Beowulf

Madeleine wants a family walk and here we are Sunday afternoon. It is properly autumn - cold and blustery also wet.  The dog happy.  Tomorrow Guy Fawkes and, for the first time in eight years, I am not manning the BBQ pit.  There are not too many things I have done for so long.  The times are a-changin.

Madeleine: "I finished my book."
Me: "Oh? What are you reading?"
Madeleine: "Beowulf."
Me: "Cool, tell me about it."
Madeleine: "It was about a man named Beowulf."
Me:
Madeleine: "Okay. Okay. It is an old English story about this guy Beowulf, and he fights Grendel, a monster, who has been killing all of Hogarth's men in a big hall."
Me: "And then what happens?"
Madeleine: "He tears off Grendel's arm so he bleeds to death and so Grendel's mom seeks revenge and pulls Beowulf into an underground cave below some water but Beowulf kills her too."
Me: "Sounds fierce."
Madeleine: "It was. Then, later, Beowulf is King and he has to fight a dragon after someone stole the dragon's goblet and gave it to Beowulf as a gift. Beowulf didn't know it was the dragon's goblet but it didn't matter because the dragon scorched everything. So Beowulf had to kill him."
Me: "That was excellent Madeleine. And what do you admire about Beowulf?"
Madeleine: "I admire that he was brave and killed lots of people."

Burger Flippers Unite - Eitan Wins A Game

Again I spear-head the Guy Fawkes fireworks BBQ which always turns out to be good fun and this year no exception. The forecast for "torrential rain" and "gale force winds" but instead it is a beautifully clear and chilly evening perfect for star gazing. We serve up 250 sausages and 350 char-burnt "beef burgers." Blech. James, second from the left, takes the Gold-Star since he flips with left arm in a sling following a bicycle accident that left him with a couple of broken ribs and a busted shoulder. We rake maybe £1200 for the school.

Eitan's KPR plays Spelthorne for the second time this season on Strathem's home pitch. The game deadlocked at zero with 15 minutes to go when Eitan draws a foul. He lines up for a free-kick about 20 meters from the goal and nails a perfect curving shot that "drops" into the upper left hand corner of the net - gooooaaaaalllllll! The goalkeeper frozen, nothing he can do, while the boys and sidelines silenced. Yep, that is my son. I anxiously hope KPR hold on for the victory so the boy's strike will count. As Juerin, father of Maxime, notes with a chuckle: "He should retire now." I ask Eitan what he was thinking before his kick and he tells me: "David Beckham, when he scored the goal against Greece." Recall Beckham's strike occurred with one-minute left of stoppage time and sent England into the 2002 World Cup final. It curled into the top corner of goal-box. And while, ahem, a bit less dramatic Eitan held a mental picture of what he wished to do and did it. We have taken a few drubbings this season in the higher division but today Coach happy.

Madeleine brings "Rusty" and busies herself on the sidelines keeping warm and the dog under control.

Effigy

This sucker's going to burn. Yes, Guy Fawkes again - well, Thursday, actually, but tonight the fireworks celebration. As before and before, I organise the BBQ and we sell 'beef burgers' and 'sausages'. My photo on the kids' grounds before people arrive.

Madeleine and I go to the shoe store for some black school shoes (she will only take the boys style) and I throw in a pair of green Converse All Stars to make her happy. They look good on her. The next stop: pet store, since we have to replace Monty though, of course, Monty can never be replaced (kids leave out food and water every night). This time, Madeleine goes for a tawny coloured Syberian whose long, shaggy hair attracts its hamster shit. Madeleine doesn't care - she buys a hamster brush with her allowance. God bless. We hope this one will stay with us longer than one week. She names the hamster "Foxy" or "Fawksey" as in Guy Fawkes "since we bought him on Guy Fawkes day, Dad." (I haven't the heart to tell her G-F Thursday). I like the ring of it.

Madeleine: "How was the world made?"

Sonnet: "Some people say it was made by the Big Bang, others believe it was by God."

Madeleine: "I don't believe in God ... it might take me my whole life to figure it out."

Sonnet:

Madeleine: "Not even Frankenstein could know the answer."

Sonnet: "Frankenstein, Madeleine?"

Madeleine: "Yes, the really smart guy." (of course she means Einstein)

Blimey

Rod Stewart still going at 63 years - in this instance wife Penny Lancaster wearing her skin-tight shiny trousers and five-inch platform shoes exiting Cipriani's in Mayfair (photo from the Daily Mail). I crossed paths with the rocker on the Queen's Jubulee in '02 when Stewart played Buckingham Palace; the following morning I see him exiting Starbucks on St John's Wood high street. In the back of the car my two screaming kids while on his arm Penny who, truth-be-known, I notice first. Hard not to, really. Ah yes, how different our lives then and now. Cementing the point: last night's three hour PTA where we re-cap Guy Fawkes fireworks, discuss the new kitchen costs now >£143,000, anticipate the Christmas Fair, gossip and so on and so on. The PTA remains the power-centre of the neighborhood but boy does everybody weigh in with theirs. New member Mark joins me, making it two against twenty women. He wisely keeps his trap shut. The gang consumes >10 bottles of wine which is not bad for a Wednesday night - I bet Rod would be proud.

At home late night I welcome a program on the Silk Road which details our trip into the Karakorums. The strip in the Hunza Valley, where we were for several nights, is the steepest terrain on the planet climbing 20,000 feet in six kilolmetres. I am motivated to pull out and scan my photographs which I will try to do next week.

From Rod Stewart's famous pop song "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy" (a rather sweet conclusion, I add):
"They wake at dawn 'cause all the birds are singing
Two total strangers but that ain't what they're thinking
Outside it's cold, misty and it's raining
They got each other, neither one's complaining
He says I'm sorry but I'm out of milk and coffee
Never mind, sugar, we can watch the early movie "

"Too many good docs are getting out of the business. To many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across the country."
W., Poplar Bluff, Mo., Sept. 6, 2004

Guy Fawkes

Saturday is spent on the school grounds where we and London celebrate Guy Fawkes with a bonfire effigy and rousing fireworks. Again I am the Chief Executive of the Grill Team, assembling seven volunteer flippers serving beef-burgers and pork sausages. Gross. The weather is not friendly and things are touch-and-go until the final moment. Rain is not so much the problem but rather the wind: nobody wants drifting embers to replay 1666. Eitan and I arrive early to set things up, shred lettuce and pre-cook the hot-dogs and chopped-onions. He is eager to help and happy to be useful, which is nice to see. Four years ago Eitan scared shitless by the fireworks but now it is old hat and the dads tease him about drinking beer with us (this is England). Sonnet arrives with Madeleine who, with the other kids, impressed to see her brother behind the counter even if he is just standing there. I toss her "secret-crisps" that she doesn't have to pay for - she refuses and good for her. Afterwards we Dads clean-up and head to The Victoria for an after-action "refreshment."

Cal loses to USC in Southern California. Another year no Rose Bowl. Just.. . once.. I . would... like to. . see the Bears . . . . compete.

Fawkes

We celebrate the burning of Guy Fawkes last night on the school grounds - bonfire and fireworks, comprehensive. As last year, I'm responsible for the BBQ and Eitan and Madeleine lend a hand setting up the pit. I've pre-ordered 350 sausages and 450 beef burgers, buns, onions and etc. We have two spanking new cookers and I have lassoed five volunteers to help me service our 1500 guests. The evening nets the school around 20 grand and I'm left with a wad of twenties in my back pocket. Afterwards, me and the crew drink Guinness at the local and toast England and the Queen. Cheers!

The Grill Is "On"

This evening I oversee the Guy Fawkes BBQ. I bring home 800 frozen beef burgers, 500 hot dogs and the equivalents in buns. Eitan re the BBQ: "are you going to be the only one?"
FYI this is the poster I drummed up for the bbq, where I managed to sucker seven volunteers to flip burgers and sausages which, by the way, contain "53% pork fat." Otherwise, the Sheen Mount fireworks celebrating the quartering of Guy Fawkes are impressive and culminate with a bon fire spectacular that lights up the sky. Madeleine is, frankly, terrified and Sonnet takes her into the school for comfort. In all, we, the PTA, sell over 1,400 tickets making the evening one of our top yearly fundraisers.

Eitan, last night, being ordered to bed: "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. It's all so boring."

Madeleine this morning on scoring a goal during football: "My coach was really happy, but he did not give me any gold."

Me, discovering the kitchen dishes in the backyard filled with mud: "what kind of a mess is this!?" 
Madeleine, matter-of-fact: "It's not a mess, dad - it's a mud stew."