More photos from BirdBrain’s recent trip to Ecuador. Hikes in Yanachocha reserve (1 hour outside of Quito), the enchanted Polyleptis forest, an as yet unidentified volcano, and the Market at Otavalo.

Susan’s here for Kate’s New Hampshire All State Concert on Saturday, and she had cheese quesadillas and marguritas (it’s a tradition) for dinner at La Cantina in Acton.

I asked for decaf and got Sanka.

Travis sent me this photo of the Pigeon Point Lighthouse in Pescadero, CA., which is due east of San Jose.

Found (the hat) in the sleeve of my suede jacket.

Left at our house after one of those empty nest dinners.

Most of my cousins live in the midwest (and I don’t mean the mideast like Ohio), so it’s hard to explain why we can only manage a once-a-year visit to the single relative who lives in this area. But that’s the way it is – it’s always Easter with Vic and Jennifer.

The Finlays

Easter Sunday

Easter Sunday

On my way to Adam’s house, I stopped at the lumber yard in Maynard. Mike, who wears shorts year round and treats new customers like a border guard watching for terrorists, runs the place. As I paid for my studs, I noticed his security camera set-up. Bright, color photos of the snow in his lumber yard, blue tarps covering piles of wood, and me in my recently bought $1.99 red and black K-Mart flannel shirt flashed on four monitors.

“Is there anything you can’t see?” I asked.

“Nothing, and I can back up, play back and burn it all to a CD.”

“You catch people at night? Surely, your daytime customers aren’t stealing from you.”

“You’d be surprised. Sometimes I think it’s forgetfulness. I watched Fred Meyers load oak, then plywood and trim stock, but when he came in for the tally, he didn’t mention the oak. I said, ‘Fred, how about the oak?’ and he said, ‘What oak?’ These cameras cost me forty thousand and they switch to infrared when the sun goes down.

“But no thieves yet?”

“The best one so far is Harold’s dog. I caught him peeing in the back room by the door. I said, ‘Harold, why’d your dog pee on my floor?’ He said, ‘My dog is house broken, he’d never ever pee on your floor.’ I said he did. He said he didn’t, and then he called his wife Mildred. ‘Mike says Fritz peed on his floor.’ I could hear ‘em talking. ‘If Fritz is peeing on floors he’ll pee in the Barton’s house when we go there on vacation.’ Mildred says, “Fritz is house broken. He’d never ever do that. So Harold turns to me and says, ‘Millie says it wasn’t Fritz.’

I said forty thousand bucks says it was. I run the tape back and there’s his black dog out back. First he sniffs the caulk, then he sniffs the gate latches and then he sniffs the floor right before he squats downs and lets go. Harold calls Mille back to tell her what he just watched. Millie says, “Some other dog must have marked the floor first.”

On my way to Adam’s house, I stopped at the lumber yard in Maynard. Mike, who wears shorts year round and treats new customers like a border guard watching for terrorists, runs the place. As I paid for my studs, I noticed his security camera set-up. Bright, color photos of the snow in his lumber yard, blue tarps covering piles of wood, and me in my recently bought $1.99 red and black K-Mart flannel shirt flashed on four monitors.

“Is there anything you can’t see?” I asked.

“Nothing, and I can back up, play back and burn it all to a CD.”

“You catch people at night? Surely, your daytime customers aren’t stealing from you.”

“You’d be surprised. Sometimes I think it’s forgetfulness. I watched Fred Meyers load oak, then plywood and trim stock, but when he came in for the tally, he didn’t mention the oak. I said, ‘Fred, how about the oak?’ and he said, ‘What oak?’ These cameras cost me forty thousand and they switch to infrared when the sun goes down.

“But no thieves yet?”

“The best one so far is Harold’s dog. I caught him peeing in the back room by the door. I said, ‘Harold, why’d your dog pee on my floor?’ He said, ‘My dog is house broken, he’d never ever pee on your floor.’ I said he did. He said he didn’t, and then he called his wife Mildred. ‘Mike says Fritz peed on his floor.’ I could hear ‘em talking. ‘If Fritz is peeing on floors he’ll pee in the Barton’s house when we go there on vacation.’ Mildred says, “Fritz is house broken. He’d never ever do that. So Harold turns to me and says, ‘Millie says it wasn’t Fritz.’

I said forty thousand bucks says it was. I run the tape back and there’s his black dog out back. First he sniffs the caulk, then he sniffs the gate latches and then he sniffs the floor right before he squats downs and lets go. Harold calls Mille back to tell her what he just watched. Millie says, “Some other dog must have marked the floor first.”

Goose and friend.

I’m not saying I’d rather live there, but here’s another midwest story.

If you walk the aisles of our Home Depot you can watch sales people scatter as if you’re the first local case of Avian Flu. In Evansville, in those identical looking aisles, you get real tired of saying, “No, I don’t need any help.”

On my last visit, with my cart half-filled with plumbing supplies, and now abandoned in a long-forgotten aisle, a sprightly guy in orange walked up to me and said, “Is there anything I can do for you?” I paused, thought to myself should I really ask this, and then I said, “Yes, I lost my shopping cart. Can you find it for me?”

“I think so, let’s go look at the end of aisle two.”