine to my car, I was a little taken aback to see it register 23 degrees inside the garage. The register dropped quickly from there all the way down to a balmy 11 degrees.

It is a decent illustration of how debased and strange I have become that my first coherent thought after my shock passed was: gee, it is just perfect weather for platform tennis, too bad I have to go to work.

I need help. It would help if I worked less and played more racket sports. I'm sure that the solution lies somewhere in there.

Don't count the fact that I have already played paddle once this week (twice if you count Sunday) and squash twice, too. That should not count at all in evaluating my claim of racket sport deprivation. Ok?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 10:11 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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1 Seek help immediately.

Posted by: Kathy at January 03, 2008 10:47 AM (9mlOu)

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George MacDonald Fraser has shuffled off his mortal coil at age 82.

According to the AP wire:

George MacDonald Fraser, author of the "Flashman" series of historical adventure yarns, died Wednesday, his publisher said. He was 82.

Fraser died following a battle with cancer, said Nicholas Latimer, director of publicity for Knopf, which will release Fraser's latest work "The Reavers" in the United States in April. Latimer was unable to provide details of where Fraser died. He lived on the Isle of Man, off the coast of northwest England.

"Flashman," published in 1969, introduced readers to an enduring literary antihero: the roguish, irrepressible Harry Flashman.

The novel imagined Flashman — the bullying schoolboy of 19th-century classic "Tom Brown's Schooldays" — grown up to become a soldier in the British army. In the book and 11 sequels, Flashman fought, drank and womanized his way across the British Empire, Europe and the United States, playing a pivotal role in the century's great historical moments. A vain, cowardly rogue, Flashman nonetheless emerged from each episode covered in glory, rising to the rank of medal-garlanded brigadier-general.

Fraser thought his antihero's appeal was not surprising.

"People like rascals, they like rogues," Fraser told the British Broadcasting Corp. in 2006.

"I was always on the side of the villain when I was a child and went to the movies. I wanted Basil Rathbone to kill Errol Flynn."

The Flashman books were also praised by critics for their storytelling flair and attention to historical detail. Each installment of the series purported to come from a faux-biographical trove of memoirs — The Flashman Papers — discovered in an English attic in the 1960s.

Fraser proudly pointed out that a third of the first book's American reviewers believed the Flashman papers were real.

Some readers and critics found Flashman's 19th-century racism and sexism disturbing. But by the time the final Flashman book, "Flashman on the March," appeared in 2005, the critical tide had turned in Fraser's favor.

Fraser also had heavyweight literary supporters. Kingsley Amis called him "a marvelous reporter and a first-rate historical novelist," and P.G. Wodehouse was also a fan.

Born in Carlisle, northern England in 1925, Fraser served as an infantryman with the British Army in India and Burma during World War II, and in the Middle East after the war. He worked as a journalist in Britain and Canada for more than 20 years before turning to fiction.

Fraser was the author of screenplays including "The Three Musketeers" (1973), an adaptation of his novel "Royal Flash" (1975) and the James Bond movie "Octopussy" (1983).

Fraser also wrote several works of nonfiction, including a wartime memoir, "Quartered Safe Out Here," "Steel Bonnets: The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border" and "The Hollywood History of the World."

His final book, "The Reavers," is a a historical romp featuring espionage and intrigue during the reign of Elizabeth I.

There was no immediate word of funeral arrangements or whether Fraser left any survivors.

This is really quite sad, actually. He was a brilliant author and his books were tremendous fun. No more Patrick O'Brien, no more Flashman. The world is getting smaller and smaller with every passing.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 09:46 AM | Comments (28) | Add Comment
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I know kids today are often over-scheduled, but this is ridiculous. . .

I was putting the Girl Child to bed last night and she and I had the following exchange:

Me: Now that you are about to turn 7, your mother and I think it might be the right time to start giving you an allowance.

Her: [Very excited] Great! What can I start doing around the house?

Me: Well, we haven't decided yet but I think you could start by making your bed every day.

Her: I could do that [tone: earnest] but it would really chew into my time.

I had to leave the room when she said that so she wouldn't see me laugh.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:52 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
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1 I'll laugh for you: HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAAHA

Posted by: caltechgirl at January 03, 2008 01:19 AM (IfXtw)

2 Oh dude. I've said it before and I'll say it again: you're screwed. Triple threat: beauty, brains AND a sense of humor. Sheeeewww. (ROFL, btw)

Posted by: Margi at January 03, 2008 03:04 AM (KF0g8)

3 Too funny. By the way, coming back to your comments on wondering if you should continue writing - even if you just write things like this from time to time, it'll be something very special to look back on years from now. So sounds to me like it's worth it.

Posted by: Hannah at January 03, 2008 03:36 AM (KuL2D)

4 Thanks for the comments, y'all. I really have to get better at responding to them. It isn't htat I don't appreciate them; I do. I am just so damn lazy. . .

Posted by: rp at January 03, 2008 10:12 AM (op1yW)

5 Wow, cool man, big thanks! http://vxqzqfalics.com

Posted by: tfevcblrad at May 17, 2008 07:07 AM (5YTkA)

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She rode in her third horse show this weekend. She competed in four events and got ribbons in three of them. The trainers were very pleased with her outing. She kicked the heck out of that horse all the way around the ring and got him to move much faster than he usually does. After her fourth and final event, she asked permission from the trainers to take her pony into the schooling ring to continue cantering. The trainers just lit up at that request and off she went to canter around for another quarter hour or so. Eventually, however, the pony got tired and he had to be brought back to his stall. My daughter untacked him herself, brushed him out, gave him a treat, and put him away. Then we had breakfast with my parents who had come up to watch the Girl Child ride.

Then I took her to the doctor. The doctor said that the left ear was an example of the worst ear infection she had seen in two weeks and the right ear was the worst she had seen all day. She was shocked that the Girl Child was not totally incapacitated. She was stunned to hear that the Girl Child had actually ridden in a horse show. She then turned to me and said, quietly, that if pus starts to come out of the Girl ChildÂ’s left ear that I should call her back because they will need to prescribe some special ear drops.

What, might you ask, were the Girl ChildÂ’s concerns? Whether she could still go sledding with her friends that afternoon and whether sheÂ’d be able to take her regular riding lesson on Sunday. No to the sledding and yes to the riding.

This is one tough kid.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 11:46 AM | Comments (30) | Add Comment
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The study of other cultures is very big right now. The Girl Child's class has "traveled" to Africa, Thailand, Mexico and Sweden and learned all sorts of things about the cultures there. Or, so she says. With reference to Sweden, the class has been studying Santa Lucia and the celebration thereof.

You will be pleased to know that the Viking Bride has been doing her part to help the GC learn about other cultures. The GC learned a new song about Santa Lucia. When she got to school, my not quite 7 year old daughter got up in front of her 1st grade class and informed them that she had learned a new Santa Lucia song from her mother and did they want her to sing it to them all in Norwegian? They did.

The song, which the Girl Child belted out, she then went on to translate.

It goes something like this, according to the Girl Child:

Santa Lucia went into the woods to poop. When she was finished, it smelled wicked bad.

You cannot say we are not doing our part for multi-cultural understanding!

Her classmates were amused although I gather her teacher was not quite as amused.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 04:23 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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1 That was hilarious. Bet you can't wait for the next Parent/Teacher conference.

Posted by: Howard at December 19, 2007 04:57 PM (u2JaN)

2 I vividly remember learning about Santa Lucia in kindergarden. As the oldest daughter, I thought it would be cool to wear candles on a wreath on my head.

Posted by: Angie at December 19, 2007 05:17 PM (JRxQD)

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A little catch up is in order. When last we left our hero, he was holding the phone, cursing the fates, and wondering how he was going to prepare for oral argument on a motion that was six months old. Well, here's what happened. I told the judge that I wasn't coming in the next morning but could see him next week and he agreed.

So, I spent hours and hours getting re-prepared, re-researching, updating old research, re-dissecting arguments and constructing some new ones, and, and, and today was the day. I was up at 3:30 this morning because I could not sleep. Six hours later, there I was, standing in front of the judge, trying to tell him why we did not need to have an immediate trial on a particular issue. The judge, however, was hot to trot and when the other side said that they had a family trip planned, the judge scheduled the trial for the day after the guy's return. That is ugly. So, away we go. Let's get ready to ruuuuumble.

* * *

We had our joint birthday party, the Viking Bride and I. It was a cocktail reception for 70. It was a grand success. We had to keep the bar open for an extra 45 minutes. We stayed in that night in the City. The kids were in the room across from ours. The kids came to the first 45 minutes of the party. How could we have a party to celebrate our birthdays and tell the kids that they couldn't come? We couldn't figure out how to do that, so we didn't. They came.

The Viking Bride and I retired at 1. At 3, the baby woke up, screaming his head off. I ventured across the hall, picked him up, and soothed him. He would not go back into his crib. By this point, the Boy and Girl Children were up. I gave up and took the baby into bed with his brother and sister who had been happily sharing a king sized bed up to that point. The baby insisted on staying inside the circle of my arms with his head against my face. That made it easy for him to head butt me in the eye socket or chin whenever he wanted and it was also easier for him to reach my hair when he needed something to pull. I had just about managed to get us both back to sleep and I heard the following exchange.

BC: GC, I cannot tell what time it is. That is one of the hard numbers for me.

GC: Let's figure it out together, BC, shall we? What comes after 4?

BC: 5!

GC: Very good! Give me a hug!

It was too cute, even if, at the time, I just wanted them to shut up.

* * *

The Girl Child continues to ride and ride well. The senior instructor types were telling my wife that they think she's going to be a great rider. She's back to where she was before her fall and more so, even. She informed me when I got home that she learned something new, how to do a cross-over. I thought this might be a neat new way to change a diagonal. Nope, it is, instead, a new way to smack the horse with your crop.

She's going to make some man very miserable one day. Or very happy, I suppose, depending on the guy.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:11 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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1 This is no lie...I was watching TV the other day, flipping the channels and happened to catch someone jumping with a horse. My first thought? I wonder if the GC can do that?

Posted by: Howard at December 17, 2007 05:12 PM (u2JaN)

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Let's say you worked your butt off on a set of motions in a case that is now something like 19 years old. The motions were marked submitted by the judge back in May or June. It is now December. You have not heard anything about the motions. Indeed, you have practically forgotten about the entire existence of the case, not just the motions. Then, it is 1:00. You get a call from the Part Clerk saying that the judge wants all the lawyers to come in at 9:30 tomorrow morning. When you ask why, you get the impression that the Part Clerk has no idea but is merely speculating when she tells you that "there are motions outstanding and maybe the judge has some questions".

Hit the panic button. Run around like an idiot for a half an hour. Now, pull the huge stack of papers you have on this case and try to prepare yourself for whatever the judge might be wondering about since he got the papers back in the spring.

Pat, Vanna, I would like to buy a clue, please.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 01:35 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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1 I can't give you a clue, but since I played the role of Howie Mandel at this year's Christmas party, I can give you a shiny briefcase. Hope it went well...

Posted by: Howard at December 10, 2007 04:50 PM (u2JaN)

2 Well? Did you win or what? Don't keep us in suspense.

Posted by: Kathy at December 11, 2007 12:10 PM (7f9Tx)

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My fingers are stiff and it required quite a lot of work to blow the cobwebs off of the keyboard. Honestly, I am not at all sure where to begin. It seems like such a long time since I last sat down and pecked out an entry here that I am at a loss for a starting point. Maybe, instead of something structured, I could just ramble a bit, indulge myself with a little free association. I warn you, though, that if I decide to do that, I will not re-read the entry. I will simply, when I tire of writing, hit "post" and let it rip. So, bearing in mind that caveat, I begin:

I remain puzzled by the flurry of statements and accusations released by the Democratic presidential candidates. Is really nothing going right in the country? Is all that is going wrong really correctly laid at the President's door? Why, now that things seem to be going so much better in Iraq, have the candidates stopped talking about the war? I am waiting for one of them to show me something special, something that looks like leadership. Right now, the only guy I really admire is Rudy. He has, at least, the courage to stand up and say that he is running contrary to the deeply held views of his base. At least he's honest.

* * *

I watched my daughter ride in her second horse show this weekend. The results were quite a bit better than even her first. And, considering that she has only been riding since August, I gather it is remarkable that she jumped cross rails well enough to take a ribbon. And it wasn't one of those "everybody is a winner" ribbons. It was a "I did better than someone else" ribbon. She had to be pulled aside by her instructor before the two jumping rounds so she could watch the other children ride first since she had no idea how to jump a horse show course. The thing that pleased me the most was how calm and composed she was when her horse refused a jump in the second round. She just pulled his head around, took him back, and then took him over the jump. That showed a terribly rare grace and composure under pressure that seems unusual in a not quite 7 year old. Good for her.

* * *

We spent a long weekend recently in Boca Raton, Florida. We had to go for a family bar mitzvah.

I loathe Florida, at least that part. It all looks alike, I cannot find my way around, I cannot differentiate one part of the area from any other part. I am so glad I plumped for the GPS unit in the car I rented.

That said, swimming with the kids was nice.

I actually missed, almost entirely, my cousin's bar mitzvah, though. I took the Boy Child to the potty and, coming back, found an elderly woman, in tears, sitting on her walker. The lobby attendant asked me if I knew her and, sure enough, she was Gloria, my aunt's oldest friend. The lobby attendant immediately fled and there I was with Gloria. Gloria got lost on the way to the synagogue, she got disoriented in the handicapped bathroom and exited into a dark room where something feel on her leg, and now she just wanted to leave. I calmed her down, after some time (I think we were out in the lobby for somewhere between 30 and 45 minutes) and all three of us went back in to sit in the back. Once in the back, we regularly got shushed as we sat there and made disparaging comments about the rabbi and all of the silly and pointless speeches. It was great fun.

Gloria had been married to a very, very learned man, an Algerian Jew. Her husband, in fact, at his own son's bar mitzvah, was supposed to read from the Torah. He told the rabbi there that he would read it, although the Torah was wrong. Turns out he was correct and the scribe who wrote the scroll had made a mistake. I don't know too many people who can do that. So, if Gloria, finally calm, wanted to talk smack about the rabbi, you bet I was going to let her and even join in.

Gloria later sent my parents an email, by the way, thanking them for raising me so well. She even called me a young man, which was especially nice. If there is any interest, I will post the email. It was quite the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me.

* * *

My in laws are in town for a three week visit. It may feel as if it is dragging on a bit. My father in law has already killed the bourbon, which is a shame since with my mother in law in the house, this is when my wife needs it the most.

* * *

I brought the Boy Child, all of 4.5 years old, on to the paddle tennis court to hit with the instructor for 15-20 minutes. I trust the instructor. He's a good guy and promised to be honest with me about the Boy Child. His verdict? The BC has extraordinary coordination, better than many of the 7 year olds he teaches.

Can anyone say, "squash scholarship", please? Pretty please?

* * *

I have had a beastly cold for a little more than a week now. I believe I must have caught it from one of the children. I have not let it interfere with anything important but it is damn little fun.

* * *

I forgot what I was going to put here. No bother. We leave this section as is and move on to the next one.

* * *

The Viking Bride and I are gathering some 70 people together and making them put on ties and dresses, as appropriate, for a cocktail party marking our both turning 40. It was what she really wanted to do, you see, and who am I to tell her no? Just the same, while I am sure it will be fun -- lots to drink, lots to eat, a string trio for light music, good company -- I am not completely looking forward to it. Go figure.

* * *

I have to cross the water tonight. I am going, in other words, to Brooklyn. I have not been there in a really long time. I have to play a squash match for my club team where I will do my best to, if not cover myself in glory, at least not make anyone say, "it is so sad when they get old yet insist on playing".

At least I got an early slot: 5:45. Means I might make it home before day break.

* * *

I attended a memorial service on Saturday where I watched a friend say goodbye to his wife of 48 years. He did so with remarkable grace and tremendous class. How does one summon the necessary fortitude to get up in public and bid farewell to your best friend of almost half a century?

* * *

Ok, enough for now, I think.

Anyone still actually reading this blog?

Or, should I let it go the way of all things and allow it to slip gracefully into the twilight, unmourned, but remembered with affection, rather than continue to hit it with the occasional jolt of energy? Seriously, any thoughts?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 12:21 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
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1 Well I, for one, would be disappointed if it slipped quietly into the night, so I hope you keep on joltin'.

Posted by: Robbo the Llama Butcher at November 27, 2007 12:43 PM (0JsTF)

2 I'd like to see the e-mail. I love reading about your family RP. You have some awesome children. I would hate to see you stop posting completely.

Posted by: Holly at November 27, 2007 12:47 PM (/4SJz)

3 Oh, please don't stop. Post whenever you can and we'll keep stopping by to see what's what.

Posted by: Kathy at November 27, 2007 01:36 PM (RhTlS)

4 Hail, fellow slacker. What're you trying to do, make me look bad? I'll ditto the above comments; I still check out your blog on a regular basis, so feel free to keep posting.

Posted by: JohnL at November 27, 2007 03:29 PM (Hs4rn)

5 if you quit I'll come break your squash rackets! I feel for the VB. Three weeks from now I'll be spending three weeks with my parents. And they have no bourbon. Arrgh.

Posted by: caltechgirl at November 27, 2007 03:43 PM (/vgMZ)

6 Uh...my invitation must have gotten lost in the mail. The Pony Express ain't worth spit anymore. And I concur...you gotta hang around. Or if you quit, you gotta promise to keep me updated by email.

Posted by: Howard at November 27, 2007 04:14 PM (u2JaN)

7 I'd miss it. It's still one of the first blogs I ever started reading and I love hearing how things are going with you... nearly four years on. Still, write for yourself. If you don't want to write very often, then don't. If you feel the need, well, then, it's here. I know it goes in cycles with me. I'm very glad to hear everything seems to be going so well with you - and good luck with that squash tournament!

Posted by: Hannah at November 27, 2007 05:47 PM (lUH62)

8 It sounds as if your horse just refused a fence. Follow your daughter's lead...

Posted by: Mrs. Peperium at November 28, 2007 04:09 PM (tNtr5)

9 From one 40 year old lawyer to another, please keep writing!

Posted by: Monica C. at November 28, 2007 05:53 PM (FMnfx)

10 Feel free to invite me to your 40th cocktail party. I haven't been to anything social requiring fancy duds (outside of chaperoning the senior prom, which doesn't really count since no one's there to see what I look like) since I got married. AND I got totally hosed in the major-birthday-celebrations department when I turned 40, so I can live vicariously through your experiences. As far as the booze deficit goes, well, can't help ya there.

Posted by: Caroline at November 30, 2007 05:38 PM (9xMO9)

11 One last thing: Rudy is a douchebag. I know you have a libertarian streak, but really...isn't there someone else - anyone else - for whom you could cast your vote?

Posted by: Caroline at November 30, 2007 05:42 PM (9xMO9)

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November 11, this Sunday, is Veterans' Day. In Europe, it is known as Armistice Day, to mark the end of World War I. I just returned from leading a wreath presentation here in NYC to mark the day, a bit early, but still. I hope that today (or Sunday) you take a moment and, at minimum, think of those who served our nation and think of them with gratitude. Better still, thank a veteran for his or her service. They have paid a price, some of them have paid the ultimate price, so that you could enjoy your life and so that your children could grow up in safety and security.

Thank a Veteran. You'll feel better, too.

Posted by: Random Penseur at 03:04 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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So, as I recently posted, I asked my wife for either a mistress or a puppy. She thought about it and told me last night that I could have a mistress. A mistress, she said, is someone I could take care of during either business hours or the evening, from time to time. But a puppy, said she, is something that she would have to take care of all the time. So, I was cleared for a mistress.

I am now accepting applications.

Just saying.

In all seriousness (although creative emails and comments are welcome), I have to report that I did then go on to tell her that if I was being cleared for the odd evening out, I would actually prefer to play squash. I mean, I would still have to shower afterwards but it might go on for longer (squash, that is) and I would not have to ask my partner if the experience was good for him or her. It sucks getting older, doesn't it?

Posted by: Random Penseur at 02:54 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
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