Swimming at the Eagle

Swimming with Georgie. She is in an inner tube, kicking herself around with a lovely contented smile on her face. It is the day after her 5th birthday party. A bright, sunny day but not so hot today. In the reflection of Georgie's sunglasses I see my father. His hair is slicked back and wet. He's in dark sunglasses and has a stubbly beard. He's smiling and if you could see his eyes, there would be a twinkle. I remember him swimming with me in the summer. I was older than Georgie, I think. I could swim on my own. We would be in a lake or the ocean offshore and he would silently disappear under the water, like a seal, and be gone for an impossibly long time. Then he would surface just as silently twenty yards away. He loved swimming and he especially loved swimming underwater. Another of his specialties was the running dive, something he passed on to all his sons. We are three running-dive experts. He used to talk about how smoking had made it harder to hold his breath, though you would never know it from his numerous submarine voyages. And besides, officially, he didn't smoke.

On Georgie's first day at the Clifton School, I walked with her and her classmates down the road to the Eagle. Georgie was nervous about her new class and was happy I was staying with her.

Ray fell while running down the sidewalk and scraped his knee. The teachers had brought a wagon o' snacks and water. It was one of the first really hot days of summer.

We sat on the field that day in July, boiling in the heat. The field overlooks the pool and one of Georgie's new friends pointed out that one of the swimmers was going underwater while wearing sunglasses. Conner, I think, said, "My dad does that, too". I told him that my father did the same thing. Georgie who had not said a word piped up with, "His dad died, he died". Conner found this an alarming idea, that a dad could be dead so I attempted a little damage control. This lead to questions about how he died. More of the children were listening now. I wished I hadn't said anything. Thankfully, Miss Sonia took the conversation in another direction. I was off to a good start with these kids.

Now summer is almost here again, and that day seems like a long time ago. Georgie loves her class and her friends. Almost all of them were at her birthday party. Ray and his family are gone now, moved to Seattle. Georgie said she cried at nap time on Ray's last day. In one of her reports from the school, there is a photograph of that day at the Eagle with Georgie and her friends from the Oak room.

I often think of my dad when I am with the girls. Being father to two little ones brings back good memories of my childhood, none better than swimming with Dad.

Spring here, the grass is... still yellow

April 2010

Crazy grass here. It goes dormant. These are special varieties of grasses here in the south designed (genetically engineered?) to withstand the heat of summer. The tradeoff is that they are ugly and yellow all winter and well into the spring. And it is well into spring. Actually, feels like summer to a Canadian. This is good enough, no need to get any hotter. And despite a good couple of weeks of this sunshine and warm temperatures, the grass is still yellow. Not our grass of couse. That's because our lawn is all weeds. Lovely, lush, green weeds. It is the only way to go. It is all about the colour. Not that we have anything to do with it. Our landlord has hired some 'lawn care specialists', and I use the term loosely, who come whenever the spirit moves them to hack down our weed lawn and attack the jungle out back. Mostly what they do is use leafblowers to fire all the trimmings and crap into the neighbours hedge.

We are an embarrassment on our street, actually- our street of lovely homes (not rentals like ours) and well maintained manicured lawns. I think they use an overseeding of other grasses because many of them are actually green now, or at least greenish, and crucially they are all grass. Not a weed to be found.

Other signs of spring have yet to come. The hummingbirds are not here, nor are the fireflies. But the crickets have begun to sing at night. Not the thundering roar of summer but they make their presence known. Also making an appearance are the gigantic carpenter bees.

And the possum road-kill is back. I had to negotiatiate a hard left followed by a hard right ('the dead possum two-step') to avoid two of them down on Old Briarcliff Road, my route to pick up the girls. One was right in the middle of the road, lying on his side. I hate that. Just looked like he was having a nap. I dread seeing his progressively mangled body.

It reminds me of last summers 'Mr Possum' on (new) Briarcliff Road. This one is a really busy street compared to the wind through the forest that is Old Briarcliff. Anyway, this little guy met his end on Briarcliff in the 'valley of the jungle', an area just before the supermarket. There is a river below a bridge and an expanse of forest that looks very wild and exotic. There are vines and dense vegetation. He must have lived in there and decided to cross the road fo some reason. At first, before I knew about possums or opposums as they are actually known, I liked to think he was a mongoose. 'Mr Mongoose', I imagined, had lived in that jungle carrying out the noble quest of killing snakes. But after a visit to to the natural history museum and a funny story from my little girl, I realized Mr. Mongoose was in fact, a possum. Georgie had excitedly told me that her music teacher, Mr Randy, had had a possum appear in his kitchen one night. He had crawled in through a hole in the floor under his refridgerator. We also had one in our backyard and he attacked the dog from downstairs. Anyway the original Mr. Possum ended up dead on the side of the road out of harms way. Well, he was out of the way of further desecration by cars. That's what I hate about roadkill. Sure there is the whole petrifiying flesh thing, and the tragic waste of precious life so that someone can go to the store to get ice cream. But the real killer is the indignity of the continued abuse of the body. The smushing, the crushing, the slicing, the dicing. Enough already. There was, of course, no clean up crew and I passed him every day as he shrank and stank, and oozed, and then eventually dried up in the stifling heat. Over time he became a flat little patch of fur, and then almost like a stain. Then the monsoon of September came and he was gone.

But now the season has begun again and the poor little possums are in for it. For this is a town of cars and bad drivers and of forests and little critters who just can't seem to stay off the road.

Summer with G and E

The Little Girls

Gudrun is away in Philadelphia and I am taking care of Georgie and Elise. Man, they can be a lot of work. They know how to push me right to the edge, then do something so sweet that I forget what I was so frustrated about. Elise has today starting calling me 'Daddy' after months of 'Gaga'

That was months ago and now "Gaga" is gone for good

Spider update

The spider out front is really starting to give me the creeps. It has doubled its size in the last week and now has a creepy friend, a miniature version of itself. It looks sinister. I am feeling the urge to kill it. The American way is rubbing off on me. Anything foreign or strange must be assimilated or destroyed. This spider is never going to come around to my way of life so it has to go. I really have no choice. America is like the Borg. Resistance is futile

The spider disappeared one day, leaving his little friend alone. This both relieved and bothered me. Where did he go? He was there so long and put all that work into that crazy web. A few days later, he or one just like him appeared on our porch, with a new web in the making. He was getting closer! I didn't have to worry about him too long. The weather got cooler and they were both gone. We'll see if they come back this spring.

The Vagina Monologues

A while ago, in the summer, Georgie would often adopt funny poses, with her legs open. Standing, sitting, lying she would do it as though she was doing some kind of stretching routine. In her car seat, she often had one leg draped over the side. When I would check on her at night and she was often spread-eagled, covers off. One day in the car with the whole family, my mother included, she said, “Do you know why I open my legs like this?” We didn’t know and actually kinda wondered. She told us, “Because my vagina always gets stuck together!” I didn’t comment. This was clear mom territory. "Mommy, why does my vagina always get stuck together?!” She replied that it was due to a ‘design flaw’. Good one there Gudrun, but not good enough. “Mommy, what is a design flaw?”

Not many days later I picked the girls up from preschool and Georgie excitedly told me that that day she had learned to be respectful and keep her legs closed. I asked her if someone had told her to keep her legs closed. But she would admit to nothing.

While I was changing Elise’s diaper she started talking about her “naihna”. She usually points to herself and says, “ma naihna” then says, “Daddy’s naihna?” I replied that I don't actually have a "naihna" but did not seem convinced. Now, Elise is much more interested in bottoms, which she refers to as "butts" or "butt-butts".

Candler Park, June 10, 2009

Breakfast in the house. Got the girls dressed, suncreened and ready. We dropped Gudrun off at her North Decatur office then returned to Starbucks for coffee and snacks. Emory village Starbucks, where I will one day earn the coveted gold card. The girls shared a doughnut but Elise wasn't crazy about it. They are still in banana bread withdrawal. They don't have it here. I, too, am suffering. But we soldier on. They sat in their favourite spot. The big leather armchairs. They were very proud of themselves to be in these comfy chairs. It is a rare occasion they are free. These are prime seats for the Emory students and faculty that make up most of the customers here. They shot us nasty looks and went sit on the rock-hard wooden chairs, setting up their cool sticker-covered MAC notebooks. Soon the "numb bum" set in as they pretended to work but actually just whiled away time on facebook. Maybe they weren't really pretending to work. Meanwhile, Georgie and Elise had the time of their lives, drunk on sugar and leather upholstery. I sat at the next table and pretended they weren't with me. I tried to read the paper but my cover was blown when Elise asked for more treats.

We left the Emory crowd to their Twitter feeds and drove down lovely Clifton Road to Candler Park and the playground. A great morning of playing. Not too busy. We walked down to the golf course. Georgie wanted to know exactly where you hit the ball to and from. Then we climbed (both girls up the cargo net), swung, slid, teetered, tottered, and ran around until all the fun that was there to be had was had. Georgie really warmed up to the place. We also played hide and seek. (Elise now directs the game by saying, "Say one two free!") We stopped for a snack of cantaloupe and rice crispy bars. Both girls were hot and sweaty, as was I. It was 85 and humid.

Next was a shopping trip to Publix. They rode in the cart made to look like a car. They each had a seat and a steering wheel but still fight over personal space.

After lunch Georgie and I watched her "Melody movie" She enjoyed seeing it on the big screen. I liked sitting next to her on the couch. She always likes it when we watch with her.

We ended the day with a trip to the Eagle for a swim. The pool was closed for a while due to lightning but eventually they 'released the hounds' and all the parents and kids stampeded into the compound. It rained. I had Georgie and Gudrun had Elise. They had a great time in their inner tubes. The pool is quite warm but not as warm as it will be in a few weeks.

The High Museum

Today was to be rain and more rain so we had to think of something to do. Yesterday, it had been enough to sit on our friends sun deck, squint and get all sweaty. We even complained about the heat, though it was not even 70 degrees. The winter has made us forget what it is like here most of the year: hot to stinking hot. Still, it's hard to get used to a summer day in March.

Gudrun was intent on doing something that would get the girls' ya-yas out but did not know what this might be. I suggested Leapin' lizards, an insane indoor jumping play area as one option but it can be unpleasant in there for the parents. Sure, the girls have a blast but we have to deal with all the little shit-head kids whose parents are nowhere to be found, the noise level, the static electricity, the injuries. So, since our happiness is important to us, we opted for the art museum in midtown Atlanta. We are members, and we rationalized that it will be "good" for the kids.

I had slept in until after 10 am. This seems outrageous for a father of two until you consider that our entire family is on a strange version of southern time. The girls stay up late and rarely wake up before 8 am. This morning it was closer to 9. I just got a little bonus time today, a gift from my lovely wife. It took us a long time to get out of the house and eventually we were bickering (Gudrun and I were, the girls were happy as anything). On the way we stopped for coffee which had a miraculous effect on our moods. We arrived at the High Museum of Art just before 12 noon to find a considerable line-up. There is an exhibit on the "Allure of the Automobile" and this has brought out the car show crowd, as well as the usual MOA types. Some here may be sad to learn there are no NASCARs in the exhibit.

The girls impressed the other people in the line up by giggling and yelling and running around. I wish we had such charming kids, they thought. I played the part of the grumpy dad, impatiently telling Georgie and Elise to stop doing this and that, and to try to not be so loud, etc. Gudrun was polite to not point out that I was being somewhat of a buzz kill.

The car exhibit was actually quite impressive (and I think cars are silly). Or rather, I think the love of cars is silly. But there was an Aston Martin in there that I am pretty sure is the coolest car ever. It was a 1961, I think. It looked like the real version of the James Bond car model my cousin Bruce had when we were kids. There were some other really silly big cars from the 30s and 40s and some neato early french and Italian jobs.

Mostly though, we hung out in the kids area where the girls got to interact with various media and learn about art (they drew on dry-erase boards, played with blocks and stuck magnetized things on a wall). Georgie did get to see a couple of Rodin pieces and seemed interested in the whole sculpture thing. Elise was bent on touching things which was stressful. The kids' area is all about interaction while most of the museum is of course not. Not an easy concept for a two-and-a-half year old. When Elise debuted her performance art piece: I got some art for ya right here in my pants, we knew it was time to call it a day.

The day of rain had not materialized and it had turned into a sunny warm afternoon. We left the museum and stepped out into the courtyard bathed in sunshine. Once again we squinted without our shades. We enjoyed the sculpture and other pieces outside. The girls were equally intrigued by the model house and the cherry blossoms on the tree next to it. We had a nice stroll up Peachtree to our car and were happy to find no ticket. Looking back, the museum looked fabulous amidst the skyscrapers of midtown.

We made it home before the skies became threatening. As they did, the temperature went up which was strange. It got darker. The Bay Hill Invitational was interrupted for the severe weather alert and tornado warning. Soon there was thunder and the big rain came. We haven't had a rain like this since the fall. Rumours of the tornado, it turns out, were greatly exaggerated.

Hummingbirds and less appealing wildlife

We installed a feeder on our front deck by our main entrance. I doubted that it would work but we filled it with the sweet red water and waited. We didn't have to wait long. We had a visitor the first day and we were all pleased. We were less enthusiastic about all the ants it attracted. The hummingbirds don’t seem to be bothered at all, though. They buzz in many times daily and I find myself inordinately impressed by this. They are truly amazing creatures.
Mostly I find birds boring, except for birds of prey. Eagles and hawks are hella cool. And OK, I do have a soft spot for seagulls, those garbage cans of the avian world. My dad once pointed out to me that they are really good fliers and since that day I have admired them. Plus they have that really nice colour combo of gray and white. But aside from hummingbirds, eagles, hawks and seagulls, birds are pretty dull.
Hummingbirds combine the best features of birds and insects. Most of the ones that come to us have emerald green on their backs. Maybe it is the same one over and over again?
A couple of weeks back, I was stretching on our front steps after a particularly hot and demoralizing run past Miss Daisy's house and along Ponce de Leon. As I was standing by our front steps, recovering, the little Green Baron did a couple of laps around my head. Thinking it was the biggest wasp in Georgia, I freaked out, flailing my arms about and shrieking like a little girl. The bird continued to the feeder and I was grateful no one had seen. I watched it as it drank and buzzed around the feeder. It made little chirping sounds and the whir of its wings sounded like a high-speed miniature fan. Soon it was off into the trees but was back a moment later. It hovered a few feet in front of me, watching, deciding whether to stay or go. It stayed and fed a while then flew off into the big holly tree in our yard.
Other times they come and look at us through our living room window before they have a drink. One sat on our sun deck railing for a while. He was so ridiculously small.

There is much wildlife in our urban setting. I wouldn't have expected this when moving to the metropolis of Atlanta. At night, it sounds like a jungle outside with the crickets, and the general buzz of the night, and screeches of the birds(?) I imagine those sounds come from squirrel monkeys (escaped from the horrors Yerkes) or bush babies. There is an unusual spider living in the plants lining our front walk. He is a pretty good size with long legs with grey and black/ brown markings in a stripey pattern. His web has an unusual white strip down the centre. We see him day after day, sitting in the same spot in his web. We’re amazed he is not washed away by the torrential rains. Today, another smaller version of him appeared, lower in the web. Georgie speculated that it was the baby and that the mother had died, and instructed Elise to keep her distance. Elise took this as her cue to stick her finger in the web. Anyway, spidey is starting to give me the creeps. It just keeps getting bigger. He's still out there in the dark, plotting our demise.
There are many other (boring) birds about, notably cardinals. We once saw a bat, at dusk. It flew over and spread its wings in a perfect bat signal against the sky. Most of the life around here is insect. So many bugs. There are fireflies, most noticeable at dusk but as I think about it, they seem to have disappeared in the last few weeks. Mosquitoes are a constant. Elise is covered in bites despite our daily efforts at repelling the little bastards. They do love her the best and I am a close second. The crickets/ cicadas/ katydids make an incredible amount of noise. Then there is the dreaded palmetto bug. This is a euphemism because it is really just a roach. One that can fly. They seem to come in the house when it gets really hot and apparently are not “nesting” roaches. So we need not fear infestation... They do seem a little hapless and only occasionally make it into the house. They have an annoying habit of taking flight just as I am about to crush them. Last night one flew down upon me as I tried to get him with a broom. Back home, I had a basic live and let live policy when it came to bugs. Here, partly because they are weird, exotic and disgusting I have a new policy: kill first and ask questions later. Actually, it is more like: kill and kill again, then kill some more. Then clean up the gross mess. I hit one so hard that I broke our broom. I don't know my own strength.
We have also seen some lizards, and there are crazy squirrels about. They are in a constant state of over-stimulated hyperactivity. They also act as thought they have never seen a person when ever we drive up or walk out our front door. They go into full on panic mode and dive into or out of bushes, trees, run into each other, drop, tuck, roll, etc.
My most recent wildlife encounter took place yesterday as I ran the trails of Lullwater park. It is on Emory grounds and has a creek, a lake and the impressive president's residence. It is a welcome shady escape for walkers and runners. It also has a number of ducks and Canada Geese. Good to see that they crap up the place down here as well. I think people eat Canada Geese here. Anyway, as I ran along the creek side trail, lost in thoughts of half marathon glory I was startled to almost step on a large snake stretched across the path. I could see neither his head or tail only his thick, spotted body. I have no reference point for this in my life, no Piagetian schema in my head to help me classify this perception and feel ok about it. My reaction was one of extreme alarm, panic even. I lept very high in the air and ran down the path as fast as I could. After running away for a while, my curiosity got the better of me and I crept slowly back to see if what I had seen was real. He didn't even bother to slither away. His big disgusting tail was still sticking out of the bushes. He was about 3 feet long and had markings that made me remember the story about the 100 thousand wild Boa Constrictors in Florida. That’s only one state away. There they hired snake killers and are considering marketing the meat (OK, now I just have to go to Florida).
When I got home I looked this guy up on the UGA’s herpetology and sneaky snake website. I was happy to convince myself it was a northern water snake, not a boa or a deadly cotton mouth. I was very unhappy to learn about all the different snakes that live here.
(I have since learned that this snake is not a water snake but a venomous copperhead. I have been reassured though that the bite probably wouldn't kill you.)

Praying Mantis

“There’s a Praying Mantis in the tree!” We were in the yard of Georgie’s pre-school. It borders on the forest of Lullwater Park and in one corner there is an enormous tree. Some of the children were jumping and yelling and pointing up at a little bug on the trunk of the tree. Georgie and I went over to check it out. About ten feet up, a good sized green grasshopper-like bug was slowly making his way up the trunk. One of the kids whipped a plastic shovel at it, but missed by a mile. “Looks more like a katydid”, I said. I had just learned about crickets, cicadas and katydids on a recent visit to the Fernbank Museum of Natural History. Basically, they’re all crickets. “What’s a kay-tee-did?”, the shovel-hucker said. I tried to tell him about the world of crickets but he quickly grew disinterested. I don't care about any of that, I just want to kill it. Meanwhile, Mr. Greenlegs was getting out of harms way. I decided it was a katydid, like the one we had on our front door a while back. Or maybe a Cicada. Praying Mantis!

A few days later, I was walking across the parking lot of the grocery store. I felt like I might melt. (The Kroger parking lot has got to be the hottest place here) I spotted a little green leaf in my path. I was about to step on it but changed my mind. There was something funny about the way it was upright and not flat to the ground. I tried to avoid it at the last minute but it caught my sandal and went sailing a few feet away. I bent over to look at it. I was an insect, a stick bug or something. It seemed no worse for wear after his rude introduction to my foot. I took a closer look. It was a Praying Mantis.