My work trip to Chattanooga ended very nicely. I even found time to walk around their downtown, which is darn nice what with the river walk along the Tennessee River, the Walnut Street Pedestrian Bridge, and the spacious, wide sidewalks leading to loads of quality restaurants. The nice thing about doing consulting work with schools is that you are typically done by 4 p.m. at the latest.  I am happy to report that many a Frisbee floated in the Chattanoogan sky that eve.  If that city wasn’t in the South, I could totally see myself living there.

While at our client’s school, I was able to admire some of the artwork in the library, including several prints by John Falter. In fact, I liked them so much that I did a little bit of research on a few of my favorites. “The Bridge” stood out for its chaotic layout and stark portrayal of a Revolutionary War era battle, soon-to-be Americans bayoneting the hell out of some British jerks (no offense, Dan) who were trying to cross some bridge, hence the title (no image online of this painting as far as I could find, dern it). After a bit more Googling, it turns out that the bridge in question is The North Bridge of Battle of Concord fame, a integral moment in American history and one of the reasons why I had today off from work.

For today is Patriots’ Day! Most of the workin’ folk of Maine and Massachusetts had today off from toiling thanks to those long deceased minutemen. I spent the day most patriotically, starting off with a nice three-hour yard raking session. “The Pond” has all but dried up in the back, and I am determined to make use of as much of our property as possible. Those American revolutionaries didn’t charge into battle with rifles that couldn’t shoot a man with his finger in the barrel just so I could sit back and let a full third of my half acre estate fall into forgotten disrepair. No sir. As a true patriot on Patriots’ Day, I left no leaf unraked, no fallen branch uncollected. I’m happy to report that the yard looks a large percent better and ready for some shade gardens and such. And I even unearthed an action figure — a humanoid camel who turned out to be none other than Sandstorm, the cool camel captain!

Following all this patriotic lawn work, I loaded the family up and drove us all over 40 miles to the nearest Target for some all-American consumerism. Truthfully, we just needed to stock up on some things for Hazel’s first day of daycare, which is tomorrow. Rather than just settle for our local Wal-mart, we made a day of it and head to Augusta, our state’s fine capital. How could we have better paid tribute to those fallen nascent Americans than by touring the cerebral cortex of Maine’s democratic government? No better, fair readers, no better at all.

America, we breathed you deeply today, this glorious day, this Patriots’ Day. Amongst the olfactory tinge of the Union worker on the line, the immigrant family yearning to be free, and the odorous smoke of freedom-ringing fireworks, we sniffed fries and burgers. So, on the way home, we had a drive-thru dinner, like true American patriots.

Greetings from sunny Chattanooga, Teneessee! The last time I was in this state, Jim, his Cherokee Territory wife (Christina), and me were ascending its highpoint, Clingmans Dome, along a snow-strewn access road under a bright midnight moon. Following this summit, Jim got really, really sick from gas station Cheetos and we hunkered down at a truck stop just outside of Pigeon Forge (home to Dollywood and all things super classy) and I had the pleasure of using a truck stop pay-by-the-hour shower stall. Over vending machine peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, while Jim might have been dying in the back of the van, Christina and I spent the evening watching Top Gun on a ridiculously huge television in the trucker rumpus room. The year was 1998 and it was the first time I saw that movie. I was a deprived child.

Speaking of deprived children, Hazel should not be counted among their swarthy lot. She spent Saturday Running Errands With Daddy and had a hoot, as did I. We went to the post office and the grocery store and still had enough time (and baby energy) left over for a quick trip to buy Mommy a brand new Red Sox hat. Hazel bought it with her allowance, which I bestowed upon her as we waited in line at the register and summarily suspended before we had crossed the parking lot to our car. While Hazel is very sensitive to the fact of our taking away tangible things (toys she insists on banging against each other, our cell phones she likes to chew upon, nigh swallowed cat food) intangibles like the concept of allowance can be turned on and off like a faucet without any tantrumic repercussions. Until she figures out that money is special paper, things should be just fine.

After Hazel was put to bed and the rain delay was lifted, Megan and I settled in for a nice night of televised Major League baseball. I am no august sports fan by far, but seeing as how I own a Red Sox hat, and had bought a second one for my wife (Hazel somehow has the king’s share of Red Sox paraphernalia in our house with two hats and one outgrown onesie), I make the effort to watch a game when it is on a channel our rabbit ears antenna picks up (ABC, PBS, or FOX - CBS should the atmosphere by particularly benevolent). Saturday’s game was pretty tense; both the Sox and their dread rivals the Yankees played excellently in the field and kept the score low and close. After a second rain delay, we arrived at the top of the 9th with 2 outs, Papelbon on the mound. Just as he was to throw what could have been a game ending strike, FOX cut the feed and switched to stupid NASCAR. With a pox cast on Bill France, Sr., I shook my fist angrily toward the heavens before realizing that I could just check the live feed of the game online. Technology fixes everything.

Since watching car racing on television is tantamount to torture in our house, we turned the channel to PBS out of desperation and the Saturday evening movie was just starting: Penny Serenade starring Cary Grant and Irene Dunne. The entire movie is couched as a series of tedious flashbacks sparked by different songs being played on the phonograph in deliberate succession by Dunne’s character. I can’t remember her name, as another character’s fictional moniker far outshone her, that of the “aw shucks” best friend of Grant, Applejack Carney. I’m not officially calling dibs on that name should we have a boy next, but consider this a penciled in dibs. Beyond his name, Applejack is a fantastic guy, capable of fixing printing presses with his fist (à la the Fonz), bathtubs using no tools, and marriages with adopted babies. All in all, the movie features loads of chauvinism, a miscarriage, purchased Japanese children, and that great clomping around sound effect made famous by the Three Stooges. You can watch Penny Serenade in its entirety online — consider it for your next rainy day distraction or betting device.

Anyway, by the length of this post, can you tell that I’ve been cooped up on three separate plane flights today? I’m off to see what Chattanooga has in store for a simple Mainer. If I make it to Rock City or a Lookouts game, I’ll let you know.

We are back refreshed from our mini-vacation to the green southern lands of Connecticut and Manhattan. Seriously, flowers are growing down there while here in Maine all plant life is dormant and mostly brown. In fact, the only green grass I have seen is on Hadlock Field as we drove through Portland yesterday and in this one house’s lawn on my drive to work, most likely right above their leach field. Driving down to CT to visit my folks is almost old hat for Hazel. She’s really a champ at spending 6+ hours in a car, especially considering she travels strapped into a backward-facing seat by way of a five-point harness the whole time.

While in CT, Megan and I were able to see our niece, Carolyn, and her brand new baby brother, our nephew, Tyler. Plus, we had a wedding to attend in Manhattan. Due to the lateness of the event, it only made sense for us to leave Hazel in the competent care of Grandma and Poppa (née my Mom and Dad) for some much needed quality time. My old college chum (once you graduate, college friends become chums — it’s a fact!) Big Dave married Aislinn, a delightful lass if ever there was one. Their blessed day was, by far, the fanciest wedding I have ever attended. But it wasn’t fancy in a wearing-uncomfortable-rented-dress-shoes sort of way; despite the posh that dripped from every corner, the mood was relaxed and all attendees were contented throughout the entire evening. Blonde was even able to wear a napkin on his head without being jettisoned by the wait staff.

Without going into every minute detail, I think you can sum up the impression of this wedding with one word: bagpipes. We knew we were at the right church when we heard the bagpiping resounding off the tall buildings of Park Avenue. It was a nice way to stake their claim on this section of the Big Apple, but our kilted serenader wasn’t done once the ceremony kicked off. Following the grand hitching, his delightful piping greeted the assembled as we left the church and continued as he led all 200 of us through the streets of New York, making our way from 38th and Park to just north of Grand Central Station. Even without Shriners doing figure-eights in teeny cars and winging candy at passersby, it was still a hell of a parade.

All in all, it was a good think that we didn’t bring Hazel into NYC with us, as she would have come across many a Mets fan. She really doesn’t like Mets fans. Like, really really.

I headed down to Vermont on Friday for Big Dave’s Bachelor Party. Seeing as how we left the state over a year ago for the Narnian splendor that is Midcoast Maine, I looked forward to getting back to our old haunts. I cruised into VT around 7 p.m. on Friday with much honking of horns and flashing of headlights. Oddly, none of the Vermonsters I saw seemed to recognize me as that guy who lived there for two whole years. Oh how soon they forget.

The plan was to rent a house near Mt. Snow and spend days skiing and nights steeped in debauched ribaldry. Due to cash flow, I was planning on skipping the skiing, and a good thing I did, as it rained on Saturday as if my name was Noah. First it poured, then it poured harder, then a deluge fell upon the Earth, and just when we thought it was safe, the weather gods figured out a way to heft the entirety of the Amazon and Nile Rivers into the stratosphere so as to give Vermont a really good soaking. In other words, no way was I going to ski in a monsoon. A few guys went anyway, much to their own chagrin and that of their “waterproof” clothing. Mother Boyle would not have been pleased.

Despite the weather, all involved had a fine time. Our house came equipped with an air hockey table, two billiards tables, a ping-pong table, a lap pool (which I didn’t use), a Jacuzzi (which I didn’t use), a sauna (which I didn’t use), a home theater projector with surround sound, two fridges for stocking, and two kitchens for cooking. Plus, everyone had a bed of their own; no crashing on the floor or in the bathtub for me! Much fun was had, much Ninja Warrior was watched, and Big Dave even won a dance competition (see the stills at Paul’s Photo Page). All in all, I give this bachelor party two enthusiastic thumbs up.

And with the pop of 10,000 champagne bottle corks, the holiday season (and 2007 as a whole) is packed away and put up in the attic. I hope you bought enough mothballs.

Hazel’s first Christmas went swimmingly. Despite my worst fears of weird or useless gifts, everything she received has not only fit well into her daily regime, but also fits in our house without forcing us to install monkey bars on the ceilings for room-to-room transit. Of course, this Christmas did herald in what will be known heretofore as the Toys with Lights and Sounds Era. But that’s okay, as her Learnin’ Table does play La Cucaracha.

She also got loads of clothes. Even though those rectangular gift boxes always filled Young John with bitter dread and a sense of impending disappointment, now that I’m a parent, I think these are the best gifts she “opened” (the use of quote here recognizes that Hazel didn’t exactly open any gifts this year, but she was more than happy to eat the wrappings once removed from any gifts). She now has a full wardrobe again, which has been dwindling over the past few weeks as she continued to grow despite us telling her to wait until after Christmas. Hazel will be all set for another three to six months until she Hulks out again and outgrows her current staples like so many torn purple slacks.

We also made another Connecticut trip, this time during the day as opposed to our moonlight drive of last time. Hazel did phenomenally well on the 6-hour drive down; she even helped steer the car and read the maps when we attempted a shortcut in northern Massachusetts. But, with a mere 45 minutes left to go, she decidedly freaked out just outside of Hartford. I like to think this was in memoriam to the once mighty Whalers, but once we got off the highway for a closer inspection, her tears we probably caused by the massive poop in her diaper.

Not to downplay the visits from other folks, but it was great to see Jim again while we were both back in CT for the holidays. Despite being the person I talk to most (after Megan and Hazel), we haven’t seen each other since he came back east to be a groomsman in our wedding nearly five years ago! Jim, I’ll see you in another half decade; by that time Hazel will be old enough to knock out a few state high points (I’m thinking Ebright Azimuth and maybe Britton Hill).

Hope 2008 started off smashingly for you, the Internet. Now if you’ll excuse me, our new Roomba is stuck under the couch and I must extricate our new robotic family member.

Carving one more notch into my Stereotypical Dad belt, I have been away all week on a business trip. These business trips may become more of a regular thing as I pick up new responsibilities at work, which is a real mixed bag. One the one hand, earning more for performing more interesting work is a great opportunity. On the other hand, I don’t want to miss out on too much Hazel time. Luckily, it appears that she still remembers me, so I think we can make this work.

My final destination was Austin, TX, but flying out of the Portland Jetport necessitates connections if you want to travel more than 33% across the country. So to get to Texas, I needed to change flights in Atlanta. My seatmate was on his way down to Georgia for the National Convenience Store Convention. Yes, they have a convention for everything. It’s reminiscent of Calvin (of Calvin and Hobbes fame) and his favorite niche publication, Chewing, the magazine for gum enthusiasts. If you have an interest or profession, no matter how random, there’s most likely a journal or association dedicated to it.

I had roughly ten minutes to make it to my connection gate in Atlanta. Now I know this is a constantly cited piece of trivia, but yes, you can make it from one end of the Atlanta airport to the other in less than seven minutes without having to full-on sprint. I owe a huge thanks to the moving sidewalks and their ability to “increase my ambulatory efficiency” without the need for perspiration.

Without going into much detail, the company we seminar’d is a technological bigwig and their main campus definitely reflects that. The lobby of Building One is huge and shiny and architecturally interesting. It feels like the not-too-distant future. I half-expected to see a teleport bay off to one side. But the illusion was broken when I spied a plastic analog wall clock of the type that you can by at the supermarket for three bucks hanging askew behind the reception desk. The devil is in the details, people, and you need to hire a new set dresser.

The event went well and things look good for a prolonged business relationship, so huzzahs all around. But, the best part of the whole deal was eating dinner at a restaurant that offers meals in bucket form. Having the option to request “buckets ‘o’” food items really makes you feel like a winner. I may be a culinarily simple man, but never pass up a chance to eat out of a trough. Buffets and buckets forever