...


Ipods are for sharing...


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IT STARTS

The grandparent’s gonna-miss-that-boy countdown has begun. Today, Mary comes in from a morning with the ducks and says to me: “This was the last time Sam and I fed the ducks.” Then we hold each other tight for a bit. We’re hopeless. I wonder if Sam is starting to notice. Yeah, right.

We’re also becoming more and more convinced that the trip is a good idea, much to my surprise and consternation. Ducks notwithstanding, it will be an extraordinary opportunity for Sam to hear different voices, feel different textures, and grow from a precocious 2.25 yr old boy to a wise-soul 3.25yrs. Wish we could be there to see that happen, but we’ve seen so much in the past two years that our hearts will be full for a long long time.

Or so I like to think.



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But back to the ducks: Sam walked the entire distance (about a mile and a half), clutching his bag of bread. The ducks cluster around the Inwood bays (inpouchings from the Harlem River and the Hudson), and Sam likes to stalk them for a bit before they discover his bread-crumb wealth. The squirrels like to get into the act as well. We are a bit careful these days: it seems that a child was bitten by a squirrel recently. And keeping the pigeons away is a real problem. Rats in the sky, I call them. Today Mary said that a pigeon literally swooped in and grabbed a piece of bread right out of Sam’s hand. Damn. If I’d been there I might have…

Paul and Sonja will protect him. And keep him safe.

Hope there are fewer pigeons in Zagreb.

Probably not.

SAM AND THE CRANBERRIES



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I’ve mentioned this inumerable times, I know, but it’s still so much fun for Sam to have a grandma who is also and early childhood specialist. Because of her background, training, and many years of experience, Mary has Sam doing some remarkable (and visually beautiful) things. Here is an example:

Mary lays out a blue plastic dropcloth, and on it puts a large bowl filled with water and cranberries. Why?

Sam can practice ladling/scooping.

He can hide and reveal to himself various body parts:
Elbow
Arm (And feels the textures of the floating cranberries)
Foot
And he can put cranberries between his toes.

When was the last time you got to put cranberries between your toes?

I thought so.

Finally:
Who’s eyes are bigger, more pentetrating, more beautiful?



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...


TRAINS AT ALMOST CHRISTMAS



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I don’t know why, but like so many other young boys Sam loves trains. It seems a real gender difference: I don’t remember Sonja being a train junkie, and I’ve seen few girls at the train exhibits Sam and I have visited. Frankly I think it has something to do with power and strength.

If that’s true, power has grabbed this boy. Last year we visited the MTA train 'museum'at Grand Central Station, which has a nice little three tier layout. The museum is really a souvenir store, but Sam spent over an hour watching this train. This year, he spent almost two hours, and didn’t want to leave, even when his grappa was bored out of his skull and wished for a shot of my namesake drink…

Thomas The Tank Engine started it all, I think. He watched the videos, loved the books, could name all the engines, knew their personalities, and liked them all. Even the scary and angry 'Diesel Ten’. Currently that one seems to be his favorite, and he carries it with him frequently on our trips. We visited the giant Toys R Us in Times Square a few Fridays ago (the one with the ferris wheel inside) and pawed through the Thomas stuff. They had a lovely train layout in the store that Sam and other kids could play with. Unfortunately I didn’t have my camera that day, so I couldn’t take a photo of something that fascinated me: there were a bunch of kids playing with the trains, and around the edges, sitting in chairs and chatting with each other, were a number of women who were clearly not the mothers of these children. They were the nannies. A real NYC moment- nannies spending the afternoon with other nannies while their little charges played in a consumer playground. I was quite surprised until I stopped to realize that this was exactly what I was doing…

Back in September, Mary discovered a treasure trove of Thomas goodies on Craig’s list (an internet swap sheet), for a remarkably low price. Oh yes. We traveled out to Queens to pick it up. The Dad had a hard time parting with it. His boy had “outgrown” Thomas, but Dad had not. But he reluctantly parted with it all, after lovingly describing each engine, and each type of track. And there were lots of engines, and lots of track. Got home, laid it out, and realized that it consumed our apartment. Oh, what the hell. We weren’t doing anything with those parts of the floor anyway. It decreased the cat’s choice of places to lie down, but she made do. Sam was quite pleased with it all. At the same time, I learned something about kids his age: it was too much for him. He couldn’t take it all in, and quickly focused on very small parts of the layout, and on the individual cars. I love watching that boy find his limits, his interests, and his comfort level with the world around him. Never ceases to amaze me. Needless to say, I made significant changes, made it much smaller, and made him happy.

Wait’ll he gets back from Croatia. He’ll discover the hundreds of feet of Thomas track, and we’ll be happily doomed to having our entire apartment be a train set. I can’t wait (and I don’t even particularly like trains).



(click to enlarge)

So knowing that we will come back to the train ‘museum’ when he returns, it made the visit last week particularly poignant. I do love seeing the pleasure in his little body when he watches those trains go by.

At night we went to see the windows at Macy's. The window displays attract folks from all over the world, and are pretty nice. We didn’t do the SC thing this year: if you remember my description of last year (it’s in the archives: click on the ‘archives’ link at the upper right hand corner of this screen), it was a freaky experience, and not something I wanted to repeat (actually that’s a bit of a lie- the animatronic animals you see while waiting in the long line, this year Sesame Street characters, are fun. So maybe we’ll do that part, and skip SC. But I digress. The windows along one side of Macy’s are the traditional Night Before Christmas layouts (Sam preferred his pretzel). In the front windows were scenes from The Polar Express. Not sure I like the idea of movie companies stocking the windows with their products, but I know that Macy’s needs the money. For Sam, it was just great. The trains were three dimensional and huge.

Finally, before Sam leaves, I am bound and determined to get him to the most famous train layout in NYC. It’s an annual fixture at the Botanical Gardens, and has a number of Manhattan buildings, all made of pine cones, sticks and leaves... I want him to remember this city in just that way...

...




ILLUMINATION


I saw a play last night. Illumination Rounds. It was written primarily by Josh Liveright, and it features he and Sonja Rzespki, and is Directed by Paul Smithyman. That fact that Josh’s son, Bodhi, is Sam’s best friend suggests to me the inspiration both kids will get from these illustrious parents. Instead of Jackson Pollack and Jasper Johns sitting around the Cedar Bar plotting the destruction of Art as we know it (and, not incidentally, the creation of something transcendent), we have Josh and Sonja and Paul playing with their two-year-olds and negotiating playground rituals(and, not incidentally, creating something transcendent). Seems appropriate somehow.

The photo above was taken on the set of Illumination Rounds (click it to see it better). It is a dangerous play, on a lot of levels. The most obvious is that it takes place during the upcoming American Civil War, during a pitched battle outside of Independence Hall, and it concerns a suicide bomber (my daughter), and a journalist (Josh), trapped in a hell made possible by our current terrorist-loving President. I think it’s an important play, and speaks to the increasingly critical need for all of us to begin to understand despair.

We need to know what’s happening out there, and to know what brings people to use suicide as a weapon. It’s not a popular subject; except in its ideological aspects (by both sides). But I do feel it’s something we need to come to grips with. In our current climate of political trepidation, I actually had friends who were nervous even about me sending the postcard announcement to them in the mail: the card shows a picture of Independence Hall with an assault weapon trained on it…

I left the theatre deeply moved. And thinking of Sam, and his upcoming departure.

My heart aches for those who have lost their children to war; I have attached a photo of lost children in Iraq that I can't get out of my head (so please avoid it if you don't wanna get crazy as me). It is a despair too great to bear. To hell with ideologies and all that crap, I’d want simple revenge. I would want to kill.

But Sam is still very much alive, and about to spend a year in a beautiful part of the world with parents who dearly love him, and who will be able to devote all their time to him. It’s extraordinarily wonderful. I do not mean to suggest that the perspective of Illumination Rounds should belittle my sadness of Sam leaving, nor does it make me feel guilty (“See?? You’re lucky he’s still alive!!”). What it does say to me is that all life is a desire to understand. Whether it is for survival, or for enlightenment, our need to understand seems to me the basis for just about everything. What Sam’s leaving does for me, and what I re-learned from my night at the theatre, is that the gift he brings to me by his leaving is to help me understand. I’m now a little bit closer to that Polish old man standing on the docks at the turn of the century waving goodbye to his emigrating children knowing he will never see them again. The old man's pain is exponentially greater than mine, but my small pain helps me understand what he gave up. I now have a very very very tiny understanding of the emptiness that comes from a child’s loss, and if that loss is from war, from violence…. No, I’m not there yet.

[I should note here that we humans are incredibly selfish beasts, and as such we see everything through our own needs; at least that’s what I do. So it’s important for the sake of critical accuracy, at the very least, that I tell you that their little play is about a lot more than what I’ve hinted at above. Its primary appeal to me is that it directly tackles the most important question of our time: why do we love war so much? Is it true that we need war to define us? Must that always be the case? I hope the play continues to live, and be seen. It has something to say.]

Where was I? Oh yeah, ruminating. Well, in our attempts to figure out how best to help Sam with the transition, we’ve been consulting with various child experts, and have come up with a few thoughts. The first is that we’ve been charged with making picture books for him. Each should focus on a particular set of activities, something like I’ve done here (Sam Goes to The Zoo with Grandpa), and make sure to include daily routines with both Grandma and Grandpa. Nice idea. Looking back on John’s childhood, I wish we had more photos of him on ‘non-special’ occasions.

Like blowing bubbles. Sam was absolutely insistent that he could do this completely on his own, and mostly succeeded. I did not get the best picture: him pouring the soap solution bemusedly onto his pants…. Luckily, he didn’t lose all of it. He still found a good few bubbles left in that bottle.

Or helping with the laundry. I get so used to taking Sam away on adventures that I sometimes forget how much of an adventure it is to just have him help with the chores. During one laundry run, Sam insisted on bringing his own basket of laundry.




And folding clothes with Sam frolicking in them can be very difficult. And fun.

During the past few weeks as Sonja and Paul became increasingly more involved in Illumination Rounds and Mary and I found ourselves putting him to bed on a relatively frequent basis, Sam has had some interesting ways of dealing with this. There were times when it was clearly hard for him, and he would whimper, or keep repeating that “Sam lost Mommy.” But it never lasted long, and he was always happy when his parents returned home (even if to Sam it was the next morning). But on two occasions he insisted that he be wrapped in a towel, and fell asleeep like that. Now, it makes for great swaddling-like messianic photos, but I was hard-pressed to understand why he felt it so comforting and necessary. Then Mary reminded me of this photo, from a year ago.

He just wanted to be reminded of his happiest moments with his Mom; after the bath, cuddling.


And finally, speaking of nostalgia (the kid is only two years old! And I’m already using words like nostalgia!!!??? I gotta get me a life), remember this one from back in June of 2003? Well, Sam still loves
popsicles, even in the winter.

....



(those eyes, those eyes)


THANKSGIVING

When you know the future, it can do funny things to the present. As I was growing up, I remember my parents telling me I should be thankful for whatever chore or assignment or rainy day came my way because I could be dead tomorrow. It didn’t do much for me. I was never very impressed with the tactic. However, I could safely ignore it because it was a probability. Anything could happen. It wasn’t a certainty. Sam’s flight to Croatia, and his year-(century)-long stay in Zagreb is a certainty. And it’s affecting every moment I spend with him now. I guess you could say that it certainly focuses my life quite wonderfully. I guess you could also say that I should remember the starving kids around the world. I mean, yeah. And yeah. But that doesn’t change the reality. He’s really going. December 30.

When I first heard the news of Sam settling in Croatia, I spent a week stomping around, furious and how could they do this and how could it possibly be good for Sam…. yadda yadda yadda. Sonja helped me understand why this trip was so necessary, and I tried to let go my anger. It was Paul who finally convinced me, who instinctively knew the way to get my full support. See, when my son John was born Mary spent the first two years at home, providing full time caregiving while I worked. When he turned two, I took over. For the next two years I spent every day with John, watching him grow, sharing his joys and his pains, and all that other good stuff. They were the best years of my life. Nothing comes closer to heaven for me than that. So Paul looks at me, reminds me of my time with John, says he’s always been envious of that, and this year will give him time with Sam. No work, no stress, just play (in that amazing, exhausting, stimulating, challenging, intellectually exciting- watching brain development happen in front of your eyes- and fun way that play so encompasses the child’s world). How could I resist that? He had me by the short hairs, and all I could do was buck up and get off their backs.

Each day with Sam becomes even more precious than it was prior to the Croatia plan, not surprisingly. For Thanksgiving we drove down to Chadds Ford, PA, to Mary’s brother and Sister-in-Law’s place, a good three hour drive.

Tim and Maryann have a magnificent house surrounded by acres of
trees, and Sam loved all of it.

But he fell mostly in love with Tim’s tractor. Sam has a particular fondness for mechanical beasts of all descriptions: his favorite place in the world is anywhere he can find a good “CONTSTRUCTION ZONE.”

At first he wanted to simply admire the tractor from afar. He watched Tim teaching Paul and Sonja, before he would venture too close. But after not too long, he was willing to sit with Grandpa and Tim behind the wheel. Afterwards, watching Tim grade the driveway, Sam simply stared in a wonderful mixture of awe and pleasure. A mixture that few photos can capture (which is an excuse for my complete inability to get the shot)

Another pleasure was throwing sticks. Simple, yet effective. Encouraged by John, Sam would count “1…2…3…4..go” and John would toss the stick into the gully. Then they would reverse, with John counting and Sam throwing. Try it sometime. Betcha it’ll bring back a few memories ?
Afterwards it was time for some chores: specifically, leaf blowing.

As it was getting dark, and we moved into the house, Tim brought out a rocking horse on steroid springs…. And, even better, a pair of cowboy boots to go with it.

And we couldn’t resist the group photo with horse.


Tim also brought out a natty nautical cap that Mary was fond of. Notice how Sam is eyeing it. Mary got the hint quickly and even though it rather didn’t fit, Sam really liked it.

Then it was time for a homey diaper change in front of a lovely fire. Not sure if this qualifies in the exotic-diaper-change-locales photo series, but hey, you gotta love those boots. Yes, his diaper was changed and his boots stayed on. What a man.

Dinner time and the cameras came out. With all the photos taken, I’m hoping one of you who were there will send me some to put on Sam’s blog. No matter how big or small the meal, Sam still enjoys getting fed and Dad enjoys encouraging him and demonstrating the proper mouth technique, whether it’s eating or blowing out candles.

After dinner came the family entertainment phase, which Sam was quite happy to lead, performing on Hammond Organ and Vocals. First he and John had to discuss the appropriate chord changes for the opening song
.

Then Sam had to give instructions to the band. And then it was a long hot rendition of Yellow Submarine, with Sam squeezing out the impassioned lines.

The set list (for the collectors out there): Yellow Submarine, All you need is love, All Together now, Puff the Magic Dragon, Owl and the Pussycat, Twinkle Twinkle b/w ABCD.

The finest moment, and the best song, and the one that most enthralled Sam (who was trying to jam to it on the organ) was performed by Mary’s brother, Theo. It’s called Little Rabbit Fou Fou, and it goes like this:

(spoken) “The Good Fairy woke up and looked down into the forest and she saw Little Rabbit Fou Fou scooping up field mice and bopping them on the head. So she came down to Little Rabbit Fou Fou and said ‘Little Rabbit Fou Fou I’m going to give you three chances to be good, or I will turn you into a goon.’ The Good Fairy woke up the next day and saw Little Rabbit Fou Fou scooping up field mice and bopping them on the head. She sang:

Little Rabbit Fou Fou I don’t wanna see you
Scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head.

(spoken) ‘You have two more chances to be good, or I will turn you into a goon’ The next morning, the Good Fairy looked down and saw Little Rabbit Fou Fou scooping up field mice and bopping them on the head. She sang:

Little Rabbit Fou Fou I don’t wanna see you
Scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head.

(spoken) ‘You have one more chance to be good, or I will turn you into a goon’ The next morning, the Good Fairy looked down and saw Little Rabbit Fou Fou scooping up field mice and bopping them on the head. She sang:

Little Rabbit Fou Fou I don’t wanna see you
Scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head.

(spoken) ’I have given you three chances and now I have no choice but to turn you into a Goooooooooonnnnnnnnnn.’

And according to Theo, the moral of the story is “Hare today, goon tomorrow.”

The party lasted into the wee hours, a good time was had by all, and Sam lasted longer than his Dad, but not by much.




(p.s. don't forget to click on both the small photos- which will make them larger- as well as on the highlighted words)

...





........SAM AT WORK...........

My Fridays with Sam have become increasingly sacrosanct. As time slips by, and the day for his departure to Croatia looms, I am mad crazy for these few hours we have together. So when learned I was going to have to be at BOTH my jobs that day- in each case to oversee a particular project- I was rather dismayed. Sonja was wonderful, as usual, and came up with the obvious solution: bring Sam.

So it was Bring-Grandson-to-Work day. If you think showing Sam off on this silly blog is fun, showing him off in person is a thousand times greater. Besides, my co-workers are all sick of me talking about Sam all the time, and me forcing them to look at his pictures, and me moaning around the place about his upcoming departure, and they hadn’t seen him in months, so I figured the least I could do was let them see him.

First stop was Goddard Riverside Head Start where I provide occasional consulting services. Goddard serves the recent-immigrant Mexican community on the upper west side, and we arrived early in the morning before, unfortunately, any of the kids were there. But Sam made himself at home both in the office and in the classroom. I was there to participate in a meeting of parents and community health providers. The latter were making presentations to the parents, and at one lovely point, Sam strode up to one of the presenters, carrying a newly-discovered book, and calmly ordered him to read.

Which the presenter did. No one can resist that little boy.

From there it was off to Grand Street Settlement on the lower east side of NYC. One of the earliest of the great Settlement houses created at the turn of the century to help new immigrants, primarily from Eastern Europe, settle in to their new country. Today, the immigrants are primarily from Asia and Latin America (40% of New Yorkers living in the city today were not born in this country), but the Settlement houses still pursue their mission. Part of that mission is early education opportunities for children: Early Head Start, Head Start, Day Care, Universal Pre-Kindergarten. When Sam and I arrived he ran for “the train”, the large multi-kid stroller/carriages, and climbed aboard, demanding that Jessica, our invaluable administrative assistant, push him through the hallways. And he managed to start taking it apart, and using the roof as an umbrella.
What Sam really wanted to do, however, was play with the other kids (“biggg kids” he says). At times he was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer numbers, and would withdraw into my office to sit and quietly read a book to himself. I was very impressed with his ability to self-regulate, and minimize overstimulation. But soon it was back out into the hallways and classrooms with his new friends.

A good Friday. As memorable as it should be.





p.s. As Sam would say: “Check THIS out”: Sam with The Flying Glove. The dark glasses not only look cool, but they protect him from the feared Glove. A principal bad guy in the Yellow Submarine saga, the Glove runs with the Blue Meanie crowd to ravage Pepperland. Only Music can stop it, and Sam now knows all the words to the song. (watching him developmentally master his fears is an amazing thing)

p.p.s And check THIS out: once again, Sam is laughing. What is it this time? It’s a one minute film, that Sam watched more than a dozen times, laughing at the climax each time, as though it were brand new. To see it, go here, then find the ‘button’ that says “Puppet Stuff”, click on it, look at the top of the ‘tv guide’ page and click on “Homestar vs Little Girl 2”. And enjoy.

...





I wish there was a way to adequately convey my sadness, anger, and general sense of disconnection with my country following the recent election. Although Mary and I will continue to fight, our sense of time running out increases in direct proportion to our age. We can’t be sure that we’ll still be alive when, and if, this country ever decides to use its strength for social good.

So on a personal level it really doesn’t matter. But for Sam, and for his generation both in America and around the world, I am very afraid. And that saddens me.

And angers me. My thoughts are best expressed in the concession speech that Kerry wanted to give.

But we WILL continue the struggle.

Sam deserves no less.

...


AS PROMISED.... (thanks again Dave!)



a well-deserved hug from a proud husband


Don't she look gorgeous?

Sam is too too excited that Mom has finished! And that she has returned to him. Note the prominently displayed socks; this was Sonja's one and only purchase- oh my, she splurged- at the Marathon Expo: a pair of blister-prevention socks. She's smiling because they worked! She was pleased with her investment.

During the run she decided to 'dedicate' each mile to a particular friend and/or family member, and as the miles piled up she found it inspiring to meditate on the joy that each person has brought to her life.

Yes, you were one of them.

I figure I was about mile 22 when she was doing all that cursing...

Her running meditation certainly was successful: wouldn't you like to look this good after completing a fast 26 mile run?: happy moments

...


MOM RUNS THE NEW YORK CITY MARATHON (but doesn't beat Paula Radcliffe)



And Sam wore his hand-colored (by Dad) 2004 Marathon t-shirt.

Despite a two week illness, full time mothering duties, two jobs, and a hectic rehearsal schedule for her new theatre piece, Sonja somehow found the time to train and run the marathon. Her time, 4:20 (I was pushing her not to break 4:45 to prevent injury) was impressive, her fancy non-blister socks worked well, she relaxed after 13 miles and started simply enjoying the 26 mile long party, and she finished with a smile. Wish I could show you, but my borrowed camera died. The famous (and wonderfully kind) Dave Gorman came out to wish Sonja well and he had a lovely camera and took lovely photos and promised me he'd e-mail them to me when he can.

On Friday, Sam and I joined Sonja to pick up her race number and other goodies at the Marathon Expo held at the Javits Center. Which became #474 in the exotic diaper changing locales series.

(I had a great one with the Statue of Liberty in the background, but it was on the stolen chip)

(Don't forget to click on the photo above to see it bigger)

PLEASE FORGIVE THE DELAY (and thoughts on the meaning of it all)

If it's not one thing it's another. First it was the new system at our host site that took me far too long to figure out. Then it was general madness. And now it's because we've been robbed. I lost the camera, with the chip inside it that had lots of new Sam photos which, of course, I had put into the computer which of course was also stolen. I am angry and bereft. With Sam's upcoming move to Croatia, each photo of that boy, each minute with that boy, is uncommonly precious to me. Stuff can be replaced. But time with Sam, and the photos that help this old man remember those wonderful blessed moments, can never be replaced.

Oh well. Gotta let it all go. Or so my Yogi daughter tells me. She's right, but it's hard.

Didja know Sam has now settled on my name? "grappa" which is also a traditional Italian (and Croatian) drink made from pomace (pressed skins and seeds of grapes) after winemaking. The pomace is fermented without any sugar or alcohol, and then distilled. Bottom line: the resulting clear drink is 90 proof. When we were on the island of Mjlet, black clad elderly women would stand along the paths selling bottles of homemade grappa to folks like us. Don't know how I feel about being given that name.

Yes I do. It's wonderful, special, and a story Sam can tell his kids after I'm gone.

Damn, getting robbed seemed to have somehow brought on meditations on mortality...

I guess one of the (too many) reasons I love Sam is that he is the only person I know who can make time stand still for me. Can force me to live in the present. Like what happened yesterday (before we got home and discovered the break-in). We've been going to the Bronx Zoo a lot. It's a wonderful place, easily one of the best in the world. Huge. After 5 all-day visits we have seen maybe half of what it has to offer. And of course Sam wants to keep revisiting his favorite places, which makes it hard to get to new sights. If he had his way he'd spend every day in the Mouse House. But yesterday we made it to the gorillas. Last year he and Bodhi met the gorillas up close and personal, and loved it (a lovely photo in the Youngsamwise archives was purged during the recent regime change at Blogger, and will I hope return soon). This time he was rather more wary, and tended to pull me away when we got too close. In one of the other exhibit areas was a display of small animals that share the forest with the gorillas. One small display case was an aquarium with four small aquatic frogs, grey, undistingueshed, and frankly ugly. Sam loved them. His attention span is remarkable (although I've noticed that to be true in most kids of his age). I decided to time him. He watched those little frogs for 19 minutes before moving on.

During those minutes, nothing else in the world mattered. He was focused. And happy.

I have learned so much from Sam. I will never forget his lessons.

...




HAPPY BIRTHDAY NUMBER TWO...


(Go ahead, I dare you, you know you want to.... these pics are forced by the corporate fascist types who have taken control of Blogger to be this tiny... that means if you want to see them in all their true glory you gotta click on them to make 'em bigger... just do it... you'll feel better)


When you ask Sam, "How old are you?" he quite happily holds up his fingers in the time-honored tradition of two-year-olds. Watching him do this, I see him as part of a long line, stretching back to the beginning of time. Maybe not that far, but close. Sam is both unique and part of the world's DNA at the same time. And his life has been so extraordinary, and has brought so much joy to so many, that celebrating his 430th day of life seems somehow both not enough, and not necessary.

Yesterday, for example, I took him with me to the eye doc's office. My eyes hadn't been checked for too many years, my vision was clearly deteriorating, and we knew it would be a long exam. So I had a bit of a concern that it might be too much for Sam. Ha. Whenever Sam walks into a room, in this case a waiting room and an exam room, everyone in the room brightens. He makes their day. In the exam room, Sam loved all the eye equipment, the gadgets, and couldn't get enough of making my chair (with me in it) go very high up, and then down. The young intern who was examining me, far from asking Sam to stop, had trouble keeping a straight face and finally had to stop the exam to catch her breath. As we were leaving she said that Sam's visit had made her day. Those were the words she used. About a half hour later, after being fitted for new glasses, Sam was walking down a hallway with me (as I was hunting for a bathroom), and a group of three white-coat folks stopped talking to each other and simply stared. "Oh my god," said the first one to get his voice back, "he's beautiful." Then the three started talking about how come there was never a camera around when you needed one.

That was on Sam's 434th day.

But a birthday does allow family, friends, and neighbors to acknowledge as a group how happy and fortunate we are to have Sam in our lives. And this one was special because he was sharing it with his best friend, Bodhi (here seen licking his finger after tasting the S&B birthday cake, with Vanya eyeing it eagerly as well).

But I get ahead of myself. To get to the birthday spot, in Fort Tryon Park, Sam decided to ride on the John Deere tractor that his insane Auntie Deb and Uncle Adrian sent to him. Covered with balloons. He somehow managed to get where he was going, and included a quick stop for a photo op with parents and Sonja's best friend, Amanda. Dad had to do most of the work, since Sam is still working out the pedal concept... During the ride, and at the party as the day was getting cooler, Sam wore a jacket given to him (I think) sometime last year by Uncle John and Aunt Desiree, that is finally almost but not quite fitting him.

Damn, isn't Sam just too beautiful for words?

Ok, where was I... The party spot was found, the food laid out, the territory claimed, and the flag raised.

Along with the John Deere, the other vehicle popular among the party folk was a red push car, here seen ridden by Femka, and pushed by her Mom, Alisa.

Hey, can you guess who provided Sam with that car? Gee I wonder who it could have been.

Yep, the crazy Brits.

The John Deere, however, was the clear favorite: here we see Gabe pushed in the tractor by an extraordinarily hardworking Simone. I love that pic.

And this one of Paul: Dad, Sam, and the cake.

At about this point in the proceedings, my camera battery died and thus, with humble apologies, there are no photos of the blowing-out-candles variety. Josh, Bodhi's Dad, says he's got some photos and maybe I can add them here, and fill in the gaps.

But I do know that Sam loved the cake, a blueberry marvel, exquisitely created by Bodhi's Mom.

And that was his b'day. After the picnic we went back to the house and Sam opened a few of his presents. One of them made a particularly dramatic impression on Sam: his favorite Bob the Builder character, Scoop. A gift from John and Desiree. What is it with Aunts/Uncles and giant vehicles? Is it something in the blood?


p.s. After the excitement, Sam needed a good restorative pose.

[tip: click on the photos to see larger, and the highlighted words for more photo]

A WEDDING INVITATION

You are cordially- and enthusiastically- invited to John and Desiree’s wedding next summer, to be celebrated on the beautiful island of Mljet in the Adriatic Sea, off the coast of Croatia.

At least, that’s the plan. We’re gonna do our best to pull this off. John and Desiree will take care of the first part (the actually getting married part; always an insane and courageous act) and Mary and I will work on the second part.

So this information is two-fold: first to announce John and Desiree’s engagement (on a Blog? How post modern!), and second to get an idea of how many folks might be interested in coming.

The date: This is gonna be hard to nail down, but it will have to be nailed down within the next couple of months. It'll definitely be Summer of 2005. Late June is my preference: great weather, reasonable prices. Things get more expensive in July, and even more expensive in August (when the entire continent of Europe is on vacation). But then some folks reminded me that all the world seems to graduate at the end of June, making traipsing off to the Adriatic somewhat problematic.


The place: The Island of MLJET is situated in the southern part of Croatia, west of Dubrovnik. According to the Croatian tourist board (disinterested parties, eh?) it is “the most beautiful island in the Adriatic.” A large portion of the island is a a National Park, which prevents overdevelopment. The Park features two deep bays which are called lakes due to their very narrow passages to the open sea (Veliko and Malo jezero/ the Great Lake and the Small Lake), and lush and diversified Mediterranean vegetation. Trust me, it’s beautiful.

Croatia’s natural environment remains wonderfully pristine, with clear water, and little development. Italy, its neighbor on the other side of the Adriatic, has a coastline that has become, according to one Croatian we met (of course unbiased) “one long tourist strip mall.” Unfortunately, the reason for this state of affairs is directly related to the terrible war: with tourism and other coastal industries crippled during the war, the coast did not suffer the environmental degradations of overdevelopment. I have a hunch they’re going to make up for lost time, so now is the time to go. Thousands of tourists have been thinking the same thing. Tourism more than doubled last year, and is expected to increase at that fevered pace next year. Most of the tourists we met were either Brits (see Transportation, below) and Germans. All said that this was the hot place to go right now. Ah, Mary and I just do so live on the cutting edge, don’t we?

Transportation: I just checked on Travelocity and round trip flights to Dubrovnik are about $450 from NYC. You go from here to London, ($300) and then a straight flight down ($112). Those cheap round trip tickets from London to Dubrovnik are a big reason why we met so many Brits down there; incredible price. Mary and I paid $100 for the plane fare from Zagreb, Croatia’s capital, to Dubrovnik, one tenth of the distance from London to Dubrovnik. Who knows how long these great prices will last. But they’ve lasted for a couple of years now, so the odds are fairly good. From Dubrovnik you catch a ferry for the ride to Mljet (about thirty miles offshore). You can bring a car on the ferry, but you’d be better off simply renting a car on the island ($30/day, including gas).

Accomodations: The village of Soline, where the wedding dinner and party may happen, has four apartments and we think seven rooms with private baths. Here's the family's website, see if you can figure it out.

Approximately 3 miles from Soline is the only hotel on the island, the Odisej. Mljet, according to legend, was where Odysseus (Odisej) spent his seven years trapped by the beautiful Kalypso, and crying in an ocean cave every day for his lost Penelope (or so I’ve read). We were very pleased with the hotel. We paid $120/per night for a double which included private bath and balcony and, most important (for my lean wallet), two full all-you-can-eat buffet meals each day. The dining room overlooks the harbor where, every day, there were different cruise-yachts parked.

So why Mljet? And why Soline, in particular? And why the monastery?

Soline: It all started with lunch. Easily one of the best we’d ever eaten. Everything (fish, cheeses, salads, wine..) was home grown or caught offshore. And prepared spectacularly. In our after-lunch glow, Mary suddenly decided this would be a perfect spot for John and Desiree’s wedding dinner. The Srensen family, who run this little home restaurant, have built a nice gazebo-like structure over a series of tables that could probably hold forty or more. Mary went to talk with the matriarch/cook, Ms Srensen, who thought a wedding sounded just fine. Soline is a very small village; few hundred people at most, at the height of the season. So I figured we should simply rent the whole village. I'm diligently looking into it now.

The Monastery: On an island within the largest lake (ah, an island on a lake on an island on the Adriatic), is a 12th century Benedictine Monastery. It unfortunately was trashed during the war (we could never find out by what side; people don’t like to talk about it), and needs extensive renovations, but the grounds are stunning. We were immediately attracted to a stone causeway stretching out over the waters. It seemed a natural. A perfect place for a walk down an aisle. We have absolutely no idea if it’s possible to get formal permission to use it, and we’ll be working on that, but hey, people are allowed there. We would just be a big group of people, two in good clothes, who happened to wander by...

And lately, John has mentioned an interest in a marriage on one of the cliff tops.

Mljet (other bits and pieces):



In the lakes the water temperature was perfect, we could nap while floating on our backs, and enjoy our wine in the most beautiful of waters.

Like all the Adriatic Islands, there are few sand beaches. Mostly rock (bring cheap rock slippers). But the rocks are perfect for lying on, for sunbathing, for picnicking.

One day, we rented a mini and drove down the spine of the island to hunt down the one sand beach, planning to make a day of it. One nice thing about hard-to-reach places is that when you do get there, you have it all to yourselves. Magnificent beach in a magnificent little cove. All for us.

And the snorkeling.... And the drives along the cliffs with the villages clinging to the sides and and and

All in all:

COME!!!!!




The thought of John and Desiree getting married on the island where I and Mary- 25 years after our own wedding- finally had the honeymoon we could only dream about back then, is something hard to put into words.





E-mail your thoughts/recommendations/questions/rsvp's: kvanatta2000@yahoo.com

..............JOY IN CROATIA.............

Until we somehow get back to the magic of Croatia, we will have to hold in our memories the taste of that ice cream. I have never known better, and Sam agrees. It's very similar to a gelato, but creamier, sweeter, and oh so luscious. We all felt the same way.

As many Youngsamwise fans know, Sonja was offered the opportunity to teach a Yoga class in Zagreb, the capital of Croatia. Because Paul could not get away from work for the first week of the trip, Sam's grandma and grandpa accompanied Sonja and the boy on the flight, and for the first week in the town. Prior to leaving JFK, of course I couldn't resist adding another photo to my collection of exotic diaper-changing locations.

We discovered that the apartment Sonja had been given was not only 100 steps from the studio, but sat on old Zagreb's central square, Trg Bana Jelaicica. From here, everything that Zagreb had to offer was essentially within walking distance. Our arrival and the subsequent day there is a good example of this. Here I quote from Mary's notes:

Sonja went to take a class at the Studio and Sam, Kim, and I wandered around Zagreb. We got the most wonderful vegetarian pizza ($4) and Kim got lots of meat [note: as an unabashed meat eater, someone who does not like things like condiments, greens, tomatos dressing up the sandwich, Croatia was heaven. Big pocket bread, stuffed with lots of meat things. Nothing else. Naked meat and bread. mmmmmm]. Kim and I slept until noon and Sam until 1pm, effectively ridding ourselves of jet lag. Then, while Sonja went to the Studio for a photo shoot, we took the funicular up to the oldest part of the town. [Sam loved the train/cable car thing, not surprisingly. His fascination with trains in general became a kind of ecstasy with the Zagreb variety. Funiculars, trams, toys, street curb rides...]

We then climbed a tower where we could see all of Zagreb, from the mountains to the river. [in that tower, Sam pulled the bell rope and was stunned at the volume, saying "out, out, too loud" while pulling me out the door] We watched a wedding party leaving a church that had a spectacular tiled roof before heading back to our apartment through the cobbled streets.

...........

In this photo of the old town, the funicular and the tower is at bottom center, the church in the center, and our apartment is just off the lower right hand corner

.....

On our way down the hill we stopped at a shop that sells masks and game pieces, where there was a crowd of young people [Croatian nerds] playing a strategic game. We continued down the street. People along the way kept saying something and pointing to Sam, and smiling. "Lutka, lutka." When we asked Miriam later (the owner of the Yoga Studio), she said it meant "doll".

Our apartment was remarkably spacious by NYC standards , with a large bedroom/living room, a nice kitchen and bathroom. Sam had his own bed (which of course I had to take a diaper changing photo of). With the combination of jet lag and excitement, it was often simply too hard for Sam to take a nap during the day. Which meant that we had to use the tried/trued technique of pushing him around in his stroller til he fell asleep, and then keeping him there while he sleeps. Sonja was quite happy with the apartment, even though the dryer took so long to complete its job that she had to give up and hang the clothes in the living room to dry (that's Mary taking a jet-lag catnap in the large bed). From the outside, the apartment was functional Eastern-bloc chic (note Sonja, Sam, and Mary poking their heads out). The view from the inside, however, included both a portion of the red-umbrella'd Zagreb farmer's market and the cathedral.

And Sam dearly loved the old wooden elevator in its windowed shaft.

Outside our front door was the flower market. An obvious attraction to Sam. It also had a stall with handmade wooden children's toys; I think Mary must have bought almost the entire supply. Most were made by the family who managed the stall, and Mary had them running back to their home to get more for the wild American woman. Doll beds, wooden birds that flapped when you rolled them along the floor, flutes, horse and carts... Sam tested them all and approved.

I liked the way Sam kept his eye on the street.

The Farmer's Market:

(watch how fast that little hand moves)

Otherwise known as Dolac, this open air market is the biggest in Croatia, and has an overwhelming variety of fresh foods. In this photo, taken from the air, our apartment is just out of view in the upper left-hand corner. My best guess is that Dolac is not the name of the market itself, but is an old name for the neighborhood where it's located. It is only a guess, of course, but since Dolac means "sinkhole" in English, I'm not sure it's a name one would choose. Croatia is a country apparently passionate about its produce, and uses its claims to freshness and 'organicity' (is that a word?) to market throughout the EU. Sonja commented, while flying in to Zagreb, about the patchwork quilt we saw below us. To her it indicated small, frequently rotated, crops. With contours that matched the geography. Unlike a large mono-crop-producing area, like Kansas, with its vast acres of terrain-flattening, mechanically harvested, corn. The variety at Dolac was impressive: everything from turnips to bee pollen and unidentified seeds that promise to straighten out your digestive tract. For Sam the place was a wonder of colors. But those currants that Sam attacked and grabbed for their shiny colors turned out to be rather tart and after stuffing a few in his mouth, he decided to give them back. Because it was Sam, the shopkeeper was happy to oblige. He charmed her. The fact that Mary bought about a pound of those berries-- suffering an attack of 'oh-he's-touched-the-fruit-I-gotta-buy-it-now' guilt-- had absolutely of course nothing to do with the stall owner's kindness in accepting Sam's returns.... Money aside, it was certainly true that Sam continues to have a knack for turning heads. It may be grandad blinders', but this kid is still a charmer. When he walked through the market, people smiled. Amazing to watch. The grandmothers selling their cheeses, were particularly entranced. As were we, by these little old ladies' cheeses. They were the highlight of the market for us. Not having the money to rent the main, umbrella-draped stalls, they clustered around the edges, and were particularly insistent in their sales technique, taking you by the hand if necessary to get you to try one of their cheeses. The soft cheeses were in little bowls, and the ladies pour your purchase into plastic baggies for you to take home. Mmmmm....

Scoop and the World's Smallest Carousel

Sam had his favorite activities during his grandparent's week in Zagreb. One was riding on the carousel. Now, this was not just any old carousel. It wasn't the CentralPark Carousel. This was a Sam-sized carousel, the smallest I've ever seen. Despite the size, the owner made the adult stand behind the child and ride around and around. I tried it for a few revolutions and I thought I was going to throw up.

Croatia was a part of the old communist Yugoslavia, and their are many reminders of this, both good and bad. I was particularly pleased to see remnants of the workers' paradise: the toy stores were full of construction-related, manual-labor edifying, playthings. And Sam could not get enough of "Scoop". Tucked in the corner of a pedestrian walkway, riding on this machine became a daily ritual for Sam, something he could not do without. As a fan of Bob the Builder, Sam would have settled in permanently on the back of one of his favorite characters.

Ah, but the creep of materialist capitalism can't be resisted, and by the week's end Sam had moved into the world of glitz and speed.

Jarun and Swimming, Basking, and Baking

Zagreb was sunny and hot that week. Fortunately very sunny. And even more fortunately, in a city of concrete and brick, the opportunities to throw oneself into the water were both easily available and wonderfully satisfying. Jarun is a large and very elaborate recreational and sporting facility, built originally to house Olympic level Soviet bloc competitions in things like rowing, canoeing, and swimming. Large block-like structures dominate the place, and have clearly seen better days. But the water in the two large lakes is exquisite. We spent a great day there, with Mary and I watching Sam while Sonja went for a long training run on the 6 mile running path around the lakes (Did I tell you that Sonja got accepted for the NYC Marathon this year?!).

Within walking distance of our apartment were a set of three great swimming pools: an Olympic sized, a kids sized, and a Sam sized. After changing in the appropriate graffitti-tagged changing rooms (another chance to add to my collection), and going up the stairs to the pools, we were met with very loud pop music blaring from overhead speakers. While in Zagreb I learned that all communal public activities seem to be serenaded with bad 80's music, played loud. While getting an extraordinary massage (4-handed!), for example, I was forced to listen to endless variations of We Are The World, and other Michael Jackson favorites.... Sam, being Sam, had no problem with this: all music is an opportunity to dance, no matter where you find yourself.

So Much More....

And never enough time. I haven't described Sam's new look.

Or the popularity of Sonja's classes, and the great studio space she uses.

Or Sam's rakish technique of hiding in the girls' lockers.

Or how he imitated our facial expressions that showed how Mary and I felt about leaving.

Or his joy in having his Dad return.

And with that, Mary and I were off to paradise............................

...




This is part of the famed Water Fountain series by the well known photographer Mary Rzepski, [also known to a small part of the world as Sam's grandma]. But here, in this exquisite series documenting the joy of a small boy with his water, Rzepski combines an inherent and deep-in-the-bones understanding of the tension between Koon's joi de vivre and Munch's The Scream. Seldom in photographic art has the mundane and the orange blended so well.

In this photo, for example, known in the vernacular as The Inspection, Rzepski poses one of the most important, if artistically nihilistic of early-21st-century questions: will he drink, or will he just play...

The tension is ratcheted up to dizzying heights with another photo in this series, called simply 'you know the one.' With its Olympian pretensions- the young acolyte peering up at the mythical Zeus-like figure who is literally HOLDING HIM UP- the photo begs ALL the questions. While not approaching the clarity of the original print, this reproduction will have to suffice, and should give you a hint of its power. And the orange is... well, it is, isn't it.

The next needs no explanation. Note the Nobel commentary at the center. This photograph is tension with a capital M.

Rzepski is nothing if not fearless, twisting/gyrating in as close as necessary to capture that ineffable presence of the nonexistant process: yes

She even brings the young boy into the dialogue, providing a neo-realist commentary on the idea of the complicit model. We will never know whether this was planned, or just part of the general entropy. Because, after all, in the end, if nothingness equals nihilism equals nonsense equals nowhere equals the ineffable equals anarchy equals opposition to the powers that be, then all art eventually becomes linked by six degrees of separation. Rzepski refutes that argument while coiled in it. Who could ask for more.

...

............SEPARATED AT BIRTH???.........................


Sam's dad recently auditioned for the role of the young Graham Chapman in the as-yet-unfilmed (luckily for Paul) biopic Gin and Tonic.

Paul's splendid audition style was written up in the New York Times as follows:

June 6, 2004, Sunday
METROPOLITAN DESK

Silly Walks? Dead Birds? Yes, It's 42nd St.

By ALAN FEUER (NYT)

The fat guy with the pheasant on his shoulder went next. He was painted red from head to toe. The pheasant was dead. The director asked his name. "Adam Bloody Knife Daggers in Your Face Forever." And what role was he trying out for?

"Any role with bloody death in it," he said.

Outside the small audition room, there was a guy in a thong with some bananas. Another man was dressed up like a horse.

The open call yesterday for the new Monty Python biopic went pretty much as expected. A few hundred would-be cast members stood in line in the rain on 42nd Street. The actors were outnumbered by the freaks.

"We've had colonels, pepper pots, lumberjacks, silly walkers, men in lingerie and a very nice midget in full armor," said David Eric Brenner, the director.

"One man came as Jesus. When I told him there's no role for Jesus, he said, 'That's all right, I forgive you, my son.'"

Mr. Brenner, 31, was sitting in the audition room casting his new film, Gin and Tonic, based on the life of Graham Chapman, the Monty Python star who died of cancer in 1989. The film, scheduled to begin production in December, has been something of a lifelong dream.

"I've been a Monty Python fan-slash-geek since I was 12 years old," he said. "I saw The Holy Grail and for the rest of my life I've been reciting lines nonstop, like, 'It's only a flesh wound,'" demonstrating his delivery.

Two years ago, Mr. Brenner reached out to a man named John Yoakum, who oversees Mr. Chapman's archives. Mr. Yoakum told him he was in possession of an unpublished memoir by Mr. Chapman. The film, based partly on this memoir, derives its name from Mr. Chapman's favorite drink.

Last month, there was an open casting call in California, where "the loonies lined up down Hollywood Boulevard," Mr. Brenner said. There were plenty yesterday in Times Square, too.

One man, Paul Smithyman, 35, stood in line with an orange rubber traffic cone and claimed to be its manager. "His name is Aristophanes; he's a method actor," Mr. Smithyman explained.

"He was in that Dustin Hoffman biopic, if you recall it. I also manage a Coke can. Now, he gets a lot of work."

Mr. Smithyman's friend, Lee Wilson, said he planned to audition by appearing very British -- which he is.

"I'm just going to go in there and stand and be British," Mr. Wilson, 36, explained. "Don't you think my stance is British? Can't you see the British look on my face?"

Mr. Brenner said that he would almost certainly cast British actors for the film's six major roles. It was a matter of authenticity, he said.

Nonetheless, most of those auditioning were Americans, if not New Yorkers. There was a student from Long Island pretending he was mute and a tax assessor from West Virginia with huge breasts of papier-mâché.

Among these oddities, Mike Ford looked abnormally normal. He was dressed in a T-shirt and a plaid pair of pants.

Was normalcy his gimmick, he was asked.

"No," he said, "when I go inside the pants come off."

...


......................HAPPY FATHERS DAY..............................









Sam is a very lucky boy.

..




Sam's been doing a bit of the old hide-'n-seek lately.

Here, for example, is a photo of Sam and Sonja in the park, taken from the window of our apartment.

See them? Sonja in her black coat, and Sam in his green raincoat?

Right there in the center of the photo, above the traffic light.

Look closer.

And, speaking of hiding, it can sometimes be difficult to find a place to change Sam's diaper where he can retain his modesty and be out-of-public-view. Lots of guys bathrooms still don't have changing tables in them. So I'm creating a new series: famous places where Sam has been changed. Here is the latest contribution: Sam up against the side wall of St. Patrick's Cathedral.

Regardless of where he's changed, the boy sure likes the resulting feeling of clean-'n-dry.

...



A VISIT TOO QUICK AND SAM IS STILL SAYING GOODBYE...



But it was great while it lasted. Almost a week with Auntie Deb and Uncle Adrian.

The dancing was splendid.

In fact, I'm horrified that we got no photos of the dancing, of Sam going around the room and forcing each adult to stand up and join in, of our own little cruise-ship entertainment dirctor not letting anyone relax, must dance NOW, everyone with their shoes and socks OFF OFF OFF....

Until we couldn't take it anymore and collapsed laughing onto the rug.

I hope when our favorite Brits have rested up they will share a few photos and stories with us.

Until then, Elmo says come back soon.

As does the boy.



..

....


JUST ANOTHER FRIDAY ADVENTURE



It can often be difficult, if not impossible, to explain or describe just why art is so important to me.

In the end, of course, it can't be done. It either works for you, or doesn't. It either speaks to you or it doesn't. Art education can help, and I support it wholeheartedly. But the risk is the loss of direct communication: if I have an art education, and this piece of art I'm looking at right now is saying nothing to me, and if it's a piece of art by someone who is well respected, then something must be wrong with me.

Art shouldn't be like that.

So everyone should have a Sam with them, because Sam makes art always new.

Why's that? you ask...

As my loved ones have heard me decry, ad nauseum, I find the practice of reading the wall-label before looking at a work of art particularly sad. It's as though the viewer needs to be told whether s/he should appreciate whatever s/he is looking at. Oh, this is Van Gogh, the viewer says, so I guess I better be impressed. Contemporary art really flummoxes wall-label readers: Oh my, what is this crap, it's nothing like in my schoolbooks, quick, look at the label, see what it's supposed to be about, see how I should be responding to this work....

But Sam doesn't give a spit.

Something either speaks to him, or doesn't.

My art-education-goal for Sam is that he never lose the sense of awe he has for new sights and sounds and smells and tastes. That he continue to explore wherever these new sensuous wonders take him.

With age, and experience, will come an increasing sophistication, and discrimination. But for now, Sam finds the entire world a wondrous invention, completely created for his own discovery.

Whether he has come across stones from what must be New York City's smallest rock garden, (a 2' by 1' plot stuck in a weird corner between two slabs of skyscraper glass),

or has a first look at the view of Columbus Circle and Central Park from the new Time Warner Center,

or encounters the work of a sculptor of light,

or begins to comprehend the beauty of great ship design,

Sam is a damned good teacher for potentially art-jaded folks like me. Put quite simply, he reinforces the value of looking. And great art rewards looking.

He's also a damned good excuse for a once-a-week retiree like myself to indulge in pleasure....



Our most recent Friday adventure took in two stunningly good exhibitions.

The first was a William DeKooning show at the Gagosian. Now, what little I'd seen of this guy left me singularly unimpressed and a bit creeped-out. Lots of pictures of grotesque figures, mostly
women. So that made the luscious paintings on view in this show all the more revelatory.

And then it was off to see the works of Michal Rovner, an Israeli artist who works with stone. These were something. The New York Times called her work "shimmering archeology." Hard to describe. Big pieces of stone, as from an ancient dig, with hieroglyphics on them. Except that when you look closely at them, the hieroglyphics move. You realize that they have video images of tiny moving people projected onto them.

Sam's Uncle John joined him on this outing:


The room Sam is beckoning you into, in this photo, was both dark and mysterious. Sam initially had no interest. But curiousity got the better of him and he went in, and up a long ramp (which he ended up running up and down) to a viewing area overlooking a big dirt pit, with huge stone tablets, Ten Commandments' size, lying open on the ground. And small dancing figures in even lines covering the surface. You gotta see these things...

One of my personal truisms regarding a good art visit is that, afterwards, the world looks different. More interesting somehow. Sam definitely agrees: here is is fascinated with who knows what? I had no idea what had so grabbed his attention. Neither did John. Whatever it was, Sam knew how to deflect questions about his sanity: look cool, and don't mess with me.

Finally, Sam brought John to the Whitney for a final look before the biennial ends. Here they are both examining the layout of an imaginary town carved in marble. Don't ask.

John passes on some wisdom:


Then it was jump in a cab to meet Sonja and head home.

Bye!




..

....


THE JOYS OF SERIOUS PLAY



Mary, Sam's grandma, recently conducted a workshop entitled "Doing & Discovering: The vital role of play, in living, loving and learning." The audience was teachers and administrators from Early Head Start programs (a program for low income children from birth to age three) across New York State. Mary is an infant-toddler specialist, particularly as it relates to children with disabilities, and she often makes conference presentations. Lately she's been using Sam. A lot.

For this workshop she used a series of photos that I, Sam's grandpa, took of Sam watering our plants. The purpose was to demonstrate visually how an infant/toddler learns new skills.

So here's the set up.

Sam wanted to water the plants. Insisted on it. Previously he had always used his child-sized watering container. But recently he learned the concept, and the word, "big." So for the first time he insisted on using Grandma's big watering container. Thereby setting new challenges for himself.

He got the watering container, and first needed to fill it with water. He kept pointing at the sink until I got the message and put it in the sink for him.

This is where our story begins. Sam needed to solve this problem through trial and error.

It was clear that the sink option wasn't going to work.

But there was another option. I obligingly turned on the water for him. His job was to fill the container. A bit difficult.

So he only had one viable option. Messy but effective.

Now that it was filled, he carried it into the hallway. Because he had filled it so high, he was gaining a firsthand understand of the concept of 'heavy'.

"Oh, gee, what happens if I turn it this way? Wow, look at that."

Then the realization dawns: "I've got a problem. No more water in the container."

So back to the source. Still messy, still effective.

Success!

Uh, oh, look a bit closer at where the spout is going.

Missed again.

So he repeats the whole process, and this time really does succeed.

And this photo shows the intensity of his concentration after successfully meeting the challenge. As Mary pointed out to the conference participants: "note that he doesn't look out to the world for acclaim, or congratulations, or otherwise outwordly show happiness in his success. The joy here is intrinsic. He has no desire for external rewards. The joy comes from the process of doing. And discovering."

.....



.......................................England Shoots. Scores!!....................................

Sam spends a good hour or two or three or four every day at Dykeman Playground, across Broadway from his apartment (you can see a glimpse of it from Grandpa's apartment window- check the upper left corner of this photo of Paul waving while cleaning the car). It is at the northeast corner of Fort Tryon Park.

Fort Tryon Park, which includes the Metropolitan Museum's medieval art collection at The Cloisters, lies north of the George Washington Bridge, and is mostly situated along the top of a rocky ridge, with steep and gorgeous views of the Hudson River. It opened in 1935, built mostly with Rockefeller money. Built during the great Depression, this is what the Federal Writer's Project (a Roosevelt-funded program for unemployed writers), said:

"Fort Tryon Park is one of the most beautiful public parks of America -- landscaped with trees, lawns, terraces, rock gardens, paved walks, and many benches, all cleverly ordered in harmonious composition. The precision of its design is explicitly urban. The views from its heights are perhaps the finest Manhattan offers, for they sweep mile after mile of the Hudson and the Palisades, and, to the east, range across the lowlands of Inwood. At the sourthern entrance to the park, near Fort Washington Aveune, a large sloping rock garden forms an approach to the stone ramparts marking the site of old Fort Tryon, built in the summer of 1776 and taken in the fall of the same year by the Hessians. The landscaping was done, appropriately, by Frederick Law Olmsted, son of the proposer of the park plan for Inwood.

The Park's sixty-two acres include the grounds of the former C. K. G. Billings estate. John D. Rockefeller, Jr., bought the property in 1909 for $1,700,000, gave it to the city in 1930, and spent $3,600,000 improving it. The gift was in accordance with an agreement between Mr. Rockefeller and the city whereby the eastern ends of Sixty-fourth and Sixty-eighth Streets were closed and conveyed to Rockefeller Institute."

By the way, Rockefeller was so intent that the views from these cliffs overlooking the Hudson remain spectacular that he bought all the land on the other side of the Hudson, and preserved it.

But hey, what does Sam care? He just knows it's a fun place to play. If you look real closely you can see Sam and Mom at the drinking fountain at the south end of the playground, and Dad a bit off to the right.

Let's move in a little closer. That better?

On this particular day, Sam and Dad came out in full England regalia (including the ball). Sam had a lot of choices. He could strike out on his own with the ball, getting a bit lost in the vastness of that part of the playground, or team up with his parents, or simply watch them go at it without him.

(note: in the background of that last photo, note the green playground equipment. It is on the ground next to this equipment that, a bit more than a year ago, Sam first started to crawl)

It's a good playground, in an amazing park (Sam will be giving youngsamwise fans a tour sometime soon we hope).

Time for one last great peek at Sam and his Dad:




Oh hell, I can't resist one more.

.....


SPRING HAS ARRIVED




And not a day too soon. It's been a long cold winter, but last week the sun began to shine. Which meant the first Central Park picnic of 2004. Sam discovered the thrill of finding and holding pine cones. And once he latches on to something it can be difficult for him to give it up. It becomes a friend. In this case, it encouraged serious contemplation of the world around him. A world that he explores with passion. Once he decided he was hungry it was time to find a picnic spot, and he insisted on selecting it himself, searching for the right spot while dragging his supplies behind him. After much hauling, his hunger got the best of him and he plopped down and started to eat. I think it would be not incorrect to simply say that he began to stuff his face.

After lunch it was time for a repeat visit to the Whitney Biennial. As a fan of contemporary art, Youngsamwise fans know that Grandpa loves to drag Sam along. It never takes much dragging, and I think he enjoys it as much as I. His taste is impeccable. If he likes a work of art he will smile in contemplation. If he doesn't, he either points or says "go now." If we go into a room to view an installation piece, or a video piece, and he doesn't want to stay he says "no, no" and points to the door. But there are many times he will stop me and force me to contemplate a work of art he particularly likes. One (that did not impress me) was an upright thin slab of mirror-like bronze. He liked it so much he grabbed it and pulled, causing the whole thing to start to tip, and some horrified art patrons to gasp. We got out of there quick, before the guards could catch us.

In a large darkened room with a floor to 20 ft. ceiling movie screen, the artist Eve Sussman has done a "twelve-minute-long high-definition video, '89 Seconds at Alcazar', [that] takes on nothing less than Velazquez's Las Meninas. With actors in full costume on a set that reproduces the room in the painting, Sussman imagines the activity bristling with the tensions of the royal household, which seem to affect even the long-suffering pet dog, that might have preceded and followed the split-second arrangement of Velazquez's virtual photograph." So sayeth Peter Schjeldahl, the New Yorker art critic, in his excellent review of the show. Well, Sam goes in, walks right up to the screen and, looking at the princess (whose back is to the camera) says, very loudly: "Mama", then a pause, and "BIGGGGGGG." And when the dog came on the screen he announced "Dog" to all the assembled viewers. He stayed through the entire video, quite happy. I don't know what the other people in the room (it was quite dark of course) thought of Sam's commentary, but I did hear a few laughs.

His favorite installation was a pink shag-carpeted room, done up to look like a teenage girl's bedroom, with the largest stuffed animals we'd ever seen. He particularly liked the different textures, the different kinds of softness, that you can make out in this picture. In the photo Sam is looking at two large video screens showing images of disaffected teenagers. Picture-taking is rather frowned upon in museums, but we had arrived so early that this room was practically empty, the guards were busy trying to find the small boy who was reported to be pulling over art works, and we were able to sneak in a few shots.

And to complete our day, we met Mom at the Central Park Zoo. There Sam was awed by something or other. Perhaps his favorite, was this handsome creature.

All in all, another perfect and happy day.

.....



...................ST. SAM AND THE DRAGON............................



Yikes, has there really been nothing posted since March 23rd? I mean, that party with Ozzie was fun and all, but how long can a hangover last?


Been lots of adventures, lots of great photos and stories, lots of lotsa......

Just gotta buckle down and get them up here.

This weekend for sure.


He says, foolishly.


(but here's two for the road:

This rock is BIIIIGGGGGGG.

This broccoli is GOOOOOOODDDD.)