My life, Under Construction

I regret to announce that this blog is being put on hold while I travel to Italy for the summer. As of now, I have no return flight but I will update everyone when I know I’ll be back!

Follow my adventures here: http://summerwithachanceofmeatballs.wordpress.com/

Ciao!

Puppies, Pie, Paving and my Pop

I can honestly say I’ve learned at least one new thing about paving or the world, at every one of the jobs I’ve attended. For example, yesterday, I learned about why dogs shouldn’t necessarily be brought to active construction sites.

My father and Philly, before I had to put him back in the car.

Seeing as I’m fleeing the country on Saturday, I thought I ought to start multi-tasking. Spending time with our family dog, Philly, while taking pictures and observing a driveway job just 5 minutes from home seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, Philly was about as relaxed by the sweet sounds of machinery as humans tend to be. Not to mention the potential for disaster, what with the 300 degree asphalt on the ground. I took Philly for a walk around the neighborhood instead.

Unamused by the construction site. What a snob.

When I returned, I put Philly in the car for a few minutes and returned to the site, where I observed all the things I’ll never say. See, the best part of being at the jobs is listening to the conversations, insights, and meanderings of all who are present––it’s a unique kind of people watching and after becoming somewhat of a regular, I have a rare appreciation for these characters and all they have to say.

Whether it be Phil and Dave, giving me advice about where to go and what to avoid in Europe, (“Hell’s angels, over in Amsterdam you know!” said one to the other, whatever that means), or Derek and Anthony retelling old stories about employees come and past––I’ve come to know and appreciate it all. Though, as someone in charge and constantly surrounded, I don’t suppose my father feels the same way. I think he occasionally wishes for less character. Less talking all around.

Yesterday was not a good day for him. He told me some, without saying too much. It was sad though because I hate to see my father stressed out. I hate knowing he’ll probably never retire all because I had to go and get some expensive education. I hate seeing how defeated he is when something, or everything, goes wrong. And in the past few weeks, I have seen that. He used to like this stuff. Really, he did you know.

I didn’t go to any jobs today because it was raining, but I sat with my father in the living room after dinner, and he seemed to remain in low spirits. “When will Ashton Kutcher ever just go away?” he asked during a digital camera commercial. “Why isn’t he done yet? … Will he always be around, as long as I’m alive? What if I’m on my death bed, and my last thought is remembering that Ashton Kutcher still exists?? How awful that would be.”

See? A strange and depressing soliloquy. Not out of character, these days.

If I could, I would drive the paver for my dad for awhile. I’d send him on a leisurely walk with Philly, and I’d just take care of the drive way building and whatnot. And while I was at it, I’d convince Ashton Kutcher to retire from the public eye and become a recluse. That ought to smooth everything over for everyone.

For now, I can’t do much of that. “Is this something a watermelon slushy could fix!?” I asked yesterday, when nothing seemed right on the job. Unfortunately, my father said “No.”

What he meant to say though, was “Pie.”

Pie fixes everything. I will buy him one tomorrow, strawberry rubarb, his favorite. That’s the best I can do for now.

A day as smooth as the new road

Tuesday was sunny, bright, and sweaty for all, including me––the worlds most awkward driver, accidently cruising past the paving action on West Main St. in Millbury, in the famous corvette without air conditioning, and parallel parking for the first time since my drivers test six summers ago. Much to my own surprise and that of various spectators, I was successful. Greeted by excess heat upon opening the door, I peeled myself off of the leather seat and back tracked a quarter mile toward the job––a main road.

West Main St., Millbury, MA

I noticed off the bat that this job was a little different than those I previously visited. First of all, there were police officers directing traffic and offering me assistance in crossing the street, prior to gaining the knowledge of my strange business at the construction site. “Ha! Ohhhh,” laughed the officer, “So you’re the one writing all that awful stuff about your father.”

The second difference was what seemed to be pleasant simplicity. There must be something nice about paving in a straight line, at least compared to the sometimes awkward turns and shapes of driveways and parking lots. A street job, I concluded, must be the best kind. My father confirmed that later during a break between asphalt deliveries.

A break in the action.

This may be strange, or maybe typical, but I enjoy observing the pauses in progress as much as I enjoy the actual action. I imagine the men, on their feet and alert in the summer heat, on top of the 350 degree asphalt, must enjoy the breaks as well.

I'm a huge fan of the yellow vests. No! Really, I am!

My visit was short lived, as my father sent me to do an errand for him. But that’s okay, because there wasn’t much to see, except the finished product that I hope to check out today. All was well!

DAS meets Camp Haiastan: My world, paved over with new philosophy.

On Thursday, the DAS crew didn’t just “pave the planet”.

Do you recognize this place?

A work in progress.

They spent the whole, perfect day, paving my planet––my favorite place in the world. Camp Haiastan.

Anthony and I hopped out of the truck and we were greeted by a man he calls “Mr. Miagi”. It was strange and delightful, but I didn’t pause for long. I rushed forward toward the action.

Anthony literally bowed to him.

As I watched the crew lay out fresh asphalt for brand new basketball courts, I was overwhelmed. In a truly narcissistic way, I felt as if they were my new courts, and what’s more, they were being installed by my family. I was smiling, I was excited. I was invested in the project.

I felt that way because I was home. At least on the inside. The truth is, I never in my life felt more like my true self than when I spent my summers at Camp Haiastan. Never. That was the time I was at my happiest, my most comfortable––the best version of me that I sometimes fear I’ll never know again.

There I was, watching this important place change right in front of me, once again. I remember a time when that used to bother me. Long time campers, longer than me, protested the changing of rules and activity names, and the installation of new structures and traditions––really for no reason at all. When it comes to the sacred grounds of Camp Haiastan, very few people support change. They like things as they are, so much so, that they’re too scared to understand how sometimes, something new can make things better.

But I’ve learned since then. I remember the sentiment that some wonderful men left the 2009 Camp staff with, after showing how the Camp had evolved over the years: they told us to keep traditions but “Make it better than it was.”

And thats what DAS was there to do. How lucky I felt, being able to spend a morning watching a place I love gain something new, functional and beautiful.

How proud I was, to know my father was in charge.

Dad on the paver.

“The tree,” he pointed out during a pause in the action, “they had to cut down the tree. The one that Anthony fell asleep under when he was a camper.”

It was Teen Session 2007, I returned from the A-field with all my campers in tow, only to find my little brother asleep under a tree with no other cabinmates or counselors in sight. Later, when I questioned the boys as to why they left him all alone, they said

I was glad he remembered, because I did too. Though I wasn’t sure why in that moment he sounded somewhat sentimental. “But did you look behind the Director’s Quarters?,” I asked, “There’s a canoe––”

“––With Anthony’s name on it,” he said, finishing my thought, “from the time he got hurt during the canoe trip.”

The damaged canoe from summer 2006 or 2007

I was glad he remembered that too. And a little surprised.

See, my dad was not exactly the one to encourage us kids to go to Armenian Camp. He was more like a cynical bystander, unable to truly understand the appeal––but always a good sport. He made jokes, yes, and it was at times a little too clear that he didn’t like us leaving for 9 weeks at a time, but he came to see us every visiting Sunday. He came in good spirits and brought loaves of bread, and Italian cookies. I liked that because I got to show off another part of my family to my camp friends. Armenian’s aren’t always the most accepting of other cultures, but no one complained, at least not when it came to the free food.

At times, his role expanded from generally accepting parent to contributer––installing gravel pathways and excavating the muck and weeds out of Uncas, leading to a newly functional waterfront that would become more valuable than any of us knew. He did these things, I think, because it is his job. But I wonder, how much (if any), he did on behalf of his kids.

Uncas Pond, my favorite.

The job went very well in the beginning. I snapped photo after photo as they laid down a good looking base coat. Nick, the only Amorello kid to never experience Camp Haiastan, drove the roller––the quietest, most independent of positions.

Rolling the new asphalt

Not only did he lack any kind of connection to the job, but I doubt he was remotely aware of mine. He acknowledged me once, only to accuse me of stealing his toothpaste.

"Don't do it again. I barely know where I am when I wake up in the morning, I can't be searching the house for my toothpaste."

He was right. I did. I promised not to do it again though.

I spent time during breaks wandering the cabin circle, relaxing under the trees and on the swings, taking as much in as I could. I was plainly emotional through the whole episode, and it made me feel a little guilty. I know my dad always wanted me to be happy, but I usually got the feeling he wished being happy meant being home with my family––not in a cabin in Franklin, MA or a dorm in Boston or a foreign country. He listened to me anyway.

“I feel like this is my house,” I told him, “I feel like I’m the customer today.”

He wasn’t surprised. He had to make a decision on where to get some material, a nearby plant with lower quality burm, or a place 10x farther away with better stuff. He chose the far away place. “Really?” I asked.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m on your team.”

I was glad he felt that way. This was a far better offering than Italian cookies. My father, if you can’t tell, is a great person to have on your team. Again, I am lucky.

Beautiful

The job went on. In what seems to be a current trend, a machine broke down around lunch time and things slowed down.

I was able to speak with Dave Harapetian, a long time DAS team member, and one of Camp Haiastan’s original campers. He doesn’t remember much about that summer in the late 50’s but he has a feeling he didn’t like it much. “I don’t remember playing with basketballs,” he told me, “I remember playing with snakes.”

Dave Harapetian: Former Camper, Current DAS employee, Life Long Legend.

Ahhh.. hmm.. yes. Well, whatever that means.

I, on the otherhand, certianly remember basketball. I remember backbreaker half court shots, coaching older boy olympic maddness, and my first ever introduction night, sitting on the half court line. I remember everything about the seven summers I spent at Camp Haiastan, I remember what I did, who I was with, how I learned about the world and myself. Today, jobless and a little lost, I wonder how––I wonder if, I’ll ever get back to a place where everything feels good and right.

My father took time to sit on the swings with me. We talked about my options––a new window of opportunity: Summer teaching English in Italy.

I couldn’t decide whether or not I should go. I know this would be an amazing experience, but still, I’m anxious. Travelling through a new country all alone, so far away from who I was and where I’ve been. At the moment, when I was in a place so loved and familiar, going somewhere new felt wrong and terrifying. He listened to my worries about money and jobs, family and friends. He didn’t say so, but I know my father must worry about the same things I do. Part of him would like me safe at home, available for movie viewing and the trip we’ve been meaning to take to the Mark Twain house. He understood my worries and maybe even felt them but still, he encouraged me to go do something new. I remained on the fence, but of course, I trusted him. Afterall, he is on my team.

Since Thursday, I’ve thought a lot about what I should do this summer. I could stay home, save money, be comfortable and safe––maybe even pleasantly bored for the first time in a long time. But is it reasonable to pass up an opportunity like a summer in Italy? If I do go, will I ever get back to the way I felt, to who I was when I was on Summer Street in Franklin? I think of the new basketball courts and I try to understand change. I think about the beauty of having the ability to start fresh, pave over the ugly parts, make things better.

Right now, as I type, I am making a decision. I want to live this summer, and my life, with a Camp Haiastan philosophy in mind. No matter where I go, I will remember who I am, what I love, and what is important but only with new experience, can I make myself better than I was.

Today I purchase a one way ticket to Naples, Italy.

Word to the Wise

I’m exhausted and waking up very early to go home.

No, I mean my real home, Camp Haiastan. DAS is paving the new basketball courts and I’ll be there all day. More on that tomorrow of course, but for now, I leave you with an important message as posted on the door to my fathers office.

The office door. So glamorous.

So inviting.

Goodnight!

“The burm machine. Small.. But effective. Like a grasshopper.” -Anthony

An afternoon in their shoes.

If the roller wasn’t broken this morning, Nick wouldn’t be standing on 300 degree asphalt in these fascinating, metal shoes.

Special kicks.

Smoothing the asphalt by foot.

But, the roller was broken, and so Nick stomped his armoured feet with precison and stoic patience until every inch of fresh black pavement was even and smooth. It was the first thing to go wrong for Dan Amorello Services on this beautiful Massachusetts day, but it wasn’t close to the last. It was only 8am.

I hopped out of bed at 6:45 and began minor preparation for what I expected to be a fairly brief visit to several driveway jobs in a brand new Hopkinton neighborhood. Anthony, fresh out of the hospital with scars to prove it, was my driver and we had a good time on the way over––singing along with the radio and finding excuses to high-five one another. Anthony is all about merriment, even before breakfast.

We arrived around 8:15 after a few misguided turns in a truck my father recently described as “perfectly functional.” Anthony agreed that it was a fair description, even though the breaks seemed shakey, but my dad checked it out after a few phone calls.

uh-oh.

Heres a fact about my father. He absolutely hates talking on the phone.

Years ago, after several consecutive calls to the house were ignored during a minor teenage mishap in 2004, I questioned his refusal to participate in modern communication but he remained confident in his telephone rejection. “Dad, what if I was calling because I had an emergency?” I argued.

“Well, Alison,” he said calmly, “if I never pick up, it never becomes MY emergency.” …A little twisted, yes. But you can’t argue with that kind of logic.

Unfortunately, his work phone can’t be ignored, so I watched as calls came in with information and questions about jobs––bad news of broken equipment and related issues. As if the phone ringing isn’t bad enough.

He always made the effort to call me though. Whenever he checked in while I was away, he’d ask, “How are you?” and I usually said “OK.” One afternoon, after what I suspect was a bad day, he told me I better start saying “Good” instead of “OK” because I needed to be more positive. He was right, as usual. Anyway, after many calls, he had a look at the truck.

Checking the brake fluid.

I stood off to the side, fairly uninvolved in the inspection until my father summoned me. “Have you no thirst for knowledge, Alison?” he said without looking up from under the hood. I came over and had a look inside. As it turned out, the truck is “perfectly functional” indeed. If only we could have said the same for that old roller.

The faulty machine.

You can’t tell in the picture but on the front wheel, there is a white label that says “Grease Machine Daily.” Because I’m a wiseguy I said, “Uh oh, Dad, did someone forget to oil the machine?” His eyebrows raised and he said maybe, as apparently my joke had some validity. Later, someone showed up with a second steamroller––one from the “perfectly functional” category and the sad machine above was oiled back to health.

My father made comments about what a beautiful neighborhood we were in. Someone, he said, had a vision and it became something so nice. I was happy to hear that, as I do think its rare that my dad feel that way, at least lately. Hearing his praise made me wish I had vision like that, but for now, I settle for a strange but decent blog.

After things seemed to be going OK, Anthony and I embarked on our own disasterous journey. Anthony was asked to go to do what sounded to me like a quick errand, which is why I volunteered to tag along.

5.5 hours later: I was exhausted, sweaty, irritated and thoroughly regretting my decisions. We drove long distances, got lost, had to buy a part for yet another testy truck, and mostly tried to avoid heat stroke. I learned some valuable lessons though:

1. Wearing jeans in 80 degree weather is infact as miserable as it appears.
2. Orange Coolatas are not acceptable thirst quenchers.
3. While keeping one arm out the window of the dirty, hot truck may help in staying cool, it does NOT help when it comes to farmers tans.

One of many mishaps.

I got a real taste of what it feels like when everything goes wrong on a construction job, and since we’re on the subject, let me tell you, I’d rather do anything else. Picture this: You’re frustrated and tired.

Now picture yourself frustrated, tired, sweaty, hungry and wait, there is still a lot of manual labor to do!

I’ve always respected my father and brothers. Today, in their presence, I acted like a wimp. I complained about the heat, being hungry, being dirty and I didn’t fake a single smile. I’ve never respected the men more who deal with it, quietly, everyday.

The team

Spotted: Nickiosaurus at Work

Dad sent me to Malborough today to observe a different portion of the family business: milling.

Milling is essentially the opposite of paving––it involves removing old asphalt and sometimes recycling it as a gravel like material. A few years back, Dad put my older brother Nicholas in charge of selling the millings and he did so on CraigsList. Dad nicknamed him the Craiglist Killer. Ahh, another tasteful Amorello joke.

Today was challenging for a few reasons. First of all, I was driving this:

The Corvette. My dad fixed it up years ago. Ya know, for the most part.

I’m well aware that this is infact a cool car, especially on a beautiful day, but I had a few issues with it. A few minor things don’t work. Sure, I don’t need to adjust the seat when I can sit on a pillow, and air conditioning is for the weak, so I wasn’t worried about that. But I was a little more concerned about other issues, for instance, the speedometer doesn’t necessarily measure the speed of the car, um, you know, as much as it kind of just says “0”. I had to just drive along with the other cars and assume I was under control. Nothing I can’t handle. Anyway, I digress.

I showed up to the job, seriously sweating after 35 mins in the vette, and made my way over to the action. There was no clear path toward the Amorello trucks so I just climbed around things and definitely concerned some unfamiliar workers, who most likely wanted to know who I was and why I was invading their space. I offered no explanations. I just moved foward until I saw my brother.

Nick. He’s the unique Amorello.

Unlike his 3 younger siblings, Nick takes care to never draw attention to himself. Even more so, he refrains from ever encouraging the rest of us when we’re doing so. If you’re looking for Nick’s approval, shouting and performing is not the way to get it. Neither is, well, anything. As far as I know, in order to recieve any kind of praise from Nick, I’d have to become one of the Gallagher brothers from Oasis or get drafted into the MLB. He has high standards. I respect that.

Whenever somebody asks about my mysterious brother, the one they never met or the one who seemed quiet, I tell them the same thing. Unlike so many people, Nick doesn’t speak unless he has something to say. Instead of talking about nothing, he saves his breath and says only what he means. That’s just how he is––thoughtful and conservative. “He makes about 12 jokes per year,” I tell whoevers asking, “and I swear, they’re always funny.” That’s a damn good average.

I’m not sure if Nick noticed me right away, standing there in the middle of the torn up parking lot. See, even at home, you never can tell if he’s noticed you, because if he doesn’t say hello, it’s just as likely that hes choosing not to acknowledge you as opposed to unaware of your presence.

I don’t mean to make him sound cruel. He isn’t. Nick doesn’t easily engage in discussion but he finds other ways to participate in our relationship. You know, like buying me a sandwhich at Subway. He does that kind of thing often, and is actually very generous. I can appreciate that too.

I watched him running the milling machine. I had seen the machine before but this was the first time I realized how obviously magnificant it was. I thought it looked just like a mechanical Brachiosaurous. Large, slow and long necked. As a lifelong dinosaur enthusiast, I was delighted.

Nickiosaurus.

Brachiosaurus.. Umm.. SAMSIES!

I snapped pictures and tried to get good angles but I was afraid to move into the wrong place. I didn’t want to get in the way. Or dirty my sneakers. So I stayed put and took some pictures and videos of my brother in action. After about 10 mins, he looked at me, perhaps accidently. He gave me a head nod.

I smiled and waved. A head nod from Nick is pretty much like a hug.

I stayed only a few more minutes and then journeyed back to the corvette, without a word to or from anyone. It wasn’t bad. I love a good silence, really. It’s nice to stay quiet and in tune with just yourself once in awhile. I think Nick has the right idea.

Hard working dinosaur.

Well, I’m off for the weekend. Farewell until next time!

One Big, Sick Baby.

Just returned from visiting little Anthony. Do not be alarmed, he is going to be OK! And please, don’t call either of my parents to ask about it because my mother is prettttty annoyed with me for apparently alarming relatives.

Sick boy.

He insists that his biceps look huge.

As always, the giant Amorello baby remains in good spirits. Tomorrow I will be back to the construction business. Good day, friends!

Brontonious Maximus: My little brother.

Anthony is a generally happy guy.

We have nicknames for him. It started with “Antwan” and “Anton”. The names evolved to Twantin, TinMan, One-ton-twan, TinTonnyWanny, and my favorite, Brontonious Maximus. There are dozens more. He lets me have fun with it.

Anthony takes a lot of nonsense from the rest of us, between my mother believing he is a perpetual baby who simply can’t remember to wash his face if she doesn’t remind him (several times, until hes annoyed), and the rest of us making jokes at his expense. Despite that, he remains positive an good natured. That’s why he’s everyones favorite.

Even though he was laboring since 6am in the heat, he still smiled and took some time to make me laugh. For instance, when I was taking picture of the whole crew in action, he occasionally looked up and posed.

Yes, Anthony. I see you.

He also turned to me, with a genuine concern and said, “OH! Alison, did you hear that macho man died!?” … I hadn’t. “Sure, yeah, the guy who sings Macho Man! Isn’t that awful?” … I guess so, Anthony. 

Anthony's "Macho Man Pose"

So when Anthony returned from work yesterday, looking unhappy and claiming to be in pain, I should have known he meant it. We all should have. We hardly reacted in a concerned manner, though. It’s not like I didn’t believe him when he told me, I just reacted as any good sister would. I made him a sandwhich and called him something obnoxious and patronizing like “Antwany, my little baby cutie brother.” He didn’t seem to mind.

That’s sort of the Amorello way. When I fractured my arm in the 6th grade after an embarrassing scooter accident, no one believed me. I walked around for days in pain before I was reluctantly brought to the hospital. Even after the diagnosis, my family remained skeptical. It’s how we are. We don’t coddle eachother. If any one of us was going to grow up to be a hypocondriac, we were conditioned early on to cut the crap.

Hours later, when he sat on the couch watching American Idol with my mother, we all REALLY should have known something was wrong. Normally Anthony would be sleeping at that time or even out with friends, but he didn’t seem up for either. He just sat there on the couch, listening to my mothers riveting commentary and if he complained, I didn’t hear it.

I called my father at 6:45AM to find out where I was headed for my second day of observation and documentation. He said I should go to Memorial Hospital to see Anthony. He was up all night, very sick, and no one knew what was wrong with him.

“I feel awful,” my dad said, “I feel like I made him work too hard yesterday.” No, I reasoned, that wasn’t it.

“Well I at least feel bad for mocking him and calling him weak in my head.” Yes, well, I reminded him, he mocked him out loud as well.

“Oh, right. Well, go see him today.” he instucted.

And I will. As it turns out, his illness is not work related and of course, he will be OK. But while he is in the hospital, I suspect they miss his good humor on the job. I miss it in the house, too. Never fear though friends, Brontonious Maximus is tough. He will be back on the road soon.