To The Blanket Fort! STAT!

“Never mock the magic that lies within a blanket fort’s cozy walls.”

—Author unknown, quoted by Meredith Sinclair in “Well Played.”

Another week, another nor’easter? Seems that way. Last week I was tucked into the Barnacle, which is a little more exciting than a blanket fort, especially in a storm. Since then, however, the weather gods, together with some ordinary stress, and a few steaming loads that hit the fan, have all conspired to have me searching for refuge. A weekly nor’easter? OK, I like the waves as much as the next idiot, but we can be done now, thank you very much. March comes in like a lion, right? OK, well about now, someone needs to “tranq that beast” because I’m over it. March is also supposed to go out like a lamb, and it might, but at this point, I’m ready to get out the mint jelly and serve up Mary’s little friend with fries and a double Jameson, neat.

As it happens, a good friend of mine called because he too was having a bad day. This guy is fast becoming one of my favorite people. He’s a dad, a great cook, has an exciting job that takes him all over the world and everyone he knows drools over the pictures of all of his adventures. He’s kinder than most people realize, and tougher than nails, in the best way possible. This day though, he was having a tough time. I get that because the weather hasn’t been the only thing that’s a mess in my world. It will all pass, of course, as these things do, but he had the best idea ever: A blanket fort.

Remember blanket forts? Aren’t they the best? A couple of dining room chairs, some covers and boom, you have your own little hideaway. I used to put a sign up on the ones I made, “Out to lunch.” Even then, if I couldn’t have a snack while doing it, I didn’t do it. Blanket forts are inviolate. It’s an international symbol that someone needs a break, and sometimes the only way to get it is to circle the furniture and deploy the quilts and pillows. I told Mr. M that’s what he should do. He had plans with people, and it’s good to have friends, but sometimes, you just have to pull the covers over your head and tell the world to keep the hell out.

What about sink or swim though? What about hanging in there and taking on the world? What about standing up, in some killer red shoes, taking names and kicking butt? Sure, there’s time for that, in some situations. Not always though. There are days, and we have all had them, when not one more thing can be done. Not one more call, not one more email, not one more conversation. Flip your sign to “closed” grab a book and a beverage and set yourself up in a blanket fort of your own. If you don’t want to bother messing up your living room, sure, it can be metaphorical, but I promise you won’t get the full effect if you don’t literally get a blanket and throw it over some chairs. It’s like an emotional lifeboat — only you don’t have to divvy up the freshwater and supplies.

With little kids, there is the concept of a “time out,” and it’s usually punitive. When my kids were wee babes, there was only so much rebellion I could take before I sent them off to the bottom of the hallway stairs, to “think about what you did.” My guess is they mostly thought up elaborate plots to run away to the circus. One of my kids even told me, “When I’m a grown-up, I’m going to let my kids have anything they want so that they will like me, since YOU DON’T!”

Oh, the humanity. That same child is now declaring his intention to never have kids, and I am, for now, in full agreement. Sometimes I miss the little kid days. Not as a parent, as a child. Bike rides and baseball games, a yard full of friends and when it was all too much? Oreos and a blanket fort. How has corporate America not embraced the blanket fort? Workplaces now have perks like free sodas, snacks, communal work areas with sofas and chairs, and even emotional support animals, but I’ve yet to see a blanket fort anywhere.

There is something about the oasis of chairs and bedding that says, “Come on in. It’s quiet here, no one is going to tell you what to do, or who to be.” If that isn’t a lifeboat of sorts, then I don’t know what is. There will always be time to hit it hard. Taking a break isn’t giving up, it’s giving in to a welcome bit of comfort that is so often in short supply. Get your pillows and cozy up, the rest of the world will still be there when you’re done.

A Podcast? Well, why not?

A podcast, despite the sound of it, doesn't get recorded in a futuristic egg, with blue light. It's just a mic and a conference room. Big thanks to my GateHouse Media peeps for having me!

Click on this link! RIGHT NOW, what are you waiting for, go listen!↘↘↘

OFF DEADLINE: Brenda Kelley Kim: Sinking, Swimming and Saint Patrick

Guess which pea is me? 

Sometimes You Want to Go......

"Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,

and they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see,

our troubles are all the same

You wanna be where everybody knows

Your name."

---Gary Portnoy

Most people have a special place they like to go, where they walk in and voices rise up to greet them and whatever regular drink or snack they usually order magically appears. For some it's a coffee shop or a café. Others like something a little stronger. While we are lucky here in town to have so many places to go (La Sirena Café, Maddie's, The Ripper, The Driftwood) there is one place that just screams local and yet is happy to see tourists too. The Barnacle. A good friend of mine, and a "True ‘Header" Chris Brown tells me that it was named that because it clung so tightly to the rocks. It's still hanging on, even with the storm that refuses to end battering away at the windows.

(Photo courtesy of The Barnacle/Facebook)

If you haven't seen the video by now, get yourself on to YouTube and check this place out. Wait, never mind that. GO there, right now. Experience it live. It is the place to be in a storm. Or any other time for that matter. It's local, and it's perfect. The food is terrific, but even if it weren't, the people are what make this place so off-the-hook awesome. Like its namesake, it clings to the rocks, refusing to give way, year after year. It started out as a small take-out clam shack, and now it's a small clam shack with tables and barstools, and it serves up drinks, seafood, and friendship. What could be better? Despite having lived here for more than 45 years, I had never been to the Barnacle during a storm, so when last week's winter weather was forecast, I made a plan to get some work done, because journalism is my life, and have a nice liquid lunch while I was at it. Fortunately, Miss Mandy G, an awesome mom and friend, is a regular and made sure I was treated like one as well.

High tide was posted as happening at 11:15 am last Friday, just in time for lunch, so I got there a little early. I knew enough to park a block or so away because while those waves are wicked to watch, my 10-year-old Toyota is not an ocean-going vessel. Jimmy the bartender, who is known for making a bodacious Bloody Mary as well as his ability to hop over the bar and into the dining room, welcomed me. When I asked if this was the worst he had seen for storms, the answer was a firm "Not even close." Jimmy remembered the "No Name" storm of 1991 as being the worst he had seen. As soon as the doors opened, as if on cue, "the regular crowd shuffled in" just like in the Billy Joel song, "Piano Man." The best part of the Barnacle is, without a doubt, the people.  Most have been coming for years. My friend was greeted warmly by everyone but so were total strangers who somehow just wandered in out of the rain.

Jay, the current owner, informed me that his family had owned it for decades and it was just part of his life, being there during good weather and bad. It's something the regulars and many others, have come to expect. If there is a storm coming, heading down to the Barnacle is a Marblehead tradition. While I was having lunch and marveling at the churning sea and the wind, I glanced out to the deck and saw a lone cameraman from a Boston news station, filming Mother Nature's tantrum. I raised my glass to him and toasted all the reporters out in this mess, calling upon the spirit of Boston media legend Shelby Scott, who stood her ground, much like the Barnacle, through every wave of ocean fury.

It's good to have traditions, especially when it's the deep dark of a winter's day and the sea is hitting the windows. It's then that we can gather together for a meal, a wee bit of whiskey, and a good time. While the waves were bigger and better the day after I went to the Barnacle, it doesn't matter. Winter weather will be back, knock-knock-knocking on the deck of this extraordinary place and I will be back as well. The ocean will eventually calm down, the sailboats will return to the harbor and yet another summer season will be here before we know it.  In the meantime, if it's going to be ugly outside, with snow and rain, belly up to the Barnacle bar and tuck yourself in for the ride. See you there. Slainte!

There Is No Normal

"Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid."

---Albert Einstein

While I have always been a lover of words, a writer, and a failure at math and most technical pursuits, in my quest to feed my family, I am also a science journalist. While those who knew me in high school and college are laughing their tuchuses off at the concept of any science (besides mixology) being part of my world, it's actually true. Recently, an article I wrote concerned a study that posited that there is no "normal" when it comes to brain function. That yes, while mental illness is genuine, the concept of normal brain function is less well defined. For lack of a better way to say it, neuroscientists are, at heart, a bunch of brilliant nerds. It might not seem like a big deal, but in the field of research and science, where everything must be quantifiable and definite, for a neuroscientist to suggest that there IS no precise normal and brain function is a continuum of different states is a big deal. When someone says, "Well it's not brain surgery" these scientists can legitimately say, "Sometimes it is" so we should pay attention.

No normal, what a concept. Lately there's a lot of discussion about a "new normal." School shootings, armed teachers, teenagers leading a grassroots revolution and so much more. Some will say this is our new normal. But what makes one side of an issue "normal" and another side "not normal?" Who decides that? Sure, we can all agree that it's not normal to have to practice how to barricade a classroom door in an elementary school. It's not normal to send your child to school and have to worry about them coming home on the bus or a body bag. None of that should ever be considered normal. But perhaps normal is being confused with common.

Sadly, many things are becoming common, and many of them are horrific. The concept of normal, however, has served to divide us at the very times when we need to come together. On the one side, you have people digging in their heels,  longing for days gone by when the world was a better place. Like during the 1950s, when the Korean War was a part of our everyday lives. Or perhaps the 60s, when everything was all Mad Men and retro cool (except for that other Asian war.) I grew up in the late 60s, early 70s. I can truthfully look back and say it was idyllic and that I had a wonderful childhood. But there was also that bright sunny day when I was five, sitting in the kitchen and watching my mother sprint across the lawn to the neighbor's house because a Marine and our parish priest showed up to tell Mrs. Baker that her son wasn't coming back from Da Nang. Her front step was barely ten feet from our door, and we heard her screaming, "Not my boy, not my boy." That should never be considered normal, but sadly it is common.

On the other side, you have teenagers marching in the streets, speaking to crowds, and taking on the system because they feel their lives are in danger. Like it's not already stressful enough being a high school kid, trying to get into college, now you have to dodge bullets and beg people to take you seriously? That's not normal, but again, it's common. A seventeen-year-old child (and let's remember, they are children) should not have to hide in a closet and wonder if they will be next.

Neuroscientists are suggesting that normal is not one specific state, but rather a continuum of different states, depending on the person. Perhaps if we looked at what's happening in our country and around the world with the same point of view, we might have better results?  We can't accept as normal a world of metal detectors and active shooter drills, but, in some places, that's how it's going to be and being mad about it isn't helpful. Turning against each other won't work, arguing won't work. There isn't just one solution. There are 900 problems, how could there be one answer? There are issues like guns, education, safety, training, cultural considerations, mental health, and, as always, politics and none of it is typical, but it's reality. We need to stop pointing at specific events, people and places and labeling them as "normal" or "abnormal." There is so much more to it. The tears and tragedy we've seen recently will hopefully pass, there will be some changes, and life will go on, as it's supposed to, whether we agree or not. In the meantime, reach out to those around you, even those with whom you disagree and hope for the best. Leave the decisions about what is normal behind and work with what you have.  

Make A List But CHECK IT TWICE!

"Man plans, and God laughs."

---Yiddish Proverb

"Make time for planning. Wars are won in the General's tent."

---Steven Covey

AUTHOR NOTE: This column was supposed to published last week. Except I forgot to actually submit it to Chris and Mary, your fearless editors. That is what we call "Irony" in the English major world. Everyone else just calls it stupidity. See updates in parenthesis Enjoy.

 I am confident that I don't have multiple personalities (there was a Facebook quiz, I aced it) but regarding the organization, planning, and staying on task I do bounce between the two extremes. It's healthy to realize that not every plan you make is going to work out, but you can't just stumble through life with no direction, no road map of where you want to go and what you want to do. At least that's what people tell me.

Lists tend to work for me, neatly written on a calendar (not always, clearly.) Each day has a few items on it and in a perfect world, the end of the day comes, and everything is checked off. That literally has never happened, but hope springs eternal. Some of it might have more to do with the items on the list than my poor planning skills. It's good to set the bar high, but seriously at times, the list looks about as realistic as a fantasy baseball roster. Last week one of the tasks was "Clean the basement." The basement has never been cleaned; by me or anyone else. Now and then I go down there, make sure no woodland creatures are living under the laundry hamper, grab the toilet paper to stock the hall closet and come back upstairs. Sure, the TP would be a lot easier to access if there weren't twelve boxes of macaroni and cheese and a bag of "giveaway clothes" in the way, but no one who knows me thinks that will ever change.

 

So, whatever, it's the basement, it's not like the Queen is coming for tea and will want to see it, so not getting it done doesn't bother me. The daily lists are mostly suggestions for me. The science articles have to get done, and always do because being employed is a necessity, but after that, it's a crapshoot (or an epic fail, either way.) One of my favorite movies is "Gone With the Wind" because Katy Scarlett O'Hara is one sharp-tongued Irish girl. She said, "After all, tomorrow is another day." In my house, it means there's another list, but that's how it goes.

Once the daily stuff is out the way, what about long range plans? Careers, finances, and all the rest are much bigger issues than chores (Is USA Today hiring was one issue I considered last week.) Should I have a 20-year plan? What about a ten-year plan? In twenty years I will be in my 70s, and while I plan to stay healthy and active, it's a safe bet that my 70s won't be nearly as much fun as the 1970s were. In those days gone by, my to-do list didn't exist. The goals were to ride my bike to the store and spend as much time as possible on the beach with my friends. Looking two decades down the road means strategizing about mutual funds and long-term care insurance. Honestly, I think I'd rather clean the basement.

Plan or don't, that's the question (Pro tip: Plan, trust me on this.) Perhaps a middle ground needs to be found, where sometimes you let go, and sometimes you stick to the list? There was one time in my life that involved almost no plans and worked out perfectly. I wanted to take my oldest to Ireland; it was something that was important to me, to show him part of his heritage. We got plane tickets, reserved a rental car and booked the first night's lodging. I didn't do another thing except for ordering the Tourist Board's book of B&Bs.

It was three solid weeks of getting in the car (on the wrong side) and driving around to wherever looked good on the map. Once we stayed in a town for two days because a local pub had the most delicious Shepard's Pie ever. We wandered aimlessly and got lost more times than I can count. At one point we were driving down a country road and had to stop because a mule wouldn't get out of the way. Another time a group of boys ran up to the car asking, "Stop! Oi! Are you lost then?" I smiled and said, "No, this is the way I want to go, thanks!"  I'm not one to be shouted at by hooligans. 

500 yards down the road the ocean appeared, almost out of thin air. In Ireland, they farm right up to the water's edge. Reversing a car that's built backward, up a boggy unpaved road is quite the experience. The boys were still there, chuckling, and I said, "Well, that was grand then, wasn't it?" I think another trip is in order because lately, I've come to believe that plans are overrated. Ireland Escape 2018? Sure, it'll be brilliant (if I don't forget to buy tickets.)