A Star to Steer Her By...

When I was 10 years old my Dad took me deep-sea fishing out of New Bedford with some friends from Freetown. We were awake at 4AM and on the road by 4:30. It was a grey, overcast day with a light drizzle that did nothing to dampen my spirits. We climbed aboard the small seagoing vessel and set course for the fishing grounds. The seas were choppy and the boat rose and fell with the waves. After we settled in I chatted with the captain (who was amused that I was wearing a life preserver) and he explained to me the various ins-and-outs of what he was doing. It was a planned 45 minute ride. I was hungry. I ate a Hostess blueberry pie and fell asleep on top of a bench. I was woke up only as we made our first stop. Our lines went in the water and I waited...waited...waited for anything to happen. The distant storm was still causing rough seas and the boat was gently tossed with each wave.

Finally, after long minutes of waiting, something happened.

I threw up, spreading blue vomit across the sea over the side where I was fishing.

Damn Hostess blueberry pie.

Thus was my first (and not my last) bout with sea-sickness. One memorable hydrofoil trip to Nantucket caused the worst bout of sea-sickness I have ever known. It was a stormy day. The sea churned and waves crashed against the second-storey window of the boat where we were sitting. It was the longest hour of my life. I made three trips to the bathroom during this time and when I was seated on deck I sat staring at the pattern in the rug because it was the only thing I could look at that wasn't moving. Katie says that she had never seen anyone so pale, green and sick in her life.

Yet I love the sea.

Ever since I was a young boy I have loved the idea of sailing the ocean aboard a frigate or a ship of the line. I'm sure this idea has been given life from repeated viewings of The Sea-Hawk and Captain Blood as a kid but I think its more than that. Life aboard a sailing vessel is, to me, the height of romantic adventure as well as personal fortitude. There is an honesty to it, too; challenging and respecting the sea and all her myriad ebbs and flows. I have often wondered if I could rise to this challenge?

As an adult I have visited a few sailing vessels.

I vaguely recall my Aunt Barbara taking us to the USS Constitution when we were kids on some unspecific school vacation week but all I clearly remember about it is going to McDonald's for lunch. How sad. Last year I finally got to board the USS Constitution as an adult.

What an amazing experience.

The Constitution is a magnificent vessel, lovingly and painstakingly maintained. The guided tours are informative and gently educational. The sense of history aboard her is palpable.

Early one summer morning 10 years ago I climbed aboard a Tall Ship that had docked in Duxbury. I spent nearly two hours on board. I was like a kid in a candy shoppe, touching anything that was "touchable", laying on the deck to get views of the masts and I was even gently rebuked for climbing on some of the rigging. Still, I wouldn't have missed this time aboard the ship for nearly anything.

Nowadays I spend my time reading of naval heroes and their adventures. I have no illusions about how awful life on-board these vessels was for those who served on them. Instead, the books that I have read on the subject all agree that a crewman's life aboard an English sailing vessel was horrible. Yet, I must admit that Captain Jack Aubrey and Captain Horatio Hornblower fill my reading days with adventure on the high seas. In my dreams, I imagine myself alongside them; standing on the deck of a tall ship, with the wind at my back and a star to steer her by.

And I'm not puking Hostess blueberry pie over the side, either.

Father's Day

Sunday is Father's Day. I plan on visiting with my own Dad this weekend even as my daughter spends time with me. I like the multi-generational aspect of this. Daughter, Dad and Grampa all celebrating Father's Day together.

I can only assume that my own Dad and Mom really wanted to be parents, although Dad has never actually discussed this with me. It is just an assumption on my part but since the adoption process is long, exhausting and expensive there had to be great intent there.

Obviously, as long as I've known him, he's always been a Dad. I don't know how he viewed his life before we kids came along; perhaps I never will. This really isn't the type of thing that Dad likes to discuss. He's not that type of guy. He's just a product of his generation. Case in point: two years ago my brother and I - independent of each other - made the mistake of giving Dad a peck on the cheek for Christmas. After I did so, he got all flustered and commented gruffly, "Mark did that when I saw him this year, too. We don't do that..."

It sounds worse than it was. Dad just appreciates a firm handshake, a clasp on his shoulder, and warm greetings instead. It stands to reason that Dad rarely discusses "feelings", either. He will - if he brings it up. Otherwise, it is a slippery slope of conversation that I usually avoid so as not to make him uncomfortable.

So, while I know that the Old Man likes being "Dad" I often wonder what his life was like before I came along. What was he doing with himself? Who was he?

And then I realize, these questions are pointless.

If anyone asked me the same questions I couldn't answer them, either. Because, for me, anything that I ever did up until August 26th 1992 was kind of an illusion. I was existing without living. The birth of my daughter gave me life. Jenna's life jump-started my own.

I love Father's Day. Not because it is a day for Jenna to remember me. Rather, it is a day for me to reflect upon and remember all that I am because of her place in my life and in my heart.

Finally...

It is early in the morning as I log into the Harvard Extension school online.

I had to go back into my e-mail to find my login ID. Its really bizarre; with an "@" symbol as the first character and no discernible formula to its design. Which is probably exactly why Harvard chooses to do it this way - I.D. protection and all that.

I put in my password and the menu screen appears. I choose "View Grades", which brings me to this option:

Please click the button below to view your grades.

And I wait. The moment of truth has arrived and I am nervous.

Please click the button below to view your grades.

I came to the Harvard Extension school because I was wholly dissatisfied with Northeastern University and their slipshod way of running (read: butchering) the integrity of their English program by offering their program (mostly) on-line. I knew for certain that I wasn't being challenged at NEU and, as I have said before, for this Bachelors degree to mean anything to me it has to demonstrate both the work put into it as well as my hard-won knowledge.

Please click the button below to view your grades.

Over fifteen weeks of study my classmates and I accomplished the following:

• We translated over 800 lines of Old English text into Modern English.
• We read Beowulf in its entirety.
• We read scholarly works regarding different aspects of Beowulf as well as all of Seamus Heaney's collected work "Electric Light" and selected works from "Opened Ground".
• I participated in weekly discussions with both my professor and my peers and, finally,
• we all wrote a mid-term and a final paper.

Please click the button below to view your grades.

Now, it is three weeks to the day after my class ended. I have continued to read the class texts assigned for the course because for as much as we covered in class there was so much more left uncovered. Thankfully, our textbooks seemingly cover the length and breadth of a solid overview of Beowulf. I would expect nothing less from the texts chosen by Professor Donoghue for this class.

Professor Donoghue is a master of his craft. He knows Old English and Beowulf intimately and yet he never made me feel inferior. He is a soft-spoken man whose insights were gently stated. He enjoyed probing a student for more information or to better elucidate their ideas when he felt they were onto something. I asked questions, Professor Donoghue asked questions of me, and we collectively discussed the work. One of my proudest moments of this class was when I made an observation regarding the growth of Beowulf within the poem and Professor Donoghue replied, "I have never thought of that; but it is worth consideration. Thank you for that."

He is a teacher who actually knows how to teach. He taught while he listened. I have learned so much in his class. Mostly, I learned how much more there is for me to learn.

Please click the button below to view your grades.

I miss my classmates, too; those people who tackled "Beowulf & Seamus Heaney" alongside of me. After the first week of class I was in awe of the students who sat in class with me. They are all so damn smart. We came from different walks of life but we all shared that quirky, unexplained gene that allows us to fully appreciate (as best we can) the mighty work "Beowulf". Most had taken the Old English class that was offered in the Fall semester so they knew much more about the language then I did. Yet, with all my questions for clarification they never once made me feel out of place or that I didn't belong among them. Slowly, week after week, I grew into my place at their table. They are an exceptional group of people who listened when it was appropriate to do so and who offered intelligent discourse in response. They offered encouragement when it was needed and each and every one of them brought a unique viewpoint of the text to the table. So, to Danielle, Candace, Joanna, Cat, Pam, Michael, Maura, Justin, Joanne and Sumeda I extend my sincerest thanks and declare my utmost admiration for all of you. I learned so much in your company and I am the better for it.

Please click the button below to view your grades.

No more stalling. The time has come.

I click on the button.

"B+".

Randomness

• For the past few months my Sunday breakfast has consisted of bacon, scrambled eggs (with ketchup) and either toast or homefries; all cooked in a cast-iron skillet. I chase this down with a glass of mixed OJ/cranberry juice and a mug of hot tea all while reading the Sunday Globe.
• I love the smell of cooking bacon. It reminds me of weekends at home in Bryantville.
• It really annoys me when my sister can only remember my phone number when she wants something from me.
• There are times when I can't remember my mother's face. Yet, I can always vividly recall the sight of the drops of her dark red blood (from the IV insertion) against the yellowish-green floor of the ER.
• Katie and I watched "The Devil and Daniel Webster" last night. It was a great film, like a folktale being told around a campfire. It's very "New England". Afterwards, I went upstairs to the library and read the short story that is collected in a work of American Folklore. I love that I could do that.
• My good friends and neighbors John and Kristin are selling their house and will be moving (not too far) away. I completely understand their reasons for doing so and I will miss them terribly when they leave.
• I think the "new car smell" of Facebook has worn off for me.
• I always seem to be in the "quiet room" at parties and I enjoy "quiet" a lot more than I enjoy crowds and noise. I'm trying to figure out if this is a new thing or if I am finally just acknowledging something that has always been the case?
• There are times that I think that I've done a great job with Jenna and there are times when I feel that I've completely dropped the ball. She'll be a senior next Fall and she has many decisions to make. I guess I'll find out soon enough.
• I received a "B+" on my final exam in "Beowulf & Seamus Heaney". Now I am anxiously awaiting my final grade. I'll find out on Wednesday, which can't come soon enough for me.

To Boldly Go - Again

On Friday, May 8th I was joined by two old and dear friends at the Lowes Boston Common cinema for the 10:10 AM show of "Star Trek". Joining myself, Bridget and George was George's oldest son, Chris, who, while not a devout fan, was interested in seeing the new movie with his Dad. George and I first saw "Star Trek II - The Wrath of Khan" on opening day in June, 1982. It was a pleasure and a surprise to realize that Christopher was the same age as George was when we went to that premiere, so long ago.

Soon we were seated in the cinema (center aisle, middle seats) with bags of popcorn and a sense of excitement. I can't remember the last time that I was excited about a "Star Trek" movie. Finally, after seemingly hours of previews and commercials, the sound came up, the film was rolling and "Star Trek" had begun.

Two hours later, I was floored. What a fantastic movie. Part sequel, part prequel, all clever reboot.

The actors are pitch perfect. Chris Pine does not even attempt to be "Shatner" but his Kirk is full of self-confidence, bravado and swagger. Zachary Quinto as Spock looks eerily like a young Leonard Nimoy, and while his voice does not have the same gravitas as Nimoy's he was able to arch an eyebrow with the best of them. His scene in front of the Vulcan Science Academy was particularly telling, for me. However, I believe that the best characterization came from Karl Urban as Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy. Urban channels the spirit of the dearly departed DeForrest Kelly and growls his lines just as Kelly would have. Urban was McCoy to me, and that was awesome.

The rest of the cast performs admirably. Uhura has more to do in this movie then the original did in all 79 epsiodes of the original series. Scotty is unbelievably fun to watch and Chekov brings an earnestness to the role the Walter Koenig never had. Sulu gets to prove that fencing is an art form as well as a viable combat choice. All of the characters had a character moment that hearkened back to the original cast and their many adventures together.Each had the opportunity to shine.

Finally, there is Leonard Nimoy. His Spock is everything that I wanted - needed - him to be. He is the heart and soul of this movie. More than Kirk's death in "Star Trek - Generations", this movie seemed like the final goodbye to me to the original cast; the passing of the baton. However, instead of following the adventures of another crew of the Enterprise, we now have the new adventures of the original crew.

I am eagerly going to see this movie in the cinema again and I cannot wait for the sequel.

This blog has remained spoiler-free simply because I am urging all of you to see this movie free of them. There are so many jaw-dropping moments in this movie it is a disservice to anyone who knows of them beforehand. This film deserves to be seen through innocent eyes. Do yourself a favor - go see the best "Star Trek" movie since "Star Trek II - The Wrath of Khan".

Yes, it's that good.

Billy Kidd's Sub and Pizza

There was a sign in the window:

"Closed for Renovations - April 19th"

Just like that, it was an end of an era.

Billy Kidd's Sub & Pizza has been sold.

Jenna and I sat quietly in the car. She pointed out that already the front windows had already been replaced. "This is sad," I said.

"Yeah..." she replied.

We pulled out of the parking lot towards Mike's House of Pizza in Hanson. It was the only sandwich shop I knew nearby. I used to get my pizza there when the guys and I gamed 4-5 nights a week. However, whenever I wanted a sub, it was always from Billy Kidd's.

As we drove down Plymouth Street, Jenna said "Have you ever been disappointed by something that you didn't know that you were expecting until it didn't happen?"

"What are you referring to?"

"I expected us to know when they were closing. I mean, its not like they were going to pick up the phone and call us but I always thought that we would know when they were going to close."

It wasn't until that moment that I realized that I had expected the same thing.

Damn it.

"I know, right? We were supposed to know when their last day was so we could plan one last trip down and get one final sub to take to the Herring Run. A 'last hurrah' kinda thing."

"Exactly."

Billy Kidd's has been in business for a long time. If I once knew the exact date Billy Kidd's Sub and Pizza first opened, I have unfortunately long since forgotten it. My Dad can remember when his place was a donut shop before Billy bought it but he thinks that it has been a pizza joint since I was three years old. My brother Mark even remembers walking up to Kidd's to get pizzas and he even remembered that our sister Barbara always got a tuna salad sub, Mark always got an Italian cold cut and I always got a large cheeseburger.

Bill has been trying to sell the old restaurant for a few years. He's not a young man anymore and he and Mary have put their lives into this place. It was time to retire. However, none of his children wanted to take over the family business; neither did any of his grandchildren. So, reluctantly I think, he put it on the market. He had a few nibbles but they all fell through for one reason or another. Bill always seemed surprised when people talked about coming in and radically changing the business. This always seemed ridiculous to him and to me. The sub shop has been successful and profitable for forty years. If I was to buy the shop I would have kept Billy on for a few months so he could teach me the way he prepared all his food, he bought his product from, and the way he got things done. I would have kept the name and it would have been business as usual.

After all, they are successful for a reason, right?

No matter where I have lived I have always come back to Billy Kidd's for lunch and dinner. I first took Jenna there when she was four years old. In those days she wanted a bologna sub with nothing on it. Just bologna on bread. She would eat it, too. For me, I always get a large cheeseburger, medium rare, with extra onions, pickles, salt and pepper. Jenna knows my order by heart. So does all the staff at Billy Kidd's. The old-timers just ask me if I want "my usual" and it never took long to break in a new kid as to what my order was going to be. Sometimes Jenna and I would take our subs and drive down to J.J. Shepherd Field to watch a baseball game while we ate. Other times we went over to the Herring Run and quietly ate from atop the giant rock that was deposited there sometime during the last ice age. I love these moments with her; these times when my childhood and hers merge together. Like the rock at the Herring Run, I always wanted Billy Kidd's to be there for us. Like many other things in life, this too, is gone.

Bill and Mary Kidd will never read this, but I want to thank them for a lifetime of great food, fun conversation and fantastic memories that we built around their awesome food.

Jenna and I decided to give the new place a try when they open for business. Maybe they plan on doing everything the way Billy Kidd and his family did for forty years. Maybe not. In any case, they will have one chance to impress us. Otherwise, we have to find a new, favorite sub place.

As we drove away from Billy Kidd's Sub and Pizza Jenna and I realized that a piece from both of our childhoods is now gone.

We were silent as we pulled into Mike's House of Pizza.

Cool Hat and Blue Skies

The air is thick with exhaust fumes as I exit from the train onto the platform at Back Bay station. I take the steps two at a time as I exit onto the street, gulping in fresh air, due to the carbon monoxide and the fact that I just can't sprint up stairs like I used to.

Street level the air is cold and full of commuter noises. The train pulls out of the station below and the sound of its engines mix with the cacophony of sound from the traffic on Route 93. A quick gust of wind catches me unaware, forcing me to conclude that my thin spring jacket may have been a poor choice this morning.

As I walk past the Hancock Tower I glance up at the early morning sky. It is a panorama of bright blue color, filled with promise. High, wispy clouds are like fleeting thoughts as they move about. In my mind I imagine the clouds forming, churning and dissipating at high-speed film like during an indie film. A woman and her two young boys cross the street in front of me. The youngest, maybe five, also looks up at the sky. His harried mother hurries him along. Even five year-olds have a schedule this morning.

Walking towards Newbury Street a young woman is towing very large suitcase on wheels in one hand with a grande drink from Starbucks. She looks at me; I catch her looking at me. She smiles as she looks away, hurriedly sipping from her drink. I smile to myself as I wait for the pedestrian signal to give the all-clear.

Once on Newbury Street the sun is out in full force, shining brightly from over the Boston Common. I pull my fedora down closer to my eyes. I love this hat. I bought it at Salmagundi in Jamaica Plain. It is a combination of the fedora worn by Harrison Ford in "Raiders of the Lost Ark" but it is closer to the hat worn by Humphrey Bogart in "The Maltese Falcon". How could I not like it? I have always wanted to be a "hat-guy" but I really couldn't pull it off when I was in my twenties. Now in my forties, it looks just fine. Perhaps a little grey and a few crinkles around the eyes add to its character?

As I near the end of Newbury I see a gentlemen driver leaning standing next to a large black town car, waiting for his employer. He looks at me coldly. I smile and say "hello". A bit startled, he smiles back and says "Hello". When I look back at him, he doesn't seem as distant now.

I enter the Public Garden and I am overwhelmed with green. Everything is flourishing here. The morning dew on the grass reflects the light from the rising sun and the air is full of a rich, earthy scent. It's pungent, but in a really good way. Dogs are walking their masters and people, a dozen or so, are just walking leisurely around the duck pond. Its very quiet here right at this moment.I contemplate finding a bench and just stopping for while to listen to the silence. Usually I have to go to Vermont to listen to this much nothing. However, my daydream is ruined when a truck lays on its horn just outside the garden. I begin my march once again. Work is waiting.

By the time I am crossing over the bridge in the Public Garden I realize that I am very warm. What a difference ten minutes and some actual exertion can do to a man. I consider removing my jacket. I decide against it.

Passing through Boston Common I can see the Loews Cinema - Boston Common across the park. In fifteen days I will see "Star Trek" there. I am fairly giddy at the prospect. I have remained spoiler-free for this one. I only know what I have seen in the promos for the film that have been shown on TV. I also read the "prequel comic"; a four-issue series giving some back story for Ambassador Spock. Other than that, I will see it with clear eyes on Friday, May 8th. Bridget is coming with me, so is George, along with his seventeen year old son, Christopher. Jenna opted out, choosing instead to stay in school for the day because it is near the end of the school year and she has much work to do. I applaud her work ethic but I wish she was coming with me. Weren't George and I seventeen when we first went to see "Star Trek II - The Wrath of Khan" together on opening night? Damn.

Before I know it I am walking down Winter Street, then Summer, then onto High Street. As I walk past 100 High Street I am amazed at the redesign of the whole front lobby and the facade outside. Instead of the dark and sterile building that once held the credit union it is now two full stories of windows and marble columns. While I'm sure the marble is fake the light streaming into the lobby is not. It is a change for the better.

I pass the garage entrance and walk into Brueggers. I pay for my iced-coffee and I go to the side board to add cream and sugar to it. I wave my goodbyes to Gwen and Marcia, exit the store and cross over Congress Street. I turn off my cell-phone as I enter my building.

Once on the elevator, my lone, unknown companion says hello and comments that "You almost don't need that jacket today. Soon enough, though." A moment passes and he adds, "Cool hat."