Did you know July 2016 marks Beatrix Potter’s 150th birthday! We are big fans of her work so it felt only right to celebrate it with a VERY special exclusive personalised (of course!) book.
He would've stayed longer, but the camp books up in the dead of winter, and R. and I weren't going to pony up for more than the minimum stay, before we determined whether our cab-hailing, museum-frequenting kid did well in the wild.
Or the water. (The thing that first caught my eye about this place was the fact that the kids swam twice a day, every day.)
We wanted something out in the country, where he could swim and tramp through the woods—an old timey, totally unplugged camp experience, the kind of place where "indoors" means a covered porch.
He was five, we couldn't very well send him to the woods of Northern New England armed with some stationery, a can of bug spray, and two dozen pairs of underpants with his name scrawled inside the waistbands.
"It's a reverse commute," R. and I assured ourselves. "There are three adults on the bus. He'll be fine."
Making the bus meant leaving the house with a lot of gear, as well as a camp nurse approved lunch, no later than 7:10 a.m.
In a few short days after school ended, the Grape had become accustomed to sleeping until almost nine. I had to drag his sleeping body out of the bunk every morning.
It was a lot like trying to haul a fifty pound suitcase from an overhead bin, while standing on a ladder.
We would run, frantic, through the park and up the street and past the laundromat, exactly like the folks in the Mo Willems picture book Knuffle Bunny, only with a greater degree of urgency, because if we missed the bus, I'd be in for hours of driving, and part of the point of this exercise was to secure a block of time to finish my third novel.
When the dad who caught him mid-fall suggested I hang a counterweight on his front, I decided to nix the sweatshirt and sweatpants.
One of the moms at the bus stop told me that was very good. She explained that her kid wore his wet bathing suit all day, because he didn't want to change clothes. This particular child was signed up for eight weeks. I saw a lot of Desitin in their future.
On the third day, the Grape wore his swimsuit home, having lost three full changes of clothes, who knows where.
My repeated inquiries as to the location of his clothes and other swimsuit were met with an indignant, "It's not a cubby. It's a crate!" As if that was somehow the crux of the matter.
I think that was the same day he earned an award in tennis, and I didn't believe him, because his school P.E. teachers claim he possesses zero hand-eye coordination.
Moments after he convinced me of its probable existence, the Grape discovered the tennis award had gone missing on the afternoon bus.
I had to call the camp and have the person in charge assure the Grape that he would be reunited with his ten-cent pin major achievement award.
I know, I know. They need to learn to deal with disappointment, but maybe not at the same moment I'm about to receive foreign house guests.
While I had the director of the little kids' section on the phone, I asked if the camp might launch a search for the Grape's three sets of lost clothes.
They sent him home on day four bearing two huge plastic bags, full of the belongings of other children in his group (an assortment including a wet towel, a thermos, and a pair of brand new shoes).
The camp issued a shirt to be worn the first day. The Grape wanted to wear it every morning, because he was so thrilled and proud to be going to camp. Who wouldn't be? The place was a slice of kid heaven. He learned to swim (HURRAY!). He made new friends. He went boating. He climbed a rock wall. He even caught a fish.
The Grape with his "lucky" rod and a perch (?). I suspect the campers have been catching and releasing the same fish for years.
So I washed the shirt every night, and promised to sign him up for next year, even though the 7:15 to 4:30 absence every day had started to feel really long (to me—he was fine).
He'll be a year older. By then I'm hopeful he'll remember that the flap belongs on the front of the underwear.
We were either on the beach in Rhode Island, or in the woods behind our house, or at my mother's family's cabin, near Lake Saimaa in Finland.
It was rustic. There was (and still is) an outhouse involved, and a well, where we kept things like milk cold in a bucket at the end of a long rope, because nobody wanted to mess with a gas refrigerator.
We foraged for berries and mushrooms, and out grandfather set traps for lake fish, because that's what good Finns do in the summer.
The road to the cabin featured boulders and compact car sized pits. If we had too many people piled into the car, a 1970 Skoda, it would get stuck.
So my brother and I (and any visiting children past toddling age) were kicked out to navigate the last mile or two on foot.
"Beware of moose! And poisonous vipers!"my grandmother would admonish, as we clomped away in our rubber boots, stamped "Made by Nokia in Finland" on the insides.
My brother and I ran semi-wild, our feet always dirty, and our bodies always smelling faintly of pond water or salt or Noxzema, or some combination thereof. Many days, our swimsuits never dried.
Sure, being a city kid has its perks. He can hail a cab, and he handily navigates the neighborhood at rush hour on his bike. He's been to the symphony and various museums. He frequents playgrounds that would've blown my mind when I was his age, when I was easily impressed by a single swing hung from a tree limb. He can explain how to get from Point A to Point B on the subway, even if it involves changing lines. He sees and hears a diverse range of people every day.
Except it wasn't. These trees were in evenly spaced planting squares, and our feet were on the pavement.
I hit the Internet and signed my city boy up for the campiest day camp I could find within a semi-reasonable driving radius of our home.
I wanted the Grape to swim, and go boating, and tramp through the woods, and hang out outdoors all day, as far from a screen or a classroom as practicable.
We went to an open house. It poured that day. The Grape wailed in the backseat that I was the meanest mother ever, and he could not believe I was doing this to him. "How can you just send me away with strangers in the middle of nowhere? What kind of mother are you?"
R. and I reassured him that we signed him up for the minimum time, two weeks. He could do anything for two weeks. Nine days, really.
The Grape turned his gaze towards the heavens, or at least at the roof of the car, as if wondering how he received such clueless twits for parents.
We pulled into the camp. The Grape saw the beach and the boats and the rock wall and the tidy rows of tents.
A little girl in our group asked the guide, a college age counselor, "Why is that pile of rocks over there?"
Or were we? It was twenty miles away. There was a bus to contend with, and we didn't have the most stellar experience with school buses last fall. There were so many belongings to organize, and the Grape's backpack nearly outweighed him.
I didn't sleep a wink the night before his first day. What if he got bullied on the bus? Was he too little? Were we crazy to ship him so far away? What if he lost his lunch? What if he didn't make any friends?
"Yes. They would be out of business if they drowned people's kids. Now go the f--- to sleep. You need to get up and make the nut-free lunch in two hours."
You guys know I don't do many interviews. In the nearly two years the show has been on, this is by far my favorite guest. Dave has a unique perspective on life and politics. He's a guy who's trying to do the right thing for the right reasons. Regardless of your opinion of his positions, I think you're going to find a man with a desire to throw off the worst parts of our society and focus on what brings us together rather than what tears us apart.
Today, Jeff Edwards shares how he manages a team of mismatched aircrafts and pilots into great looking formation flybys.
Y ou can get a good view of how these pilots have to fly in the image above (by the way, there’s Lynn O’Donnell in “Tootsie”). Below you can see that low wing with its flaps down trying not to overshoot the team.
These images are really fascinating to look at trying to see all of the different planes and different sizes that fly in these formations.
It’s late in the afternoon and you have a few friends over to enjoy a hot cup of tea and some juicy gossip. Everyone sits around the small table in your drawing room and you pour each guest a piping hot cup of the aromatic drink. In between sentences, you each savor small sips of your beverages, enjoying every aspect: the flavor, the warmth, the gently wafting steam filled with tempting aromas. Every so often someone reaches out to grab one of the small sandwiches or delicate cakes that sit on the table. The conversation drifts from Mr. Havisham’s new haircut to Mrs. Gentry’s new job to the exciting news about Mrs. Cutter’s eldest who has recently gotten engaged. Everyone is having a good time and the sweet sounds of friendly laughter echo through the house.
You finish your first cup and reach for the teapot to pour a second, only to find that it has gone cold.
This same thing would have happened to Anna Russell when she became the duchess of Bedford in 1839. Dinner wasn’t typically served until 8 o’clock so the duchess started taking a light afternoon meal consisting of a pot of tea, and cakes, sandwiches, or scones with cream and jam. Once she began inviting her friends, afternoon tea quickly became popular. For more on Anna Russell and the history of afternoon tea, see our blog post about her here.
Anna discovered that the joys of friendly conversation can make the time slip away and, before she knew it, her pots of tea were cold. While iced tea is a tasty treat in the hot summer months, it is best enjoyed while sitting on the porch after a long day’s work. Afternoon tea is all about warmth so cold tea will not do.
It’s not clear who invented it, but it wasn’t long after the Duchess of Bedford popularized taking tea in the afternoon that tea cozies started appearing. 1867 brought the first documented use of the tea cozy in Britain. A tea cozy is, quite simply, a cloth cover for a teapot that helps insulate it and keep its contents warm. Often handmade, these serve both a practical purpose and a stylish one. The Victorian penchant for embellishing every item they could meant that many tea cozies were elaborately embroidered and the patterning was as much a selling point as their usefulness. The practice of afternoon tea spread to North America rapidly and it brought the tea cozy with it.
Our wide selection of tea cozies are all made in the USA, usually in a poly-cotton blend, and insulated to help keep your pot hot. The tea cozies are available in three sizes: a Traditional that fits 4-8 cup sized teapots, a Hug-A-Pot style for 6-8 cup teapots and a Mini style for the 2-4 cup sized teapots. We offer many patterns so you’re sure to find one to match your decor. The next time you’re sitting around a plate of cakes and sandwiches with your friends, be confident that your second cup of tea won’t be a cold one and your pot looks as stylish as it possibly can.
The conviviality of sharing a pot of tea does much to strengthen friendship, done either in the British style or one of the Asian traditions.
What a lovely article. I love my afternoon tea with my friends…but alas with everyone working, it becomes more difficult. Thanks for the warm , sweet reminder.