Silent Rocks, Screaming River

I don't really know where to start with this one, so I am going to just jump in and then jump around.

A rafting trip through the canyon with a geologist resembles a ritual of worship.  Our leader (and friend) Professor K has been over 30 times, is writing a three volume book on the path of the Colorado river- including one entire volume on the Grand Canyon, and yet he is still ecstatic at the sight of the place. He described the spectacle before us as a massive graveyard teaming with trillions of tiny graves, that may look inanimate but each is in fact pulsing with energy. He said that they were trying to speak to us, and we should try to listen.

The rocks are about 500 million years old at the start, but as we "descended through time", we saw and touched rocks that were 2 billion years old. That blew me away- 2 damn billion years. Towering above us a mile in the sky are layers upon layers of buried beings that had a life and a death: an extraordinary tapestry of an ordinary life cycle. The mundane can become a symphony when you throw in inconceivable amounts of time.

One of the best parts of the trip was sleeping under the Canyon's shadow, staring up at the stars. I have never done that before and it was as luxurious as anything I have ever done. My first night we slept next to some rapids and the sky was clear and lovely. Thomas went to sleep worrying about my sleep and general mental state, but when I woke in the night and rolled over in my cot, I gave him a thumbs up.
Then I slept on. It was just so exquisite, even I couldn't worry about the scorpions or the toilets.

The worst part was the stupid toilets...the smell, the awkwardness, the lack of control over your own idea of where to go. I never got used to it. In the middle of the night I would often find pee on my own foot and I wanted to cry.
Also dropping a toothbrush in the sand makes you want to die of grief.

We started the trip at Marble Canyon where we met the group at a slightly nervous meeting. Well I was nervous anyway. I just couldn't imagine being held captive at something for the next 8 days- there is nothing I have ever done that I couldn't escape if I wanted to...except plane flights, and that is why I don't like them. When we went around to introduce ourselves, I told everyone that I had never really camped before. This turned out to be a good thing because people checked in on me: asked if I was ok, shared hand cream, complimented me on my fortitude. They gave us a rather grim safety discussion, warning us about rattle snakes and rapids and the Noro virus which apparently is a thing on these camping trips if people do not wash their hands enough in the buckets of chlorinated water they provide.

The second best thing, besides the Canyon itself was the people. It was ecstasy: the highest collective IQ ever assembled on a raft.  Here a just a sampling: A German, slightly cross eyed astro physicist; several geologists: one of whom is a specialist in how water moves through rock; archaeologists, a nuclear engineer who also is an astronomer and a light air craft pilot. Also a profane, hilarious jewelry salesperson from Chico who dabbled in friendships with skin heads in his youth and loves essential oils and making his own candy. The spiritual head of the group though was the professor's daughter- a tall leggy blond who had a baby at 18 and figured it all out, had two more with a husband, dumped him and is now a realtor with an excellent boyfriend. She looks 25 but is over 40 and just a ball of crazy joy who it so happens eats like an actual horse. There was not a calorie she did not befriend..it was inspiring.  She rode on the side parts of the raft- supposedly the most dangerous, and definitely the most wet. Her divine friend was along - they met on a trip last year, and their laughter was a constant backdrop. Once when we were dirty and tired and unloading the boats (such a bore and we did it twice a day) the two were in hysterics over the work they were doing, and the German cross eyed planetary scientist just started laughing uncontrollably....he lost it. Then he spit out in a very thick German accent: "Zom peeple just have toooo much fan...!!!!!" and he howled into the canyon wall. We observed that if an alien came to earth he would not be able to identify this man and the hot daughter of the professor as the same species (they would not be mating after all). But how it tickled his little left brained heart to hear their song, bouncing off these ancient rocks.

These are my people. I love them and I dare say they love me...if I left one boat for the day, they would come and tell me they missed me. I made them laugh and in turn they answered my questions on biology and geology and whether we thought cave men had anxiety or did anxiety only come when we learned the bible wasn't a literal thing. They gave me their extra chocolate and I gave them my extra wine. We will be friends for life.

In starring roles were the guides- but where to begin...The head guide is a small, sexy man of indeterminable race who knows as much about rocks as a geologist and is clearly a tortured soul. He smokes like a chimney and apparently seduces a woman on almost every trip. He was once engaged to a client - a rich girl from Carmel and the wedding was planned. But there is no way this guy is leaving the river. The Native Americans believe God hangs out in rivers and mountains and seas. And if there is one thing this blog has asserted, it is the truth of that. So a river man can't be "civilized": told to put his cigarettes and make chit chat at the club.

After a childhood on Charlie B's boat in high seas, I am really not concerned by a rapid because rapids end so quickly. Yes they are dangerous, yes they could kill you, but I'll take my chances on a rapid any time over the Bering Sea.
But Oh the excitement of the veteran boatman planning his entrance to a difficult one. Sometimes we would almost be backward it was disconcerting to say the least.
I only wish I had had a photo of him; cigarette dangling, eyes ablaze, fear and ecstasy combined in those thirty seconds. It was awesome.

Professor K. at home. Would you ride a rapid with this man?

More in jiffy...including how the engines went out in the middle of a rapid. xx

You Go Girl

It thought it might be helpful to give the basic outlines of the Grand Canyon trip before we go. Thomas and I will fly on Sunday the 12th to the Cliff Dweller lodge in Marble Canyon where we will meet the group. Someone in the many group emails mentioned margartias on the terrace, so I will find him first.

I have ordered two devices to help me with the whole peeing in the woods thing. One is called a You Go Girl! and I am too afraid to open it. The other is a "camping chamber pot" ($8.99 on Amazon)...because it seems that we are not supposed to pee in anything but the river. That would make the canyon yucky for others...so they said we should use a wide mouthed bottle to use in the tent. (Dr. Knauth suggests that we put duct tape around it to keep from confusing it with our water bottle.) For "more serious things" there is a port o potty that some poor souls have to set up and put on the raft and take out of the canyon.

I am actively praying for the measles, while Thomas is happily booking small, private dangerous planes to whisk us to and fro. I have heard him humming.

All but two of my friends ooohed and ahhed at the sound of the trip-
 "I am SOOO jealous!" One woman gave me a very expensive coffee table book filled with the most glorious photographs of water and scorpions.

But Boo and Robin (God bless them) both said it sounded like hell. Boo stated flatly we are too old.
But that's the thing! I am among the youngest (and least educated) on the trip. Throngs of elderly are writing in to introduce themselves and express their euphoria at being able to come. Others are on their umpteenth trip....they are somewhere between garden variety Gung Ho and the throws of a religious experience.

But buried in the questions posed to Professor K was this exchange:

Ok so now I am interested....also I bought a bunch of camping clothes and am kind of into the idea of a trip where I am only bringing two shirts. I may have to pack an extra one though if I am going to see Powell's ghost.

All blogging will be done old school on a notepad and posted when I return to civilization. If I don't return- someone find that notebook; but most importantly: don't touch the bottle with the duct tape!

Boo and Robin a few days ago at an art installation in the headlands. Smiles because they are not going to hold their own pee for a week, Thomas happy because he is; Geoff A. just happy as usual...love him. #oldestfriends

Caped Crusaders of Support

"When your whole world is shaken-
From all the rhythm we have taken,
Dance with me..
dance with me, to the colors of the dusk.
When you have awoken,
From all the dreams broken
Come and dance with me, 
dance with me into the colors of the dusk...." 

'In the colors'
Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals


I trust you all tried to at least glimpse the red wolf moon last night- apparently Leo is in something (must ask boo) and if we apply ourselves, dreams made last night will come true this very year...!

Anyway happy MLK day. Today is a good day to kiss anyone you know who can give a good speech, because I can't live without them. Read King's speeches, as well as any little beauty by Lincoln or Churchill before the sun sets tonight. It's like being given a pleasant electric shock; a reminder of ancient truths we rejoice to hear.

T and I resolved on our day off (ok don't laugh at the idea of us having a day ON...the market is closed, which means all podcast listening and internet shopping occur at home #hardship.) .. so we resolved to dive deep into all horrible customer service departments we had been avoiding- changing credit cards registered with the charity in Africa and Javier's gym membership; cancelling the comcast contract, merging jet blue accounts. I usually tell Thomas that I will handle everything- that he is too European, too civilized, too innocent to roll in this kind of mud. I probably throw in a "watch and learn" as I took the list. But invariably it is I who loses it and mauls some customer service rep being paid 9 bucks an hour.
After the third person asked for my birthday, my secret high school crush, my social security in Cyrillic, and how long I needed to be cuddled after, and THEN had the gall to ask: "How my day was going so far???" I said it would be going a lot fucking better if I were not on the phone with them.
This was kind of a mood killer, and made me feel bad. I am blaming the wolf moon.

But here is the good news: in the approximately 9 days that I was on hold with Jet blue, they played some music that was so good, I bought it. I am herewith sharing it with you- Ben Harper and the innocent criminals. Turns out that Tommy's band plays a really good version of their song "steal my kisses". highly recommend it.

PS T just told me that the man at our new "one Password app" signed off as
"Your caped crusader of support." (HA!)
I think i may be in love.

Green Juice with Ingwer

Coffee and Juice Almhof style

Coffee and Juice San Francisco style......the espresso was small and bitter, like my mood. 

Christmas 2018 is in the books, and Frederick is tucked into Wentworth Hall- a place he is increasingly emotional about leaving. I wish I could help him, but there is no cure for love, or its shitty cousin attachment. Saying goodbye is just such a bitch. (I seem to be swearing a lot in 2019).

We had never spent three weeks in a row at the Schneider, and I am here to report it is not all bad. We came to breakfast early and were met with a small battalion of waiters who looked as if they had waited for us all night. Guten Morgen Familie Wehlen! "Two green juices with ginger, and two double espressos?" We would nob appreciatively through the jet lag, and then get down to talking about avocado toast. Somewhere around the second week Thomas announced he could get used to this.

When we left, there was a bit of a hub bub- Luis arranged for much of the staff to come down to see us off waving white handkerchiefs. It would have been hilarious if it hadn't been so tragic.

Harumi and I made some progress this year, and she and Thomas are delighted. They speak about me as if I am Eliza Doolittle. Sometimes one little tip works, and this year she told me my hip had to go up at a point in the turn- or at least more than it had been. The effect was amazing- I could be in thick snow, or weird snow or facing a steep fall into the valley, and I felt like I had this little secret weapon: Hüfte Hoch! she kept saying, and then I started saying it, no matter where I was. "Hüfte Hoch!" Hüfte Hoch!" over and over; over hill and dale.

Curiously the "Hüfte Hoch!" mantra is non transferable. Thomas had literally no idea what this meant, or where the hell his hip should be.

I am so jet lagged, that I don't know what I am writing- also just found out I have to go to the dentist this afternoon. I am too dehydrated for tears.

F seems very happy and pleased with all of his deferrals. The worst one had to be Cambridge because the start of the letter lauded him and his little application. But by the end they said uh no. Call us when you have taken all five APs. But nice work and fancy footwork at that interview!

He said that he knows people who turned on each other when one got into a school and the other didn't. This horrified him: "I guess I picked the right friends mommy..." So ok, maybe he won't get in to a big name physics school in this country. It looks increasingly unlikely unless we cough up a large check to make up for his whiteness, which we won't.
But here is the good news: he is surrounded by friends, and he is sleeping like a baby.

My new Castro look in Boston. I mean it's cute, right? Thomas keeps yelling VIVE!!!

Heidschi Bumbeidschi

Heidschi Bumbeidschi

But Heiji Bumbeischi sleep for a long time 

the mother is gone 

she is gone and never returns home 

and leaves her little Büberl so completely alone 

But Heidschi Bumbeidschi bumbum, 

But Heiji Bumbeidschi bumbum.

But Heishi Bumbeidschi, sleep the sweet 

ones let them greet 

you They greet you and ask 

you if you want to walk in heaven 

But Heiji Bumbeidschi bumbum, 

but Heidschi Bumbeidschi bumbum.

Christmas Eve was lovely- a little long on the goose liver, but very pretty as always. I took a video and will try to post, but videos have never worked too well on the ol blog.  One of our favorite carols sung this night is from the 19th century, written originally in Bavarian/Austrian dialect. I never knew until this year that the song is is about mothers losing their children, back when infant mortality was high. Eventually it was turned into more of a lullaby for putting kids to sleep- and less about actual death. But this is why I love spending Christmas here: where else do you find nine course meals with goose liver, accompanied by Christmas Carols about dead babies? It's refreshing not to be coddled. 

We heard the usual speeches- an intellectual one from G about becoming more humane at Christmas, and Frau S. choking back tears as she thanked us. Then the main event- Luis, Frederick and the other two members of the retainer stealing team were appointed to give the Christmas speech. Too funny. None of these kids knows a Christmas outside of this hotel- and they talked about why they loved it. Frederick told about his jello suspended possessions and how this would not happen at another hotel; how this was a place that was safe for people and retainers alike. 

Lighting the tree with live fire; No sissy electric lights here. 

There was a new comer- a very young English boy who brought the house down reading a poem about memories of his youth. It was like Laurence Olivier in short pants. Then there were the usual assortment of little girls in dirndls who read from the bible, one of whom was in a state of panic because she had to read the word circumcision. Apparently the women from the children's play room (who hand out the roles) brook no squeamishness about an occasional Christmas penis reference. Like I said, there is no coddling here. 

Harumi gave me this hat from a company that is called Teton something, after our beloved Jackson Hole, with Japanese writing on the back. Thomas is trying to steal it from me, but I'll kill him first. 

I promise I will get some photos up soon, but now we must go to Church. xx

Wearing my favorite present, post dinner- a hat from Harumi

mini Laurence Olivier with the dirndl girls

Gifts in front of our door from Mrs. S

Jello à La Retainer

Small interim update. Frederick called us from his room in a near panic asking if we had taken his credit cards and I.D. out of his wallet. Um no....? Then he came rushing in explaining that he had gone out for a 45 minute ski and left his door open, wallet on full display. Thomas said Frederick needed to look around his room, because he probably took them out himself. Ok this was silly-one doesn't take out four credit cards and one's I.D. and then forget it an hour later. We scratched our head, and Thomas called the reception, not to accuse them- but to ask if any had been found. The woman said no and reminded him that never in the history of the hotel had anything been stolen from a room. Thomas said yes of course....we know. Then it occurred to me that it was obviously this gang of boys headed by Luis. And indeed, it was. They said they had the cards and the retainer and all were in a safe place; but they could say no more. I asked what their demands were- I mean a hostage retainer gets a pretty good price.
So we laughed and got ready for dinner.

Later four waiters come out with two enormous flaming jellos with credit cards and retainer cooked inside. Luis said the retainer was hard to keep from floating to the surface, so they had to attach it to a banana. Such are the perks of having a patisserie chef at your disposal.

Apparently the boys had come looking for Frederick (who is now resplendent in his own room dear god) and finding it empty and filled with credit cards...took the most natural next step.

So. Game on people. Please submit revenge ideas to my email......keep in mind with my Brigham gene for vicious practical jokes and Thomas' sangfroid at the prospect of emptying the family trust if needed, we have a broad range available. Get on it.

Never Mansplain to a Japanese Pharmacist

Thomas and I have been here a week, and don't feel the zen yet. There have been guests five of the days (Rainer and Peter consecutively). But there is no rest for the weary, because tonight most of the core crowd comes.

T and I were badly jet-lagged, but unlike at other hotels, this becomes news here. Mrs. Schneider appeared before me in the hallways like a specter asking about my night, and the waiters silently brought me shots of ginger.

Harumi is by my side thank god. We had one rather nice day of powder and she was happy with my turns. But on the last run she claims I leaned back and this she can't let go. For the uninitiated, the zen of skiing is to be forward; but not bending at the hip with bum out the back; no. She tried to explain what is clearly obvious to her- how you are supposed to be in this perfect upward position, with bent knees, but since different hills have different slopes. it is something that has to be constantly adjusted. A perfect position on the flat does not work on a very steep hill. Finally she told me that when my "po po" i.e. my bum is too far back, it must be brought back up. This was news. The thing I both love and hate about this sport is that to be safe you have to have faith in the experts, in accepted wisdom, in your Harumi.  Neither your brain nor your gut is of any use.

Today was one of those days that make you worry about the future of the planet, and more immediately of the hotel, because it poured rain. Of course we still went out, but there was such high wind that most things were closed and the hills were both icy and slushy.  At one point we were on a lift for a very small hill - the one where children learn- and we were swinging so badly I thought I was going to die right there on the bunny lift- which is of course such a poor ending for the biography Amy is going to write.

Yesterday we explained to Harumi what mansplaining was. She told us a tale about how she has met men on helicopter trips who won't shake her hand, because they don't want to ski with her. In their defense, it is genuinely dangerous out there and she looks like a pretty Japanese pharmacist.  Lots of times, the men try to ski faster than she does.....even though the whole point of having a guide is so they go first and test for avalanches. Luckily for these idiots, no one skis faster than Harumi-San. To paraphrase the sound of music: It's like trying to catch a moonbeam in your hand. Thomas famously said when she goes into her top gear it is like trying to follow a comet.

Tell me-is there anything more beautiful than the sight of all those tears and training and Japanese mastery forming the massive dust cloud on which those men must now choke?

Po Pos up, girls. Knees bent, but Po Pos up.

England Ahoy

F is leaving tomorrow for his little Cambridge chats. Unlike Feng's son (who also made the cut of course), Frederick will make his way to the Berkeley hotel where E and C will be waiting; tea cups in hand. He says he still has an oyster card and will hop on the tube with his little roller suitcase, like a slightly brainy flight attendant. Then, after a nourishing meal and sleep, his aunt and uncle will pick him up and take him to King's college where he will sleep in new Brooks Brothers pyjamas bought by Nana. What I am trying to say is, he has a lot of support in this adventure.

His uncles told him that it's a pity that the Brigham who can pass the natural sciences entrance exam, is not the one with story telling chops. If one of us were going, the stories would be legendary. He had to sign both a scanned and hard copy of an agreement saying that he wouldn't reveal to anyone what was on the test, or what transpired at the interviews. Ha.
He will be revealing, I tell you- or he is out of what is left of the tattered will. Obviously I will be posting all details here.

I love the severity of the letter above- not a single exclamation point. Thomas is looking at the names of the professors who will meet with F and they look like a fun crowd.

Finally, ya'll should know the two best things in the week as determined by me: Maureen Dowd's article about H.W. Bush, and the "All I want for Christmas" - message from the women of SNL song on Saturday night live. Do not delay availing yourselves of both.

H.W. Bush never wrote a memoir (don't you love that?). He did however compile a book of his letters. It's a bit like this blog, though I like this form better: letters written into thin air.


next update complete with exaggerations and lunacies coming Friday.

Are we having Feng Yet?

Downtown Exeter. No Filter

F drew the short stick this semester and was assigned to the class of one Mr. Feng, professor of mathematics, for what is an accelerated version of something. (Don't ask me) Anyway, Feng teaches all levels of math there, so it is no particular honor to have him.

There are kids who say they come to Exeter just to be in one of his classes. Exonian Mark Zuckerberg cited him as his most influential teacher (he wrote Zuckerberg's recommendation for Harvard); and the Chinese parents have been known to arrive on their hands and knees to meet him. If you revere math, he is the one you want to teach your kid. The stories abound: how he berates kids who he thinks aren't trying that hard, or who make careless errors- asking kids how they even got into Exeter, or in one case, asking a girl to leave the room and not come back until he was no longer a teacher.
Anyway F was game.

This is just part of his CV from the school website on him: 
Mr. Feng’s professional interests deeply relate to problem-solving-based math activities. He designed the course Mathematical Problem Solving at Yale University and taught it from 2013 to 2015. He has served as a coach of the USA International Mathematics Olympiad (IMO) team since 1997; was deputy leader of the USA IMO delegation; an assistant director of the USA Mathematical Olympiad Summer Program (MOSP); and the leader of the USA IMO delegation and the academic director of the MOSP for ten years. He is a coordinator at IMO 2015, and has been a member of the USA Mathematical Olympiad Committee since 1999.

He also coached girls JV soccer for many years, had many winning seasons, including one perfect one. No doubt he was very good at devising plays: "Now Skylar, you run 45 degrees south of Henrietta, while Pammy dissects the semi circle in front of the goal. "

So we went to his class. Feng ignores all us parents as we enter. There is only one girl; she seems to be friends with Frederick. Feng is not the reedy bespectacled person I imagined- more teddy bear shaped, in dad jeans. Thomas said he looks like a man who regrets he didn’t take an extra headache pill that day. He finds mistakes, non attention to detail, feeble attempts- he finds these things highly irritating. He is not impressed by your kid, hell he is not impressed with his own- a brilliant kid who is good friends with Chico (and also applying to Cambridge).

There is a PHD student who sits in the back of the class, learning how to be a teacher like him.  Feng is reputedly not impressed with him either.

So the class starts and the kids who are sitting closest to Feng are laughing nervously at his comments about idiotic things he has seen. Clearly this is part schtick- he is really pretty funny. But he is also genuinely annoyed by the existence of stupid and careless that seems so abundant in the human race.  A student goes up to the board and scribbles away while describing his process. Feng is armed with a little red laser. He whips the light over to one little blob of chalk and asks what the hell is that. The kid- a thin handsome 11th grader in glasses tries to explain. Feng pauses as if to decide whether he can let this go; the kid has clearly got the right answer, but as Frederick can attest, Feng is not teaching creativity here. Math is creative at some level, but not with this group. Someone asked me how high this math was. Basically if you start at the lowest math class at PEA, you will graduate in a math class called 300 something. This is 500 something. So F was at college level courses last year, and will finish at the highest math in the official course catalogue. But of course there are unlimited other electives one could take- including the famous math 999 which is just whatever the best kids conjure up to learn. And remember in this class there are a few who are in 11th grade- meaning a full year ahead of F's program. So to say Feng is not dazzled by Frederick Wehlen is to put it mildly. What is so gratifying about it is how the kids delight in this treatment. Later when we got to Boston and we were having a conversation about how he really was so very lucky to have scored the parents he did (a fun topic to return to often, in my opinion) and he agreed he got in the right line for parental assignments. "The only person I would want to swap you for as a parents is Mr. Feng. " (???!!!) This is the man who handed him a 65 out of 100 on a test primarily because he answered correctly, but he didn't do it the Feng way. The man who may crush his MIT/CATECH dreams with one swipe of his pen and a B+. He wants him to be his daddy. Point is, there is some hope for the youth of this world- there is some hope for young men. They don't need to take this class- they don't need to be told they are ordinary and need to work harder. But they do.

F jumps up to answer his problem, and the red laser is blessedly down. But then Feng asks him how he could express that more formally. He wants F to express it both ways. I don't understand anything, but I do see how he is hammering procedure and fanatical exactness. The only time we saw a real glimpse of how he acts when parents aren't there, is when all the kids were told to do a problem at the board, and one guy realized he had written down a totally different bunch of numbers. He just copied it wrong from the book to the board- but it was massively wrong.  And Feng just goes after him- "how could you get so many numbers off? I can see one maybe? but so many?" So if Feng catches you making a careless error in the dark corner of the class, and even though you find it and correct it, and absolutely no harm was done, even then, he is pissed. It may seem mean, but if any of them turns out to be in charge of making my airplane, or bridge or vaccine, I am glad Feng's voice will be in their ear, calling them an idiot.

I asked Thomas why the right answer is sometimes not the right answer in this class. I thought in math there was an answer and that was it. He explained that there is always more than one way to get to the answer. Feng is teaching one process that they must learn. If they stumble another way to the answer, that is a different class.

What else? We went to a physics class with just the loveliest teacher ever- big fuzzy sweater, ill fitting jeans, Birkenstocks. They split into groups and did an experiment. These are sort of fun- the parents hang in the back and chat. Unfortunately I am stuck talking to this woman whose son is way ahead of mine, and I know because she spent the full hour reciting his stats. He has finished all the APs he needs for Cambridge already (F still has three). He took F's math last year; he is just simply genetically superior, I had to agree. She wasn't trying to show off...she was just so nervous that she was chanting his accomplishments as some sort of mantra. I am not sure she knew I was there. Clearly she doesn't have a lot of friends, but doesn't know why. Thomas and I were crab walking to the side away from her as she went on and on. We were trying to talk to the mother of Frederick's good friend who is from Chicago. We wanted to talk about deep dish pizza and Wentworth gossip. But this woman - an engineer and HBS graduate (she told us that too) wanted in.

KMH and I are trying to manifest Caltech happening so we can go to Pie and Burger and flirt with astrophysicists in the sun. But this is going to take a lot of manifesting to get him in with kids like this around.

So onward. Frederick has a few more weeks of this blistering work load; then an easy semester where he takes all the art classes and public speaking classes he has blown off until now; then spring is brutal again with advanced astronomy and Quantum physics. Keep meditating people..

Head of Charles was fun, but freeeeeeezing, so watching it was brutal. Below are the boys in the boat. Charlie and his hockey friend are the muscle in the middle. They took up crew only months ago, and they are going to the one and two college crew teams: Yale and Cal. The other two are going to Brown and I don't know where....anyway they are good, but had a rough day.


xx

CMB is trying to bring back the visor in the fashion world. Watch this space.....

Charlie modeling the pea coat I got him. F is trying to ridicule. 

Me with the coxswain of the Exeter boat. He is only a 10th grader and had a huge burden on him. Well done. 

The only photo I dared take of the Feng, the myth. Be afraid people. He wants you to do better, whatever you are doing. 

I love this school....and I want these t shirts. 

F at the four seasons when he finished his college essays.

Charlie and Will- Will, with the best form is in the front. CMB is one of two muscles in the middle. 

The Aliens Will Hear Hitler First

Special relativity explained with stick figures. Also known as Giuliani law. 

Leadership weekend wrap up! 

Don’t you love it? That’s what they call us: leaders. 

(latin for: “those who have coughed up")

MMB and I are now infamous as those two blondes with the huge family of people who have been kicked out. People come up to us and say we made their day with our stand up act.

Another woman who looked very tightly wound, tapped me on the shoulder to tell me she had been to my house. Her second comment was that my husband was “the most laid back parent about college she had ever met". She also told me that her son, who has graduated, told her if he had known what first semester of senior year would be like, he would not have come to the school. It seems he has a sort of Frederick-put me in with the lions ethos, and that can be a bit like taking a dare on a Carolina Reaper pepper. Sounds good before you eat it. F looks different. In past years, he was a little nervous, but now he is facing something much bigger. The famous Mr. Fung for example took 12 points out of 15 off on one question -even though he had the right answer... apparently Frederick didn’t do it the way he taught them in class.

Frederick was laughing when we told me though- he likes an honest black eye. 

At dinner, he tried to explain what he is learning in physics: "it's just not logical mommy." He says he understands it so far, but is clearly worried it is going to get weird soon. Then he got a little jolly on an organic cola and said he could explain if we gave him a piece of paper. This is all I heard: if one person is going the speed of light, and an observer is not, there will be,  in essence, two versions of reality. And because I am now and forever tainted by political Podcasts, all I heard was this sentence booming in my head: “Rudy Giuliani was right!! Truth isn’t truth!!!!! 

Frederick thought about that and said yes that was perhaps true.

We talked about intelligent life and how we are trying to make contact. He said he is trying as we speak, via his computer.

The trouble is, the first thing the aliens will hear of humans is Hitler on TV (he was the first to televise things) and they might be put off by a tiny, tightly wound German ranting about something called “Jews". You can just see them asking themselves: what the alien fuck is up with this people? 

I asked him who else was taking the class, and he said mostly Asian kids that one doesn’t see on the lacrosse field; but there are also a few intrepid souls who don’t understand anything about physics, but have large, curious cojones. And honestly aren't these the people we admire most?  How I wish I had been like this in high school- a little more embracing of abject failure. It's not that I didn't fail of course- it's just that it was foisted upon me. And one should never wait for foisting. 

The 1562 Grant avenue team in happier times (pre Kavanaugh). 

  

  

Few Photos QM2 Hamburg-South HamptonLeaving Hamburg

Leaving Hamburg

From my second floor bed

Closet at sea

Part of our deck

no filter 

Thomas on the sunniest seat on deck 

Sea update #2; photos to follow

After a few good hours of sun and small, almost black, dolphin watching today, we have fog now. We are very busy- F is still writing his paper and arguing with me about the rules of the semi-colon. We are all devoted to these astronomy lectures with this adorable astronomer; tonight we are hoping to meet him under the stars on the top deck at 10 pm. Today he talked about eclipses, and Saturday he will speak about asteroids. Little does he know what his audience holds. One false move and we will have to show him a thing or two about asteroids.
kidding.

In food and beverage news, F and I have the caviar almost every night (with extra toast) while Thomas tries his very best to avoid the offer of large prawns cooked at the table. He is afraid of large prawns. Crepes Suzette is made by this guy from Macedonia. The head of the dining room (and the Turk’s replacement) is from Columbia, but our favorite is our waiter from India- the kindest happiest person ever. We love him. He hands us our food and says our part for us: “Excellent!”  or “thank you!” too funny. After such a long summer, we are really almost sick of all food and drink. But there is some pressure to perform and order something decent. I can’t swear to it, but I think the sommelier rolls his eyes as he walks away.

The great thing about taking the Queen Mary is that unlike an airplane, - it’s the same ship every time. We know where the warmest place on the port side is; we know where to go when waves are big; we know what time of day to go to the Commodore Club; we know how many times around is a mile. It’s like coming home. Oh speaking of that, we had a first yesterday: Thomas and I walked around the deck for three hours. (!) That makes 11 miles. We took a breakfast break, and then walked the last hour. I went through plenty a podcast I tell you….

We are focused on the small things: the temperature of the hot tub on the Queens deck and our favorite pumpernickel bread to name a few. At breakfast we were watching the joggers, and one woman was so fast, we decided to time her. 2:45 for one lap. This is of course my definition of happiness- the absurdity of this being as important as anything else we did that day.
Still asking about scary storm stories. One trip to England in January was bad. Said people fell out of their chairs at dinner. December 8th there is a crossing New York to Southhampton…just putting it out there people. Who is in?

More soon…I have to go to a lecture with F on another murder mystery (get the feeling England only has a few in its entire history). Frederick goes to everything. Once he wandered past an open door and heard snippets of what he assumed would be a relaxing lecture on Nazis or perhaps the second world war. Alas it turned out to be about the sound of music. They were talking about the Von Trapp family. Poor thing.

So I guess it isn’t all perfect out here.

Just got back from a Q&A with the astronomer. He was semi-heckled by a conspiracy theorist who said America didn’t land on the moon.
It was awkward.

He is very passionate about light pollution and the idea of amateurs in general (which he says comes from the french word for LOVE of).  Astronomy is one of those things that gives me great peace AND great anxiety. Did you know for example of the risks of the sun (and exploding nuclear bomb as he calls it) giving us a free, full body x ray when we fly? Did you know the Andromeda galaxy is hurtling toward us? We will end, the earth will end, our sun will end.
He seems excited by it.

I am so in love with this wild, terrifying ocean. Luckily, I am traveling like a coward in a mighty cruise ship, far above the waves. We have had some pretty big rocking and it is only summer. Imagine when she is in a really bad mood.

Are we having fun with the Southern District of New York going after that orangutan president of ours?

Ok must go put on my slinky dress and feather mask to flirt with my gay friends. They clap when i come in in a good dress.

Quick update from somewhere in the Atlantic!

Ahoy all. We left Southhampton on a rather pretty evening on our way to the mighty Atlantic. The exit from was the most spectacular we have ever seen. We were parked in a narrow channel that was packed with sail boats and cruise ships and jet skis, all trying to get a close up look of our ship. Trouble is, we were backward- we couldn’t see how a boat this massive could turn around in such a narrow space; would it back out???
So instead of drinking champagne at the back of the ship where the band was, we went to a special place in the bow where the super nerds hang out. Here is where you hear all the technical talk about bow thrusters and electric pods. It was rather mesmerizing: we saw, far below two ordinary chaps throw the huge lines into the water, to set us free. Then we basically scooched left as if we had feet. Scooched left, and then slowly every so slowly turned around. This planet sized ship has a very small turning radius. Who knew? Anyway it was all very bad ass- the captain, the ship, the little humans who figured this all out.
We cheered.

So off to sea! I am reading a wonderful book about the Atlantic- and the author is as awed and enamored by this ocean as I am. He points out how unlike the pacific which has some turquoise   areas, a few palm trees lining it here and there: the Atlantic is stubbornly gray; a terrifying expanse of moody, magnificent water. He explains how it all started, and how it will all end. The continents will come back together and humans will end, and there won’t be any more soft serve ice cream machines.

Our room is apparently the third best on the ship. It is two floors and has a kitchen and three showers (!) It was the last one available….we don’t usually do this.
But it has gotten us a really good table at dinner and a few curious looks. (“Funny they don’t look like gangsters…..” ) Oh speaking of gangsters, there was a beautiful Russian family at an even better table, that I had my heart set on befriending- she was so lovely and worried. I think she only had champagne for lunch after a long worried discussion with the Russian waitress. Oh the waitress is too funny- she makes comments like my father used to make if the order is too wimpy. I ordered two appetizers for lunch instead of an entree and no wine as usual. She hadn’t even met me and she said I was boring. HA!
Where was I? oh the Russians got off in England so I have no friends. sad.

And friend the Turk is alas on vacation, so we don’t get the extras we used to.

Yesterday we had the planetarium show, a talk on an unsolved murder in 1930, a pedicure, a blow out, a table tennis tournament, and F started and finished a first draft of the caltech application which just came out.

Today was really good. There is a man from the Royal Astronomical Society (the Wehlen luck!) and he is giving four  talks. Today was the first- on how to look at the night sky with the naked eye. He is beyond fabulous- teaches at Oxford, and is singularly obsessed with light pollution. I am with him on this…so many people cannot see the stars at all, literally cannot see a single star due to this problem. It seems if people would just keep from having lights shine UP, things would be a lot better for astronomers and romantics everywhere.
more on that later.

Later in the week we get to meet him at a bar on board for Q&A. We are excited believe me. OH! and the last talk will be on asteroids! Can’t wait to talk shop with him.

Met the really young, handsome, Italian, absolutely earnest, third in command at the cocktail reception. Thomas wanted to ask why, when we left English waters, we went around this tiny island, rather than in between it and the shore, which was the shorter trip. He said that they never do that- it’s too risky and the fuel savings  are not worth it. He looked terrified of us, especially Mr. Captain in training, Thomas K. Wehlen.

We have had two food related scandals- F’s soft serve ice cream fell somewhere in the zone between the machine and our room, so he had to run with the fast melting goo in his hand, all the way to the room. Then Thomas, who has a rare weakness for the stir fry pork in the buffet eating area (not in our precious dining room), encountered a wily foe who stepped in front of him when he briefly hesitated after having served himself the stir fried noodles. She apparently saw there was very little left of the pork and not wanting to take any chances, simply swept in and took almost all for herself.
He is quite rattled about it and won’t let it go. We had to have a long walk around the deck, complete with full reenactment (“Ok you act out the part of the woman, and I'll be the pork..”)

There is much much more, but this has taken too long. Photos maybe tomorrow.

Lech Love

Greetings from the Post hotel- the main competition to the Almhof. Perhaps due to Michael's occasional patronage, they are being extra nice to us, and we were upgraded to the Kaiser suite.  It is insane- larger than several of my old apartments, with a dining room table, and a wood burning fireplace. Also it is just steps from the new outdoor pool-my new favorite place on earth. Our schedule includes long late afternoon lounges in bathrobes under the watchful gaze of the Omeshorn. Then we wander to tea - a silent army in bathrobes, then back to the chaise longues.

Every day we march up and down through bad moods and tired legs, past 16th century huts and baby cows; past church steeples and the town drunk. We walk and walk and walk. It is not always pretty- I experience a lot of self loathing and doubt along the way; but when I get back and my lunch order is in, I am as happy as I ever am. Really- it is a peace very close in intensity to the moment I met Frederick.
I just wish people knew this. Your path to peace is just one very long walk and a good lunch away. It is that simple.

We leave the day after tomorrow for Hamburg to catch the ship. yay. We are all a little amazed that this Exeter thing is in its last quarter. What a joy it has been- just a lovely exchange- I handed over my kid, and he came back better: a little braver, and smarter. I want to tell him that he needs to suck in every single thing about the place before he goes- he needs to do another radio show with his cousin- he needs to get to know the janitors, he needs to try the yoga class and the non fiction poetry with the cute teacher. He needs to check in with the trees and  the little redhead he has not yet met. He needs to eat at the salad bar more, and sing at karaoke night. He needs to go out for fencing.
But alas he will not. He will spend time with his cousins and the Wentworth crew and will take a lot of physics classes. He will mostly stay in his lane, my little left brainer.
But that is still pretty good.

Postscipt: we are on the boat now! just boarded a few hours ago; madly in love as always. Will send Hamburg/QM2 first day update soon. xx

Turtles, Euler Constant and the LMU

Ok where to begin? We had a week bobbing off of southern Turkey with the Wehlies and some huge turtles. All is well. We couldn't get the sleek, sexy boat we usually charter, but instead got this rather nice family wagon with Turkish crew. It included a mad chef who sent up Turkish wonders every day, all day. We are now back in Munich so F can see the famed Ludwig Maximilian University. For some reason I am delighted to be off the water and back in good old Munich. It's been too long.
The passport control at the airport took three seconds with a ridiculously handsome border person asking if I lived here. I found myself saying "Leider nicht."

F liked what he saw- a collection of stunning 18th century buildings in the center of one of his favorite cities on earth; a school that was founded in 1472 and is well known for physics and astronomy. There is no sports team, no greek system, no zany scavenger hunt, and it appears no school color.  Surely they need a color?  I know Amy wants a t-shirt- and she will have one, but the shop is closed for the summer, so online it must be.

The good news is they will guarantee a place for Frederick based on nothing more than decent grades and a nice lump of physics classes under his belt. This is where Exeter comes in handy: it offers a large array of advanced classes- so he's ok. Furthermore, it only takes three years to get an undergraduate degree and it is completely tuition free. Eva is so excited at the prospect of her grandson studying physics in the Vaterland that she just might offer to take him castle shopping. Something discreet with a turret or two.

The only fly in the ointment is they expel the bottom 50% of the class automatically after the first year. Brutal. I am starting to wonder about how the US will keep up with these types..? It seems like most of my friends' kids are studying at major Universities, but none of them have any idea what they want to learn. They just want to go to- fill in the blank- BerkeleyPrincetonHarvardStanford but aren't really sure what comes next. This is why the undergraduate part of the US system is really just the first step. It's the graduate degree where the rubber hits the road in America.

Now don't panic. I didn't say it was this was his first choice. But he is not going to be applying to too many schools if he has this option. What can I say? He is a bit lazy.

Meanwhile the meteor project is heating up...Both of them are now totally ignoring me as they drift into their own heads; either that or arguing in German using the word Matrices. There is some sort of rule for multiplying them, and apparently the spread sheet is not spitting out a reasonable number. I asked how they knew this and they said that the only way a number that big would make sense is if, rather than the meteor smashing into the earth, the meteor and the earth had a head-on collision. Thomas is officially only a sounding board on the spread sheet mechanics, but I know he has been fiddling with it when F is not looking. Too funny.

Lech tomorrow- Schneider dinner party the first night with a wine maker (obviously) and I am sure the usual assortment of communists and bee keepers. What to wear....what to wear.

XXX

I will update this later with photos. check back in.