H.I. (Human Intelligence)

You may have read some of the headlines about search engines rolling out new tools powered by artificial intelligence.

In one instance, a chat bot was trying to talk a guy into ending his marriage.

In another, the bot began arguing when the user pointed out that the information the bot provided was incorrect.

A well known psychologist recently reported that after uploading a few of his books into a A.I. program, the software was able to write a long article in a matter of seconds, perfectly consistent with his views and opinions but also an original work.

If you google A.I. art, it will bring up images, some of which are fantasy-like or futuristic, others a little disturbing.

Last summer there was big uproar over a piece of A.I. generated art that won the prize for digital art in the Colorado State Fair.  

The.. uh.. artist said he typed text into an A.I. program which generated the piece of art.

There is plenty of disagreement in the art world about whether the images created by A.I. are actually art. 

Sure it requires imagination to create A.I. art.  But whose imagination?

If someone asks me to create a futuristic painting and they describe to me the details they want included in the piece, does that make them the artist or me?

Of course there is going to be a market for A.I. art.

There’s still a market for black velvet paintings of Elvis.

Yes, some of what’s generated by A.I. looks or sounds scary.

But I’m most scared by the lack of human intelligence involved in the use of A.I. 

That is, humans who ask A.I. to do things ‘just to see what will happen’.

There have already been reports of users making ‘jail breaks’ (attempting to get around safeguards in A.I. software).

If we truly want A.I. to be a benefit for the world then why not limit it to those who are working to cure degenerative diseases or terminal illness? 

Or I don’t know, help bring about world peace?

Do we really need to make it easier for someone to cheat on their college thesis

or do research for us when doing it ourselves will only benefit our brain?

More studies are showing that passive use of media contributes to cognitive decline.

In an age where dementia and Alzheimer’s are on the rise, why are we creating more ways for humans to use less of their brains?

Anything that makes life easier is attractive.  But is easier always better?

He Speaks for the Trees

One of my guilty pleasures is watching videos of how things are made.

Yesterday, when I was on the computer, and should have been doing more productive things, I was watching a video of how lumber is made. A few of my ancestors ran a sawmill so I guess I there was a heightened curiosity.

I wasn’t wasting time, I was doing research.

Anyway Finn walked up behind me and started watching with me. The sawmill on this video was certainly not like the one my ancestors would have had but I thought Finn would find the process interesting.

I usually involve him with any carpentry projects I do and we were recently building something where he was asking very pointed questions about the wood.

“I know this comes from trees,” he said holding up a small board, “but who carves this?”.

This was the perfect way for him to see.

In the video a huge log rolls onto a conveyor belt. Then it is carried inside a building where a robotic machine begins shaving off all the bark.

“What are they doing to it?” he asked.

“This is the first step.” I said. They take all the bark off.

“Aw” he said. “They killed that big tree?”

This was not where I was expecting this conversation to go.

“Well, yes they do,” I said “But a lot of trees are grown specifically for lumber. So another tree might be planted in it’s place. Like when when we cut down a Christmas tree. They plant another one.”

There was a long silence as we continued watching the video. Another robotic machine comes into the frame and takes control of the log and begins slicing boards which fall onto the conveyor belt and they disappear out of the frame.

“So thats how the boards get made from the tree,” I said “Remember when you asked about that?”

“Yeah” he said.

There was another long silence.

“Does this machine run all night long?” he said finally.

“I don’t know.” I answered.

“Because that’s a lot of electricity! Or gas! If they are using gas, they’re using gas to cut down the tree and gas to cut it up. And gas is literally the worst thing for the environment! And they’re killing trees!” he said looking a little upset.

“Yep. I know what you’re saying.” I said, feeling more guilty for watching the video.

We turned it off and I asked if he wanted to talk about it.

“No” he said and went upstairs to play with his legos.

I checked in with him later and it was obvious he had been thinking about it.

“Did you know that the Amazon rainforests used to have as many trees as there are blades of grass in that field out there?” he said. “They have cut down so many trees in the rainforests and the animals there have no place to live!”

“So tell me,” I asked “what do you think we could be doing instead?”

“Well…” he thought for a moment, “we could use wood that’s already here! We could cut some big limbs off trees and let the trees keep growing. We could fix up abandoned houses. Then we wouldn’t have to cut more wood to build more houses. There might be some old wood and a little new wood. And it might look a little weird at first but I think someone who didn’t have a home would be grateful for it.”

How does the song go? “Teach them well and let them lead the way”?

Learning to Fly

The boys became obsessed with a young cow bird last week that seemed to be lost.

They believed it had fallen from it’s nest and was trying to find it’s way back.

It was fairly large for a young bird and had the tiniest tuft of down feathers on top of it’s head.

Other than that it seemed fully developed.

After several more minutes of close observation the boys concluded that the bird was learning to fly.

It would claw it’s way up the nearest tree, climbing fairly high, then take a leap flapping wildly as it glided back to the ground.

Seemingly unafraid of any of us, it hopped right by to make it’s way back up the tree.

“Should we help it back up?” one of the boys said.

They discussed amongst themselves before coming to the conclusion that it was best to let it climb without assistance so it could strengthen it’s muscles.

Several tries later the little bird had clearly made progress, flying a little farther from the tree each time.

I went inside and awhile later heard the boys frantically yelling. The cat from next door had discovered the bird as well and they were trying to keep her away.

We were able to get her back inside and tragedy was averted.

“What if it doesn’t learn how to fly today?” Finn asked. “Where is it going to stay for the night?”

“I know,” he said before anyone answered.

He ran inside and grabbed a bird’s nest from his nature table that he’d found last year.

Together they decided to place it in the tree the bird had been climbing the most. That way when it got tired it could just crawl in and have a rest.

A few minutes later the bird flew to another part of the yard and they lost track of it but left the nest there in case it came back.

We’ve noticed more birds learning to fly since that day. Most of them with the mother staying close by and making a lot of noise if you get too close.

We’ve also observed a more diverse bird population. Orioles for the first time and quite a few Eastern Blue birds.

Recent articles in the New York Times and Scientific American have suggested that the world wide quarantines have allowed animals to roam more freely.

As we are learning how to take care of ourselves in this moment in time that is unlike anything any of us have ever experienced, we are are also learning how to really care for the earth.

We’re learning what the earth really needs from us.

It needs our stillness.

So that the rest of the beings on the planet can move about as freely as we have been doing for eons.

So they can regain their strength and flourish.

When our new normal is fully formed, will we remember that what is best for the planet and our own well being are the same thing?

Food Security

When the pandemic hit New York state, the first food item I thought of stocking up on immediately was flour. Then beans and rice. And judging by the shortages at the grocery store, so did a lot of other people.

I make and eat lots of bread. When I was in my twenties I got through some very lean times with with little more than bread, beans and rice.

Beans and rice supposedly form the perfect protein. And bread makes toast. What more do you need?

Then it became apparent that there is really no shortage of food resources, just uneven demand causing temporary supply chain disturbances. Or people buying in bulk so they don’t have to go to the grocery store as often.

But going through this time does make one re-evaluate preparedness and teaching your child to be prepared. A big part of that is learning where food comes from and how to preserve what you have.

What effect is the pandemic going to have on our future food supply?

When I think of food security, I think of being self sufficient.

I love the idea of growing everything you eat but having actually attempted it a few times, and having grown up on a farm where we did do that at times, I am well aware of the investment of time it takes to plant and maintain such a garden. Although in quarantine there’s nothing but time…

We have been members of a CSA for a couple of years now. And supporting a local farmer who is passionate about growing good food feels like a great trade off.

Knowing that our CSA is still operating during this time gives us a sense of security.

When I was a kid, I remember my Mom whipping up meals for our family of eight during times when it seemed like there was no money to buy anything. Because she diligently preserved food when there was a bounty, canning and freezing until the all the mason jars had been filled and the deep freeze was packed to the gills.

She kept a supply of food staples and knew exactly what to do with them.

Learning how to grow food or gather it sustainably as well as learning to preserve and prepare it is part of food security.

Erin and I have made a conscious effort to include it in our homeschooling with Finn.

We’ve always baked together but we are starting to incorporate more complex cooking skills as he gets older.

During our quarantine we have, of course made plenty of bread. But the unexpected favorite among Finn and his buddies is homemade pasta.

I had purchased a hand crank pasta machine years ago and we’ve used it a number of times making linguine mostly.

In our efforts to become more adventurous, quaranteaming with the family next door, we’ve been making ravioli.

For a parent there is nothing more satisfying at mealtime than seeing your child eat their food without complaint.

Watching these little boys all make their ravioli like elves in a kitchen and then gobble them down a few minutes later is beyond gratifying.

Hopefully it’s an ability they’ll remember and ad to their skill set.

On their way to food security.

Contem’play’tion

As an artist I’ve been wondering how other artists have faired during the pandemic.

Personally I haven’t found it a very creative time, though I’ve always felt contemplation was the most important part of creativity and if there’s a time for contemplation this is it.

If it’s true, then the world should be on the brink of a major artistic explosion.

But I’ve felt too unsettled to be creative.

I’ve tried. Really tried. To paint, to write, to sing. It has not come easily.

I’ve been consumed by thoughts of what the pandemic means for our children’s future. The rest of us too, but mostly the children.

I don’t know if this is a time of contemplation at all for Finn. It seems more likely that it’s a time of play in overdrive.

We’ve been quarantining with the family next door and when those parents asked their boys how this time was going for them, one of them said: “It just feels like one long playdate.”

The playtime does seem to be truly endless. Thank goodness for that.

At the end of each very long day of play, Finn is choking back the tears as they must part to be in their separate houses, acting as though they won’t see each other for another month. And then the next day they pick up where they left off.

We have continued our homeschool everyday, but play commences immediately afterwards.

We’ve also continued our charcoal drawing class every week.

And they all practice their musical instruments everyday.

Erin arranged a couple of pieces for their very special grouping of trumpet and violins. It’s not the first combination you’d think of but they love playing together.

Finn first became interested in the trumpet years ago when he heard the 20th Century Fox fanfare at the beginning of a movie. And now some of his favorite pieces have very strong fanfare like endings.

The boys have been doing a little music share with other friends online and that gives them something real to work toward each week. At times they practice and discuss their music as if they’re prepping for big album. Maybe they are.

But they’ve also been extremely busy outdoors building forts and fairy villages along the banks of the stream.

For them this time has definitely encompassed creativity.

I know when this time is past we will all look back and be thankful for a great many things. Good health will be first on the list.

I will be most grateful if Finn remembers this time as an extended summer or seemingly endless play time.

We’ve had internet visits with parents of some of Finn’s other friends and all the kids seem great. Rested, playful, happy. They are all at home with their families 24/7. For a child, how much more safe and secure can you get?

Something is being heralded in for these kids. It’s a future world of challenges for sure. But from what I’ve witnessed, they’re ready for it.

Cue the trumpet fanfare.

Quarantine

We are now entering week three of our quarantine, like much of the world. Thankfully we are healthy and have had no obvious symptoms.

It has been hard for Finn to be away from a number of his friends. The saving grace has been that we live next door to wonderful people whose children are two of his best buddies.

We decided as families to quarantine together so that the boys would be able to play.

And that they have. Almost every waking moment of these last couple of weeks.

We still have homeschool in the morning and have tried to have a few more additional classes.

Erin had a music ensemble lesson with them. (Finn plays the trumpet and they both play violin) And other than the homeschool main lessons I had a charcoal sketching class with them.

We’re extremely grateful to have access to lots of outdoor space. The weather has been mostly nice so we have spent a lot of time in nature.

Though we are healthy there is the nagging curiosity of whether or not we will get the virus. Or maybe we’ve already had it?

While I’m so glad that Finn is mostly oblivious to the fact the world is being changed in ways we don’t yet fully understand, I worry about the world he will have to grow up in.

He has had lessons with his friends online and when they talk to each other, it’s clear that important connections are being made. They are able to see each others faces and know everyone is ok.

It’s no substitute for face-to-face but it’s a way to connect.

Thankfully Erin has been able to continue teaching through Zoom and some days has spent the entire day on the computer. She has found it comforting to see her students faces and continue their learning through this strange time.

This seems to be the moment in time where the internet has shown it’s best side and the good it is capable of supporting.

I have limited my reading and watching of the news but when I do, it’s the range of human experience that captures my attention. One family loses several members to the virus while other people create beautiful music in their quarantine.

Just in our small circle of friends, some are happy having time at home gardening, others are devastated from loss of income.

There is little arguing with the fact that as a global society we’ve been forced to spend time in contemplation. To consider how we got where we are and what we can do to change the course we’re on.

If so much of the world’s wealth can be lost or devalued in a matter of days, is that not a clear indication that there are major flaws in how we determine the value of things in the first place?

When our children are older, how will they remember this time?

Will it be one of many pandemics in their lifetime?

Or will it be that moment the world truly comes together and learns to live in a way that supports and honors the value of all the earth’s inhabitants.

Mommy Debrief

With this being the Womens’ issue of Livelihood, celebrating Women's History, I asked Erin if she would like to write my column for this month. She politely declined.

I suppose every Daddy Debrief column I’ve written has been about her or at least half about her.

More than half really. She grew him inside for nine months.

When Finn was born, Erin went through a long arduous labor (52 hours to be exact) I remember thinking I would never accomplish anything in my life that would even come close to matching what she went through.

I also couldn’t help wondering: if all the fathers throughout history had been in the room to witness their wives going through labor, would equal rights for women still be so difficult to achieve?

I mean, how do you witness that and still go away thinking males are the superior sex?

And if there are any doubts, those would be erased if you are even half aware of what a mother has to endure those first several months after birth. The baby is on them 24/7. If the mother is breastfeeding as Erin was, or constantly caring for the baby, they are doing so while recovering from labor and dealing with the rollercoaster of hormones in their body.

As a Dad, I could offer relief by taking Finn for short periods of time or occasional bottle feeding. But for the majority of our waking hours it was Mommy time.

Gradually there were stretches where I could take him for longer periods. Especially when he started on solid food and the breastfeeding became less frequent.

But as many Dads have experienced I’m sure, I was always second fiddle to Mommy and you knew it the moment she walked into the room.

And Erin has always been up to the task. From reading every available book on parenthood to being obsessed with giving Finn the very best nutrition, beginning with growing, making and freezing his baby food before he was born. She has been the kind of Mom you win in the Mommy lottery.

We recently visited my own Mother who is getting on in years now. My Dad passed a little over a year ago and her care-taking of him over the last few years has taken a toll on her.

My Mom and I have always had somewhat of a psychic link. I could often tell when she was thinking of me and most times when I call her she answers saying, “I was just thinking about you!”

Which is more impressive when you know that she has five other children, a dozen grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren she could be thinking about.

Growing up I remember my Mom always juggling motherhood, household management as well as a full-time job. She has been retired for many years but stays active by singing with her church choir.

They say men marry their mothers. Though not completely accurate, there are similarities.

Strength, determination… Beautiful singing voice…Juggling work and motherhood effortlessly.

What are the chances of Father and son both winning the Mommy lottery?

Hikes and Dragons

The winter feels long. But a few days of pleasant, warmer temperatures have allowed us to take hikes where normally everything would be covered in snow.

At home, it’s been all about the Dragons. We have been reading the series Wings of Fire.

Last year was all about Harry Potter and we read the series until he was having bad dreams and we decide to give it a break until he gets older.

Now come the dragons.

I’ve been expecting it for sometime now. A number of his friends have been into the books. Their play together suddenly went from robes and wands to just robes, but they were running around holding them out like wings.

They started building dragons out of Legos and Finn started asking for more Lego dragon sets.

There aren’t that many out there but the Fantastic Beasts ones seem to be easily modified to his satisfaction.

And now come the nightly readings.

Though the books don’t hold my interest like the Harry Potter novels did I still, in spite of myself, look forward to finding out what those little peace loving dragonets are going to get themselves into next on their quest to stop the dragon wars.

Will Clay find his family? Will Tsunami be a queen? Why is sweet mild mannered Glory suddenly spitting poison venom?!

I find it humorous when the author gives the dragons human characteristics. For example they have to study their history by reading scrolls. I imagine those little dragons sitting on their hind legs holding the fragile scrolls up with their long talons. Seems like it would be a little tricky without constantly ripping the pages.

But I suppose for a dragon to physically write the scrolls in the first place would be the most difficult task.

From earlier descriptions in the book, we learn the dragons are big enough to hold a cow in one… hand?… so their scrolls have got to be enormous.

One scene describes Queen Coral writing a scroll using one of her talons as a pen, dipping it in ink. Legible penmanship from a giant talon dipped in ink? Sounds a little questionable.

I can believe in dragons. But a writing dragon? Hmmm.

Do they have reporter dragons who fly with a pad in their hand covering the dragon wars? Maybe they have little harnesses with pockets. Or rather, ENORMOUS harnesses with pockets.

Finn and I went to the bookstore to hunt down book two after we finished the first one, which he had received as a gift. When I noticed that there were fourteen books in the series I nearly lost consciousness.

It’s time to up our winter hiking game.

Ich Liebe Dich

Finn hears “I love you” quite a bit, especially from Erin.

She says it when she can’t take his excitement, enthusiasm or general cuteness. So, about a dozen times a day.

But Finn has not been big on saying I love you back.

I am not as effusive as Erin but I always say it at bedtime.

I grew up in a family where I love you was reserved for goodbyes before long trips. Or for consolation when we were feeling down on ourselves, or after some milestone accomplishment, like graduation. And it was always my Mom who said it.

My Dad told me that his parents never said the three words and he only heard them once from his mother on her death bed. Naturally he had a hard time saying them as well.

We had an argument about it when I was a teenager. “It doesn’t mean as much if you say it all the time” was part of his explanation.

I understand now it was a generational thing to not express too much affection to your child. Living through the depression was hard and one needed to be strong in order to survive.

But why being told that you are loved makes you less strong, I don’t understand.

Being a parent and observing my son as he grows and changes, it seems to take a great deal more effort to refrain from saying I love you. Does that make one stronger?

As my parents got older, my Dad softened and would often end our phone conversations by saying: “Well, we love you.”

At bedtime Erin and I would call out to Finn: “Goodnight, I love you” and he would respond “goodnight”. Sometimes we would make a joke out of it and Erin would say “I love you” again and again and he would laugh and continue saying “goodnight”.

Then a few weeks ago he started responding: “Ich liebe dich!”.

He’s been learning some German and that seemed to be a little easier to say.

“Ich liebe dich a thousand times!” he said one night when he and Erin were going back and forth.

A few nights ago I was late going up to bed. Erin was asleep but Finn was was still up reading. I tucked him in and said “I love you.”

He responded “I love you too, goodnight.”

My heart skipped a beat but I didn’t say anything.

The next morning I mentioned it to Erin and she said he’d done the same with her.

Suddenly it was easy for him.

It takes time to realize that it’s ok to say I love you.

But for some, less than others.

The Spark of Creation

Sometimes I see it coming a mile away. Finn gets into a creative groove.

It’s usually late at night.

“Time to turn out the light” I might say.

“WHAT?! But I just started a project!” he’ll respond. “Just let me finish this one piece!”

Five minutes turns into an hour and the next thing we know it’s ten o’clock.

Sometimes it’s clear early in the morning that he is devoting the whole day to creating. But occasionally he’ll get into a groove in the evening after a playdate.

Finn has been playing the piano since he was able to climb onto the piano bench and he’s been slowly learning how to read music. A couple of years ago, after several music lessons with Erin, he became interested in composing his own music.

Though he didn’t really know what notes he was writing, he was having fun putting them on a musical staff and having Erin play it on the piano.

One day when Erin’s mother and aunt were visiting, he composed a piece and we all joined in premiering it; Erin on the piano and the rest of us with various string and percussion “instruments” all at his direction. It was an amusing afternoon. But also a surprisingly interesting piece of music.

The other night, the creative juices were flowing again. It started with a craft project where he was cutting and taping various pieces of cardboard together forming “magical boxes”. Then he made some puppet-like things, followed by colorful construction paper covered cylinders that were to be wand holders I think.

Then he started playing the piano. Next he was drawing out a musical staff on a piece of paper, getting ready to compose. He can read music a little better now so he wasn’t just writing random notes on the page this time.

Soon, he had Erin at the piano with him. This time they were playing his composition together.

When Erin and I moved into our first house years ago, I remember the night the movers arrived with her old childhood piano. And she pulled out some music and played for the first time. The music echoed throughout and I felt the house became a home.

The other night when they were playing together, something shifted for Finn. I could see a confidence in him at work creating a piece of music. In that moment, nothing mattered more to him than getting it right. And Erin was taking him seriously, honoring his process, giving him her complete attention.

It was impossible not to feel the warm and fuzzies, watching both of them.

Was the next great piece of classical music being created? Well, I think contemporary would be the proper category. But I wouldn’t be surprised if became something larger at a later stage.

But the most important thing that was being created was a little human who was finding joy and purpose in creating.

And that’s a lasting work of art.

Turning Eight

Our little boy is eight now. Seven darted by like a flame.

We had his birthday party this week and there is usually quite a build-up preceding it.

Lots of talk. Lots of questions about who is coming and what decorations we should have.

Great consideration is given to the costume he’ll wear. It’s close enough to Halloween that he and his friends can dress up in their costumes for the party.

Finn loves dressing up in costumes in general so he gets super excited when Halloween comes around.

He decides on one costume for his birthday party and chooses something different for Halloween.

This year he said he wanted to be Voldemort, from Harry Potter. But he wasn’t super excited about having a bald cap or a prosthesis on his nose that would make eating or breathing difficult during his birthday party. (He’s very practical about it.)

He hemmed and hawed about the bald cap. Erin and I didn’t push it or spend a lot of time looking for one.

He finally decided to be Tom Riddle. The young Voldemort from Harry Potter.

Tom Riddle is a pretty normal looking guy so there is no need for a lot of make-up or a particularly complicated costume. Erin had found a Voldemort robe online and that seemed to be good enough for Finn.

As for the decorations, we usually make them. This year we cut out silhouettes of bats, jack-o-lanterns and black cats and hung them by invisible threads from the ceiling. They were very simple but effective. And we had a lot of fun making them.

As with most projects we do together, it wasn’t really about the finished product, though the silhouettes did turn out nicely. We just had so much fun doing them. Cutting shapes out of poster paper with scissors. What’s more soothing?

Well maybe there are a few other things… But nothing really brings back the simplicity of childhood more than a craft project. And perhaps for Finn, creating a moment he’ll recall later on.

Last year Finn was intensely focussed on his costume, this year his priority seemed to be just being with his friends and playing.

There was the usual emphasis on what Lego sets he might get. I’m kind of wondering when and if the Lego craze is going to teeter out.

But quality time with friends (and cousins) took center stage this year. And I think the party lived up to that.

The adults had almost as much fun as the kids, which is how Erin and I gauge the success of such events. A huge part of that was the amazing food spread that Erin created single handedly. (My job was leaf raker and decorator)

A costume parade around the grounds, with small musical instruments, has become an annual event to cap off the festivities.

“I don’t think we’re going to do the parade next year.” Finn said, his mind already on next years event.

Whatever he decides to focus on, we won’t have to wait long to find out.

If year eight passes as quickly as seven did, a few blinks of an eye should do it.

Spider Man Bike

It was a beautiful weekend for a bike ride. I was loading up the bikes for our family ride when Finn declared that his bike was way too small for him now.

I had noticed it was right on the edge but his buddies next door had an extra one they had been lending him and he was still riding his Spider Man bike from time to time. In the moment he couldn’t find the loaner.

I finally convince him to use his own bike because we were going to an area where the bike path was paved and it wouldn’t be challenging.

I raised the seat as high as it would go.

“This could be the last time you take this bike on a long ride,” I said.

He finally agreed to take it under that premise.

Once we got to the bike path he was a little quieter on the ride.

“This is embarrassing,” he said, as we started out, peddling a little slower than he normally does, “the bell doesn’t even work anymore!”

A few short years ago he was so excited to get that Spider Man bike. Now it was quickly falling out of favor.

“Look at this beautiful lake!” Erin said, attempting to steer his focus.

We didn’t get very far before he wanted to stop at one of the resting benches that are spaced along the path. We sat beside him.

“It is a little sad that it’s probably the last time I’ll take this bike on a long ride,” he said.

I felt a little guilty for planting that seed.

“I never want to get rid of this bike,” he said “even though it’s too small for me.”

I’m pretty sentimental myself, but the same time I wondered where we would store it. More than likely it would just mysteriously disappear at some point.

A couple of weeks ago Finn and his buddies found an old tricycle outside in the bushes at the bottom of a hill. A real sturdy one that looked like it was from the 1940s or earlier, when they made things like that to last. The seat had springs and bit of cloth clinging to it where you could tell it had been upholstered. The handles had metal rings on the ends where tassels were once attached and the solid rubber tires were imprinted with the words “Puncture proof”

I wondered when that trike found itself there in the bushes. When the kids who owned it stopped looking for it or more likely watched it rolled down the hill and then forgot about it when they were called in to dinner.

It took about ten minutes after the discovery of the tricycle, for Finn and his buddies to see how far it would roll down the hill again.

I fear Spider Man bike may suffer a similar fate. With a little coaxing maybe we can find it a new home.

Finn’s birthday is just around the corner and I think we have found what the big gift is going to be.

“I want one with sixteen gears!” he said as soon as we hinted that a new bike could be in his future.

What will he remember of Spider Man bike in a few years? Hopefully not the “embarrassing” part.

Maybe instead just a bit of the excitement that was on his face that Christmas morning a few years ago, still clearly preserved in my memory.

Or the first time he sped down the bike path ahead of us, ringing his bell over and over.

But then again, “sixteen gears” is pretty cool.

Going Screenless

When I was a teenager my family would sit down to Sunday dinner and my Dad would take the phone off the hook.

The teenagers would protest. “What if our friends try to call us?”

“They’ll call back,” he’d say.

“What if there’s an emergency?”

“Everyone’s eating dinner,” he’d say.

Sometimes he’d forget and the phone would ring. Then he would get this look of dread on his face.

My Dad hated answering the phone. When he did, he never sounded quite like himself. Kind of like someone who was speaking on the radio for the first time. A little nervous. A little unsure of what to say next.

So most of the time, he just didn’t answer the phone. Even if he was sitting right next to it. He would let it ring and ring until someone else would answer it while he went on reading his book or whatever.

If you asked him why he didn’t answer it, he would say: “I’m busy. If it’s important, they’ll call back.”

One time he took the phone off the hook and laid it on the kitchen counter just as we were sitting down to eat. It so happened that someone was calling at that very moment; my youngest sister’s boyfriend. The phone was right next to the kitchen table and he eavesdropped on our dinner conversation which, thankfully he wasn’t the subject of. That day anyway.

These days it’s not so easy to take the phone off the hook. There are all the screens. The phone, computer, TV, and tablets.

Screens are nearly inescapable. They’re in the grocery store, restaurants, even on the gas pumps.

But the most difficult to resist is the one in your pocket.

So when Erin said she wanted to do a screen less day of rest, a Sabbath of sorts, I felt more than a bit of apprehension.

“I’m pretty good at ignoring my phone already,” I said confidently.

“No, we have to be completely committed,” she insisted.

But it’s not about the screens really. It’s about all the things connected to the screens.

Things we should be monitoring in news. Important texts or emails. Our ‘community’ on social media.

While these things all have their benefits they also connect us to the things that cause us stress.

So we had a little ceremony at sundown. We each wrote on a piece of paper all the things we were presently concerned about. Though we kept most of them private, Finn shared that he was worried the Sun might explode.

We lit some candles and placed the worry in the folded pieces paper on our little alter that we put together just for the day of rest.

We turned off the phones and put them in a cabinet and turned off the computer.

I noticed a feeling similar to the ones I’d had so long ago when my Dad would take the phone off the hook.

The next day I admit, I woke up worrying that I might miss an important call or text.

But as the day wore on, we all seemed lighter and freer in a way I can only describe as better than vacation.

When we ended our day by burning the folded pieces of paper, there was a tinge of sadness in each of us. But with it came a vow to have screen less Sundays as often as we can.

P.S. The Sun did not explode.

Late Night Contemplations

Children point out what’s important when your thoughts are mired in worry or uncertainty. They bring you back to reality. To what’s in front of you.

“Oh my God! You HAVE to come look at this! Right now! Come quick!” Finn will say once or twice a week regarding the sunset. “It’s the best EVER!” he’ll say.

Other times he’ll blurt out random bits of trivia when there’s a bit of silence that needs to be filled.

“Did you know that starfish push their stomach OUTSIDE of their body? Then they can wrap it around a clam and suck it out of the shell,” he said last night when there was a lull in a FaceTime conversation with Aunt Suzanne.

But my favorites of Finn’s random thoughts come at night. Usually after the lights are out and Erin is fast asleep or close to it. Sometimes I’m asleep and I’ll hear his not-so-tiny-anymore feet padding across the room to my bedside. And then, in the loudest whisper he can manage without actually speaking out loud, he’ll ask a question that has to be answered before his mind can rest.

“Daddoo. Can spiders crawl up your nose?”

“Is there a volcano on the moon?”

Often times it’s not a question. Just the classic, “I’m thirsty and/or hungry.”

Then there’s: “I hear a noise by the window. It’s probably the wind but it could be a ghost and don’t say ghosts are not real because they are.”

Lately it has been bugs that have somehow found their way into the house.

“There’s a lightning bug that keeps flashing and making me stare at it.”

A few nights ago I was far into dreamland when I was startled awake by the bedside whisperer.

“Daddoo, I can’t sleep and I’ve been doing Reiki on myself, but I don’t think I’m doing it right because it’s not working.”

He was silhouetted against the window and the moon was very bright so I couldn’t see his face, but I could hear he was very serious.

“Well, show me what you’ve been doing,” I said.

He moved his hands quickly from his head, to his hips, then across his chest. It kind of looked like he was doing the Macarena.

I had to take a breath. I didn’t want to laugh.

We slowly and quietly went through the Reiki hand positions together and I reminded him to take his time and not move his hands to the next position until he felt different in some way.

“But I might fall asleep before I’m done,” he said.

“That’s the point,” I said.

“Oh, right,” he said giggling. He scampered back to his bed.

He didn’t return that night.

A few days later I asked him.

“Hey buddy, how did the Reiki work out for you? Did you fall asleep?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he said. “That was several nights ago.”

“But it worked for you?” I asked.

“Yeah. Oh my God!” he said.

“What?” I said.

“Look at those peaches on the tree out there! We have so many!”

And away to the window he ran.

The Dreaded Tick

Our little family all tested positive for Lyme a few weeks ago. Finn first, then Erin and myself. It has not been the best experience for a feel good column.

Finn had a pretty bad first week with a severe allergic reaction to the antibiotic but has bounced back since he’s been on the right one. Erin has gotten the worst of it. Two weeks in, she’s still spending most of the day in bed, with a full range of symptoms.

Lyme often triggers other infections and with Erin it is Mono. So on top of the constantly changing and confusing Lyme symptoms she has an exhausting fatigue.

My blood test showed a past infection but I’ve since learned that doesn’t mean a whole lot. It could be a week or six months ago. Random symptoms could be Lyme or just a pollen headache and middle age.

We have always been fairly diligent with our tick checks on Finn. We haven’t been as good with ourselves. That has changed now.

My own tick bites are too numerous to count. About 10 years ago I had the whole nine yards of symptoms; a hundred and four fever and a bulls-eye on my back the size of a large dinner platter. I took antibiotics and haven’t experienced those particular symptoms with other bites.

The more you read about Lyme, the more confusing it gets. It’s no wonder that confusion is one of the symptoms. Am I confused? Certainly. Is it Lyme or just who I am?

A couple of days ago Erin was slowly tracing her steps through the house for the third time trying to find her phone.

“I know you have Lyme because I feel like you right now,” she said.

We both chuckled, but it’s true. I spend half the day looking for things I just set down. But I’ve always kind of been that way. She hasn’t.

Before she had the blood test, she kept saying, “I just don’t feel like myself.”

We have a number of friends who have dealt with Lyme, some of them for many, many years. The conversations with them these last few weeks have been extremely helpful for us.

First-hand experience beats internet articles hands down.

Not knowing what to expect is probably one of the more challenging parts right now.

Lyme seems to be a moving target. Manageable one day and knocking you off your feet the next. But we are hopeful that the antibiotics and other treatments will work as well for Erin as they have for Finn.

If you know someone with Lyme, give ‘em a hug. Keep checking for ticks.

And while you’re at it, offer up a few thoughts and prayers for Erin. They are much appreciated right now.

Year of Discoveries

We are nearing the end of our first year of homeschool. Going into it, I wasn’t quite sure what I was getting myself into, but it felt like the right thing.

Now having gone through a whole school year, I can say with certainty that I’m still not sure what I’ve gotten myself into but it feels like the right thing.

I started out thinking I had to make sure Finn “kept up,” so to speak.  But most of the time I have to shift gears to keep up with him.

I used the Christopherus Curriculum and supplemented with The Mind Up curriculum. For the most part they have worked well but I’ve found some things don’t ring true for him and I have to wing it.

Since we are learning at home I try to teach the practical applications of everything we’re learning. I know that will get harder as time goes on.

When I was growing up, school was focused on teaching and passing tests but not necessarily on fostering a lifetime of learning. One of my goals is to make learning fun for him.

Erin’s Mom is visiting this week. She commented, after Finn had been telling her about everything he was learning, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a child more joyful about learning!”

Some days I feel like a rock star. Other days I feel like I’m flying by the seat of my pants.

I have found, for myself (as I’m sure homeschooling is not a one-size-fits-all thing) that paying attention to where his interests are on any given day has helped immensely.

When I’ve planned for the day to be about math but he asks a million questions about the solar system at breakfast, then I change my plan. We go where his curiosity leads.

Finn has always asked a lot of questions and most of the time that works great.

I had a crazy notion that he might ask fewer questions once we started homeschool but the opposite may be true. Only now, if he is really interested in something we’re reading about at night he’ll say:

“Oh, can we learn more about that in homeschool?”

I have learned it’s better to focus on one subject for most of the day, though we always touch on language and writing a little everyday.

Whatever we work on, I try to make it fun for student and teacher because I’m learning too.

We’ve had snow days, sick days, holidays and field trips. And he gets plenty of playtime with other kids in the afternoon.

Through it all I think we’ve done OK for our first year of homeschool. It was more work than I thought it would be but isn’t everything?

I asked Finn if there was anything he didn’t learn this year that he might want to learn about next year.

“Potions!” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “We never learned potions!”

It’s going to be a fun second year.

Little Monsters of Spring

Literally, on the first day of Spring, a robin came to our bedroom window at sunrise and tapped, three pecks at a time as if to say, “Hello! Hello in there! It’s spring! Time to come out and play!” She looked like she was about to burst—ready to lay eggs.

Tap, tap, tap. It was so cute.

Until day three.

By day five she was joined by a couple of other sisters (or brothers?). By day fifteen they were tapping on all the bedroom windows, outside the mudroom door as well as the living room window.

I started seriously thinking about how to humanely trap and relocate them.

Ok. That’s not really what I was thinking. My thoughts were much darker. Because I know that would do no good. They can fly right back. And I happened to hear on a local radio show devoted to birders, that robins will migrate thousands of miles, then return to the exact place where they were born to lay their eggs.

That’s wonderful. But why the pecking?

Of course I would never harm them. But being awakened fifteen days in a row by a manic bird pecking on the glass at sunrise can cause one’s fantasies to turn to the dark side.

Finn was not fazed. A couple of times he woke up early and just giggled, watching them peck at the glass. “It’s like I have my own nature TV!” he said.

I have noticed a couple of robin’s nests around the house in years past. There’s a hole in the eaves where birds were nested last year. Maybe the ones that were born there remembered being inside the house and now they wanted back in.

They just sit there at the window after pecking a million times, peering in with their beady little eyes.

Did you ever notice robins eyes have dark circles around them?

They look a little sunken. And evil.

As soon as we would walk toward the window they would fly away.

Then when we were occupied with something else…

“Peck-peck-peck!!!”

Today Finn and I were reading the book, There’s a Bird on My Head.

In it, Elephant is at his wits’ end because two birds have made a nest on his head and have laid eggs there.

Piggie says to a very frustrated Elephant, “Why not ask them to go somewhere else?”

That hasn’t occurred to Elephant. So he does. And the birds do go somewhere else—to Piggie’s head.

I didn’t think of politely asking the robins to peck somewhere else. It might as well have been on our heads.

The pecking has now finally subsided and has been replaced by adorable muffled cheeping sounds in the eaves and the bushes beside the house.

Little babies that will soon fly a thousand miles away.

Only to return for our own Hitchcock Spring.

Right on Track

I was hoping to hide my vintage Lionel train set from Finn until he got past his search and destroy phase with toys. Well, perhaps search and dissect is a more appropriate term. He really likes taking things apart and putting them back together. Unfortunately most of those things never make it “back together” again.

He received that bit of DNA from me, I’m afraid. I can still clearly see the shock on my Mother’s face when once I performed a little exploratory surgery on our telephone.

So knowing I’ve passed on that trait, I haven’t been keen on sharing my treasured childhood toy with him.

Until now he hasn’t shown a great deal of interest in it. Probably because I’ve downplayed it whenever he asked about it.

“Oh…that,” I would say, “I’m not even sure if it works anymore,” which was partly true.

He received another train set as a Christmas gift this past year. It was geared more toward his age group and he has loved playing with it.

But for some reason this month he had a sudden intense curiosity for “that train set under the bed wrapped in brown paper.”

He got up one morning and announced it was a train day. He put together an engineer’s outfit which really looked more like a pirate. Then he started putting together the train set that he received for Christmas.

“Ok we’re good” I thought. Then as soon as he had assembled it he said:

“Now we just need that OTHER train set right here next to it.”

“What other train set?” I asked, acting dumb.

He narrowed his eyes. “Mommy already told me I could” he said.

I turned to Erin with a mock look of having been betrayed.

“Oh, I thought it was ok,” she said innocently.

“Well it probably won’t work anyway,” I resigned.

“Why? How old is it?” Finn asked.

I had to think a moment. It’s over 40 years old and I don’t remember the last time I ran it.

I brought down the box, dusted it off and unwrapped the brown paper. It’s not in mint condition for sure. It was well played with in its day, and I cut holes in the box so it could double as a tunnel. But most of the cars were still in good condition.

He wanted to do it himself so I only helped with the attaching of the control switch and a little track adjustment.

Finally the moment of truth came and we flipped the switch.

It started right up—making its way around the track with just the slightest wobble on the curves almost as smoothly as it did 40 years ago.

Finn and I both were a little shocked.

I really could not believe it.

I immediately launched into my “they-don’t-make-‘em-like-they-use-to” rant while Erin smiled and nodded in a “you boys and your trains” kind of way.

Finn ignored me completely, his attention fixed on the train.

After watching it for a while I said: “Now, Finn, this engine and the train cars are not things that you can take apart, OK?”

After a pause he said, “Why would I want to?”

So far so good.

Ancestry

“I do love a good mystery!” Finn said as we were tromping through the snow earlier this week on a midday walk. We were tracking something. We guessed it was a raccoon. The tracks were very clear in the otherwise undisturbed snow.

“You like a good mystery, huh?” I responded.

“Yeah, you know,” he said, “like trying to figure things out, hunting and digging up skeletons and things.”

“Skeletons?!” I asked.

“You know. Mysteeerious things!” he said in his deepest and scariest voice.

The tracks seemed to be heading back up the hill toward our house.

“We are definitely on it’s trail now.” he said quickening his pace.

Erin and I have gotten sucked into the Ancestry world for the last couple of months. We decided to do the DNA tests at Christmas time as a gift to each other and just recently got the results back.

They show you a map of the world with splotches of color on the countries that your DNA likely came from.

England, Wales, and Northwestern Europe dominated mine. With some Ireland and Scotland, a smattering of Norway and one percent of Benin/Togo in Africa.

It was all I needed to head down the Ancestry rabbit hole. There are so many paths to follow there.

The first few generations aren’t as difficult, thanks to work other family members have done.

There is one photo of my great-grandfather and mother with eight kids in front of a cabin that looked vaguely familiar. I think my Mom has a copy. A cabin they “built with their own hands” according to the caption on one posting.

Further back there seems to be a direct relation to a noted burgomaster in Holland.

Was he like the Burgermeister Meisterburger in Santa Claus is Coming to Town? So many questions.

More “hints” led me to ancestors in various generations who seemed to have respectively fought in the nearly every war that has been in the US. This was ironic considering that most of them descended directly from the burgomaster whose most historical distinction was that he was arrested for trying to reduce the size of the military.

On Ancestry, most of the real stories are hard to find. But finding simple connections seems to be getting easier with the digital images of so many records now available. Looking through the old census records it’s easy to see how important good penmanship was in those days. Often names are misspelled or written poorly, then transcribed incorrectly.

There are a lot of tracks leading to the wrong place. Some leading to nowhere.

But the ones that lead to a relative you never knew you had are fascinating to follow.

The DeWitt name is more popular around this area than almost any other place I have lived. But so far I haven’t found a local familial connection.

On our walk this week, Finn and I followed the raccoon tracks all the way back to our house right up to the back door.

I’m wondering if any of my ancestry tracks will do the same.

I do love a good mystery.

Bread

We make bread fairly often in our household.

“Cooking class” has become part of our homeschool curriculum, but making bread has been a part of our routine for some time.

Finn’s preschool and kindergarten years at Acorn Waldorf School reinforced that with a weekly routine of “bread day,” where the children mill the grain and form their own tiny loaves of bread. Finn often brought home little bread animals he had formed, most often snakes.

A couple of years ago I got inspired to make a sourdough starter from scratch after watching Michael Pollan’s series Cooked. In one of the segments he describes the origins of bread making in ancient Egypt, how yeast is in the air and anyone can make a sourdough starter.

I decided to give it a try. I made a mix of flour and water in a bowl, let it sit for a few days and soon it started to bubble. I was so excited! Then it started to smell a little sour and it didn’t turn colors so that meant it worked!

I have to admit the first time I made bread with it, I was a bit nervous wondering if it was going to make us sick. But I have since heard from others who have made their own starters, that if it goes bad, you’ll know it.

Over two years later the starter is still going strong.

I don’t know how many loaves of bread I’ve made with it but I’ve learned to make two loaves at a time. Because when it comes out of the oven, everyone wants a slice (or two) of warm bread.

You can’t rush bread making. It slows you down and makes you wait.

There’s a lot for a little one to learn in the process.

The measuring. The science. The delayed gratification.

Finn especially enjoys the punching down phase after the dough has risen.

This week we made bread and Finn decided he wanted to do it by himself. There were a few brief moments that required my assistance but for the most part he did it.

I was caught up in the moment watching him turn out the slightly sticky dough onto the floured counter and figuring out how to get into the rhythm of kneading. In a short time he was turning and folding, turning and folding.

It felt like a sort of life passage. “Here he is,” I thought, “becoming comfortable with one of the most ancient forms of cooking. A skill he can use for life.”

Then my thought was interrupted by an even more ancient form of human behavior: playacting.

“Oh hello!” Finn said talking to the dough “Who are you? Who me? Oh, well actually I’m just… AAAHHHH!” he yelled as he raised the dough above his head then smashed it on the counter.

Whoever it was met their demise as he pounded them to smithereens. Then he started the routine over again.

I wonder if the kids in ancient Egypt made bread this way.