Arlo and Janis often mimics the goings on in the Kibbe household. This past week Jimmy Johnson has had me in his sights. 

Ginger remodeled her downstairs and here are a few photos of the new, bold look with a couple pics from the past thrown in. I confess I don’t mind tweaking Dan and Jennifer who grumble about “adult houses.”

Also, this from yesterday morning taken off my front porch.

Mike,

On our way down from our highest camp in Glacier NP last August, our youngest fogy-hiker, Reed, asked me to take a bunch of overlapping pictures from a spectacular viewpoint. Far to the left we could see the canyon we came up from Canada, in the middle we could see the distant, smoke-shrouded Lake Bowman where Beth was to meet us, and far to the right we saw the wonderful “hanging valley” alpine meadow where we camped the night before. My pictures overlapped horizontally about 30-40%, but there was one point where I had to side-step to get around some obscuring trees for the last 4 shots.

I was dubious about stitching all 11 of these pictures together, particularly because of the sidestep. But then I found a program (Doubletake) for the Mac that does the stitching automatically, and it did a wonderful job of joining the pictures that overlapped in the distance but not in the foreground. I only had to tweak the picture in one area using The Gimp to get rid of a floating tree branch.

Reed’s last name is, appropriately enough, Panos. And he really does love panos. He wants to print this picture as a 1-foot by 9 foot mural.

So here it is for your viewing pleasure.

–rakkity

Blogmeister’s note.  And here it is for Adam who always wants the largest version.

Mike,

On our way down from our highest camp in Glacier NP last August, our youngest fogy-hiker, Reed, asked me to take a bunch of overlapping pictures from a spectacular viewpoint. Far to the left we could see the canyon we came up from Canada, in the middle we could see the distant, smoke-shrouded Lake Bowman where Beth was to meet us, and far to the right we saw the wonderful “hanging valley” alpine meadow where we camped the night before. My pictures overlapped horizontally about 30-40%, but there was one point where I had to side-step to get around some obscuring trees for the last 4 shots.

I was dubious about stitching all 11 of these pictures together, particularly because of the sidestep. But then I found a program (Doubletake) for the Mac that does the stitching automatically, and it did a wonderful job of joining the pictures that overlapped in the distance but not in the foreground. I only had to tweak the picture in one area using The Gimp to get rid of a floating tree branch.

Reed’s last name is, appropriately enough, Panos. And he really does love panos. He wants to print this picture as a 1-foot by 9 foot mural.

So here it is for your viewing pleasure.

–rakkity

Blogmeister’s note.  And here it is for Adam who always wants the largest version.

Mike,

With Katie and Patrick here in Boulder at Thanksgiving, we couldn’t pass up a chance to reprise our 3-way racketball games, especially since Patrick brought 2 rackets in his luggage. So off to the north gym we went, and played 2 3-way games, giving KT a 5 point handicap. (For those who always want numbers, the scores were 15-12-11 and 12-15-11, Rakkity-Patrick-KT). And just for fun we made movies (with sound) of a few volleys. What a blast!

–rakkity

Mike,

Here (over Boulder) is an iridescent cloud that looks like a triple rainbow.

I’ve seen single versions of these in the mountains, but this triple one is amazing!

–rakkity

This from Jen.

I don’t drink much, I haven’t for years, but that hasn’t stopped liquor in my cabinet from disappearing. In fact, it seems to evaporate even faster now that I’m not wearing a path to that part of the living room. I thought I’d solved the problem by using a magic marker to draw lines around current levels.

On Thanksgiving I decided to join the fun and have a vodka tonic. I slipped into the living room, poured my tonic water, and, jiggerless, like the old days, added Sky Vodka. I worried I’d added too much. but shrugged my shoulders and walked back to the kitchen, sipping from my tumbler. Hmmm, I thought, this is weak.

I backtracked to the bottle and added more and walked away again, content that my drink would taste as it had lo those many years ago. But, no, my next sip tasted much like the last which is to say nearly no taste at all. I made another u-turn and this time held the bottle up to my lips and let go. Hmmm, I thought again, I never could, even in my most alcohol-drenched George Thoroughgood “I Drink Alone” days, guzzle eighty proof.

I put the bottle back and pulled its twin from the back of the cabinet and took a swig. Again, no burn.

I know, you all caught on long before I did. I don’t have to write that the next thing I did was bring my brother-in-law in for a taste. I don’t have to say that his immediate reaction was to guffaw.

Here’s why this is offensive.

Number 1. What kind of idiot do you take me for?
Number 2. Alcohol, even vodka, has flavor. If I replaced your beer with Tabasco Sauce would you notice?
Number 3. Do I look like Rodney Dangerfield?

Adam will smile when he reads this. He knows it all starts with one of us but he doesn’t yet know with whom. Now he can rule out himself.

Dan and John agreed to meet Peter, Bonnie and me at Julie’s Place in Acton for breakfast at 9 this morning. I’m an obsessively punctual guy and when Peter says, “It’s ten minutes to nine,” we hop into my truck and speed to the plaza. Get there in like three minutes, sit down, steal a fifth chair from a nearby table, watch our waitress pour our steaming coffee, and then tell her our friends will be by shortly.

Julie’s serves good food fast. I call it insta-breakfast, and though there aren’t that many seats, she does a swift and observably profitable business. As the clock ticked nine oh five and our waitress brings our second refill, I think about how Dan and John have a more than casual relationship with time. Dan is always late because, I think, he calculates exactly how long it takes to travel from home to point B, then halves it.

And, John, he flat out refuses to let the clock rule his life. If you agree to meet at nine that can mean anywhere from nine to nine fifty-nine. although I must admit of late he’s been quite punctual. I’m ruminating about all this as the big hand ticks its way down the face of the clock and we’re sipping our third cup of coffee.

Finally, at 9:25, and after we’d surrendered and ordered our breakfast, my pocket vibrates.

It’s a message from Dan. “Wherethefuckareyou? We’re waiting outside. Did you forget us?”

“Outside?” I thought. As in outside the restaurant? I stand up and look through the glass door and there they are standing behind a guy with a blue hat and a woman with white ear muffs, chatting away. Remember, too, it was damn cold this morning.

I push myself away from my porridge, amble over to the door, open it and smile at my two chilly friends.

Dan’s incredulous. “You’re here?” He pauses to make sure he’s not seeing an apparition. “Already inside? I got here ten minutes early, I didn’t see your car, I thought you hadn’t arrived.” By the end of his spiel he’s almost yelling.

Well, no duh. If you thought we were inside warm as can be, you’d a joined us, and I wouldn’t have worried about taking up valuable space without ordering. Now, tell me again why you wouldn’t peer through the door first.

“I didn’t see your car.” Dan shouts.

Well, guess what, you parked right next to it.

Adam will smile when he reads this. He knows it all starts with one of us but he doesn’t yet know with whom. Now he can rule out himself.

Dan and John agreed to meet Peter, Bonnie and me at Julie’s Place in Acton for breakfast at 9 this morning. I’m an obsessively punctual guy and when Peter says, “It’s ten minutes to nine,” we hop into my truck and speed to the plaza. Get there in like three minutes, sit down, steal a fifth chair from a nearby table, watch our waitress pour our steaming coffee, and then tell her our friends will be by shortly.

Julie’s serves good food fast. I call it insta-breakfast, and though there aren’t that many seats, she does a swift and observably profitable business. As the clock ticked nine oh five and our waitress brings our second refill, I think about how Dan and John have a more than casual relationship with time. Dan is always late because, I think, he calculates exactly how long it takes to travel from home to point B, then halves it.

And, John, he flat out refuses to let the clock rule his life. If you agree to meet at nine that can mean anywhere from nine to nine fifty-nine. although I must admit of late he’s been quite punctual. I’m ruminating about all this as the big hand ticks its way down the face of the clock and we’re sipping our third cup of coffee.

Finally, at 9:25, and after we’d surrendered and ordered our breakfast, my pocket vibrates.

It’s a message from Dan. “Wherethefuckareyou? We’re waiting outside. Did you forget us?”

“Outside?” I thought. As in outside the restaurant? I stand up and look through the glass door and there they are standing behind a guy with a blue hat and a woman with white ear muffs, chatting away. Remember, too, it was damn cold this morning.

I push myself away from my porridge, amble over to the door, open it and smile at my two chilly friends.

Dan’s incredulous. “You’re here?” He pauses to make sure he’s not seeing an apparition. “Already inside? I got here ten minutes early, I didn’t see your car, I thought you hadn’t arrived.” By the end of his spiel he’s almost yelling.

Well, no duh. If you thought we were inside warm as can be, you’d a joined us, and I wouldn’t have worried about taking up valuable space without ordering. Now, tell me again why you wouldn’t peer through the door first.

“I didn’t see your car.” Dan shouts.

Well, guess what, you parked right next to it.

Peter (Cortney called him the famous uncle) and I drove up to Ed’s place in New Hampshire and hung out for the afternoon. I think it was my brother’s first visit in ten years.  On the way home we caught the full moon over Mt. Monadnock.

Peter (Cortney called him the famous uncle) and I drove up to Ed’s place in New Hampshire and hung out for the afternoon. I think it was my brother’s first visit in ten years.  On the way home we caught the full moon over Mt. Monadnock.