Jeff helping Karen with her lei Peter brought from Hawaii.
Yesterday we may have made serious progress in solving the BMW’s starting problem. I’m hopeful that Adam will fill in the details.
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Not the Thrilla in Manila (but close)
Peter and Helen.
Brian brought a pocket sized movie camera and took three movies. I combined two, and lost some quality, but the file size is small enough for even the modem impaired. If you’re patient. Click here to watch Matthew crush his poor uncle.
* Note : I was smart enough not to challenge him.
Rum Drinks
Neo and his dad.
Patting the last hair into place.
Brian’s photos taken in the Marriott in Evansville.
I’m embarrassed to say it, but I couldn’t “do” Gauguin. I looked at his Tahitian women, those muted, not brilliant colors, his interpretation of the female form (what was he thinking?), assorted carvings thrown in for local flavoring and could only think of rum drinks from a Chinese restaurant. I’m sorry. Further on in the exhibit were dark, foreboding, wood block prints that appealed to me, but by then it was too late. Diane, however, loved it, especially in respect to the rich French tradition he had departed from to display his own vision. Matt and Hillary politely gave it a thumbs up.
But the fun part of the evening was dinner at the Smokehouse restaurant. There, we toasted Matt’s driver’s license , and Hillary smeared barbecue rib sauce all over her face. Not intentionally, mind you, that’s why each table comes with a roll of paper towels. Matt suggested I take her photo, but I didn’t dare. You see, many of my most prized shots, are arguably not my own, but only Matt knows for sure. Had I taken one of Hillary, it would have been compared, unfavorably, to Matt’s, and I would have been exposed.
Gauguin
Dash Ruthenburg, unfairly passed over for the lead role in that new Mel
Gibson movie.
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Father, and as Sidney Toler would say, Number One son.
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Matt is bringing Hillary and we’re all going to the MFA tonight to see the Gauguin exhibition. Afterwards, perhaps dinner at the flaming barbeque place in Brookline to celebrate Matt’s passing his …. .
3:45 PM LATE BREAKING NEWS
All unessential personnel (women and children?) should leave their vehicles and hide in their homes until further notice. Matthew is now a licensed driver.
Family
Shinydome sent a 360 degree view of
Torroemore. I like the footprints leading to the spot where the photo was taken, and the grey
tombstone looking things that must be ice fishing shacks. i’m sure we are all thinking the same thing. How great would it be to have a similar 360 degree view in the summer? Is the bass boat steady enough?
I wanted to turn the photo into a Quicktime panorama, but the software to do that, which used to be freeware, is now expensiveware. This site is a gold mine of mountain photos, hiking trails, and those Quicktime panos. Rakkity, how many of those mountains have you climbed?
Matt and his Indiana grandmother.
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Matt and (lean on me) Peter.
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Red LIghts
Man in blue.
Dear Matthew,
ItÃs my fault. No, really, it is.
Do you remember sitting in momÃs car waiting for that two hundred and fifty pound trooper with his crewcut, and face hacked out of granite? The guy who barely fit in the passengerÃs seat. And do you remember all of my helpful questions to prepare you for your driving test?
ìMatt, how far from a stop sign are you legally required to stop?î
ìShuutup, youÃre freaking me out!î
ìMatt, how far from an intersection should you engage your turn signals?î
ìShuutup, youÃre freaking me out. DonÃt ask me questions you donÃt have the answers to.î
ìShouldnÃt you know the answers?î
ìIÃll tell you how many. ItÃs, shuuttt the hell up, number of feet. ThatÃs how many.î
If mom had taken you for your driverÃs test, sheÃd have left the teasing at home, and asked sensible questions. As I should have. She would have asked you what your friends had problems with, and you certainly would have remembered that Julie, too, drove right through that tricky red light. The one without an intersection, the one thirty feet before the red light, with a very busy intersection.
Not passing that test is a blip, but what is not a blip is the respect your adult friends (you know the list, we had dinner with most of them last night) have for you. Those that love and know you best, were flabbergasted that you came home without your license. Had I claimed the earthÃs magnetic poles flipped, they would have said, ìOkay.î But no one could believe that you didnÃt pass it. Like it or not, you got a rep, boy.
Love,
Dad
Fallon
Fabulous family photo send by Susan:
“It is the lace curtain Irish (as opposed to shanty) family Fallon †— Rose and Michael being the procreators. †God knows when it was taken ó mid teens, maybe? †Our grandmother, Florence Grace †Fallon Hotze (but was she Hotze at this point?) is second from the left in the standing up row, right behind her mam.”
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“Interchangeable” begs a comment from yours truly, but for once, I’m keeping my mouth shut.
Susan at age 16, or maybe 15.
Panorama
Jimmy sent me a panoramic view of Torroemore and beyond. This is a remarkable collection of hand held photos – think human tripod with a swivel mount. Yeah, it does make me nostalgic for a 360 degree view.
Wider View
Velcro
WeÃre home.
Except for DianeÃs sickness almost unto death, and BrianÃs early departure, it was a great visit. My mother is loving, resilient, generous, and truly an inspiring example that as one ages, one does not have to become, as Susan describes it, less crisp. And for that matter, given my fatherÃs deft touch in the stock market at eighty-nine, he too is a shining role model.
IÃm ambivalent about posting this, not because Chris wouldnÃt want me to, she laughed when she related it to me, but perhaps because my duckÃs back has picked up some velcro. I might add that when I repeated it to Diane, she laughed and hard, but it all ended in another round of bronchial paroxysms.
Matthew, age seven, and his older brother, Michael, were watching TV, when Michael turned to Chris and said, ì Mom, the woman in that commercial reminds me of you.î
Chris replied that she was flattered that Michael was thinking about her and comparing her to someone on TV, to which Matthew interjected, ìMom, you donÃt understand. She reminds Michael of you because sheÃs stupid.î
Our Matthew takes his driver’s test today… .
Lay Lady Lay
Yesterday, after breakfast at Denny’s, after waiting exactly (according to the only person more impatient that I, my father) sixty-two minutes for our food to be served, we drove back home, a few minutes before Jeff and Karen knocked on the back door. Their arrival is not so notable, but the subsequent knock on the front door is. Standing in forty degree weather, no shirt, sandals, a deep Hawaiian tan, AND a SEG, was brother Peter. As surprised as we all were, it paled in comparison to poor, sick, delusional Diane’s reaction.
We drove to the Marriott and Peter walked into our personal tuberculositarium, stood over sleeping Diane, and placed a purple and white orchid lei around her neck. She awoke, looked at the lei, had no idea what it was, other than possibly another juvenile prank by her husband, then looked into Peter’s smiling eyes, imagined they were mine- for a moment- then said, “Is that you Peter, or am I dreaming?”
Besides Peter’s surprise and a brief evening meal in her room, Diane spent another full day in bed, but today looks brave enough to venture out. There may not be great tourist attractions in Southern Indiana, but we always thoroughly enjoy our visits here, and this year’s trip will now be too closely compared to our flu-cancelled Christmas.
Last night’s dinner was another carry out ( that would be take out in New England), this one, pizza and Greek salads from The Deerhead. In spite of the raw numbers of people – Jeff, Karen and Dash too – we didn’t finish two large. What’s up with that?
Brian brought his miniature movie camera and recorded, among other things, Matt and Peter banging out thirty-five ( Peter wanted to do fifty) mano a mano pushups (looks like a training film for Navy Seals), and Matthew crushing his fit uncle in an arm wrestling contest. I warned Peter, but he couldn’t gracefully back down. At least he avoided injury, which is more than I can say. The last time I arm wrestled Matt, I thought I’d been permanently crippled.
Lastly, Brian, given the tenuous nature of this business, flew back this morning on the 10 AM flight. We’ll miss him and we’ll miss Peter doling out instructions to him for a healthier life. No, Susan, Peter’s are not like Joan’s.
Under the Weather
ìActon Medical.î
ìGood morning, IÃm calling for my wife, Diane Canning, who is a patient of Dr. Way.î
Hack, hack, cough, sputter.
ìIs that her in the backgound?î
ìYes it is.î
ìSounds like my husband.î
ìShe’s been like that since Sunday. Had a low grade fever on Monday, which spiked to 102 last night. Congested, hurts to cough, even hurts too breathe. And, we’re supposed to fly out of here this afternoon, so she .. .î
ìSounds like she might have pneuomia, I can get her in this morning…hold on a minute.î
Tick tock tick tock … .
ìCan she get here by 9 AM?î
ìSure can, weÃre on our way, and thanks.î
No pneumonia, but what a way to begin our yearly Haj to Evansville. We normally go in April, when the flowers are blooming, but this year Adam and I have plans to fly Matt and company into a remote Maine lake. I hope the snow is gone by then.
Next post from the airport Marriott in Evansville. For a glimpse of the past
Lake House
Behind the green is the house that Jimmy and Susan built. Named Torroemore by Susan, this is Matt, and now his Dad’s favorite vacation house. Photo taken August of ’03
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Photo taken this morning. A clear view of the bunkhouse, with bass boat, Wex (the poodle), and the manse on the hill. The deck is a relaxing place to write new blog entries…in the summer.
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