U.S.

A Day in DC – Part 2

/ Tara Taft / 1 Comment

Full of excitement (we’d just experienced a bit of history, after all – see A Day in DC – Part 1), we walked back to John Kerry’s office to collect our things before heading to the Capitol to watch the Senate in session. Minutes later, we sat in the Senate Gallery, absorbing our Congress at work. The room resembled a cocktail party. Only one senator was actually sitting, the others milled about, entering and exiting the room. We saw Kerry, Diane Feinstein and Al Franken. A black cloth and white flowers covered the desk of Senator Bird, who had died two days before our visit. We watched as senators voted to approve US Army General David Petraeus as commander in Afghanistan. As each senator’s name was called, he or she answered “Aye,” which sounded a lot like “Hi,” to my daughter who wondered at this friendly ritual.

Now off we went for a tour of the Supreme Court Building. The building held a special interest for us. William Howard Taft, a distant ancestor of my husband, argued for construction of the building, and his bust is displayed prominently in the entrance to the hall. Although the Supreme Court was not in session, we were able to sit in the chambers, imagining the judges deliberating as we listened to a lecture on the Supreme Court’s history and process. After lunch in the Supreme Court’s basement cafeteria, we headed back to the Capitol building.

Once again we waited in line to go through security. This time though, we lost a water bottle. Though empty, my daughter was instructed to throw away her Sigg water bottle. Leaving it outside wasn’t an option. Nor was hiding it in the bushes. There was no where else to put it, so in the trash it went, and we entered the building.

Streams of people milled the halls and the visitor center of the Capitol Building. Long lines of tourists waited for their tours. Happy we had arranged a tour through our senator’s office, we wandered through the exhibits before meeting Senator Scott Brown’s intern at the gold King Kamehameha statue in the National Statuary Hall at 3 p.m. After a short film, the intern took our family around the Capitol building, pointing out facts and trivia about past presidents and the building itself.

Our tour continued below the building where we hopped on a trolley for the short ride from the Capitol Building back to the Russell Senate Office Building.

All smiles, we disembarked and followed the intern up stairwells and down hallways, past interviews taking place, to Senator Brown’s office.

The office still held photos of Teddy Kennedy, its former inhabitant. We went out on the balcony where our photo was taken before walking back through the office. While signing the visitor book, we heard, “Hello, Senator.” And there was our senator, Scott Brown. After shaking the senator’s hand and having our picture taken with him, we said good-bye and left the building and Capitol Hill.

A Day in DC – Part 1

/ Tara Taft / 2 Comments

From the Senate to the Supreme Court to handcuffs and a gun, what started out as a typical day on Capitol Hill turned into a memorable one.

After a few days in DC’s sweltering heat, absorbing the Smithsonian museums, watching millions of dollars being printed, riding bicycles around the monuments, and even pretending to be spies, my family of four (two teenage kids, my husband and I) were ready to experience Capitol Hill.

We walked from Union Station to the Hill with anticipation. Intent on showing my children where their congressmen worked, I headed our family toward the Russell Senate Office Building where our senator, John Kerry, has his office. The morning was cool but sunny, and all around us young men and women dressed in black and pumps or ties walked briskly to work. Near the Russell Building a line was forming, and being tourists, we jumped into line before fully understanding what we were in line for.

The woman sitting under a tent asked us if we’d like tickets. Tickets to what? My husband asked. Free tickets to Elena Kagan’s Supreme Court Justice confirmation hearing, she answered. While my husband ran across the street to Kerry’s office to leave our cameras, water bottles, pens and other items which were not allowed into the hearing, the kids and I waited in line.

Eventually we followed 20 others (most likely interns, their dress contrasted sharply with our tourist apparel) to the Hart Senate building. One by one we passed through security and into the quiet building where we formed another line outside the hearing room’s door. Bright lights, cameras and microphones filled the area. Men and women with press badges scurried around, tilting, adjusting and talking, as we waited silently to enter the room.

The large wooden door opened, and we entered, single file, and sat in chairs in the back of the room. Immediately in front of us, media personnel filled perpendicular tables with lap tops and head phones, talking, typing, looking official but not necessarily as if they were paying attention. C-Span monitors lined the walls, and on the opposite side of the room, the Senate Committee on the Judiciary sat elevated. There was Senator Diane Feinstein in a red suit and Senator Orrin Hatch. I could see Senator Al Franken asking the questions, and if I leaned sideways and sat up straight, I could see Elena Kagan beyond the reporters in front of me. It was easier to watch the interaction on the monitors but exciting to see the people with my own eyes. When the Committee took a break, my daughter caught a glimpse of herself on one of the monitors, and we watched interviews taking place just outside the door. A few minutes later, we were ushered out to make room for another group.

Visiting the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory

/ Tara Taft / 1 Comment

Accompanied by a few 14-year old girls, I arrived at the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory at 3 p.m. on a Friday afternoon in June and followed the signs.

Once inside, we said hi to the women at the reception desk and walked down a narrow hallway, reading the signs and peering through windows.

We saw potatoes falling through a chute and on conveyer belts. We watched as workers grabbed random samples of potatoes potato chips and more potato chips, but we weren’t allowed to take any photos. We learned that it takes a lot of potatoes (4 pounds) to make only 1 pound of potato chips, and we observed the chips being weighed and packaged.

At the gift shop, we were given free samples (sea salt and vinegar and sweet mesquite barbeque) and bought two bags for lunch the next day (feta and rosemary and 40% less fat).

Located at 100 Breed’s Hill Road in Hyannis, Mass., the factory is open for free self-guided tours Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. – 5 p.m.

Trip taken June 2012.

Searching for the Best Chocolate Chip Cookie in NYC

/ Tara Taft / Leave a comment

After finding the best pickle in New York City, my friend was now after the best chocolate chip cookie. According to her Californian rabbi, the best chocolate chip in the world could be found on Manhattan on the Upper West Side.

One morning in June, we met at Levain Bakery on West 74th Street to try a cookie.

What we discovered: the cookies are large, easily two servings worth, which helps justify the cost of $4 per cookie. Full of chocolate, the cookies contain walnuts as well (watch out all of you with tree nut allergies). Gooey on the inside and firm on the outside, the cookies are not crisp and their flavor exudes butter.

The bakery sells more than just chocolate chip cookies. Besides other cookies, the bakery sells bread, sticky buns, and other sweet items.

Since we didn’t try any other chocolate chip cookies in New York, I can’t confirm whether Levain Bakery makes the best chocolate chip cookie in the city, the country or the world. But I agree with the rabbi, its cookie is definitely in the running.

Trip taken June 2012.

A Good Witch?

/ Tara Taft / 1 Comment

She lured us over with her mystical promises. The allure of fortunes and world wisdom beckoned us all, and she spread the cards before each of us, one by one, directing us to ask a question and choose a card and then reading its picture, attempting to interpret its application to our lives.

The death card, the queen of love, a card of finance, each of us, listened and smiled as each fortune loosely resembled an aspect of our life.

As I sat opposite this serene middle aged woman at a restaurant in Marin County, I noticed her costume. Her black almost purple long straight hair was adorned by a large black hat. She wore a green shirt covered in part by a black vest and black and green striped pants. Rings and bracelets sparkled and jingled on her fingers and wrists and she spoke in a voice reminiscent of the Addams family’s Morticia. She handed me her business card. “I do weddings,” she said.

An hour or so later, we’d move on and away from this soothsayer and were focusing on buying food for dinner at a nearby grocery store. Near the dairy section, we caught a flash of black and green and at the check out, we faced the witch again. She told the children with a voice smooth and deep, “So nice to see you again.”

Trip taken July 2011.

In Search of the Best Pickle

/ Tara Taft / Leave a comment

We were on a search for the best pickle on Manhattan. Before my friend embarked on a trip to the East Coast in June, she did a little research. She googled and searched, arriving in town with a name and address. Her family and I followed as she walked briskly from South Street Seaport through Chinatown and Little Italy, passing glistening gelato and mouth watering cannolis.

Turning a corner on the Lower East Side, we found the best pickle at The Pickle Guys on Essex Street.

Stepping down a few steps, we entered a room full of pickles: vats of pickled tomatoes, olives, and carrots, mushrooms,  green beans and peppers.

And there were cucumbers: sour and hot, half sour and three quarter sour. I bought the full sour pickle and took a bite. Tart and crisp with just the right bite, it lived up to its reputation.

Whether or not The Pickle Guys actually sell the best pickle in New York, I never found out, but for pickle connoisseurs everywhere, it’s definitely worth a visit.

Trip taken June 2012

Bolts and Delayed Fireworks in Boston

/ Tara Taft / 3 Comments

The sky was ablaze in Boston and Cambridge last night, with lightening bolts and cameras flashing while the moon rose. The late night sky was patriotic with the red shooting lights of flares, the red, white and blue lights on the Prudential Center, and fireworks appearing now and then above and beyond the Boston skyline.

Although thunderstorms were predicted all day, my family decided to take our chances and head into Cambridge to see the fireworks and to listen to the Boston Pops. Equipped with folding chairs, a picnic, blankets, games and books, we arrived around 3 p.m. and staked our claim next to the railing along Memorial Drive.

We were as close to the river as we could get without being on it and for the next several hours we hung out, chatting, people watching, meeting our 4th of July neighbors, playing games of Uno and Hearts. We read and ate and explored, amazed at all the state police and the people staking claim to bits of grass and pieces of sidewalk.

It was hot and muggy. Kids jumped off boats into the water (yes, they swam in the Charles River!), the event organizers allowed people to keep their tents up longer than usual (as late as 7:30 p.m.), and we bought root beer floats.

At 8:20 p.m., the concert began as scheduled with the “Star Spangled Banner” performed by the U.S. Navy Sea Chanters. From speakers along Memorial Drive, we heard the Pops perform “Olympic Fanfare” and the themes from “E.T.” and “Raiders of the Lost Ark” as lightening brightened the Cambridge skyline.

We listened to the Dropkick Murphys and Jennifer Hudson and to “Dancing Queen” by Mamma Mia vocalists, but we didn’t hear the “1812 Overture.” At 9:25 p.m., a public safety announcement asked us to take cover from the storm. Some did, but we didn’t, hoping the rain would never come.

Thirty minutes later, the rain still hadn’t arrived and the bolts had subsided. The Pops began to play, “Stars and Stripes Forever,” the last scheduled song on the program. People pushed up behind us, everyone eager to get the best view of the anticipated fireworks. Jennifer Hudson sang another song, and the U.S. Navy Sea Chanters sang a few patriotic songs before the music stopped.

After a long pause,  both the fireworks and the rain began. We leaned against the railing, ooohing and aaahing the fireworks between rain drops, kaleidoscope designs of every color and shape, hearts and boxes and shooting stars, the bang of each blast competing with the 4th of July playlist.

When the fireworks were over, my almost 16-year old son said the hours of waiting were worth it; we followed the masses to the T and back to our car.

Oink for Ice Cream

/ Tara Taft / Leave a comment

“Oink,” five 13-year olds said in unison, in eager anticipation. Over the counter, the bright eyed young woman’s face lit up. She clanged the bell and told her boss, “It’s an oink!”

Fingers pointed as mouths salivated, voices escalating with excitement and anticipation. Eyes watched the bowl of ice cream grow bigger with each request. Scoops of peppermint stick and coffee, bubblegum and mint, chocolate and vanilla, butter pecan and coconut, chocolate chip and peanut butter, strawberry and blackberry were drowned with hot fudge and butterscotch, sprinkled with candy, and squirted with whipped cream.

Five 13-year olds with five spoons perched around the small ice cream parlor sized table, hovering and tasting, slurping and swallowing, each determined to taste her favorite flavor. They laughed and giggled, jostled and cried out, as spoons reached across the table, and ice cream spilled and oozed melting stickiness and sweetness.

In minutes, it was gone. The bowl, the mess. The napkins and spoons thrown away. Only a few flavors lingering on messy lips; the experience eagerly anticipated now only a sweet memory and a hope for the next visit to the Vineyard. You can get an oink at Mad Martha’s Island Cafe, located on Martha’s Vineyard in Oak Bluffs, Edgartown, and Vineyard Haven.

Trip taken 2011.

Camping with Crocs

/ Tara Taft / 1 Comment

Bats swooped, fish jumped, and the sun set as I watched Kristina lifted her foot off the rock and let her Croc slip into the water. Dave grabbed a fishing pole and with a flick of his wrist attempted to rescue the shoe. but with each missed cast, the bit of plastic blue floated further and further out to sea. Now only visible as a black blob rocking gently on the water surface, the shoe was far from shore. As Sandy took over the fishing pole, Dave ran to the boat, shoved the nearest one into the water, and paddled furiously. Moments later, Kristina was wearing her shoe once again.

We were camping at Pawtuckaway State Park in New Hampshire, our annual camping weekend with four families from three New England states. Each December we choose a weekend and then in January reserve our three sites on the water. With eight children ranging in age from 6 to 13 that summer, camping brings us all together. We swim and kayak, hike and read, fish and just hang around. The kids play chess, hunt for sticks and catch frogs. It’s on camping weekends that they are allowed to be kids, without scheduled activities or plans, without electronics or toys. The adults watch, but not too closely, allowing them the freedom to explore and to imagine.

It’s a lot of work to go camping, and each year there is some grumbling before we get there. We bring tents and sleeping bags, folding chairs, wood for the fire, tools, cookware and dishware, fishing gear and boating equipment. We bring food to share and food for ourselves. But once we’ve arrived and the tents are up, there’s a peace and a camaraderie that doesn’t exist at home. If it rains, we put up the umbrellas and the tarp. If it’s hot, we find shade and go for a swim. We collect blueberries in August and roast marshmallows and sing songs around the campfire. Some of us get up early for a kayak while the water is still; others stay up late for a moonlit paddle, while the kids are asleep in the tents, and the other adults reminisce by the fire.

Pawtuckaway State Park has been our camping venue of choice for several years. The campsites are spacious, the restrooms are clean, and the park is accessible. Plan on making reservations early if you want a water site.

Surmounting the Beehive

/ Tara Taft / 4 Comments

Should we climb the Beehive? My 11-year old son wanted to; my 9-year old daughter was game. But my husband and I weren’t too sure. We read the Acadia National Park’s book of hiking trails’ description. We talked to a ranger and examined her photographs. Through binoculars we watched from below as little bits of color moved along the edge of the mountain. We knew there were iron rungs and exposure, rocky ledges and an iron bridge. The kids insisted they could do it. We decided to go for it.

We began to walk up the trail, pausing to read the sign. “Caution!” it warned. My husband and I looked at each other. Were we doing the right thing? We took a photo of the sign and continued as the trail turned from an easy meander to rock scrambling, boulder stepping, and hand grasping. The trail wasn’t as bad as I had feared. I followed my son with my daughter behind me, occasionally catching glimpses of my husband’s worried face below.  The kids were doing fine and seemed to enjoy the challenge of the mountain. We crossed the narrow iron rung bridge climbing the iron rungs up the pink granite as we would a ladder. Only 30 minutes later, we stood at the top, ready to take our photo with the town newspaper, my husband visibly relieved that it was over, I amused that the elevation was only 542 feet.

That evening, after more hiking, a walk out to some tide pools, and a lobster dinner, we stopped at our campground’s store for some ice cream.  As we licked our ice cream, preparing to play a game of Uno, I noticed a laminated newspaper article posted on a map of Acadia on the store’s bulletin board. The headline read, “Man Dies In 200 Foot Fall Off Beehive.” We laughed knowing we never would have climbed the Beehive if we’d seen that article the night before.