Sunday, September 21, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Beautiful Game...
... no more so than when played by a bunch of pre-schoolers and first graders.
Alex and Peter are doing soccer this year. Peter is in a pre-k "instructional" program (as if my kid needs instruction!) and Alex is in a first-grade "developmental" league. Alex practices on Tuesday evenings and plays actual games on Saturday mornings. Pete's program consists of a one-hour practice/scrimmage session, also on Saturday mornings. Pete's team is called the Lions; they roar after every goal (and much of the time in between goals). They also have lots of water breaks; I guess lions get thirsty a lot. Alex's team is apparently yet-unnamed (Alex informs me they are "still thinking of one"). As his team sports green jerseys, we have offered several suggestions, ranging from the green hornets, to the green bandits, to the green apples. I'm starting to get the sense they don't really care about the name so much.
With Pete's scrum at 9 am and Alex's at 10:30 (both at the same fields) our Saturday mornings are spent camped out at games (except for last Saturday when I abandoned my almost 8-month pregnant wife with our four children so that I could go waverunning / BBQing with some friends off the southern tip of Kent Island -- did I mention I have the best wife in the world). Some pictures from an absolutely exquisite late summer Saturday morning follow.
Alex and Peter are doing soccer this year. Peter is in a pre-k "instructional" program (as if my kid needs instruction!) and Alex is in a first-grade "developmental" league. Alex practices on Tuesday evenings and plays actual games on Saturday mornings. Pete's program consists of a one-hour practice/scrimmage session, also on Saturday mornings. Pete's team is called the Lions; they roar after every goal (and much of the time in between goals). They also have lots of water breaks; I guess lions get thirsty a lot. Alex's team is apparently yet-unnamed (Alex informs me they are "still thinking of one"). As his team sports green jerseys, we have offered several suggestions, ranging from the green hornets, to the green bandits, to the green apples. I'm starting to get the sense they don't really care about the name so much.
With Pete's scrum at 9 am and Alex's at 10:30 (both at the same fields) our Saturday mornings are spent camped out at games (except for last Saturday when I abandoned my almost 8-month pregnant wife with our four children so that I could go waverunning / BBQing with some friends off the southern tip of Kent Island -- did I mention I have the best wife in the world). Some pictures from an absolutely exquisite late summer Saturday morning follow.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Morning at the Zoo
On Tuesday, Jen took Peter and Ben to the zoo along with Sis-in-Law (Aunt) Jessica and nephews (cousins) Sam and Luke. Actually, Jessica technically took Jen, as Jessica is a member of FONZ (Friends of the National Zoo) and therefore gets free parking and free animal crackers for the kids (the zoo itself is free for everyone). From the kids' report of the trip, it appears they witnessed a hippopotamus take a "bath" in his outside water tank, some tigers wake up from a nap (but none of which escaped), some monkeys, um, monkeying around, and other assorted animal life. Pictures on assorted statuary below.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
2 Less Teeth
Alex is finally beginning to lose some teeth.
A picture on his first day of school (he lost tooth #1 later that day -- yes, it's still in there, although very loose)...
...and a few days later.
A picture on his first day of school (he lost tooth #1 later that day -- yes, it's still in there, although very loose)...
...and a few days later.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Remembering a Bad Day
I'm not very good at keeping a journal. Two years ago, however, on the fifth anniversary of the September 11 attacks, I felt the need to record my recollections from that tragic day. I've cut and pasted those recollections below. I note as I re-read them that I tended to focus on the overwhelming sadness of the event, and that I did not record the amazing displays of heroism and absolute selflessness that were exhibited on that day and in the days thereafter. I am convinced that those sacrifices will not go unrecognized. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13.
_________________________________
September 11, 2006
Today marks the fifth anniversary of the worst terrorist attack in the history of our country. It was a bad day; a really bad day. I remember it all too well. I was working out in the basement of the law school at Georgetown when the radio DJ said that a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers. At first, everybody figured it was an accident. We went to the room with the TV to see what was going on. Then, as I left that room to do another set, the second plane hit. At that point, we knew it was no accident. I called Jen from the phone in the gym because my friend Jeremy Meacham was working the desk [Ed note: I had no cell phone at the time]. I dressed and went up to the main law school campus [which sits on Capitol Hill, a few blocks from the Capitol building] where I called Jen again from the phone in the Georgetown Law Journal office. She told me that there was a fire at the Pentagon and that maybe I should come home. I told her that I would see what was going on at the school. I retired to the main TV lounge at the law school where everybody was watching the big screen in disbelief. Soon thereafter, people said the Capitol was being evacuated, classes were cancelled and we should leave. Our understanding was that the Metro was shut down, so I fled, with a mass of other pedestrians, out of the city. I walked with several people from the law school. We traveled by foot all the way to Dupont Circle, passing on the way a stalled van that federal agents were checking for explosives. We all ran from that scene. I remember thinking that I very well may die; that it could go off and that would be it. Arriving at Dupont Circle, I was taken into the apartment of the girlfriend of one of the guys I had been walking with (a guy I had never met before that morning). It turned out that both towers had collapsed as we had been walking.
I learned that the red line was in fact operating, so I boarded the Metro and met Jen at White Flint station [in Maryland]. She picked me up and we picked up a suit that I had had altered (it was, after all, interview season – I had my callback interview at Jones Day the day before). We went home to our apartment at Westchester West [in Silver Spring, MD] and there was an eerie silence. Air travel had been suspended. We could hear and see fighter jets patrolling the skies every once in a while.
We watched the news for most of the day. I remember watching, either that night or the next, and feeling overwhelmed with sadness. I had checked the NYU website and read how the campus had shut down. Everything was a shambles. It was more than most of us could bear to watch. Nobody wanted to see any more pictures of the plane running into the South Tower. We had seen enough.
The next Thursday (two days later), we [Jen, Abbigail, and I] traveled to New Jersey for law firm interviews in Philadelphia. On I-95 as far away as Baltimore, there were signs indicating that tunnels and bridges into New York still were closed. It was a somber drive. While in the men’s room of the Four Seasons hotel in Philadelphia [where I had gone for a break before my afternoon interview with a nearby firm] a man in the stall next to me, whom I had never met or said a word to before in my life, turned to me and said, “We’re going to get those sons of _____.” I nodded. That’s how we all felt. It was on everybody's mind. That morning, I had received a message from Jones Day (left the night before) extending a job offer. It was a happy moment in an otherwise sad week.
A week later, I went to New York for an interview with White & Case in midtown. I arrived in the city early so I could go downtown; I wanted to see it for myself. The scene defied my ability to describe. Signs with pictures covered every lamppost and subway wall, asking for information about missing loved ones. Thousands of them. The scene at Ground Zero was like a war zone, with military personnel roaming the streets and a layer of dust covering everything. There was a distinct and awful odor emanating from the ruins. And the ruins were gigantic; almost mythic in size. It was surreal. I cried. And I was not the only one.
GHW
_________________________________
September 11, 2006
Today marks the fifth anniversary of the worst terrorist attack in the history of our country. It was a bad day; a really bad day. I remember it all too well. I was working out in the basement of the law school at Georgetown when the radio DJ said that a plane had hit one of the Twin Towers. At first, everybody figured it was an accident. We went to the room with the TV to see what was going on. Then, as I left that room to do another set, the second plane hit. At that point, we knew it was no accident. I called Jen from the phone in the gym because my friend Jeremy Meacham was working the desk [Ed note: I had no cell phone at the time]. I dressed and went up to the main law school campus [which sits on Capitol Hill, a few blocks from the Capitol building] where I called Jen again from the phone in the Georgetown Law Journal office. She told me that there was a fire at the Pentagon and that maybe I should come home. I told her that I would see what was going on at the school. I retired to the main TV lounge at the law school where everybody was watching the big screen in disbelief. Soon thereafter, people said the Capitol was being evacuated, classes were cancelled and we should leave. Our understanding was that the Metro was shut down, so I fled, with a mass of other pedestrians, out of the city. I walked with several people from the law school. We traveled by foot all the way to Dupont Circle, passing on the way a stalled van that federal agents were checking for explosives. We all ran from that scene. I remember thinking that I very well may die; that it could go off and that would be it. Arriving at Dupont Circle, I was taken into the apartment of the girlfriend of one of the guys I had been walking with (a guy I had never met before that morning). It turned out that both towers had collapsed as we had been walking.
I learned that the red line was in fact operating, so I boarded the Metro and met Jen at White Flint station [in Maryland]. She picked me up and we picked up a suit that I had had altered (it was, after all, interview season – I had my callback interview at Jones Day the day before). We went home to our apartment at Westchester West [in Silver Spring, MD] and there was an eerie silence. Air travel had been suspended. We could hear and see fighter jets patrolling the skies every once in a while.
We watched the news for most of the day. I remember watching, either that night or the next, and feeling overwhelmed with sadness. I had checked the NYU website and read how the campus had shut down. Everything was a shambles. It was more than most of us could bear to watch. Nobody wanted to see any more pictures of the plane running into the South Tower. We had seen enough.
The next Thursday (two days later), we [Jen, Abbigail, and I] traveled to New Jersey for law firm interviews in Philadelphia. On I-95 as far away as Baltimore, there were signs indicating that tunnels and bridges into New York still were closed. It was a somber drive. While in the men’s room of the Four Seasons hotel in Philadelphia [where I had gone for a break before my afternoon interview with a nearby firm] a man in the stall next to me, whom I had never met or said a word to before in my life, turned to me and said, “We’re going to get those sons of _____.” I nodded. That’s how we all felt. It was on everybody's mind. That morning, I had received a message from Jones Day (left the night before) extending a job offer. It was a happy moment in an otherwise sad week.
A week later, I went to New York for an interview with White & Case in midtown. I arrived in the city early so I could go downtown; I wanted to see it for myself. The scene defied my ability to describe. Signs with pictures covered every lamppost and subway wall, asking for information about missing loved ones. Thousands of them. The scene at Ground Zero was like a war zone, with military personnel roaming the streets and a layer of dust covering everything. There was a distinct and awful odor emanating from the ruins. And the ruins were gigantic; almost mythic in size. It was surreal. I cried. And I was not the only one.
GHW
Andrew, Timothy, Grant, and Matthew Willis: World Trade Center, circa 1986.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
First Day of School!!!
First day for Abbigail (3rd grade) and Alexander (1st grade).
First day of school for Peter (pre-K).
First day of school for Peter (pre-K).
Sunday, August 24, 2008
OBX
Last week, we concluded a week-long trip to the Outer Banks (our first trip back since our post-bar examination trip in 2003). It was awesome. We (or at least I) wish we were still there. Details below.
Two weeks ago, we left almost directly after church to begin the 7+ hour drive down to Frisco, North Carolina, located close to the bottom tip of Hatteras Island, the second southern-most island in the Outer Banks. (Ocracoke is the farthest south, but it is accessible only by ferry, private boat, or private plane.) The drive was pleasantly uneventful. We arrived too late to see the ocean (which was viewable from our porch) but not too late to hear it. My blood pressure began to lower almost immediately.
We awoke to the envigorating realization that for the next seven days we were to live 100 feet from the beach with little else to do but play on it. And play we did. We had beautiful weather for almost the entire week. Interspersed among our many, many beach visits was a trip north to Kill Devil Hills and the Wright Brothers museum in Kill Devils Hills (technially not Kitty Hawk) and to the largest sand dunes on the east coast at Jockey's Ridge State Park. We also managed to visit the famous Cape Hatteras lighthouse, go miniature golfing and, on our final full day on the islands, take the aforementioned ferry to Ocracoke. At night, we would relax to the sights and sounds of Michael Phelps dominating the world. Somewhat bronzed and moderately depressed by the prospect of leaving, we packed up Saturday night and departed early Sunday morning, catching Sacrament Meeting in the Nags Head Ward before enduring traffic on the way home that made one wonder whether we were being punished for not attending the entire 3-hour block.
We generated memories a plenty, and almost as many pictures. Here are a few.
(I've been to lots of neat places around the world and seen lots of neat things. But, at least so far, this may have just been my best vacation ever.)
Two weeks ago, we left almost directly after church to begin the 7+ hour drive down to Frisco, North Carolina, located close to the bottom tip of Hatteras Island, the second southern-most island in the Outer Banks. (Ocracoke is the farthest south, but it is accessible only by ferry, private boat, or private plane.) The drive was pleasantly uneventful. We arrived too late to see the ocean (which was viewable from our porch) but not too late to hear it. My blood pressure began to lower almost immediately.
We awoke to the envigorating realization that for the next seven days we were to live 100 feet from the beach with little else to do but play on it. And play we did. We had beautiful weather for almost the entire week. Interspersed among our many, many beach visits was a trip north to Kill Devil Hills and the Wright Brothers museum in Kill Devils Hills (technially not Kitty Hawk) and to the largest sand dunes on the east coast at Jockey's Ridge State Park. We also managed to visit the famous Cape Hatteras lighthouse, go miniature golfing and, on our final full day on the islands, take the aforementioned ferry to Ocracoke. At night, we would relax to the sights and sounds of Michael Phelps dominating the world. Somewhat bronzed and moderately depressed by the prospect of leaving, we packed up Saturday night and departed early Sunday morning, catching Sacrament Meeting in the Nags Head Ward before enduring traffic on the way home that made one wonder whether we were being punished for not attending the entire 3-hour block.
We generated memories a plenty, and almost as many pictures. Here are a few.
(I've been to lots of neat places around the world and seen lots of neat things. But, at least so far, this may have just been my best vacation ever.)
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