High Crimes at Sea

They say people can lift 50 times their body weight when running for the Queen's grill on the QM2

Queen Mary via Exeter and Bermuda

Since almost the entirety of the blog nation was at the graduation, I will spare writing about it here. It was both surreal and perfectly normal wasn’t it? Charlie winning the crew award and Christina’s mother dancing alone to the band were my favorite moments; that and watching Chico get his diploma. Thank god we didn’t fly home directly; that would have been just too sad. It was sad enough separating after four days by that turquoise water. 

To go to a Bermudan hotel is not to surround oneself in princely luxury. The food was laughably bad and the bathroom looked like a that of a snazzy motel 6. But we would go back. I think it was in some ways nicer than the Caribbean fancies we have stayed in, once we figured out lunch and how to ask for a down pillow. 

The last night was rather sad- the kids were worried about leaving each other. Some of them (Frederick excluded) have pretty challenging summers- jobs with serious hours and brutal crew work outs for example. Andrew was the MC and was keeping us all laughing about family veering into the absolutely absurd with stories of mothers shooting children with their air guns repeatedly. You’ll have to ask Margaret.

We made it easily to New York with a vague plan to sit at a cafe in Brooklyn with three suitcases to wait for boarding. Then we hear the boat has been delayed due to a medical emergency and had to make an emergency stop in Halifax. They ask that instead of boarding at 12 30, we board at 1:30. We looked fairly ridiculous sitting on a pile of luggage in this hipster place and then hauling the bags down the street. I was practically running at this point…such is the ship’s draw. We had to wait in a long line at check in (never happened before) due to some computer glitch but our moods were high- Thomas was flirting with the English people in line, getting chairs for old ladies and water for me. Whenever he speaks with English people he starts to imitate their accent and I feel like I am at a Royal Astronomical Society meeting. Point is, when he gets really happy, he starts verbally hugging the citizens of Great Britain.

We know what we are doing by this time. First we make all the spa appointments- massages and hair and nails and a chiropractor appointment for Thomas. We know where to get the best coffee and where sit with the best view. We know what to ask for them to put in our room They put in whatever booze you want (and I believe in our room level it is free) and we asked for vodka (for the hot tub) and milk (for early morning coffees). We could have unlimited bottles of wine or whiskey and maybe make a friend in economy class to share with…but we know ourselves. There is no time for red wine in the afternoon-such is the urgency of our Queen Mary schedule.

Handsome Turk is at his post and just as handsome and welcoming as can be. We have a really good table and the waiter we want. He tells us we have never looked better and then tells us what we will be eating (caviar and dover sole. ?)  Apparently he thinks that is what we eat, and it sort of is. But Thomas is suspicious they are trying to offload something. We have had the crepe suzette already, and two soft serve ice creams. We have seen a ballerina in full tutu do a photo shoot on the deck. There are dogs now occasionally on the 7 deck and I think this is both wonderful and will mean a crack down soon. That is the basic update.

Tonight we have ordered a special, extra spicy curry made by the Indian cook and then we will go to see an Irish comedian. 

Bit of a scandal today; Thomas may have to go into witness protection. We had on the agenda a planetarium show about wild weather in the solar system. Delicious. The drill is one has to get tickets ahead of time. I suggest we do this. Thomas says he thinks that was the old system and says I should live on the wild side. I go along, even though, much like the Vichy- I know it is wrong and doomed. Thomas and I leave the sun deck to go to the show, but first Thomas wants shaving cream. It takes a long time to buy…then he attempts his first crime of the day: entering the show through the exit, while people are leaving the last show. He is caught and directed to the entrance where there is an enormous line for people without tickets. The reliable rule followers, the ticketed ones, are let in right away. Thomas decides to leave my side in the unticked group, zip to the loo, and then in perhaps the weirdest thing he has done in public to date, rushes out of the bathroom and zips directly into the show, ahead of people with tickets AND ahead of people who don’t have tickets, but are in front of him. He cuts them all. Rushes in as if he has already been in, and just left for the loo. 

We, the great unwashed, un-ticketed are speechless. Picture several little English faces (one even had a straw hat on) with mouths in the shape of Os. Picture the faces nice people make when they meet a bully. The same faces that were made in the movie theater in Marin county during the documentary about Karl Rove (remember when we thought Rove was the most evil person ever?!?  #halcyondays) I mumble something about finding a divorce lawyer and wander off. I am of course furious because after making me miss the show, with his rule thwarting and shaving cream obsession, Thomas is happily bathing in knowledge about thunder and lightening on Pluto, while I am left holding his shaving cream. 

This blog is not long enough to explain what happened, and historians will debate it for years to come.  An important piece of evidence was the accused rushing to the front of the theater before the show started, and making strange jerky motions waving into the pitch black crowd hoping his wife would identify him and they would be re united. It never occurred to him that I was not in the theater. So now the outside the theater English people think he is a line cutting thug, and the inside the theater English think he has gone off his Parkinsons meds. 

On our walk today he talked seriously about throwing his shirt overboard so people wouldn’t know him. He was last seen (not making this up) in dark glasses and a baseball hat in the first class hot tub. 

More soon. 

Water Water Everywhere (but not a drop to drink)

The gang on the last day. Professor K front left in red. Guides far right. 

Post Swim

We were told to put life jackets on our bums to protect it from rocks as we swam in mini river with mini rapids. 

I feel I must quickly wrap up the Colorado River story before I discuss the Atlantic: the water on which I am presently bobbing.

Let’s see…on the second day in the Grand Canyon we were going through a rapid that was supposed to be tricky for the boatmen but not really anything noticeable for the passengers. I heard a large crunch and then noticed the ominous sound of no engine. The rapids are not terribly scary with an engine and a huge raft- at least not in these levels of water. Read the Emerald Mile if you want a dramatic story about a famous year when the water in the Grand Canyon was ten times what it is now (unprecedented rain fall) and rafts our size, from our company, were torn in half. But now things seems calmer….until you lose the engine. 

Most of the group didn’t notice, but I told Thomas and then we looked at the captain who was throwing tools around as we drifted toward shore. The first boat saw we weren’t coming and came to rescue us. Then they put a new engine in (each boat travels with two) and onward we went. But I sort of wondered about the whole safety thing after that. 

We heard a lot about geology, most of which was over my head. Professor K has spent his entire adult life- starting at Caltech, studying cherts. (He is known as Dr. Chert) Cherts are quartz growths in sedimentary rock; they look sort of like a glass bump when the rock erodes. Professor K questions the conventional wisdom that more complex animals popped into being all at once during the Cambrian explosion 540 million years ago. He has some very old cherts that he found in a cave in South Africa; they are now sitting in his basement in Arizona. He says if he had the money, he could slice them into very thin slices and see if he could find a pair of skinny fossilized legs. This would prove that there were a few beings hanging around before 500 million years ago, and we could all go to Sweden and drink champagne. 

I can’t really even begin to cover the depressing funding conversations I had with these scientists. Each one of them said the same thing: the United State does not fund basic research anymore, and other countries do. We pay the head football coach at Michigan 6 million dollars a year, and I am sure he can’t identify a chert. I guess this is what decline looks like up close. 

But go Chico go! Maybe he will be the first astrophysicist in history to have his research funded by his grandparents. 

I never had to use the little poo bag for a day time “event”, thank god. Paul’s daughter told me that people clap when you come back to the boat and I would rather die of constipation. 

Oh speaking of which, my friend Anne Marie told me that her sister went on a four day excursion like this and one man was so constipated he had to be airlifted out. 

We were very good at one thing: leaping off the boat to pick a camp site. Thomas is rather spry and I am apparently a whiz at picking the right view. The little astrophysicists never had a chance. And the views really were sublime, just indescribably beautiful with the canyon towering above you and the water at your feet. 

I never had the moment that one friend swore I would have, i.e.”having a blast”. I had some nice moments, but was in a near constant state of dread that something would really go awry. 

Food was ok….we had lots of wine, so what the hell. Lunch was always a sandwich bar with “sides” of the most preposterous junk food I have seen since I was a child in the 70s: potato chips, m&ms, terrible packaged cookies, red vines. Thomas held on to his little trail mix for dear life.

The last night was one for the ages. I was sitting with the guy who admitted he had skin head friends in his youth…but this only came out later when I gave a sort of jaunty nazi salute in response to something (Don’t judge! I was killing it on that trip.) Anyway he almost fell out of his chair he was laughing so hard…and then, only then did he drop that bomb. I high tailed it back to my little nerd tribe to hear more about the sex life of cherts (non existent). 

We heard someone say as they got into their tent that night “I am not used to being this happy” lol!! We had had a tough day- really cold rain and wind. But, and this is true: Paul lifted up some sort of oar, and in full Poseidon mode ranted what I believe was Shakespeare into the wind. I am not making this up: he screamed that the rain must stop. And it did. 

But we were already frozen. 

We all took turns after dinner speaking about the trip- it’s a last night ritual..then we gave the staff a big tip and went to bed. But then the thunder and lightening started and continued throughout the night. I didn’t care, because I was going home (HOME!!) but I worried the helicopter wold be affected. My little feet were sticking out of the tent: drip drip, but I didn’t care…because a small plane would come to me the next day. So I lied there (I think lay is incorrect grammar in this?) happily listening to the cacophony of thunder against ancient rocks, waiting for the sun and coffee and a return to civilization. When I woke from a very short sleep, I learned that my darling professor K had skipped erecting a tent (he is low maintenance that one), and fearing a rock fall on his head due to the heavy rains, moved to the camp "kitchen", where he slept under the food table. It just goes to show you the limits to a U of Chicago and Caltech education….I can only imagine the hell he endured. 

Luckily the morning sky cleared enough for us to get in a small helicopter for the short ride to a dirt runway. (It felt like the last moments in Saigon)…They asked our weight, and we just yelled it out, with perhaps a few qualifiers about how we were presently in the Wehlen family foul sailing weather gear- heavy gear we had finally pulled on because we were tired of being wet and we had lost all sense of vanity or pride. Then we were flown to this weird ranch where where everyone was to get on planes that would fly them back toto Vegas or to the starting point. When Thomas told the “air traffic controller” - a rather dim man with a walkie talkie- that we would be flying out in our own little plane direct to Oakland, he said that was not possible. Thomas kept assuring him it was under control and to please duck because there it was in the sky. I am paraphrasing…but this is no time for boring details about us arguing about the difference between Oakland and Auckland with this simpleton. (which we basically did) 

So the sky is darkening, and I am slightly freaking out, and then this little plane lands and the stairs drop down and I see not one but two blond women pilots who greet us like old pals. Then they basically say we are skipping the formalities including the security briefing. They tell me where the vodka and snacks are, and the we take the hell off. The plane is so cool…it can land in these little places- not a jet obviously because that would require a long runway. It takes off almost like a helicopter. I was in love (apparently Stephen M owns one and takes it to Tahoe) 

Then I sit back and toast myself with the tiny vodka i had been using to clean my face in the Colorado River (long story ask my facialist). In less than two hours are are at Oakland in the car…calling all of you.

yay

I wound’t do it again- it is so hard on the body: my skin and hair are ruined and it was seven nights of very bad sleep. I almost collapsed in bed at noon when I got back. I mean it… we were just so tired.

The only thing I do know is most of the misery was of my own making. The actual experience is not exactly comfy, but the hell was, as it always is, created in my own head. Also we had lots of wonderful residual effects Thomas and I. I mean it: nothing bothers you anymore in the days after sleeping in a rainy tent. because you realize that your bed and fridge and fresh avocados are really all a person needs to be happy. 

Give money to science people! Elect smart people! Cherts matter. Rocks matter. Stars matter. 

Tomorrow Queen Mary updates only I promise. xx

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.