The Final Nine

Notes from today’s HIKE… We’d been hiking for 90 minutes when the counting started. “One, two, three, four…” My five year-old son began verbally marking each of the steps required to get home. He was tired. I didn’t blame him. The HIKE (as the WALK is known when kids are involved) can be stretched to several miles. There’s a lot of up and down, especially when your legs are the length of a stick of salami, and not quite as muscular. As kids go, mine hike better than most, particularly if they don’t realize they’re hiking. I tend to say things like Let’s go look for banana slugs in the woods or Want to go find a good tree to climb? I don’t think of this as lying. It’s more like clever packaging. By the time they realize they’re exhausted, we’re an hour away from home and they’ve got no choice but to hike back. I am either building their stamina or teaching them not to be so trusting. Either way, a win-win in my book. Unlike her brother, the eight year-old fancies herself...

Notes from today’s WALK… I can walk to the grocery store from my house. It’s not easy. I follow hilly streets without sidewalks. I traverse steep, rocky paths and uneven staircases. But I get there. It doesn’t take too long. And when I arrive on foot, I always feel slightly superior to all the people who drove. I look piously at them as they squeeze their Land Rovers into the Prius-size spaces in the Whole Foods parking lot. Sure, we are all about to spend $23.99 on a pound of salmon, but I’m doing it with a clearer conscience. And as long as I don’t buy too much, the walk back up the hill makes me feel even more superior. Not only have I saved the planet, I’ve gotten in shape doing it.  Today I stumbled down the hill with my non-profit-logoed canvas bag and bought my $54 worth of groceries. Organic, out-of-season, heirloom tomatoes from Mexico; steel-cut oatmeal in bulk (plastic bag re-used); thick cut, black forest bacon; cave-aged gruyere from France; organic red le...

A scene from "Gallery of the Five Year-Old" MAN enters a busy art gallery. Other gallery goers mill about, ogling the artwork and sipping free chardonnay. Man pauses, looking admiringly at a distinctive piece of artwork. ARTIST approaches him. Man: Are you the artist? Artist: Yes. Well, one of them. Man: I love your work. Artist: Thanks. Man: So, tell me about this one? Artist: I call it, “Piece of Wood with Three Nails.” Man: Interesting. Tell me about your process here. Artist: I hammered three nails into a board. I used to hammer them in the middle, but sometimes they wouldn’t stay in so I started hammering them into the end and they sticked so now I hammer them into the end. Man: And what are you trying to say with this piece? Artist: Charlie Axelbaum hammered four nails into his board but two fell out. Man: Have you thought about how you’d like to see it displayed? Is it an interactive piece? Does it belong on a ...

Notes from today's WALK (South Florida edition)... “Do you think you should be wearing a hat?” I call to my daughter behind me. “I don’t wear hats when I ride jet skis, dad!” Of course she doesn’t. My daughter shouts these words from the back of a personal water craft, skimming across the waves in the Atlantic Ocean, somewhere south of Fort Lauderdale. She has never been on a jet ski before. This fact doesn’t stop her from making permanent proclamations about her jet skiing habits, like a Republican disavowing tax increases. Sea spray splashes my face as she urges me to go faster. She gleefully barks orders as if she was born on one of these things.   Her initial fear has given way to enthusiasm. I cannot say the same. My hand is cramping on the throttle as I try to hold a speed that balances thrills with safety. But I am putting on a brave face for her sake. After all, what thrill-seeking eight year-old wants to think her father is scared? “Having fun?” ...