From Couch Potato to Baked Potato

Full of energy after 7 full days of rowing!

Greetings, Gentle Reader,

My students will tell you that I’m a bit of a stickler for employing verb tenses which are appropriate to a given sequence of events, and this evening I’m happy to employ the past perfect as I report that Mr. Frei HAS rowed to Washington.

Al pulls in to the Gangplank Marina.

This blog entry is all that stands in the way of my first truly comfortable night’s sleep in eight days, so forgive me if this is short. I plan to chronicle the highlights over the next few days, but suffice to say that the journey took eight days and covered 240 miles on the nub; a calculus of seat time yields an average over-the-ground speed of 3.8 mph- not bad, I think, considering the paucity of training and the presence of a relentless headwind for the full length of the Potomac.
I couldn’t get into the Tidal Basin this afternoon, but the vistas in Washington were nonetheless awe-inspiring. As always I’m grateful to Peg, Kathy, David and Michele, and Tyler and Elizabeth for their wonderful reception and help in hucking the boat and my skanky gear to the truck.

Al next to the Sequoia (former Presidential yacht).

Let me end this evening’s short entry with a fund raising story. This morning, as I passed Alexandria’s Old Town, I recalled that there was a Starbuck’s located one short block from the pier. I peeled in, simian-flopped into and out of Starbuck’s for an iced mocha (heaven…and alarmed patrons!), and as I climbed back into the boat, two strangers approached and me asked what I was up to. One short story later, Michael gave me the last $4 in his pocket and Elaine fished a ten spot from her bag and wished me well.

Gentle Readers, I offer this quick tale not so much to tug on your own checkbook as to simply say that this example of unconditional kindness is what makes this kind of adventure much, much more than a journey. In the coming days you’ll read a bit about big waves, strong currents, a particular storm of biblical proportions, beautiful scenery and wildlife, etc etc etc…but mostly you’ll hear about generous, trusting, helpful people. There is perhaps no better way to take a thermometer test of the state of contemporary culture than to find yourself in a state of need; a core sample of populace along 240 miles of waterway may not be a valid, accurate test of our national care for one another…but if it’s even close, we’re in good shape.
Gotta say good night.

Tyler and Elizabeth made it in time to help .

More soon. Must…sleep….

Hugs,
Mr. Frei

Day 7 - June 27 - Video Entertainment in VA

Hello,

We met up with Mr. Frei in a little park on Mason Neck called Hallowing Point, and he was kind enough to do a little video for those of you who are interested in how he is holding up after so many miles of rowing. I guarantee that you will find this entertaining!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN95g98ReeU

If you would like to see him arrive in DC tomorrow, please show up at the Gangplank Marina on Maine, Ave SW at 10:30. We are expecting him to arrive around 11 AM.

http://www.gangplank.com/

600 Water St SW Washington, DC 20024-2471 - (202) 554-5000

Plug this address into your GPS or go to http://www.mapquest.com/ for turn by turn directions

Hope to see you there!

I will post some photos later.

Day 6 - June 26, 2009 - Aqua Land to Quantico

Today was a tough one for Mr. Frei.

Baking in the sun and fighting the tides on the Potomac. However, he manage to make it 28 miles, all the way to Quantico. He was waiting until dark to pitch his tent, just in case they didn't want him on the Marine base.

We plan to meet him tomorrow at Mason Neck State Park with an egg salad sandwich and some cold drinks!

Looks like it will be midday on Sunday when he arrives in DC. Closer approximation tomorrow.

Day 5 - June 25 - Part II - to Aqua Land

Mr. Frei went from Colonial Beach, VA to Aqua Land, MD last evening. He was charged for his boat and camping, but had a good night's sleep.

He was off again at 8:30 this morning.

More later tonight!

Day 5 - June 25 - Glebe Harbor to Colonial Beach

Well, Mr. Frei decided to head out again this morning, after considering staying another day at the McCarty's place (see blog earlier today). He went 23 miles up the Potomac to Colonial Beach.

Below the map are some photos taken by Glen at Glebe Harbor. Thanks to both Glen and Wayne for their hospitality!

June 25 - Machodoc Creek, just off the Potomac

Leaving Glebe Harbor - 8:30 June 25th

Greetings, Gentle Reader,Dateline: 0720 hours, the McCarty Winter Residence on the Machodoc Creek, just off the Potomac.

Here’s the dilemma: Do I take a day off today, sitting as I am this morning on the McCarty deck, looking out on a placid creek which feeds into the Potomac? I could read a trashy novel, write a longer blog, give my hands and derriere a much-needed respite, take three showers, overfill my water glass with ice whenever I damn well felt like it, take a long afternoon nap, have access to a proper toilet, and – the best part of all- enjoy the pleasure of Peg’s company for the next 24 hours. (Yes, she drove down from Baltimore yesterday afternoon with a bucket of Bruce Lee Wings and a Big Hug. And yes, if you must know, I took the Big Hug before the first Wing.)

Or, Gentle Reader….do I get back in the boat by 9 and head up the river towards DC, about 90 miles away, with the ambition to finish this journey by Sunday night, dispensing with the pleasures and comforts listed above?

What to do, what to do….

Peg feels an admirable obligation to get back to Charm City to aid in the recovery of the real estate market…and I’m mindful that if she is going to collect me in DC at the end of this thing, Sunday would be the day to do it. So…I think it’s back in the boat in an hour or so…back at it.

I plan to recount my adventures in more detail at the end of this journey….for my own cathartic closure, if not to your amusement…but I will say this: the Chesapeake is enormous. Maybe the scale seems exaggerated to me because last summer’s journey took place on the Erie Canal; I was never more than 50 feet from shore, traversed through 34 or so locks, chatted it up with people at every turn, and felt very connected to my surroundings.

On the other hand, the Bay is immense…oceanic from the vantage point of six inches of freeboard…and other than Santiago-like conversations with the birds and the fish (and the rays….lots and lots of little rays…I’ve literally had to row my way (gently) through thick pods (schools) of them), this has been very much a “solo” trip. The scale is breathtaking…even a bit unnerving…and I can sometimes see navigational checkpoints five or more hours before I arrive at them. Over the last four days I’ve covered 136 miles (47, 37, 32, 20) in 34 hours of “seat time” (11,9,8,6)…and my hands and butt are feeling the lack of training. All other systems are checking in A-OK this morning, so I will head north.

Dahlgren Gunnery Range

So…I’ve got to collect my laundry from the dryer, pack the boat with stuff and tend to my paws, and push off. I hope to navigate through the Dahlgren gunnery range this afternoon; for any of you wanting to have fun interpreting “the rules” of the range, have some fun with the recording of their Schedule of Tests at 877 845 5656. I may have to count on a Range Boat for an escort!

Peg promises to get this on the blog sometime soon; thanks to those of you who are with me in spirit and, for some, in wallet. Remember…the proceeds go to the boys at Boys’ Latin. You aren’t reading for free, are you? :-)

Conk, thanks as always for the stellar sitework; I wish I could get on it…I wonder if anyone is reading, or even commenting? Maybe that PayPal option is scaring folks off…?

Hoping to arrive at Roosevelt Island sometime on Sunday….

Hugs,Mr. Frei

Day 3 - June 24, 2009 - Point Lookout to Glebe Harbor

Mr. Frei rowed 20 miles into the wind today, all the way from Lookout Point Marina, on St. Mary's River to Glebe Harbor on the Northern Neck of Virginia. He is actually sleeping in a bed tonight. Photos courtesy of Glen at Glebe Harbor.

Day 3 - Part II - 6/23/09

Al rowed from Solomon's Island to the Point Lookout Marina on the St. Mary's River.

He hopes to make it to Peg's parents' house in Glebe Harbor (near Montross on the Northern Neck of Virginia) tomorrow.

Day 3 - Part I - 6/23/2009

Afternoon update - Mr. Frei passed Point Lookout, Maryland at 2:30 today. More later tonight!

Photos below taken by Peg McCarty on 6/21.


The Chesapeake Bay Bridge - yahoo!!

Casey Merbler watches for Mr. Frei at Sandy Point State Park.

Mr. Frei pushes past Sandy Point State Park.

Day 2 - 6/22/09

Mr. Frei did 37 miles heading south along the Chesapeake Bay today. He is happily ensconced on Solomon's Island, and hopefully has eaten a good meal at one of the nice restaurants there.


The video shows Mr. Frei taking off from the Baltimore Inner Harbor at 9:15 AM on 6/21/2009.

First Day finished at Herring Bay

Hello,

Al made it 45 miles on this first day of his row. The winds were out of the north for a part of the day, which really helped him, but they were coming from the west later in the day, which made it a little tougher going.

The highlight of the day was seeing a school of rays.

First Day of the Row - June 21, 2009

Mr Frei left the Rusty Scupper at 9:15 AM with a few loyal fans there to cheer him on his way.

We then went to Ft. McHenry, and we barely beat him there.

Three cars worth drove down to Sandy Point State Park, but by the time he reached there at 1:30 PM, only Peg and Casey remained. The last I heard he was taking a rest there, and hoped to get past Annapolis tonight.

First photo was taken at Ft. McHenry, and the second at the start. The map shows his route up until 1:30. He was moving at more than 5 knots/hour.

Hope to have more information for you later tonight!

The night before the row begins!

Greetings, Gentle Reader June 20, 2009

It’s stopped raining. The sky is clear, the winds are calm. In eleven hours I push off from the dock.
My training today? Picking up a life jacket at West Marine…in the pouring rain. There seemed something prophetic about the act, but tonight’s skies promise pretty good weather tomorrow. But I’ve written enough about the weather, haven’t I?

Let me write a bit about Peg. She has watched patiently as I have piled provisions and equipment around the house, painted windows and peeled wallpaper as I have stared distantly into maps and charts, and is gracious and understanding beyond words as she lets me depart on this row-about. I know that it worries her a bit (the row, not my sloth around the house, which ought to be a cause of concern), and I am grateful beyond words to have her in my life. Peg, darlin’, thanks!!

Thanks, too, to Kathy, the Keeper of the Blog. Only Kathy can set up a site about a past-middle-age wannabe adventurer that would attract hapless readers from Brazil, Egypt, and beyond. Kathy, thanks for your help on this; I do better at the oars than in cyberspace.

Finally, thanks in advance of the row to the donors who have kept the fundraising gpong. The boys who receive the benefits of your generosity are enormously important to me, and I appreciate how so many of you see the seriousness of purpose in this otherwise lighthearted adventure.

So…ready or not, here I go. Thanks for tuning in, and you can count on Peg and Kathy to keep you posted in my absence.

Mr. Frei rows to Washington…starting tomorrow! I may have something to say about health care when I arrive, expect me to deliver my remarks from a standing position.

Hugs,
Mr. Frei

Three days until launch…

Greetings, Gentle Reader, June 18, 2009

Three days until launch…and I’m starting to feel a bit like Noah. The rain started last week, continued right through to torrential rains last night here in Baltimore, and culminated in a monsoon-like deluge while I trekked the aisles of Target this afternoon, provisioning for the row. The roof of the big box store thrummed under the impact of the rain; imagine what it will sound like on my floppy hat.

To be sure, the weather guessers predict a respite on Sunday and for the first few days of next week (if that is indeed what the whimsical Weather Channel icon of the bright little sun peeking over the dark, brooding cloud might mean), but for the purposes of my row, the damage is already done. All of this water will be hitting the mouth of the Potomac just as I make my turn up the river, 110 miles from my destination, and the image of rowing on a treadmill comes uneasily to mind.

It will be what it will be, Gentle Reader. Let it rain. Whatever.

“So, what did you buy at Target, Mr. Frei?” you might be asking inquisitively, wondering what an intrepid rower plans to place in his boat. Are you actually curious? Really? Well, here goes; take a peek into ‘lil Magellan’s storeroom:12 Cliff Bars (blueberry), 6 Kellogg Rice Krispie Bars, 4 packs of dried tuna, 4 packs of dried chicken, two bags of dried blueberries, one bag of dried bananas, two cans of Hungry Man Chili, two cans each of Chunky Sirloin Burger and Chunky Chicken soups, six bags of assorted beef and chicken jerky, four cans of Starbuck’s Double Shot coffee, two gallons of Gatorade, two gallons of water, various ointments, bandages, first aid tape, bug spray, sun goop, TP (sumputous six-ply; I‘ll be sitting a lot), vitamins, an allegedly rejuvenating protein powder, batteries, lube for the oarlocks, and, of course, duct tape, Gotta’ have duct tape. After all, something might go wrong.

While I expect to eat more than a few meals off the boat, by Day Three I’ll be shadowing quite a bit of sparsely-populated shoreline. Past experience has taught me that being caught short on provisions is a real bummer. Besides, all of the above does not account for very much weight (except for the liquids, the need for which is not debatable); my boat actually gains stability- and speed- if it rides a little lower in the water.

Of course, this list describes only the consumables. In addition to a small sea bag of dry clothing, I’ll be hucking my tent, a sleeping pad and bag, a mosquito net, a tarp, charts, flares, headlamps, a VHF radio, a nifty lightweight folding anchor (if I have to stop on the river, I don’t want to have to row in place), a sponge, a bailing jug, and a cheesy transistor radio for entertainment; I’ve learned that earpieces or headsets mask ambient sounds that you might want (or need) to hear…the approaching freighter’s horn, or the clang of a buoy…all of which, in a rowboat, are behind you.

BUT….one of the highlights of the last week was visiting the folks at Adirondack Guideboat on Monday. I urge any of you who pass by to stop at their shop in Vergennes, Vermont. Their enthusiasm for- and knowledge of - small boats is legend, and seeing Adirondack Guideboats in various stages of construction is fascinating. They had my oarlocks, oars, foot block, and rails refreshed in no time at all; sadly, they can’t work similar miracles with the propulsion unit. To Steve Kulback & Crew, I say thank you again: thanks for my beautiful boat and for your interest and encouragement in my adventures. To paraphrase my ’06 Big Row blog, if the parents of all those kids one sees mindlessly riding jet skis would buy an Adirondack Guideboat (for a lot mess money), toss in a gallon of water, some sandwiches, and a sleeping bag, and tell their kids to get lost for a couple of days, they’d be giving those kids the exquisite prospect of creative adventure, real fun, and an authentic experience of independence.

So mom, dad…get the kid a Guideboat. If he or she doesn’t use it, believe me, you will.
If I were doing any training for this row, I’d write about it here. So let’s move on, shan’t we?
There seems to be a bit of a groundswell of interest in seeing me off from the Rusty Scupper on Sunday. I’ll be tossing the boat in the water at 8, stocking and balancing it (a key preparatory activity) by 8:30, and pushing away at 9 after a few Big Gulps and Mochas. It’d be great to see you there; the ’Scupper does a mean breakfast in front of a great view of the Inner Harbor. Caution: if someone tosses a Sunday Times at me, departure might be delayed until 1.

Of course, Pay Pal and pledge opportunities persist. We’ve got a little momentum started, and you can add to The Big Mo at any time! Remember...100% of your contribution goes to the financial aid budget at Boys’ Latin School…to boys and families truly committed to education and expanded opportunities…and the need always outstrips the resource. Thanks, Gentle Reader, for anything you can do.

One more blog before I push off…then Peg and Kathy will provide periodic updates as I call in each night.

I know most of you will welcome a reprieve from my tortured prose. Who wouldn’t?

Hugs,
Mr. Frei

Only ten days to go!

Greetings, Gentle Reader, June 11, 2009

Another day of rain…and only ten days to go.

Another day of rain…and only ten days to go. Here’s what’s on my mind.

Throughout the Chesapeake watershed, the water gathers. From tiny puddles flowing into little streams, which themselves flow into the countless creeks and tributaries that feed the Potomac, the heavy rains of late are certainly having an impact on the volume and velocity of the river. I’ve been anticipating the upstream dash on the Potomac to be the most demanding segment of the row, and this rain will not make it any easier. I’m told that it takes a week or more for water in the highlands to make its way through the system to the Bay, so I’ll be attending to the Weather Channel from here on out with a keen eye. A bit of sun next week would be welcome. Another week of rain will see me rowing on an aquatic treadmill.

Today I visited REI with a $40 gift certificate with a determination to hold the line at forty: a couple of car-topping pads for transporting the boat this weekend, maybe some new straps, and a fistful of Sharkies were on the short list. (Those Gentle Readers of The Big Row will recall that Sharkies are essentially electrolyte Gummi Bears, perfect for quenching thirst and replenishing electrolytes without filling up.) Alas, no Sharkies...and no Sharkie surrogates. But I still blew past $40 by $38, reflecting that gift certificates are usually among the most expensive presents possible for the recipient, yes? Josh, thanks for the gift!

Tomorrow I head north to Loomis for my 40th high school reunion. Then, on Sunday, it’s off to Lake George to retrieve the boat from my mom‘s house, and on Monday it’s a whirlwind visit to the Adirondack Guideboat folks in Vermont who will administer some TLC to the mechanicals. I estimate I’ve got about 1500 miles on the oarlocks and pins, and it’s time for some tighter tolerances before I hit the Potomac. Finances may be a little loose in DC these days, but I’ll have none of that sloppiness on my ship.

Loomis is celebrating it’s 50th year of lacrosse this year, and this weekend I’ll try my hand at running on a midfield during the annual Alumni game. “Running” may be a stretch for what I’ll do, of course, but trust me to find a way to make my opponent’s superior speed, size, and endurance work against him. As Santiago says in Old Man and the Sea, “I have many tricks.” One of my Boys’ Latin colleagues, a fabulous player and stick-stringer extraordinaire, has lent me his stick for the upcoming game. Today I spent an hour at a wall getting used to it. Simply put, it is a magic wand. Players “in the day” had to learn to throw around the particular idiosyncrasies of their stick; they were wooden, hand crafted, and no two were exactly alike. THIS stick is truly an extension of the players will. “In the day” I was a mediocre player at best, but today - unopposed, I admit - I was able to put the ball wherever I wanted it, intuitively. Maybe my Loomis gambit will be to participate in the warm ups and then, like, have to make like a really important call or something. It could be ugly...but it will be fun.

Closer to home, it appears there could be a nice send-off at the Rusty Scupper on the 21st. I appreciate those of you who have said that brunch from 8 to 9AM on Sunday would be a pleasant way to see a foolish man embark on a banal journey. My own concern is that my penchant for morning coffee will have me reaching for the relief bottle more than once before I clear Fort McHenry. (TMI? Sorry.)

Finally, a word about fundraising, if I may? As you might have noticed on the website, Kathy has arranged for donors to be able to contribute via Pay Pal. I’ll ensure that your donation will be noted by Boys’ Latin and acknowledged for tax purposes. Very easy. All funds go into the Financial Aid budget at school, and as you might imagine, the stresses on this component of any independent school’s budget is, times being what they are, intense. I’ve not been pushing the fundraising element of this adventure very prominently, but I WILL say that donated monies affect real families in a most tangible way. So, if you’re thinking of climbing aboard with your checkbook, circle back to Pay Pal and make it happen now, OK? Sure, the Potomac might be running against me, but those strokes will come easier if I know you’re there. Just do it, OK?

One or two more blogs before launch, OK? Hope to see you at the Scupper on the 21st; it should be sunny!

Mr. Frei

Here is the route to Washington!

I’ll be off to DC one week from next Sunday….9AM on the 21st

Greetings, Gentle Reader, June 8, 2009

I certainly have not distinguished myself as a correspondent. It’s been a while.

Since our last chat I have conceived, executed and graded (1,022 pages) a final exam, exhorted 62 8th graders to “Be the baker, not the muffin” in a blessedly already-forgotten graduation speech, and been to the gym…once. But it was a good visit; I think this ‘ole engine has at least one more good row in it.

Last Friday night one of my students hosted a class celebration – quite a shindig on the Harbor – and among the amusements was a world-class Mechanical Bull. I capitalize Bull for those of you who have ridden – or have attempted to ride – such a device. You understand.

Gentle Reader, it strikes me as ironic that even as my colleagues and I urge our 8th graders to “use sound judgment” in the unfolding saga of their lives throughout the year, we (the relative oldsters) were so easily coaxed to ride The Mechanical Bull. I mean, here I am, soon to turn 58, a bit less flexible than I used to be, an entire summer of recreational activity, rowing, and leisure ahead of me, now climbing a Mechanical Bull at the encouragement of a corral of hollerin’ thirteen year old boys. Even as I vaulted on and grabbed the rope, Evil Twin Skippy was whispering in my ear, “Al, Al…whoa, pardner. Hold on, buck-a-roo. This is cause for pause. Think about it.”

Three times, Gentle Reader. Three times I leapt aboard, three times my upper body endured contortions not recommended for my demographic; three times I was dashed to the mat like a wet Sham Wow. Not pretty. I hope that the pangs that I presently feel in my lower back are temporary…and that I have learned something. I DO know that whispering calming words in the ear of a Mechanical Bull may be good theater, but such tenderness does not in any way influence what will happen next.

I’ll be off to DC one week from next Sunday….9AM on the 21st, for those of you who’d like to add to my stores of Yoo Hoo, Slim Jims, and Electrolyte Sharkies. I’ll be departing from The Rusty Scupper, the Inner Harbor eatery that hosted my arrival from Troy in ’06. The 21st is one of the longer days of the year, so I figured I’d make it easy for anyone who might like to come down to see me off. It’ll be rain or shine; my experience is that boats row pretty well in the rain, and I can’t be fishing for excuses if I’m to get a start on this thing.

Back to the gym tomorrow…13 days to go. I think I’ve started kinda’ late.

Random thoughts

Greetings, Gentle Reader, May 24, 2009

This sultry spring afternoon finds me gently tapping at these keys which, to date, represents the lion’s share of my training for the row. Yet I worry not. It will not be a race, and there are a full four weeks left – four weeks from today – to attend to the power plant. I’m naively inclined to think that a lifetime of moderate physical fitness is a bit like money in the checking account…ready to be withdrawn at one’s leisure. Yet, in my case, the “leisure” has been all too protracted, and I’ll have to get at it…but tomorrow, OK?

During this lull before my students’ final exam, I‘ve been doing a bit of personal reading, a luxury that my typical schedule does not easily grant. I’m just finishing Drew Faust’s This Republic of Suffering, a splendidly written reflection about the physical, moral, and spiritual costs of the Civil War. Faust recounts the civil war historian James McPherson’s estimate that, “the overall mortality rate for the south exceeded that of any country in World War I and that of all but the region between the Rhine and the Volga in World War 2.” Faust reminds us that “the number of soldiers (from both sides) who died between 1861 and 1865, an estimated 620,000, is approximately equal to the total American fatalities in the Revolution, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, the Spanish American War, World War I, World War II, and Korea combined.” What a cost to form “a more perfect union.”

I didn’t select this book for its relevance to an impending Memorial Day weekend, but this holiday is in fact a direct relative of the recognition this country placed on military service directly after World War 1. The narrative reminds me of the extraordinary number of historical sites I’ll be rowing past in a few weeks…and of how much I have yet to learn about them. Point Lookout, for instance, the spot at which I’ll be making a dramatic (for me) sweep from the Chesapeake Bay into the wide mouth of the Potomac, was the site of the Union’s largest prisoner-of-war camp. Conditions in this camp – and all civil war camps – were appalling, and the death rates of the interred were very high. At the onset of the war, and for very different reasons, each side anticipated a short and rather painless affair, and neither side was prepared for the rapidly swelling number of prisoners. Yes, this is serious stuff for my own lighthearted journal, yet I do hope to take in as much of the depth and breadth of this history as I can. Lord knows that laboring upstream on the Potomac will give me plenty of time for quiet contemplation.

In fact, let this be an invitation to any of my readers who may be American History buffs to send me a note via this blog regarding points of interest along my route. I’ll be doing my own investigations, of course, but I’d certainly enjoy a little erudite audience participation…and it would bind me to my many passengers-in-spirit. Come on, climb aboard!

On a lighter note, one week from today will probably find me in this very same seat, feverishly (but hopefully) grading my students’ final exams. I spent yesterday writing it, remembering as I did so a sage soul once say, “The best exam is one that teaches rather than tests.” In class on Friday I also heard myself say, “Gentlemen, whatever exam I write for you will test mastery, not long term memory.” Their blank stares conveyed something between incomprehension and fear, cues that any good teacher does not hope to read in his students. I hope to strike a balance, and I am fortunate to count my older brother as my proverbial canary in the mineshaft. I always send him a copy of the test and Bill, a most literate, thoughtful, and honest soul, gives me pretty good feedback. He scored a solid B- last year (he’s getting better at verbals and interrogatives), but I am always most anxious to hear of his response to the essay question. He knocks the essay out of the park each year…he’s a terrific writer…and, frankly, I count the essay as the arbiter of how well I have coached my fellows in the power of language. Sigh. Well, we’ll see. Should I post the exam on this blog? Are you feeling curious, confident, or maybe even nostalgic for your own 8th grade English experience? Are you curious to see if you, too, might graduate from middle school? (Note: there is no way I would volunteer to take the math or science exams…)

This weekend’s other highlight – certainly so if one lives in Baltimore – is the NCAA men’s lacrosse championship. Yes, it’s being played in Boston again this year – sort of like holding the Australian Football Championships in Topeka, Kansas (ok, a slight exaggeration, but true lacrosse fans will get my point) – and tomorrow, Monday, Syracuse will face Cornell in the championship game. I’m conflicted. My mom, brother, and sister are all Orange People, yet yours truly, having played for Dartmouth back in the day when sticks were wood and men were afraid, harbors an allegiance to all things Ivy. Cornell is the odds-on underdog, and perhaps in the spirit of this row (with me being the underdog, the Bay and the Potomac being heavily favored), we’ll keep fingers and toes crossed for the Big Red.

In closing, you’ll note that I have not been beating the fundraising drum very hard. Or, at all, really. I’d just remind you that any pledges on my progress (pennies, dollars, or precious stones per mile…or, why not a flat sum?) go towards the Boys’ Latin Financial Aid budget. The needs remain great, as you might suspect, the boys I teach are wonderful, and they are supported by parents whose priorities are in exactly the right place. If the spirit moves you, let Kathy, me, or Boys’ Latin know directly.

After all, look what you get for your pledge: a warm, altruistic feeling, a figurative seat in the boat, and guilt-free reading that, in this case, includes ruminations on the Civil War, a book recommendation, reflections on education, a conflicted insight on the NCAA lacrosse championship game, and this plaintive plea. If I could include a Snugli or a Sham Wow, I would.

‘Till next time, Al