Emma, Matt’s cousin, caught her foot as she dove over a railing and landed on both her hands. Something had to give and it was not just one, but both wrists.
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Miscellaneous Nica photos. photos
(As usual, photo links open new windows so stop clicking on that back arrow.)

Sorry, Chris, I like insects.


For Diane.
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I think the conversation went something like this:
Bertha. “Are you related to the people who own Miller beer?”
Matt. “Are you kidding? Do you know how many Millers there are in the US? Are you related to all of the Cuadras?” Of which there are about one hundred and fifty.
Bertha. “Yes.”

La Madre gave me permission to post this. I wonder if that was enough… .

Mr. Gilliam lived directly across the street from us in a white clapboard house, and from his rocking chair on his front porch he surveyed his property. With a street full of boys, he needed to, but in our own neighborhood, we were mostly innocent. Mr. Gilliam was my grandfather’s age and he might have shared similar experiences, though he lived in Ohio and Roy O’Connell, six hundred miles away, in Nevada Missouri.

They both, at an age that spoke more about their past than the present, bought outlandish cars, Mr. Gilliam a pink, 1957 Oldsmobile 98, five years before Roy, his white Cadillac. A year before I earned my driver’s license, I drove that white Cadillac; I could only dream about driving the pink Olds.

But what I remember most about Mr. Gilliam was his language.

When we played king of the hill on the edge of his sloping lawn, heíd holler, “No, no bank, papa spank.” Climb his trees and you’d hear. “No, no, trees, papa please.” I climbed everyone’s trees, but his, and I was in his neighbor’s tree when Charles reached over to touch the high tension wire running between the limbs.

It was a humid summer day in Cincinnati and we were perched Like blackbirds in that tree. Glenn and I, dressed in our white shorts and tight black muscle t-shirts stood below the wires looking up, while Paul, Charles’s younger bother, clung to the highest limb, above the telephone pole. Steven Brown, hands clasped behind his head, rested on a branch shaped like the homemade slingshot which hung from his pocket. We were honored to have Charles in our tree. He was, after all, a big brother, someone to whom you might say hi – if you were feeling really talkative.

“Do you dare me to touch it?” Charles asked with a broad grin.

We didn’t dare to dare Charles to touch the wire.

Dare him to maybe die? Nope, not us and we were mostly fearless. But we were intrigued. What would happen if he touched the black wire? Charles flapped his hand at the wire as if he were playing with a burner on a hot stove. Touch it quickly and feel no pain. His game made us giddy, but still we remained silent. We wanted him to , and we didn’t want him to. How to explain that?

“What if I touch the wire but with a leaf to protect my hand?” Charles asked.

Sure, that made sense to me. Leaves that hung like laundry might add enough protection. From what, I wasn’t even sure. Paul broke our silence with, îDonít do it,î but too late to stop his brother whose hand was already in motion. Thwap! His hand hit the leaf, the leaf hit the wire and they both bounced back. All of us jumped but Charles.

ìAre you okay?î

ìDidnít feel a thing.î

We werenít so sure because Charles climbed down from the tree, waved to Mr. Gilliam on his porch, and walked straight into his house.

Posts up and most of the floor has been deck-screwed to the joists. The happy couple pose as Jan dreams of a full width set of stairs, and Mark wonders why we didn’t accomplish more.
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These photos are not as good as some in the past, primarily because I didnít have enough natural light. However, because it was early morning and still about 54 degrees, I was able to get within a couple inches of the nest. I went back in the afternoon, when the sun was out, and I couldnít get near them.

I like the full-on eye contact.
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Dan Downing

Val and her new husband Mike — in Mickey Mouse ears to add levity to the occasion — appreciating parents and closest friends at their rehearsal dinner.

The wedding of my niece brought together 175 people — separated by two degrees or less — in Austin last weekend.

For me it was three days of connecting, reflecting, laughing, learning.

I learned about my son’s partner, JimK, and his new model yacht racing hobby.
I connected with my childhood friend MaryAnn, whose mother, Nancy, was my second mother, as I wrestled with growing up in Mexico City.

I met Madeleine, the strong and beautiful daughter of my sister’s best friend, Elena, about to begin her career as an art teacher at the same French elementary school I attended 50 years ago.

I listened to comments of admiration about how easy my two daughters, Sarah and Rebecca, are to talk with, from a new friend, Mike’s best man, Matt.

I had breakfast with my 85 year-old-mother Bertha, and my just-turned-37 son Jim, and reflected on three learnings from my father that have shaped who I am.

I read a book my son Greg gave me, whose author he identifies with, and gained insights about his own personal dreams and inner struggles.

Weddings and funerals have a natural way of getting us in touch with the parts of ourselves we see reflected in people we’ve known and loved. We need more events like this, less momentous or terminal, to appreciate each other and learn about ourselves.

Poker at Rob’s house in Boxborough.

Rob’s father-in-law, Ernie, with the second, natural, straight flush of the night. I had the first.
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Just cash.
Peeking at Rob’s cards.
The players. || Ernie, Mark, Stu, Dwight, Mark’s brother-in-law, Al, and Rob.

Adam and Lukas’s new office space.
Lukas (but a blurrrr), Adam and Mark.
We worked all day on Sunday, and Adam claims we exceeded his expectations, but it seemed to me we (maybe it was just moi) were frozen in amber.
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Miraflor

Ed and Beth (Mr. & Mrs. rakkity) take a working vacation in
France.

Peter and Patti gave Matt their 1989 Honda, which is good shape except for some minor body rust. Matt, Daryl and Robby worked yesterday to fill, sand and prime those rust holes before driving it to the Mobil Station for inspection.
Theyíve also been customizing the interior. When I arrived home from work, Matt said, ìDad, we need another screw for the license plate. We added one of Darylís speakers and the bass shakes the plate.î

I thought, they added a speaker and the license plate rattles, what sense does that make? Click here to view the speaker.

Photos from the school – Centro Decolar Maria Auxiliadora Familia Fabreto- where Matt and Hil performed volunteer work.

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“Mike, there is something I need to tell you, but I can’t right now.”

 

 If you fall off the chimney, or if the platform which supports my ladder collapses, you’ll bounce off the roof, tumble about two stories and then fold yourself on the air conditioning unit below. Chris stood on the top of his ladder, behind the chimney, as I stood precariously perched on mine, and we both struggled to place a newly formed copper cap over the top. I was unaware that as we moved the cap back and forth to find a firm fit, my ladder was walking towards the edge of the plywood platform. Until Chris, trying not alarm, gave me that rather amusing heads up.