If you hear bongos behind you, it's too late.

During the night, when there is no moon, the sound of bongo drums echo across Queen Lake. Years ago, the southeast side of the lake was a summer camp for girls from New York. There was a very mean sailing instructor named Herbert. Herbert would steal the kids' lunches, make them sail even when there were thunderstorms on the lake, and censor their letters when they wrote home to complain. Herbert was so mean that he smoked, even in his bunk, because everyone was afraid to tell him that he couldn't.

One weekend, the kids had collected fireworks for a Fourth of July celebration. Herbert found out about it and confiscated all the goods. "There will be no parties around here," he barked. He put all of the fireworks in his footlocker. The rest of the camp on the lake were shooting off their fireworks, but it was quiet at the camp as darkness settled in.

Herbert had one last cigarette, as he usually did, while lying on his bunk. This night, though, he fell asleep and the bed caught fire and then the foot locker. The fireworks exploded. Herbert was on fire. Screaming, he ran to the lake, his skin falling away. As soon as he hit the water, he met up with a great snapping turtle. He pushed the turtle out of its shell and made the shell his new skin.

Thereafter, he lived in the lake and, from time to time, would seek his revenge by capturing a camper and dragging the poor soul back into the dark waters. He would signal that he had caught his prey by reaching back and pounding on his shell, as though he was tapping on bongos.
Some years later, the camp closed and the property divided up for house lots. Still Herbert, now known among the lake residents as Bongo Boy, is restless. Over the weekend, we heard the sound of bongos at a camp across the cove.

Mike is taking Tess and Krista to the camp this evening, along with some friends. I wonder who will get the top bunk.

With apologies to Ira Glass, the Tappett Brothers, and campers everywhere

---

President Jacques Chirac was reported to have commented: "We can't trust people who have such bad food. After Finland, it's the country with the worst food". And the Finns, gnawing on a piece of reindeer jerky, are wondering why they're being dragged into an international row.

Our lake association meeting is scheduled for Saturday morning at 9AM. Sandra noticed in yesterday's paper that a funeral is scheduled in the church for 10AM. I suspect that we're in for a quick meeting. The biggest issue of past years, a pit bull at one of the camps on the lake, is no longer a problem. The dog is gone. The dog's owners continue to rent the camp. A couple of weeks ago, when we were on the canoe ride with Lily, we saw one of the residents having beer for breakfast while preparing for a day of fishing.

The new Coke Zero tastes like they collected the spray from a skunk that drank a bunch of Moxie.

A local NPR station, WBUR, often uses a Rolling Stones tunes, 2120 South Michigan Avenue, as its exit theme on its Morning Edition show. The address is the home of the old Chess studio in Chicago. We visited the place, which is privately owned now, on a trip to Chicago in the 1980s. The tune was also used as an outtro on WBCN by morning guy Mississippi Harold Wilson, aka Mississippi Fats. He's no longer in radio, instead running a restaurant in Roxbury, the primarily African-American part of Boston.

Palms of victory

The centerpiece of a truly delightful weekend was our trip to Tanglewood in the Berkshires to see a live performance of Prairie Home Companion. We saw nearly all of it. (More on that in a moment.)

The Shed at Tanglewood, open on three sides, can seat more than 5,000. An equal number can sit on the lawn and listen to the show on a fine sound system. We had tickets for seats in the shed.

Moving 10,000 people in an out of a town is a considerable task. The Lenox police, assisted by the Berkshire County sheriff's Department, did a spectacularly bad job managing the traffic flow to the Tanglewood site. Granted, the route to Tanglewood takes you along some narrow roads and through the village of Lenox, but the volume of traffic is well known. They've been hosting such events, several times a week, for 65 years. The ride from the camp to the Lee exit on the Pike took just about two and a half hours, including a stop at Whole Foods in Hadley to pick up our dinner. It took us a bit more than an hour to complete the remaining seven miles, from Lee to Tanglewood. We had our tasty dinner of Thai slaw, French bread, potato salad, and coconut chicken in the car. I thought that three-and-a-half hours would be plenty of time to get us there. I was mistaken. We arrived about 10 minutes late, but, fortunately, had aisle seats.

Garrison had recently relearned a brief hymn from an aunt. He taught the hymn to us and which we reprised throughout the show:

Palms of victory
Crowns of glory
Palms of victory
We shall wear [emended @ 10:20AM]

He taught it in four parts. Peter Schickle led the bases and I found myself singing along. It fit nicely in my three-quarter octave range. I also sang the National Anthem, but spared everyone my attempts at the high notes.

The song, Palms of Victory, is a old tune. Bob Dylan used something similar in an outtake on the Times They Are A-Changin' album, Paths of Victory.

Why do right-handed people finger stringed instruments with their left hands?

There's a running joke in the MacGregor family. When Woody would go to a Red Sox game, he'd invariably leave at the 7th inning stretch and listen to the rest of the game on the radio on the way home. Often, they'd miss some dramatic comebacks. People were leaving right after the News from Lake Wobegon to get a jump on traffic. We hung around the grounds and heard a full half hour of encore music. One of my favorite performers, a regular on the show, is Prudence Johnson. She has such a clear, sweet voice. She doesn't record much, but brings a wealth of musical experience and expression to the show. She was featured during the encores. I bought a couple of Gillian Welch CDs in the gift shop.

We've attended three PHC shows and this was, IMO, the best. The music was first rate, the writing crisp. And, he read our card. I brought greetings for Huck from three of us and handed the card to Garrison at the stage.

So Prairie Home Companion has become the Lawrence Welk show for the Boomers. There were some people under 40 there, on their own, but not many. We sat next to a teenager, attending the show with her parents. She exuded the excruciating boredom that only teenagers can produce. Her parents tried to buy her things, but she would have preferred an evening at the orthodontist office. Our parents watch reruns of Lawrence Welk every chance they get. It wouldn't surprise me that standard issue for nursing homes in 2015 will be a can of Ensure, a pair of no-slip slippers, and a Garrison Keillor musical implant.

Getting out of town wasn't much better. The folks at the Department of Homeland Security should study the behavior of exiting crowds if we can ever hope to have orderly evacuations in the case of disasters of any magnitude. We had to walk along the side of the road to get to our parking area in the field. A woman honked at Sandra so that she could hurry along and wait in the line ahead.

We saw fireworks in various towns on the ride home, including private fireworks on the Connecticut River.

But we got back to the camp safely. The sky was clear, the lake was calm, and you could see the constellations reflected on the smooth water. A couple of years ago, Sandra and I took a course on astronomy, learning enough to pick out some basic features of the northern sky. We're pretty small, but we're where we belong.

The weekend weather was as perfect as you could get, warm when it was supposed to be, cool where it was supposed to be. We did experience a bit of news withdrawal. The world we'd left behind had a Supreme Court justice resignation, continued war in Iraq, the Live 8 concerts, G-8 meetings, continued famines and strife in Africa, and the missing-white-girl-of-the-week story. Naturally, then, channel 5, the best of the lot in Boston TV, had a story about a horse that was frightened by fireworks and ran away. But it came back.

That night, Sunday, we heard the eerie sounds of Bongo Boy out on the lake. More about him in another note.

Sandra will drive Phyllis to the airport shuttle station in Framingham and we will all make our way to our respective places this morning.

Good luck on your new job, Jennie.

O little town of Hackensack, How still we hear thee snore;

The picture on the right is an overhead view of our cove. The pushpin denotes the roof of the camp. By comparison, the site that looks like a runway is our neighbor's year-round home. The neighbors don't understand why my father didn't like what they did to the property.

Below is the perspective that a hawk would have on our house and yard as it's approaching from the south.

All images are courtesy of Google Earth. With the Google Earth software, I can tilt, zoom, and circle around. The images are based on an amazing array of GIS, satellite, and aerial data covering the U.S.

We had a large meeting at work yesterday regarding a reorganization. The major impact was felt by some managers who have new bosses as of today. The individual contributors are largely unaffected for now. I did talk with one manager who is in the process of forming a software tools group. He's still resolving issues regarding his budgets. He knows that I'm interested in such a job and that I'd likely be good at it.

This morning's automated search for a technical documentation position provides a lead on a Principle Internal Auditor. "And how are your principles doing this morning, Dilbert?"

Moving my work computer so that it faces the opening in my cube at work has had the desired effect. Not only are people not sneaking up on me, but people are stopping by to talk. If I really need to concentrate on something, I can take my laptop and work in a conference room or in the cafeteria. Most of the time, though, it's more important that I talk with people.

Every hour or so I get up and walk around the building. It's about a 1/5th of a mile. I walk clockwise. My friend Brownie used to like to have discussions proceed around a table clockwise. He said that, because that's the direction that high pressure systems circulate in the Northern Hemisphere, it brings fair weather to the meeting.

Sandra's at the camp with her cousin Phyllis. I'll go there this evening. It should be a quiet day at work and we may even be sent home early. Traffic was heavy yesterday afternoon, with people getting an early start on the early start.

Speaking of which, in a GMAC study of driver knowledge, or lack thereof, we're #2!

On Saturday evening we'll see the Prairie Home Companionshow at Tanglewood. Gillian Welch, one of my favorite singers, is performing, along with the usual cast. An added treat is the appearance of Professor Peter Schickele. We can only hope that he will pull another rancid gym sock from laundry bag that is the repertoire of one P.D.Q. Bach. (The title of today's entry is from P.D.Q.'s Christmas carol O Little Town of Hackensack.) We have seats in the shed.

Sunday night we'll watch the fireworks on the lake. The weather promises to be good. We will probably watch from Elden's lawn where there's a better view of the whole lake.

Happy Canada Day.

Fung shui rides again

It's coming up on a year at my job. Over the course of a year I manage to do horrible things to the software configuration on my computer. Installing and uninstalling trial products, there are shards of software all over the place. It was time, past time even, to reformat the hard drive and start anew, which I did yesterday afternoon. While that was going on, I was faced with an office that had its share of creeping clutter. Editing drafts stood in stacks on the corner of the desk. New project files were scattered among personal notes. It was time to clean house.

The biggest problem with cubicles is that they are designed to have you work while facing away from the door. A visit has not choice but to interrupt and, possibly, surprise you. Sandra gave me a little mirror, but people were still managing to sneak up. I have moved my computer monitor so that it's facing the doorway. I'm sitting at a bit of an angle to the desk and my back may be a bit torqued by the time I'm done, but it's worth a try. It's been said that if you're surprised by people's arrival, you'll be surprised by their ideas.

There's a big meeting this morning, announcing details of a reorganization in the group to which I'm assigned. I don't think that the changes will have any major, immediate impact on me. The director who called the meeting said that there would be cake. I was supposed to bring food to my manager's staff meeting, which was trumped by this other, bigger meeting. So now we have two Finnish coffee breads and a can of Spam Lite.

Sandra's cousin, Phyllis, is spending the weekend with us. She's flying from Chicago this morning. Sandra will meet her at the airport and, after errands, go to the camp for the night.

From the My VCR is Flashing 12:00 Dept.
There's a whole economic world of which I'm only dimly aware, that of ringtones. In brief, you can buy (or rent or lease or whatever the right verb is) short clips of music that play when you receive an incoming call. You can have different ringtones for different callers. In addition, you can have what are called ringbacks. In this case, the person calling you will hear a musical clip. I stumbled on to a service that would have let me use Freddy Freeloader from Miles Davis as my ringback tone. I think that these tones cost a dollar or two a piece, but I'm not sure if it's a one-time charge, a subscription fee, or something else. Apparently, enough people have figured this out to make the ringtone business very popular for the wireless phone companies.

New releases of Apple's iTunes and my new friend Replay Radio have made it even easier to record Internet radio shows for later playback. The radio shows were a part of my work day for several years and it's comforting to have them back. I'll wax nostalgic another time about radio, listening to Carl de Suze on WBZ and WBZA in the early morning darkness on school day, hearing Mississippi Harold Wilson play Paul Butterfield's East-West in a late 1960s night.

Michael Francis worked in our yard yesterday, splitting and stacking wood, straighten up some construction equipment of Mike's that we've kept in back. MF is bulking up for football. Earlier this week, he was carrying packages of roofing shingles up ladders and was sore for a couple of days. Football practice starts at the first of August.

In separate calls, I had good conversations with Mike and Adam last night. Our wives were out for the evening, so the guys got on the phone. The conversations meandered nicely on a summer's evening - from work to baseball to the expansion of the Smith College campus and the need for science and engineering program for women to communities and business networking (the meet-and-greet kind, not 800.11g). I brought them up to date on my health. I'd been having a couple of bad days, but, about 1:30 yesterday afternoon, the wet, wool blanket lifted and I was able to do stuff again. I'm really blessed to be supported by such a wonderful family and so many good friends. As I often quote Luis Tiant, they make me do better than I can do.

Adam, Jennie, and Lily spent Tuesday night at the camp. Yesterday morning an engineer from Verizon came to look over the settings. (See, I told you this was going to be a saga.) The engineer told Adam that getting phone service to our camp was going to be a big project. The last phone connection is at pole #22. We're at pole #30. The poles are 150 feet apart, many surrounded by tree cover. Adam said that the engineer estimates that the work will take a couple of weeks. I can't locate my phone-company-to-UTC time conversion table, but I think that two weeks is optimistic.

The sound of a phone not ringing

The pleasant young man from the phone company showed up at the camp yesterday morning. He was wide-eyed, an expression common to first-time travelers along the muddy camp road. He may have even been surprised that I spoke English. He asked if we'd ever had phone service at the camp before. I said no, but that our neighbors did. I directed him toward the woods in back of the camp and assured him that there was another house not too far away.

When high-speed Internet access was first offered, starting in the late 1980s, there was a good deal of talk about 'the last mile', that often-expensive and troublesome segment of cabling from the main service lines to the homes. It's not quite a mile from the nearest wired telephone at the lake. It's more like 300 yards, but the woods are thick and the ground underfoot can be ledge or swamp. The neighbors on the south of us get their phone service from one town, the neighbors on the east from another. (The neighbors on the north and west are fish.) The southside neighbors had to pay for their own telephone poles (as they have often reminded us). The installer couldn't quite determine how the eastside neighbors got their service; the line disappeared into the trees.

So, we have the makings of a saga. The installer said that he'd have to hand this request to the engineering team for further investigation. This will take a while.

Not far away, in the small town of Shutesbury, some clever people have assembled a wireless network around Lake Wyola. I think that there are enough year-round residents that we could put together such a service at Queen Lake. I may get a chance to talk about it with a few folks at next month's lake association meeting.

OK, so Matt Lauer and Brooke Shields believe that antidepressants can help people and Tom Cruise thinks that antidepressants are evil (transcript).

Last night the Canadian Parliament voted to allow same-sex marriages for all of Canada. It's still not clear if all provinces must go along. Prince Edward Island, along with Alberta, Nunavut, the Northwest Territories do not permit same-sex marriages. Besides, PEI has other things to worry about. The government is setting up cameras to take pictures of people illegally dumping trash in the woods.

Once more into the woods

Friend Tom often talks about corporate DNA, the tendency of an organization to revert to its original style, goals, and actions even as it tries to change. I thought about Tom during the 45 minutes that I was on the phone with Verizon as we a) tried to figure out why our phone line wasn't installed at the camp last Friday and 2) what we could do about that. Each person in customer service, billing, repair, and, of course, the eCenter (!), was very nice, very empathetic. The system in which they worked and with which I had to contend is, however, genetically Ma 'We are the phone company and we know what you need.' Bell. In my case, when I filled out the form on the web and selected Verizon as my long-distance carrier, I didn't select a plan. The online forms didn't require a plan, but the folks in the back office did. So, the order was put on hold. A very nice person named Bonnie figured out what had happened, reopened the order, double-checked the work order, reviewed the directions to the place, and said that I'd be getting a credit on my first month's bill because of my troubles.

We're going to try again today. The installation is scheduled for some time between 8 and 12. The camp will be a good place to be today. It's warm and quite humid now.

Also, I came home from work early yesterday and feel better, but not all better today. At my appointment yesterday, I learned that my doctor is moving to California at the end of August. He's been good - forthright, empathetic, good-humored, as well as competent.

Sandra and I had dinner outside last Saturday night. This was the first time we'd used our outdoor fireplace for cooking. The steak and potatoes came out well, perhaps a bit al dente, but very tasty. For dessert, I toasted marshmallows on the coals, using a skewer that my father made a very long time ago, long before there was thought of gadgets such as this.

At work we take turns bringing in snacks for the team's weekly staff meeting. It's my turn this week. I'll bring some Finnish coffee bread and the obligatory can of Spam. I doubt that anyone will want the Spam. It's best when served fried or grilled, bringing out all of its artery-clogging goodness.

There are some vegetarian readers of this journal. A visit to the Potted Meat Museum might make a few more converts.

Cooking with gas

The telephone installer didn't show up on Friday. I did manage to get some work done in the quiet. I also played with my new picture phone a bit. Sandra finished her errands in town and joined me shortly after noon. The nice guy from the heating company, Larry, finished the installation of our new gas cooktop.

We investigated the neighbor's tree that was hit by lightning (the tree, not the neighbor). There was no damage to their buildings. One tree was split and knocked over, blocking the driveway. Another had a black burn mark running its length. The next day, we could hear our neighbor and his son-in-law working with their chain saw.

We'd set aside Saturday as day of peace and ease. We walked in the woods, paddled around the north end of the lake in the canoe, swam, read, dozed, stacked wood and gathered kindling, dined on steaks from the grill. My father couldn't make it up the stairs, so we had early afternoon coffee and snacks in the shade near the boathouse.

On Sunday Sandra went to the Cape for Russell's first birthday party while I went grocery shopping for my father and did a few other chores around the house. Michael Francis and Joe rode with Sandra. I'd sent a text message to her cell phone. Joe (age 10) showed her how these messages work. So simple that even a child can do it. Verizon Wireless should package a child with each new phone.

The concept of free long-distance calls is a new and strange one. Until 20 or so years ago, phone charges were measured by distance - a call to Florida, Florida was a lot more than a call to Florida, Massachusetts. Fiber-optic cables have made national distances disappear. My father would prefer to (and does) drive 40 miles to talk with his friend Ted rather than make the long-distance phone call. This new cell phone plan will change things, but probably not quickly.

I attended a regional school system, two small towns joining together to make one small high school. The other town, Ashburnham, was outside of our local calling area until my junior or senior year. Until then, a call to a friend in the next town (a toll call) required much pleading.

My father hasn't been able to get to the dump for a while. Not that he makes much trash; the house is quite tidy. As I was taking one bag of trash and other bags of paper and cans for recycling, I asked if there was anything else. He asked how much room I had in my car (a Subaru wagon). When he was assured that I had plenty of room, he pointed me to three trash bags with cement that had gone bad. (Moisture had seeped in and hardened the mix.) Anyone have anything that needs to stay at the bottom of a lake or pond?

On the back road that leads from my father's house to the Wal-Mart in Gardner, there's a sign by the driveway of a small house: "Worms 24x7".

Woody and Marian were having company this weekend, so Marian baked cookies. She laid them out on the kitchen table to cool, covering them with paper. They had to go out for a little bit. When they return, not a cookie was to be found. The company wasn't coming until the next day, so Marian had time to make another batch. This time, she put the cookies on the dining room table, covered them, and went out. Upon return, not a cookie could be found, just a very happy dog.

We received a bill from the circulation office of the Worcester Telegram. The bill is for 34¢. The good news is that it's a final notice.

One of my favorite sites (though PG-13 and usually not safe for work) is Fark.com. One of the recurring features at the site are their Photoshop contests. Participants are given a theme and they have to use Photoshop (or other image-editing programs) to alter a picture to make it fit with the theme. This weekend, one of the contests was If the world were more like a cartoon...
By the way, Blogger has added a new feature that makes it much easier to add pictures to blogs. I'll try to be judicious in the number of pictures that I include here because I know that pictures can be very slow to load on a dial-up connection, which I hope to have at the camp real soon now.

Summer workers, some are not

While the installer from the phone company is stringing a phone line across a mosquito-laden swamp, the guy from the heating company is making the final connections on our gas range, and my father is learning how to set up voice dialing on his new cell phone, I'll be trying to get something that looks like a day's worth of work at the camp. Think it'll happen? Me neither.

This week we learned that lightning hit a tree in a neighbor's yard at the lake. This is the second strike in a few years. I'm not glad it's them, but I'm glad it's not us, too. One time we were expecting company at the camp. My mother had laid out the food on a table in the middle of the room. Lightning blew out a lighting fixture overhead, exploding the light bulbs and spraying the food with broken glass. We liked the people who were coming to visit, so we threw the food away.

The camp is at the edge of what was, a 100 years ago, a farm. There are still pieces of barbed wire along the back edge of the property. Lightning hit a tree, travel down toward the ground, jumped on the barbed wire, ran the length of the wire and knocked some boards off of the back of the sauna.

In Massachusetts, you have Cambridge and Amherst. In California, you have Berkeley. Coloradans, jumping up and down to catch the attention of coast-to-coast flights, shout out, "Hey, you want loopy. We got loopy right here." Hofu, human-flesh-flavored tofu.

Happy 1st birthday, Russell.

Would Kerouac have a Support the Troops magnet?

I was standing at the counter at the Verizon store in the mall, buying a new cell phone for my father and getting a free upgrade for myself. The young man next to me at the counter, holding half of a phone, asks the sales person, "Can you check again? I know had insurance on this."

Yesterday I found a solution to a scripting problem that had vexed me for more than a week. For those of you who care about such things, it had to do with handling very long pathnames in Windows. The problem had been blocking me from taking care of several other things, so I'm looking forward to visiting my to-do list anew. Tomorrow I'm going to work from the camp. We're having a phone line installed, but I expect to be working offline most of the time. I've signed up for a free NetZero account. We will get Internet access for 10 hours per month and will experience some ads.

We (I) often play the "What if" game. What if I had tried something different for supper instead of the old tried-and-true? What if I took that job last year where I'd be writing process documents for the pharmaceutical companies? It plays out on larger scales as well. People like to ask Peter Kramer, "What if van Gogh had had Prozac?" On yesterday's The Connection, the host and guests wondered what if Allen Ginsberg was releasing Howl now? Where would he shill the book? Jerry Springer? The Daily Show? Howard Stern on Sirius? "... who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish, ..."

Musicians aren't like the rest of us. Here's the science.

The BBC is running this story about a big table and chair. Little do they know that Gardner has big chairs, too. I used to pick up the newspapers for my delivery route just to the left of this chair.

A couple of studies are showing that insomnia, more than just a side effect of depression, often precedes and may even trigger depressive episodes.

Eye to eye with a dragon fly

It's like there's a slit in a sack of bird seeds. A little leaks out and then more as the slit widens. Sometimes you can stop and repair it in position. Sometimes you have to lie it on its side to slow the out-going rush so you can make repairs. Depending on where the breach is, it can be difficult or easy stop the leak, repair it, and replenish the bag. I came home from work mid-day yesterday and lay down for a couple hours. I feel better, with only a slight case of overwrought similes as a side effect.

In an effort to recover the tough afternoon, I stacked wood for nearly an hour. It was warm, verging on hot, but there was a comfortable breeze and the work was mostly in the shade. A dragonfly followed me around like a pet. As best as I can determine, it was a unicorn clubtail.

Adam called late in the afternoon, reporting on their trip. He and Jennie raised money for stroke research (runners raised more than $3M total), completed their races, and brought back stories of strength and courage. We're very proud of them. Prices for Wyeth, the makers of Advil, (WYE, NYSE) peaked Monday morning and fell back.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned here that I'd had a BB gun as a kid. That surprised Adam. We never had guns around when he was growing up. But, as much as I could be, I tried to be a normal kid. I even went through that shoplifting phase in junior high school. While other kids were boosting clothes, candy, toys, and canoes (yep), I took books.

Silvio Berlusconi went to Finland and complained about the food. Pickled herring, beets, and turnip?

OK, it can stop now. I have had songs from the Anne of Green Gables soundtrack in my head since our return trip to Northampton on Sunday evening. It's nice enough music, once a year, maybe once every two years.

G'bye, Lucky. He was Adam, Jennie, and Lily's cat and passed away on Monday from renal failure.

you're going to rise up singing

The measure of a good song is in the fruit it bears. So it is with Gershwin's Summertime. The operatic original, the aching blues from Janis Joplin, the deep spirituality from John Coltrane, the rolicking licks from Alvin Lee, and the many, many others.

Astronomical summer began at 2:46AM (EDT). Meteorologists begin their summers at the start of June; September, by their reckoning, is an autumn month. Some in Europe start even earlier, in May, when the sun is already high and the days are long. Finns celebrate Juhannus, St. John's Day, during this time. Like Christmas, it's less a religious observance and more an excuse for a party. Can you have a party that goes all night long when there is no night? We didn't serve alcohol at our house, so I didn't see the drunken revels while I was growing up or didn't recognize it when I did. There would be plenty of that later.

The cool, wet spring has delayed lots of plants. The mountain laurel will be at its pink-and-white peak this weekend.

Because of a slight mixup, we received a bill for our newspaper subscription. The bill is for 34¢ and is stamped Final Notice.

No time to brew coffee? Well, here are two ways to get your daily dose - in the shower and on the tongue.

I'm sure that they laughed at Leonardo da Vinci, Robert Fulton, and Rudolph Diesel, but that doesn't stop us from at least smiling at these guys. It's all part of the Museum of Retro Technology.

Welcome home, Adam and Jennie.

What is so rare as a pixel in June?

Once again, the temperature is in the 40s so we need a small fire in the wood stove. Last evening's air was clear and dry and you could see far away places. We drove Lily home in the bright light of the setting sun. The trees are a deep green now. The shadows at dusk highlight the color. Many years ago Zenith touted their new TV that had each pixel set on a black background that made each color more vivid. One of the songs on the Anne of Green Gables soundtrack proclaims that our best learning comes through the close inspection of nature. So, look closely at a rare June evening in the Connecticut River Valley and you, too, might appreciate the technology of the last American-made TV set.

It's been that kind of weekend, delights tumbling over one another. Lily is a joy, sharp, confident, loving, and, as Jennie's mother, Diane, observed, willing. When it was time to play, Lily splashed in the water or made art. When it was time to work, she happily carried bags of stuff from the car to the camp or wielded our vacuum cleaner as needed. And, just when you both need it, she'll hop on your lap and lean her head against your shoulder.

From Mike and Lynn on Father's Day I received a gift certificate at a local store and, most precious of all, a framed picture collection of all seven grandchildren. Adam and Jennie have given me trees which we'll plant in the fall. Lynn bought Mike a popup trailer that can sleep the whole family. They had breakfast in the trailer on Sunday morning.

My father is still unsteady and uses his father's umbrella (!) as his cane. He looks thin and often tired. When I gave him his gift and shook his hand, though, I found that his grip is still strong.

On Friday we had the camp's septic tank pumped for the first time since Nixon was president. Lily officially pronounced the open tank as gross, but the nice man who runs the sanitation service said that all is in good working order. Our next task, one that would have been heretical just a short time ago, is that we will have a landline phone installed at the camp. Sandra was unable to complete several calls because the cell phone reception was so uneven. Sandra and I haven't discussed it yet, but a landline phone also makes way for Internet access.

Lily, Sandra, and I went for a canoe ride on Saturday morning. We visited with Carole, a year-round resident who wrote a history of the lake a few years ago. The cover of the book included a picture of my father sailing his boat. We continued our inspection of the lake, greeting the campers who were out, waving to the creepy guy with a mullet who was having beer for breakfast. Lo, a For Sale sign was visible on the dock of one small camp. This hardly ever happens. We had neither pencil nor pen, so we divided the memory task, each of us taking a part of the phone number to remember until we could get back to the camp. My part was the area code, 941, a Florida number.

The camp, we learned, was for sale for $250,000, down from $300,000. It had been owned by the former longest resident on the lake; he'd passed away a few months ago. Basically, it was two teardowns on a quarter acre. We talked with the seller last night and learned that they'd had an offer.

We returned to Holden to bring Lily to Mike and Lynn's for an overnight stay. Sandra and I weren't quite ready for a quiet camp yet, so we went out on the town in Gardner. We stopped in at what was billed as a Gospel Bluegrass Jam at a local church - four people playing out-of-tune banjos and singing out-of-tune with the banjos and each other. We slipped in quietly and slipped out again, leaving our donation in the can by the door. We had dinner at a surprisingly good Mexican restaurant and then drove around a bit. We drove past the three-decker that my grandparents owned. Where families from Finland, Poland, and New Brunswick once lived, we now see black and brown and yellow skins. We rode back to the camp through Otter River. We'd had such a good meal that we didn't need to stop at Lee's Hot Dog Stand in Baldwinville. Downtown Phillipston was dark and quiet.

We were up past 10PM for three nights of four. I can't say that our managers will get their full measure of our work today, but we'll make good.

Honey, I'm going to mow the picnic table

We drove to and from Florence to pick up Lily and bring her to our house for the night. It was stormy with thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. Occasionally, the rain would lessen and we could see the tops of the hills clipped by clouds. The travel was often treacherous, particularly as we went through Worcester where the highway is narrowed by construction work. Remember, this is Massachusetts when, even in good weather, lane markings, breakdown lanes, stop lights, turn signals, and speed limits are pretty much just suggestions for other people. So, we had scary moments with trucks to our right, Jersey barriers to our left, and lots of water above, below, and in between.

But we arrived home safely around 10PM and got Lily safely home into our guest room. The house was cool.

At breakfast we gathered at the table by the window and marveled at the lushness of the yard. During the winter we sprinkle bird seed on a picnic table on the back deck, in addition to the seed in the feeders. A few seeds, stuck in table top, have sprouted. If the rains continue, we'll have this soon.

Lily is confident and article, so much so that I'm likely to forget that she is still five. On the way home, we were talking about what we'd have for breakfast. "Mac and cheese?" I asked. I think she took me seriously, or maybe she was just bringing the joke back to me. While I was getting the cereal on the table, she brought me a box of Mac and cheese.

And now, I'm at work. This is a blog about work. This day will go quickly as I try to get my various projects into a known state by day's end - knowing what I know and knowing what I don't know. It was explained to me that there are four stages of wisdom, in descending order:

1. Knowing
   
2. Knowing what I don't know
   
3. Knowing what I know
   
4. Not knowing what I don't know

There are variants on that, theories of complex systems and such. For another day, though. I need to get to work.

A night of music

On Tuesday we had the air conditioners doing the full-tilt boogie. This morning, if we were going to be at home for the day, we'd need a fire in the stove. Which reminds me, I need to clean my father's chimney. He mentioned that the chimney hadn't been cleaned for a couple of years. Imagine that. Two years ago (when he was 89) he was getting on the roof to run a set of brushes down the chimney.

Last night we went to a recital. Michael and Krista were outstanding. Music is about hitting the right notes, but, perhaps more importantly, it's about rhythm. Both pieces were rhythmically demanding and they met the challenges wonderfully.

Several people from our former church attended the recital, cheering on one of the children from the congregation. It's like seeing an flame from long ago. We were alternately thrilled and reminded why we had left that church. But the night wasn't about the adults and their weirdnesses. It was about the kids and their music.

Speaking of weirdness and music, Gizmodo brings us this collection of music and machines and whatever.

This is wrong at so many levels - a squirrel decanter.

Adam and Jennie are on their way to Hawaii. Jennie's mother, Diane, is watching Lily today. We'll pick up Lily this evening and have her with us for a couple of days. Sandra and Lily may have their nails done tomorrow (although probably not like this). Tomorrow night we'll sleep at the camp. Lily will then go to Mike and Lynn's for an overnight on Saturday. We'll return her to Diane on Sunday, but not before we have a Father's Day pizza party at M&L's.

Something old. Something new.

We've recently purchased appliances at Sears, so Sears is now sending us love letters of all sorts. Yesterday we received a packet of coupons for discounts on various products, including jewelry. Thanks, but I have all the jewelry that I need. Sandra and I bought our wedding rings at Sears and they're working just fine.

When I bought this laptop last year, I also bought a 64MB USB drive. For those of you who haven't seen one, a USB drive is a little gadget that plugs into your computer and lets you store and transfer files and programs. You used to need a floppy disk to carry files to and from your work and home computers, for example. Well, the drive that I got yesterday holds 16 times the stuff that my year-old USB drive holds and costs less. I paid just over $60 for a 1GB drive.

As one technology columnist often observes, the future of technology is coming at us so quickly that we can't afford to blink.

I used to visit my aunt and uncle in St. Albans, Vermont. St. Albans in the upper-left corner, on Lake Champlain, and one town from Canada. Up there I could watch the Red Sox games broadcast in French from Montréal. (The Expos hadn't come and gone yet.) One day I turned on the radio and found a station from Plattsburg, New York, across the lake. They broadcasting a baseball game, but it was the Yankees game and they were playing someone like Cleveland. I was shocked. It was as though I had picked up Radio Moscow. Did people really listen to baseball games where the Red Sox were not playing? Was it legal for stations to do only Yankees games? I've calmed down since then, but it still doesn't feel quite right.

As I stood in the check-out line at Wal-Mart this past weekend, I noticed that White Owl is selling flavored cigars. Grape. Peach. Chocolate. Mocho Mint. All of that is just so wrong at so many levels.

The hamster will see you now.

Let me see if I've got this right. Come to Me, ye who are weary and heavy-laden and making more than $25,000 a year.

According to a story on NPR, McDonald's is sending Ronald McDonald on an mission to try to encourage kids to exercise more. Ronald wasn't available for comment, so they went to the next best, Richard Simmons. About Ronald, Simmons said, "He stole my Afro!"

Carpe diem,with mustard, relish, and onions

I've received reports about layoffs at IBM. Several former co-workers were told that they had 30 days to find a new job within the company or they'd be moving on. There had been a flurry of activity in LinkedIn, presaging the news. I may not be able to provide direct employment leads, but I'll do what I can. And while doing that, I can also provide moral support. A few years ago, friend T. was a spectator at the Boston Marathon. (She's now training for an Ironman next month.) A little girl on the side of the road held a sign that said, "Run."

Some 30 years ago, I wrote a poem. It's the only one of mine that I remember.
Keep laughing
or they'll have your heart for breakfast.
Keep laughing
or the leftovers'll yours for lunch.

So, carpe diem.

Dianne Williamson, a columnist for the Worcester Telegram, quotes a Fox news analyst as saying that Michael Jackson “dabbed tears from his nose.” 'Nuff said.

With the help of a bit software called ReplayRadio, I am recording Internet radio broadcasts and then listening to them on my iPod. I've had a favorite set of college radio shows, some from UMass-Amherst, some from a station in Los Altos Hills (near San Jose).

The North Pole is leaving Canada, heading for Russia at a brisk clip. Santa was seen listening to a set of Russian language tapes, brushing up on his ГО, ГО, ГО.

It's now Dr. Steven Tyler. And check out picture #14 while you're at it. (Thanks, Bill.)

In the What-are-they-thinking? Dept., why would Gatorade use the guitar riff from House of the Rising Sun in an ad about an Ironman event in Hawaii?

Of course, if you're in an Ironman, a marathon, or a half-marathon, you can listen to any music you darn well please. Cue the applause as Adam and Jennie prepare for their races on Sunday.

Happy Birthday, John.

"Less is only more where more is no good" - FLW

Sandra returned late Saturday night from her most excellent adventure to Fallingwater. She brought back great stories about the fascinating and quirky details that make up not only this architectural masterpiece, but also the genius behind it. Sandra also reports that Pennsylvania drivers obey the speed limits. We've heard of such things, but hadn't seen them in the wild.

A couple of days ago, my father tripped while carrying a gasoline can and pulled a muscle in his leg. The gasoline spilled all over him. He got home and washed his clothes. As the machine entered the rinse cycle, it stopped. He was left with a load of wet, soapy, almost-not-gasoline-soaked clothes. He is using an umbrella for cane. His friend, E., owns a funeral parlor and has a large selection of canes left by customers who didn't need them any more. We'll be doing my father's laundry and grocery shopping for a while.

Thanks to Adam, we now have an "As Seen on TV" remote motion detector at the camp. It, um, detects motion. It picks up activity within 20 feet or so, enough to detect a car or a person in the parking area and sends a signal to a noise-making unit in the camp. Equally importantl, it's quiet when it's supposed to be quiet.

I was cutting up some scrap wood with the table saw in the boathouse. The wood was just a bit too thick (2x6s) for the blade that was in the saw. The blade bound up and stopped. Brushing away the dust (saw and otherwise), I found the reset button, tried again, jammed it again, and then blew a fuse. My father has some other blades at his house, so this project is on hold for a week or so. I don't know the age of the saw, a Sears Craftsman. It was my grandfather's. The Old Gent, as my father called him, (Vaari, as I called him) mounted the on/off switch upside down on the saw frame. There was a good reason for it, I'm sure, probably like the reason that some gas fittings are reverse-threaded. (I'll rant about reverse-threading another time.)

Our neighbor was out raking the lake on Saturday afternoon. Pollen had settled in whorls and swirls on his shoreline, as it had done on ours. They were having company that evening. So, to ensure that the guests would have a good swimming experience, our neighbor was in the water with a leaf rake, moving the pollen into our little cove.

The local weekly paper prints a report of the calls that come into the police station. While TV news is dealing with issues such as African debt relief, the war in Iraq, and nuclear missles in North Korea, here's what's troubling folks in the Wachusett region:

• 911 report of ducklings in the sewer drain.
• Woman comes in to the police station at 3PM to report motorist driving erratically that morning.
• Skateboarder "with an attitude" at a local school.
• Radio interference.

Last week marked the 70th anniversary of the first public FM broadcast. My junior high school science teacher used to remind us that FM mean fine music, while AM meant average music. This would have been the time when FM played mostly classical music while the good stuff, rock and roll, was on the AM dial.

In the not-just-for-medical-professionals department, here are some clever, if not creepy gauze masks.

Fearful brown bottle! Its sting presages a scar -- a new lesson learned.

A morning in a quiet house. Sandra is on an adventure with a friend to visit Fallingwater, the house designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, near Pittsburgh. They left early this morning to fly from Providence.

This morning's automatic search for a technical documentation job produced these:

• Biohazard Safety Manager - "Develop emergency response policies for spills and exposures to such chemical/radiological materials such as chemotherapeutic agents, isotopes and hazardous chemical materials."
• Maintenance & Sanitation Manager - Five (5) years supervisory experience in a nutraceutical / pharmaceutical manufacturing environment required. Must have experience working with equipment used in the manufacture, bottling and packaging of dietary supplements and powders.

The weather has been summer-like for the past couple of days, meaning that it's time to bring out the summer toys. If you build or borrow The Ultimate Water Gun (using an expended fire extinguisher, motorcycle helmet, and other sundry parts), you, too, could look like this.

Marley's having such a great time at the Island, going everywhere that Woody and Marian go, whether it's a walk down the lane, a ride into town, or stroll behind the self-propelled lawn mower. Our house is empty, just the two of us, for the first time in, like, ever. Sandra and I have talked a lot about getting another pet. There are rescue programs that need foster homes for various breeds of dog. (Dunno about cats.) In any case, if we do get another pet, it'll be a traditional on and not something such as Mike the Headless Chicken.

Buzzword Bingo (and its PG-13 cousin) have been around the business world for a while. Basically, you get a Bingo card with commonly-overused words and phrases. When you hear the word or phrase, you mark your card. When you have five marks in a row, you get to shout "Bingo." Tim Russert was the Class Day speaker at Harvard this week and delivered a speech that has a lot in common with other speeches he's given. Naturally, the best and brightest jumped into action and created Tim Russert Bingo.

My manager and I get along well. When he stops by my cube, usually unannounced, he always sees something interesting on my computer screen. Late yesterday afternoon, he saw an Emacs window full of Perl code. That I had no idea what I was doing and that the code wasn't working didn't come up in conversation.

On the ride home yesterday, I listened to samples from the Periodic Table of Haiku. It's not as good as The Elements by Tom Lehrer, but it was a good distraction from the wackiness of my fellow commuters.

How high the moon

Mornings are simpler by a couple of steps. With Marley off frolicking in the Great White North for the summer, I don't have to hurry to feed a hungry dog. And, finally, we don't need a fire in the wood stove. Mornings are simpler and simpler is good.

The early corn from Florida is starting to show up in the stores. Of course, it isn't as good as corn fresh from the field, but it's still pretty tasty. Boiling water on a steamy day isn't a good idea, so I tried cooking the corn in the microwave. The Betty Crocker cookbook is handy for many things, but not for microwave cooking. A quick Google search showed me that I should cook corn, in the husks, on full power for about a minute-and-a-half per ear. Once again, the Web proves to be the source of all that is good and wise.

I had a good chat with my manager yesterday afternoon. It started off as a discussion about the lack of a spell checker in the latest AOL Instant Messenger and led through lots of turns - nuclear submarines and Soviet space programs, networking (personal and systems) at Digital, MIT graduates as a breed apart, self-absorbed bloggers - and ended with his mentioning that he'd spoken favorably about me to his boss. There might be a permanent opening, but I'll keep my hopes in check.

Today marks a couple of events, one tragic and the other pleasant. In 1953 a tornado struck Worcester, killing 94 people. In 1915 Les Paul was born. I had played a Les Paul guitar once; it belonged to a friend in college. Sweet, smooth sound and action.

Hitting the market window, like a bird

The most common mispronunciation of our last name is Hakkarainian, making the name sound Armenian. Now, even my automated job searches are getting into the act.

Marian reports that Marley came upstairs at five yesterday morning and licked her face.

With the Red Sox doing the Curly Shuffle in St. Louis again last night, we watched a good show about Hawaii on Globe Trekker. At one point, a Hawaiian girl was helping host Megan McCormick gather wild flowers for a lei. As a part of a deeply traditional and spiritual ritual, Megan would bring the lei as a gift to the people hosting a luau. The girl was collecting the flowers in a Wal-Mart plastic bag.

And, in other world news, Hindus marry toads, hope for rain.

I don't know why the U.S. Customs folks let this guy in the country, but I'm pretty sure I know why Canada didn't want him: Man with what appeared to be a bloody chain saw let into U.S. - Crime & Punishment - MSNBC.com

Fight ageism by looking younger, this guy says. I really hope that it's a joke. "Guys, don't forget about your moustache. Generally, it looks best if you color your hair your original color." "A good face lift makes you look 10 years younger and lasts a long time." And women should fight sexism how? And people of color should fight racism how? And if you're short, well, you could try various stretching techniques.

Today is a very special day in Dilbert's life. It's the birthday of Scott Adams. (Today's title is from a Dilbert strip.)

Science projects

With just the two of us at home now, leftovers in the refrigerator are more likely to wind up as little bags and dishes of "What's This?" It might be simpler to put the food straight into the dishwasher and eat from there.

At yesterday's doctor's appointment, we decided to change some medications, eliminating one product and returning to another that I'd used a couple of years ago. The side effects are riskier, but the stuff worked well. It's also expensive, with a month's supply more than $250. Thank goodness for insurance.

After hearing a radio interview with Dr. Peter Kramer, I ordered and have started reading his new book, Against Depression. I'm not far enough along to have a real opinion about the book yet. Among his key points is that depression is no more ennobling than myopia or shingles. I'll have more comments about the book as I move through it.

And with the Red Sox playing the way that they are, I'm going to have more time for reading. The Sox are in St. Louis, scene of last year's glorious victory. Last night's game was, well, all too common. I have family in the St. Louis area, my father's brother's family. I hope that they're enjoying the series.

Let me see if I've got this right. Citigroup sends millions of customer records on an unencrypted tape via UPS. Why not just send blank checks to the bad guys and cut out the middleman?

Pulling the start cord on the lawnmower of life

Adam, Jennie, and Lily came for a visit, dinner, and sauna at the camp on Saturday. I cooked some steaks on the outside grill and they came out well. Adam's helping us with the installation of the new gas cooktop. I got tired just thinking about his day on Saturday. He worked the overnight shift, ran 15 miles after work, slept for a few hours, and drove to see us. We made sure that he had an extra cup of coffee for the ride home.

In two weeks, they will have completed their fund-raising race. Adam's slated to run a marathon, Jennie a half-marathon, as a fund-raiser for stroke research.

My father and his friends built a massive stone fireplace at the camp. The mortar was mixed by a long-time friend, a fellow who still visits my father for sauna every few weeks. (The friend is up in Hudson's Bay this week, visiting with the Cree Indians.) Anyway, this friend was new to mixing mortar. As a result, little white flakes and chunks have been falling off the fireplace for 60 years. My father grumbles about it, good-naturedly, mostly. When we are cleaning up, we mutter this guy's name. We're passing the info along to Mike and Adam, so the next generations can continue the grumbling.

The hydrangea that Sandra planted by the boathouse is coming back. The small hemlocks along the paths have fresh green tips of new growth. Sandra found another trillium in the woods. She reports that the ground is very wet, even a couple of hundred feet from the water's edge.

We met with the contractor about putting a road from our parking area to the back of the camp. He gave us can of orange spray paint which we used to mark the trees that we wanted cut down. It'll be both exhilarating and saddening to have the trees come down, opening us to much more sunlight. We didn't keep count, but it may be three or four dozen trees that are slated to come down. They're tall trees in many cases, near power lines or the camp. It's work that's best donw by professionals.

Saturday was calm. (Or, as they say in PEI, "Cam, dear.") We had a canoe ride, gliding smoothly through the pollen that coat the water in the cove. There were several boats on the lake, including Elden and my father. The sun was strong and warm.

Screwdrivers have legs and bad homing instincts. Afer the the lawn mover would start, I wanted to remove the air filter and open up the butterfly valve a bit. No flathead screwdriver. Fortunately I had my Swiss army knife. Even more fortunately, my father showed up so I didn't have time to do the mowing. Next week, for sure.

So, my father, who reminds us that when he was a kid, commercial radio didn't exist, is thinking of giving up his landline phone for a cell phone. We have a few more details to resolve, including the setup of his voice mail. It could be a very good idea, saving him $20-$30 per month. Or, it could be something else.

After all that tumult of the weekend, it's easy to forget that it's time to go back to work. I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon. I'm ready, as are those around me who've been patient andkind Knowing what's not working doesn't automatically translate into knowing what does.

It was the third of June ...

It would be an interesting way to consume precious hours of life to collect a list of song that have dates featured in them. Today's selection is that sultry Sixties classic, Ode to Billie Jo. The only other song phrase that comes to mind right away is "the first of December was covered with snow," from James Taylor's Sweet Baby James.

When I was growing up, we had boxes of Finnish folk songs on dusty 78s. I used the rest of the records for target practice with my BB gun. Of course, everything old is new again. Now you can download MP3 versions of venerable tunes such as Pack Up Your Troubles In Your Old Kit Bag, He'd Have to Get Under - Get Out and Get Under (to Fix Up His Automobile), and Yes! We Have No Bananas.

The BBC is playing the complete works of Beethoven and making those performances available for download.

Before the iPod, before the Walkman, I had a pocket transistor radio. This would have been in the early 60s, when Japanese radios were still something of a novelty. My radio had an earphone. So, much as I do now, I would walk along with the earphone in place, listening to music. Such a small radio couldn't reliably pick up WMEX in Boston, so I'd listen to WORC in Worcester. (At night the whole eastern U.S. was in range.) When I was wearing a jacket or long-sleeved shirt, I could run the earphone cord down my arm and then lean my head against my hand. I was once more in a world of my own.

One time I was walking through South Gardner. A woman stopped me and said, "Oh, you poor boy, needing a hearing aid at your age." When I tried to explain that it was a radio, she walked away quickly, apparently not liking having her sympathy rejected.

How much is 10% of someone else's income?

Showing that you can get someone to pay you to do almost anything, blogging is becoming a paid position at many companies.

Or, you could just buy 10% of someone's income.

As Marley runs through the acres (hectares) of fields and woods along the shore line, I hope he gives thought to the other dogs who are struggling to get into doggie day care.

"Don't make me get the Portable Time-Out Mat!"

The guys from QE will throw out the first pitch at Fenway Park this coming Sunday. Maybe they can stay and help with the pitching for the rest of the game. True to their DNA, the Red Sox have had spectacularly uneven pitching this season. Tim Wakefield's 9-3 loss last night is a classic example. Knuckle balls that don't knuckle are heading for Lansdowne Street.

Hitting has been the strength of the Red Sox for the last 50-60 years. Not pitching, although there have been some greats. Luis Tiant, of course, with his twisting delivery that had him looking into center field before the pitch. Bill Lee, who'd throw 75 junk pitches in a complete game. Clemens, a first-ballot Hall-of-Famer but with the attitude of a teenage hood. Jim Lonborg, Bill Monbouquette, Dick Radatz. Defense could be, um, interesting, with Dick Stuart, aka 'Dr. Stranglove' aka 'Clank,' and Don Buddin, for whom his teammates made a special license plate 'E-4.'

Those who care probably don't need to be told, but Krispy Kreme is giving away a donut to each visit tomorrow (3 June).

There were people at the college reunion weekend who used avuncular and schadenfreude as though they were real words.

Sandra has brought in sweet-smelling flowers from our yard - Purple Flag Iris and Lily of the Valley. The year that we were married, Sandra's mother was concerned that the lilacs wouldn't stay in bloom until the wedding; they just barely made it. This year, with the much colder May, the lilacs are still colorful and fragrant.

Happy Birthday, Lori.

Sans Chien

We'll get used to it in a while and the time will pass quickly. We'll get used to not stopping on the hill so that we can let Marley run up the camp road. We'll get used eating a whole orange by ourselves. We'll get used to leaving shoes on the hearth and having them still there in the morning.

Sandra's parents reported that Marley went upstairs and all around the house after Sandra and Mike left early on Sunday morning. By then Marley had already had two baths. At the corner of the French Road, there's some mud along the Mitchell River. It's not just ordinary mud, though; it's mud with something dead in it. We're thinking of getting one of those car deodorizers and hanging it on his collar.

On Tuesday he had a ride with Woody and Marian to the Post Office in downtown Cardigan.

Mike and Sandra made excellent time, 10:15, on their return trip. The weather was good and the border crossing quick. It was a good chance for them to talk. When Sandra returned home, she said, "Karl, I'm a metric." After some fiddling with the buttons on the dashboard of her car, we figured out how to change the odometer, thermometer, and other ometers back to English measurements. It was fun to have different adventures and even better to be back home together.

I talked with quite a few people during my college's reunion weekend and hear a lot of anxiety. A lot of very successful people have graduated from there, successful in business, law, medicine, academia, and the performing arts, so it's easy to fall in the trap of comparing performance. Still, it was gratifying to look around the parking lot and see Hondas, Subarus, and Tauruses (Tauri?), to see that the Hyundais outnumbered the Porsches. These were people returning because they'd had a good time in college and wanted to reconnect with friends, faculty, and the campus.

On the ride there, I passed through different words, from Support Our Troops yellow magnetic ribbons on the backs of cars and trucks to Free Tibet bumper stickers. I passed signs that said "I buy houses" in hand-lettering. "No Title 5. No problem." Another place offered used cars and/or sanitation services.

Mount Wachusett still has a few patches of snow and wild turkeys slow traffic on the mountain road.

We bought a new new phone recently. Inside the instruction booklet was a slip of paper, "Need Help? Call Toll Free. 1(800)nnn-nnnn."

just me and my radio

On days such as these, the Fats Waller tune Ain't Misbehavin' is on the radio in my head.

The travelers arrived in good order, slowed somewhat by the heavy rain in Maine that falls mainly on Meddybemps. I tried to watch them cross the bridge, but the network folks at work appear to be blocking video streams. Too bad. Mike reported that Marley had his head out the window, jowls flapping in the wind.

It's been difficult keeping enough dry wood in the house. We put the wood hoop away last month and bring in just a little as we need it. Well, we've needed a lot.

Job listing of the day: Vibration Technician, "using electro-dynamic and electro-hydraulic shakers."

There are some people who believe that the patent process is out of control and is stifling creativity and thus inhibiting further product development for the good of all people. In other realms, patent production is rewarded. IBM bestows the title of Master Inventor for people who have received something like 15 patents. In both cases, the folks are living out the principle articulated in Robots: "See a need. Fill a need." (BTW, patents expire after a fixed time.)

When we're at the camp, we're at the edge of cell phone service. Further, the large stone fireplace further dulls the signal. All the while, the little phone is chugging away, trying to put up as many bars at it can, usually between one and none. (Reception is a bit better on the porch.) The battery drains very quickly. See a need. Fill a need, indeed.

If an apple a day keeps the doctor away, then some apples might keep the neurologist, cardiologist, and oncologist away, as well as the GP. Canadian researchers report that Red Delicious and Northern Spy have the most antioxidants. I'm not a great fan of these apples, mainly because they get a bit mealy when kept in storage. I'm enjoying Cameo apples now (not part of the study). They're crisp and a bit tart.

The only thing worse than a wet dog ...

... is a wet dog that's gone. Marley was quite wet when he came in from his early morning visit to the back yard. before he and Sandra left at 4:30 to pick up Mike and head on to the day of travel.

So, Marley's on his way to summer camp. He'll have a good time, chasing the herons on the beach, chasing the whatevers in the fields and woods, absconding with Woody's glasses case. He'll be good company for Woody and Marian and they for him.

How many dogs do you know who ike balsamic vinaigrette?

As I write, the travelers are on the Maine Turnpike. Sandra will call me when they get to the Confederation Bridge. There's a chance that I might get to see them as they travel o'er.

Earlier this week, Prince Edward Island decided, in a move that was both tragic and milk-through-the-nose funny, to reduce the hours of its suicide hotline to regular business hours - 9-5, Monday through Friday. (Dunno about holidays.) "We care. Leave a message." Anyway, the province has relented and restored 24-hour coverage.

For me, today is just a day at work. I'll work from home tomorrow morning and then tend to some things at my college's reunion weekend tomorrow and Saturday afternoon. Tomorrow night I'll stay at home, Saturday night at the camp. It sounds like a busy time, hard to believe as I sit in a house that's very, very quiet.

O, Mr. Noah. O, Mr. Noah

Rain with widespread drizzle... Patchy fog...Rain with widespread drizzle... Patchy fog... Rain... Patchy fog and widespread drizzle in the morning... Cloudy with a 50 percent chance of rain... Mostly cloudy with a 50 percent chance of showers... Mostly cloudy... A chance of showers and thunderstorms... Patchy fog after midnight... , so sayeth the National Weather Service for the next four days.

The weather is taking charge of most conversations. Each of the local shows includes a substantial segment about this stretch of cold, rainy, and often windy weather. The weather on the Island hasn't been much better. It's good weather to work in a cubicle far from any windows.

I received an email from a recruiter who has a job lead. I'm pleased and grateful, but think that I'll not pursue it. There are a few key words and phrases in the job description (pre-IPO, fast-paced, aggressive) that suggest a lot of long hours, in addition to the longer commute. Time was, and not long ago, I'd jump at this opportunity. I'm not jumping. Sometime maybe, but not now.

It's important to make sure that what you say/write is what you mean.

Years ago I worked for a manager who said that, when she had an important presentation to make, she'd wear a red slip. She felt more confident, no matter who was in the audience. She was a proper lady, given to wearing gray wool suits. Anyway, here's the science.

Sandra has done a great job clearing the leaves, dead hemlock needles, and fallen branches from around the camp. The place looks great. During the clean-up we'd hear neighbors on other parts of the lake using leaf blowers. It was hard work, but manual raking does a better job. If we really wanted to bring tools into the picture, how would one of these do? As I told Sandra when I was climbing through the trap door into the cellar, "Dial 9-1 and wait."

Happy Birthday, Barbara.

So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.

Springtime in New England can be cold and damp and dreary. Thank goodness it's so short.

We have a nice fire in the stove this morning. The weather forecast calls for a nor'easter with cold rain, strong winds, and coastal flooding.

A couple of quick Bob Dylan (article contains PG-13 language) notes on this, his birthday. In high school I brought a guitar to school and sang and played a few Dylan songs. "You even sound like him," said a classmate and I don't think she meant it in a good way. A few years later, my friend Ken and I were amazed at the transformation when Dylan released John Wesley Harding, his first album after the motorcycle accident. It was country music, but like no other. If I had to pick one album, it would be Blood on the Tracks, but just about every tune has a memory. I'm pretty sure that Mike Bloomfield was playing a Les Paul on Highway 61 Revisited, but he did also play a Telecaster during that time.

My father describes the guys he worked with as having size 20 necks and size 2 hats. We can't all be that strong, but we can fake it. Want to be able to do this? Here's how.

"Oh, you're being sarcastic," said Krista, sarcastically. Here's the science.

We watched The Apprentice, seasons two and three. I'm not quite sure why we were attracted to the show. Maybe it was just a good chance to yell at the TV every week. We picked Tana for this past season, but agreed that she really tanked in the final contest. Here's a bit of what happens on the Island of Unwanted Apprentices.

High school girls around the country, even those without dates, are grateful that they aren't going to the prom in Vermont.

broken pieces of plastic, two CDs, and half a zucchini.

It was 40° when we woke at the camp on Sunday morning. Outside, the black flies and now mosquitoes were still a problem, but their flying was made more clumsy by the little down vests that they had to wear. Sandra worked hard to rake away the leaves and fallen branches, making the camp look fresh and open, even if the skies were gray and damp.

When my father arrived for coffee at the camp on Saturday, the first thing he said was, "What are going to do with this boat?" He's talked about selling the sail boat and about keeping it to see if anyone of us is interested (and able). The boat isn't really in the way. Its biggest problem is that it's a reminder to him.

Mike and Lynn invited us to their house for spaghetti yesterday evening. Mike had returned with the older kids from a rainy camping trip in Maine. We had a fine and fun time, seeing Tess's collection of shells, hearing Krista practice her piano recital piece, watch Michael Francis demonstrate their new weight-lifting set.

The visibility is bad at the intersection where the accident took place. Tragically, a 13-year-old girl died in the crash. Few other details about the crash were released, but that didn't stop the reporter.

A utility pole guy wire off the southbound side of Route 68 was smashed, and there were a lot of tire tracks and footprints in the sand there, along with broken pieces of plastic, two CDs, and half a zucchini.

There were no roadside memorials to the girl late yesterday afternoon.

Few houses are near the intersection.

The for-sale sign is gone at our neighbor's house. When last we heard, there were several offers, including a couple at-price, on the first day.

A job that sounds innocent-enough, Correspondence Coordinator in an HMO, includes the following duties: Maintains a copy of the current denial process and templates; Maintains an accurate log of all denial letters; Produces all denial letters. If they do a good job denying services, their profits can go through the roof.

We had a good discussion at Mike and Lynn's about the role of denial in helping to keep us going when dealing with chronic illnesses. Some might call it denial, others resignation, still others acceptance. The point being, you have to acknowledge the presence of the illness and, simultaneously, get on with life.

My energy in all areas has been quite uneven, leaving me low and not a lot of fun, notably on the weekends. Sandra sees the most of it. My spirits have been ok, which is encouraging. Depression is one of those illnesses that can rob you of the ability to do the things that you need to do to get better. I have a doctor's appointment in a couple of weeks.

The Day After 'Tek's Day

Jason Varitek has homered on the last five May 20ths.

We had a quiet celebration of our anniversary. We exchanged some cute cards. (Sandra and I don't give each other gifts for holidays such as anniversaries, birthdays, or Christmas.) We had an early dinner at a nearby restaurant that wasn't as good as we'd remembered it. Back home for a couple of our favorite TV shows - Greater Boston and Washington Week, and a movie. It sounds like a quiet evening and it was. It was also a fun evening. We enjoy each other's company.

The weather forecasts are drifting between rain and not rain. We'll go to the camp anyway. We have several things to bring there and look forward to sauna again.

This will also be Marley's last weekend at the camp for a while. He's going to summer camp at PEI. When Sandra and Mike go to the Island, they'll leave Marley with Woody and Marian. They're excited about having him there. It's a great wide space where he can run. The property is on the ocean, so he can play in and around the water's edge. It will be a good adventure. Sandra and I will miss him. He and her parents are great friends.

Let me see if I've got this straight. A country, bordering Israel, still not recognizing Israel, in fact, seeks to limit nuclear inspections because they say they don't have nuclear materials, much. Oh, wait, I forgot. It's Prince Bandar's country we're talking about. Never mind.

[I let a note slip earlier. The longish explanation is that the key strokes that I use to add a link - Ctrl-Shift-A - can slip into Ctrl-S, which means Send. I'm sorry for the confusion.]

A spring in our steps

It looks like I've solved the programming problem that had been vexing me for several days. I need to run a couple rounds of more rigorous tests, but I think that I've got it.

With the proliferation of just about everything electrical, this could be really handy - electrical outlets that rotate.

There were 15 people in the room, beginning the second of two two-hour meetings yesterday. Amid the chatter, I heard one of the writers say to her friends across the table, "Do my lips look shiny? I plan to use them this weekend."

In these fractious times, it's good to see that wiser minds can develop a spirit of compromise for the benefit of us all.

If Dilbert needed to seek out a saint, who better than ....

Yesterday I learned that the requistions for permant jobs have been frozen at the place where I work. As a result, no permanent jobs will be opening up anytime soon. That doesn't affect my contract.

Today's automated technical documentation search results: U.S. Sanctions Advisor - reports to the [company] Anti-Money Laundering (AML) Officer. Perform research, analysis, and coordination necessary to support Anti-Money Laundering Officer responses to any regulatory or enforcement inquiries concerning compliance by any [company] entity with U.S. sanctions, 314(a) information sharing, special measures, or the Travel Rule.... Consult with government authorities, including prosecutors, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Department of Homeland Security, U.S. Treasury, and other agencies concerning possible and verified customer matches to 314(a) subjects in terrorist financing and money laundering investigations.

Happy Anniversary, Sandra. We've still got it.

Sunny, with a slight chance of car-swallowing fissures

Is it likely that there will be an earthquake in California today? The good news is that an earthquake is not likely. The bad news is that we have to ask the question.

Work remains a struggle. I'm a few days late on delivery of four small programs. The things work pretty much ok on my system, but they aren't stable enough to hand over to someone else. While donating blood last night, I had a chance to think about the project and have a couple of new ideas to bring to the office today.

The neighbors across the street are putting in a small parking area on what used to be lawn. The boys, aged five and three, sit on the front step and watch excitedly while the little tractor clears and smoothes the soil. We sit on a hill of sandy soil, but the neighbors have, at least in that spot, more than a foot of good topsoil.

Next week brings us the Memorial Day weekend. Lots of people will be traveling. Sandra, Mike, and Marley will go to PEI (more on this later), as will Scott, Val, and Russell. Gas, as we know, is expensive. Using Google Maps, Ahding.com can help us find cheap gas. It covers only the U.S. right now, but GasBuddy provides Canadian resources.

Let's see if I've got this straight. My doctor is too busy to come to the operating room for my operation, so he sends R2D2, whom he can control using a joystick while hanging out, oh, I don't know, here?

Unsolicited emails of the day:

• We found you contacts in our resume database. We are a Lithuanian company which sells software and electronic in the USA, Canada and other countries. We are looking for a Financial Manager. No special knowledge, no education required. You can earn up to $500 per week working only some hours a day.
• THIS WILL BE OUR ABSOLUTE NOTICE
  We have aimed to write to you on a lot times and now is the time to respond!
  Your current home loan certifies you for up to a 3.30% lower rate.
  However, since our previous attempts to write to you have failed, this will be our final effort to get for you the lower rate.

Today is the birthday of James Gosling. Although he's gained most fame for his design effort on the Java programming language, I think that his pioneering work on Emacs is a bigger deal.

Fwack. Gznort. Fluwabbaba.

No one epitomized Mad magazine more than Don Martin. There were other very good artists - Mort Drucker, Dave Berg, Dick DeBartolo, and others - but Martin was it, in all its manic glory. I gloriously wasted hours of my youth reading his stuff (as well as the rest of the magazine). Don Martin was born on this day in 1931 and died in January 2000.

This year's hurricane forecast does not look hopeful, calling for a strong season in the Atlantic. We're seeing some early development on the Pacific side. In addition, we learn that FEMA didn't exactly bring the A-Team when it was inspecting last season's destruction.

Last week I mentioned transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS), a new treatment for depression. ABC News ran a story about TMS last night.

A friend observed that a mark of his maturity is that he's learned to speak up when he doesn't want to speak up, shut up when he doesn't want to shut up.

Today's automated job search for technical documentation positions brought, lo, a technical documentation listing. The morning mail also brought a job titled Manager, Custody Operations. It's not a job running a jail, but something to do with managing financial transactions.

Here's one more reason not to use your cell phone while you're off in the wilderness.

The Republic still stands

When my mother wasn't sleeping well, she would pretend that she was traveling and so make the tiredness an adventure.

On Sunday we had a belated birthday party for Tess. Sandra had arranged for a Barbie birthday cake. Tess had seen the Barbie cake in the grocery store and pressed her nose against glass display case, admiring it.

I spent a lot of time yesterday, time I didn't really have, trying to understand why one of my small programs was producing unpredicted results. Finally, about 4:30, I figured it out and wrote a four-line workaround. For those of you who care about such things, wildcards in Windows behave unexpectedly. With two files in a directory, named test.htm and test.html, you'd think that dir *.htm would match only test.htm. It matches both.

C:\temp>dir /b *.htm
test.htm
test.html

My work no longer requires regular cell phone usage, which is a good thing at many levels. Some new research indicates that cell phones can lead to premature aging.

But I may not need to work much longer. The morning email brings the good news. "This is to announce today, 16th May, 2005 result of winners of our yearly SCIENTIFIC LOTTERY GAME PROMOTION held on 25th March, 2005. Your email address attached to ticket number 05-765204AC; with serial number 00349 draw the lucky numbers 5-9-31-20, and consequently won the lottery in category A. You are therefore entitled to a cash award US$1,500,000." In addition, I stand to win another $8M or so, according to a letter from Dr.Roland Themba, Director of Projects, South Africa Department of Minerals &
Energy. I only have to provide a small amount of assistance with an international transfer of funds.

And if those fall through, today's automated search for a technical documentation job has a lead on a position as an associate buyer for the Home Shopping Network.

HSN has to work hard if it's going to keep pace with eBay. For example, it's peak wedding season and HSN doesn't have even one John Deere wedding garter.

It's been a year since gay marriage became legal in Massachusetts. It's one of today's bigger non-news items. The Herald, example, has stories about the price of tickets for the upcoming Rolling Stones concert and the return of Oil Can Boyd to the pitching mound.

The Boston Globe has come out with the Globe 100, its annual survey of the best and worst performing Boston-area companies. A few years back, I worked for a startup that was the worst performing public company for the year. I'd include a link to the Globe's site, but they've adopted a very annoying login policy. It's free, but it asks more information than I want to provide. For certain premium resources, Wall Street Journal and Consumer Reports, for example, I don't mind paying for access. Those sites just want my account number and then I have the access I want. I'm not ready to drop my home subscription to the Globe yet, but I've stopped reading their web site.

omething for everyone

The sign in front of Kay's Dairy Bar has trouble keeping all of its letters in place, reminding me of the Fawlty Towers sign. We had dinner, chili dogs, at Kay's on Friday night. Coney Island Hot Dogs has little to worry about. We'll stick to the regular foot-long in the future.

The Gardner News has new by-lines on its front page, a crop of new reporters making just above minimum wage. Twenty-five years ago, I was a reporter for the Hudson Daily Sun (no longer in business). I asked for a raise to bring my salary more in line with the folks at McDonald's and Friendly's. I didn't get the raise and took a job in documentation group at Digital, where Sandra worked.

We opened the camp this weekend, cleaning up, unpacking things that had been in a big plastic barrel for the winter, turning the water back on. I crawled on the dirt and rock that is the cellar, the space just three feet high in places, to which the bump on my head will attest. I had to close the valves that I'd opened last fall. I was reminded that my father was 10 years older than I am now when he put in much of the plumbing. The plumbing system is cleverly engineered and is easy to fill and empty. You need just one tool, a pair of pliers. Well, there are a couple of other tools. One gadget, although I don't know if you'd call it a tool, is a one-pound coffee can (from the days when a one-pound can contained a pound of coffee), to which my father had welded a pipe fitting. We use the can to connect to a pipe to prime the pump. The other tool is a large spoon, with USN on the handle, brought back from the war. We use the handle of the spoon to lift the edge of the trap door that leads to the cellar.

The beavers have been sampling the young trees at the water's edge. Some of the cuts were very fresh, less than a day old. There was little other damage. The mice did chew into a half dozen plastic water bottles.

There's a disheveled house on a corner not far from the camp road. The tenants used to have a dog that they kept tied outside. Marley would, of course, have a lot to say to and about that dog. The family and the dog moved away last year. When Marley went out on Saturday morning to get the Finnish coffee bread, he let out a low growl. "And stay away!"

For the first time in nearly a year, my father made it up the steps to the camp. He has a pair of Nordic walking sticks (ski poles without the baskets) that he used to steady himself as he climbed the stairs. We had coffee, coffee bread, and cheese for lunch, talking about how the opening-up had gone. We also had visitors, first our next-door neighbors and then Jan. That was the cue for my father to leave. Crowds get to him very quickly. That evening a couple of friends visited us.

It was a busy and a social day. We had our first sauna of the season. The water, as you'd expect, was quite cold. It was probably just under 50°.

My father told a story of being at the camp alone in December. It was a calm day and the lake started to freeze. He watched as the shards of ice grew across the still surface.

A gap in the tree cover let Sunday morning's light rain fall on the two chairs on the front deck, leaving the rest of the deck dry.

Today's automated search results for a technical documentation position:

• Traffic manager for a major pharmacy chain: Leads four Traffic Associates in consistent on-time, on-budget, high-quality, client-focused creative services delivery for all Tier 3 Advertising projects...Demonstrate competency in DAM system usage...Acts as initial gatekeeper to the department...Determines appropriate tiering of project and manages routing to either Account Services or Traffic.
• Language Specialist Spanish (Temp-to-perm): Spanish Translator Native speaking individual from Spain or Spanish speaking countries to assist with Spanish language translation activities.

[I clicked the wrong key and so inadvertantly posted an early draft of this entry. My apologies for the confusion.]