xmas letter 2009

This year has been action packed and we’ll try to delineate the highlights for those who couldn’t (or wouldn’t) come visit us, or those who locked their door, shut the lights and pretended to not be home when we came to visit them.
Hattie is a sturdy little 22 month old tyke. She swaggers like a sun-drenched whaler whose rum filled leg has fallen asleep after being stuck in a cramped, drifting life boat for 10 months.
She’s climbing and tossing and smiling and giggling and babbling and singing. And that’s just when she’s in her crib. We took her across the country to meet cousin Bubba (Andy) this spring . She pulled out the hair, it wasn't the chemo.

Her favorite place these days is the Kerhonkson town park. We try to limit her time there as it is a reclaimed landfill, suspiciously lush even in November!?! And after 25 minutes there, one's own cheeks start to flush (even in June!?!). We try to keep her away from Superfund sites, as per the General Parenting Handbook, page 3, paragraph 4. (Note to self: Is that why our taxes are so low?)
In anticipation of the day when the snot-nose boys' intentions are other than innocently shoving her out of the way for a ride on the slide, I have been working on a new utility patent. My alternative use for the common swing is as a chastity belt for overprotective fathers (ummmm, like me). Whaddya think? Next stop Walmart shelves? I know, I know, the snow plow and Ladle Cradle are all well and good, but this has REAL potential!! (prospective investors please hit 'reply') Right now it's a little unwieldy, but I plan to fine tune it and maybe offer a few color choices! In a few years I will adjust the stamped Warning notice accordingly to caution teenage boys about teenage girls who have fathers who have excavators. But for now, we're in Beta testing!





At 22 months Hattie has an impressive command of scatological farm life language. Luckily for her, there actually is poop everywhere which she loves pointing out (in case we have forgotten). In her defense, linguistically, ‘poopoo’, ‘poppa’ and ‘puppy’ and 'pupae' are rather similar sounding and frequently used and thus difficult to enunciate or differentiate for such brand new lips.
We are going with the European ‘ momma and poppa’ for the time being because it feels different and cute. We know that soon she’ll buckle to American convention and resort to rolling her eyes, slamming her hands on her hips and saying, ‘dad.’ (As in, "What evvvvvvvver, dad..." add cluck of disgust and embarassment here).
She has taken to saying 'poppa' in public places (shopping markets, banks etc) as pa- PAHHHHHHHHHHH. The 'PAHHHHHHH' part is screamed at the top of her lungs as she cracks herself up and concerned shoppers look over to see me unable to convince this little trickster to use her 'inside voice' through my tears of laughter. She knows how to play us already.
My pursuits of country music fame have stalled a bit as I can’t seem to commit to which color cowboy hat will define me, black or white. It’s an indelible and important decision, one that impales me on its horns as I don’t want to get halfway through a potentially prosperous career and then realize I made a humiliating mistake at the beginning by choosing the wrong color hat. Frankly I don’t know how anyone figures this out. So the guitar has been on the wall waiting. And waiting. Luckily there are only 2 choices. Black or White. Everyone else in the family has figured out how to look like country stars...

The best I could whip up was this at Tractor Supply with Hattie...

And as a result, I'm thinking White Hat... A careful read of Hattie's lips says: "Umm, pa PAHHHHHHHHHH can you please put me back in the car alone? NOW?? I'll pay the fine the cop issues for endangering a child out of my eventual allowance... right now, and I mean RIGHT now, I just want to be, errrr, alone."
Yes, I have brought shame to my family with my in-store antics.
I've graduated to somewhat regular essayist on the NPR network here in the Northeast. Great to be able to get these things out, and fun to hear folks say, "Hey, I heard you on NPR while I was having anonymous sex with a prostitute at a truckstop on rt 95- Hey do you have a cold or something??"
On the farm, Hattie likes to survey the views from the comfort of her clothing-optional adirondack chair.

This year she was even elected Miss John Deere 2009
What she doesn't realize is that merely looking at this junker tractor the wrong way breaks it.

But it's hard to stay mad...

This one was in last year's xmas letter but it's too cute not to reuse.
Like any good Nichols, Hattie has a strong genetic propensity for the telephone. Combine this with a strong genetic propensity for ordering up room service and there's trouble aplenty when it comes time to settle up with the front desk.

"Let's get some more breast milk up here already. I called 40 minutes ago. You call this 5 star?"
Again this year we're off to Florida, but in the words of George Jefferson, we're movin' on up! (Ha! You thought I was going to quote Kierkegaard!! Fooled ya!) Movin' on up and not into a larger, more fuel efficient RV, either. This year we are getting one of the apartments on Continental Acres Horse Park at the discounted, sympathy rate. (Come to think of it, 'Continental Acres Horse Park' does sound like one of those suspiciously euphemistic, assisted-living outfits they park you at in Florida when you turn 97 and can no longer find your teeth).
Hattie learned to walk in Florida last winter, and we attribute her confidence afoot to the fact that we were unable to level the RV. She learned to walk on a pitched surface and we slept each night with the blood rushing to our heads. This resulted in some strange dreams indeed. And even stranger morning breath.
We'll take our 2 superstar ponies down this winter and Cori will spend lots of time getting them into even better shape. She had a great season of riding and (surprise!) we've discovered that Hattie is simply nuts about riding! So it's extremely cute to see the two of them doing chores, for example, and Hattie tossing a fist of hay at the horses for dinner while mom take a slightly more thorough approach.
Cori is working on a certification that will put her into a fairly elite grouping of instructors. Again this year her students worship the ground she walks on, even if the economy has affected the luxury activities like horseback riding and yachting. Speaking of yachting, we sold the Bada Bing. It was bittersweet because it finally closed that excellent chapter of our lives. But, you know, more sweet than bitter.
Somehow we managed to bale and pick up 700 bales of hay (I'm using the term 'we' generously here) and that cacophonous symphony of backfiring old equipment always takes me back to the Katonah, NY farm where I cut my teeth cutting baling twine with my teeth (!?!). Here's a view from the 1936 Farm All tractor I learned to drive at 7 years old.
We had a few weddings/ events on the farm this year and they were great fun. I also got to officiate a wedding of a few dear friends up here at a location other than the farm. It was on a golf course. The septic system had backed up and was, as Dylan once indelibly said, 'blowing in the wind.' I tried to be mature and not turn their wedding into a Comedy Central roast, but damn...There's a picture of me in a suit out there on facebook if you need a good belly laugh.
We got to spend some time with the family this year. Cori's mom came to stay in Florida and get some Oma time in. We visited PU, Helga and Hattie's favorite, Herr, Doktor, Professor P. Pumpkin Pie, Esq. in Westport, Mass

Nice puppy. This is PU trying to kick sand on top of what will otherwise be a $25 fine. Nice puppy.
Hattie's favo view of horse shows is from the small of her favorite ride's back. The feeling is mutual.
So that's our picture story of 2009. We wish you all much love, and as we look down on the bracelets that Bubba gave to us, we can't help read, and reuse with respect, his sagacious, genuine Team Sharp words:
Be well and in peace.

love Cori Wally and Hattie (and the Bichons)