fun in threes, sometimes fours
This year was the first All Saints' Day that we visited both Nana's and Papa's grave. I guess it was always their common grave from the time the bench was set in place but now both their remains are resting there.
It's strangely normal already.
I forgot about the pictures we took in and of the new little tent we used last week.
To call it “cozy” is quite an understatement.
We had to store the gear in the cabin in which some of the other boys slept.
We all dream of being a hero. We can say we don't, but we all have those little fantasies that at least once, we save the day. E is no exception, and for that reason, this fall's soccer season has been disappointing for him. It's not that he hasn't felt like a hero; he has positively felt like he's added very little to his team. In one game, an attacker beat him when he was a defender to score the first goal of the game, and I could see from his expression afterward that he felt horrible about it.
It certainly doesn't help that his team has won only one game this season, and that was only by forfeit because the other team didn't know about the game time change somehow and no one showed up. They've been beaten and they've been positively trounced.
"We're never going to win," has been the Boy's refrain as we head back to the car. The other boys feel the same, I think.
Last week, for example, while we were camping, only five of the players showed up. They played anyway, and the asshole coach of the opposing team played all seven positions against our five boys, so the poor boys got beaten, though not as badly as one might expect (7-4).
Today, too, we were shorthanded, but a boy from the other team joined our team, and we played at even strength. (That coach showed class unlike the classless individual from last week.) We began relatively unremarkably, with neither team really dominating. Then, about ten minutes into the first half, E broke free with the ball and headed straight to the goal, firing a rocket that went right by the goalie and sank into the back corner of the net.
"E just scored!!!!!!!!!!" I texted K with probably the biggest grin smeared across my face. Last season, his first with CESA (the local soccer league), he hadn't scored a single goal all season.
By the end of the first half the red team had equalized and then pulled ahead, so we went into break under a bit of pressure.
"I was sure we were going to lose," E explained later. When red scored a third time, E was convinced that they were going to experience their next inevitable loss. But shortly after that, the Boy broke through the defenses again and scored his second goal, pulling his team to within one. Just a few minutes after that, he was through again, but he stumbled a bit and sent the ball well wide of the goal.
"How amazing that would have been!" I thought.
Just moments later, the Boy broke through, outran two defenders, and shot a lovely looping curve into the net. Three goals in one game -- a coveted hat-trick. To top it all off, I finally had my camera up while he scored -- in the other two, I'd dropped it to my side and just cheered him on, but the final one, I kept firing away.
But of all the shots from today, my favorite is the one just after his first goal when he'd just gotten a big congratulatory low-five from a teammate. Head slightly down, a little spring in his step, he walked back to his position. I look at the image and wonder what exactly he was thinking, wonder just how much it might help his confidence, wonder if it might not be the best thing that's happened to him in ages.
It certainly does.
Messing with the new Lightroom mask feature — it’s like Photoshop in Lightroom.
I have vague memories of this as a child — hearing about it on the news — but only vague. So strange to be able to watch this now, nearly forty years later.
“Great is the burden of responsibility that falls to me” — the question has always been just how great. Had Jaruzelski not imposed martial law, would the Soviets have intervened?
It's a slow pace -- just over 10 minutes a mile -- but it's the first time I've run five miles in thirty years.
Took the dog for a walk — it was foggy.
Spent the rest of the evening resetting passwords in LastPass to improve my security scores and peace of cyber-mind.
The idea is simple: to get Cub Scouts ready for being Boy Scouts, they spend a weekend as a small patrol as for-the-weekend Boy Scouts with an actual scout leading them through the weekend's activities.
"Parents, you will only see your children in the morning at breakfast, in the afternoon at lunch, in the evening at dinner, and when it's time to go to bed. We want to begin building a sense of independence in these kids," the camp leader explained Friday night.
So as to what the Boy actually did, I'm a little clueless. Which is not to say I don't know what activities he did. He shot a pellet gun, learned how to make a fire, cooked cobbler over a campfire, went on a hike, and a few other things. But as to what that actually looked like, I really don't know. I saw him here and there throughout the day, but mostly, I left him alone with his patrol and its Boy Scout leader.
And this is why I have no pictures of him doing these things: I was out hiking or reading or grading papers.
In the evening, as with all scout camps, there was a variety show of sorts. The kids put on various skits, including the scout classic "Important Papers."
"Do you have my important papers?" Scout hands the boy papers. "No! Not these!" The next scout comes up and the main actor asks again, "Do you have my important papers?" Scout hands the boy papers. "No! Not these!" Repeat for as many times as necessary until there's one scout who comes with a roll of toilet paper. "Yes! These are my important papers!" We've seen it done every camp, which is probably one of the reasons why the leaders have to approve each skit -- to prevent every patrol from doing the "Important Papers" favorite.
The upshot -- we got little sleep but E had a fantastic time and was eager to go again.