Spring Chicken

Tootsie is another year wiser.   That is what I informed Phoebe who was asking about Tootsie and her birthday and more specifically her age.  Phoebe concluded, correctly, that she must be really smart by now.   Tootsie should stick with Ellie’s estimate that puts her at 17 years of age (also, not coincidentally, my estimated age). That is the age of anyone old enough to drive following my explanation to her about current state regulations. One thing that confuses both girls greatly is the concept that you stop growing.  To them, bigger is older and older is bigger.  For many animals including most fish and reptiles, this would be reasonable.  Since fish don’t speak our tongue and determining their age is time consuming process (and requires their death), length-age relationships are often used.   I tried using various explainers but the girls refuse to get it and continue to apply their size-age approach whenever they see fit.   The other public discourse I have been trying to stem is the direct gender inquiry.  To them hair + size determines gender.   This is probably around 95% accurate so it is reasonable starting point but that other 5% of the time they can be quite offensive.

Tootsie had organized brunch at “The Cottage” in Wellesley.  Note that it isn’t actually a cottage and it sits square in the middle of a recently developed business park that is busy enough that at any time there are four or five Range Rovers driven by new money suburbanites circling for a spot.  This is Poppy’s favorite restaurant in town and I do see the draw. Everything there is good.  I am fairly picky but this place has one of those menus where I really need a while to decide.   He has other personal favorites which include the “Village Inn” in Belgrade and the Inn on the Lake in Canandaigua.  I am not sure about the food, but the lakeside locales of these latter two are superior to that of the Cottage.  I have only eaten at the Village Inn on one occasion, I believe it was summer 2004 or 2005.  There is a lot of pressure there to eat duck.  The pressure is not from your hosts but rather from the menu because I am not sure there is anything on the menu that doesn’t somehow contain some fraction of a duck.    The adjacent lake, Great Pond, is beautiful but there is something off-putting about spending time at a place that is such an intense part of everybody else’s memories. These recurring vacations  mark so clearly the passage of time and when one revisits such places those memories and the shared experience clearly enable a kind of convalescing rumination.  Of course they want to share their wonderful experience with you but so much of the lure is in the history and as a newcomer spending time with a group of people so strongly connected to, it almost feels like an invasion.   My own childhood vacations were spent in a tiny cottage in the one-lobster-co-op town of Round Pond, ME on the shore of Muscongus Bay.  It belonged to my father’s Uncle Cliff.  Sarah and I would wake and have breakfast in the warm sun on the front lawn and then run down to the water and spend countless hours in the tidepools.  Each year included the same outings:  a trip on the Argo through Boothbay Harbor and Southport Island, a trip to Camden and Rockport to see Andre the Seal, and a trip to the beautiful lighthouse at Pemaquid Point.   When I got older, I questioned why my father, who cherishes the Cape summer and his sailing boats so much, would want to leave them for those 10 days every August.   Now, living with a young family in a similar vacation paradise I face similar dilemmas.  I experience the same anxiety as my father every time there is an invitation to something that might somehow cut into a summer weekend.   However, there is a need to have some kind of established mile marker.  I’d like to find a way to have a Great Pond style family getaway.  The sad reality though is that this whole concept is on life support.  The remaining and waning dream is a long family sailing journey.  I am not ready to give up on that.

So much digression.  After brunch we headed back to the Howleys to run around on what was truly the best day of the year thus far.  Tootsie opened her gifts and blew out her candled cupcakes with much fanfare.  Everybody dreams of having an entourage and Tootsie has hers and it is now diaper-free (almost).    The afternoon drifted on and although Cristin wanted to get home to get the week set up I saw an opportunity for a Poppy BBQ which is not something to be taken lightly.  We stayed on through dinner and hit the road.  Happy Birthday Tootsie!