Michael got back

Apparently I've been living wrong for my entire life. At least that's what my physical therapist says. And I need to change before it's too late. It all started when I tried to lift the trailer tongue using an incorrect method. I knew it was wrong, but I've been doing it wrong for years. But this time something deep inside my lower back went boooiiinnngggg and I knew I had a problem.

So now I need to learn anew how to do simply daily tasks without using my lower back. Drop a pencil? Deep curtsey to retrieve. Need to get out of bed? Roll to your side, swing legs over the edge and pivot to a sitting position? Want to spit out toothpaste? Hold on to sink front and bend at the hips and knees to provide an adequate angle of attack. Simon says to touch your toes? Just say no! Most of all, contrary to what may be considered polite in society, therapist says not to be shy. Save the back by sticking out the derriere and bending at the hips.

[think "Sir Mix-a-lot"]
... then turn around! Stick it out!
Even white boys got to shout!
Michael got back

If you love something, set it free.

When Sharon and I were dating - let's call it spring of 1986 - we took on a small side job packing the stuff of an artsy kind of guy for his impending move. We arrived bearing boxes, tape, and packing paper. And after a long day of packing, we left with sore muscles, some cash in our pocket and several excess "door prizes" that have followed us thru our married life.

The items in question included "the weeds" - a clump of woody stems that were roughly six feet tall that we moved to Florida and MAY have even moved back. They were lovingly displayed in the corner behind the couch or behind the television or some other appropriate corner. Also some wicker something - I forget what, but I picture wicker.

But the real story was the pieces of glass. It was approximately four feet square and three-quarters of an inch thick - and weighed seventy pounds or so. We wrapped it up and somehow schlepped it into the basement of our Baltimore apartment. Then we schlepped it to Florida where it sat in Sharon's parent's garage. It then traveled to our garage on Bayharbor Terrace, to our shed on Kelbaugh road and finally to the garage at Gracerock.

And now we've decided that, after twenty-six years of togetherness, it's time to set the glass free. As in "free to good home - one heavy-ass piece of glass that is both well-traveled and well-seasoned". First come, first served. Bring a friend to help you load.

What has become of Thanksgiving?

Today is the fourth Thursday of November. If you boil down the majority of newspaper articles into a theme, the result is that today is a day to eat as much as possible in order to go shopping tomorrow. Shopping? Yes, shopping. In order to prepare for that next major holiday - the one that celebrates retail sales. If you get to WalMart between 10pm and midnight tonight, you can maybe buy one of the two new eReaders for only ten dollars. Certainly cause for celebration and remembrance. Oh, and travel will be difficult.

The price of stove-ready wood

Stove-ready wood - even on our own property - comes at a cost. You see, it requires a tree that has been dead for a year or more, but hasn't had the good sense to topple earthward. And even though the tree may still be standing, critters have attacked the base and its fibers have become brittle - causing my angst.

Anyone can fell a tree. The skill - nee art - is to have it land in a place certain. With a live or recently deceased tree, the inner fibers are intact. Cut a notch toward the desired direction of fall and make a hinge cut 180 degrees from fall. Fibers hold the trunk together and it goes as/where planned. Standing dead doesn't work that way. Fibers snap instead of bend and tree falls where it wants, often shedding dead branches in the process. Hard hat is mandatory!

Finally - what the photo above represents. Tree 1 is the lower tree. It fell 20 degrees off course and got hung up in another tree. Ask Chris or Alex and they'll tell you this is par for my felling record. They have simply never been around for a live tree felling operation... So, I thought that I'd topple tree 2 on top of tree 1, sending them both to the ground. Another 20 degree twist and tree 2 instead landed in another tree top. Fortunately, plan C worked like a charm. Attach strap around tree 2 and give a quick tug with the tractor. Down it came onto tree 1 - then to terra firma.

While this may seem like a lot of effort, the process is really a wonderful diversion to life as we know it.

Apostrophy's gone wild!

Many of you may not know this, but I am a secret member of the underground apostrophe police. Not a day goes by that I couldn't issue several citations for minor or serious infractions. Now, I know that English is a difficult language, but many of us have been using it nearly all of our lives. One would think that some of the basics would have stuck by now. Or are there new rules that haven't made it into Strunk & White yet? Maybe the "when in doubt, add an apostrophe" rule. When inappropriate use makes it into print media, I feel pain.

Now, I will grant that there are some circumstances where determining the correct usage is difficult - especially when the "authorities" don't agree. Like how to show possession when used with a proper name that ends in 's'. The rule differs if it is a famous person vs. a regular person. But really, those situations are infrequent. My cell phone doesn't help the cause as it will add an apostrophe to "it's" regardless of appropriateness.

The other day I was a customer's site and noticed a self-made sign:

To all employee's

At the end of you're work day, please take time too clean up you're work space, including sweeping all of the floor's and putting tool's back in their proper place. Thank you.

Granted, I was able to understand the intent of the message - but not without a few stumbles. Who remembers the Ott House sign: "Skier's Welcome". It was a big sign carved in wood. They likely paid extra to have that ' installed.

The golden rule asks us to not judge a book by its cover, the reality is that we all judge others. And one of my yardsticks is a simple apostrophe. Please use it with care.

October Snow

Flurries in October is rare in these parts. Measurable snow is even more so. You know, October. When the leaves are changing colors and we're getting ready to mow the lawn one last time. Although the weather forecasters saw this one coming, I'm not sure we believed it.

Sometime in the wee hours of Saturday the rain changed to snow and began sticking to the trees in what would be the beginning of a very long day for all vegetation at Gracerock. All day long the sounds of trees moaning and breaking echoed thru the woods. By Saturday afternoon the driveway looked like a war zone - tree branches everywhere. And we were "hesitant" to go out and begin the removal process - even wearing a hard hat, some of those branches could cause serious bodily harm.

Sunday dawned bright. After an hour or so the tractor and I made the driveway passable. Now we're just waiting for the promised 60 degree weather to melt the remaining snow so autumn can resume

Word point

I don't know how this Gracerock family game began, however years later is is alive and well. The tradition is the awarding of a "word point" when a big word is used appropriately in normal conversation. It is best when another participant awards the point without a hint - however hinting ("I think that deserves a word point") is allowed.

For example, this morning regarding the newly fallen October snow, Sharon said "I hope this isn't a harbinger of things to come". DEFINITE word point.

Although the game is informal and no score has ever been kept, there are just a couple of unwritten (until now) rules:

• Some word uses are SO good that a double word point can be awarded.
• Geek speak (technical, biological, etc) doesn't count.

Maybe it is our subconscious attempt to keep language alive, or maybe we're just easily amused. So, if you're ever in a conversation with one of us and we blurt out "word point", know that it is a good thing - and now you know why.

.

I'm dreaming of a white...

OK everybody - sing along...


I'm dreaming of a white.... Halloween
Although why, I'll never know
Where the lanterns splatter
And spray pumpkin "matter"
To make
orange in the snow


I'm dreaming of a white... Halloween
With every minute cherish dear
May all folks shovel with good cheer
And may all the neighbors give out beer
.

Incredible insect damage

It's incredible what the little buggers can do. Good thing it's only firewood...

Every time I cut wood I am amazed at the variety of life that
habitates just below the bark. From snakes (OK, I saw one only once)
to termites, grubs, and dozens of other critters. There is definitely
life outside your apartment!

My jobsite this afternoon

I don't always do well in high places. I know that it is irrational,
but that's just how it is. So, swapping two antenna leads on an
antenna mast at the very edge of the roof some 20 stories above terra
firma in a brisk breeze makes me particularly touchy. But, it's a part
of the job. And the view really is fabulous!

Photo montage

Last June Alex recorded a song for me. Using the wizardry of Sharon's Super-Mac, he laid down multiple tracks and put them together VERY nicely. And I've finally added some photos and uploaded to youtube for the world to hear. So, here it is...

You can click this link or use embedded below

Goodbye "Glory to Garden"

The season of Advent begins in a few short weeks, ushering in four weeks of anticipation of Christmas. But this year Advent will also usher in many changes to the Catholic Missal - the words that we sing or say at mass every Sunday. Along with the change comes a new "mass setting" or the music that accompanies many of these weekly prayers. However, my point is not a grumble about change - I really like the new music. The setting that we'll use reminds me of Pachelbel's "Canon in D" which I like very much. My point is that we'll need to say goodbye to the version of the Gloria that our choir has sung for the past twenty years. The version that we old-timers fondly refer to as "Glory to Garden".

Why "Glory to Garden"? Well, because a certain firstborn son once accompanied me to choir practice each week in order to provide his mother with a bit more quality time with second born son. Firstborn was roughly four years of age at the time. It was this same time of year and advent was quickly approaching - thus lots of practice was required. And to his ears, instead of hearing "Glory to God in the highest", firstborn heard "Glory to Garden the highest". Choir director Bev still reminds us to clearly pronounce our words.

Even at that young age, I knew that music would play a large part in Chris' life - simply by the way he watched carefully over our practice, added his direction, and put great big check marks in my music next to the notes that we sang correctly. I still use that music and smile a knowing smile when I get to the part with the big check marks. Rest assured that, even though that particular sheet music will be officially retired in the next couple of weeks, the pages will go safely into the archives along with the big check marks and memories of the kid swinging his arms and singing "Glory to Garden..."

Ho Ho Ho!

Tis the season? Well, it is the 22nd of September already... Only
just over a quarter of a year til Christmas.

First whiff of fall

While making my way home over hill and dale last night I caught my first whiff of fall. That's right, someone along Old Annapolis Road had fired off their woodstove, clearly making them either the winner because they were warm... or the loser if they were participating in the annual Forrence "who is last to activate heat" contest. Sharon ALWAYS wins that one anyway because either she is naturally immune to the effects of cold OR she annually removes a couple of bricks between her home and her neighbor's, allowing convection to provide a little boost.

Alas, our woodshed is still stark - so high on the list today is a cord or two of nice dry wood. And if I can't find some of that, I'll take the junk that's been on the ground and is starting to rot. To paraphrase an old adage, "Burns better than snowballs". It is times like these that I sure miss the Chris and Alex! Happy Saturday.

** SUNDAY UPDATE ** The thermometer said 44 the other morning and didn't get above 60 all day. So, even though the calendar says that it's still summer, we've lost the contest. While I can call it a "shakedown cruise" or a practical way to get rid of many odd burnable items, I really wanted to take the chill out of the air so I fired off the woodstove. And when Sharon arrived home from her job in the "climate-challenged" library, the house was toasty warm. It's gonna be a long winter!

Mister Blue Sky

Sun is shining in the sky
there ain't a cloud in sight
It's stopped raining
Everybody's in a play
and don't you know
It's a beautiful new day

Just two weeks ago I had lamented to Sharon that we hadn't had a grey rainy day in months. Sure, we had a passing thunderstorm here and there, but no solid "rain all day" kind of days. Well, the old "be careful what you wish for" is true. It's great to see Mister Blue Sky again.

Click here for Electric Light Orchestra's version

The cleanup begins

Well, it's the "morning after" hurricane Irene passed by our little hamlet. Less than an inch of rain and this is the apparent extent of the damage. I'm gonna have a tough time hooking the chain to these mighty logs in order to drag them away. We are thankful that we were spared from the destruction that Irene could have inflicted.

Signs of an impending hurricane

Here are the signs that a hurricane is heading toward the east coast of the US:

1. 24/7 news coverage describing the impending doom

2. The store shelves depleted of staple items

3. Many new listings for generators on Craigs List (one is listed as new from Home Depot with price $1200 MORE than HD price).

4. Obie follows me everywhere. Oh wait, he does that anyway.

That said, I've done my part:

• The huge chunk of concrete that landed in the middle of Christopher's Downstream during the last flood has now been sledged into pieces and removed. This will hopefully prevent a new channel from being carved.
• Filled the tractor with fuel and moved it out toward the road. There is no location on our ten acres that couldn't be touched by a fallen tree. So, it put it under the youngest trees.
• Acquired additional diesel for the tractor.
• Filled the tub with water for flushing purposes
• Filled containers for drinking water
• Acquired ample supplies of those staples.
• Played Neil Young's "Like a Hurricane".

We're ready.

The shakes

I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business and I hear a distant rumble. A second later the room is shaking - not violent, but more like the shake produced by a violent thunderstorm - only longer. It took only a moment to realize what was going on and by that time, it was over. I walked outside to confirm with Sharon - who was on the deck yelling to me. We had just shared our first earthquake together (only in different buildings)

So, where does the world turn after such an event? Facebook. The USGS (where I did an "I felt it" report). And, of course, Pat Collins.

The aftermath? No damage to Gracerock or the surrounding area. Cell phone voice calls were out for over two hours, although text messages mostly worked. And every conversation for the rest of the afternoon was permeated with "where were you?" and "did you feel it?"

So, between many government offices closing early and private enterprise being significantly distracted, I suspect this event cost millions in productivity. And how does the market react to such a loss of productivity? The dow rises almost 3%. Go figure.

It was a dark and stormy night

The kind that Obie simply hates. And when Obie is unhappy, he is sure to spread the "joy". He was as unhappy as when someone puts your cake out in the rain, and all the sweet green icing flows down and then you lose the recipe, and on top of that you can't sing worth a damn. Yeah - that unhappy.

Summer days driftin' away

Every year it seems to roll past just a bit faster. Temps are now in the upper 50s and low 60s in the morning. It's starting to get dark a bit earlier and I have the strange urge to purchase crayons. Summer is on the wane.

This year is a bit different for Chris - for the first time in seventeen years, he is not returning to a classroom in September. And for the first time in seven years, he is not reporting to band camp - although I suspect that he'll stop by for a peek every now and then.

The bad news is that the woodshed remains virtually empty. So many trees, so little time. So little time...

The anniversary trip

To celebrate twenty-five years of wedded bliss, we put much of our normal world aside and returned to the neighborhood where our marital life began. The reality of our life didn't allow us (well, me) to cast aside everything as I still had staff and customers that required "maintenance" - so thru the magic of cellular service and tethering, I was able to configure a remote office with a view overlooking the majesty of Hart Bay. So, while fending off the flying scavenger birds trying to steal a breakfast snack, I was able to plan each day, return phone calls and keep Vox mostly running.

So, here's a bit more detail about the venture:

Driving Miss Daisy

Driving Miss Daisy.

There are certain responses that were developed during our teen years - responses that, during subsequent decades, moved from the cerebral areas down into the brain stem. You know - responses such as... when you see a car driving toward you on a one-lane road, you dive toward the right-hand ditch. Simple driving tasks such as pulling out of a parking lot, or navigating an intersection requires a whole host of significant concentration to overcome these brain stem responses. It was several days before my body stopped sending out a shot of adrenaline every time another motorist approached. The cause of this consternation? It's all summed by the drink/tee-shirt - "Drink right, Drive left". We had several of these at The Tourist Trap - more about that later. The saving grace is that the speed limit in town is 10MPH and on the rest of the island is 20MPH. So, if the reptilian brain control won, at least an incident would be at low speed.

Well over 50% of the vehicles on the island wear the Jeep badge. Almost all of the rentals are Jeep and all are four-wheel drive. The locals are equally likely to drive Suzuki or Toyota - but again, with power to all wheels. Ours was a bright red two-door Wrangler with soft top. It wasn't until day two that we realized the rear seat would flop forward to quadruple the shoe-box sized "trunk" area - allowing space for beach chairs, snorkel gear and the cooler.

St. John roads are modeled after the Bavarian Autobahn system... with a few exceptions. Exceptions like the straight-aways that can be easily measured with a yardstick and the turns will make the compass swing thru 170 degrees at an incline of 30 degrees. We're talking about an incline where walking would be very difficult. These changes in altitude is what make the Jeep product sing - each wheel could be on a significantly different plane without complaint. When cresting the top of a hill, it was often that I couldn't see over the vehicle hood - like when leaving our cottage drive. Each time Sharon had to look out of her door window to be sure no one was coming.

Goat Crossing

Flora and Fauna

It's everywhere! From the iguana getting out of the rain under our porch rail to the descendants of sugar plantation beasts of burden (now feral donkeys). Wild goats and deer, mongooses and lizards. Bugs of every shape and size. Our jaunt down to Reef Bay took us thru tropical forests that looked JUST LIKE the orchid house at the Atlanta Botanical Garden. I wonder how the early settlers made it thru the dense foliage that likely grew back five minutes after you passed. And you've already read about the first aid kits found everywhere in the form of giant aloe plants - some as big as a dozen feet wide.

But the terrestrial critters didn't hold a candle to their undersea kin. Every pond and pool, cove and crevasse was filled with life - most of which spent their existence waiting for the tide to deliver their next meal. I'd have photos of undersea life except that I failed to pack the one item that was assigned to me - my little point-and-shoot camera. Sharon remembered to pack EVERYTHING else, including the waterproof underwater bag for my camera. Alas, I'm a moron.

Kitchen at The Tourist Trap

Fine Dining

In order to keep expenses low, we opted to have breakfast at home and lunch from the deli. So, when it came to fine dining, we were able to go "all out". Keep in mind that we're able to go to five-star restaurants (like The Ott House) at home - so why go so upscale when on vacation? So instead, we opted for the quaint little bistros that dot the island. Like "The Tourist Trap". The photo above doesn't do it justice, simply because it doesn't show the dining room...err...tent. That's it - dining tent. Like the kind that you can buy from Northern Tool to shelter your RV from the ravages of winter. Only The Tourist Trap tent wasn't quite that nice. Held down by five-gallon pails filled with scrap cinder blocks, you sure felt secure under that tent - unless the wind blew. BUT - they DID have a table with complimentary mosquito repellant (dine-in customers only please). Protocol requires that you move down-wind before applying. After a couple of drinks, you may have the need to use the "facilities". Sure - just follow the path to the DOUBLE-WIDE porta-potty. I'm here to tell you, that puppy was big enough to host a square dance. So long as the fiddler stays outside. And be careful on the do-si-do part. The Tourist Trap is the only restaurant that we visited more than once. The atmosphere just kept calling our name.

The other places were great - the barbecue place, the banana deck, Woody's Seafood Saloon, and the one (name? Who knows) where they had acoustic guitarist who sang all of our favorites. We sat therefor hours and nursed our gin & tonics as a "table tax" - the waiter finally bought us one because we were enjoying ourselves so much. Who knows the proper response to "It's up against the wall Redneck Mother. Mother, who has raised her son so well"? Everyone that was in the restaurant that night now knows the response.

Sharon on the steps of a plantation windmill ruin

Island History

The Virgin Islands are volcanic in origin. On our Reef Bay trip, our real destination was the Petroglyphs carved by the Taino people somewhere between 900 and 1500AD. Splash a little water from the spring-fed pool and they're clear as can be.

Columbus "discovered" the islands on his second trip to the new world - and within a century wealthy plantation owners were taming the land, terracing the soil and producing sugar, molasses and rum. The canes were fed into grinders that were powered by the wind. When the wind failed to blow, horses, donkeys and slaves provided the power.

By the late 1800s, the plantations were mostly abandoned - along with the animals that provided fill-in power. Fast forward to the early 1950s when Lawrence Rockefeller had the foresight to buy almost 50% of the landmass of St. John - most donated to the US Government to form Virgin Island National Park. St. John remains largely undeveloped due to the holdings inside the park. The park service has stabilized and maintained access to many ruins on the island, providing a glance at the life of the inhabitants 200 years ago. Untended ruins are quickly reclaimed by the jungle.

Mass

Being a good Catholic, Sunday morning found me at 7:30 mass at Our Lady of Mount Carmel church in Cruz Bay. It took only a moment to realize that I wasn't in Emmitsburg any more. It was quite the experience. First, there were generally two groups of folks. The first were the locals - mostly people of color. They were easy to pick out because the ladies all wore dresses and the men all wore ties. And the non-locals, easy to pick out in their shorts and polo shirts.

There are no addresses on St. John. Well, there are PO Boxes, but that doesn't do any good when looking for something. The most apparent reason for no addresses is that there are no street names. The big roads have numbers, but in town it's only "the back street" or "the street where Woody's is" or "just down from Mongoose Junction". And if you don't know where Mongoose Junction is located? Well, it's across from the Visitor Center. Anyway, Sharon happened to notice the church location mentioned on one of the tourist maps.

The sanctuary held maybe 100 people. The interior front had Roman columns and stucco walls with a beach scene painted across the whole front. So, sitting in a pew, you looked out across the bay. I got there early - and faced that dilemma faced by many when visiting a small church. Will I be sitting in someone else's seat? I took a shot and got lucky. Or at least no one asked me to move.

Well, mass began and I soon realized that I'd get the full experience. Before each song an old woman in the front pew would announce the hymn then lead the singing in a voice that had the most unique tambour. And we sang every verse, accompanied only by a steel drum. And EVERYBODY sang. Loud. The celebrant's homily went of for 30 minutes. There was a baptism. All visitors stood and introduced themselves. And we sang some more. Did I mention that this was all at 7:30 in the morning.

Salt Pond Bay

The Vistas

Around every corner there was a fantastic view of some bay. Here is a small percentage of the total memories:

Sharon and the First Aid kit

> St. John is a very safety-conscious - they place HUGE first-aid kits all over the island. HUGE six-foot first aid kits. Have a burn or cut? We have the aloe to make it better. What a forward-thinking society!
>

Come on down

The water's... Freezing! The clue? Polar bear floated past on an
iceberg! But we have our own section of beach and a great breeze. And
each other.

My favorite brother-in-law

At least favorite in the WHOLE room. Hi Dave

Downey Ocean

Ahh the boardwalk. Where the people-watching is fine. Makes me want to
buy a "If you love something set it free..." tee shirt.

The VERY proud momma

And her graduate. My advice? Plastics! Goo goo gachoo

Sharon celebrates Cinco de Mayo

Celebrating Betsey's birthday in style - on the rooftop of Tin Lizzie's. Historic Oakland Cemetery is across the street and the GA State capital dome in the background.

After a 2:45am alarm to make our 6am flight, we spent the day exploring the iron works, the building recycling store and a quick jaunt thru Oakland. For a very unplanned day, it turned out great! Cheers!

Sharon in Alonzos

Beautiful afternoon in Baltimore. The Jays defeated the Hounds in a
surprisingly close lacrosse game. The snare drum player was
exceptional. And now we're at that classic restaurant at the foot of
Keswick, enjoying a burger. Great afternoon

Flash flood

A view from the office of our little trickle of creek roaring over the driveway. This is the first time since moving to Gracerock that I've witnessed water over the drive. As I stand here with Brave Obie at my side, I can see the water rising. Sharon is gonna have a long ride home from Thurmont!

When invasives collide

> You know that it's bad when the new invasive curls itself around the old invasive in order to get a leg up. My walks now need to include a pair of cutters and a hand sprayer of Roundup
>

Sunny Sunday afternoon

The cool spring temperatures have caused the woodshed run low - so Obie and I are spending this sunny afternoon refilling. Obie does his part by standing directly between the cut chunks of wood and the trailer - indicating which piece would be the next logical item to carry. Regardless of the potential of personal danger - the possibility that I may trip over him - Obie stands his ground, making sure I keep on track.

And now, after cutting, hauling and splitting a half cord, my back is aching and I'm missing Chris & Alex and their young vertebrae. But a cold beer sure tastes good.
.

Crossing the great name divide

We're getting older, as are our children and our friends' children. Even though it seems not so long ago that they were in the elementary school play, now they're graduating from college, getting married, having babies and becoming productive members of society. The question that faces both this generation and the next is... what do they call us? You know, when do I somehow change from Mr. Forrence to Mike?

This is a topic that many of us have faced. For me, it has been when the parents of my childhood friends become peers in some way. The example that comes to mind is when I first served on the parish finance committee almost ten years ago (so you don't need to do the math, it made me just under 40). Also serving on the committee was my friend Regina's dad. For many years he had been Mr. LaCroce. Now he was Gene. As luck would have it, I now serve on the MSS Board with Mrs. LaCroce. Who would have thought lightning would strike twice? Most of my childhood friends' parents are definitely still Mr./Mrs. Wivell, Topper, etc. But not all. And I really can't put my finger on when the change happened.

Then there's VoxStaff Joe. He was at Mother Seton School - maybe in 5th grade or so, when Sharon taught there. Sharon and his mom were fairly good friends - so of course, she was Mrs. Forrence and I was Mr. Forrence. Then he came to work for us. Even though specifically invited, I think he had the hardest time calling me Mike. For the first three months, he probably didn't call me anything.

So - when do we invite the next generation make the leap? I'm thinking a good marker is when they graduate from college. When do you think?

I can't rant there, so I'll rant here

Over in VoxLand we have some really good customers. Folks that understand and respect what we do as well as the depth of knowledge required. Then there are others... those that want to get by on the lowest possible budget and don't actually want us to do the work, but rather simply want us to tell them how to do the work. They get incensed when I tell them that it would take us significantly longer for us to explain the process versus just doing the work and that we can't do this gratis. It always reminds me of this Dilbert comic strip. You know Scott Adams came from telecom (Pac Bell) thus much of his humor hits home with me - especially the very technically esoteric ones that less than 1% of the general population would understand. (Who among you really gets this one?)

Anyway, here is the really relevant link for this rant.

My nephew made me cry

My nephew made me cry today. Not tears of sadness or hurt or despair. But tears of joy.

When the boys are at mass they often sit with their mother in the choir loft. During the sign of peace, they’ll make their way into the sea of choir members to greet me – they are very sweet. Today they weren’t upstairs, but during the sign of peace I heard footsteps on the choir loft stairs and then Adam appeared. He made his way into the sea of choir members as usual and, instead of the standard “peace be with you”, he said “my parents are back together”. I told him that is wonderful news. And it is. He then turned around and went back downstairs.

I imagine the joy that this brings for him, a feeling that his family is whole again – a joy that he simply had to share. No "Hi Uncle Mike" or anything else. Just a simple, gleeful "my parents are back together".

The next song was “How Beautiful” has a line “How beautiful the feet that bring the sound of good news…” Today, those were Adam’s feet on the choir loft stairs. How Beautiful! And I was unable to sing.

Our pal Arthur

Chris did a great tribute that says it all. Can't improve on this

The Big Red Prognosticator

.

Most people think that prognosticators are the stuff of folklore. You know, dark woolly bear caterpillars predict a long winter, Punxsutawney Phil and his hit and miss predictions of spring, etc.

Well, unlike those quaint harbingers, we have a very accurate weather predictor living right here at Gracerock. His name is Obie and his gift is the ability to predict thunderstorms. Yes, that's right - a thunderstorm can be twenty or more miles away, but Obie knows it's a comin'. Because of his long and lanky tongue, his mastery of spoken language is a bit rough. Fortunately, he has other means of communication. When a storm is on the way, he'll first notify us by dancing around and turning in counter-clockwise circles. This is to indicate the counter-clockwise wind direction usually associated with thunderstorms. Then he'll crawl onto your lap (regardless of your actual position - standing, sitting, flat on your back). This is to demonstrate his willingness to hold you down in the face of strong approaching winds. Thus far, it has worked quite well. Neither Sharon nor I have been blown away by a thunderstorm while Obie has been on the job.

The good news is that his senses never sleep. Day or night, Obie is on duty - ready to alert us at the first sign of an approaching storm. Just think of the lives that could have been saved, had Obie lived in earlier times - you know, before the days of Doppler radar and satellite surveillance. Lives at sea, those living in coastal areas - humanity by the thousands would have survived if only they had Obie to guide them thru the dangers of weather. I know that I sleep much better at night knowing Obie is on watch. That is, I sleep better until a storm approaches. At which time no one sleeps until the storm has passed.


.

Wait just a doggone minute

I think SOMEONE jumped the gun here. Yes, I'm now closer to sixty than thirty - but geez, it's not time for these folks to be sending me mail.

Dangerous slush

So it was a beautiful day one day in the middle of last week. Temps into the mid 40s, birds were out in droves and the snow did a lot of melting. Then the thermometer took a dive and the slush became solid ice. A bit of freezing rain on top and then a bit of non-freezing rain yields a slightly bumpy but oh, so slippery driveway that even Obie (with four-paw drive) has trouble negotiating.

Funny thing was, on that beautiful day, I heard neighbor Scott down the road running his skid loader. Wondered why he was plowing his driveway on such a beautiful day. Didn't he know it was all melting? Of course, as it turns out, it wasn't what Scott didn't know, but rather what I didn't know. So there we have it, another lesson added to the ranks of "the hard way" is that, when the snow becomes two inches of slush, take time to plow it away.

Baby it's Cold Outside

It's not just cold - it's wicked, nasty & uber cold. It's curl up by
the fire with a warm dog on your lap cold. It's "Joe, we're not working on that CLV outdoors project today" cold. It's dream of daffodils and redbuds cold. And in just a few short months, we'll be whining about the heat...

Obie just doing his job

Well, SOMEONE needs to carry the newspaper every morning. Somehow Obie gets stuck with the task day after day. Yet, he keeps a stiff upper lip and does his duty with appropriate decorum. Good dog.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

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Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, a year in the life?


From the Broadway musical Rent , reminds me of the miles that we've traveled during our recent trip around the sun. Chris became a college senior, Alex and Sharon both became college freshmen. Golden Obie arrived at Gracerock. And we've survived with our family intact. In that regard, a banner year.

Now New years resolutions are the order of the day. Here are mine:
1. To work when I'm supposed to work and not work when I'm supposed to play.
2. Buy more from Zurgables and other local businesses.
3. Spend more time in outdoor activities - AWAY from the computer!
4. Do what needs to be done now, not later.
5. And mostly, to make the most of the next five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes. Once they're gone, they're gone!

Happy 2011!




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