I believe that a willingness to walk directly into 60° waters—knowing that five minutes later you’ll be totally comfortable—is a major step towards a resilient adulthood. This is Maine thinking.

dad

It’s vacation when you make up a song to memorialize the random nothing that you are doing on the beach.

dad

For years we have been staying on a beach in Maine that is submerged up the road every day at high tide. This year we are staying on a normal beach in Maine and boy is it changing the game.

dad

Nothing worse than lobster hands.

dad

I’m not saying she’s some sort of climbing wunderkind, but I am in fact asking if we think it is a plausible coincidence that my amazing daughter’s team always wins the climbing olympics. SHOW ME THE DATA, JUDGES!

dad

Last night reminded us so much of the nights leading up to Kina first going to preschool, with all the attendant mystery and anxiety of independence. Some nights are tough that way, and I wish we could all get a little snuggle, so last night she did.

dad

Sometimes it’s just coconuts.

dad

I should probably find more time to write about this in the context of where the Daily Kina comes from, but my dad is at least partly responsible, having produced at least a few editions of the Churchill Downs Bugle—named after the street we lived on in Ohio for a few years, when I was about as old as Kina is now. Unlike the Daily Kina, the Bugle’s stories were written through (instead of greeked-out lines on a page), and it was produced on a manual typewriter, which is probably why his editions were fewer and farther between than mine. But the spirit and purpose of the two publications was the same: to memorialize the hilarious magic of small children. Among the many well-trodden beats of the Bugle was the crime desk, which often reported on the comings and goings of a “small burglar” who would sneak in while parents were distracted and steal snacks. Ken was a major source of that magic hilarity, whereas I, the sophisticated nine-year-old, was often depicted as the curious onlooker.

Publishers must always remain curious about where they come from, and the history of family papers runs deep here.

“Lux, Veritas, Noogie”

I’ve got a tiny bit of crud right now—conveniently just after I left my job. Kina left a little note by my bedside as I slept in this morning, reminding me that she loved me and that mommy made me jook. Sick but lucky.

dad

Kina’s sympathy only goes so far, and only so long.

dad

I’ll have more to say about this in the coming days, but tonight I want to thank the New York Times for not firing me over this clear conflict of interest at any time in the last six and a half years.

- 30 -

dad

There comes a time in every person’s life when they must declare their position on this existential question. I am proud that Kina is among the right and just.

dad

Kina still felt burned by the sold out tamale guy from the other day, so I promised we could stop by on the way to camp. Turns out that tamales make a great pre-climbing breakfast, and they make publishers happy.

dad

Every time Kina takes my hand when we walk, I treat it like the last time she will ever hold my hand, and that’s not such a bad feeling—as long as I don’t talk about it.

dad

To be clear, this was just a personal best of four chawanmushi. She is still chasing the world record, set by another small customer of this Japanese restaurant, of eight in one sitting.

dad

As public editor of this newspaper, I am not sure our critic fully engaged with the stunning art and architecture of the Calder Gardens because she was so sweaty, but she stands by her zero star review (as does the indignant French woman we saw at the exit berating the staff about the size of the garden, repeating over and over “Zis is not a real garden!”

dad

A sleepover here is defined as Laurea sleeping in the same bed as Kina, which happened for two consecutive nights as compensation for our being able to go out for dinner with friends last night—which is why this newsletter is arriving Sunday morning.

dad

Our esteemed publisher returns to the City of Brotherly Love.

dad

A contract forged from long negotiations over specific numbers of chawanmushi, signed with thumbprints, tacked forever to a cork board by our front door.

dad

It’s not fair because she told me to dry the dishes and I didn’t do it right away and then she had to do it for me and Mommy has always said that it is important to clean as you go and I’m just laying there and she grated all the cheese.

dad