They had us at the Concrete Canoe...

We had an unusually wonderful day at Cal; I really cannot explain the full extent, but basically MMB asked for a tour of the Berkeley college of engineering (ranked third in the world - after MIT and Stanford) because her grandchild seems so good at building things and 

he deserves it poor dear. Somehow the truth got lost that we were nobodies and we were treated to a day of the most  inspiring, in-your-face cool I have had in a long time. 

To summarize: we walked past a concrete canoe that had won the world concrete canoe contest. Engineering students submit a concrete canoe and then have to race it. Can't get the crew team involved; the propeller heads must row.

We saw cars they designed and bridge spans they get to play with and prosthetic hands they built and heard about a project with the cal band where the engineers had to write algorithms that would help the band not run into each other. We heard about the ethos of this particular school that sends kids one after the other to developing countries to build safe bridges and dams. Not apps. Bridges and dams damn it. (Stanford is more into the apps. Meow.) 

The republican nominee for president did not know what Brexit was until a reporter told him; he does not have a grasp of what a treasury bill is. And he doesn't know because he doesn't care. 

So what a salve for the worried soul to be at a place where people care so very much about a concrete canoe. Because that matters. It does. 

Then just when we had had our full; out come these two people from student services who cuddle with F; test his Spanish with  the Hispanic guy; and tell him to follow his bliss and it will be ok. They only accept half the percentage that letters and science at Cal does, but if he ioves bridges and canoes he should go for it. 

F wrote a rather funny thank you letter telling the story of the go cart down lomabrd- and how courage and a good paint job won't suffice: you have to know something about building. And I think one day he will. 

Here's to the colorful ones!

Happy Father's day to all. I often tell Frederick I could sit in the bathtub all day  with a large gin and I would still be a contender for mother of the year; simply because I scared up such a good father for him. 

But here is a toast to the fathers in red whose hands were big enough to hold two beers and a toddler. Here's to dreamy Exeter alums; to under focused Mensa members; to lovers of heat and sea and sail boats of any kind. Here's to slightly loose canons who teach you how to laugh and drink and fish and fight. Then tell you to read that book again but this time in its original language. 

Xxx

Alpine Gods

Our adorable alpinists left yesterday, and the house is so sad. Albert looks especially dejected because he thought he finally had the family he wanted: a person to play with in every room. 

I don't say this lightly, but we might be better people after having spent time with these two. Rarely have I met people with such joy for every single thing life has to offer: mountains, and sea and coffee and late nights dancing to Tommy's band, and the Mission and the Haight and the seventh annual naked bicycle race (oh san francisco...)-absolutely everything delighted them. 

They were sort of beautiful rays of light circling our house for a few days. 

Of course most people who met them thought they were these affable Austrians here for a holiday. But they are elite mountaineers who live literally and figuratively on the edge. Just as bad ass as they come; but in an adorable package. Obviously I will try to avoid skiing with them because their zest for life will surely get me killed. 

Ramona is also a professional photographer and she has a book on cows (not making this up) on Amazon...stay tuned for the title. 

Selfie above was thanks to the insane arm length of Matthias...he is a walking selfie stick. 

XXX

Girl Power

As if that weren't exciting enough, Burger King is making a combo whopper/burrito.

"The Whopperito".

Summer plans will mean blog heaven (Blogasm) including, but not limited, to: a cultural mountain retreat in Germany; a road trip to Dubrovnik and possibly a ferry ride from Split to Tuscany.

 Get ready to rumble in July. 

One down...

Once upon a time, three children from San Francisco all named for kings (William, Frederick and Henry) -went far from home and lived to tell the tale.   

Between them, they joined several JV teams; one varsity team;  earned some As, some Bs; and one unpublished Spanish award. 

Then their mothers came to take them home.

Anyway the entire student body stays up all night last night for a PEA tradition where the kids in each dorm sit together while the seniors reminisce about each other. F listened to each and every shenanigan until 4 30 a.m. when they went en masse (the entire school) to dunkin donuts.

(Ahh the pageantry.) He and one of his friends thought the stories were so amazing that they worried when they got to be seniors, they would have nothing to tell. So they resolved to ask for advice., i.e. Tips on shenanigans. (Just what I need.) 

The seniors also attempted to impart wisdom to the younger kids; and it turns out each senior said a version of the same thing: 

Go make a lot of friends, and take very good care of them. 

No mention of calculus or Plutarch or Harvard. No mention of lacrosse or footnotes. 

Just Love your friends and jump into the river with them occasionally.  Every boarding school  has this ethos  I think.  Something about the bonding in the trenches is unlike any other bonding. 

By the way, when I was living in Italy, I took the train to Rome from Milan often 😇 ; and on one trip I witnessed a pair of hovering Italian parents putting a blanket over their grown child while he slept.

And that is what I am doing right now.  

Post Script

Survived the other kid's room clean up. 

All is in relative order now... Lexi and I were his worst nightmare- bossing him around and cleaning out his sock and underwear drawer.  I told him to relax: I would report nothing but the syringes to his mother.

For the record, the kid in the messy room photo is not Chico! His room was no hospital, but it was not that.

Oh F forgot to tell me he got the Spanish award... (For preps). But the teacher said it did not make it into the official book. Doesn't know what happened. 

F said it's no big deal: he was the only kid not asleep in the class... But seriously? If ever there was proof of his grandfather's interference from the grave... This would be it. 

Olé!!

Lexi hard at work

Signs they are ignoring

Early morning run

Free at last -

Post last exam lunch