Vermont...home to the world

As they say, that one is for free. The picture of Brenna and Braden playing has nothing to do with today's entry. In fact, it was taken on August 1st while Valerie was writing her entry. Alex took the picture, and she did a good job of capturing the essence of both B's. Brenna is in constant motion; typically there is a little theater in whatever she's doing. Braden just charges ahead, regardless of what is going on around him. We've laughed lately because he's usually the first one on and off the elevator in all these hotels we've been enjoying.

I finally had the opportunity to eat a lobster the other day. The flavor was okay, but it was just way too crunchy for me. Plus you have those beady black eyes openly staring at you. They say that lobsters scream when you drop them in the boiling water, and I can confirm that. Mine was a little undercooked, and it was still sort of whimpering when they brought it out. I had them open it up and put bread crumbs on it so the meat was easier to find because, being a lobster virgin, I just knew I would do something stupid that would cause diners at neighboring tables believe I was from Away. Something other than the fact that I say my r's, I mean. Not knowing the particulars of eating hard shell lobster, I ate the whole thing. There is the constant gnawing fear of leaving something on the plate that would cause a local to guffaw. On Friday we had soft shell lobster at the WoodenBoat School bake. Anybody out there know the difference? A lobster, much like their evil cousin the snake, sheds its shell on occasion. A lobster that has been in its shell for a good long while is a hard shell crab, called that because the shell is hard. After the lobster sheds that shell, it grows a new, larger shell, much like a Medaryvillain (note the spelling towards the end of that word--deliberate) moving from a trailer into a double wide...nice digs. The lobster has not yet grown to fill up that shell yet, thus when you boil it, those empty spaces fill up with water. Ripping off the claw of a soft shell crab results in a spray of water and steam not unlike the scalding coffee that fell into the lap of the 90-year-old woman who subsequently sued McDonalds. And won, by the way. Makes you think, doesn't it?

After much deliberation, I chose to title this entry to the McKay Chronicles Vermont...home to the world. Even a perfunctory observation leads to the obvious conclusion that many of the folks who work at the multitude of shops, restaurants, hotels, and gas stations in the area are not native Vermonters. The gal on the phone at EBA's Pizza (Everything But Anchovies) was from Russia. The fellow at the gas station was from Lebanon--the Middle East vintage Lebanon, not the one south of Lafayette nor the one five miles from here in New Hampshire. I can't think of others right off, but I'm telling you, it's like spending a few nights at Ellis Island. Being Bar-John, or MacJohn depending on your culture of origin, one thing I inherited from Pop is the ability to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere. One memory I have from our family excursions while growing up is Dad pumping gas and talking with whomever happened to pull up across the pump. He can talk to people regardless of circumstances, and usually does. Dad had his right hip replaced this morning, and I would be shocked if he was doing anything other than asking the medicine doctor (anybody know how to spell anestesiologist?) about the hardes time he ever had putting a person under as he was himself headed for a deep sleep. I like to do the same. He came out of surgery in a few hours and is doing well, by the way. Thanks for asking, which I know you were doing!

Tonight Brenna jumped off the side of the pool unassisted for the first time, so I chose to reward her by taking her to the local gas station and allow her to pick out some candy. She took about 20 minutes, perusing the myriad choices upon which I placed no restrictions, finally landing upon a large bag of Mixed Berry Skittles. When we paid, I noted with interest that the station attendant was likely from Away. In reply to my query, he told me that he was from Lebanon. He had been a farmer there, with a farm half the size of Vermont in his words, but he said the ground was no good anymore because of the war. I asked the girl on the phone at EBA's how she managed to get to a little place like White River Junction from a big place like Russia, and she said she didn't really know. She came to Ohio for some forgotten reason and just found herself drifting east. I thought perhaps she was a student at Dartmouth which is about 15 minutes distant, but that was not the case. She was just here to work. All the way from the Motherland, answering the phone at a pizza place. I wonder if that was what she had in mind...

For those of you following along on our itinerary, we had so much fun today that we decided to forego New York City and stay a third night here in Vermont. That was a compromise between Hot Wife and Irksome Husband. NYC was completely my idea--I just couldn't see being this close and not seeing the greatest city in the world. It would likely have been mostly traffic, and it was way south of here but required the same amount of driving west, so I was willing to stay here another night rather than stay in Yankeeville.

By the way, it has come to my attention that some among you have noted that the tone of my writing seemed to change around August 1st, which happens to coincide with our 15th anniversary. A few readers have made the wry observation that I suddenly began referring to my better half as Hot Wife. Why, pray tell? What could have prompted the change? Well, dear friend, here is your answer: I shall leave that to your imagination. There are those among us who are not of age. Suffice it to say she now has her nickname for the trip.

Today we enjoyed Quechee, home to Quechee Gorge, known locally as "the Grand Canyon of the East." Having been to the Grand Canyon, which is something like 1000 feet deep and several hundred miles long, I must report in all candor that Quechee Gorge leaves something to be desired in comparison with The Canyon, and I wonder if perhaps it wouldn't be wiser for the comparison to be with something more along the lines of the gorge at Wildcat Creek out east of Brookston. Quechee Gorge is about 160 feet deep. If they stacked about 10 Quechees atop one another, and quintupled the flow of water, then you'd have something. But it was neat, and the area is certainly beautiful.

We rode a scale train at a little shop in Quechee, which is the picture of Pumpkin Spice and Hot Wife. Braden had noted the train with interest, and being the astute observer that I am as well as the father of four children, I believed he would experience the ride with joy, an event that might ultimately prove to alter the course of his life, that perhaps he might choose to undertake working the rails as a career choice. While he didn't dislike the train, the closest description I can provide is that he seemed either puzzled or indifferent about the whole deal. The expression on his face in the picture was there throughout the 10 minute trip, which took us round the shopping area twice. If only there had been a third loop. I am concerned about the lack of direction he seems to have at this early stage of his life. Maybe something will spark his interest when he begins kindergarten in four years.

We also found a little shop called "Scotland by the Yard." It was chock full of all things Scotland. We dang near cleaned the place out. One thing that I enjoy very much is learning the etymology (is that the right word? I am from Medaryville; I'm talking about the origins of words) of surnames. My brother Mark researched our family a while back, and he was able to take it back quite a while. The research I have done is general stuff on the surname McKay. The info I found at the store today confirmed my research, which was a comfort. It would have been distressing to learn that I had been lying to people lo these many years. Those in my family who share my last name, as well as those members of my family who now have the last name Fetla but who formerly were known as McKay, will have something to look forward to at Christmas...our shopping is almost complete!

From White River Junction, Comfort Suites, 3rd floor...good night, one and all.

By the way, if anyone out there knows a good blogging software, I would appreciate a suggestion. Having done this for a little while now, I am at wits end with this blogspot thing. It is not a wysiwyg program, and it's hard to get pictures where you want them without completely horsing up everything else. If you see strange places in the blog like words broken across two lines, or spaces in some places but not in others, that's the kind of stuff I'm referring to. Help!