October 31, 2004
October 29, 2004
Dancers
Sarah and Pat's Wedding
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I've had my present email address for how long? Four years? Yesterday I received my first spam. It arrived from another PC which might means someone who knows me has an infected computer. Anyone recognize these email addresses? bryan.sheridan@attbi.com or kdholden77@cox.net ?
October 28, 2004
Oh Lordy
>
Outside the Terrace Motel
We were stuffing down pancakes, eggs, beans, and sausages from the $2.95 All-You-Can-Eat breakfast buffet at the Terrace Motel in Millinocket, when an elderly (older than me) man with a talk-to-me smile walked over to our table wanting to know where we were from. We told him, “The Boston area.” He asked, “Can you tell me what it’s like down there?” This was after the Sox dramatic comeback against the Yankees and before the first game of the World Series. As if to encourage the groggy and the mute among us, “I’ve been waiting sixty five years for this.”
This morning I awoke to a phone message from Adam telling me the Sox were ahead and the moon was in full eclipse. He wondered if there might be a divine connection. I also had two emails, one from our longtime friend, Jim McMahon, who now lives in Honolulu:
Mike,
So I'm driving home from work and the radio announcer says the 6 pm news
will begin following a wrap-up of the final game of the World Series.
Did he say FINAL game?! Then he says it again, then again. Does this mean
they won? My eyes mist up.
I pull into the driveway, enter the house. Bonnie says, Did they win? I
say dunno. I turn on the TV. Still no Sox news.
Phone rings. It's Jack, sister Peggy's husband. He gives me the news.
Wow!
The evening proceeds. I turn to Bonnie and say, "Now they have to figure
out..."
I stop. She eyes me warily. I was going to say they need to figure out how
they will keep the team together. She knew I was already worrying about
next year.
Mike, this is how I always hoped it would happen. Overpower the other team
in four games in the Series, leaving no room for agonizing 7th games and
ill-timed bingles (bingles is what errors were called in early 20th
century).
See you.
Jim
...and the other from Chris Rad:
Did it really happen? I would have been happy with just the pennant. It’s overwhelmingly wonderful made all the more poignant with the shots of the boys in Baghdad. Can’t help but wonder what Nomar’s thinking. It’s rumored they are going to give him a ring. If he gets one I want one. It’s just too fabulous. Matthew going as Schilling for Halloween...complete with fake blood on the sock. Hopefully the police won’t kill anybody during the celebrations. I would have chosen Johnny as the MVP, but that’s just me. That Manny’s pretty good too. And what about Francona...the winningest manager in post season history. Who’d have thought. The press kept calling him Francoma. The Patriots and the Red Sox. My kids are going to think this is the norm, just like I always thought the Celtics would be champions forever. It’s amazing really. Stephen King was writing a book about this season...he’s spooky that one is. At least we know it will have a happy ending.
October 26, 2004
The Monk
Okay, Rakcoughity, but where to begin?
With this by baker, “...and the potential injuries of one of your buddies resulting from wearing wingtip hiking shoes.” How did she know that Mark Schreiber forgot his boots and arrived in Acton, fully prepared, but wearing wingtips?
With the absence of Adam, but the presence of a new member, young not only in age, but spirit, and with little respect for the tried and tired ways of the founding fathers?
With the group’s change in plans Friday morning over breakfast, dumping the unpronounceable, Neosourdnahunk, for the all American, Crawford Pond, but then making camp the first night at, “The Grand Canyon of Maine,” Gulf Hagas?
With Mike and Mark Queijo jogging down barely passable, Chinese finger trap-like logging roads in the dead of night searching for that sandy campsite they were mostly certain existed?
With our late evening talk with “Deeds,” the AT hiker from Georgia, who had been in the woods for six months, and was a “mere” eighty-three miles from the end, the summit of Mt Katahdin?
With the long hike to the top of Little Boardman Mountain carrying two liters of wine (Yellowtail), bread, cheese, salmon mousse, and a heavy Zip Lock bag of Jan’s corn chowder but no pot in which to cook it? (sound familiar, Adam?)
Alrighty, this is my blog, and I’m going to write this story from my perspective of Chris’s perspective. I’ll start in the future and then slack-pack, flip flop, but not yo-yo (all AT language we learned from Deeds - short for Centipede) back to the beginning. Here goes:
Saturday night we gathered around our campfire, drinking and listening to the Red Sox on Chris’s transistor radio. Sure, we always bring bottles of good wine, a single malt or two, beer on occasion, but we never huddle fireside chat-like around a radio. I don’t care what is happening in the real world. And we didn’t turn in until 2 AM and didn’t crawl from our tents until 10:30 Sunday morning. Unheard of. Normally, I hear reveille shortly after sunrise and I spring from my tent to brew the morning’s coffee. Not this time, not this trip.
As I walked past Chris’s tent, the twenty-four year old rolled over and said, “Welcome to my world.”
To be continued...
October 25, 2004
October 21, 2004
Nesourdnahunk Lake
Yesterday it was windy, grey and in the forties. Dressed in jeans and a black and red wool lumberjack shirt, I sat crouched on a cinder block and helped Matthew change the front pads on his car. We both complained about the cold.
Matt asked, “You’re going camping in this?”
I reminded him the weather was worse last spring. Maybe that’s his vision; his dad’s tent flattened by the weather. No chance. Dad is smarter than that.
Arena Farms
Back Monday.
October 20, 2004
The Power of Google
More wedding photographs . If the people in the pictures aren't named, it's because I have no clue as to who they are.
Read the last comment .
This week's flurry of email traffic illustrates the precision, battle-hardened, fully prepared camping guys in action. "Can I rent a tent at REI?" " How much water should I bring?" "Where are we going?"
October 19, 2004
A Rose is A Rose
You know me, I don't photograph anything that doesn't have tons of color (after which I supersaturate the image in Photoshop turning it into a scene from What Dreams May Come), but this rose, in a Waterford Vase in Diane's office, caught my eye. I snapped it outside on a glass table top.
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We leave Thursday afternoon for our annual, Maine, fall camping trip. Adam hurt his back, and will be home wishing he were with us, Dan, who has dropped out for good, will be in Miami on business. That leaves the two Marks, me AND a new member, Chris Schreiber, Mark’s young, strong-like-bull son.
Ginger’s told me, “You better bring my husband and my son back alive, or I will kill you.”
Ginger’s comment reminded me of a similar one I heard last summer. As I was organizing the camping trip for Matt and his many friends, that person, who arguably loves me even more than Ginger, said, (and I paraphrase), “If you bring those kids back with so much as one hair on one head out of place, I will never forgive you.”
October 18, 2004
The Good Life
Not long ago, I reached into my garbage can to grab the bag of bird food (black oil sunflower seeds), only to be confronted by a toothy woodchuck. This time, the critter was far more benign.
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As we were driving to NH to see the Finlays, Flo told us that by raising her voice, she prevented one of the “inmates” from throwing, not passing, a full container of cream at her dinner companion. “Can you see the headlines?” Flo asked, “Elderly in food fight at Concord Park.” I didn’t quite understand why the near toss, to a simple request, “Pass the cream” (this was before the Patriot’s game), and neither did Flo.
October 17, 2004
21 Scott Drive, New City, New York
A momentary break from wedding photos to show you the house the Canning family lived in from ... to ... . I could guess, but I'd be far from accurate. This is a recent photo sent to Diane by a childhood friend.
Speaking of Diane, I'm off to airport. Can you say, "Home cooked meals?"
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October 16, 2004
Requested Photos
Jeff, Lynne, Sarah and Pat
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Lilly, Dan and surprise guest, Matthew.
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Helga* called to say how much fun she’s having with Trixie* and Beyonce*. The food in the French restaurant is delicious, the work at the conference, and especially the power networking is hard, but rewarding. Tonight, after the conference ends, the three will explore highly recommended areas of downtown Atlanta. Need I say it? Yes, that probably will be the last anyone ever sees of them.
I’ll pick them up tomorrow at Logan (late morning), and sometime in the afternoon, the Miller family and Flo will drive north to visit the Finlays. A full day indeed.
*Nicknames given to the theraputic three by the girls on their unit. We know them as, Diane, Pat, and Nicole.
Tomorrow: A look back.
October 15, 2004
All in the Family
Lorna, Andrew (LIn's sibs) and Barbara (Andrew's wife), Arthur and Barbara (Lin's father and step-mother), Dan and Linda, Griff (Lorna's husband) Sarah and Pat, Margery, daughter of Harriet with sisters Margo and Polly, Becca, Ben (son of Lorna and Griff), and his wife.
October 13, 2004
Dan & Lilly
Dan & his sister Lilly. In the background, Lin's brother, Andrew, his wife, Barbara and Griff, Linda's brother-in-law.
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A photograph scanned from the current issue of The New Yorker magazine.
In Search of Single Guys
Rachel and Rebecca
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October 12, 2004
Age Of Reason
Non Sequitur is one of the Boston Globe's better comic strips, but for some reason I don't always read it. Thanks to Adam for alerting me to Monday's cartoon.
Linda, Dan, Sarah and Pat
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October 11, 2004
Inmates
You might have to be related, or you might have to have been there, or you might have to be in the mood we were in yesterday, to find these funny. So be it.
Cell phone call to Matt.
“Hey, Dad, what’s up?”
‘Where are you?”
“In the Garment District.”
I hung up and turned to Diane. “The Garment District? In Boston? Where is that?” Give the boy a car and you never know where he’ll go. It wasn’t until Matt and friends arrived home late last night, and Hil Burgin walked in wearing a satin red jacket with pink sunglasses, that I learned the Garment District is a store that sells clothes from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s.
We visited with Kate and her parents yesterday. Kate had been to a Taco Bell and, still hungry, was in search of another. Maybe a rumbling stomach reminded her, “Oh my gosh, I have to write a paper about being digested.”
We drove home, had our dinner and then stopped by to see Flo, who continues to chafe at her new lifestyle.
“I was talking to Lois today. I asked her, ‘What do they call us?’ “
Flo could hardly end the sentence, she was laughing so hard, and she almost couldn’t get the punch line out.
Diane and I were both thinking, “residents.”
“Lois said, ‘Inmates.’ “
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There are more wedding photos to come, but I have to finish with Emily Hopkins's wedding pics.
Matt, Daryl and I worked yesterday to change the front pads on Matt’s Honda. We broke loose the impossibly tight, rusted bolts holding the calipers to the rotor, pulled the old pads off, but found the new ones wouldn’t fit. As in, they were a different shape. I thought about using my grinder to customize a fit, and Daryl thought about removing old parts of the caliper that were in the way, but maybe we both heard Matt’s thoughts, “Hey, don’t be fu*king with my brakes.”
We put the old pads back on, promised to get together next Saturday to finish the job with the correct pads, and then I took the Honda out for a screeching skid test. Just to be sure we put them back on correctly. They are, after all, my son’s fu*king brakes, and he was about to drive all the way to the Garment District.
October 10, 2004
October 09, 2004
October 08, 2004
Halloween Colors
We were standing with Adam, waiting for a table at Travis’s favorite sushi restaurant, Fugaku.
“I’ve got a good one for you, Adam. Cheezits seem to be the snack food of choice lately, and we’re all eating out of this one box from our nifty food cupboard. However, I know I am the last one to have any, and I’m thinking to myself as I bite down, darn these things are soggy, which makes no sense given how quickly they’re consumed.
Two days after my last Cheezit, Diane pulls the box out of the cupboard, and then the wax paper-like bag out of the box, and plops it on the counter. I’m standing a few feet away and I glance back at the bag and see something small and dark nestled among the orange. My brain begs to process the small and dark as something, anything, other than a dead mouse, but fails. Of course Diane then asks the question I didn’t want to hear, ‘What killed the mouse?’ I figure that’s what’s going to kill me.”
Adam sensing my anxiety, charitably responds, “We know what the mouse died from. He caught old-age from Mike.”
Matt's new G5 iMac was delivered yesterday by Fedex. Yes, only in Acton, would they leave a computer in a bright white box, graphics on both sides, and convenient carrying handle on top, sitting exposed on the front porch.
October 07, 2004
Just Desserts
Vice President Dick Cheney told viewers Tuesday night they could verify his claims from the vice-presidential debate at an independent Web site -- factcheck.com -- but visitors to the site found a searing anti-Bush message. Cheney accidentally said ".com" instead of ".org" during the televised debate. Internet surfers who visited factcheck.com were redirected to the home page of billionaire anti-Bush activist George Soros, with the statement "Why we must not re-elect President Bush" at the top of the screen.
Snowbanks North of the House
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
Robert Bly
October 06, 2004
Witch Doctor
Seven o'clock in the morning and the refrain | Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang | is rattling around in my head. Go figure.
Witch Doctor
by David Seville
I told the witch doctor I was in love with you
I told the witch doctor you didn't love me too
And then the witch doctor, he told me what to do
He said that ....
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang...
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
I told the witch doctor you didn't love me true
I told the witch doctor you didn't love me nice
And then the witch doctor, he game me this advice
He said to ...
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang...
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Now, you've been keeping love from me
Just like you were a miser
And I'll admit I wasn't very smart
So I went out and found myself
A guy that's so much wiser
And he taught me the way to win your heart
My friend the witch doctor, he taught me what to say
My friend the witch doctor, he taught me what to do
I know that you'll be mine when I say this to you
Oh, Baby ....
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang...
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah ting tang
Walla walla, bing bang
October 05, 2004
October 04, 2004
Fear Not
“Noland, I’ve got question for you.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll do my best. Where are you?”
“I’m over at the golf pro’s condo. I’m working on his bathroom and his fire alarm is beeping. He tells me It has been for ten days, and he doesn’t know why. Can you believe that? Anyway, I want to change the battery, but the alarm is hard wired. If I disconnect it, will it alert the fire station?”
“No. I don’t know why it’s hard wired but we’ve changed our battery without fire trucks showing up at the door.”
“That’s good, I didn’t think it was, but I wanted to be sure.”
“What are you going to do when I’m gone?”
“Gone? You’re not going anywhere.”
“Oh, I’m not huh? Well, that’s not the way things work. I’m getting to the end of this trip. Let me tell you something else. I talked to an old friend of mine in California. He had one of those mini-strokes. He’s three years younger than me. He says he’s tired all the time. I told him that’s the way it is with these things. It takes time to get better, but he can’t see it. I sat down and wrote him a four page letter. I gave him my thoughts... “
“I hope you made a copy of that letter for me. I know how hard it is for you to write these days. I’d love to have a copy.”
“Aaa, well, I put it in the mail yesterday.”
“What did it say.”
“I told him about the good lord’s plan for us and what happens afterward. Where we’re going. As I said it was four pages long.”
Sounds like you think it’s more that just the stroke that’s bothering him. He must be afraid of dying, no?”
“Death happens to all of us. You know what my father used to say? ‘You’re not afraid to be born, why should you be afraid to die?’ “
October 03, 2004
Mea Culpa
I was aware that this could happen because ten years ago, while I was working in Kathy Solter’s kitchen , an electrician told me a similar story. And, I write knowing that shinydome will be sitting at his computer, shaking his head.
A condo owner up the street asked me to install two bathroom fans. One with an attic above, the other without. I began with the easy fan, the one I could install from above. First, I flipped the fan switch on, listened to it whir, flipped it off, and heard it stop. I then climbed into the attic through the ceiling panel near the bathroom door. I located the fan and pried it off the ceiling joists. I tried to disconnect the electrical wire that powered the fan - except it wouldn’t budge. So what, I thought, I’ll cut through the wires with my snips. I’ve done it before, and I had, after all, turned off the electricity.
Let me pause and say, even without shinydome’s admonitions, I’m careful doing any kind of work that might put me on the other side of the grass. I shiver when I flashback to the live wires I cut through last winter. That’s why after I flip a switch or even a circuit breaker, I’ll strip the black and white wires separately and then touch them together. No white flash means I’m safe to work.
While I’m struggling with this wire, dust mask on, sweating in the hot attic, I hear the home owner walk up the steps, peer in the bathroom, and then retreat back down to his study. I assumed he was checking on my progress.
I pulled out my wire cutters and because I’m the nervous nelly I claim to be, I clamped down slowly on the wire. Probably nothing would have happened : had I not been holding onto the blue steel body of the fan; had my wire cutters not been bare metal; had the condo owner not flipped the light and fan switch on as he peered into the bathroom.
October 02, 2004
My Week With Leon
Chris Rad
Leon finished up the boys room today. It looks really great. He did a few “extras” for me. He decided that the sconce that was in there was not up to par, so he went out and bought and installed a very nice one. He changed all the switch plates. He took the piece of wood off from in front of the closet to find that the carpet stopped short of the wood. So he took the piece of wood home, cut it in half, painted it and reinstalled it. He took care of the springs in the light fixture..you don’t have to bother. The two whites he chose for the room look great. So other than hearing that my boys have too much “junk” it was all good.
Other “extras”: I couldn’t decide what the hell to do with the dining room, paint or paper. I had decided on paint, but I could tell Mark wasn’t crazy about the idea (he was quite content with what was there). So Leon said to me this morning, I have some paper at home left over from a job, let me go get it, see if you like it. He brought me two different kinds. One I loved so much I decided to have him put it in my bedroom (not sure how I’m going to tell Mark that one). The other isn’t something I would have picked out, but it was such a beautiful paper I couldn’t pass it up. That will go above the chair rail, and a light cranberry paint will go on the bottom of the wall. He is GIVING me 5 double rolls for both of the rooms. He called the place he buys his wallpaper from so he could let me know just exactly the bargain I was getting. It would have cost $112 per double roll. I feel like Christmas came early.
Then, in typical Leon fashion, he cannot sit still. Imagine my surprise when I went upstairs, and there was Leon bleaching my bathroom ceiling! “You gut mold, I’m getting rid of it for you”. Okay. He also attempted to tighten my kitchen faucet, but apparently only a plumber has the proper wrench (or perhaps you?).
I thanked him profusely for the wallpaper. He said he wouldn’t give it “to nobody else. You’re a nice lady, I’ll give it to you”.
The nice lady knows a good deal when she sees it. The cost to paper the two rooms is what it would have cost me to have him do the faux painting in the dining room.
What one has to endure with Leon are conversations such as the following:
Leon: I did work for a couple of fags on Union Ave
Me: Leon, that’s offensive, don’t say that.
Leon: You know, men who act like women
Me: Leon, I knew what you meant. Fag is degrading, please don’t use that word.
5 minutes later:
Leon: My son Joe, what a sweet kid, everyone loves him, his teachers can’t get over how polite my son is.
Me: That’s a nice thing Leon.
Leon: I hope he’s not a fag.
October 01, 2004
Two Little Words
Leon is Chris’s painter. He’s Italian, not tall, but thick, with a barrel chest, and biceps I used to dream about. He’s also opinionated. “What’s that crap? “ He kicks at the wood nailed below the closet’s sliding doors. We’re in Chris’s son’s room and Leon is sizing it up, thinking about how much to charge.
“What’s what crap?” Chris asks.
I know what Leon is talking about because I had to remove that length of wood to fix those doors.
“What’s that crap?” he kicks it again. “That don’t need to be there. Take it off.”
“It traps the sliding doors so they don’t flop around,” I explain to Chris, “Russ is right, it doesn’t need to be there.”
“Go to Home Depot and buy a piece of plastic. That’s all you need.”
Maybe Leon is ham handed, but only if you take offense. After he leaves I tell Chris, “With Leon, what you see is what you get. You know he’s not holding anything back. You know there isn’t some little guy sitting in his head thinking something other than what you’re hearing.
We both like him and this is the third time I’ve bumped into Leon at Chris’s house. We met after I remodeled her kitchen, and he arrived in his white panel van, ready to paint. Leon is talkative; I like to talk, Leon’s personality overwhelms; I disappear in a room of three. Which is why I’m so attracted to him. I tell Leon that I hate to paint, but what I really hate is cleaning up. I buy cheap rollers and brushes, I use them a few times, and then I throw them into the garbage.
Leon listens to me prattle on about my cheap roller method. He gives me an I’m-not-amused look and drags me into Chris’s bathroom with his paint-filled roller. “It’s easy. Take the roller comb and ... . “ After a few strokes under the faucet water he proudly holds the roller up - like a bunny's butt the nap is all white and fluffy. I follow him back to the kitchen while he’s teaching me about good brushes. “Buy expensive brushes, ” but, he says, “The most important thing is to stick the paint brush back in its card board wrapper. The one it came with.” He looks around and can’t find the one for the brush in his hand.
I think to myself how as soon as I remove the brush from its package I throw that wrapper away. It’s suddenly clear how the cardboard retains the shape of the brush and protects the bristles.
Leon is peeved about losing his brush wrapper. He’s grumbles, unfolds his tarp, kicks his tool boxes, looks as if he’s going to kick me. His frenzy draws Chris’s attention. She’s sitting at her dinning room table shuffling through bills. “Wait a minute. Does it fold back on itself and tie with a string and a button?” Chris asks. “I think I know where it is.” Chris walks to the wastebasket and picks it out of the empty vanilla ice cream container. I’m thinking, uh oh, and I’m also thinking, I’m glad I didn’t throw it way.
Leon reaches out with his left hand for the brush cover, throws Chris an icy what-would-you-expect-from-a-woman look, and with a shooing motion of his right hand, he says, “ Go Cook.”
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Tomorrow: My Week With Leon by Chris