Jethro Tull

We are spending tonight at my parents’ house in Connecticut. The drive down from New Hampshire this evening was the first leg of a week-long spring vacation road trip that will take us to North Carolina and back. The initial impetus for the trip was to visit Soni, Rani’s best friend from the orphanage Bal Anand. Soni was adopted by a family in North Carolina. We have planned the trip to allow us to visit other friends along the way.

Sitting in my parents’ kitchen eating a late dinner, I hear the unmistakable sounds of the “classic rock” band Jethro Tull coming from the television in the next room. I sidle over to the doorway and sure enough, there is Ian Anderson prancing around in tights and blowing up a storm on his flute. I am transported back to the first rock concert I ever attended. It was Jethro Tull performing at the (since demolished) New Haven Coliseum, circa 1974. I realize that I was about Rani’s age at the time. The music was not considered "classic rock" back then! What were my parents thinking, letting me attend that concert – even if I was chaperoned by my older sister Robin?

I had invited the goalie from my hockey team to join us. My Wallingford Hawk teammate Paul Pulaski was a year older and much cooler – or should I say prematurely delinquent – than I. What were my parents thinking? They must not have known Paul.

Although I rarely listen to Jethro Tull’s music these days, as I stood this evening in my parents’ kitchen, I found myself moved by the songs I was hearing. The band played one of my favorites, “Wond’ring Aloud”:

Wond’ring aloud,
Will the years treat us well?

The song has new meaning thirty-five years later.

Since becoming a parent about a year and half ago, I have occasionally been plagued by the thought, “What if my kids end up doing some of the idiotic, dangerous things that I did as an adolescent?” A variation of this thought is “Did my parents have any idea of the trouble I could have gotten into, had I been slightly less lucky?” And I find myself pondering in all seriousness that timeless question, “Are there things that a parent has a right not to know about their kids’ activities?”

In retrospect I am able to appreciate how much freedom my parents afforded me to explore and grow. I think they would say they were willing to take “calculated risks.” Now that it’s my turn, I understand how difficult it can be to find the right balance between protecting children and giving them wings.

Maybe the world is too different now for the comparison to have much meaning, but I don’t plan on letting Rani attend her first rock concert any time soon.

The song ends,

And it’s only the giving
That makes us
What we are.

Slumdog Millionaire

My apologies to anyone who is disappointed that Annette and I have not kept up with this blog. Our priorities have been elsewhere. But everything important in our life is good: Rani and Mamta are thriving, Annette and I are well, and our families are fine.

Here are a few recent photos:

Annette and I finally saw Slumdog Millionaire last night, but I didn’t enjoy it as much as I had expected. I think it’s a wonderful movie, but as it progressed I had trouble letting go of the scenes of violence, deprivation and abuse in the slums of Mumbai. I found that I couldn’t willingly suspend my disbelief as Jamal worked his way steadily toward the million dollar prize. I am not sure whether my reaction would have been different had we not been in Mumbai about eighteen months ago to adopt our two daughters.

I thought about the movie again this evening when I attended a choral event in which Rani participated. Choruses from four different schools performed three songs each in a packed auditorium. Although I had not relished the thought of an evening spent listening to earnest but dissonant music, I enjoyed the concert thoroughly. The music teachers who conducted the performances were clearly beloved by the students, and for obvious reasons. The singers may not have hit every note, but all of the music was wonderful, and some of the performances were downright impressive.

The concert ended with a group sing-along of America the Beautiful. To me it was an inspired choice. I marveled at the opportunity represented by these singing children, and felt grateful to live in a land where such beauty and accomplishment are not only possible, but commonplace.

Renovation Adventures - This old house

This blog was supposed to be about renovating two houses on Nantucket, in addition to adopting our daughters from India. A few of our "building nerd" (we use the term with appreciation) friends have complained about the lack of information about the renovation project. They have a point. Between building our family and renovating two houses, we didn't have much time for blogging.

Belatedly, we offer these snapshots of the construction process.

The building before the renovation. Every contractor involved urged us to demolish it and start from scratch.

However, the Historic District Commission felt pretty strongly about keeping as much as possible of the original material in place.

Renovation Adventures - The Eagle has lifted

The shell of the building supported by temporary cribbing and steel beams.












As the foundation hole gets fully excavated, the cribbing piles grow.












The back half of the old structure sits on dirt. Also an old well is found in the rubble below the rotten deck.











The deck stays behind as the walls are lifted by a hydraulic press system.












2x12 ledgers are screwed to every intact stud. They are supported by the steel girders from below.











A 'bobcat' moves the soil to the shovel of the excavator.












The first floor deck has been dismantled piece by piece.


















The entire building is supported by four full height cribbing piles. The new deck will have to be framed around them.

Renovation Adventures - Piece by Piece

The old shell weathered a major storm in late November without roof and second floor to help brace it. Two dozen temporary diagonal braces were installed in a hurry before the storm hit. At this point the outer walls were already sitting soundly on their new foundation and first floor deck.







New plywood sheathing replaced the old boards which were subsequently planed and jointed for reuse as floor boards.











Original timbers have been treated against powder post beetles and mold in the upper gable walls. New framing got installed between the remaining timbers.










A large number of original timbers had to be replace, reinforced or modified on site.












The old chimney mass had been meticulously taken down. The bricks were scraped cleaned and reused around the new chimney flue.











The entire structure gets clad in tarpaper as is typcial for Nantucket houses.












Typical Nantucket window trim detail with white cedar shingle siding installed.












All exterior walls are tightly insulated with icynene foam for great energy efficiency.












Additional fiberglass insulation in the ceilings for sound deadening.

Renovation Adventures - New Shine

Exterior after renovation - shed set back for parking












View from entry hallway - arched frame opening allows for view through to bluestone patio

Living room with restored brick fireplace, built-ins, wainscoting and coffered ceiling












Living room with restored fireplace mantel and door to basement beyond.











Kitchen from dining room.













Upstairs bedroom with original floor boards













Master Bathroom overlooking the yard













Master Bedroom with 'character' oak flooring. This corner of the building used to house the second floor kitchen.

The Knapsack

(Andrew, 1Mar08)

As part of the process of preparing to adopt, Annette and I were required to take two day-long classes about adoption. The first class was general in nature, while the second focused specifically on the adoption of older children. Thankfully we have not had to deal with most of the difficult issues presented in this second class, but one of the statements made by the presenter has been echoing for me recently. To paraphrase:

“When you adopt an older child, he or she will come with a knapsack full of experiences and memories. The child may open up that knapsack quickly, slowly, or not at all. But it will be a part of who the child is.”

We don’t know much about Rani and Mamta’s life prior to their coming to the orphanage. When Rani speaks of her life in India, it always seems to be in the context of Bal Anand, even though she was there for a relatively short period of time. Rani has generally happy memories of the place. Occasionally she will say or do things that remind us that she did have a life prior to Bal Anand. These moments give us glimpses into her “knapsack.”

Rani once told the story of sneaking out early in the morning when she was six or seven years old, and climbing the mango tree in her neighborhood. She sat in the tree and ate several ripe mangos. “They were so good!” When she got back, the adults knew exactly where she had been, because the sticky mango juice on her shirt gave her away.

Yesterday at the beach, Rani spilled Coke on one of the beach towels. “I want you to wash that towel when we get back to the room,” instructed Annette. Rani did not protest. When we arrived back, I reminded Rani that she was to clean the towel, and offered to help.

To my surprise she said “No thanks, I can do it myself.”

I suggested that she wash the towel in the bathroom sink. It would have been a messy operation, because the towel was large and the bathroom sink small.

“Silly Daddy,” she said playfully, “it wouldn’t fit!”

Rani took the towel from me and spread it on the floor of the shower. She asked for soap. I handed her shampoo. She went to work.

“You can watch if you want,” she told me. “This is how you do it.” Kneeling on the floor of the shower, she expertly folded and bunched the wet towel into sections, and with both hands beat them into the tile floor. Her movements were graceful and efficient. She had clearly done this many times before.

When she was finished washing the towel, she began twisting it like a rope.

“Here, you grab one end.”

She twisted one way and I the other to wring the water out of the towel. The towel rope doubled up on itself, and we kept twisting. When we released the towel and hung it on the balcony railing, it was clean and only slightly damp. I smiled and asked myself again, “Who is this beautiful child?”