I have biked the twelve or so blocks from the Montlake bridge to my home many many times; certainly hundreds, possible thousands. Recently I have come to think of it as completely dead time. Not always of course. Occasionally there is some curiosity or good looking dog, or cute child or a new idea to take note of. But mostly it is just a matter of turning the pedals until I get home. I now often day dream of an instantaneous bodily transportation that eliminates the dead time and drops me at my door. I don’t want to change anything in the universe. I just want to skip the mindless minutes and be home. If I could just become unconscious for the few moments needed to make the ride, I suppose that would work.
Yesterday I rode to town. It was raining and because the ride starts with a climb I chose to wear only a bike shirt with arm warmers under a rain coat. It doesn’t take much climbing to be warm even in cold wet weather. When I had done my chore downtown I rode to Ballard on another task. That ride is basically flat and the rain had increased. I soon realized that it was quite cold. After passing some 20 minutes standing in conversation in a bike shop I faced about 4 miles of flat ride through the cold rain to get to the warmth of my house. I have often affirmed that there is no such thing as a bad bike ride. Riding is always good. Etc. etc. That is of course pure bull. There are unpleasant bike rides and I had one yesterday. But we come now to point. That ride led to a new state of mind. One not previously explicitly recognized, but once so noted, found in my memory.
On arriving home I shed my wet clothes, built a fire, and sat. No thinking. No reading. No eating. Not really warming especially at the fire. Simply, as near as I could tell, just being alive. And it was a pleasure. Just to be alive was enough.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Thursday, November 25, 2010
A Tribute
My wife and I bought our home on 26th Ave East, adjacent to the Arboretum, in 1970. We paid peanuts for it, even in those days. It has sheltered us. It has grounded us among many wonderful friends. It has provided parks, and water, and urban amenities, and cultural diversity and academic opportunities, all within walking distance. It has sustained us financially during several periods when we lived away from here. I cannot conceive of a more perfect place for us to have made our lives.
Often when a large group of people cooperate to achieve some good end, it is possible to identify one or two particular ones upon whom the enterprise truly depended; people without whom the end would not have been achieved. Maynard Arsove was such a person in the battle in the late sixties to halt construction of the R H Thompson Expressway in Seattle. Those off ramps to nowhere that we know so well are Maynard’s work. The Arboretum, as we know it, free of a North-South freeway, is also Maynard’s work. But when I think of Maynard I don’t think of him as the guy who stopped the R H Thompson, I think of him as the guy who saved my house. Without him, this place where I sit at this moment tapping on my computer would be a spot on the south bound lane, probably crammed with cars crawling home from work.
Here’s to you Maynard, with my eternal and heart felt gratitude.
Maynard passed peacefully on November 14th.
Often when a large group of people cooperate to achieve some good end, it is possible to identify one or two particular ones upon whom the enterprise truly depended; people without whom the end would not have been achieved. Maynard Arsove was such a person in the battle in the late sixties to halt construction of the R H Thompson Expressway in Seattle. Those off ramps to nowhere that we know so well are Maynard’s work. The Arboretum, as we know it, free of a North-South freeway, is also Maynard’s work. But when I think of Maynard I don’t think of him as the guy who stopped the R H Thompson, I think of him as the guy who saved my house. Without him, this place where I sit at this moment tapping on my computer would be a spot on the south bound lane, probably crammed with cars crawling home from work.
Here’s to you Maynard, with my eternal and heart felt gratitude.
Maynard passed peacefully on November 14th.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
The Answer to an Important Question
When I arrived at the gym today to do some yoga and cardio, I found a sign announcing an opportunity to get one’s body fat measured by the submersion method which is considered the best. I bit. An hour later, after expelling all the air I could from my lungs and lying on the bottom of a tank of comfortably warm water for a moment, a guy informed me that my body is about 19 % fat. He also provided a chart, calibrated by age, that indicated about five categories of this value ranging from life threatening up to healthy. (Just below healthy was good which is to say if you are only in the good category you are less than healthy in your percentage of body fat. How good is that?) 19% it turns out is just at the bottom of the healthy range, just above the not so good “good”.
Conclusion: I interpret this result as meaning that somehow I have managed in my life to eat just the right amount of ice cream. Any more and I would not be healthy. Any less and I would have gone without for no particular reason. What a relief.
Conclusion: I interpret this result as meaning that somehow I have managed in my life to eat just the right amount of ice cream. Any more and I would not be healthy. Any less and I would have gone without for no particular reason. What a relief.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
The First Wednesday in November 2010
Really the only thing wrong with the United States is that it is run by homo sapiens.
Get ready bugs. Your time can't be more than a couple hundred years away.
Get ready bugs. Your time can't be more than a couple hundred years away.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Gravity, The Real Winner
You have to really respect gravity. It is so patient, so subtle, so unassuming yet ultimately so victorious. It's going to get you, you know. Eventually. Not only will it swallow you into the earth, or at least clutch your remnants in tiny pieces flat to the earth's surface, it is going to do the same to everything you ever created. And not only you of course, but everyone including God, if you think God made the mountains. Good old gravity. Just sitting there tugging gently, unnoticed against it all. Well, I guess that recently there have been a couple of escapes, but a few cans of wire and metal tossed out of reach, hardly count against gravity's over all record. It's pretty impressive.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Doggerel
Some words assembled on the occasion of my wife's 70th birthday
Come Grow Old With Me
One time I chanced to see, on a bench beneath a tree
Some words carved with a knife, about the course of life.
Though tender was the verse, the truth it did reverse.
It said,” Grow old with me. The best is yet to be.”
The best is yet to be? This I’d like to see.
I stared at it bemused, my senses all abused
To say the last is best, just does not pass the test.
Our best I fear my dear, lies in the rear view mirror.
The future holds scant bliss. Reality is this.
Eyes grow dim and hair gets thin
Knees creak and bowels leak
Necks get crepey and tricepts drapey
As jowels sag and back is bent, the skin resembles old parch-ment.
As memory fades and wit expires, we find we’re running on old tires.
With withered grip and pruney lip, I fret about a rigid hip.
The future I must tell, just doesn’t seem that swell.
But come grow old with me.
When I meet eternity
It’s with you I want to be.
Come Grow Old With Me
One time I chanced to see, on a bench beneath a tree
Some words carved with a knife, about the course of life.
Though tender was the verse, the truth it did reverse.
It said,” Grow old with me. The best is yet to be.”
The best is yet to be? This I’d like to see.
I stared at it bemused, my senses all abused
To say the last is best, just does not pass the test.
Our best I fear my dear, lies in the rear view mirror.
The future holds scant bliss. Reality is this.
Eyes grow dim and hair gets thin
Knees creak and bowels leak
Necks get crepey and tricepts drapey
As jowels sag and back is bent, the skin resembles old parch-ment.
As memory fades and wit expires, we find we’re running on old tires.
With withered grip and pruney lip, I fret about a rigid hip.
The future I must tell, just doesn’t seem that swell.
But come grow old with me.
When I meet eternity
It’s with you I want to be.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Factory Art
Suppose, as a sort of satirical comment on contempory art, a person began to drag home every piece of rusty metal that lay in his twisted path through life and set them out in his yard. After fifteen years or so, what would it look like? Any chance his project would morph from satire into artistic pretention complete with a lame interpretation of the art form? Double click on the images for a better look.
Fredrick Faucet Hands aka Watering Man
Spirit Chairs
The Collage By The Garage
Four Gorillas Returning From A Pipe Hunt
Homer Simpson
Do You Call That Art?
I call it factory art, which implies that it was made in a factory so there were many identical items produced and it was made for some functional purpose and any visual appeal or interest it may have is accidental rather than intentional. But is it art? Since there is no, or almost no, artistic execution involved, it is hard to call it art. The role of factory artist is more that of discoverer than executor. But I will say that a number of legitimate artists have looked at the collection and none has ever said anything that was not encouraging. One opined that once a person puts something up to be looked at, then the thing is art. One time we hosted a party on behalf of friends so that we did not know a number of the guests. I was standing in the yard with two guys, one an engineer and the other a self described artist from Chicago. Indicating one of the pieces the engineer asked, “What does that do?” Before I could answer the artist said, “It’s doing it.” I took that as praise.
Not all these pieces fit the definition of factory art. Watering Man was intentionally made and the Spirit Chairs, while no doubt made in a factory are in fact not particularly interesting to gaze upon. What makes them interesting is what is not there to be seen. I used to favor those pieces that actually look enough like something to inspire a good name. Four Gorillas Returning From A Pipe Hunt is an example. Now I like best the ones that can sustain my attention. Collage By The Garage is an example of that. There is quite a bit to see there. If what you see is a bunch of hub caps, you’re missing it. It is a natural response to look at these things and say, “What is that? What was it made for?” That instinctive response is what you must get past in order to “see” the pieces.
I certainly know of pieces by legitimate artists that I find much less interesting, but there’s no accounting for taste.
Fredrick Faucet Hands aka Watering Man
Spirit Chairs
The Collage By The Garage
Four Gorillas Returning From A Pipe Hunt
Homer Simpson
Do You Call That Art?
I call it factory art, which implies that it was made in a factory so there were many identical items produced and it was made for some functional purpose and any visual appeal or interest it may have is accidental rather than intentional. But is it art? Since there is no, or almost no, artistic execution involved, it is hard to call it art. The role of factory artist is more that of discoverer than executor. But I will say that a number of legitimate artists have looked at the collection and none has ever said anything that was not encouraging. One opined that once a person puts something up to be looked at, then the thing is art. One time we hosted a party on behalf of friends so that we did not know a number of the guests. I was standing in the yard with two guys, one an engineer and the other a self described artist from Chicago. Indicating one of the pieces the engineer asked, “What does that do?” Before I could answer the artist said, “It’s doing it.” I took that as praise.
Not all these pieces fit the definition of factory art. Watering Man was intentionally made and the Spirit Chairs, while no doubt made in a factory are in fact not particularly interesting to gaze upon. What makes them interesting is what is not there to be seen. I used to favor those pieces that actually look enough like something to inspire a good name. Four Gorillas Returning From A Pipe Hunt is an example. Now I like best the ones that can sustain my attention. Collage By The Garage is an example of that. There is quite a bit to see there. If what you see is a bunch of hub caps, you’re missing it. It is a natural response to look at these things and say, “What is that? What was it made for?” That instinctive response is what you must get past in order to “see” the pieces.
I certainly know of pieces by legitimate artists that I find much less interesting, but there’s no accounting for taste.
A Conversation With Osama bin Laden
I had a day dream today in which I chanced to have a conversation with Osama bin Laden. I asked him, “How did you hope the United States would react to your attack on September 11, 2001?”
He said, “First of all I hoped you would get into a war with some Islamic country. Afghanistan would be good since the Afghans are so accustomed to fighting European invaders that they can do it forever. I didn’t predict your short term success, but I was pretty sure you’d regret it in the long run. Not only would it cost you in blood and treasury, but it would help to polarize attitudes on both sides of the struggle over the future of Islam, that is, will it modernize or not. Next I hoped it would incite a lot of anti Muslim sentiment in the U.S. with attendant displays of hatred. That would surely help my recruitment efforts. Third, I dared to hope that what was really only a symbolic strike given the size of the US, absolutely minor in real damage to either lives or property, would come to be interpreted as some kind of catastrophic blow. Since I didn’t really give a shit for your personal rights to privacy, trial by jury, etc. I didn’t particularly hope they would be curtailed. They mean nothing to me. Finally I hoped and I continue to fervently hope that you will never ever forget. You know, it was a pretty big day for me. I’d hate for you to just get over it.
Me: Well how’s it going for you then?
Him: Pretty well I’d say.
He said, “First of all I hoped you would get into a war with some Islamic country. Afghanistan would be good since the Afghans are so accustomed to fighting European invaders that they can do it forever. I didn’t predict your short term success, but I was pretty sure you’d regret it in the long run. Not only would it cost you in blood and treasury, but it would help to polarize attitudes on both sides of the struggle over the future of Islam, that is, will it modernize or not. Next I hoped it would incite a lot of anti Muslim sentiment in the U.S. with attendant displays of hatred. That would surely help my recruitment efforts. Third, I dared to hope that what was really only a symbolic strike given the size of the US, absolutely minor in real damage to either lives or property, would come to be interpreted as some kind of catastrophic blow. Since I didn’t really give a shit for your personal rights to privacy, trial by jury, etc. I didn’t particularly hope they would be curtailed. They mean nothing to me. Finally I hoped and I continue to fervently hope that you will never ever forget. You know, it was a pretty big day for me. I’d hate for you to just get over it.
Me: Well how’s it going for you then?
Him: Pretty well I’d say.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Good dog Kodi. Good dog.
The longer we go without losing a chicken or duck to some predator, the more relaxed we become about letting the poultry free range in the yard – and beyond. It has now been quite a long time, nearly a year, since we’ve had a loss and as usual we have become quite cavalier about the threat. However, in the last week or so there have been a couple of signs that there may be danger lurking in the woods out back. We’ve told ourselves to be careful, but it is such a pleasure to see the birds rush out of their cage to the lawn and pond that we can’t resist letting them go.
We’ve had Kodi for about four months now. She’s about six years old and came to us from a shelter. She’s a real sweetheart of a dog. She has no bad habits regarding people. She is patient with children. One of her first accomplishments was to help our four year old grandson get over his fear of dogs. She gives about two barks if a stranger comes in the front gate. That is just about right as far as we are concerned. Someone gave her good training. She is very well house broken. She comes. She sits. She heels. She lies down on command. She does these, that is, as long as she wants to. If she doesn’t want to then she’s not quite so good on the commands. And alas neither is she so good with other dogs.
Kodi has just finished a six week course called Rowdy Rover at which we hoped she would learn to be more polite in the company of her own kind. At the end of the fifth week the instructor announced that she felt she had a handle on each of the dogs in the class and proceeded to go down the list saying this or that about each one. She saved Kodi for last. What she said was, “As for Kodi, I think she just doesn’t like other dogs.” We took that to mean there’s not much chance ol’ Kodi is going to learn to be good with dogs. In fact she gets after cats, squirrels, and moles as well. Happily she mostly ignores the chickens and ducks, although a couple of times she has given them, and us, a little start by making a faux pass at them.
This afternoon I was occupied in the back of our house getting ready for a new furnace that is coming next week. The poultry were free in the side yard, scratching, pecking, dust bathing or pond bathing according to their likes. Kodi was secured in the front. At a certain point I heard sustained barking and at first thought it must be Toby the dog two houses to the south. As I listened more closely the sound seemed more to be coming from in front where Kodi was. I had never heard her bark so long and steadily so I thought I’d better see what was up. Upon entering at the north end of the front yard I saw Kodi across in the southwest corner, poised in an aggressive stance, barking into a thick rhododendron about three feet in front of her. When I called her name she ignored me. I hurried to her side. Expecting to see a squirrel, I peered into the bush where all Kodi’s attention was concentrated. It took a moment, but then I saw a pair of eyes staring back at me from behind a white mask. Kodi had treed a raccoon and she wasn’t letting it go.
Cute though they be, raccoons are the principal predators of our poultry. They are also pretty tough and I wasn’t at all sure how Kodi would fare if the two actually got together. Kodi seemed to have no such reservations. After a moment’s reflection I went and chased the birds into their pen. I decided there was really no point in trying to capture or kill the raccoon. I hoped his encounter with Kodi would be enough to keep him away from here in the future. Kodi continued to ignore my calling. I went to the kitchen to get some special food that might draw her away and finally chose some cheddar cheese. When I got back to the rhody, Kodi had moved in under the shrub and was snarling and barking. I couldn’t see the coon. Finally after about ten minutes Kodi emerged from the bushes and slowly eased over to the cheese where it lay on the grass. I slipped the leash onto her collar and with many strokes of her beautiful coat I gently led her into the house.
Without Kodi would the raccoon have gotten a duck or chicken? I can’t say for sure, but they certainly have in the past. Good dog Kodi. Good dog.
Click on the photo to make it large and then look for the eyes.
We’ve had Kodi for about four months now. She’s about six years old and came to us from a shelter. She’s a real sweetheart of a dog. She has no bad habits regarding people. She is patient with children. One of her first accomplishments was to help our four year old grandson get over his fear of dogs. She gives about two barks if a stranger comes in the front gate. That is just about right as far as we are concerned. Someone gave her good training. She is very well house broken. She comes. She sits. She heels. She lies down on command. She does these, that is, as long as she wants to. If she doesn’t want to then she’s not quite so good on the commands. And alas neither is she so good with other dogs.
Kodi has just finished a six week course called Rowdy Rover at which we hoped she would learn to be more polite in the company of her own kind. At the end of the fifth week the instructor announced that she felt she had a handle on each of the dogs in the class and proceeded to go down the list saying this or that about each one. She saved Kodi for last. What she said was, “As for Kodi, I think she just doesn’t like other dogs.” We took that to mean there’s not much chance ol’ Kodi is going to learn to be good with dogs. In fact she gets after cats, squirrels, and moles as well. Happily she mostly ignores the chickens and ducks, although a couple of times she has given them, and us, a little start by making a faux pass at them.
This afternoon I was occupied in the back of our house getting ready for a new furnace that is coming next week. The poultry were free in the side yard, scratching, pecking, dust bathing or pond bathing according to their likes. Kodi was secured in the front. At a certain point I heard sustained barking and at first thought it must be Toby the dog two houses to the south. As I listened more closely the sound seemed more to be coming from in front where Kodi was. I had never heard her bark so long and steadily so I thought I’d better see what was up. Upon entering at the north end of the front yard I saw Kodi across in the southwest corner, poised in an aggressive stance, barking into a thick rhododendron about three feet in front of her. When I called her name she ignored me. I hurried to her side. Expecting to see a squirrel, I peered into the bush where all Kodi’s attention was concentrated. It took a moment, but then I saw a pair of eyes staring back at me from behind a white mask. Kodi had treed a raccoon and she wasn’t letting it go.
Cute though they be, raccoons are the principal predators of our poultry. They are also pretty tough and I wasn’t at all sure how Kodi would fare if the two actually got together. Kodi seemed to have no such reservations. After a moment’s reflection I went and chased the birds into their pen. I decided there was really no point in trying to capture or kill the raccoon. I hoped his encounter with Kodi would be enough to keep him away from here in the future. Kodi continued to ignore my calling. I went to the kitchen to get some special food that might draw her away and finally chose some cheddar cheese. When I got back to the rhody, Kodi had moved in under the shrub and was snarling and barking. I couldn’t see the coon. Finally after about ten minutes Kodi emerged from the bushes and slowly eased over to the cheese where it lay on the grass. I slipped the leash onto her collar and with many strokes of her beautiful coat I gently led her into the house.
Without Kodi would the raccoon have gotten a duck or chicken? I can’t say for sure, but they certainly have in the past. Good dog Kodi. Good dog.
Click on the photo to make it large and then look for the eyes.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Reasons Not To Shave
Oh, there are so many. I will offer just one.
Today I was returning from the donut store with a well stocked trailer when, in a snitzy neighborhood on Capital Hill, I came upon a dumpster nearly full of stuff generated by a remodeling project. Of course I stopped to have a look and was rewarded with some useful stuff. Since a worker was standing nearby, before helping myself, I asked it that would be OK. He replied, "Take all you want, Sir."
Now I affirm to you dear reader, absent a white beard, no dumpster diver ever gets addressed as Sir.
Today I was returning from the donut store with a well stocked trailer when, in a snitzy neighborhood on Capital Hill, I came upon a dumpster nearly full of stuff generated by a remodeling project. Of course I stopped to have a look and was rewarded with some useful stuff. Since a worker was standing nearby, before helping myself, I asked it that would be OK. He replied, "Take all you want, Sir."
Now I affirm to you dear reader, absent a white beard, no dumpster diver ever gets addressed as Sir.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Flying on Delta and Other Disappointments
Once, when I was young, people treated doctors with reverence. We listened uncritically to what they had to tell us and we meekly trusted their advice. These days - not so much.
I recently found myself seated in the fuselage of a rather large aircraft which was about to leave the ground. Or maybe it was already airborne when the cabin attendant announced, "We're flying today with Capt. Bob and First Officer Eric."
Listen, unless the guy is Capt. Sully, I don't want to know him by his nick name, if you don't mind.
I recently found myself seated in the fuselage of a rather large aircraft which was about to leave the ground. Or maybe it was already airborne when the cabin attendant announced, "We're flying today with Capt. Bob and First Officer Eric."
Listen, unless the guy is Capt. Sully, I don't want to know him by his nick name, if you don't mind.
The Would-Be Runner's Prayer
The difference between a would-be runner and a real runner is that a real runner likes to run, whereas a would-be runner, when he or she runs, is doing it for some alternative motive. The would-be runner's prayer is:
Lord, deliver me from thinking how good it would feel to stop.
Lord, deliver me from thinking how good it would feel to stop.
Friday, July 23, 2010
This I'd Like To See
.
You may know of a little flap at the UN these days arising from a letter from a departing official that was strongly critical of the secretary general. The letter got leaked to the press. I just read a report stating that several current officials have now come out in support of the secretary general and one was quoted as saying that the offending letter was full of ommisions. Think about that.
You may know of a little flap at the UN these days arising from a letter from a departing official that was strongly critical of the secretary general. The letter got leaked to the press. I just read a report stating that several current officials have now come out in support of the secretary general and one was quoted as saying that the offending letter was full of ommisions. Think about that.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Never before in 72 years and 1 day
Around noon today I was sitting on the side porch in the sun when a pair of copulating flies landed on my forearm. I saw them approach and thought they were one bee, but when they landed they were very easy to see. One was mounted on the back of the other. They were very still and I watched them for what seemed a long time. It seemed like I could swat them easily, but what would be the point? What I really wanted was a picture, but when I eventually rose to go inside for a camera, they flew away.
I guess I have not yet seen it all.
I guess I have not yet seen it all.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
An idium is born?
In a recent post to our neighborhood forum a person described an encounter with a solicitor.
A nice looking young man came to the door this evening....When I asked him for identification and his permit he hesitated, wasn't able to produce proper ID...He had one page filled with the names, addresses, phone/email and signatures. In this day and age of rampant identity theft, and home robberies would it not be wise to side with the air of caution...?
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Toilet Paper - Beyond Wikipedia
Recent studies have also shown that hanging toilet paper in the 'overhand' manner significantly reduces usage when compared to hanging in the 'underhand' manner. Researchers speculate the overhand method reduces the likelihood of uncontrolled unwinding occurring. Other studies have suggested that those who prefer hanging toilet paper in the 'overhand' method have statistically significant higher socioeconomic status vis-a-vis those who prefer to use the 'underhand' method.
I think there is a little more that might be said on the topic in general.
So far as I know there are two things to do with TP between the time it is taken from the roll and when it is put to use. It can be folded or it can be scrunched. (I can imagine a third option, but it seems so unlikely that anyone would tear off individual pieces and stack them that I will not address that approach.) Actually I don’t have much of an address on the other two options. Really all I have are questions.
Which method is most commonly used? Is the choice gender linked? Which method uses the most material? Is one method faster than the other? Do scrunchers get a second or third application from a single tear off? For a given length of material is break-through more common with one method than the other? Is finger nail length a factor in this? Are there those who use both? If so, on what basis do they decide which method to adopt?
Just wondering.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Two Cyclists Get To Talking
I had just pulled to a stop at a red light when another rider came up beside me and said "On your left". This is common and polite verbiage when passing another rider, but it was a bit unusual given that we were stopped. I think for this reason she said it quietly and as we stood there went on to say, "I am riding only a bit faster than you" or words to that effect. She was fifty something I would say. She had one pannier that appeared to be full and carried on her shoulders a loaded day pack. Atop her handle bar bag rested a map. The light turned green almost immediately and she pulled away in front, but at the very next intersection there was a stop sign and as I came up next to her I chirped, "Where are you going with that map?" She didn't appear to be going to the office.
"I don't want to get into any long conversations" she replied.
We traveled on in silence, about four feet apart, for several blocks.
I did not say "So long" when I turned off her course.
"I don't want to get into any long conversations" she replied.
We traveled on in silence, about four feet apart, for several blocks.
I did not say "So long" when I turned off her course.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
A Shaggy Dog Story
About six weeks ago we agreed with the two women living next door that we should get a dog, to be shared between our two households. Just over two weeks ago we all went to a shelter to meet and ultimately to adopt a fine pooch. She is about 5 years old, of medium size, about 75 pounds, with a handsome not quite shaggy coat and most important of all a lovely disposition, at least as people are concerned. She is quite smart and someone has trained her well. She seems to have but one drawback. She does not care for her own species. On seeing another dog she invariably freezes into an aggressive posture which at best leads to a stare down. At worst she snarls, snaps and lunges at the other beast with the apparent intent of having it for lunch. We always walk her on a leash so as yet no blood has been spilt. This is however at least embarrassing and at worst tending to give the leash holder a sore shoulder. We are hopeful that this rudeness can be overcome in time.
Peggy is a woman in the neighborhood who once owned and loved a dog, but as happens, lost him to age. Her response was to take up dog walking as a profession and is now to be seen several times a day with one to four dogs out for some exercise. She also seems pretty knowledgeable as to our cannine friends and we have chatted several times in the time leading up to and since getting our dog. A couple of days ago she instructed me with care and at some length about what to do when out with Kodiak and meeting another dog. I am to get Kody to sit, stand in front of her so she can't see the other dog and make her focus on me, while petting her and trying to make her feel at ease. As it happened that very afternoon while walking Kody I saw Peggy approaching on the other side of the street, with 2 or 3 dogs in hand. I immediately thought, "There's my mentor. I must do this right." I stepped in front of Kodi, got her to sit and kept her attention on my face. I knew Peggy and her charges were passing behind me, but I did not look away from my dog. Then after a moment I heard Peggy say in a crisp voice, "Good boy Paul". I did not however get a milk bone.
Peggy is a woman in the neighborhood who once owned and loved a dog, but as happens, lost him to age. Her response was to take up dog walking as a profession and is now to be seen several times a day with one to four dogs out for some exercise. She also seems pretty knowledgeable as to our cannine friends and we have chatted several times in the time leading up to and since getting our dog. A couple of days ago she instructed me with care and at some length about what to do when out with Kodiak and meeting another dog. I am to get Kody to sit, stand in front of her so she can't see the other dog and make her focus on me, while petting her and trying to make her feel at ease. As it happened that very afternoon while walking Kody I saw Peggy approaching on the other side of the street, with 2 or 3 dogs in hand. I immediately thought, "There's my mentor. I must do this right." I stepped in front of Kodi, got her to sit and kept her attention on my face. I knew Peggy and her charges were passing behind me, but I did not look away from my dog. Then after a moment I heard Peggy say in a crisp voice, "Good boy Paul". I did not however get a milk bone.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Renting Property
The first space we ever collected rent for was in our basement under the kitchen. The bed was in a loft tucked under the stairs. We got 50 bucks a month I think. About the third person to stay there, Susan (shoes on) Sugai, remained with us for several years. She cared for our son Nat on the morning Beth and I were at the hospital for the birth of our daughter Meredith. She came from her home in Alaska to the weddings of both kids. She was the first, but far from the last, to transition from tenant to friend.
Over the years I have evolved a rental process in which I ask prospective tenants to complete a questionnaire which includes the amount of rent they consider appropriate and affordable. I almost always get responses from several people before making a decision and very frequently the decisions are difficult because there is more than one attractive candidate. I am involved in this process now for the little cottage we own in the University District and I have three couples to choose between.
The first couple is married and have been traveling and living freely for several years and now are ready to settle down and stay in one place. This could be code for "have a baby", but that was not said. They said all the right words about the little house that I like a lot and seem both able and inclined to give it good care. The woman could be a TV newscaster. In addition to being pretty she was dressed in completely conventional wear. The husband however has shoulder length tresses falling from beneath his baseball cap (worn with the bill forward). The second couple was represented only by the female. She seemed like a total long shot when we spoke on the phone, but when I opened the door there she stood, bike helmet in hand. That was just the first small karmic element. She is a graduate of Nat's alma mater, Bastyr University school of alternative medicine where she majored in nutrition and psychology. She inspected the premises thoroughly, the most anyone ever has, corrected my misidentification of a certain herb, spoke of raising some vegetables and of her partner who teaches yoga and is currently on a two month long silent retreat in California. She can't speak to him for another week, but she stayed and talked to me for nearly an hour. Her middle name is Sage, a word that is pleasing as a noun and admirable as an adjectives. She emitted a sense of quiet competence and was just off beat enough (Sage) to be interesting. Her boyfriend bares the hopelessly Republican name Brent. Overcoming that to become a yoga teaching semi-monk is a sound accomplishment in my book. The third person, also a woman representing an absent man, appeared late in the day. She is a curve ball, a poseur. She is a complete fake out. As she stood before me in her flower child clothes with a dredlock hanging from each temple I knew I need not waste time with her. What was she thinking? Had she not seen that the rent would be around a thousand dollars a month. I let her look around on her own. Her inspection was cursory. Quite soon she returned to me and we began to talk. Mostly just to be polite I asked where she is in life, what she is up to. The answer stunned me. She's taking graduate classes in computer-linguistics. Immediately I knew she is not only smarter than I thought, but also smarter than I am. We talked on for some twenty minutes. Eventually I mentioned her appearance and how she had thrown me off. It's just the way she chooses to dress. No further reason. I love it. She has the most sound financial position of the three.
Advice is welcome.
Over the years I have evolved a rental process in which I ask prospective tenants to complete a questionnaire which includes the amount of rent they consider appropriate and affordable. I almost always get responses from several people before making a decision and very frequently the decisions are difficult because there is more than one attractive candidate. I am involved in this process now for the little cottage we own in the University District and I have three couples to choose between.
The first couple is married and have been traveling and living freely for several years and now are ready to settle down and stay in one place. This could be code for "have a baby", but that was not said. They said all the right words about the little house that I like a lot and seem both able and inclined to give it good care. The woman could be a TV newscaster. In addition to being pretty she was dressed in completely conventional wear. The husband however has shoulder length tresses falling from beneath his baseball cap (worn with the bill forward). The second couple was represented only by the female. She seemed like a total long shot when we spoke on the phone, but when I opened the door there she stood, bike helmet in hand. That was just the first small karmic element. She is a graduate of Nat's alma mater, Bastyr University school of alternative medicine where she majored in nutrition and psychology. She inspected the premises thoroughly, the most anyone ever has, corrected my misidentification of a certain herb, spoke of raising some vegetables and of her partner who teaches yoga and is currently on a two month long silent retreat in California. She can't speak to him for another week, but she stayed and talked to me for nearly an hour. Her middle name is Sage, a word that is pleasing as a noun and admirable as an adjectives. She emitted a sense of quiet competence and was just off beat enough (Sage) to be interesting. Her boyfriend bares the hopelessly Republican name Brent. Overcoming that to become a yoga teaching semi-monk is a sound accomplishment in my book. The third person, also a woman representing an absent man, appeared late in the day. She is a curve ball, a poseur. She is a complete fake out. As she stood before me in her flower child clothes with a dredlock hanging from each temple I knew I need not waste time with her. What was she thinking? Had she not seen that the rent would be around a thousand dollars a month. I let her look around on her own. Her inspection was cursory. Quite soon she returned to me and we began to talk. Mostly just to be polite I asked where she is in life, what she is up to. The answer stunned me. She's taking graduate classes in computer-linguistics. Immediately I knew she is not only smarter than I thought, but also smarter than I am. We talked on for some twenty minutes. Eventually I mentioned her appearance and how she had thrown me off. It's just the way she chooses to dress. No further reason. I love it. She has the most sound financial position of the three.
Advice is welcome.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A Visit To The Doctor
.
“Your biopsy is negative for cancer”
“Huh?”
In a day surgery last week my wife gave up one of her four parathyroids. She didn’t need it. Yesterday while she was waiting to see the doctor for a follow up, a nurse passed by and cheerily said, “Negative for cancer.” What makes this a notable event was not the great relief she felt, but the surprise, or even shock that there was any suspicion of cancer. The misbehaving parathyroid was excised because it was causing her to lose bone density. No one had mentioned anything about cancer. We celebrated last night with a glass of sparkling apple juice. That seemed about right.
The parathyroidectomy got me thinking about losing body parts, how common it is, how many we seem able to do without. In a way you can think of life as a process of bodily erosion. It starts in infancy with your toe and finger nails. Before long somebody is cutting off your hair. (If you cut off half an inch of hair a month and live for 80 years you will have grown and cut off 12 times 40 inches or 40 feet.) Of course your skin has been shedding from the get go, long before you have to pay someone to take it off by the piece. You can lose a digit or even a larger extremity and still carry on. We’re told that one of the kidneys is superfluous. Take that. Teeth, tonsils, gall bladder, spleen, cellulose, appendix. Where does it stop? Apparently somewhere beyond breasts, lymph nodes, and uterus. I venture guys could get by after a nipplectomy. There are four parathyroids. You need only about half of one to survive.
Opps. This is now my second revision or third attempt to get it right. I'm stunned at how wrong is the third sentence of the previous paragraph. The removal process actually starts on about day three with your foreskin, or apparently in some places the labia major. I'm not quite sure about this. Also sometimes taken are the gonads and scrotum. In humans I think this is usually delayed a few years. If you happen to own a prostate gland, you can't be sure of taking it to the grave. Also on the list could be moles, warts, hemangiomas, and hair from legs, eye brows and backs. I now have no confidence at all that my list is complete, but perhaps I have now listed all the really interesting parts.
There are of course always gray areas. Partial part removal such as for biopsy would include just about everything I suppose so let's just say this is a list of whole part removal. There is also the odd situation in which one may lose the use of a part but not the part itself. The colostomy procedure comes to mind. I believe this is the end of this post.
Well there you have both an anecdote and a musing, but is it at all amusing?
“Your biopsy is negative for cancer”
“Huh?”
In a day surgery last week my wife gave up one of her four parathyroids. She didn’t need it. Yesterday while she was waiting to see the doctor for a follow up, a nurse passed by and cheerily said, “Negative for cancer.” What makes this a notable event was not the great relief she felt, but the surprise, or even shock that there was any suspicion of cancer. The misbehaving parathyroid was excised because it was causing her to lose bone density. No one had mentioned anything about cancer. We celebrated last night with a glass of sparkling apple juice. That seemed about right.
The parathyroidectomy got me thinking about losing body parts, how common it is, how many we seem able to do without. In a way you can think of life as a process of bodily erosion. It starts in infancy with your toe and finger nails. Before long somebody is cutting off your hair. (If you cut off half an inch of hair a month and live for 80 years you will have grown and cut off 12 times 40 inches or 40 feet.) Of course your skin has been shedding from the get go, long before you have to pay someone to take it off by the piece. You can lose a digit or even a larger extremity and still carry on. We’re told that one of the kidneys is superfluous. Take that. Teeth, tonsils, gall bladder, spleen, cellulose, appendix. Where does it stop? Apparently somewhere beyond breasts, lymph nodes, and uterus. I venture guys could get by after a nipplectomy. There are four parathyroids. You need only about half of one to survive.
Opps. This is now my second revision or third attempt to get it right. I'm stunned at how wrong is the third sentence of the previous paragraph. The removal process actually starts on about day three with your foreskin, or apparently in some places the labia major. I'm not quite sure about this. Also sometimes taken are the gonads and scrotum. In humans I think this is usually delayed a few years. If you happen to own a prostate gland, you can't be sure of taking it to the grave. Also on the list could be moles, warts, hemangiomas, and hair from legs, eye brows and backs. I now have no confidence at all that my list is complete, but perhaps I have now listed all the really interesting parts.
There are of course always gray areas. Partial part removal such as for biopsy would include just about everything I suppose so let's just say this is a list of whole part removal. There is also the odd situation in which one may lose the use of a part but not the part itself. The colostomy procedure comes to mind. I believe this is the end of this post.
Well there you have both an anecdote and a musing, but is it at all amusing?
Saturday, February 20, 2010
A Tale of Pride and Punishment
.
I went to the Safeway yesterday, to buy some laundry soap. As I neared the check out stand, with soap in hand I saw that a set of self serve check out stations had been installed since my last visit. Though the express lane adjacent to the self serve stations was without a line, I stepped boldly and confidently and I might say even a little smugly past a customer who was getting help from a young Safeway employee to the self serve station beyond. I after all, had done this before, at the Home Depot. You already know the outcome of course. Of the two possible outcomes, success or failure, only one would make a story.
I can’t remember with any precision the individual steps of this particular humiliation. I believe it was at about the fourth screen that the first expletive slipped softly from my lips. I think that was what brought the young lady to my side, she with her lightening fingers, her ever so patient voice and her magic all-purpose plastic card that swipes away the work of the uninitiated and incompetent. I know she was with me for about twice the time it would have taken her to ring up my soap at a check stand. I know there was reversal of the charge for the second, phantom, bottle of detergent that I had somehow recorded. I know she left me with the words, “There, now just blah, blah, blah.” I know the last screen, the one that I turned my back on to make my way to the still empty express lane, said “Continue your transaction at the pin pad.” It wasn’t that I didn't know what a pin pad is, or couldn’t find it. I think I had that. It was that I had no idea whatsoever what I might do in order to continue. I find that in order to continue at a pin pad it is necessary to have at least some vague idea what to do in order to continue.
I went to the Safeway yesterday, to buy some laundry soap. As I neared the check out stand, with soap in hand I saw that a set of self serve check out stations had been installed since my last visit. Though the express lane adjacent to the self serve stations was without a line, I stepped boldly and confidently and I might say even a little smugly past a customer who was getting help from a young Safeway employee to the self serve station beyond. I after all, had done this before, at the Home Depot. You already know the outcome of course. Of the two possible outcomes, success or failure, only one would make a story.
I can’t remember with any precision the individual steps of this particular humiliation. I believe it was at about the fourth screen that the first expletive slipped softly from my lips. I think that was what brought the young lady to my side, she with her lightening fingers, her ever so patient voice and her magic all-purpose plastic card that swipes away the work of the uninitiated and incompetent. I know she was with me for about twice the time it would have taken her to ring up my soap at a check stand. I know there was reversal of the charge for the second, phantom, bottle of detergent that I had somehow recorded. I know she left me with the words, “There, now just blah, blah, blah.” I know the last screen, the one that I turned my back on to make my way to the still empty express lane, said “Continue your transaction at the pin pad.” It wasn’t that I didn't know what a pin pad is, or couldn’t find it. I think I had that. It was that I had no idea whatsoever what I might do in order to continue. I find that in order to continue at a pin pad it is necessary to have at least some vague idea what to do in order to continue.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Dental Floss
.
This morning, when I had finished using it, I measured the length of my dental floss. It was twenty and a half inches. According to the label there are 43.7 yards (40 meters) on the spool. I floss nearly every day, probably 360 times a year. That would take 7,380 inches of floss or 4.7 spools. My father lived to be 96. If I do the same, (Strangely I find that I’ve come to assume I will.) that would be another 24.75 years, or measured in spools of dental floss, 116.3. My life expectancy measured in feet of dental floss is about 15,221¼ . Of course if I live to be 96 I may not floss on the day I die. Why would anyone floss during the last month of life? The whole point of dental hygiene, the brushing, the flossing, the going to the dentist, is to not out live your teeth. I think a person could safely quit flossing at least 2 years before dying.
My current floss is described on its container with 6 words. Isn’t that remarkable? Here they are: Crest, Glide, Deep, Clean, Cool, and Mint. So, two names, two adjectives and some kind of compound grammatical error. I guess what was meant was “deep cleaning”.
I once thought it might be interesting to compose a list of the most boring things I do. The first item on my list was flossing. On a recent visit to my optometrist I was instructed in a certain ritual cleaning of my eye lashes to be carried out each morning. Fat chance I’m going to start that.
This morning, when I had finished using it, I measured the length of my dental floss. It was twenty and a half inches. According to the label there are 43.7 yards (40 meters) on the spool. I floss nearly every day, probably 360 times a year. That would take 7,380 inches of floss or 4.7 spools. My father lived to be 96. If I do the same, (Strangely I find that I’ve come to assume I will.) that would be another 24.75 years, or measured in spools of dental floss, 116.3. My life expectancy measured in feet of dental floss is about 15,221¼ . Of course if I live to be 96 I may not floss on the day I die. Why would anyone floss during the last month of life? The whole point of dental hygiene, the brushing, the flossing, the going to the dentist, is to not out live your teeth. I think a person could safely quit flossing at least 2 years before dying.
My current floss is described on its container with 6 words. Isn’t that remarkable? Here they are: Crest, Glide, Deep, Clean, Cool, and Mint. So, two names, two adjectives and some kind of compound grammatical error. I guess what was meant was “deep cleaning”.
I once thought it might be interesting to compose a list of the most boring things I do. The first item on my list was flossing. On a recent visit to my optometrist I was instructed in a certain ritual cleaning of my eye lashes to be carried out each morning. Fat chance I’m going to start that.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Fear
.
I doubt if there is any human emotion more elemental than fear. Others may be its equal, but none surpass it in defining what we are. Fear of physical harm, fear of loss, fear of shame compel us, often in unflattering directions. Much of our most craven, least humane behavior results from some sort of fear. I can’t recall Timothy McVeigh’s motives, but the Alabama Sunday School bombers were surely afraid of the coming end of their way of life. Fear can strip from us the veneer of civilized life that we wear so comfortably and thoughtlessly in ordinary circumstances.
The survival value of fear is easy to see. I’m not sure if fish have fear or just swim about oblivious to danger, right up to the moment when they meet their end, but surely it was not too long after the creatures that were to become mammals crawled out of the sea, that something like fear began to evolve. Those creatures who had some of it did better than those without it, and that’s why we have it now. I wonder though if the creatures at the top of the food chain today know fear. Is a grizzly ever frightened or do they just go where they want and do what they want without a second thought? Humans, who might be thought of as being at the top of the food chain, (though not by me) of course have fear of their own kind. I don’t think male grizzlies do that. I think maybe a male grizzly just does not know what fear is.
Perhaps the most striking part of a visit to the Galapagos Islands is to walk among wild animals that have no fear of humans. It's really stunning to have one’s presence go rather unnoticed by all manner of bird, reptile and seal. Of course these same creatures may fear something else. The remarkable experience is for the human who is accustomed to being feared to suddenly not inspire fear.
There are those of us who at times appear virtually fearless. Perhaps it is not that the sky diver is fearless, but that he or she does not allow the fear they feel to dominate their actions. Or perhaps some have such confidence in the engineering and physics of the situation that they have no more adrenaline rush than others have when they get into a car.
And finally we come to the politically motivated suicide. What is the fear quotient of a person who is walking around with a load of high explosives taped to his torso? Is this person fearless, or simply in control of his fear? I surely don’t know, but I have a hunch that that Nigerian son of a banker, had something going on that was a lot like FEAR. He sat for hours and hours with explosives strapped to his body. What was he thinking about all that time? We are not programmed to seek death. We are the opposite. After he went to the bathroom and had the greatest bowel movement of his life, what did he do? He was there in that private space with whatever time he needed to insure that all was well with his bomb. In fact he could have detonated it to equal effect right there. I suspect that it was not the bomb that failed, but the bomber and that the failure was due to fear.
I doubt if there is any human emotion more elemental than fear. Others may be its equal, but none surpass it in defining what we are. Fear of physical harm, fear of loss, fear of shame compel us, often in unflattering directions. Much of our most craven, least humane behavior results from some sort of fear. I can’t recall Timothy McVeigh’s motives, but the Alabama Sunday School bombers were surely afraid of the coming end of their way of life. Fear can strip from us the veneer of civilized life that we wear so comfortably and thoughtlessly in ordinary circumstances.
The survival value of fear is easy to see. I’m not sure if fish have fear or just swim about oblivious to danger, right up to the moment when they meet their end, but surely it was not too long after the creatures that were to become mammals crawled out of the sea, that something like fear began to evolve. Those creatures who had some of it did better than those without it, and that’s why we have it now. I wonder though if the creatures at the top of the food chain today know fear. Is a grizzly ever frightened or do they just go where they want and do what they want without a second thought? Humans, who might be thought of as being at the top of the food chain, (though not by me) of course have fear of their own kind. I don’t think male grizzlies do that. I think maybe a male grizzly just does not know what fear is.
Perhaps the most striking part of a visit to the Galapagos Islands is to walk among wild animals that have no fear of humans. It's really stunning to have one’s presence go rather unnoticed by all manner of bird, reptile and seal. Of course these same creatures may fear something else. The remarkable experience is for the human who is accustomed to being feared to suddenly not inspire fear.
There are those of us who at times appear virtually fearless. Perhaps it is not that the sky diver is fearless, but that he or she does not allow the fear they feel to dominate their actions. Or perhaps some have such confidence in the engineering and physics of the situation that they have no more adrenaline rush than others have when they get into a car.
And finally we come to the politically motivated suicide. What is the fear quotient of a person who is walking around with a load of high explosives taped to his torso? Is this person fearless, or simply in control of his fear? I surely don’t know, but I have a hunch that that Nigerian son of a banker, had something going on that was a lot like FEAR. He sat for hours and hours with explosives strapped to his body. What was he thinking about all that time? We are not programmed to seek death. We are the opposite. After he went to the bathroom and had the greatest bowel movement of his life, what did he do? He was there in that private space with whatever time he needed to insure that all was well with his bomb. In fact he could have detonated it to equal effect right there. I suspect that it was not the bomb that failed, but the bomber and that the failure was due to fear.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Annual Report 2009
.
What follows is the text of our annual letter minus certain personal remarks that embellished most of the individual transmittals.
On February 27 Meredith gave birth to Theodore Christopher Reinhart. This certainly swamps all other events of the year. He’s a big boy; currently 95th percentile in height and 75th in weight. He and his mom and dad have been with us for the past 5 days and he’s doing fine, crawling all about, pulling to stand, making faces and guttural noises. He’s generally very jolly except when it comes to sleeping. Somehow in a complete reversal of his genetic make up, he is not such a great sleeper. He’s been sleeping in our bedroom while here in order to give his folks a few full nights of rest. Now we are ready for the same. Meredith has surprised herself and others with a previously unrevealed gift for child care.
The family continues to live a bit in limbo in Arlington VA. They would prefer to be in the Northwest, but both have good employment in the East and this is probably not the time to be walking out on a good job.
Our darling Phoenix (son of Nat) continues to inspire in us all the love a grandparent could possibly feel. We get to see him at least weekly and often more. He loves to laugh and when he does his flashing eyes and dimpled smile light up the room and our hearts. Through the first four years of his life he was virtually never naughty and he certainly never felt the sting of a hand on his backside, (unlike his father). But about a month ago he learned that naughty can be fun. He has been employing this new found wisdom with some regularity for a few weeks, and presenting his paternal grandfather with some philosophical problems.
The poultry population around here is up to 5 chickens and now, due to some caring friends, 2 ducks. As predicted by Meredith several years ago, none has yet called Beth grandma and until they do they continue to live outside. FYI chickens appear to be substantially smarter than ducks. Roosters are not allowed in the city, but one of the ducks is a drake and he and his partner were at it this morning on the pond. Could there be ducklings in the spring?
We are personally in good health and comfortable in all important ways although age continues to nibble away at us and we are aware of the fact. In fact it is in my mind just about all the time. Any substantive thought that may have occurred to me this year is buried within the drivel of this blog. http://www.anecdotesandmusings.blogspot.com
We send our best wishes for the new year to you and yours.
Paul and Beth
What follows is the text of our annual letter minus certain personal remarks that embellished most of the individual transmittals.
On February 27 Meredith gave birth to Theodore Christopher Reinhart. This certainly swamps all other events of the year. He’s a big boy; currently 95th percentile in height and 75th in weight. He and his mom and dad have been with us for the past 5 days and he’s doing fine, crawling all about, pulling to stand, making faces and guttural noises. He’s generally very jolly except when it comes to sleeping. Somehow in a complete reversal of his genetic make up, he is not such a great sleeper. He’s been sleeping in our bedroom while here in order to give his folks a few full nights of rest. Now we are ready for the same. Meredith has surprised herself and others with a previously unrevealed gift for child care.
The family continues to live a bit in limbo in Arlington VA. They would prefer to be in the Northwest, but both have good employment in the East and this is probably not the time to be walking out on a good job.
Our darling Phoenix (son of Nat) continues to inspire in us all the love a grandparent could possibly feel. We get to see him at least weekly and often more. He loves to laugh and when he does his flashing eyes and dimpled smile light up the room and our hearts. Through the first four years of his life he was virtually never naughty and he certainly never felt the sting of a hand on his backside, (unlike his father). But about a month ago he learned that naughty can be fun. He has been employing this new found wisdom with some regularity for a few weeks, and presenting his paternal grandfather with some philosophical problems.
The poultry population around here is up to 5 chickens and now, due to some caring friends, 2 ducks. As predicted by Meredith several years ago, none has yet called Beth grandma and until they do they continue to live outside. FYI chickens appear to be substantially smarter than ducks. Roosters are not allowed in the city, but one of the ducks is a drake and he and his partner were at it this morning on the pond. Could there be ducklings in the spring?
We are personally in good health and comfortable in all important ways although age continues to nibble away at us and we are aware of the fact. In fact it is in my mind just about all the time. Any substantive thought that may have occurred to me this year is buried within the drivel of this blog. http://www.anecdotesandmusings.blogspot.com
We send our best wishes for the new year to you and yours.
Paul and Beth
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