heyyyy

ok so this is when we were going to see an opera! it was very pleasent. and made you want to fall asleep. this europe trip was great! a lot of excitment and a couple mental breakdowns(lauren & sandy) but overall it was a great trip!

Preview of The "Two Nichols Make a Dime" Blog

"Manly"
I believe that Claire would concur that she and I have gotten ourselves in some of the most awkward situations. Many of these situations have been products of our "volunteer experiences." These experiences were required of all the summers I remember since I became a teenager. Actually, I remember being quite young when my mother would take us to bring sugar cookies, in the shape of flowers, to the residents at our local nursing home. I remember walking down the halls with the taste of sugar-cookies in my mouth and a very distinct smell enveloping my nostrils. I was always glad to be home afterwards. But it sure felt good to talk about what a good person you were by telling them what you did with part of your weekend. Telling people this, especially as little girls always made a good impression. This experience that I shared with my mother and sister is good, at least what I can remember of it, maybe that's the point.

At any rate, Claire and I had to come up with places, each summer, to volunteer. This is the part of the summer we dreaded. We were in charge of our own destiny, we were able to choose where we would spend the humid hours of the summer in Northern New York. Deciding on a place entailed much heavy sighing and rolling our eyes. The end product is "yes it was a good experience," but knowing what lies ahead, or rather not knowing what lies ahead but knowing the amount of time that will go into it is a daunting feeling.

Almanzo Wilder. He is known for being married to the author, Laura Ingalls, and his childhood remains in the memories of many, because of her book "Farmer Boy." If you have visited us in Malone, I am sure we have brought you to his homestead, which is now a historical site. It is a quaint red house with white shutters and it also has a barn that had to be rebuilt because it was struck by lightning. Archeological students from a college nearby found the original foundation of this barn and they created the barn based on Almanzo's drawings. Apparently, he was only a few inches off of the measurements he gave from memory. There is a little bookstore/museum that is next to the farm. The Wilder farm also is the site of Civil War re-enactments every summer, where people get to play dress up. Of this Claire and I are guilty. There are photos that document this point of our childhood when we simply didn't know better, but we should have. All I have to say is that these pictures are perfect blackmail, if my parents were ever looking for it.

Why, you might ask, do I know so much about this quaint little home in Burke, N.Y? It is the site of our volunteer experience in the summer of 2003. This was a nerve-wracking experience, to say the least. Claire and I were unsure as to what our duties would entail. Cleaning, cash register, research? We walked in the first day, and got a private tour of the place (A tour we have taken every summer up to that point, at least twice.) At the end of the tour, our tour guide informed us that we would be giving the tours that summer, on the three days a week we were there. I'm sure she saw the shock and horror that we felt, because I felt my jaw drop and my eyes widen. The possibilites of embarassment were endless and they were racing through our minds. How are we supposed to remember all of the information? That question was answered immediately when we were given a booklet of information that we were to study (we were not allowed to bring it on the tour). When Claire and I got home we studied quite a bit and we still felt jittery about the next day, where we would be giving a tour.

When we got there, we gave our first tour with our tour guide, we will call her "Ellie," and she supervised it and put in little pieces we missed. All in all, we did a fine job! She was pleased, and so were we. We settled into a routine during that day, in regard to when Claire would speak and when I would speak. It was a good day. The next day, however, did not go so smoothly. It was an early, foggy morning and Claire and I pulled up in the silver van and sat there with our Dunkin' Donut's coffee and donuts and realized the hours ahead would be long, especially with the promise of rain in the foreboding grey clouds. The honeymoon was over. We decided we better go in, after our breakfast. When we walked in we had time to talk with her about the tour times. We both insisted we do the tours together, just incase we forgot anything, the other would probably remember. She agreed, probably more than we knew at the time. So we started off with a group that came from South Carolina. They were not properly dressed for the "summer" in the North Country. The were wearing shorts, tank tops, and parkas. As Claire and I brought them around the museum we heard the wind whistling as it was rushing by the little building. We took our time and indulged in all of their questions as we dreaded the outdoor part of the tour.

It was time. We all went outside, the parkas were sails on a ship during a storm. Then it quieted down as we made our way between the museum and the barn. Claire and I were both, not in the mood. Not at all. Our group was more interested in their next question than our answers. So, it made for a longer than usual tour. It was Claire's turn to discuss Almanzo's ancestors and how they came upon this plot of land and built their home and barn. She also usually went into a bit of the genealogy she had studied from our little booklet of facts. Instead she told the peppy group, "Almanzo's ancestor's came through the... the trees"... and then, in response to the questioning and blank looks on the groups faces and the sheer horror and disgust on mine, she pointed to the woods across the street. There was a moment of silence. There was a point in that moment where I thought about how awful this was and how all of my friends were pool side, sipping on lemonade. Then I decided the tour was mine. Not one word would I let Claire speak. I went through the entire tour as fast as possible. I don't thing our group knew what hit them. When they left, they looked as though they barely survived the storm, with their parka's limp and their faces, sullen.

Claire and I duked it out after the tour, had a few terse words, and then managed to give tours to colorful crowds of people for the remainder of the summer. Yes we survived. The following summer volunteer experience was in California...

It is impossible to experience one's death objectively and still carry a tune. -- Woody Allen

This is a concert that I waited for over many years. For decades now, Woody Allen has played clarinet with his New Orleans Style jazz band at the Carlysle Hotel in New York City almost every Monday night.

This year he came to Montreal. Claire, Danny Stone, (college student at SUNY Buffalo) and Erin Duffy, (former balet student at Ottowa, CA and now a freshman at the University of Vermont) -- both Claire's friends joined me at the Place D'Art in Montreal for a great, great concert.

It was Woody Allen himself who said that 80 per cent of success is showing up, and sure enough, just walking on the stage of Place des Arts’ Salle Wilfrid Pelletier earned him an almighty cheer from the audience. There he was with his oversized black-rimmed glasses, legs crossed and leaning back in his chair, both feet tapping away to the rhythm of his New Orleans Jazz Band. So the fact that his subsequent first notes elicited laughter rather than more cheers could, if we’re being kind, just be attributed to his demeanour. Even the way Woody sits is funny. Maybe listeners were remembering their favourite embarrassing moment in Annie Hall or Manhattan. But maybe, more likely, they were caught off guard by the strange sound being produced by his clarinet – a sound so squeezed, it’s a wonder anything comes out at all. Squeaks, buzzes and the odd identifiable note turned out to be the beginning of Woody’s first solo of the night. But did it really matter? My guess is that most of the audience was dying to hear Woody speak more, but he made it clear he was here for his music. For the whole set, he sat resolutely as just one of the band. And so the band played on, seven white guys strumming through old-time hymns and gospel marches. Sometimes the trumpet or trombone player got up to croon a verse or two. For Woody, playing the clarinet has been a lifelong labour of love, and that’s a pleasure to witness no matter what the sound ends up being.

Okay so he's no Benny Goodman, but give Woody Allen a break. He and his New Orleans Jazz Band gave a great show. A bunch of old guys getting together and jamming out some classic ragtime – what's not to love? Yeah, Allen squonked his way through the first few numbers, but when he warmed up he revealed a real feel for the music, even getting into some creative syncopation toward set's end. And his bandmates were characters, every one of them. The trombonist and trumpetist played it straight, but brought the songs to life when they had the spotlight. The banjo player was a riot, grinning ear to ear throughout, letting off the occasional "woop" and convincing Allen to come back for not one but five or six encores, and even to play a few more tunes in what was likely a rehearsed routine. The drummer was the best, staying almost perfectly still all evening, moving only his wrists, and maybe a foot, just enough tap out a light rhythm. Then, on one of the last encores this understated drummer sang like a New Orleans nightengale. Add piano and standup bass, and you've got a party. Allen for his part was borderline narcoleptic, keeping his head down when he wasn't playing (to let his bandmates shine), springing to life long enough to take a solo or play off the others. Several members got up to sing a song, the drummer surprising everyone with a great voice when his turn came, late in the show. All in all, a hoot, allowing us to rediscover the fun and unpretentious poetry in an often overlooked style of jazz, and to see a pop culture icon in another light.

More on the Jazz Fest later...

By the way, will someone other than Maureen, Claire, Isaiah, Al and I write on this?????????? If you don't I swear I'll go into "edit" on this thing and change the name to "The Outlaw Blog".

-- Joe

A sister is a little bit of childhood that can never be lost. ~Marion C. Garretty

A sister smiles when one tells one's stories - for she knows where the decoration has been added. ~Chris Montaigne

Claire and I are keeping a blog of childhood memories. If you are interested ... the blog's page is twonicholsmakeadime.blogspot.com


~enjoy :)

Hero's

I have been wondering when we would see a note from you! Glad to hear you are up and about and able to take nourishment! Joe, you are my Hero! What a thunderous hit you took! Will you be Alex's agent when he goes pro?  The Bears could use a guy like him! You know, the kind that is big and strong, fierce and mighty. The kind that eats pig's eyes, ribs, hind legs etc! (you will probably make sure he signs with the Jets!) 

You were kind enough to to sacrifice yourself for the team, took one for the the gypper, gave of yourself.  You have been very giving all your life and why not let the kid take you out? You stood up to the challenge, accepted what that young man gave you and walked off the field under your own power,and gave him a ride home!  No, you were not about to let that boy see you stay down. No sir, you got up, peeled yourself off the floor and walked off under your own power.  How many men do you know that would have done just that? Not only Joe, did you fight the fight, you took the hit turned, walked and drove on! You are a man among men. Stand tall Joe Nichols, you manly man, you! You are a fine man, a great husband and father of 6 wonderful children. You are a pillar of the community,  steadfast in the face of adversity. 

Life has dealt you a wonderful hand and so what if you have a bump in the road? And you know Joe, those bones will heal just in time for football season.  You can probably get out there right after school gets out and help coach Alex on his technique so that the next time he runs down a poor unsuspecting Uncle like you Joe,  you'll know which way to turn..........best of health to you Joe. May you have a speedy recovery. I know the kids can't wait to see you out and about!

isn't that right Joe?

Al

"For the first half of your life, people tell you what you should do; for the second half, they tell you what you should have done." Richard Needham

I have had a lot of spare time lately. Around three weeks ago I got hurt. It was bad.

I was playing "touch football". It was a two on two game. My nephew, Alex, shown to the left as Number 60, threw a pass that I intercepted. Between the goal line and me was a six-foot something fifteen year old -- Alex. I thought that I was faster. I ran as hard as I could. I almost beat him. That's me, on the ground. What fun I had. Alex just touched me. Because I was going so fast, though, I fell on my left side. After some time on the ground I did get up and walk -- something that I should not have done. I drove Alex home and went to my house. As soon as I tried to get into the house, via the stairs, I felt sick, sweaty and in terrific pain. As you may imagine, Kathleen whooshed me to the Emergency Room at Alice Hyde where I stayed for quite a few days.

So, I am left with a fractured pelvis. This is what my particular fracture looks like:

On the left side you can see where the bones are apart. That is what happened to me. However, the bones came apart only slightly and not as drastically as shown on the lower right, (my left!).

So, the first few days I was in bed. To the credit of the physical therapist, I was out of bed walking in no time, though it hurt like anything. I am now walking around the house with a cane and have started going up and down stairs.

The one that hurts just as much is the fracture of the clavicle, (collarbone).

I fractured it in three places: two places near the acromion and one place near the sternum. Ouch! I have dreaded the sneeze. I can tell you that since I have been hurt, I have sneezed four times. I remember them all.

Theresa came to help us and what a help she was. The one thing that I will always remember about Theresa is her advice about drinking water, water, water. I have never peed so much in my life during and since her visit. Theresa told me to drink 37 gallons of water per day. (Well, perhaps I exaggerate a bit...) She put up with a lot, but her visit was the occasion for fun for Mag, Veronica, Paul, John and Clairehead. She also put up with my friend, Todd Webber, who visited; my friend Ed Boyea, who wished he visited and a host of others. Thank you, Theresa. Theresa also worked at the St. Lucia Cafe with Kathleen and I think that they had a lot of fun doing that as well.

“ I knew nothing; I was nothing. For this reason, God picked me out.”

St. Catherine Laboure was an uneducated orphan. She was so little when her parents died she didn’t understand what happened. She helped the sick and the poor. She was led to becoming a nun and the virgin Mary appeared to her. Mary told her to help the church unite and help France with its hardships. Mary chose her because she had hardships just like France.
isaiah