d'Bellingham

The re-beginning
It turns out, writing a blog was fun. So, now that we've been back from our Angers, France adventure for just a little longer than we were there (five months), I'm giving it another go. Maybe it was easier to blog when I had more obvious material -- navigating new cultural experiences and ending each day with a backlog of unspoken dialog--since I wasn't saying much over there that anyone could understand.


The name
It was easier naming "d'Angers." We were going to Angers and I should write a blog about that. Done. Take 2: Write a blog for no particular reason.  What do you name that? No nouns in the title? I don't want to commit to a schedule either. And, I've got nothing to promise in the way of expertise, advice, insight, or deep thoughts. So, I needed a name that promises little other than periodic ramble and doesn't mislead. And,  I came up with a lot. But the whole blogging world has been eating away at the dictionary for the last decade. Most everything you can think of is taken! If I boiled down the d'Angers blog to its bare essentials, I figured I was left with "Words and Pictures." Taken. Then I thought of how my weekly-at-best posting frequency provided some benefits in the way of metered retrospective. "Delayed Reactions." Taken. Well... maybe the blog is a lasting journal, as much for me as anyone else who might read it... "Durable Goods." Taken. And the sad part is, these names are, for the most part, locked up by people who've posted two or three times five or more years ago. The single post at durablegoods.blogspot.com is a sadly typical find. You have to wonder if it was both an introduction and a final goodbye. At any rate, the durable goods weren't. So then the word sporadic came to mind and that sounded like an enduring quality I could commit to. It turns out a lot of aspiring bloggers find sporadicalness a fitting characteristic or at least a comfortable blog-genre. "Sporadica" was my fleeting epiphany. Taken. Spotty is good. How about "Spotty Coverage?" Taken. Now I was getting demoralized, a little desperate, and started to flirt with thin metaphors. "Life Kebab." Taken (thank goodness). "The Pull." Taken (and devoted very earnestly to Jesus). "Neighboring States" sounded cool, was available, but what did it mean? Pass. "Notion File." Got a thumbs up from Kristin but it just sounded too lofty. (Kristin was mostly worried that after three days, I was still doodling in a notebook trying to discoverize a name.) The word erratic started to intrigue but the implied affliction seemed a little loaded. Could I do "Erratica?" Probably not. "Erratigram?" No wait -- back to sporadic -- Sporadigram. Available. I'm going with it.


Re-acculturation

How do you start a 4th of July block-party fire?
With a home-made flame thrower of course.

It didn't take long re-engage with life American style--even with Bellingham's dubious proximity to Canada. After a few weeks to figure out where we stuffed all the clothes we didn't take to Angers, it was the fourth of July.  The Iron Street crew again showed their mettle, closed down the street, cooked a whole hog, and basically walked the independence talk.


Summer in a nutshell
While in France, we were "painfully" aware of what a grey, wet, cold spring Bellingham was having. As best we could, we kept to ourselves about the early and prolonged summer Angers was enjoying from late February onward. So, as we blended back into "Sunnyland" society, we had to play it cool while looking conspicuously tan. Traveling any distance was obviously on hold for a while but we hit some of the regional favorites: Winthrop, La Push, and our trampoline which now seemed new all over again.

So down (east o' them clouds) in the valley.
Winthrop.

Alice rocks the
tramp'.

Back to school

Open house at the rebuilt
Whatcom Middle School

Even though Ella, Ivy, and Jack all got home from France in time to attend the last three days of school (long enough to return to their peers and proclaim that France was "okay"), the real back-to-school was quite the production this September. As many know, Whatcom Middle School, where Ivy and Ella started as sixth graders two years ago, burned down just a couple of months into the school year. A year ahead of schedule, a rebuilt Whatcom MS opened. E & I returned for eighth grade and Jack gets to join them under the same (new) roof as a sixth grader.


Annoying photographer in the field
One of the benefits of having your kids back in an English-speaking school is that you can again volunteer to chaperone on field trips without feeling compelled to overcompensate with smiles and nods -- which really only leads to additional anxiety that you've unwittingly agreed to assist someone with special needs in the bathroom. So, when Jack's class was scheduled to go on their marine-science boat trip on Bellingham Bay, I was on it.


I got to the classroom early enough to say the pledge of allegiance and listen to announcements. With Halloween coming up the following week, students were politely reminded that the school dress-code would be in effect. This was summarized for its application to Halloween costumes as "no weapons and no cross-dressing." Huh? You can be a monster but you can't stray from your gender? And how would they determine the gender of monster costumes? What if you dress up as female-male-zilla with several well placed flame-thrower glands? I should really do sixth grade over again.


So, back to the low seas. I walked with Jack's class down to the marina, climbed aboard the Snow Goose, and spent a great, chilly day sampling and analyzing water and plankton, honing navigation skills, and making important connections between our lives and the world. I should say that the students did all this. Us adults were taken aside by an earnest crew-member at the outset and encouraged to keep our comments and scientificish guesses to ourselves. We were also told that, if we'd brought cameras, that was mostly okay as long as we weren't "ridiculous about it." I guess I'll never know.

Full crew on the stern.

Jack's turn at the wheel.

Full Google album for way more 'Goose. (warning: 96 ridiculous pictures)


On the way back from the boat, "walking" back up to school, I was ridiculous. Luckily, I had left the group who was spending another hour at the marine science center in the harbor building. Crossing the intersection at F St. and Roeder, I hooked a foot on the railroad track and with the foot I might have used to catch myself, concurrently caught a chunk of raised asphalt. Falling like a tree in public was bad enough but my backpack, full of ridiculous big camera, binoculars, and two water bottles was right there for a follow-on sucker punch on the pavement. Two women in big chairs on the back porch of a re-hab house, probably assuming at this point that I was headed their way, quickly shouted questions of concern. Two thumbs up. Continuing back to my office, wondering if what felt like a scrape on my forehead really was, I wasn't sure if I could say "I fell" or if I was now of an age where I could or should say, "I took a fall." Maybe next year.


Halloween
This is not a recap. Halloween is tomorrow. But, alas, I have to leave town for a meeting in Niagara, Ontario and miss the whole thing. Truly, Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year. It's just so simple. You can do most everything at the last minute and have a great time. There are forces out there trying to change this though -- corporate giants pushing more and more Halloween decor -- complicating the pure and simple spookiness of a carved squash and a candle. It's time to take our pumpkin patch back! The revolution will not be covered in nylon spider webbage and inflatable ghosts. (Jeez, maybe I did take a fall).

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?

Right after this post, this pumpkin is
mine.