The River

You are reading the final post I will ever post on AikenAction.blogspot.com.

Have no fear however! This blog will stay active for historical (hysterical?) reasons. And AikenAction isn't going away; we're just relocating. You can find all future Aiken action updates, musings, and breaking news at my website MarkAiken.com. AikenAction the blog will live there.

I suppose it's no coincidence that this change is happening now. (Or is it just a big coincidence? You'll have to be the judge...) My freelancing career started in 1997 in Flagstaff, Arizona. It's not a happy story actually: I bought a plane ticket to return for a second winter of ski instructing in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Bavaria one day in October. I tore my ACL playing hockey that night.

I ended up not skiing in the Bavarian Alps that winter (or anywhere else -- unless you count teaching 4-year-olds on the bunny slope on Arizona Snowbowl's Hart Prairie, which I did against the explicit instructions of my surgeon). I did end up having an ACL reconstruction, and working 4 or 5 odd jobs that didn't require me to be fully mobile. The jobs included sales clerk at McGaugh's Newsstand (loved that place -- now defunct), picking up lab tests at local veterinary hospitals (sketchy... probably the topic of a future post), various tasks at the ski area, running river shuttles... and writing an article per week for the weekly entertainment insert for the Arizona Daily Sun.

Why is this coincidental? Well, I just returned from central Oregon. And in central Oregon, I reunited with many of my best buddies from the decade I spent in Flagstaff. A few of them still live in Flag, but others are in Colorado, New Mexico, Oregon, and Idaho. We all converged on Bend, Oregon for a wedding, and then we floated the John Day River -- the last undammed river in Oregon.

So coincidental that I am updating my writer's blog just after being surrounded with the same people who surrounded me when I first launched my professional writing career in the first place.

Thanks for reading this blog... and I'll see you for more AikenAction over at Mark.com!

A Good Trail Is Hard To Find

Not really, if you live in Richmond, Vermont. But we also know that good trails don't just appear; they have to be built, maintained, and protected.

Last weekend a small but capable trail crew of volunteers went out and made the above improvements to some of the Richmond Mountain Trails. The trails are still closed due to wet and muddy conditions (and last night's Biblical rain didn't exactly help with this), but should open soon.

We dug some ditches and put in some stone walkways and bridges on some particularly muddy sections. Should make a difference! I can't wait to run these babies as summer approaches... and as soon as I make my next big purchase (can you say mountain bike) start riding again. I look forward to varying my exercise diet. I'll still run, but I think my ankles, heels, knees, and hips will appreciate the occasional trail ride mixed in with the running. Regardless of the mode of travel, I appreciate our local trails.

Growin' Up

It's a classic Springsteen song from his very first album... and it's also what all the kids in the Aiken household keep doing. When we dismantled the crib in lieu of a toddler bed, Alison said it felt like our little girl was headed off for college. We are well aware that childhood is fleeting and before we know it she will be all grown up. For now, we will just treasure every moment with our two-year-old...

... and we'll give this crib -- a "Childcraft" drop-side to whoever needs it. Although we didn't use it, it also transitions to a toddler bed (all instructions and hardware included). It also has a drawer underneath (many of the things we just emptied we hadn't seen since the month before Gunnar was born... including the aforementioned hardware and instructions!).

A disclaimer: I did feel that assembling a nuclear reactor would have been easier than this crib, but you are more handy than I am, and I'm sure you'll have no problem.

Best Grandmother of All-Time

Adeline, Amelia, Caroline, & Jenny

Caroline Gierko Aiken of Springfield passed away on Monday, August 7. Although she suffered from dementia the last few years of her life, she will rather be remembered for her boundless energy, the twinkle in her eyes, upbeat enthusiasm, unyielding determination, limitless generosity, above perfect attendance at St. Mary’s on Pleasant Street, unfailing honesty, hysterical laughter to the point of tears (particularly in the company of her three sisters), and unending kindness. She called herself “simple,” but for her family and all who knew her, Caroline was a model of selflessness, integrity,                                                                                                   and grace.

Born November 12, 1920, Caroline lived her entire life on Valley Street in Springfield. She hosted family gatherings every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter (usually a minimum of 30 people) until she was 85. Asked why she hosted these events for over half a century, she said, “I want the cousins to know one another.” Asked why she stopped hosting at 85, she said, “I guess I’ll let someone else do it for awhile.”

Caroline is survived by three children, David Aiken and wife Edie, Howard Aiken and wife Jill, and Judy Robinson and husband Dave. She worked at Springfield Local Telephone Company for 20 years. She is survived by seven grandchildren, all of whom graduated from universities aided in part by once-a-week hand-written letters from their grandmother. Asked why she wrote these letters so regularly for so many years, she explained that she had left home for a year to learn bookkeeping and secretarial skills at Bay Path College when she was 18 and that nobody had written. She continued to take notes in shorthand very nearly until her death. She is also survived by seven great-grandchildren.

Caroline is survived by an immense extended family and many friends. There is not a relative or friend without a story of how Caroline somehow helped them, showed some sort of kindness at a time of need, or influenced their lives in a positive way. Nieces and nephews will tell how she encouraged them to follow their interests and dreams. Relatives will recall heaping portions of food on visits (“No” was not an option) and a relentless loyalty to family. Friends and neighbors will remember her charity and giving; Caroline was a regular volunteer at polling stations in Springfield on voting day and, post-retirement, was a regular visitor at Springfield Hospital to patients – particularly the elderly – who had no visitors.

She was a fiery competitor – as friends (and opponents) at the cribbage table at the Springfield Senior Center – will attest. She never let anyone win (not even a grandchild), but somehow losing to her didn’t hurt as much. She was a devout Catholic who never missed a church service and who prayed for everyone she knew every night.

Caroline was pre-deceased by beloved husband Howard George “Bunny” Aiken, veteran of WWII, who died in a plane crash in 1959. Caroline carried her pilot’s license and loved to tell stories of flying. She never remarried; why would she when she had already found her one and only? Asked how she approached life after Bunny, she said, “Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.”

She was pre-deceased by her parents, Frank and Helen Gierko, who emigrated from Poland, sisters Adeline Benson (and husband Raymond), Jenny Kane (and husband Jimmy), and Amelia Obuchowski (and husband John).

Caroline Aiken was humble, gentle, and unassuming. Although she lived alone for much of her life, many of her siblings and relatives made a tradition of coming to her house to visit every Sunday; she was surrounded by a loving family that looked up to and admired her strength, fortitude, and downright dogged determination. She impacted the lives of many, and she will be remembered.

Special thanks to the group of in-home caregivers headed by Barbara Kolodziej for their kindness and attention over the last several years.

There will be a memorial service and mass at St. Mary’s on Wednesday, August 16 at 11AM. A reception will follow. 

In lieu of flowers please make donations to Springfield Adult Day Program, 266 River Street, Springfield, Vermont 05156. www.Springfieldhospital.org/adult-day-program

Does the Job

This rototiller came from someplace -- I think from my dad. I have never done much to keep it going, but every year it seems to fire up.

Except that I don't need it anymore. I hope it finds a good home.

Disclaimer: The tiller was stored on top of this piece of cardboard...

End of an Era

This high chair has sat unused in a corner of our dining room (that is, the half of the kitchen that we refer to as "the dining room") for the last two months. Our almost-two-year-old refuses to sit in it.

With no younger sibling to whom to pass it along, the "Era of the High Chair" ends for this family.

With the end of that era, so also ends the time of the kid-staying-put-in-one-place-for-the-duration-of-an-entire-meal. These days, she'll start in a small chair at a low height kids' table. From there, she'll meander to a step-stool we have set up at the grownups' table. She'll tire of that spot and eventually climb up a bar stool (for her, this entails several 5.9 climbing moves) before ultimately landing in someone's lap for the remainder. During this process, plenty of food gets smeared, thrown, and generally discarded throughout the eating area.

So ends the time of strapping the kid to the high chair. The chair has seen lots of action -- two older cousins used it before passing it along for use by both of our kids -- but it has lots of life left. I wish it all the best; it certainly served us well.

Crock

After 40 consecutive hours behind the wheel, I found myself on the phone with my Aunt Judy. "I'm in New York," I told her. "I'll probably go straight home and skip visiting Grammy till sometime next week."

"You can't do that!" she shrieked. She went on that I had mentioned some time ago that I might stop in on my way moving home from Arizona to Vermont. "She's expecting you!"

A stop at my grandmother's would add about five hours. I had driven nonstop in a Volkswagen Fox (that eventually died one mile from my dad's at the end of the journey and never ran again) that was so packed with my belongings that I only had one butt cheek on the driver's seat. With my aunt's guilt-trip ringing in my ears, I stopped at Grammy's.

She fed me, and we visited. I did keep it brief since I hadn't slept in two days. I only misspoke once: I mentioned that I fit all my belongings in my car except my mini-Crock Pot which I bequeathed to my old housemate. I just couldn't fit it in my car. And my then-75-year-old grandmother sprang into action. She hurried into her garage and leaned a ladder against the loft. Despite my protests, she climbed the ladder and, out of my sight, started moving stuff. Heavy stuff, from the sounds of it.

She finally found what she was looking for: the Crock Pot pictured above. I could have this one, she said.

She didn't understand; the reason I had left mine out west was because there was literally not a square inch of space inside the car for it. I couldn't fit a Crock Pot in my car. She insisted that I take hers. She said she never used it anymore because it was too big for just one person (the argument that I too was unattached at the time carried no weight), and she wouldn't take no for an answer. I finally tied it to my (already full) roof rack with a bungy cord. It clanged every inch of the final 150 miles home.

I have lived in Vermont for the last 17 years. I still have my grandmother's Crock Pot. Tonight we had a hearty vegetable stew. We have made countless chilis and soups. We love this cooking tool. Thank you Grammy... your Crock Pot has been put to very good use.