Pu Pu Platter

The Boy has a limited palate which significantly derails our ability to eat at places where the options go beyond cheeseburgers or pizza. So tonight, we decided to go out for Chinese.

The Boy immediately balked, sulked,  and cried a few crocodile tears.

He wanted a corn dog for dinner.

I went to the website of the closest (not so close) Chinese restaurant and started going through the appetizers, when I saw the solution there in print and said excitedly, “We should get a Pu Pu Platter!”

The Boy burst into hysterical laughter. I thought he was going to pee his pants. Because I said “Pu Pu” and he’s eleven.

We made him order it. He had to say the words “Pu Pu Platter” out loud to the waiter.

This may add a few years to therapy. I can’t be sure.

I had a Scorpion Bowl. It was delish.

And now I need to go pass out.

G’night Everybody!

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Nice day for a boat ride

Castle on a bluff

As an only child, what the Boy lacks in siblings, he’s gained in the myriad opportunities we provide to do the stuff he likes, that a sibling might otherwise dispute. These are events and excursions which we usually drag ourselves to semi-willingly.

He’s spoiled, really. Spoiled rotten.

Goodspeed Opera House

Saturday was an exception. We went willingly (for a change) to opening day at Essex Steam Train & Riverboat. We rode the train and then the riverboat and then the train again, because you need to ride the train back to the station after you get off the boat otherwise it’s a really long walk back, and they serve cocktails on the boat, so after you drink one, you really don’t want to have to stumble walk back to the station because it’s far. Did I mention it’s far? It’s far.

The Boy brought a friend because riding trains and boats with your parents when you’re eleven is nearly as embarrassing as it gets. Maybe slightly less embarrassing than it will be in the next year. Or five.

Only slightly.

Camera shy

It was a lovely day for a train ride. Even lovelier for a riverboat ride on a riverboat with a snack bar serving cocktails. There was an abundance of blue sky, warm sun, and river breezes all punctuated by an occassional view.

Indigenous kayakers

We saw eagles and osprey. Kayakers and a ferry. A castle and a bridge and a large Victorian opera house that doesn’t present operas. The opera house was next to an airport. Maybe someday a disaster movie will be set in an opera house next to an airport and it will be presented in Sensaround  so that viewers get the full effect of the carnage when a plane lands on the opera house. (Yes, I’m dating myself again – remember Sensaround?)  There were no disasters on our trip, I’m happy to report. The biggest tragedy was that the Boy and his friend could not agree on which coach to ride in on the way back to the train station. I made the decision for them. It wasn’t my best moment.

Bald eagle (he's there... it's a point-n-shoot camera - it has its limits)

We ended our day at the movie theatre where we finally caught “The Avengers”. I really (really) enjoyed it and highly recommend it. Well written, plenty of humor, lots of action. The Boy was on the edge of his seat more than once. I just bit my nails. It’s what I do. Until I catch myself in the act. And although I’m sure Stan Lee is well deserving of his cameos, he can stop now. Please stop, Stan. It’s not really amusing anymore. Just kind of annoying and sad.

Gillette Castle - built by a train-loving actor who was known for playing Sherlock Holmes; a superhero of his day

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A day in 1830

I always thought I was made of the same stuff as the pioneers. I was sure I would understand and appreciate the excitement of traveling through hostile wilderness in a covered wagon in an effort to settle and farm in the wide open spaces of the prairie . Yes, I grew up reading and loving the Little House books.

The sawmill

Last week I had the distinction of being chosen as one of the chaperones on the Fifth Grade field trip to Old Sturbridge Village. (Of course, in hindsight, I noticed that many of the parents chosen, including myself, were parents of highly… uh… “energetic” children. You know the ones. They’re the kids who would most benefit – themselves and the group - by having a parent on hand.) Having the wisdom of age and experience, I chose to drive. As experience might indicate, it was a wise decision. Despite the fact that the buses were coach buses with reclining seats. No cocktail service. But if I’d thought it through a little better, all I would have needed was an airline bottle of rum, and a soda from the vending machine before boarding the bus for home.

A lesson in loading a musket

Because I would have earned that cocktail.

Running water

I did earn that cocktail.

A lesson in anatomy

I did not imagine that, somehow, I’d find myself cleaning up after a child who’d eaten too much sugar, right after lunch, which her body then violently rejected.

Prelude to an upset stomach

Lemme just say here, that if you’re ever at Old Sturbridge Village and you have a child who gets sick, you’re on your own. The staff will hand you a haz-mat bag and wish you well.

Wasn’t even my kid.

Just sayin’.

Can we have a collective "awwww"

Sure, Old Sturbridge Village is not hostile territory. Nor is it wide open prairie. And granted, I’ve cleaned up my share of vomit in my 50+ years. It’s just that, nowhere on the information sheet about the trip, was there mention of cleaning up after sick children who spent all of their gift shop money on candy.

The playground for children "7 and under" was the most popular exhibit

The gift shops there are evil. They have way too many candy options. And unparented children, with cash burning holes in their pockets, have no restraint when it comes to flavored sugar in a tube. And Pop Rocks. And rock candy. Etc, etc, and so on.

There's nothing better than climbing on plastic cow. Unless it's riding a plastic sheep.

My recommendation is, if you’re within a few hours’ drive, and you’re interested in a semi-living history museum and an understanding of what life in New England was like nearly 200 years ago, then by all means go.  Just avoid the gift shops.

And wear comfortable shoes.

A lesson in smithing

Seriously. You’ll thank me.

I learned something too

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Legacy

There’s this book I bought years ago. The copywrite is 1997 and “Legacy” is, in fact, it’s title. When I bought the book, I also bought a copy for my mother. I gave it to her along with a blank book and told her to write. “Legacy” guides you through writing your own story or personal history, or whatever it is you have to write down in order to shut people up and stop the questions.

I pulled out my own copy a while ago, got a blank book and told myself to write. I’m bossy when it comes to getting other people’s stories. But I can’t seem to write my own story. I generally tend to think it’s rather boring. Maybe because I lived it and here I am… bored and uninspired. Occassionally, I remember stuff that was fun or funny. But I worry that the funny story may not translate well on paper.

And then there’s the fact that I’m a completely different person now than I was back in the day. For one thing, I’m older, which would suggest that I’m also wiser, but one doesn’t necessarily follow the other. I’m also blonder. Again, … nevermind. (I’m, er,  naturally blonder. Let’s leave it at that.) I’m fatter; because I’m older. Again, lets not delve into the how’s and why’s. It is what it is, and it has something to do with an appreciation of chocolate. Ice cream. Cheese. Mashed potatoes. Tortilla chips. Pregnancy and middle age also contributed to being fat(ter). (I love the “pregnancy” excuse. And, NO. I’m not pregnant. I’m talking about being pregnant with the Boy.) And finally, possibly, eventually, menopause, which could also contribute to a descent into madness of a sort. Madness requires chocolate. It’s the circle of life.

Shall I continue?

So I’m going to randomly open the book and write from one of the prompts there. Good luck, Dear Reader (I’m having a Jane Austen moment). I want to apologize now, just in case you never come back to my blog.

Thank you. I’m truly sorry.

Hmmm, on second thought, nobody wants to hear about my adolescence out of context. And I’m not in the correct state of mind (drugged) to relive it. I will save the gory details for another post when I’m desperate for content and am in a sufficiently altered state to find the humor. Or not care.

Here’s a sneak preview of the horrors to come.

Marcia Brady had nothing on me

p.s. How’s that Gary? Too much information?

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Steam weekend followed by a Spring cold

You know it’s been a good weekend when Monday rolls around and the Boy is sick and must stay home from school. So I guess this past weekend was a good one. A really good one.

The grouds at CAMA in bucolic Kent, CT

It should be because with today’s sick day, it’s turned into a four-day weekend for him. Granted, Friday was an early dismissal day, so the weekend would have been a half day longer anyway, but still…

No lack of elbow grease

Instead of sending the Boy to school as we ought to have done on Friday, we left home around 7:00am and pointed our car toward Kent, CT. It’s beautiful up there, but can get fairly congested with city-folk looking for antiques and designer chocolate on the weekends. Our destination in Kent was a little less artsy-fartsy and much more Industrial Revolution. Saturday was the day of the Spring Power-Up at CAMA. We went up Friday because Hawaii #5 needed a preheat and a polishing. This also gave the Boy a chance to commune with his peeps (of which his parents are not), get significantly dirty, and continue to live out his fantasies of being a steam locomotive engineer.

The engine's being towed out of the engine house, but a boy can dream, and somebody's got to ring the bell.

Lucky for us we brought folding chairs and plenty of reading material.

Hawaii #5 getting a spit shine

Don’t get me wrong, there’s lots to see and explore at CAMA; it’s just that we’ve pretty much seen and explored all of it. We’ve been going there since the days before the Boy entered our lives.

It really doesn't get much better than this boy-sized Case steam-powered tractor

Kent is in the foothills of the Berkshires and CAMA’s property borders the Housatonic River. On the opposite side of the river the hills rise up and become the view. Their Spring Power-up is a fairly new event, but their three-day Fall event has been going on for a long time. It’s a gorgeous place to spend a day outside in late September. It wasn’t bad this past weekend either.

CAMA is pretty much all things powered by steam. Their collection runs the gamut from enormous stationary steam engines that powered factories, to steam powered tractors, a steam-powered motorcycle, to table-top steam engines. And a locomotive or two (but only one works). The property also has a museum of mining which features a small mining rail with ore cars. There is also a forge and a blacksmith on duty during the shows.

Not everything is powered by steam

In recent years they added a steam powered saw mill. I didn’t take any pictures of the saw mill. I was busy taking pictures of the Boy and of things that no longer work but are highly decorative.

Such as this:

And this:

We had the added benefit of a hotel-with-pool stay since the drive was too far to want to do two days in a row (I think I got all the to/too/two’s in that sentence – now I need one with there/their/they’re).

And then yesterday, after a lounging morning and a movie matinee, what had appeared to just be allergies turned out to be a full-blown Spring cold along with the added extras. So while he’s home today I ‘ve been letting him watch “Liberty’s Kids” on Netflix. They’re watching it in school for Social Studies and I figure at least he’s learning something. Whether it’s history or “how to start a revolution” remains to be seen. Hopefully, he’s understanding that change can be effected by means other than shooting at people you disagree with. But frankly (and luckily for me), he’s more interested in the Industrial Revolution.

A freight train passing on the mainline, Friday afternoon

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