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Showing posts from April, 2010

Man Love

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After a gratifying win, the Utica Club hockey team posed for a picture at this weekend’s CanAm tournament in Lake Placid, the goalie front row center. The mood was celebratory, teammates slapping the goalie’s shoulders. “I’ve never felt such man love,” the goalie said, and the left wing leaned over and tried to kiss his cheek. “Awww,” the goalie said and shook his head. I was one of a handful of wives accompanying husbands to the tournament and witnessed men over forty transforming into the boys they were when their moms ferried them to the ice rink decades past. They were silly and playful. The videographer got shots of them flexing aging biceps in the locker room, pulling in puffy stomachs and puffing out sagging chests. On e guy wore fake teeth that made him look as if he’d taken a few pucks to the mouth. “Hockey is a dangerous sport,” he said, “and you need protection.” He held up two packets of condoms. Twenty-two teams played 27 games of hockey in three days using all three r

I believe I've got a case of "saudade."

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I’ve never thought of our treehouse as a subversive retreat, but when Erica and Michael stopped at U.S. Customs on their way from Montreal and the officer asked, “Where are you staying in the U.S.?” Erica responded, “In a treehouse in Vermont.” “Pull over,” the officer said. Fortunately, Erica had a printout of the Airbed and Breakfast site that lists Fern Forest Treehouse, and after studying the sheet, the officer waved them through. This Canadian couple was looking for anything but excitement. They simply wanted a quiet place to relax, and that’s what we provided. When they arrived in the afternoon, we offered to make them reservations for dinner in Bristol, but they’d brought snacks and planned to hang out. Fine with us. H and I went for a late dinner at the Bobcat to give them some solitude, and when we returned they were snug in the treehouse. It was 11:00 a.m. when they rose for breakfast on Saturday. While they grazed over scones and granola, we

Sweet Bees and K-Mart

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Even though they came from just up the road in Burlington, it took us a while to get to know Hannah and Brad when they visited Fern Forest for a night in the treehouse. Brad is the most understated fellow I’ve ever met. He’s compact and fit, an athlete who took up ice hockey this year, even though he’d never played before. But he plays roller hockey and soccer and football, and they keep him in shape. He’s cautious until he gets to know you, not giving away anything about himself. H is like that, too. Maybe it comes from being a competitor—don’t give the opponent any advantage; keep him guessing. “What kind of work do you do?” I asked. “Retail,” he said. I could’ve let it go at that, but I’m a writer, and I’m always looking for a story. “What store?” I said. He hesitated before answering, “K-Mart.” “Oh,” I said, “Martha Stewart!” “Her contract ran out,” he said. “She’s with Macy’s now.” “Too bad,” I said. My financial adviser just sold my Macy’s stock because it’s heading downhi