June 30, 2004
Botanical Molester
For those who, like me, thought that rakkity had retired to a life of leisure, fear not, he is back. His Superman and Another Lilly comments have me hoping we’ll soon read about his fights with amorous goats and hiking trails even he found daunting.
Wondering where yesterday’s post went? I got so much flack from so many fronts about how I had violated Joe’s sacred trust, or humiliated Jen, or just been a downright stupid , uncaring person, I decided to remove it.
And the lilly, well, I didn’t think it was my best and then I received this email:
I'm not going out on a limb so you'll listen harder to my usually gushing praise after my offering purported evidence of having a real ability to critique. Well, okay, some, but not foremost.......... But hear me out -- the thumb (and thus overall composition) is a blob, the underside glary, the DOF not adequate (or the forms not supportive of the lack thereof), and the clever inclusion of a bud with a blossom reads more like an alien spermatozoa, or a botanical molester or pickpocket sneaking in as positioned. Sorry to be so negative so early, but I didn't want to be either harsh or mendacious in public on the blog....... Refute me, please.........
June 29, 2004
June 28, 2004
Therapy Dog
Diane and Dan joined ( I know, those companion fees ...) Flo and me for Rick’s June recital. T’was better than May, with a larger crowd (not just by three, Susan), and I’m convinced had he a more elastic audience, there would have been a standing ovation. Among others, Rick played Strauss, Beethoven’s "Rage Over A Lost Penny," Puccini’s "Gianni Schicchi" and Smetana’s "Moldau."
However, the hit of the day was Dan's dog, Paxie, who circulated around the crowd and then spent most of the concert on Flo’s lap.
Flo led Dan on a tour of Concord Park ( "It's very well laid out." "There are elevators everywhere."), ending in her apartment.
View larger image
June 27, 2004
Another Lily
From Lynn Truss’s book: Eats, Shoots & Leaves: The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation :
“One of the comma heavyweight championship bouts of the 20th century played out between Harold Ross, the legendary editor of The New Yorker, and the equally legendary humorist James Thurber. Ross was a pro-comma kind of guy. Thurber was of the less-is-more school, but since Ross was the editor, he generally had the last word. Thurber was asked by a correspondent why he used a comma in the sentence, "After dinner, the men went into the living-room." His answer was probably one of the loveliest things ever said about punctuation. 'This particular comma,' Thurber explained, 'was Ross's way of giving the men time to push back their chairs and stand up.' "
My local library has a waiting list of four hundred for this book on punctuation. No, I didn’t make it 401.
June 26, 2004
Twigs
The most recent email from Egdelina:
believe that the information did not arrive, but is here again. The transport of the airport until Estelí in deprived car, for Matt and Hilary, has a cost of the 70 USA They come direct from the airport to its families in Estelí. The guide is called Jose Luis Lopez, uses lenses, been of strong low stature and. The guide will have a label that says "to SCHOOL HORIZON" for easier identification. Matt and Hilary can return in transport deprived to Managua the 06 of August, also has a cost of the 70 USA by this service, with the same guide (Jose Luis Lopez). They will leave early from Estelí in the morning, to arrive on time at the airport. It is not a problem. If They have some problem, they can call to the school, if they are in the United States the number is: (505) 713 4117 but if they are in Nicaragua do not need the code the country (505). single they mark 0 713 4117. IF Matt and Hilary arrive before at the airport, they can hope in a cafeteria of the airport or to call to the cellular one of Gui'a, the number is: 616-4439. Also they can call to the school so that I contact the guide. But this I believe that it will not happen. The guide will have a label that says "to SCHOOL HORIZON" for easier identification. Matt and Hilary must pay directly to the guide in cash, the service of the 70 USA, in Managua the school does not accept traveler's checks, because they become cash until the 22 days and we in the school paid to families and teachers every week. If they have traveler's check they can change in the banks of Estelí soon to pay in the school. Also they can bring a credit card to remove money in the bank, and soon to pay to the school. Another option is, you you can deposit the money to my account of bank. The amount altogether by all the program of Matt and Hilary is the 1200,00 USA altogether. Because every week of program is the 150,00 USA by student, including the family, the classes and the activities Name of the account: Egdelina of Hundredth the Lanuza Rosary Bank of Central America (BAC) the account number is: 009022617 the price of the 150,00 USA is a special price for them. Because in our web site the price of the program per week is of the 165 USA by each person. The families are close, the family of Hilary is: Name of the Family: Luisa de Ibarra Telephone: 713-2245 Direction: Of Warehouse Thousand Colors 75 twigs to the East. The family of Matt is: Name of the family: Mairena Aid Telephone: 713-3274 Direction: Of the CURACAO 1 block and 25 twigs to the West. They can bring chocolates or candies, for the family in general. They can bring clothes and shoes for winter, the winter aqui is different that in his pais. He is not very cold, but there are days of rain and days of sun. If they have more questions you you can write to us. Until soon! Egdelina Lanuza Director
June 25, 2004
Superman in Pajamas on the Couch
As Michael has mentioned I had a slight mishap a couple of weeks ago. And as Michael sometimes does (!) he has asked for documentation. So here goes.
I heard the break. The same sound that delights one as a child when we crack our knuckles. Only louder. It was 8:15 AM and I was going (rushing, trotting) down the stairs I have been going down for nearly 12 years (who knew I needed more practice). It was just me and my Matthew and he had a much looked forward to field trip to the Butterfly Museum that day. I was rushing because I had to get his lunch packed, something I never do as he prefers to buy lunch. Anyway, his backpack was downstairs and this was my destination. My left foot slipped third step from the bottom and my right leg went under me. As I say I heard the break. I also felt heat rising from my legs on up. I asked Matthew to get me an ice pack at which point I passed out. I didn’t think you could pass out when you were in a seated position but apparently you can. I came to with Matthew standing over me screaming “Mom, Mom, Mom”. Did I mention I heard the break? I told Matthew to go to the phone and call his grandmother as I didn’t want him calling 911 because I knew it would scare him. Lo and behold, there is no dial tone. I thought my phone was out of order but in fact the teen-age daughter had left a phone off the hook the previous night, which wouldn’t be figured out until much later when it didn’t matter anymore. So, panic setting in and my ankle turning into a softball, I had to ask Matthew to find my cell phone. When it was unfindable I needed him to go the neighbors. He went to two houses and came back, sobbing, saying that no one answered the door. So I sent him across the street to the people we don’t know well and the next thing I hear an adult male in my house saying “hello, does someone need help”. “I’m down here (literally)” I reply. He went in my freezer and with Matthew’s help locating plastic bags, gave me ice for my ankle. He tells me his name is Greg. I tell him I’m Chris. I ask Greg to call my cell phone so at least we located it. But at the bottom of my stairs I had no reception, so it was a moot point. He called my mother-in-law who, as she has done countless times in our adult lives, came to the rescue. Greg left and it was me and Matthew. “Mom, did I miss the bus?” he asked me as he was pacing around with his backpack on his back. “Yes you did Matthew. But I promise we’ll make it up to you and take you to the Butterfly Museum ourselves”. “I want to go to school” he replied. This poor kid desperately needed things to be normal while his mother, in pain but if I say so myself holding it together quite well, was on the floor unable to move. I hugged him. He asked me if I needed anything. A wet, cold face cloth I replied. He brought it to me. In the meantime I dialed Mark’s number at work and sent Matthew upstairs to actually place the call and tell Daddy to come home. Which he very calmly did. My mother-in-law arrived and called 911. It must have been a tremendous relief for Matthew when Nana came as he disappeared from the downstairs as fast as he could. Ambulances, etc, arrived immediately. By the way, when you call 911 from a cell phone the state police come as well. Who knew.
So now these lovely paramedics who cannot possibly be paid enough to do everything they do got me upstairs in a stair chair. Quite unnerving for both them and me. I gave a shout goodbye out to Matthew and told him I was going to be fine. He yelled goodbye from behind a closed door. He later told me that he watched them all come in the house but he just couldn’t watch them take me out of the house “it would have added to my stress”. I told him that even Batman had to stay in the Bat cave sometimes and it was quite alright.
So off I go in the back of the ambulance, clutching the face cloth that Matthew had given me. I was in the hands of driver Bobby and Frank, who gave me a bucket as the ride was making me nauseous. While I was waiting to be x-rayed Mark showed up. This is when I finally fell apart. I told him how brave Matthew had been and he said when he got to the house Matthew had given him a big hug and grilled him about what his where-abouts would be the rest of the day. An ER doctor came and started to question me on what happened. Upon hearing that I passed out, and making sure that I passed out after the fall and not before the fall, the conversation went as follows:
ER Doc: “Have you ever passed out from pain before”
Me: “no. I’ve never passed out before”
Mark (from across the room where I was sure he had glazed over): “yes you have”.
Me: “I have?”
Mark: “yes, that time in that class”
And it came back to me in all its humiliating splendor. Back in 1984 I was taking an aerobics class at the Joy of Movement in Watertown, pulled a hamstring, and came to surrounded by paramedics. My friend Laurin was with me and either from the circumstance or relief from the fact that I was okay, was laughing hysterically. I relayed the story to the ER doc who also got a chuckle out of this.
After the x-ray came back I was told I was lucky (not exactly how I would describe how I felt). It was a clean ankle break, distal right fibula. Call an orthopedist, here are your narcotics, a 20 second lesson on how to use crutches, the knee length boot was put on and they sent me home. I was still clutching the blue face cloth Matthew had given me. I gave it to Mark, who put it in the bucket the ambulance man had given me, they wheeled me out of there, and home I went.
When I got home, my father-in-law had joined my mother-in-law and they had brought Matthew out to breakfast. They then went to the grocery store and loaded us up with food. Matthew wouldn’t come near me. He wouldn’t for days. If I asked for a hug they were given with him bending over and his arms outstretched so as not to get near me. He told me he was scared when my leg hurt and he didn’t want to be near my leg. Who could blame him. I spent a lot of time telling him how brave he was and how proud of him I am and how there can be emergencies but life goes back to normal afterward. Still, Mark and I are concerned that his college fund is now his post traumatic stress fund.
My mother-in-law is taking Matthew to the Butterfly Museum next week.
View larger image
June 23, 2004
Twenty
Two more from Adam's party:
Is it my imagination or is Mark about to bend over and kiss me on lips?
The romantic moment passes.
Why am I thinking of another man on my own twentieth wedding anniversary?
******************
I’m waiting for Diane to fill out an accident report before we go off to Daniela’s for a celebratory dinner. Unfortunately, that means I have more time to play with the blog.
From the Noland archives:
“My brother has been married for fifty-one years (Noland is not overly fond of his sister-in-law). Can you imagine standing in front of the judge at twenty-six and hearing, “The sentence is fifty-one years?”
******************
Chris Rad fell and broke her ankle about ten days ago. Her Matthew (7), the only one home at the time, did remarkably well tending to his mother until the ambulance came. " Mom, I couldn't watch when they carried you out the door. It added too much to my stress level."
June 22, 2004
All Smiles
Poker in Milford at Dwight's house. Stu smiles after his third winning low guts hand.
June 21, 2004
Nocturnes
How do musicians turn the pages of their sheet music?
Kate would stop playing, turn the page and resume again. Rick’s hand flew from the keyboard to the page and back, without missing a note. Is music written with that in mind? Does the pianist read ahead?
I arrived at 12:15 for the recital at 12:30, concerned that I wouldn’t get a good seat. Unlike for the last pianist, the professional, the couches and chairs were not all rearranged to face the piano. Nor were there many folks waiting, so I knew I had time to follow Flo back to her apartment to : plug in her new Victorian-shaded night light, glue the bottom of the full length mirror to her closet door and hang the paper towel holder. Still, concerned the masses were assembling for Kate, the granddaughter of one the Concord Parkians, we hurried back to the piano room.
No sweat, we got prime seats and Kate walked in the door only a few minutes late. With no introduction, no synopsis of the music she was about to play - she plopped on the bench and began to play. My impressions? She’s sixteen, more or less, and she’s no prodigy, but she plays determinedly and well enough. Flo and I both enjoyed her talent, but Flo, always concerned about other people’s feelings, worried about her reception.
For instance, there was no one to introduce her, and at the end there were no formal thankyous. Nor flowers. Kate stood up, back to her admirers and walked out. And that page turning thing. Even those who fell asleep, awoke to applaud when she finished a song. But when you stop, flip a page, tuck it under an adjacent music book, then resume, quite often you’ll get inappropriate applause . Flo would shake her head when that happened - she knows when a song ends. And, as she did when Rick played, she sang along. This time to Liebestraum, “I could sing that in German, but not anymore.” Flo even thanked Kate at the end for playing - Susan, is that the Mephisto Waltz?
Midway through her routine, Kate tapped out a mostly flawless rendition of something even I recognized, and without page turning punctuations. I was compelled to hop up and ask her, “What was that?”
I got a brief smile and an icy, “Chopin.”
I thought, okay, but what piece? However, I suddenly recognized this familiar, mum, teenage territory and though I wanted an answer, I realized I wasn’t going to get it. I looked at the thick play book, saw Chopin and underneath, Nocturnes, and said, ‘Oh, Chopin’s Nocturne?” As soon as the words tumbled from my lips, I knew I had joined the inappropriate clappers. She gave me an icier, get-back-to-your-seat look, and answered with a condescending, “Yes.”
View image
June 20, 2004
Pip Moss
Greg was one of 70 returning lead performers in a gala tribute (May 22) to his retiring 8th grade music teacher, Pip Moss.
Pip as he was known to student and parent alike, had the middle school students produce a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta in each of his 34 years of teaching. Becca, Sarah, and Greg all played lead roles in Mikado, Gondoliers, and Iolanthe, respectively.
The love of music and theatre which Pip stirred in so many since 1969, launched Greg and me into a 15-year tradition of attending all the G&S plays put on by the Harvard-Radcliffe G&S Players. In the last few years, Q has been joining us in our semi-annual dinner-and-a-play pilgrimage into Harvard Square.
What this quinticential, unassuming, generous man gave to so many iin the Lincoln community is remarkable -- and I as a parent am truly thankful.
Paxie
Linda finally found, and brought home yesterday, her birthday present.
Meet the newest member of our family -- a very cute female toy poodle -- 8 weeks old, 2 pounds!
She's overjoyed at joining a nice family and having a big brother. Remo's been very tolerant, but is not yet ready to play or show her the ropes.
In Motion
Quicktime movie of my flying boar posted for two reasons. First, Mark worried that it wouldn't fly a well as the demo version in the British department store, and secondly, to further feed the mirth expressed by SIL.
June 19, 2004
Flying Boar
Last night we all went to the Sushi House to celebrate my birthday. Five couples sitting around a half-sunken square table in a small room, eating raw fish (among other not-so-raw dishes), and laughing, a lot. And not only at Mark’s presents; to Adam, a walking, nodding giraffe; for me, a flying boar. Yes, Diane loved the pun.
If boars could fly
View larger boar
On the way to the restaurant from Hubbarston, Jan penned this poem:
A Summary of Michael
Mike’s the best husband and dad
Diane and Matt have ever had.
He’s done many kinds of work,
but each of his bosses was a jerk.
He did respiratory therapy and helped people breathe,
but hospital rules always made him seethe.
He’s very creative at web design
an old BMW he tried to align.
He can build a deck or fix a wreck,
but camping and hiking are more to his liking!
While playing poker he likes to bluff,
at Queijo’s pond he swims in the buff.
He’s always willing to help a friend,
you have something broken?
He’ll try to mend.
He’s a sneaky refrigerator raider.
He’s small but has a mouth like a gator.
With his curly red hair and sparkle in his eyes,
you’re never quite sure if he’s telling you lies!
He likes to talk about feelings,
which leaves both Marks' brains a reeling.
If we all look as young when we’re 57,
Trust me Mike, we’ll be in heaven.
During dinner Adam assembled:
They ate 'til they could eat no more
Sushi, shumai, and gyoza galore
But the night was a drag
Until out of a bag
Came our savior -- a hip, flying boar!
Mike and Dan both wore teal blue
Nice coincidence -- but an eye-assault, too.....
And we made lots of noise
Over drinks and cool toys
Ten good friends, and one birthday fool!
June 18, 2004
Homework
“Mike, before you go, I have something to talk to you about.”
The dining room, the kitchen and bath, they were all done, and I had but a few tools to collect when Noland stopped me.
“Loretta, you go in the kitchen or play in traffic, whatever you want.”
I didn’t know what was coming, but I sat down in the stuffed chair next to Noland’s, where I have often listened to his life stories.
“Mike, you know those commercial on televison, the ones for that product like Viagra. I think it starts with a “C.”
“Cialis.”
“What?”
“Cialis,” I yelled back.
“Yeah, that’s it. They have this pretty blond woman and...”
I nodded as if I had seen it.
“They say it gets you up for four hours. What are you going to do with an erection for that long? Admire it?”
“You mean what do you do for the remaining three hours and fifty-five minutes?”
“The only thing I can think of is call the rescue squad.”
“You know, Noland, they give that to men in nursing homes.”
Noland remembers jokes - an art I think, since I can remember maybe three that I’ve heard in my life, and one of those involves, perhaps appropriately, a moron with an alarm clock. But Noland doesn’t have a computer, so I played this one with a straight face.
“What for?” he replied with a concerned look.
“So they don’t roll out of bed.”
This one, Robby's math notes for the year, is worth viewing at full size.
June 17, 2004
Birthdays
The Blogs:
Yesterday the blog turned one. There are 285 entries and 1166 comments.
Mine
I’m not slighting any of my past surprise birthday parties (thanks to adorable Diane), but Monday night’s was the best. Sitting at our dinner table, forcing down my favorite fish dish - Baked Schrod under parchment paper with Bok Choy and Shiitake mushrooms - were Joe, Robby, Chris and Matt.
Why was it so great? Except for opening two birthday cards and two presents, there was not one moment during which the limelight was focused on me. And after dessert, it was over. Up from the table and out the door.
Maybe there was one other moment.
Chris looks my way, “You give me the creeps.”
Matt yells, “What? What do you want?”
Robby says, “The extensive staring? It doesn’t give me the creeps so much as makes me uncomfortable.”
‘Tis my habit of staring after the conversation has ended. Something I am not aware of but makes Matt fidget.
I’m guessing it’s an age thing. Sixteen-year-olds take in information instantaneously, but for me it takes a few moments longer.
For instance Matt will say, “What are you doing today?”
I’ll turn to him, lock on, think, answer, focus some more, wait for his reply (many times there isn’t one), drift off, have a few private thoughts, and finally release. If they think I’m bad, and Matt knows this better than anyone, they should meet Peter. He doesn’t drift off, he drifts in.
Another pic from Adam's birthday brunch:
June 16, 2004
Torn Cartilage
Mark Queijo
As usual there are so many sagas leading up to and surrounding the surgery, but I promised to keep this short. 7:30AM we arrived at Heywood hospital in Gardner MA for the pre-surgery check in. The surgery was scheduled for 9:00. Why they needed me in so early is a mystery, although I suspect it is to make sure I am subject to the correct amount of discomfort and embarrassment.
The first step is to strip you of all clothes and get you into a butt crack revealing gown. Why can't I keep my underwear on? They are doing surgery on my knee, right? Why do I have to change at all, I came in wearing shorts. Then there is the temp and blood pressure check. Temp was somewhere around Maine in October, the blood pressure machine wasn't working. They no longer do it the old fashioned way with the stethoscope, pressure arm band and a watch with a second hand, no, it's all computerized and digitized, and of course it doesn't work. Probably has a virus.
Meanwhile the nurse tells us a story about the guy going in for surgery. When they asked him to remove all of his jewelry, they forgot to be specific enough to make sure he removed his penis stud. Did I mention the whole Heywood experience was the most fun I've had in years?
Next was the anesthesiologist. A grey haired frazzled looking English bloke who told me the following:
"You have three options, local anesthesia, a spinal, or general anesthesia. We could do local, but we don't do them very often, so we're not that good at them. We could do a spinal, but like the local, we don't do them that often, so.... Or you could have the general. We do them quite frequently and are pretty good at them."
My surgeon had already told me he recommended the general because he wanted to make sure the knee was totally relaxed, but I enjoyed the anesthesiologist's sense of humor. When they got me into the OR and had me settled into a very comfortable table with a nice headrest, I asked the anesthesiologist if I should count down from a hundred or something. He said it wouldn't be necessary. The next thing I knew I was waking up in the recovery room.
The entire process (now 8 days later) was without nausea, pain, or any discomfort at all. Thanks Michael for the tips, I took my pain meds like clockwork even though I was never in any pain.
To anyone who needs time off, but doesn't have any vacation time, I highly recommend short term disability! Have Knee surgery!
The next saga is asking Jan to cut my hair. Lucky I have two weeks for the bald spot to grow back!
June 15, 2004
Rakkity Returns (briefly)
Yes, it was a stunning place! And for a week we wandered around the high desert, oblivious to the political expostulations we're normally immersed in.
But near the end of our trip, we saw the headlines about Reagan's death in some Utah newspapers. The Utahans are Reagan worshippers, and the editorials of their papers expounded on the "earth-shaking" things he did. But if you ask anyone in Esteli what they thought and think of Reagan, you will get a different answer:
After returning here, I was stunned at the differences of opinion in the DC area. While thousands mourned their hero in the parade on the Mall, many others shook their heads and wondered whether America has changed at all since the 80's (or the 50's). William Raspberry, writing in the Post today, pointed out how Reagan had given tax exemptions to the racist Bob Jones university. This afternoon, a caller from So. Africa to NPR's Kojo Nambe show recalled Reagan's inability to reject the fascist government that jailed Mandela. Others quoted the polls of Reagan's last year in office: his popularity was lower than Clinton's immediately after the votes for impeachment.
I'm heading for the mountains again Thursday. It's time to abandon what serves for civilization.
June 14, 2004
Snaking Through the Wetlands
Matt, Joe and Robby left our yard Sunday afternoon, blue canoe carried aloft, gunwales riding on their shoulders . Assuring me there was a stream but fifty yards down the railroad tracks, I laughed as they passed the bushes in front of our house bobbing down the sidewalk like a huge Portugese Man-of-War. But water they found, and except for one flip of the canoe - a predictable result of one or all of the following: Matt jumping out, Joe jumping in, the attempt to paddle over a two foot dam- they made it to Daryl’s wet but happy.
The return trip, but with Matt, Joe and Daryl.
June 13, 2004
The Spa
Perhaps the issue that most distressed Flo about her move was the lack of a bathtub in her apartment. Here she demonstrates the community spa, which according to Diane of Concord Park, is under utilized.
Diane helps Flo slide into the pod.
Door closed, ready for water.
View larger image
Waiting for visitors.
June 12, 2004
Many Things
“Hello.”
“Mike?”
“Hi Flo, what’s up?”
“There is a pianist playing today.”
“Oh no...ah, that’s great but I have a birthday brunch to go to.”
“I know. But I knew you would want to know, and that I was thinking of you.”
It wasn’t so much her words but the voice. Strong, clear and direct. An aunt Rose without the high tones. Diane, and Susan before she left, told me how busy Flo is : tea in the country kitchen, a root beer float social with trivia contest, a “tame” version of bingo, a walk to the local supermarket with Kitty, a visit from Kitty’s daughter Kitty, spa appointments, and of course those frequent visits to the hair salon. Busy, yes, for me it was the voice.
This link was left by Hil in the Dispensable comments. Images of Esteli, Egdalina, and the forests around Esteli. Beautiful.
The Art of War , from the op-ed section of the NYT.
Searing poems about the war - thanks to Adam for the link.
From that birthday brunch - Adam's 44th.
View larger image
rakkity checking in with this image from Moab, Utah. The people in the foreground give scale to the double arch.
The back side of Dwight's house. Not so high, the footing firmer, this time the windows are plumb and the siding level...I have no after pics so you'll have to trust me.
Visit this site for the best Quicktime panoramas. After the wedding, if you follow the link to Nyberg's site, you'll not return for days. There is: this and links to both the French and Italian Riveria, and panos of the Piazza San Pietro with accompanying music, others with operas, and it goes on and on. Virtural tours that will save you thousands of dollars. Link sent by shinydome.
June 11, 2004
Dispensable
I was grabbing items from the dairy section in Donelans - milk, whipped cream in a tall, red and white can, a block of smoked maple cheddar - when I spied one of those coffee courtesy tables. Two Thermos jugs side by side, one with decaf. I’ve stopped drinking all coffee, even decaf, but I figured a small cup of hot would enhance my shopping experience.
I reached across the table, picked up a mini cup, held it in front of the Thermos and pumped. Nothing happened. Quite often nothing happens when I pump those things. Empty? Too complicated? I pumped twice more, still nothing. I was beginning to feel self-conscious. What if people were watching me? I mean, how hard are these things to work?
I looked closely at the top and saw a little black lever. I turned it to the left until the lettering on it said, open. Oh, I thought, that must be it. I pumped vigorously but still nothing. I could feel fellow shoppers turning from their orange juice selection to watch me. I wanted my decaf and to be on my way.
Before I could press the top again, a young guy with curly hair like mine walked past me to the back of the table. That would be the other side from where I stood. That would be the working side of the table, the one with cream, sugar and spouts. He asked, “Would you like some coffee?” I’m not sure what I had been holding my cup under, but I now knew why it was empty. Face flushed, I squeaked, ”Yes,” and I peered over the tops of the Thermos bottles. Spilling down the sides of the flat black plastic overflow container, and along the table cloth, was what looked like tributaries to the Amazon river.
The display had been set up by the Equal Exchange Coffee folks - free samples come with literature and a pep talk. Bill showed me a photo album of coffee beans picked and processed in Nicaragua. As I stared at the women in colorful dress scooping up coffee beans, I imagined sneaking into the upright freezer and hiding behind the frozen pizzas. I told Bill I’d been to Jamaica, brought beans back to grow, and that my son Matt and his friend Hil were going to Nica.
Patiently, Bill explained that he was new to the job, rattled on a bit more about why I should support Equal Exchange, all the while completely ignoring the pool of coffee gathering at his feet. As though this sort of thing happened all the time. He was the perfect person to promote a fair trade organization, and before I scooted away, full cup in hand, I pleaded with him,” Look, if my son ever happens by, promise me you won’t tell him what I did today.”
June 10, 2004
Mission Accomplished
An offer was made and accepted on Flo’s condo hours after Susan handed it over to Laura, the real estate agent. There are contingencies, there always are, but the probable closing date is July 21st.
How’s that for a job done, and done well? Susan, the whirling dervish, arrives, gives the unit a spit shine, watches it sell for the asking price, dusts off her hands, and then jumps into her car for the drive back to Torroemore.
We’ll miss her, but so will Danny, Nubia, and Paula, waitresses at Daniela’s Cantina. When Susan sits down, Paula ( “You remind me of my friend in Brazil") knows to bring her the usual: cheese quesadillas without meat, and a Cantina Margarita with rocks and salt.
6:08 AM
June 09, 2004
Deportment
Susan's St Joseph's fourth grade report card.
Larger image
On the back instructions for a more virtuous life.
June 08, 2004
Produce
How many supermarkets boast harp music in the deli section? Rebecca Swett plays most Saturday mornings and many Mondays at Donelan’s on 2A.
View larger image
Close-up
Thunderstorm damage to the property next to Torroemore. But where is the panorama?
June 07, 2004
Home Stretch
Susan’s Jobian prep-the-condo-for-sale project is nearing an end as Matt, Joe, Cel, and Kristin applied almost seven gallons of pure white paint to every wall, ceiling and epidermal surface. I guessed four hours, they worked for a solid eight, stopping only for lunch from nearby Papa Gino’s.
View larger image
View larger image
View larger image
Shouldn't rakkity be back from Utah by now?
June 06, 2004
Wild Life
So tame you can almost pet him (or her).
Painting Flo's apartment.
View larger image
June 05, 2004
Accidentally Speaking
View larger image
The nearby train tracks connect our house to Daryl’s, the stores in West Acton, and even Idylwilde. Matt and his friends use them and often they find things you might not stumble upon on, say, Central St. Like the head of a deer. After staring into its glassy eye, Joe claims he ‘ll never be the same.
Yesterday they found this snapping turtle sidled up next to the tracks and were afraid it would meet the same fate as the deer. Enlisting my help for their “turtle rescue mission,” we walked back to where it was, and then much further before finding it safely away from the speeding trains.
The turtle is larger than it appears in this photo. Separate your hands to about shoulder width, imagine the weight of a bowling ball and you’ll have a sense of its size. It also has that giveaway triangular head and a long sharp tail, and though we were three, it was clearly in control. One snapping lunge at Joe and we all jumped back, hearts a poundin’.
That snapping turtle, the tales of the deer, the time of day - dusk - and my vision of one of the boys tight roping the rails with Walkman on high inspired, “One of these days you guys are going to find a dead body back here. I guarantee it.”
“There’s a perfect place to hide one, let me show you,” Robby replied.
We walked down a few feet to a brambly culvert channeling water from recent heavy rains. I walked to the concrete lip, looked down into the swirling black water and thought, sure this would be the place.
“If I ever killed someone accidentally this is where I’d stuff the body,” Robby observed.
I backed away from the edge , said something about the mosquitoes and headed back home.
June 04, 2004
Pot of Gold
Stopped on our way to Erickson's (yeah, we do go there quite often) to take this photo of a rainbow over Stonefield Farm. Looks brilliant? Double it and you get the real life image. Tonight is the first night of Diane's thirty-fifth Wellesley College reunion.
View larger image
June 03, 2004
Fowl Play
As soon as those baby ducks hit the water - each one made a resounding PLOP as Matt dropped them from the bank- they submerged in search of food. Or to simply play. They were home and we were heroes.
Diane and Susan, remembering our date to meet Chris and her kids at Erickson’s, hurried home. I hung out briefly with Bob and Joy to talk about future projects, and then I skipped back to the house. After ice cream we stopped at Shaw’s supermarket, and arrived back home in the dark, at about 8:30. When I pulled into the driveway, not quite waiting for us but following the truck up the driveway, was my neighbor, John, whom I had never officially met. John is tall, thirty something, has thinning red hair, and that nobody’s really home smile of a man with two young children. He was carrying his blonde, sad-eyed daughter in his arms.
I said, “Hi.”
John said, “Have you seen my ducks?”
I don’t have a clue how to proceed with this story. I think anyone who looked at the images or watched the Quicktime movie knows exactly how we felt at that moment. My knees wobbled, Diane lost her hearing and the blood began to drain from Susan’s head, especially as John filled in the details about his ducks. The mother who laid those fourteen eggs in his yard has never been seen; the babies are only two weeks old and way too young to survive in the wild; he had planned to set them free in New Hampshire in four weeks.
John handed his baby daughter to his wife, and I led him to Joy’s dock. As we walked down the leafy path, John kept saying, “They’ll come when I call them, I know they will.” I kept thinking, And if you go home and rub your vodka bottle, out will pop a three-wish granting genie. I saw those ducks when they hit the water. They’re playing under water tag or they’re snapping turtle food. Either way, they ain’t coming back to your yard.
Nevertheless, we stood on that dock and John blew his duck call. With the moon overhead, the deep green grasses waving in the breeze, the clear gentle stream flowing away, and bubbly John sounding like a duck, I feared I was going to have an out of body experience.
With no movement and no signs of the return of the waddling fourteen, I said to John, ”I’m going home, but promise me if you get your ducks back you'll come to my house and let me know.”
John removed the duck call from his mouth and smiled, “They’ll come, they always have.”
June 01, 2004
Audience Participation
Susan worries that in addition to Flo’s monthly Concord Park bills, there will be a nine hundred dollar companion fee to pay for my new found attachment to the place.
I joined Flo for a classical piano recital in the great room to the left of the main doors. Rick Scalise plays once a month, and Sunday he featured Mozart, Beethoven, and Strauss. There were twenty-two folks in his audience; I counted six asleep. Or I thought they were asleep, except that at the end of each song, eyes would open and hands would clap. Thinking they might be onto something, I too closed my eyes. That made seven of us with our chins on our chest.
I was ecstatic to be sitting so close to the performer, but there is one drawback to this venue. The sleepers are counter balanced by the talkers. Behind where Flo and I sat were two women who could have been hollering over the crowd noise at a Celtics’ game. This bothered me some, but it really irritated the dark haired woman sitting in front of us. The one Flo refers to as, “The Busy body.”
The Busy Body’s evil eye stares were completely ineffective. And there were many. Finally, she stood up in the middle of a Strauss Waltz, marched over to the talkers and with forefinger extended said, “You better SHUT-UP!”
As she walked back to her chair, in voices loud enough to be heard outside of the Fleet Center:
“What did she say?”
“I think she said to be quiet.”
“The nerve.”
“She must be related to the piano player.”
Concord Park - rear view.
View larger image
Tomorrow: More duck tales