Tramps Like Us

It's not that good of a picture, I'll admit. But the haziness of the picture, taken by dad's cell camera, from the top deck, rear of the stage, is fitting. Seeing the Boss for the first time is a haze-inducing experience. Additionally, the event was such a solemn and transcendent experience, I felt somewhat sacrilegious in even these feeble attempts to make graven images of it. We cried, we danced, we sang out loud, we cried some more. For 2 hours and 40 minutes. And it ended, as I imagine it often does, with Thunder Road into Rosalita into 10th Ave. Freezeout into Born to Run. At some point thereafter, dad swooned, and woke up a few hours later, eerily refreshed, in his bed in Athens.

Bottom line: if you live within 500 miles of Charlottesville, you better be there on Wednesday. Just like Second Cousin Once Removed Katie and dad's friend Drew will be. Otherwise you will have to go to Europe to experience the best public event since the Sermon on the Mount.

Signs of Our Domestic Tranquilty

Courtesy of Dad's camera phone. Our daily routine is to go out into the yard, let Barritt excavate his dirt mound, and watch the vines and weeds grow over Annabelle (making the most of the mantra 'It's a rental'). There is also a sublime comfort from being in the presence of our Be-dwettin' Prayer Flags.

Dino-mite!

As promised, pics of Mom's cake. Note how the dino-cake is made from two round cakes. Then watch has evolution and extinction reverses itself, as the dino-cake comes alive. The real reason the dinosaurs were wiped out: they were made of cake, ganache, and mint icing. At least that's why the dino-cake was extinct from our fridge in short order.

Happy Birthday Bonus Media

Who is really blowing out these candles at my school party?

Happy Birthday to Me! And Hef!

Yes, that's right, a 3d birthday has rolled around for yours truly. Where has the year gone? I can't claim to know. But celebrations are afoot. As are plans for new sleeping arrangements: today I woke up in a crib. Tonight I sleep in a big boy bed. Supposedly.

Also, today is the 82nd birthday of a certain magazine mogul, known for wearing pajamas all day and publishing a magazine people read primarily for its book reviews and interviews with John Updike and his ilk. However, I do not read this, or any other magazines.


Come back later to hear a report of first night in said bed, and to see pictures of the killer cake my mom made me. And I mean killer literally. You'll see.

For now, here are some pictures of my birthday party at school. Annabelle came to help us throw down.

Newsflash: Cousin Tyler Walks - Film at . . . now

March 31, 2008
The Triangle

Not content to sit around all day in a Bumbo seat, watching March Madness and eating sausage balls like other North Carolinians, Cousin Tyler busts a move across the living room rug at 8 months old.



When Annabelle Chambers, first cousin and recent walker herself at 14 months, was asked for comments, her response was surprisingly curt:

"Great. That's wonderful," Chambers said. "Yeah, really terrific. Would this have anything to do with the fact that I still sleep in a pack'n'play and Tyler has a real baby bed? Anyway, I mean, I guess I am happy for us. We both walked in March right? I think that is how you measure it these days - by the month of the calendar year, not the month of your own life. I saw something in Parents Magazine. Yeah, you know, I was going to start walking in, um, December, but I was afraid of slipping on the ice and snow and hail in the Winter."

When reminded that she lives in Georgia, where there is no ice or snow or hail, Chambers promptly threw a partially eaten banana at our cameraman and shouted "well then get the hail out of my kitchen!" and slammed the door.

Other Chambers, Barritt, and Long family members, who could not be reached by the time of publication, were more supportive, and even proud of young Tyler.

Happy Birthday Dad!

We have a tradition around here of writing silly poems as a way of revealing a birthday surprise. I'll spare you this year's effort in its entirety, as it included rhyming "Birthday Bomb" with "grace and aplomb," and just tell you that we took a little road trip. We drove to Social Circle, Ga, to eat at the Blue Willow Inn, an antebellum mansion turned all-you-can-eat Southern buffet. It was a Birthday Bomb, indeed, and I mean in the best way. Happy Birthday Matt!

The other Chambers kid

Upon perusal of recent posts, it is evident that Annabelle only has the slightest of exposure. So here is a new picture of her, courtesy of YiaYia and her baby-friendly lens . . .

She looks sneaky because she is hatching plans to guarantee that she will be in more pictures in the future.

The Roanoke Weiner Stand

Dad has for years wanted to go to the Roanoke Weiner Stand. However, no one would accompany him, and he is loathe to eat tube steaks alone, especially in a town where he is only a guest.

But in April of 2005, a scion was delivered. One who would not remember a day that he did not want to go to hot dog restaurants. One who, as soon as he could sit on a swivelly barstool by himself, would accompany his father hither and yon to roadside eateries, kiosks, taco trucks, and above all, restaurants solely dedicated to America's favorite hot beef injection - the hot dog.

So, yesterday, Barritt joined Dad at the R.W.S.



















It wasn't very good. But that isn't even really the point. The point is that he located himself in history, becoming one of the thousands served in the half century the Roanoke Weiner Stand has existed. And from what we judged, he might have even experienced one of the RWS's last days - if the Health Dept. has anything to say about it.

Come thou long expected biped (v. 2.0)

We got it on tape! Maybe it is only one or two steps, but (enter cliche of choice here).

Now that it is 20 degrees with 30 mph gusts, we are on Spring Break. While we are in South Padre, you can warm your hearts with this little montage.

"I thought chickens were food, not animals"

Mom has been getting ready for our new yard by establishing a seed wish list on Burpee.com. Even though we won't move in until late May, there are ambitious plans afoot for the 2008 crops.

So Mom has apprised Barritt of the plans for swiss chard, chioggia beets, okra, Kentucky Wonder pole beans and so on. When asked what else he would like to grow in the garden, his first request: Eggs!
mom: Eggs? Where do eggs come from?
B: Chickens!
Mom: Can we grow chickens in the garden? I don't think so.
B (thinking for a minute): I thought chickens were food, not animals.

A related conversation:

Mom, reading from a book: "Feel the silky-soft red tulip"
B: what kind of flower is that one?
Mom: a daffodil
B: is that a daf-flip?
Mom: no, that's a tulip.
B: Which one is a daffi-do?
Mom: This one is a tulip.
B: No, its a one-lip.

One other thing. After waiting for months, we witnessed Annabelle take her first steps on Wednesday night. Not just a first step, but five in a row before collapsing on the hassock. But, like hundreds before us trying to document the Yeti, the Lock Ness Monster, and WMDs in Iraq, we have thus far failed to get this on camera.

Brotherhood of the Travelling Guitar

We've not taken any pictures of the kids this week, and there isn't any real news except the drama of buying a house. Or not buying it. The drama will be decided within the week. Will keep readers posted on whether said drama is a comedy or tragedy.

But there has been one development, at least for Dad. It goes like this . . . (and it is only being related because Dad needs a healthy distraction from the lecture he is sitting in at the moment. So indulge him.)

In 2002, Dad buys a Larrivee L-03, limited edition claro walnut-backed guitar, trusting only in internet pictures and a description of its sound, from Buffalo Bros. Guitars in California. They send it to Dad in Massachusetts. Dad hangs it on the wall, proud of its tonal and visual aesthetic.

However, said guitar gets small hairline cracks in the winter, along the back. This is because humidity inside that house in the winter was roughly 10%. A lot of our furniture cracked too. Nonetheless, the first cracks were indicia of things to come.

Fast forward 5 years. Having moved to Georgia, where relative humidity seldom falls below 130%, the guitar heals itself, with nary a crack to be seen.

Then, confidant in the structural soundness of the guitar and in the general goodness of humanity, Dad loans guitar to friend to play at a party in September. Friend gets drunk. Guitar gets cracked but now on the front. Friend can't remember exactly how this happened. Friend returns guitar. Dad smiles, though on the inside his hopes for humanity are dashed.

In order to prevent the crack from worsening, Dad takes guitar to local guitar guru. Guru fixes front crack through regimen of humidification and gluing. Dad goes to pick up guitar. Crack is fixed, now barely noticeable on the front. But as he goes to put guitar in the case, he feels a bump. A terrible, obvious bump - on the back. Lo and behold, the humidification process has fixed the front at the expense of the back. A warp the size of a donut is in the center of back of the guitar. The pressure from the warp causes the back to come apart at the butterfly joint, right in the center. You could have put a dime in it. But said guitar is not a piggy bank.

Guitar guru flips out. He's never done this before. Dad believes him. Truly. Still, Guru pours forth with genuflections and penitence and promises to remedy the debacle.

The following day, Guru ships the guitar to Larrivee. Whether this is to their Vancouver or California shop is uncertain.

Larrivee's uber-guru looks at guitar. "We've never seen this before," he says. After a few days of humidification and attempts at restoration, uber-guru declares "it's terminal. But we can replace the back." A few days later, he calls and says "we might as well replace the cracked top since we are taking the guitar apart. We can get it to you in 5 or 6 weeks, by the end of December." Dad contemplates this combination of the old and the new, says OK, and commences practicing only his banjo, waiting for the return of the Robocop of the guitar world.

Guru calls uber-guru in late December to see if it is almost ready. Uber-guru admits that said guitar has been forgotten about. Promises to ship in February, and as a concession, throws in the new top, gratis.

Sunday, February 17, Dad gets call from Guru. The guitar is back in Athens. Dad picks it up.



Now it is heavier. The grain is vertical, whereas the old grain was horizontal. And it smells like Canadians. But it sounds pretty good.

What have we learned? I don't know. Maybe I should have bought a Martin.

Not cool at all*

I like to think we are somewhat hip parents. No, neither we nor our kids own a pair of Pumas. And we resisted the urge to call either one of them Gillian or Apple or Townes. And none of us wear skinny jeans. But still, we try to let our kids live lives to the full and to experience some of the good things; for instance, Annabelle likes to rock the hipster t-shirts her Uncle P procures for her, and Barritt knows all the rhyming words to the mountain ballad Shady Grove:

Shady Grove, my little love, Shady Grove, my darlin'
Shady Grove, my little love, I'm goin' back to Harlan.

Peaches in the Summertime, Apples in the fall,
If I can't have my Shady Grove, then I won't have none at all.

The point of all this is, well, I'm not sure. But I am profoundly disturbed by a turn of events that happened today at about 1:27 p.m. There we were, sitting in the station wagon, just Dad, B, and A, waiting while Mom quickly ran into the store.

While waiting, we were rocking out to Magic, the very good, and most recent album from Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band.



And out of nowhere, and in the middle of the song Radio Nowhere, Barritt asks:

"Dad, is this The Wiggles?"

I was apoplectic. Initially, I felt I had let down the Boss. Then I was more horrified to realize that I had let Barritt down - a 2.84 year old should know these things, and thus I have not been an effective pedagogue. Sure, Pink Cadillac and Big Red Car have some thematic similarities. But so do Thomas the Tank Engine and Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, and Barritt has no trouble distinguishing these.

Readers, we have plenty of work to do.

* Note, fine readers, you are enjoying the 200th post of the B&A blog.

Legos may endanger our hopes for dad's graduation

Dad was not into Legos as a kid. Or duplos for that matter. But he is now. In a bad way. And Barritt just eggs him on. "Dad, make a tunnel for Thomas." Or, "Dad, make a station for Thomas." Or, simply, "Dad, make a tower."

What would you do? Given the choice between reading Landmark Cases in Criminal Procedure, or teaching yourself engineering by means of colorful plastic, I think the decision is obvious.

What do you do with left over pie crust?

Dad has become a big fan of Martha Stewart's pâte brisée lately - the all-purpose savory crust, useful for tarts, quiches, and pies that already have a really sweet fillings. But he errs, as ever, on the side of liberality, and makes too much.

Fortunately, Aunt Margie, within the week, sends the best kind of educational tool: one that teaches letters and helps make cookies. Now Barritt knows what to do with the leftovers.**


** PS: A tip you won't ever find in any Martha Stewart Cookbook or Martha Stewart Living; this is solely a Barritt Chambers technique. Because the pie crust is over 40% butter, the hands will inevitably get greasy. In order not to sully a handtowel or, heaven forbid, a paper towel, you may simply wipe your hands on the wall, as B has demonstrated above.

***PPS: This really works best if you are renting the house you live in.

2008 - Thus far a mixed bag

There has been some significant goodness to fall upon the C family since January 1. For instance:

• Annabelle turned from zero to one, and we had a big brunch to celebrate
• Barritt, according to Ms Laura, one of his teachers, has turned the corner with potty training
  
• Caroline has reached new echelons of knitting; she is knitting more things than you'd imagine
• Matt, instead of the C-, or possibly F, he expected for Criminal Procedure, received an A- (but this only leaves him disenchanted about the current system of tenure based pedagogy, as he is sure that the professor must not have read his exam)

But, we've never been this sick at the same time; at least one of us has been sick since 12/30. Thus far,

• 4 of us have had a stomach virus
  
• 4 of us have had sore throats
• 2 of us have had croup
• 2 of us have had RSV
• 2 (at least) of us have had ear infections
• Matt thinks he has tuberculosis, or some other 19th century disease

So for now, we hunker down, watch some Thomas movies, and listen to the Juno soundtrack a lot. But if you want to do something with us, maybe we can meet you at Walgreens. We've been hanging out there a lot too.

the Party Train . . . . with music!

The first couple pics are from the cake B helped make on Thursday, the actual birthday; the rest are from the party today. Holla!

Happy Birthday to Me!

As Requested

Pictures from Christmas morning (there were very few, as we were all in need of a hair-washin') and the BarnHardt-attack a few days later.

"Is this lead free, mom?"

"This one is definitely lead free."

Neither of these need a caption.

Kelley, challenging the proposition that the cape was made for Barritt, and Jay, showing his gang allegiance. I'm not sure if that signifies that he is loyal to the Westside of Greenville, or the Westside of Myers Park. Regardless, he is hardcore.
Later that night, Jay and Caroline won free tickets to the gun show.

2008 - great expectations - dashed!

We had high hopes for 2008. We already knew it would be the year Annabelle will begin to walk, the year we move and the year we become solvent.

But thus far we are not off to the best start. The kids entered the year with a nice stomach bug, replete with vomiting and portents of copious diarrhea to come in the following days. However, in that brief window between the kids' vomiting and their certain future malady, Dad, undeterred and selfish as ever, headed out into the wild for the first WBL of the year at 10 a.m. on 1/1. While there was a certain satisfaction in the ride, the 40 degree temperature and 20 mph winds do not suit his lazy proclivities, and he was left feeling spent and cold for the remains of the day.

So, in an effort to get the kids out of the house for the first time in a few days, and to quench B's undying thirst for playing at a train table, we headed out to Barnes & Noble. Barritt, satiated, was nonetheless hesitant to leave. After a few tears, all was well with him, when Mom and Dad turned to one another. "Does your stomach hurt?" each asked the other in turn. Damn, brace yourself.

The virus completed its assault of all 4 Chamberses by the waning minutes of January 1. We are now all over stage 1, and the kids are in the midst of stage 2. All this goes to say, if you need to contact any of us, we will definitely be home for the next couple days.