The beginning of a house for Matt’s BMW.

Note the bend in those two planks. I thought it humorous, the
boys did not. Matt and Robby Nadler laid all of the roof rafters,
nailing each one using an airgun. No personal injuries, only a job well
done.

A few more

View larger image

View larger image

My Christmas Vacation
By Auntiesue

There was an Elf Helper named Sue,
For Christmas to Boston she flew.
But the plague, it descended;
All plans it upended;
And Christmas was canceled ó boo hoo!

From: To Kill A Mockingbird

“Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grew on sidewalks, the courthouse sagged in the square. Somehow, it was hotter then: a black dog suffered on a summerís day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Menís stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon, after their three-oíclock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.î

For Adam, this poem by Billy Collins from his book Sailing Around the Room

Another Reason Why I Don’t Keep a Gun in The House

The neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

One for me, from the same book (thanks, Diane) :

Bar Time

In keeping with universal saloon practice,
the clock here is set fifteen minutes ahead
of all the clocks in the outside world.

This makes us a rather advanced group,
doing our drinking in the unknown future,
immune from the cares of the present,
safely harbored a quarter of an hour
beyond the woes of the contemporary scene.

No wonder such thoughtless pleasure derives
from tending the small fire of a cigarette,
from observing this glass of whiskey and ice,
the cold rust I am sipping,

or from having an eye on the street outside
when Ordinary Time slouches past in a topcoat,
rain running off the brim of his hat,
the late edition like a flag in his pocket.†

We were a festive eleven at the Christmas Eve table, thanks to Lorna and Griff’s coming up from Florida. We may have outnumbered the Texas clan for once.

Missed the Jims and Greg, and the newest extended family members, Kevin and Dee. That’s Pat’s backside.

We too prepared a batch of Frank Canning eggnog, and had several appreciative takers.

View larger image

Sixteen expected on Christmas Day!

5:45 AM

We’re both up, ready to leave for Logan and the flight is so far on schedule.

7:22 AM

An effortless (except for the part about staying awake) trip to the airport and back. Susan’s on her way home, and I’m back home listening to the sawing of logs from upstairs bedrooms. Time to saw some myself.


One of Patti’s nonpareils.

View larger image

Side benefit from being the primary drinker of Frank’s Egg Nog…
freedom from residual back aches. That would be Susan’s back
not mine.
With fewer folks, Christmas was much more subdued, but also more focused. The sickies rallied, while the stalwarts waited, sometimes not so patiently. Presents were rich and stunning, with two that merit honorable mention, according to Matthew. A pair of fuzzy dice for his car, and a shower radio with a fogless mirror. As if his showers are not already long enough.
It’s 10:30 PM and Susan just said to me, “If you don’t hear me stirring by… . ”
I cut her off, with, “I was about to say that to you.” We have to leave for the airport by 6 AM and I guess neither one of us sets an alarm.



Noon

We’ve quarantined ourselves, calling various friends and family to warn
them today is not the day for a visit. This impacts Matthew the most, who
will spend the afternoon at Flo’s, opening presents with his cousins, then the evening here, for celebrations with Susan and his infirm parents.

Susan has continued to forge forward by providing for all the sickies. This morning she cooked Jim’s famous Christmas Eve Soup. I shouldn’t have, but I ate two bowls full. God bless Susan’s flexible spirit and immune system. She fully intends to consume her share of egg nog tonight, and everyone else’s. Cheers!

P.S. Fried brain cells prevent coherent blog entries. So be it.

“Do you ever think about joining Ted?”

“I think about that a lot. There are so many times I think it would be easier to be with Ted.”

“It’s funny…of course it is not funny. But yesterday I was imagining this conversation. The problem is, you don’t think when you die, you’ll join him.”

“No I don’t. I wish I did, but I don’t. I have a friend, a fundamentalist, whose little girl died after contracting meningitis. Her friends in the church were so excited thinking of Annie getting a welcoming hug from Jesus.”

“Nice dream and if that helps… “

“Yes, it helps them cope.”

But you don’t have that and … “

“Sometimes I wonder about reincarnation and seeing Ted in the next life.”

“But do you remember Ted from your last life? Do you remember your last life? People make up funny stories from the barest bones of religious beliefs. But isn’t that the problem, Polly? We don’t. Where does that leave us? How does it help us cope? Might be time to change religions.”

This conversation was as flat as flat as this gray screen. Words without inflections, no attempt to make the other laugh. I had no reply to her last sentence.

“You know of everyone that has ever lived and ever thought about death and what happens after we’re gone. None of them know anymore than we do. Which is nothing.

Flu Update

Matthew is still coughing, but well enough to go back to school, except that he didn’t. Diane is tired but has enough energy to make lists of stuff to be done before the Finlays, et al, arrive tomorrow. Susan had a temp for only twenty-four hours, which meant she had sympathy, virus X and not the flu. Of all of us, she looks the brightest.

I feel like a logging truck rolled over me, slowly.

Every Christmas we have dinner with the Hopkins, at their house. This year was our first without Matthew who stayed home with the flu. When we got home that night, Diane began coughing, just as Matt had been, and before morning had her own case of the flu. I held off until Sunday and Susan until about 2 AM Monday morning. We now have a 100% infection rate, and this is with three of us having had flu shots. Fortunately weíre pretty well caught up, the tree is fully decorated (thanks to Susan) and and a bow has been added to an important present.

For Matthewís first tennis lesson, not too many years ago, I loaned him my Blackstreak, the racket I won following a tournament in 1962. When he arrived the first day, his teacher looked at his racket and said, ìThere are two kinds of tennis rackets, and this isnít one of them.î

Scouting for a suitable Christmas present for Matt, I thought, why not hub caps for his BMW. They were, afterall, popular in ìmy day.î When I mentioned them to Matt, he gave me the same look, but with an added measure of disdain, that his tennis teacher must have given that racket. ìItís all in the rims dad. You buy custom rims and they run about two hundred a piece.î

With that information, I drove up the hill to Advanced Accessories in Boxborough to follow up on the rim, hubcap theory. ìYou can spend anywhere from fifty dollars a rim to two thousand,î I was told.

ìThen how about hubcaps, my son claims they are worthless.î

ìThey rattle around, then fall off. Your son seems to know more than you do .î

I trudged off to CompUSA this morning, to buy a new trackball for my computer. My old one was four years old and the spinning rubber grommet had worn down,
and split, so there was no recovery. While cruising the Mac aisle, that looked like the back of an unkempt walk-in closet, with junk strewn about, I overheard a conversation. I bring it up because Bob Hopkins and I were commiserating Friday night about the loss of subtlety in our culture.

ìYou wouldnít believe how fast this computer is.î I had my back to the guy and I couldnít see which computer he was referring to. But his friend, simply nodded.

ìYou know my G3 at home? Itís is a three hundred and fifty megahertz machine.î He slowed down and carefully enunciated the megahertz rating, and I thought, Oh heís being really precise.

ìAnd this machine is ONE POINT TWO FIVE GIGAHERTZ.î

Thereís the comparison, I thought, now heís going to do the math.

ìDo you know how much faster that is?î

His friend finally chimed in with, ìLots faster.î

I waited for the result of his long division, ìGazillions,î
he replied.

Bob, Charlie, and Matthew. Menemsha, the early years.
View larger image

Lake Sylvia, MN. 1990.
View larger image

Below are search engine keywords that brought folks to this site. You type into Google kissing sisters, for instance, and youíll see mainecourse is the first hit. Youíll also notice the category, Mature Content.

Unfortunately for me, Dr. Pinansky, the full name of my dentist, left in a comment by Diane, takes you right to my site. You have to click through three pages in Yahoo, after you type in sadistic dentist to get to Janís comment about the same story. Given the number of hits for Dr Pinansky, Iím not looking forward to my next visit.

Then thereís Derek Tinkham. He and his friend, Jeremy Haas climbed Mt Washington in 1994, the winter after the mainecourse guys went on their snowy Allasgash lake trip. Derek died of exposure and I wove his real life tragedy into our amusing camping drama. Now if you type in Derekís name you get taken to my story. Which is kinda embarrassing. I mean, Jeremy now gets to read about my summary of the Globeís account. But, itís pure flattery compared to this hit: Hassed

Of all these search terms, my favorites are dangerous alives, and testicles that donít stay down.

Google

“blog” + “travis s”
kissing sisters
jeremy haas
derek tinkham
“my death” carver, raymond
picture maggots
dalwhinnie 15 year old comment
feldenchrist
mock orange
laying out a tile pattern random
remote starter evansville
“above all, i shall be able to continue my search”
dr. pinansky

AOL NetFind

dental fillings without novacaine
dear miss manners
sisters kissing sisters
flamenco dance outfits
resume for dan downing of indiana

Yahoo

kissing sisters
debsconeag
dessert eagle hand gun pics
the sound of sirens comedy song
dangerous alives
wall tile layout pattern
hopscotch tile patterns
allagash snow
raymond carver and my death
when love throws you a curve ball
sadistic dentists

MSN

lobster lake
military haircut pics
allagash pictures
testicles that don’t stay down
lobster lake me.
anne sexton “words” be careful of words even the miraculous ones