Count Down (and the angry voice)

Been melancholy here. Eight days until the daughter gets shuttled off to the middle/high school. What the fuck happened to the time? I’ve been eyeing the calendar and trying to milk every last day of this amazing summer that is capping an incredible year – family wise, that is. I’ve been lucky to be a stay-at-home dad. I’m happy that I seized an opportunity to have so much time at home with her.

This morning we hiked/raced the Kaeding Trail that goes up over the hill from Worcester to Calais. We’ve been trying to do it several times a week to get her prepared for cross-country running. It’s a mile and a half up, up, and up – ending at the top of Calais’ Long Meadow Road. And then, of course, a fun and fast mile and a half down. The race is on.

But before we got too much into the race, we talked.

“Eight days until school,” I offered, being the killjoy that I can be.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anything special you want to do before you go back?”

“Yes. Beat you black and blue.”

Ah, good old Colby humor.

I hope.

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I’ve been trying to get it right. Trying really hard, in fact.

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A Christopher McCandless fan died trying to do the very thing that killed McCandless: Failing to cross Alaska’s Teklanika River.

McCandless, of course, is the guy that Jon Krakauer made famous in his book, “Into the Wild.” Better yet – a rarity in book to movie ordeals – Sean Penn made a just-as-good movie about the whole (mis)adventure. I loved them both – the book and the movie.

But a European fan of the McCandless mystique made a tragic decision last week in Alaska when she and a companion decided to find the bus that McCandless lived and died in. But the Teklanika River has been known to be less that gracious toward such adventurers. And so it claimed the life of one, and spared the life of the other – this time.

Bummer. But hats off to the adventure. Never stop seeking.

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A lunch of fresh edamame, corn, and cherry tomatoes. Thanks be to Moike’s Garden.

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I was browsing in the bookstore the other day when I overheard a woman say this to a man next to me (teeth clinched): “This is my angry voice talking: Where have you been?” It reminded me of this line from the Adam Ross novel, “Mr. Peanut”: “Can marriage save your life, or is it just the beginning of a long double homicide?”

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Did someone say melancholy?

Try this (it’s damn good):

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A good moment:

Driving in the truck. Green Day comes on.

“Crank it, Dad.”

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Bear with me.

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This is my melancholy voice talking.