Nathan Lachlan Tidd

December 22. Nathan Lachlan turns zero.




Nathan meets Nathan. Immediate confusion ensues.


Nathan Lachlan thinks about a solution, then says "Hey, why doesn't everyone just call me Lachlan?"



Everyone thinks its a great idea, and agree to try it out.

Lachlan burps, then falls asleep.

Number Nineteen

Hi, All,

Nathan Lachlan Tidd was born kicking and screaming at 9:45am this morning. He weighed in at just over six pounds, with quite a bit of blonde hair.

Mom and baby are doing fine.

Pictures to follow.

All the best,
Nathan

Deer Camp 2009

The newest and youngest Tidd hunter powered onto the scene this year by bagging a camp-record 11 point, 180 lb buck.

Even as hunting pros at neighboring camps yearned to see their first deer of the season, 16 year old James Tidd spotted deer on three different occasions and then laid waste to the unfortunate monster buck that strayed within range of his single shot 30-30.

It wasn't long before veteran companion hunters Bill, John & Jeff were seen emulating James' hunting style of bulling through the bushes at high speed, and were even discussing the possibility of a new line of hunter clothing called "Jamesy".

Upon emerging from the woods, local Millinocket residents wanted to shake James' hand, take pictures, and generally celebrate this rare north woods victory.

Of course, all of these events only served to honor the memory of the "father of hunting", Herb Kimball, who went to that hunting-camp-in-the-sky exactly 20 years ago.

The jubilation was only slightly marred by the pathetic sight of James' father begging for donations to help cover the cost of James' hunting license, airfare, gear, and now deer processing and head mounting.

Who's Birthday is today?

Happy Birthday!

Wedding Party: Photos & Video Toast

All,

Thanks so much for coming (Jeff & co we missed you!). Below are a few photos. More on Facebook. Rudie took a quick video of the toast ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyR7o8mpBE4 )

All the best,

Nathan

Whose birthday is today?

Happy Birthday!

Whose birthday is today?

Happy Birthday!

Utah Again...

As most of you know, we came back out to Utah at the end of August. We're currently renting a condo and looking to get a more permanent abode. Here's some photos showing what it's like (with a positive slant of course)... Click on the photo to get the full effect...

Our condo...


Hiking in the canyons...

Andrew's wild 18 year old birthday party...
More hiking...

Running in Pinamar

Hello from down South...We spent the weekend in Pinamar on the Argentine coast with the boys and Luciana's niece, Lucia for the Merrell Adventure Race. Had a great time. When we weren't eating ice cream...

Practicing on the dunes...

We were enjoying the post race pleasures...of a job well done.

Nico's first race and Ale's 2nd. Nico was sure he wanted to run the 3 kms race from months ago and decided that he wanted to run alone. Ale decided to run at the last minute and said that he loved it when he finished. Crazy guy. Seems like Nico ran with his shoe too tight and today has a swollen foot. Hopefully won't create any bad memories.

With my amazing support team I was able to win the old man's age category of the 26km race over the dunes with a heated battle over that last several kms with the guy who finished second. Not bad after running a marathon last weekend. Amazing what a few books can do....

NYSE Bell Ringing

Tune into CNBC at 9:30am today for a chance to see Diana Hurwitz (Tidd) ringing the opening bell at the NY Stock Exchange. Old hat to her at this point, but she couldn't find anyone else in the firm that could go heading into a holiday weekend.

They may also post a photo on www.nyse.com

Wedding Day: Nathan & Diana Tidd

Today was a normal day, up early, a walk around the park, girls more interested in computer games than breakfast. Just another day, except we took a break to get dressed up (a bit) and ride downtown to the city clerk's office. We showed our marriage license and got a ticket, C810, and waited at Station 5 for our two minute tour through the chapel. It might sound unromantic, even sterile, but that would be because I haven't mentioned the feeling we had saying "I will."

College. Again.

12 years ago I failed out of UNH because I discovered that I was really good at, and felt the need to do more than anything else, drinking large amounts of alcohol. I bounced around from job to job until I ran out of gas 7 years ago. Big thanks to Mum & Dad for helping me get out of that rut. I've always viewed my non-degree status as one of my largest personal failures.

It's also interesting to note that I have yet to achieve sober the same salary I made when I was a drunk.

I have a very eclectic skill set and when I combine that with no degree, it makes it really hard to position myself well for potential employers. Sure, I might be really good for them, but in this economy they're unlikely to take a chance on a guy who's been out of the engineering game as long as I. So, since the jobs are scarce and mine seems fairly stable at the moment, I figured it was a good time to go back to school. I've been looking for over a year now for something, and I found it.

I enrolled at NHTI in Concord, and today was accepted into the Animation and Graphic Game Programming Associate's degree program. I don't need a full-blown B.S. degree right now, just a bit of re-positioning to mold my various skills into a semi-coherent and marketable package. The classes are at night, the faculty seems qualified, and recent graduates have secured jobs at various game houses in the Boston area - where I'd like to move to in the next few years.

So I'm in college. Again. But this time around, I'm the old (and sober) guy in the back.

Who's Birthday is today?

James and the Mighty Allagash

James and I drove to the farthest reaches of northern Maine and tackled the mighty Allagash Wilderness Waterway. 93 miles (assuming no wrong turns) of remote lakes & rivers ending near the Canadian border.

At times chased by thunderstorms, tormented by 15 mph headwinds, capsized by rapids, serenaded by loons and harassed by moose late into the night, we completed the waterway in 5 glorious days...

Click on the photo to see it in its full glory...








I was proud of my little fish until...

James reeled in this baby...

Island

Here's some photos from our recent trip to the island...

Gender Neutral

The day of the mid-term ultrasound arrived and we had one question about the pending arrival. Baby boy? Or baby girl?

The technician was from Eastern Europe, guessing Poland. In clear but broken English she explained the procedure while she squirted a generous helping of goo onto Diana’s stomach.

“I will examine all baby’s parts. I will take many measurements. Also pictures. After I finish, doctor will look at my pictures. Maybe he will look at baby himself. I will tell you baby’s approximate weight and, if you like, gender of baby.”

“We like.” I said, an attempt to meet her halfway in the language department. She gave me a blank look, puzzled.

“We want to know if it’s a boy or a girl,” Diana clarified.

The technician understood and smiled. “Yes of course.”

She removed a wand from her workbench and pressed it into the goo. She moved it around until an image snapped into focus on the screen. Not immediately clear what it was, but then it was pulsing. The baby’s heart! The technician tapped a button on the console and sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room.

Guh-gunh! Guh-gunh! Guh-gunh!

“Heartbeat is 144. Excellent.”

She moved the wand around like a next generation computer mouse.

“Placenta is on top. Good.”

More wand movement.

“Baby’s head is down,” she said.

She proceeded to spend what was in my opinion an excessive amount of time measure various parts of the noggin area. Occasionally she snapped a picture for the doctor to review.

Then more wand movement and pictures. Arms, legs, stomach, kidneys.

And even more want movement and measuring.

I was impatient. Yes good, the baby has all its fingers and toes. Very nice. I felt like Diana and I were in a contest to see who could resist asking the longest. Diana snapped first.

“Can you tell the gender?” she asked.

“Not yet.” The technician smiled. I was now convinced that she had been stalling on purpose, but now that she had broken us, perhaps she would move more quickly.
We’re we already bad parents, uninterested in the health of the baby? Perhaps it was natural to be so anxious about the gender. After all, we had been discussing both boy and girl names, soon we would only need to discuss one. The girls were excited to know if they had a baby brother or sister on the way. We had the code worked out. If a girl I would text “ XX”. If a boy, “XY”.

Then there was the question of what we wanted. Were we good citizens, truly gender neutral? Just as long as its healthy, we chorused with other parents. But did we have a preference? With so many brothers it seemed a bit odd that boys were absent from the Manhattan Tidd household. However despite my many male siblings, or perhaps because of them, I have always liked being around girls.

Can’t say why, exactly, but suspect the explanation is a simple one: Growing up my closest friend was my one sister, Allison. Riotous giggles in the backseat of the car. Waiting each morning together, usually freezing, for the school bus. In the summer swimming together in the leaky pool (also freezing). Sneaking treats from the cupboard. Playing games. One year we woke early each summer morning to continue a marathon game of monopoly that went on for weeks and to this day might be a world record (I checked online with Guinness and found nothing except some silly child who thought 4 ½ hours might be it). We explored the big house together, made a lot of noise and messes together, and together were yelled at and punished by our wise, sweet, darling mother who just wanted what was best for us, along with some peace and quiet.

In high school many of my friends were girls. I spent study halls in the library at a table with Amy, Shari, and Brenda. We did homework, talked about dating (other people, always), dreamed about post-high school adventures, and generally had a good time.

This is not to say I understood girls. Quite the contrary, their thought processes have been a source of consistent wonder and bafflement. I spent many hours contemplating the most important differences. For example, why they would go to the bathroom in twos? My teenage brain whirring: Water… chance of floods… Noah and the Ark…

I could never figure it out.

Needless to say I was also a dating idiot.

I will say that you do learn a lot about girls when you have your own. Three daughters and you are a bon-a-fide expert. For example, they fart just as much as boys. Perhaps more.

Yes I have learned many things that I am happy to share, little grasshoppers.

You might think that I had all the girls I needed in my life. My wonderful, beautiful mother, about whom I can’t say enough good things. My sister and childhood friend. My partner in crime and soon-to-be bride. Annika, Margaret, Sophie, their many cousins and friends. You might be justified, in a purely hypothetical way, in thinking that another girl in my life would be, well, one too many.

It’s possible that a lesser man would feel uncomfortable looking down the dinner table, as I did recently, at ten women and girls, and would secretly wish for odds that were a little more balanced. Just one little boy, he might think. Perhaps just there at the opposite end of the table, to balance things out a little bit. Someone with whom he could exchange a knowing smile as if to say: You and me, little man. We can handle this.

In the absence of any backup, the Lesser Man might manage his discomfort by, say, belching loudly and ordering another beer.

But not me. The more estrogen the merrier, in my mind. When someone needs to go to the bathroom, there are multiple other girls to go with her. No need for me to get up.

On the other hand…

The technician moved the wand again and the image on the screen fluttered into focus. There were two bones, femurs. And in between an unmistakable nub.

“Is boy,” she said. There was no question or doubt in her voice.

Diana and I looked at the screen, then at each other, then back at the screen.
The technician was typing. The word that appeared on the screen captured the emotion I was feeling.

“BOY!!”

My first thought, I confess, was whether the number of exclamation points corresponded to anything. What can I tell you?

I am a boy.

And I am going to have a son.

The rest of the session passed in a blur. When the technician had finished the doctor (also from Eastern Europe, guessing Russian) came in and flipped through the photos. He saw nothing alarming and soon we were done and out of the hospital and down on the street feeling very happy. We tried to reach the girls but hadn’t heard back from them. We strolled over toward the park. We called our parents with the news.

I felt and still feel very happy. There is a sense of completion about having a boy. Something that perhaps we sensed but wouldn’t vocalize. In the end, while we would have loved another girl in our lives, I can’t quite say I was one hundred percent gender neutral.

We were standing in Columbus Circle when we finally connected with the girls. I typed the secret code: “XY.”

We waited. In less than a minute the response came back.

“Awesome.”

Perhaps none of us were.

Who's birthday is today?

Happy Birthday!

Good Times

I have been thinking lately that good times tend to follow hard times. Not all the same size and shape, of course. Some hardships are big and dramatic, fitting of epic novels. Others are small comedies of errors and happenstances more suited to a Seinfeld episode, or a family blog.

There doesn’t need to be an antagonist. Could just be something odd. You are driving to a meeting, trying to close the most important deal in memory, and both front tires blow out.

Or perhaps you are trying to pick something up at a shop in midtown. Something that should have been ready weeks earlier, but wasn’t. A special order, and you are impatient.

It’s a Sunday but you’ve checked the hours and they are open from 11-5. But today just happens to be Puerto Rican Day, the annual invasion of flags, tank tops and baseball caps, loud music and catcalls, poorly decorated floats parading down 5th Avenue. Side streets are blocked off, including 47th Street with your stall of interest, Universal Diamond. The police let you through but the doors are locked, the windows empty. Wisely, everyone in there has taken the day off.

Determined, you try again the following Thursday. You plan to leave work no later than four, leaving an hour to make the 20 minute trip to midtown. Your last meeting ends early, 3:40, and you send your girlfriend a message that you are ready to go. You don’t hear back. She is still finishing up, you think. You send another at 4:10. Still nothing. At 4:30 you stop by her office, bag in hand, one last attempt before you go without her.

She is ready, waiting, wondering where you’ve been. Were you still in a meeting, she had wondered? Had you forgotten? Lost track of time? Some issue with the messaging system, and she hadn’t received any. You curse technology. Now you are going to be too late. The way things are going, you are sure the shop will close before you get there.

You try anyway.

You hurry to the subway. The streets downtown are most crowded that time of day, each pedestrian an obstacle to circumvent. The trains are just as bad or worse, but you are living in New York so you cram your way in. Your stop is 42nd St, Times Square, which you know will be the worst of all, but you are ready for it.

You are not prepared, however, for the torrential downpour.

You huddle under one umbrella but it is useless. It’s the worst spring weather you can remember. The rain blows in sideways. As you cross Broadway the wind shifts direction and soaks the rest of you. The crowds keep coming, wave after wave of umbrellas at eye level. You manage to keep your head dry at least, but your girlfriend is often forced out from beneath the shelter to avoid injury.

“I feel so fancy!” she says.

You agree to move to the South of France as soon as possible. Or Spain. Or anywhere.

Scaffolding covers the sidewalk in front of Universal Diamond, and you huddle under it, a reprieve from the rain. Are you too late? They are packing up inside. You step into the entrance and ring the bell. A small delay. A final surprise dousing of rain running off the scaffolding, and directly onto you.

They look up, smile, and buzz you in. You have made it! You look at yourselves in the wall mirror and laugh at the aftermath. Hair stuck to faces, business suits soaked through, hopelessly wrinkled. All fine.

The ring looks great. Your new Turkish friend, aptly named Gem, is beaming with the pride of a craftsman. He shows you a couple other rings. You like those too. You will save those for later. You pay (and now Gem is really beaming) and leave the shop.

The rain has stopped. You stroll along. You are feeling so good you break into song:

I got a little change in my pocket going jing-a-ling-a-ling!
It’s all I got left after that… engagement ring!

You walk a few blocks to the lobby bar at the Algonquin. Your favorite loveseat is empty. You order a couple of drinks. You hold hands in a way that keeps the ring visible.

You look at her and for the hundredth time you say, “So, I would marry you, you know.”

You grin like idiots and she says, for the hundredth time: “I would totally marry you too!”

And voila, you are engaged. Nothing to it, really.

Who's birthday is today?

Happy Birthday!