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There was a noticeable silence in the backseat of the car while I was running a recent errand with Finn.
At a stop light I glanced in the rearview mirror to see if he was napping.
Instead he was staring out the window lost in thought.
After another long period of silence he sighed.
“I can’t believe I’m a kid,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I just can’t believe I’m alive!” he said.
“Well, where were you before?” I asked.
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"Happy Crag Day!" Finn said, descending from the bedroom upon awakening.
The day before, he’d expressed wanting to hike to the rock formation in a nearby preserve.
The forecast had promised perfect weather.
There were doubts about making it all the way to the top. It was a long hike for Finn and he likes to take his time.
So when he began to document the wildlife on a piece of construction paper he had folded several times to create a section for each entry, I was pretty certain we might be turning back before reaching the peak.
“When you see or hear something, you have to write it down,” he instructed each of us, like a mini forest ranger.
“Oh, look at the bird’s nest,” Erin said, noticing an unusually large one.
“Yep! Have to write it down!” he said bossily.
He eagerly dug for the pencil and paper in his pocket.
He stood there appearing to scribble for several long moments then said, “How do you spell bird’s nest?”
“Yep, it’s gonna be a long hike,” I thought to myself.
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Sometimes I feel as though Finn may be a little psychic.
Just as I’m beginning to think about the New Year, he is suddenly talking about building a time machine.
We were making breakfast. It had been declared ‘pancake day.’ (He requests them most days even though we only make them one day a week.) Then out of nowhere he began talking about his plans for building a time machine.
“Where would you want to go?” I asked. “Back to the time when you were a baby?”
“No,” he said. “Back to the Ice Age!”
“Then you would be going alone,” I said. “Winters are cold enough for me right now.”
Is there anyone who doesn’t find the idea of time travel fascinating? I end up watching even bad movies that revolve around it.
New Year’s Eve is a time when we all step briefly into our own little time machines. Looking back, reliving moments of the last year or attempting to peek into the future.
Setting our intentions.
Hoping they will stick this time.
Maybe pondering the things that we should leave behind.
There’s always a slight desire to go back and change something if not a number of things over the last year.
What will we do differently this year? What will we change?
Finn’s desire for time travel obviously springs from curiosity.
I think most of us would want to go back to change something, to make it better, like the movie Back to the Future.
There’s a little Marty McFly in all of us.
All the recent talk of secret government agencies and videos of UFOs in the news makes one think that perhaps time travel is not so farfetched.
Who are they? Are they from the future? Returning at a crucial moment in our history to prevent us from making a devastating choice?
I would say they’re about a year late.
If there are aliens among us, what are they here to do? What would they change? Are they observing us and trying to decide how to be a part of all this? Are they contemplating getting involved in the world and the implications of that? Maybe they just don’t know what to do next.
It might be easier to just stay on the sidelines and observe, to hover around in their comfortable little space ships. That way they wouldn’t risk failure. Or they could just go back to where they came from.
Maybe they’re stuck, trying to figure out what to do with their lives.
Hmmm. Maybe they would fit right in.
“I know where I would go right now,” Finn said as he was stirring the batter.
“Where?” I asked
“Right here, twenty minutes from now,” He said, “when the pancakes are done.”
During dinner, following an unusually long moment of silence, Finn sighed heavily and, as if suddenly having a huge realization, said:
“Daddoo, I REALLY need to get a new sewing kit. With LOTS of cloth and needles and everything.”
“Really, why is that?” I asked.
“Because I want to be an elf. And I don’t have a costume. And to make a costume, I’m REALLY going to need a lot of stuff,” he said.
“You mean a Christmas elf?” I inquired.
“Yeah,” he said shortly as if, “What else?”
Over the last several weeks Finn’s questions about Santa Claus and everything relating to Christmas have increased in number and complexity. He has only visited Santa once, when he was two, but he still talks about it.
“So that Santa, the one that I sat on his lap, that was the real Santa right?” he asked one day randomly when we were all in the car.
“What do you think?” we responded.
“I think he was,” he continued, “But if HE was the real Santa who are all the other Santas?”
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There was a Sunday morning routine that took place in my childhood household, before the whole family piled in the car and headed to church. The shining of shoes was central to it. And that was usually followed by all the boys combing our hair with Vitalis. The scent of shoe polish still takes me back. I haven’t smelled Vitalis in a long, long time.
In preparation for our trip to Erin’s sister’s wedding last weekend I was putting a little polish on my shoes before packing them. And of course Finn wanted to be a part of it.
“Oh that’s a good idea! I think I might need to shine my shoes too!” he said, running upstairs to retrieve them from under his bed.
He yelled back down to me, “And I can do it by myself. Ok Daddoo? Ok?”
We had tried shoe shining a couple of times before but he was more interested in putting his fingers in the polish and using the buffing brush as a toy than actually shining his shoes.
“And I can do it ALL BY MYSELF,” he reiterated, returning to my side with his shoes in hand.
“Ok, that’s fine,” I assured him.
I finished my own shoes and stayed close just in case.
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If there is one characteristic that stands out in Finn’s behavior lately, it’s that he wants to get his groove on.
Fall appears to have ushered in a time to dance.
And of course, that means we have to follow suit. (Who can refuse a five-year-old saying, “Come on let’s dance!”)
It certainly pulls you out of the doldrums.
What started it? Lady Gaga came up on shuffle on Erin’s phone one day. Finn wanted to see what she looked like and Erin showed him the Super Bowl halftime show. And the dance craze began.
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It was a family outing that was not going well.
Everyone was grumgry, the term we use for deteriorating emotional states in absence of sustenance.
We had packed a picnic but 30 minutes into our journey we noticed the gas light was blinking. We probably would not make it unless we back-tracked to a gas station.
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The other day I was trying to get Finn’s attention. He was sitting in a chair staring off into space. I can’t remember why it was important for me to interrupt him but nevertheless I did.
“Finn,” I said for the third or fourth time.
“I’m off duty,” he replied.
“Really?” I said. “What exactly does that mean?”
“I’m just not doing anything,” he said matter-of-factly.
I kind of wondered what being “on duty” meant for him but I didn’t inquire further.
I’m sure he was repeating what one of us might have said when we were in the middle of something and attempted to “pass the baton” so to speak.
“Talk to Mommy. I’m off duty.”
Would I say that?
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Spring here this year has been outstanding. Even now the dogwoods and rhododendrons are holding on.
In contrast to last year when just after the buds began appearing, a cold snap killed off most of them, blunting the impact of that extra lift you normally get from the season.
This year everything is showing off. Some flowers seem to be blooming three times over.
Finn has been climbing trees more and more lately with his buddies. On a recent morning he was determined to conquer one tree in particular that was in full bloom.
He had his eye on a specific branch. Bracing and balancing precariously he finally reached it. Grabbing a blossom he pulled it to his face.
After examining it for a second, he buried his nose in the petals and took a long deep breath.
“Mmmm Daffodils,” he said.
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On a recent afternoon I was raking, removing the winter quilt of leaves from the flower beds.
A few yards away Finn was busy with a project of his own. He was piling sticks and bricks on the patio where I had just cleaned.
I feel as though his response to any space being clean these days is: “Oh good, now I have more room to create.”
He and his friends have been building little forts lately from a supply of bricks beside the garden shed, leftover from some past construction project.
By the time I had finished my raking, Finn had constructed a couple of walls with bricks and incorporated some lawn chairs for end caps.
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Finn and I went to the Model Train and Hobby show in Kingston, NY a few weekends ago.
It was a welcome respite from the news headlines and somewhat of a comfort to be among people of seemingly different backgrounds, peacefully coexisting—over model trains.
It was kind of a slice of Americana. Even the venue looked like it had not changed in 50 years. A faded brick building that looked like an old high school gymnasium. Along the walls inside were old wooden folding bleachers, the floors were creaky and it smelled like my elementary school.
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A couple of days ago the temperature rose above sixty, which is becoming more common for winter it seems.
We made a trip to the reservoir to take a walk. We weren’t the only ones with that idea. There were more cars than I have ever seen there.
Finn saw a melted section in the ice. “Oh good!” he said. “Part of it is melted. Now Calico Jack can get out!”
He went on to explain that Calico Jack’s pirate ship had sunk to the bottom of the reservoir and now with the melted section it would be able to reemerge. How it got there from the sea is a mystery but you know those pirates are very clever and mysterious.
It was nice to get out and walk for a while without trudging through the snow. I wouldn’t say it has been a treacherous winter but we’ve had our share of the white stuff.
Erin has been reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder series to Finn and as it turns out is now reading The Long Winter.
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After Christmas we made an overdue trip down south to visit my parents.
As it turned out, my brothers and sisters, most of whom had been there for Thanksgiving when we were unable to attend, returned for an afternoon—creating a gathering that we hadn’t seen for over 10 years.
My Dad suffered a small stroke in the Summer and he’ll be 90 this year, so having more frequent gatherings is on our minds now.
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I grew up in the South but moved to New York in my twenties. It occurred to me recently that I have lived in the North for much longer than I did in the South. The one thing I’ve never adapted to is the cold weather.
When the winter moves in, I want to hibernate. I have the feeling that I will never get warm no matter what I do. That is, until spring arrives.
Finn, thankfully, got another gene. On the day of our recent snow, he spent half the day literally rolling in it, eating it, sledding, and throwing snow balls with his friends. Lucky for me, they picked a spot in the yard where I could watch them from the warm comfort of the indoors. Eventually though, I felt like I was missing out so I bundled up and braved the cold.
I saw Finn rolling a ball in the snow attempting to make it bigger. This was something I always wanted to do as a kid. We didn’t get much snow in Alabama. There was only once I remember having enough snow to build a snowman or to sled in. And forget about snow gear. Our “mittens” were athletic socks covered with bread bags. My mom was always very resourceful that way.
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Two days before the now infamous election, Finn was in full sobbing meltdown. Perhaps a foreshadowing of half the country, if not the world. He was inconsolable because Erin had just explained that he would not actually be able to vote himself.
“But I HAAAVE to!” he sobbed.
If only everyone felt so strongly about voting.
There has been scarcely a road we could drive down without seeing campaign signs for the last two years and Finn has been well aware that this was an historic election.
After his meltdown, Erin created a special ballot for him in red, white, and blue with both candidates’ names and a tag line at the bottom: “Thank you for your patriotism.” Finn took his ballot over to a chair to fill it out in semi-privacy.
Then, on election day, he brought it along in the car and joined us at the polls.
The following day Erin and I were the ones in a stupor while he was, thankfully, going about the business of childhood. I was glad that he didn’t grasp the gravity of it all.
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On a balmy fall “Indian Summer” evening just after sunset, Finn was having a hard time with the idea of bedtime. Refusing to come inside, he found one thing after another that he had to do “one last time.”
“I just need to swing from the rope one more time,” he said.
I lifted him to the crook of the maple tree since it’s too wide for him to climb up on his own. A rope tied to one of the limbs has become a recent favorite for him. It was getting dark fast.
“OK, that’s the last time,” I said after he had swung back and forth a few times. “Time to get down and go inside.”
“Noooo! NOT the last time!” he wailed.
Suddenly there were other high pitched voices in the dark from across the way.
“Finn! What’s wrong?!” It was Teo and Sebastian, ages 6 and 5. They came running from next door like the charging cavalry.
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Fall brings memories of grade school and the smell of new school supplies.
There are no traditional school supplies to get yet for Finn, but we did go shopping for some new rain gear, which he enjoyed trying out in the store a day or two before his first day of kindergarten.
“I have to see if I can run in it!” he said, taking off across the store. “And I might lay on the ground so I better test that out,” he said, lying down on the floor and rolling around. Thankfully there were few customers in the store at the time.
On the first day of school, he walked gingerly onto the grounds holding onto my hand, then tightening his grip when he sensed it was time for me to go.
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We had our second annual camping trip with Finn last week. Erin and I have decided that camping is in a category of its own, separate from vacation.
The idea was to camp on the beach. It was late in the season when we booked the reservation so there was little availability.
We would have to spend one night on the “bay side” and then we could move to the “ocean side” for the second night.
It would have been helpful if the website had mentioned that the mosquito situation on the bay side is beyond anything you would have ever experienced, nightmare or otherwise.
I got hundreds of bites (literally) setting up the tent in the 90 degree heat while Finn repeated “I want to go home” hundreds of times. We gave his suggestion a fleeting thought.
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Lately I’ve been performing again. Singing and acting.
Something I used to do with more regularity years ago but had not pursued very much after Finn was born.
Rehearsals have required me to be in the city away from Finn and Erin for a couple of long stretches.
It’s the first time Finn and I have been away from each other for extended periods since he was born.
Facetime has made it more bearable, but I think the most challenging thing is explaining to him what I’m doing.
I don’t think he fully comprehends the acting thing yet. He has attended some live performances, but none where Erin or I have played a character.
On one of my days off we spent the day together and he wanted to know more.
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Erin and I got new phones this week. Our old ones weren’t holding a charge for very long.
It still seems odd to me that something that is supposed to have superior technology has only a few years use.
I bet the land-line phone I had as a kid would still work perfectly today if it were plugged in. I suppose texting with a rotary dial would be challenging though.
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