We got Jake bumper plates (Olympic weightlifting equipment) for Christmas. He doesn't usually ask for anything, so it was exciting to be able to buy something for him that we knew would make him happy. There was no way to make it a surprise, however, since when the UPS man delivered the gift, Jake was the only one home and had the honor of carrying the stuff into the house (a workout in itself). But we did have one surprise for him: grass fed beef from Tide Mill Farm. As you can see, he's not too sad about a night off from the plant-eater menu. Plus, now you know that Cara and I are not complete killjoys.

The beautiful Cashmere Twins! Merry Christmas and a happy, happy...

This morning I woke with the notion that I'd squeeze every ounce I could out of the solstice, the shortest day of the year. Now, here I sit and it's only 8:28 a.m. and I can report that I have already experienced feelings of joy and elation. A bit much? But it's true. Hiking first thing after a night of rain, with mist rising from the ground and every tree glistening, just puts you in a most spiritual frame of mind. Don't worry though, I'm sure I'll come back down to earth right quick when Cara and I go to Ellsworth to finish up our x-mas shopping. In the meantime, get outside and enjoy the sensory pleasures of our beautiful Mother Earth.

Think I was going to let her get away with not throwing a couple of decorations on the tree? I don't think so! I'll tell you what, keeping up with Birch Wisdom and Facebook, it's not easy. Too much cross-pollination. But hey, tech savvy (ha!) guy such as myself cannot be held back. Hope you're all feeling in the spirit of love and wonder. Happy winter days...

Turns out that I was wrong. To wit: the Winter Solstice, the most important day of the year, is not on the 21st; this year the shortest day of the year is the 22nd. It's just a day, you say, but when somebody is hanging from a cliff do you say, "it's just another minute?" I jest--sort of--because as I've reported, I've been doing just fine with these godawful short days. In fact, I'm quite happy. But, you know how it is, I worry...
This morning we had our first single-digit temperature workout of the season. The good thing about the cold is that you get right to it and keep up a good pace because it's not the devil that messes with idle hands; no, it's the witch of winter who has sadistic fun with fingers and toes.
Yet this afternoon it was close to 40 degrees (just like Costa Rica, Pop) and Jake and I had to take off a couple of layers in the outdoor exercise emporium. Today was the first time I did the workout program Jake's been on and all I can say is that it's harder than it looks.
He's got a new guru who seems to think you judge a good workout by whether you can get out of bed in the morning. But don't worry, I amended it to middle-aged man walking status.

4:44 is my lucky time, but usually it's not in the a.m.

Truth is, I look at these photos from Sunday and I wonder how I can ever live anyplace else. Reminds me of years ago when we were still living in NY and I was leading therapy groups at an outpatient program. One day a group member said, "I want to live in a cabin in the woods... though of course I'd want a 7/Eleven nearby." Sort of sums it up, I'd say.

Will you look at that: sheer beauty in the wilderness. I dug those comments! Thank you Jessie and Pop. But don't be too literal. I'm living in my dream house--no problem there; it's just that sometimes I long a bit for the maelstrom of human life in the city.

I believe it's the Japanese who say that "when your house is finished, you're dead." Or something to that effect. Recently I heard a quotation attributed to nomads that goes along the lines of "a house is a coffin for the living." Interesting stuff, because though a house is the place where we find solace, it can also lead you to feel trapped. I don't mean the house itself so much as the great many worldly possessions we amass over a lifetime. A nomad, of course, does not have this option for he must travel light. Both views resonate for me because I enjoy feathering the lair, but I have a restless soul.

Ice on the rocks high above Tunk Lake. So much natural wonder, so close to home. It felt so good to hike again, and got me to thinking that if you were going to thru-hike the AT, starting in October and going southbound would work quite nicely. You'd avoid the bugs, have cool hiking weather, and, as Ernie pointed out, not have to fight for space in the shelters. You could probably even forgo carrying a tent. That pesky little problem I'd have with homesickness, there's only one way to cure that (Cara, pack your pack!). Well, I guess there's one other issue as well, but let's not talk of it here--the weekend isn't over yet!

I've got the "before" picture over on Facebook, so I figured I'd put the "after" shot up over here on Birch Wisdom. The brussel sprouts are the last harvest of our garden. I fried them up like we had them at the Green Elephant. Not bad. I'm in the mood to get back into the wood harvesting, but the shoulder says NO. I contented myself today by prowling around the woods for a x-mas tree, and I think I found a winner.

After injuring my shoulder trying to keep up with Jake with the weightlifting, I decided to take up swimming. Jessie was home for Thanksgiving from Colby, and she agreed to join me at the pool. We each took our lanes and commenced to swimming. When I reached the wall the lane next to me was empty, so, seeing as how I'd put in an all-out effort, I figured Jessie was a few strokes behind me. As it turned out she was a few strokes from the wall--at the other end of the pool. She had swum two lengths of the pool in the time it took me to swim one. Anyway, tonight I went to the pool with the idea of swimming a mile, which I was proud to accomplish. Problem is, when I got home Jake straightened me out on the math and, naturally, I'd swum something less than that magic number. But at least now I have a new goal.

People tell me things. Now when I say "people," I mean my wife. For instance, people tell me that I am highly disciplined; so why do I feel like a sloth? You see, you can't trust people. You can say you're a people person, but what does that mean, you prefer people to being thrown in the tiger cage? By the way, I do trust my wife. She has hit me up with nothing but love and devotion for a quarter of a century or something. But in the end, she's what? People. And people, you know, they're not to be trusted. I mean, I trust my wife, I already said that, but how do I know she's not just buttering me up so I'll give her a back rub? Or using some sort of insidious female trick to get me to clean the house. Like, "I know, I won't tell him what a lazy slug he is so that he'll go and get the vacuum cleaner and straighten up a little bit." Wives, family members, friends, work mates--they're all people! Where can you turn for the truth? And don't bother looking at yourself in the mirror, because, you yourself, you're people of the worst lying kind.

This is the breakdown of practically every conference I attend: 97 women, 3 men (at least one of whom has a pony-tail). Then they talk about how important it is for young boys to have good role models. Yet since I became a social worker, the number of men in helping professions has actually diminished. Yeah, we're going backwards.
It was fun being in Portland, I'll tell you that. We so enjoyed just walking around, popping into a couple of stores and eating at the Green Elephant, an awesome vegan restaurant. Even before I became a plant eater I loved brussel sprouts, and they made them fried with tamari sauce. Delicious.
We also got to see Pop and Debbie, who introduced us to a man named Michael who has owned 35 cars. That's more than me, people. I don't hold the world record after all.
My Jessie Sweets has written a short story about a political aide who's facing up to the fact that his life is empty. I can't even imagine how a 19 year-old could fathom the depth of feeling that is evoked by the main character, but I guess you can do anything when you're brilliant and beautiful.
Lucky for me, my heart is bursting full of love and purpose. After all, I'm a role model!

Hey Pop, thought you might like this photo of your favorite grandson working on his Olympic lifts. The picture was taken yesterday; today we went to the pool and I noticed that Jake is taking on the shape of a V. Now, about this meat chart--I've seen neither hide nor hair. Are we talking, "you're fat and forty, but Lordy, you're my meat." Or the meat on the hoof, as in NFL linebacker. Or, something to do with, "I'm not visiting those dang vegans unless I can bring my own meat!"