Mud, Sweat and Gears

Had a nice visit this weekend with friends from Virginia. Drove up, arriving in the wee hours of Friday morning.

Later Friday morning, I took a couple hours off work to take the bikes out for a workout. It was 50 degrees, and the previously frozen tundra had turned to sponge...with the thaw and the drizzle we had Friday morning.

So we slipped and slid around the base of Ski Hill, spinning mud at each other all the while.

Then the rain came, and the wind, and the branches falling from the skies. We followed the trails, criss-crossing the hillside, until we came to campus. The clouds were gone, and a bright blue sky greeted us. Colder, but sunny.

Spent Saturday in NYC, saw dinosaurs and horses (the real kind and the carousel kind), danced on a piano at FAO Schwartz, sang bad harmonies (a la Spinal Tap) at the John Lennon memorial "Strawberry Fields", cruised the subways, peeked at Times Square, and filled our bellies with Bennie's Burritos.

Sunday Jeff and I took a hike, loosely following our biking trail. We flushed out a dozen deer, rabbits and a red tail hawk. Saw signs of bobcat and coyotes.

And then the girls, with their cake and tea, turned on the TV. Jeff and I sequestered ourselves in the mystery room for some adult beverages, music and fraternal...uh...bonding.

And that was perhaps the best couple hours of the weekend.

You know, talking about music and family and morality and work and biking and the merits of bavarian hops. About our kids, driving, dancing (just to dance), hawks, owls, tree forts and antlers.

And it doesn't matter so much that, this morning, they're enroute Virginia, and we're here. The time spent was good. And we'll do it again, on their turf, in April.

Thanks, Jeff, Lili and Laurel for a great weekend. You're dear friends, on the trail, in the city, at the dinner table, behind the mic...everywhere.

Gandalf, Bilbo and Miranda

Sitting here on a Wednesday evening, a bit exhausted from half a week's work, listening to the mother of my daughters read "The Hobbit" to my 6-year old.

It's relaxing, and inspirational enough to push me to write my very first blog entry...

So let me share Miranda's elvish (not elvis) tome:

Mr. Baggins is a burglar
a sneaky afraid burglar
Mr. Baggins is a burglar
Gandalf is in the lead to show
Mr. Baggins what to do.

Mr. Baggins is a hobbit
He doesn't like adventure
He wants to stay home
and eat a lot

Mr. Baggins is a sneaky peaky burglar
but Gandalf wants him to be a burglar
Mr. Baggins is a sneaky hobbit burglar
Bilbo is afraid!

Miranda suggests we set the song to flute or lute.
So, now I have to get out my my mandolin and fiddle and come up with an elvish tune (well, since my baby left me...) fitting of the poem above.

No small feat. But Hobbits have small feet.