Michael,

This afternoon Beth and I went for a walk around Boulder’s Walden Ponds (yes I know Massachusetts has that name trademarked. Sorry.), and we were studying the Canada Geese that thrive there. At first glance, one of the geese seemed to have a ribbon around its neck.  But no, it appeared to be a can missing both ends.  How did that poor goose get a can around its neck? Either it’s some bizarre biological marker, or the goose stuck its head into a can on the ground and found that the only way it could get the dang thing off its head was to keep pushing and pushing until it was around its neck.  At least, that’s my guess as to what happened.

The goose doesn’t appear to be troubled by its new garb, and it has a mate, who hasn’t given up on him/her because of a strange neck.

–rakkity

I thought I’d add more color to my nifty vase of flowers. Freshly juiced carrots.

If Diane didn’t change our sheets we’d never have clean ones. It’s not that I don’t like the feel of freshly laundered linen, or that I enjoy sleeping on miscellaneous specks of dried blood, it’s just not something I “see.” I see peeling paint on my house, and I can sense when the oil needs to be changed in my truck, but when it comes to my bed if I count three pillows and two quilts I’m happy.

Lately, I’ve been helping Diane make our bed. As we tossed the crusty sheets onto the floor (”Don’t throw the dirty ones on the clean ones,” she yelps.) I ask her about her day. She’d been gone for hours with Ginger, first to do their pool walking at the Thoreau Club, then a long lunch at the 99, and finally a stop at Diane’s favorite store, T.J.’s.

“What did you eat for lunch?” I asked.

“I had steak tips and Ginger had a hankering for Scrod.”

“And, what did you talk about?”

“You.”

“Me? What about me?”

“We didn’t really. No, we did, but not that much.”

“But what about me?”

I don’t normally fish so, but I’d spent the last month working at Ginger and Mark’s house and felt like I’d been doing a lot of blabbing during our long, Ginger-provided lunches.

“We talked about that dopamine study.”

I must say that it doesn’t matter that I hadn’t read the article. I know just enough about dopamine (more makes you happy, less makes you depressed) to play along.

“What about it?” I asked.

“A dopamine usually chooses another dopamine. You’re a … .”

“Dope?”

“Yes, and I’m not. Dopamines have lots of creative energy and are constantly trying new things. That’s not me.”

“Then why are we together?”

“I think it’s an estrogen testosterone match. Estrogens are matchmakers and connectors.”

“And me”?

“You’re a pig headed jackass.”

This doubled us both over. It always does. It’s obvious why Diane laughs. She wanted to shorten the fishing trip. I laugh, in part, because she blushes so crimson.

I’m talking on the phone to Dan and I hear what sounds like a train coming though the middle of the house.

I said, “Hey, Diane, there’s a train in our house.”

“Yeah, that’s what they said would happen.”

“Who said what would happen?”

“The weather guy (Now that’s she watching TV she’s become this know-it-all). He said we’d get snow squalls.”

“Snow squalls? What about trains? And where did the outside go?  It’s gone.”

The squall lasted all of about five minutes before the moon reappeared.

BirdBrain dropped by around noon with an armful of goodies which included a spinach quiche, many mango mousses and this flower vase which she handed to me as my award for her favorite line of stories, The K-Mart Chronicles. The vase design reminded her of (and, quite frankly if the flowers were cars… .) the Hawaiian shirt I’d missed out on.

BirdBrain dropped by around noon with an armful of goodies which included a spinach quiche, many mango mousses and this flower vase which she handed to me as my award for her favorite line of stories, The K-Mart Chronicles. The vase design reminded her of (and, quite frankly if the flowers were cars… .) the Hawaiian shirt I’d missed out on.

Peter’s pics from yesterday.
 

 

While Diane rested her back, I drove to Halibut Point in search of color. As I walked on the granite chunks and tried not to slide into either the ocean or the tide pools, I talked to Peter in Indiana who was traipsing along the Ohio River in sunny sixty degree weather. He enjoyed color, I didn’t, so you’ll see I had to add some to this photo album. That’s Van Morrison in the background singing, “I’m Not Feeling It Anymore.” Here‘s our April visit when the waves were pounding and Diane provided her own color.

Michael,

It’s almost time to crack that bottle of champagne against our solar garage, sing the Beetle’s Sunshine tune and toast the power of the sun!

A few months after Mrs rakkity & I moved to Colorado, we started thinking about installing solar panels. Might as well put that 385 days/year (or whatever it is) of sunshine to work, we thought.

Our house roof faces east and west, which is far from optimal, but our garage roof faces nearly directly south, which is perfect. So we got bids from 3 companies. One of them, Simple Solar Systems, came in with the best offer. The second best was less than 5% behind, and their arrangement of panels didn’t look optimum to me. The 3rd best told us we could only use 6 panels because of shadowing, but both of the other companies said 10 would work.

On November 23, I climbed a ladder up to the garage roof at 8 am and 9 am just to see how much shadowing there really was. I marked the outlines of the sunlit areas with masking tape and compared my picture of that area with Simple Solar’s drawing, and found that my 9am masking tape border matched their drawings perfectly. Company #2 had panels with the wrong orientation, and they’d have been shadowed a little at 9 am in winter, so we eliminated them. Company #3 was way off, way wrong, and would get no money from us, though I know other people who have gotten good panel systems from them.

After our HOA gave its (automatic) approval to the panel installation plan, Simple Solar ordered the PV panels from California. Finally in January, SS was ready to come install them. A snowstorm delayed them one day, but the next day at 8 am they were up on the garage hammering away, and were ready for the panels to arrive. Snowstorms in California delayed the panels a couple of days, but they arrived yesterday, and by late afternoon they were all installed. The electrical connections and control panels are all there, but they need one more day to get the Boulder inspector to permit them turn the system on.

I shot some pictures of the electrical meter running forward. Maybe next week I’ll be able to show some pictures of the meter running backwards!

–rakkity

I keep scanning for photo ops as I drive back and forth to work , but I can’t see through this blanket of gray. Here are a couple from the Southbridge Boathouse in Concord. We need sun.

*********

A funny, maybe on point, letter to the editor in response to a New Yorker article about Clinton and Obama.

“Packer’s article demonstrates that there is no real basis of comparison between the two candidates. May I suggest that the reason for the essay’s lack of substance regarding Barack Obama’s ideas is that his campaign feels more like a pleasant horoscope than like a run for the Presidency? (The kind that anyone can read and think, Yes! I want change, too! It’s amazing how well he knows me.) Is there anything wrong with a candidate who has had her eye on the Presidency for more than a few years, and who values her private life? I’ll choose an ambitious woman of substance over a fortune cookie any day.”

Ursula Oberg

*********

The second bloom from an amaryllis at Ginger’s.

When my Indiana friend, Jeff, told me he and Karen were going to the Cork and Cleaver to celebrate their thirty-third wedding anniversary I asked him if they had reservations. He said, “Yes.”

Why did I ask? Because that makes it much easier to stealthily buy their dinner. I called the restaurant shortly after I guessed they’d arrived and told the manager, Matthew, that I wanted to pay for the Ruthenburg’s dinner. He went off somewhere, to look at the reservation list, I assumed, and came back and said, “You’re too late. James Ruthenburg has already picked up the tab. ”

I thought, DAMN, now what? Thwarted! I’ve never failed at this. “Alright” I said, “I’ll pay for their drinks. Jeff likes Makers on the rocks and give Karen another glass of whatever she’s having.” I pictured a hefty glass of merlot. Mad that I missed out on buying dinner, I started rattling off my Mastercard number when Matthew stopped me.

“No, no. I don’t want your credit card for two drinks.”

I thought he was telling me he wasn’t going to let me buy those drinks. That he wouldn’t put so small an amount on a credit card. That pissed me off even more, so I really didn’t catch his last line.

“Next time you’re nearby stop in and you can pay me in cash.”

“Okay,” I said in a huff, and hung up. Then I realized what he’d said.

Mike,

I just got a new monitor, and with the increased acreage staring me in the face, I was moved to replace my desktop with a spectacular photo I took last November of the Beartooth Boys in the Indian Peaks Wilderness.

–rakkity