Anyway, I added a 2 x 4ft garden with a 5ft trellis on the back. Cucumbers in and Kentucky Blue Beans sowed.  Radishes to be added in front of the cucumbers soon.

I also tended to my 12 x 4 square foot garden. The 16 sq. ft. of kale, swiss chard and spinach I planted earlier this spring is coming along nicely and the spinach that made it through the winter is starting to get out of hand. I predict a spinach salad (or 5) in my future. I also got in all of my tomatos, eggplants, tomatillos, patty pan squash and bell peppers. Plus I sowed some arugula and Italian basil. I’m hoping to get some some cucumbers and green beans going tomorrow.

And when Bella was down, dinner was done, and the house was quiet, I finally found some time to tuck into A Rich Spot of Earth, the history of Thomas Jefferson’s retirement garden at Monticello, as told by Monticello’s head gardener, Peter Hatch. I’m a fourth the way in and so far it is a fantastic history of a fascinating man’s garden (note to self, Jefferson deserves a Bio Better than Fiction post).

The book is made even better by great pairing of Hudson Manhattan Rye on the rocks.

First off: George Plimpton.  When I was a kid my mom and dad gave me the movie The Paper Lion (VHS!) so I had some idea of who he was. But after VCRs went the way of buggy whips he slipped from my radar. Until the other day, when I came across plimptonproject.org, which is trying to get a statue of Plimpton erected in New York city.

For a quick read on a fantastic life, hit up wikipedia’s summary of his career.  Here are some bullet points to wet your interest:

• first editor-in-chief of the Paris Review
• credited with helping wrestle Sirhan Sirhan to the ground when Robert Kennedy was assassinated
• pitched against National League Allstars in 1960
• went to training camp (for research) with 2 NFL teams and actually played quarterback in a preseason game
• spent some time as a high wire circus performer
• the host of Disney Channel’s Mousterpiece Theater
• tried to get Lisa Simpson to throw a spelling bee
• he was the Fireworks Commissioner of New York
• wrote the libretto to an opera
• the namesake for an asteroid

As soon as Bella is old enough the Dark Ages are over!

1. They knew what was going to happen so why was it still so damned emotional for them?
2. If it tore them up that much then why did they keep watching?

It was a beautiful but cold day to spend on the lake and view was incredible for the 5 hours we were there.  The mustardy yellow of Chicago’s beaches, bright blue skys with expansive, low hanging cloudscapes. And between the two were charging horses with a backdrop of crashing gunmetal gray waves.

The event itself was a lot of fun. There was a good DJ playing between matches, the included food was provided by Union Sushi, an open bar sponsored by Grey Goose, and beach polo is a lot of fun. The mens matches were more exciting as they were very aggressive riders who were incredibly physical and daring considering the lack of protective gear. Also, they could put that ball almost exactly where they wanted it every time. Consider this, the mallet they hit with has a surface area that is like an empty paper towel roll, from their eyes to the ball is roughly 8 feet, there was a 15mph wind off the lake, and to top it all off they were riding a horse at full speed.  It was amazing they could even make contact, let alone pass by perfectly leading another rider and horse charging down the side of the field.

The women in the two opening matches weren’t as practiced or aggressive but they were still very impressive. Their matches were a bit slower but that was actually nice because it was easier to follow, giving me a chance to learn a bit about the sport and the strategy involved.

For more photos, go here.

And that’s when I saw more, streaking down the side of the book, touching the edge of every page, seeping in just enough that with every turn of a page promising white, there was an eye catching, creeping brown. And this all seems appropriate.

For the last few years I’ve owned Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking.* I’ve read it a few times and flipped the pages casually dreaming of what I’d make but only now did I force myself to find a time slot just big enough to break it in with a classic:  beef bourguignon.  It just happened that flinging around some stew beef I got a bit sloppy.

With most books I’d be damned well pissed at myself for ruining them with carelessness. But with Juilia its alright; in the kitchen anything goes. And a little baptism by blood never hurt a cookbook.

*I give mad props to myself for buying it before Julie and Julia became all the rage.  Follower? Nay! Trend setter, I am.

For a lot of parents, having a kid is a conscientious choice.  You are living your life, thinking: “We’ve got this down, this whole living our life thing. It isn’t so bad. We can handle it. In fact, we’re so damned good at it, we should have a kid and share our mastery of life with offspring. No problem!”  This is a noble but stupid assumption, roughly akin to thinking a successful grocery trip qualifies you to solve world-wide hunger.

It isn’t long after having the kid that you ask your new, less well groomed and rested self, “What was I doing? I had life down. I was the man.  And then I went and had a kid? I was not prepared for prepared for this. What I used to have is gone!”

This is what You Ruined Everything is about is about. It is a lovely song that captures being a parent right after you realize your identity has changed and it will never go back to how it used to be. But at the same time you are completely and utterly in love with a person you only just met and can’t hold her own head up. If you aren’t a parent, trust me, it is an odd odd feeling.

The song popped up on my iPod today and while working, I heard the first lovely verse:

I was fine I pulled myself together

just in time to throw myself away

Once my perfect world was gone, I knew

You ruined everything in the nicest way.

You should know how great things were before you

Even so, they’re better still today

Now I can’t think who I was before

You ruined everything in the nicest way

It has been a while since I’ve seen Coulton live so I decided to find out the date of his next Chicago show.  And low and behold: it’s tonight!

Fantastic! I’m going. I’m buying some tickets, even if I have to pay double to a scalper. I’m calling up my wife and telling her to put on her dancing shoes because hubby’s takin’ her out! We’re going to see JoCo — Yeah!

But wait, that’s what the old me would do. The new me — the parent me — just wants to go home and make dinner for my daughter.  Then we’ll read books with 4 word sentences that we’ve read umpteen-thousand times before and maybe sing about wheels on a bus. And I know, to the uninitiated this sounds horrible, but it isn’t. It is the picture of a wonderful night.

So while I really really want to live the perfect life of the old me, where I could last minute decide to go to a concert, I’d much rather go home and be the new, dad-me, scared shitless that I’ll screw something up but diving headfirst anyway.

Bella, you ruined everything in the nicest way.

I like hearing myself and my presumed emotional state referred to so bluntly. And it comes across great on the page. Plus, I wasn’t all that peeved, at least when it comes to the subject — market data entitlements. I was more bemused.

Peter Nabicht was bemused.

That doesn’t play on the page as well.

But the more I think about the current state of affairs the more the author was unintentionally correct. I am peeved.

The economy is in the toilet; our education system is shameful; people confuse chanting USA at sporting events for civic pride; corporations have no sense of duty to the community they are in; selfishness often trumps selflessness; our country’s leaders are more concerned with re-election and political games than doing their jobs.

The list goes on and on and on and if I spend too much time thinking about it all at this point in the morning then my whole day will one long miserable fit of anger.

Peter Nabicht was peeved? Was? Puh-lease! Past tense has no place here!

Peter Nabicht is peeved.