Black Grease, Orange Shoes

Recently I had my car inspected at a local gas station. The owner/manager looked like he should be manning an espresso machine, not examining automobiles. He had a perfectly trimmed little beard and fancy glasses. He was tan, maybe sixty years old, wearing expensive, twenty-something jeans.

He was also sporting a pair of bright orange leather loafers.

-I like your shoes, I said.

-Oh, these?

-Yes.

He leaned in, poised to tell me a secret.

-They cost $1,800.

-Really?

He shrugged and gave me a look: What a crazy world; he didn't set the price.

-Real Italian leather, he adds, absolved of guilt. The best in the world.

As he finished the inspection I watched his shoes. The orange really was perfect, neither too bright, nor too dull, and the leather looked comfortable. Soft and marbled. What did he mean when he said "real" Italian leather? Are there orange cows in Italy? I wondered. No, of course not, but I pictured them anyway, and decided that there should be, even if they'd clash a little, color-wise, with the rest of the Italian field palette.

The garage was hot and it was hot outside. Wasn't he hot in those shoes? I decided my feet would be sweating.

Plus the floor was spattered with grease and dirt and grime. It really wasn't a place for expensive orange shoes.

He put the inspection sticker on my windshield. This month's color was orange. Maybe he matched his shoes to the color of the month.

-Hey, the sticker matches your shoes.

-Huh? Oh, right.

He gave me the keys and I started to leave.

-You know, I only tell you the price because you asked.

-Thank you.

Did I ask?

The DIY Treehouse

A massive branch broke off a tree in our backyard recently, completely crushing the kids' playhouse. Thankfully, they were not inside at the time.

We made the best of the situation. We borrowed a neighbor's electric chainsaw, sliced up the branch, and salvaged the one section of the playhouse that survived. Mostly, anyway - the front door doesn't quite close. Then we took all the twigs and branches, creating a new structure around the front panel from the plastic house.

To make the roof sun-proof, we cut up the Christmas tree that I'd been promising to dispose of for months, and laid the dried branches on top.

I wish I could say I worked an Arduino board in there somehow, or put the whole thing on wheels and turned it into a robot, but unfortunately I'm only capable of writing about people who do that kind of miracle work; I don't go much beyond sticks. Still, it's pretty sweet inside:

Newburyport Literary Festival

A few weeks ago I was a guest author at the Newburyport Literary Festival up along the coast of Massachusetts. It's a beautiful old brick town on a river, just south of some popular surfing spots in New Hampshire. I drove up to one of them early that Saturday morning with my board in the back of the car, hoping to paddle out, only to arrive at the beach and realize I'd forgotten my wetsuit. Whoops.

The festival, now in its seventh year, was great fun. A whole bunch of smart, attentive kids came to listen to me talk about writing, reading, and FISH at Newburyport's beautiful public library; I'm amazed they sat through it on a beautiful Saturday afternoon.

The kids definitely appeared to be budding writers - they asked incredibly sharp questions - and the adults were fun too. I especially enjoyed the grandmother kept questioning me, doubting that I really make a living as a writer.

The festival was also a nice chance to meet some other writers, including the great Rodman Philbrick, author of Freak the Mighty. I'd never read the book, but I whipped through it after hearing him speak, and it's one of the best I've read in a while. The narrative voice is incredible, and there's so much happening behind the words.

Listening to Elisha Cooper discuss his books and art was also a real pleasure. I'm looking forward to reading a few of his works to my kids.

There were numerous adult authors in attendance as well, but honestly, who wants to listen to grown-ups? I'll take sixty-year-old kids any day.

The Festival happens every April, I believe, and it's free. If you're in New England, check it out next year.

Boston Authors Club Awards

Last week I learned that FISH has been selected as a "highly recommended" book by the Boston Authors Club, and that it has been nominated for a 2012 Rhode Island Children's Book Award as well. As far as I can recall, the last award I won was either the co-MVP of the Plandome Country Club Swim Team (a long time ago) or the Shelter Rock Elementary School Spelling Bee Champion (an even longer time ago), so this was pretty big news.

Generally, it made me think that we should all have more awards in life. In the office, at home....everyone deserves an award now and then. Some other awards I deserve:

-Most Forgetful (Some might see this as a negative; I would consider it an honor.)

-Best Morning Coffee Maker (Probably one of the more important roles in any house. Coffee, and how quickly it acts on the brain after wake up call , affects everyone, from parents down to infants.)

-Most Likely to Wake Up Early (This is more of a weakness than a strength, but I want an award anyway.)

-Best Random Storyteller (You need an adventure that features Michael Jackson, Cinderella and mermaids? Give me ten seconds....)

-Worst Tap Dancer (This should still be an award, even though it's a "worst," because bad dancers are incredibly valuable. They make everyone else feel better about themselves.)

Soul Surfer

In April 2005, my wife and I were bodysurfing on a beach in Kauai when a bunch of kids paddled out on their boards. The water was clear, clean, aquamarine, and the wind was down, so the surface was glassy and smooth. I was jealous, not having a surfboard with me, and thinking about the fact that these kids probably just got out of school and ran straight to the beach for a surf. Not a bad life. Anyway, there were girls and boys out on their boards, and one of them was paddling a little strangely. Something just didn't seem right about the way she was pulling through the water. It hardly stopped her, though: A nice, waist-high wave rolled in, she turned, jumped to her feet, and coasted our way.

That's when we saw the stump and realized this was the famous local girl, Bethany Hamilton. A year earlier, she'd been surfing at this very beach when a shark attacked her, biting off her arm. Now she was back, playing in the surf with her friends, clearly fearless. Needless to say, watching her surf was an incredible experience. Even with one arm, she was probably the best one out there.

She also has a book out now, and a movie coming out this weekend. Scholastic Book Talk posted an interview with her the other day. It's a good one, but this quote stood out above the rest:

BT: If you could go back to that day and choose not to go surfing, would you?

BH: No. If I could go back to that day, I would go surfing. It may seem like such a terrible thing that happened, but I can see now that there has been so much good that has come out of it. And I wouldn’t change that. Losing my arm was not the end of the world.