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.

Found: Long Lost Friend

In 1976 my dad and Uncle John drove us down to Burlington's Battery Park where we picked up our one and only Fresh Air kid. The Fresh Air Fund is a nonprofit that places inner city kids (ours came from Queens) with families in rural settings for a couple of weeks in the summer.

Chad spent 15 summers with us. He was a great friend. When my mom passed away, however, we lost touch with Chad. He never came up again. I always hoped that he was well and wished he knew that we never meant it to end that way.

Twenty-nine years later, he found us on Facebook. I just got off the phone with him. He lives in rural Wisconsin and sounds happy. He was worried maybe we wouldn't remember him.

I never stopped thinking about you Chad. So glad that we're back in touch. Can't wait to catch some fish with you sometime in the future!

Three-Year-Old Violin Lesson?

Violin lessons for a three-year-old? You've got to be kidding me. That, at least, is what I told Gunnar's violin teacher, who is set to start teaching him in two weeks. She describes a lesson with a three-year-old as "busy." And, she says, "we are a teacher, parent, student triangle." Which means I attend all lessons and supposedly learn alongside him.

At which point, I recalled my one and only experience with a violin -- an experience I did not share with her, but I'm about to share with you:

I have always been intrigued with the instrument, so I visited the violin shop off of Church Street several years ago. I taught myself how to play guitar with a beginner book and a cheap guitar; how hard could violin be? I explained this to the violin shop people, and they agreed; and they said I could rent a violin for 30 days to "try it on." Interesting!

I asked if I could see the instrument, and they handed me one of the rentals. I opened a "Violin 1" book, which I'm sorry to say didn't really make much sense. Still, here I was: in a violin shop holding a violin and a bow. Now or never, right? I positioned the instrument on my shoulder and held the bow in place. I placed fingers on strings and paused, holding the bow inches about the strings ready to slide.

There were probably six other people in the shop (employees included) that were exposed to the... the sound... ("screech" would probably better describe it) that came off that instrument at the moment when bow hit string. There was no second try: I put the beginner book down and returned the instrument to the counter without making eye contact or communicating in any way. I immediately left the shop.

Hopefully Gunnar's first violin experience is better!

Mother's Day Activities

As someone who lost his mother at age sixteen, you'll understand that it's been many years since I participated too enthusiastically in Mother's Day festivities. This changed three years ago; Gunnar was born, and when the second Sunday in May came around, I suddenly had a holiday on my hands requiring observance!

I asked Alison what she wanted to do on "her" day. Her answer: she wanted breakfast, she wanted to do a long run, and she wanted to bring Gunnar down to my mom's grave site to plant flowers. This has become a sort of family tradition (I hope the kids don't mind as they get older -- don't worry, I'm not making them stand while I read prayerbooks or any weird grave site stuff). This year, the kids' role was minimal; it was a rainy Mother's Day, and they were sound asleep in the car anyway. Ali did bring the sleeping Ingrid over for about 30 seconds (at 10-months-old, it was her first visit); Gunnar remained snoring in his seat.

Exactly who did what (or who was even awake) wasn't really the important thing to me. To have my wife and kids at the site where my mother is buried on the date on the calendar that celebrates maternity and motherhood was a special experience. Mothers -- even ones that only make it to the age of forty -- are important people who deserve to be celebrated.

Photo: My mother and me (who is sporting a hairstyle similar to Ingrid's current 'do).

Draft Almost Upon Us

With the regular season fast approaching, Team Aiken is looking forward to the upcoming draft. The team feels very strongly about the positive performance from their latest draft pick, the two-year-old Gunnar. The rookie has endless upside and proved that he had the chemistry to fit in with the current team.

So with one more cog left to complete the team, plenty of excitement and questions surround the upcoming draft. What will the gender be? And the name? Even the date of the draft is up in the air. Gunnar came on the last possible day, having avoided an induction by mere hours. The due date for this next team member is June 28, but sources close to the team indicate that the actual date could be plus or minus two weeks.

One thing is certain: a fourth team member will soon join the team. And if the group's draft history shows anything, the new prospect will most likely show lots of promise.

Vermont City By The Numbers

Here are some of the numbers surrounding my training for next month's Vermont City Marathon:

Personal current marathon count: 19

Consecutive VCMs leading up to 2015: 10

Training mileage last week: 29

Number of miles last week running with at least one dog: 29

Number of miles in preparation for 2015 VCM: Not enough

Number of snow days during 2014-15 marathon prep season that I skied instead of ran: all of them

Last year's VCM time: 3 hours 12 minutes

2013 VCM time: 3 hours 12 minutes

2012 VCM time: 3 hours 11 minutes

Projected 2015 VCM time: much slower than that

Exactly how much I regret all the decisions to ski this winter instead of run: not at all

So that's the situation leading up to this year's Vermont City. See you on the course!

Adding Vocabulary

As Gunnar closes in on the two-year mark (he turns two next March), he has passed a key developmental mile-mark. That's right, he has begun to speak. Here are a few of his words, their meanings, and how they are used in day-to-day speech.

"Uh-oh." This phrase is used immediately prior to throwing something to the ground. Note: the more the item can splat or splatter, the better. Example: "Uh-oh!" [throws open cup of milk from high chair to floor].

"Apple." This word applies to anything edible. Except apples. While he'll eat apple sauce like a champ, he doesn't usually prefer to put apples in his mouth -- unless they are covered with peanut butter, in which case he will lick off the peanut butter and then throw apple slice to ground (see "uh-oh). Example: [Sees my plate of curry potatoes, vegetables, and beet salad]. "Apple!"

"Deet-doe." This phrase means "here I go" or "here we go." Usually used in a command form i.e. "Here I go and you are coming with me." Example: [Sees that I have sat down after a particularly strenuous activity]. "Deet-doe!"

Meanwhile, Gunnar continues to use another language for a high percentage of his conversation. As he learns more English, I will be sure to ask him before he forgets about what he was saying in that other foreign language. Some of it sounded pretty important.

Trip Report: Austria 2014

It was the trip of a lifetime. Okay, let's back up a second. On paper, there was plenty that could go wrong, right? A European vacation with an 18-month-old and the in-laws? Get real -- what was I thinking!

Moving back to real time, as I mentioned, the trip of a lifetime. The five travelers in our group were completely compatible, due to shared interests and a total can-do attitude. It would have been tough not to have fun. Ali and I -- despite limited practice (okay, who am I kidding... I did not practice at all) -- had a great time communicating in German. In fact, my understanding of the language was the best of all five times I have visited this area of the world. I can't wait to go back.

We biked, hiked, ate amazingly good food, sampled the local beers and wines (and plenty of them), and did a few tourist things. There were three legs of the trip -- Obertraun (a tiny little Austrian mountain village), Ruhpolding (the hometown of old friends the Pichler family), and Salzburg (tourist central -- and we were right there with 'em).

Leg One (6 days): Obertraun. Stayed at Haus Hepi. The longest leg, we were surrounded by amazing mountains, we did three great bike rides, we ate exquisite food prepared by Larry, co-owner of Haus Hepi, and we had just a fabulous time. Here, Gunnar established that he was going to travel like a champ. We also jumped in the Kaiserlauf -- Bad Ischl's local half-marathon.

Leg Two (2 days): Ruhpolding. Pam Pichler hooked us up with the Heigermoser family who have a couple of vacation apartments (and who make the best cakes in Ruhpolding) and took us on a breathtaking hike through alpine meadows to a Gipfelkreuz on a knife-edge ridge that came out of nowhere. Thank you Pam for the locals' knowledge! We also took Gunnar to the local pool -- which had the most amazing kiddie pool setup I have ever seen (Ali and I also took turns hitting the water slide).

Leg Three (2 days): Salzburg. Ali and I had both been here before but mostly passing through. My memories of prior visits: (slightly fuzzy) large beers, bad food, no flow. This visit was different on all counts. It turns out one can order a half-liter beer at the Augustiner beer garden (not sure if this option was available last visit or if I only saw the full-liter option). Meanwhile, we had incredible food both days, and we had a great time wandering the city.

I love visiting a place and speaking the language. I love how beautiful Austria and Bavaria are. I love Austrian and Bavarian beer, wine, and food. Most of all, I loved traveling there with our team -- Ali, Gunnar, Doug, and Ruth.

Two take-aways from this trip. It is possible to travel with an 18-month-old... and have a good time.

Second, let me know if you hear of any ski instructing jobs in the Obertraun/Dachstein area. I'd take it in a second.

Raising Parenting Concerns

Books are not buckets. That is, authors aren't dumping their points of view into bins (in this analogy, readers are the bins). Rather, the act of reading is exactly that -- an act. Not passive. As one reads, one reacts and internalizes the text (or not) depending on one's background, interests, and personality. Who a reader is will certainly correlate to the effect a book has.

I am currently reading Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. It's about many things: generation X, relationships, personal responsibility and accountability. Oh, and it's about parenting. As in, more specifically, the book contains examples of really bad parenting -- like, parents would probably be well-advised not to do some of the things highlighted in this book.

But the more I read, the more concerned I become. Because I strongly identify with the main character. That is, the bad parent. (Did I mention, by the way, that -- as a parent -- he really does a lot of things poorly?) So you see why I'm concerned, right? As a parent who identifies with the bad parent character (I'd even say "likes and admires certain things about said character")... does that not, by the transitive theory, then make me a bad parent?

As I often do in dire situations, I turned to my wife Alison, who yet again served as the voice of reason. "You're not a bad parent," she said. "It just means Eggers is a good writer."

I hope she's right.

The End of an Era

Tonight marks the end of an era. Richmond's On the Rise Bakery held its final Open Microphone. Nine acts performed at tonight's event, including the ninth and final musician -- Mark Aiken. Appropriately, his final song -- the first song he ever performed at an OTR open mike -- was the classic cover from the band the Zambonis... "Zamboni Song." There were more than a few tears among members of the audience as he performed his rendition making only a few mistakes.

Many thanks to On the Rise for holding Open Mike all these years -- and to Derek Burkins for hosting in recent years. Some incredible musicians came out of the woodwork to OTR's open mikes.  It's been a great run... and I will really miss it.

Another Relative Cut From Patriots

 

Number 48 Danny Aiken became the third Aiken to be released from the New England Patriots in the past few seasons. Aiken joins wide receivers Kamar Aiken and Sam Aiken as Aikens who played for New England and then were released.

The latest Aiken served as long snapper for the past three seasons for New England -- a respectable stint. A long snapper does touch the football; he comes out every time the Pats punt or kick a field goal or extra point, hikes the ball to the holder, and then gets pounded by a 300-plus-pound opponent. Aiken performed admirably -- except in the AFC championship game last season when he hiked the ball over the punter's head.

It is unclear whether there are any future family members in the Patriot pipeline. "It's clearly an exceptional family," said Patriots head coach Bill Belichick. "We'll keep trying."

Added Thursday, Sept 4

Late-Breaking News... Long-snapper Aiken has re-signed with the Patriots! After a brief workout with the Denver Broncos (we know he wasn't serious about playing for them), he's back on the team. Never count out those Aikens!

Blight Strikes Again

 

Vermont farmers and gardeners are looking both ways, glancing at the sky, and knocking on wood. "It has been a perfect weather year so far," they are saying. Not to rainy, not too hot -- it has been an ideal growing season.

My tomatoes were certainly thriving in the perfect Summer of '14 conditions; just two weeks ago I had hundreds of fruits of all sizes and colors hanging on the vines. I should qualify my this year's garden by disclosing that I bought all my plants at the Burlington Farmers' Market this year (none from seed) -- and every variety I purchased was specifically "Blight Resistant." Followers of this blog know I have a history of blight issues.

Well, the masked marauder moves quickly. Today, my tomato plants are dead. The fruits are rotting on the ground. The blight spores are probably -- as we speak -- seeping into the soil, ready to lie in wait for next year's victims. I hate this silent killer!

I harvested tons of tomatoes before they were ready as soon as I saw my plants beginning to wither, and they are trying to color on my window sills. But a tomato that has been touched by the blight doesn't last as long as a healthy one.

But I am not done fighting. I intend to bag up all the dead plants and rotten fruit and bring them to the dump. Then -- mark my words -- I will not plant tomatoes in my garden next year. That's right: tomatoes in baskets and pots up here by the house where I can keep a close watch. You nasty blight: I will not go down without a fight! (Queue theme from Rocky I.) There WILL be a rematch... and we will come back bigger, stronger, and more determined than ever! Take that!

Transitions

The word transition is a verb.

At least it is in my life. Every year, when the shoulder seasons of spring and/or fall arrive, I take the T-word, turn it into its active form, and shift gears. My spring and fall transitions (a noun in this case) surround my dual career paths: freelance writer and ski school supervisor at major resort.

[An aside: doubters might refer to these paths as "starving artist" or "ski bum." No comment.]

Anyway, I am transitioning from being up on the mountain five-plus days a week to being home all seven. It's a time period where I try to organize my winter gear, re-introduce myself to my wife (she keeps asking who was the guy who left before daybreak and came back after nightfall all winter), and write articles. Lots of articles.

And play with 1-year-old Gunnar. Who is working on his transitions too. Like transitioning from lunchtime to playtime. Or from playtime to nap time. These transitions are not easy when you are one -- not easy at all. Sometimes, apparently, you have to cry when you transition. And it doesn't help when many of your transitions come when you need something to function -- like food or rest. Or when [warning for those squeamish in the presence of baby-talk] you're sitting in a load. You might cry too. I am, however, happy to report that Gunnar's transitions are becoming smoother each day.

Is it because he watched my Spring 2014 transition and learned? I'm not sure about that, as I still have two pairs of skis leaning in the corner of the living room, random Stowe apparel and equipment strewn about my car and home, and four deadlines looming. But I'm working on it. And no doubt Gunnar is observing.

Happy Spring and may your transitions be just as smooth as ours (or more so).

Back on the Bloggin' Train

Here's what happens when a blogger becomes a parent: you don't blog for awhile, Google takes over Blogspot.com, and when you go back to post an entry, you can't log in to your own blog.

That has been my situation for several months now, but I have finally cracked the code, and I'm back in!

However, I can't stay long. Gunnar is awake, it's dumping snow out, the dogs are ready, and the whole gang is going skiing. I'm going to test out the ski-trailer on the Cat Trail. Can't wait to make a report… if I can remember how to log back in! Talk soon!