August, 2008

My, that was fast. If those were Dog Days - evoking an image of a languid summer of lying about avoiding exertion in the heat - this August seems to have passed too fast for me to notice, or blog about. So here are some of my high spots for the weeks since FloydFest.

The conversion of our 9 x 11 back porch to an all-season room has begun. After building a new insulated floor over the existing porch floor - which raised the height to that of the rest of the house - and after MUCH deliberation, consultation and measuring, I ordered seven windows and a new sliding door. Flooring was decided upon, ordered, and awaits installation. Next I removed the old screens/framing and reframed for the windows. As you can see, the new kneewall now advertises LOWE'S, courtesy of the house wrap. Subtle, aren't they. The weather was cooperative with high temperatures most days in the low 90's. The windows will arrive this week and will be set ASAP. After trimming out, siding, and adding a few flourishes the room should be secure from the weather and Phase II can begin, the new deck.

I had a good check up at my dentist; Look Ma, No Cavities. (I wonder how long it will take before people forget where that phrase can from.) I also had a Lasik followup; no real change, some days I can spot the eagles before they see me, other days not so good.

Got a haircut, needed it.

On Sunday the 17th my wife and I joined the Carolina Alumni Chapter of the Semester-at-Sea program for a Bon Voyage/Welcome Home outing at the US National Whitewater Center in Charlotte. It is a great place to hike, learn whitewater and other outdoor skills, or just watch. The US Olympic whitewater team trains there. We took a guided rafting trip - which at one time or another found all of us ejected into the rapids from the raft - had dinner, and chatted about places seen, things done, and people met on our voyages. Thanks to Donna (rear, blue helmet) for making it possible.

The next day was the opening round of the Men's US Amateur Championship at Pinehurst. Ben, an old friend of my daughter, and I attended the first day of medal play. Then on Thursday my sister, brother in law, and I watched the Round of 16 match play. It was wonderful to walk one of the world's great golf courses with friends and family and watch high quality competition without a huge crowd. Friday Francis and I teed it up here. I really need to practice.

In the middle of this my wife's niece, Virginia, came to town for a medical procedure that involved pulsed radiowaves, a thin wire inserted into her skull, and cranial nerves. (OK, so I don't know the proper name of the procedure.) The goal was to reduce her debilitating headaches and hopefully ween her off the mega doses of narcotics her previous pain management doctors put her on. Reports so far are positive.

Shortly thereafter Virginia's sister LeAnna had a baby boy. Both doing fine. No, neither of these events directly involved me; but they were part of my August.

I had some landscaping done in the front yard and the heating/cooling system inspected. No problems.

It is Fantasy Football time. I participated in two internet drafts last month and am planning to kick serious butt this year. I say this every year.

I drove to Virginia twice in August to further prepare mother's house for sale. We are about 95% finished now, many of the rooms clean and empty. Although it will be very hard to turn the keys over to Joe and Billie, closure will be a relief for all of us. We took our time and did it right. Now if I can just find proper places around here for all the stuff I have brought back...

There were the Olympic games which we were able to watch only because the Dish Network provided us with a local NBC station at the last possible moment, on the day of the opening ceremonies. China did a good job as host, to the relief and surprise of many and consternation to a few. The opening ceremony was jaw dropping. I kept hitting the replay button on the DVR and asking, "How did they do that?" China has come a long, long way since I peered across their border in early 1968 from Hong Kong and into their Cultural Revolution. Yes, it was a coming out party of sorts for them. China's rise on the world stage now can only be compared to that of the US in the first half of the 20th century. We had better learn to get along with them. Now if they would just let Tibet be Tibet...

I will admit to a soft place in my heart for the Olympics even though I must look past the big money and nationalism. At the center there are real people being the best they can be at something, generally not a bad example for us all. The cartoon provides an example and a segue.

A routine medical exam early last month led to the suspicion that all was not well with my prostate. My PSA was also heading in the wrong direction. So a biopsy was ordered. That was not a pleasant experience (although I have been through worse). Neither was waiting eight days for the results. No, cancer cells were not found. But some of the samples showed PIN cells of a high enough quality to warrant a second biopsy. Cancerous cells may be there, just missed. Or not. We will know more in a couple of months. Meanwhile I am conducting due diligence and thinking about how great it is to be here. August may have been a lucky month for me.

I am sharing this because about 28,000 men will die in this country this year because of prostate cancer, our second leading cancer killer. A lack of early symptoms is the main problem. It is too often discovered late, after cancer has spread. And most men have about as much chance locating their prostate as Uruguay. Down there somewhere. The numbers are similar as with women and breast cancer, but few seem to know that. Early detection is the key for both. Screening is simple, though a bit intrusive. So guys, bend over and get that thing checked. Gals, see to it the guys in your life take care of their business.

For more info, try here, the NIH, or the Prostate Cancer Foundation.

On a more positive note I found in one of those awful magazine special advertising sections (Doctor's Orders, Fortune, September 2008)

"In 2007 scientists in Seattle reported that men who drink four to seven glasses of red wine per week are half as likely to be diagnosed with prostate cancer as nondrinkers."

I started my own study immediately. I wonder if eight to fourteen can drop the percentage to one quarter:)

Finally (even though it is now September) the eyewall of TS Hanna passed about 35 miles east of here early yesterday morning with little effect other than almost 6 inches of rain. We were fortunate. I remember Hugo. For that matter I remember Hazel. Both passed as close to me as Hanna. H must like me.

FloydFest 7 - A Family Affair

Modestly sunburned, a bit poison ivied, aching in all the usual places - but all the better for the experience - we are back from the mountains of Virginia, our annual visit to FloydFest. The theme was A Family Affair; and so it was with my daughter joining members of my wife's family at our campsite. This was her first visit to the festival. It was a special treat to see the week-end through her eyes. Above is her panorama of the site taken from the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Floydfest 7 will be remembered as the year with no rain, only partly cloudy skies, and pleasantly warm temperatures, fleeting conditions for these mountains at this time of year. Sunday night after most campers had left I even saw the Milky Way on my way to port at 3 AM.

I did not post about FloydFest 6 last year, more a reflection of blogging fatigue than the week-end. Last year's line up included Sam Bush, the North Mississippi Allstars, Donna the Buffalo, and closed with our house band, Railroad Earth. The musical surprise last year for me was The Waybacks. They were just totally awesome, to repeat a phrase.

Again this year it was performers I knew little - if anything - about, who made the musical weekend for me.

We were eating dinner early Friday evening when four men took the stage next to us dressed in black three-piece suits; they looked like young undertakers. Surrounding one microphone they went from one old-time traditional Appalachian song to another, just nailing them. These guys were good. It was only between songs when it slowly dawned on me that something was different. That...that European accent....they were Swedish! Pontus Juth, Peter Frovik, Ralf Fredblad, and Kristian Herner call themselves the Rockridge Brothers. Here is them on YouTube. Who knew?

Two weekends ago on my way to Charlotte I listened to that Saturday morning staple, NPR's Weekend-Edition. As they often do to wrap up the show, they interviewed a musical guest who played a few songs. This time it was Amos Lee, someone I did not know. I enjoyed the interview, listened to a couple songs, thought him pretty good, and moved on. This Saturday I was sitting on stage with him. Folks, he is the real deal. I have not heard any of his albums, but live he had my full attention for entire set. He is so good it is scary. I will see him again. Here is a link to the NPR interview.

Another high point was hearing Railroad Earth again. As I have been to about twenty shows now, the newness has worn off. It has been replaced by that warm feeling of seeing old friends and being transported out of the moment to a familiar, wonderful place. They have a new album, Amen Corner, which captures them relaxed, fresh with new songs. I had a chance to talk with Todd Shaeffer for a few minutes in the parking lot. I reminded him that he had sent me 20 CDs a year and a half ago after he had played solo at my daughter's wedding. Like a true musician (and gentleman) he had not bothered to enclose an invoice. So we settled up. Then that evening RRE closed the main stage in great style.

The three stories above were not the half of it. We heard four kids from Wise, Virginia, most just out of high school, who call themselves the Midnight Ramblers. They were just perfect, dressed and pressed, music as fresh and pure and timeless as spring in Wise County. San Francisco's New Monsoon rocked the mainstage. Kat Mills made sitting around the Pink Floyd Garden Stage just the place to be. The everybodyfields put on a wonderful performance at the Hill Hollar Stage. Rusted Root disappointed no one Saturday night. What a wonderful version of Cinnamon Girl. David Grisman's Dawg Music brought a smile and, for some, memories of Jerry. And words fail to describe the Avett Brothers, just fail. What energy, what honest music. What a way to end the festival!

The Best Camper Award this year goes to Anita. This was her sixth straight Floydfest and the driving force - literally up highway 8 - for keeping our family focused towards this annual event. Like the festival itself, each year she handles with grace whatever circumstances present themselves. She's nice, damn it!

A close runner-up for best camper is Virginia, who's health problems made attending this year problematical. Determination carried the day. She's nice too.

(Many) more photos, like the ones above, will shortly be posted on my daughter's flickr site.

After one drives away only does it dawn that Floydfest is not really about the music; in the end it is the people one remembers: the extended family of friends who put the week-end together, the vendors, the campers, the day-trippers, and the performers from all over the world and our backyard who share their art with us. I was just on the phone with my sister. I heard myself say that Floydfest is like a big family reunion where there are lots of relatives you just haven't met yet. That works for me, a Family Affair.

Wil

The next generation has arrived. This is William John Terminella, Wil, the son of Kevin and Heather, Kevin being my sister's eldest.

This photo was taken at 4 months. Look closely. Examine the expression on Wil's face. I was probably 30 by the time I learned how to arch my eyebrows like that.

That kid on E*Trade had better be looking over his shoulder.

Kevin and Heather, lotsa luck keeping up with this one.

Space...the Final Frontier

When we first saw our current house we thought it had plenty of space: a great room w/17 ft ceiling, a huge master bedroom w/bath, two walk-in closets, a nice sized kitchen with attached - though small - dining area, and an attached two car garage and shop area. Add the two bedrooms, a bath, and office upstairs and how cluttered could it get?

We quickly found out.

So last year I converted the unused space over the garage for storage use. That quickly filled. I covered the walls of the garage with shelves. Not a lineal foot now empty.

So last week I began converting the last unused space under roof for additional storage, not a pleasant job in July. Access is by crawling through a two foot by two foot opening behind the guest bedroom door that is secured by a screwed in panel. A proper door is next. Above is what it looks like today, floored and lit, ~ 180 square feet more storage.

In the cool of the morning tomorrow it will begin to fill with boxes. Gee. How cluttered can it get?

Pop's Popcorn Popper

While cleaning up and cleaning out my family home - preparing for the eventual sale - we noticed our old popcorn popper recessed on a shelf in a closet. I remember mother letting me use it to make popcorn when I was "old enough." It was quite basic; it was plugged in or not, so inattention led to the scorched kernels I often served. But since the innovation of microwaveable popcorn memories of its use have faded into ancient history.

Sometime later we discovered this image among the family photos. It shows my father holding that popcorn maker with what was, unusual for him, a bemused smile on his face and a slightly askew bow tie. Better, someone had written on the back:

Dec. 1953 at American Legion Hall
Christmas Banquet
Contest Winners
Left to Right
E.C. Edwards, Jr.
Ellis Midkiff
Maynard Gillespie

This was obviously taken at the Christmas banquet of the Mecklenburg Electric Cooperative, where my father (and the other two gentlemen) worked. Since only two are holding something and are in the foreground - Mr. Midkiff seems to have an alarm clock - I expect Mr. Gillespie is just giving the winners a hard time. Thus we learned how the popper made it into our home. We had no idea.

My sister thought it only proper that I receive custody of both the popper and the photo. And I thought it only proper to see if it still worked. It does.

Just for the record, it was manufactured by the Dominion Electric Corporation, Mansfield, Ohio, U.S.A. - Model 1702, 400 watts. Although I cannot find it on our popper, it seems to have been introduced in 1948 as the Popper Chef. Ours would be at least 55 years old. Dominion seems to be no longer in business; a Google search yielded little other than Mansfield was once known for its manufacturing, especially stoves - Westinghouse and Tappan among them.

I'm glad Pop didn't win the alarm clock.

The Amazon

As things stand now my wife and I will be spending this Christmas and New Year's aboard the mv Explorer on a 21-day cruise to Manaus, Brazil. While only a third of the voyage will be on the Amazon itself, that is the third that sold me on the trip. I have no interest in island-hopping on one of those god-awful "fun cruise" ships (movement with not actually going anywhere). But this chance to see the Amazon is different.

The mv Explorer is the latest ship used by the Semester-at-Sea program. Forty-one years ago I spent a semester aboard the s.s. Ryndam as a student of Chapman College's World Campus Afloat, as the Semester-at-Sea was called in those days. While the program has changed sponsorship several times since then - it is now at The University of Virginia - the experience remains remarkably the same, as I found attending an alumni meeting in Charlotte last week. That voyage remains the most influential single experience of my life.

As we will have a longer time to prepare for the trip than the time we are actually onboard, I am trying to get the most from it by studying ahead of time. I have the DVR programmed to record anything with the words Amazon or Brazil in the title. (Ever watch the Brazil Farm Report on RFD-TV? Riveting.) I have been burning bandwidth with Goggle Earth. I am also reading.

Wade Davis' One River was a mistake, sloppy research on my part. I ordered it thinking it was focused on exploration of the Amazon River. It turned out to be something else entirely, a magical and marvelous book I could barely put down. Read it for Tim Plowman. Read it for Richard Evans Schultes. Read it for Richard Spruce. Read it for Rubber and WW2. Read it for the coca. Read it for the first Americans. Hell, just read it.

It seems like that Semester-at-Sea magic never really went away. Real travel is like that. Go around a corner or turn a page; you never really know what you will see.

I haven't left yet and I want to go back.

Abelia

Two large abelia plants have grown near the entrance of my family home as far back as I can remember. Photos show them already mature when my parents bought the house in 1949.

Since we now have the house under contract and are in the process of clearing it out and cleaning up, I wanted to take with me a remembrance or two of our yard. Some of dad's Zoysia grass is already plugged into my backyard. These rootings are from one of the abelias. Friendly folks at a local nursery got them started for me and they seem to be doing just fine. In a couple of years they will be ready to transplant. I feel better every time I look at them.

From Wikipedia:

Abelia is a genus of about 15-30 species and many hybrids in the honeysuckle family Caprifoliaceae, in the part of that family split off by some authors in the segregate family Linnaeaceae. The Angiosperm Phylogeny Group considers Linnaeaceae to encompass such genera as Linnaea, Abelia, Dipelta, Kolkwitzia, and Zabelia.

Abelias are shrubs from 1-6 m tall, native to eastern Asia (Japan west to the Himalaya) and southern North America (Mexico); the species from warm climates are evergreen, and colder climate species deciduous. The leaves are opposite or in whorls of three, ovate, glossy, dark green, 1.5-8 cm long, turning purplish-bronze to red in autumn in the deciduous species. The flowers appear in the upper leaf axils and stem ends, 1-8 together in a short cyme; they are pendulous, white to pink, bell-shaped with a five-lobed corolla, 1-5 cm long, and usually scented. Flowering continues over a long and continuous late spring to fall period.

Abelias are a wonderful plant. They tolerate a variety of soils and climates, stay green year round, don't shed leaves in the fall (around here), have pleasant small flowers with a mild fragrance, and provide habitat for the birds and the bees. They come in many varieties, including the smallish Little Richard (Good Golly Miss Molly!!!) I am already using as foundation plants. These are probably an older variety of grandiflora (Abelia Edward Goucher?). But as usual, I could be wrong.

Hokie, Hokie, Sittin' in a Tree

"Superior Tree"

"Good Morning. My name is Bibb Edwards and I have a problem with a tree."

"OK"

"And a cat."

"We do that. Where do you live?"

Thus began the rescue of our cat Hokie who had been missing for three days. Our neighbor rang our doorbell this morning to say that a cat matching Hokie's description was in a tree in the woods behind a house near the practice putting green, about a half mile from our house. My wife, who was headed out the door to work, drove by, confirmed the cat was our Hokie, and called me to commence rescue operations.

Once I saw Hokie and the tree I knew it was not going to be easy. He was higher up than any conventional ladder could reach, probably 40 feet. The couple living closest to the constantly meowing cat had tried for days to get him to come down on its own, with no success. They had called both the local animal control officers and the fire department. No help. Hokie was cradled, as you see above, where three branches spread from the trunk. There was no place as secure within reach. And no easy way up or down.

After it occurred to me that I had a tree problem as well as a cat problem I went home to consult the Yellow Pages. With the largest ad on the TREES page announcing 24 hour emergency service, I called Superior. After the exchange above the gentleman took my number and said someone would call me back in a few minutes. Unlike most of my experiences with local contractors, within 20 minutes Joe called me. Within an hour he was climbing up the tree after Hokie.

Hokie was having none of an easy rescue. Throughly freaked by this time, Hokie fled out on a limb. Joe climbed to the top of the tree, secured a line to his harness, and - thus supported - made his way along the branch toward Hokie. When he was almost in reach, Hokie jumped to the top of a smaller adjacent tree and began a semi-controlled descent. About fifteen feet from the ground the cat and the tree separated. Yes, cats do land on their feet. At least this one did, flattening out like a flying squirrel along the way. In this case the feet kept moving and Hokie disappeared at a very high rate of speed through the underbrush.

I thanked and paid Joe and as we left we spotted Hokie headed in the direction of our house. I stopped but Hokie was not having anything to do with me either. So I went home, reported the morning events to my wife, and waited for the cat to appear on the porch. He did, about 20 minutes later. There he tried to make up for lost dinner times, eventually wandering back into the house and up on my lap.

Thanks to the unbelievably fast, friendly and competent folks at Superior Tree and Hauling. Even though I was lucky they had a crew nearby on another job, Joe went above and beyond - so to speak - and was very nice about it as well. He said he had two cats at home.

And Hokie, I am docking your allowance for about 35 years. Good to see you back.

The Way We Were

If you have an email address, and are of a certain generation, you probably have received at least one. Always forwarded, usually in bulk by a friend about the same age, these emails list things we should remember more or less fondly from our childhood that speak of simpler yet better times that these-young-folks-today will never "get."

Sometimes the theme screams WE SURVIVED, as in growing up not having child-proof medicine bottles, motor vehicle seat belts, or product safety warning labels on every damn thing. We remember when tobacco was not bad for you (also) and when do-gooders where not always trying to protect us from ourselves. We were tough, ran with scissors, snacked on lead-based paint, and turned out OK, not like these over-protected wimps today.

Others are lists of simple low-tech toys and amusements that brought us joy, usually compared favorably with expensive modern electronic gismos that young folks today might as well implant. "We didn't text message, we passed notes!" WE HAD FUN ANYWAY, PROBABLY MORE! these lists assert.

A third type of list references artifacts from our childhood which are only found today in antique stores and attics: 45 rpm records, roller skate keys, milk bottles, black & white TVs, rotary dial phones, and on and on and on. These lists evoke both nostalgia and I KNOW WHAT THEY ARE AND HOW THEY WORK AND YOU DON'T BECAUSE I WAS THERE AND YOU WEREN'T, YOU UNFORTUNATE DUMB ASS.

A variant are the growing up/getting older lists. These poke fun at things we used to do, as in 25 SIGNS THAT YOU HAVE GROWN UP

1. Your houseplants are alive, and you can't smoke any of them.
2. Having sex in a twin bed is out of the question.
3. You keep more food than beer in the fridge.
4. 6:00 AM is when you get up, not when you go to bed.
5. You hear your favorite song in an elevator.
6. You watch the Weather Channel.
7. Your friends marry and divorce instead of "hook up" and "break up."
8. You go from 130 days of vacation time to 14.
9. Jeans and a sweater no longer qualify "dressed up."
10. You're the one calling the police because those %&@# kids next door won't turn down the stereo.
11. Older relatives feel comfortable telling sex jokes around you.
12. You don't know what time Taco Bell closes anymore.
13. Your car insurance goes down and your car payments go up.
14. You feed your dog Science Diet instead of McDonald's leftovers.
15. Sleeping on the couch makes your back hurt.
16. You take naps.
17. Dinner and a movie is the whole date instead of the beginning of one.
18. Eating a basket of chicken wings at 3 AM would severely upset, rather than settle, your stomach.
19. You go to the drug store for ibuprofen and antacid, not condoms and pregnancy tests.
20. A $4.00 bottle of wine is no longer "pretty good shit."
21. You actually eat breakfast food at breakfast time.
22. "I just can't drink the way I used to" replaces "I'm never going to drink that much again."
23. 90% of the time you spend in front of a computer is for real work.
24. You drink at home to save money before going to a bar.
25. When you find out your friend is pregnant you congratulate them instead of asking "Oh shit, what the hell happened?"

(thanks Wyc) or the indignities we are beginning to face as a result of aging. Many of these have to do with creaking joints, the digestive system, the effects of gravity, hair, soft things getting hard and hard things getting soft, hearing, CRS, and sex. In deference to my more sensitive readers - mainly my daughter - I will skip the graphic details. The curious might try Suddenly Senior.com, a site I found doing research for this post and will probably not visit again, ever. GETTING OLDER IS NOT FOR SISSIES! WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE - YOUR TURN IS COMING:):):)

Finally, at the bottom of many of these lists is a "message." These are the least amusing parts as they frequently promote a right-wing agenda that imagines a past better than it really was for most of us and ignores anything resembling progress over the past 50 years - especially for other than well-to-do white men who have their metal drivers, Viagra, and tax breaks. Usually blame is directed toward someone or some thing other than themselves (usually our politicians or governments) for todays ills. Pick your ill. IF WE HAD MORE PATRIOTIC, GOD-FEARING, RED-BLOODED AMERICANS - REAL MEN AND REAL WOMEN LIKE ME AND MY FRIENDS - ACTING LIKE GOD AND I KNOW THEY SHOULD, WE WOULDN'T BE IN SUCH A MESS TODAY. ANYBODY SEEN MY FLAG LAPEL PIN? While some of the ideas contained therein may be worthy of discussion, they sure do ruin the mood.

You just knew this post was heading somewhere, didn't you?

Just in case any of you thought these lists were unique to the internet and our generation's most perfect youth, I present to you a document I found going through my late mother's effects. I suspect it was given to her at one of her high school reunions.
This from a generation that grew up during the Great Depression and as young adults bore the brunt of WWII. It seems our generation is not the first to seek comfort in a selective reading of the past. Damn. One of my mother's generation, Simone Signoret (1921-1985), was right, "La nostalgie n'est plus ce qu'elle etait."

May I humbly suggest to my daughter's generation it is never too early to start gathering up material for your own lists. I can't wait.

Open for Business

My late mother and step-father enjoyed feeding, housing and watching birds. This winter I liberated a Purple Martin condo from their backyard that Harper erected. Housing up to 12 nests at a time and made of aluminum, it sits on a steel pole and can be lowered for maintenance by a rope and pulley.

It joins the two Bluebird houses I put up last year, our Hokie House, and a Hummingbird feeder outside the back porch that provided no end of amusement for our cats.

In addition, yesterday, finally, I was able to erect our new Bat House. I cut down a nearby recently deceased tree to provide the necessary elevation. It proved more heavy than expected. But I eventually secured it where I hope it will attract a small colony. By providing additional habitat, we may be able to add to our local community of bats which can be seen at dusk reducing the quantity of neighborhood mosquitoes - something, as it turns out, Purple Martins do not.

I think mother and Harper would approve.

Mordi's Murals

We took the opportunity of our theater trip to the borough of Brooklyn to visit their Polytechnic University, just a few blocks from BAM. Hanging in the lobby of their Dibner/CATT building - shown to the right - on permanent display are five murals by Mordi Gassner (1899-1995), perhaps the most amazing person I have ever met. The 6 by 9 foot murals - dating from the late 1920's/early 1930's - are his interpretation of the sciences of physics, geology, astronomy, chemistry and biology.

The last time I saw the murals were in his home, a converted church near Drakes Branch, Virginia. I had been introduced to Mordi and his wife Marion by my then wife Paula. While one was immediately struck by the surrounding artwork and his stories of designing sets on films in the early days of Hollywood - and later Broadway and 1950's television, painting in Florence as a two-time Guggenheim Fellow, decorating post offices with murals for the WPA, and making ends meet as a commercial artist, it became evident that he was more than an artist. He was a true renaissance man in the spirit of the age that inspired his humanism. Mostly self-educated, he wielded the widest intellectual brush imaginable but remained the most humane human I have ever known, even after some of his contemporaries appropriated the sciences he loved in the service of evil.

I sat for hours in awe of his ability to take almost any topic of conversation to places I could barely follow. Once, in an attempt to establish some credibility with him I mentioned that his remarks sometimes reminded me of one of my favorite authors, Lewis Mumford. (I had recently read but surely did not entirely grasp Technics and Civilization (1934) and The Myth of the Machine: technics and human civilization (1967)) He replied, "Ah, Lewis. We lived near each other in Brooklyn and often took walks together." I about dissolved. He KNEW Lewis Munford! Of, course. I should have known; they had much in common.

I will always treasure the time I spent with him and his wife Marion - a fascinating person in her own right - and hope I absorbed at least something from our many conversations. Even if I did not, I expect my daughter's interest in photography springs at least in part from her experiences wandering around his studio, soaking it all in - as small children well do.

The New Yorker ran a short piece about the murals when they were donated to Brooklyn Polytechnic.

And here are thumbnails of the murals.

Macbeth

This past week was spring break at my wife's college. We used the opportunity to take a road trip to the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) which was presenting Macbeth, featuring Patrick Stewart in the title role, at their Harvey Theater. Seldom has three hours of my time passed so quickly; how wonderful is first-rate theater, how amazing is our Shakespeare.

It took only a few moments for me to forget Jean-Luc Picard. A dark and bloody story of evil was unfolding before me with Stewart transforming the commanding presence he displayed as the Captain of the Enterprise into that of a power-hungry Stalinesque murderer. As involving as was Stewart's stage presence - I could seldom move my eyes away from him - the production was his equal. And if some of his fellow cast members looked familiar, they should have. Many were veterans of British productions we had seen on TV - Midsomer Murders, Poirot, Miss Marple, and the like. Did I mention it was bloody? Tastefully bloody, but deeply crimson bloody. I liked it.

The production is now playing its third venue since opening in England last year. It will move to Broadway for short eight-week run at the end of this month. Critics have generally been quite taken by the production and by Stewart's performance. For example try the London Times, The Guardian, The New York Times, or The New Yorker. We saw a production that may be remembered for years.

Math Award

My daughter has recently taken to advising almost everyone within earshot that she can't do math. Having known her for some time now I wish to set the record straight. She can do math. At least 8th grade math, which will generally get one through life fine and dandy. Addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division. Almost all math is just a variation on those operations. (Did you notice I just snuck in a math term?)

Anyway, I am having none of it. Here is a math award she won in the 8th grade to illustrate my point. She may not be great in math; she may not like math. But she can do math. Don't listen to her. She ought to be able to figure out things if she cares too. There!

Maybe I am jealous. I never got a math award. Ever. I'm not good at math.

Snow

This morning we had a nice dusting of snow, not a frequent event around here. By the time this picture was taken it was raining; by noon it was mostly gone. It was a good day to spend inside, which I did.

Happy Holidays

One of the deficiencies of our new home was the entrance. Made of wood, it had suffered the effects of moisture and its southern exposure. The frame had become rotten and the door ill-fitting. So I installed a new energy efficient fiberglass door about a month ago. My wife wanted a red door, so red it is - just in time for Christmas and a new wreath.

Although the painting is not finished - more coats of red are needed to deepen the color and I am not sure I am happy with the trim color - it still makes a decent Christmas photo.

So, Happy Holidays to our friends and family. The door is always ajar.

Winter Solstice, 2007

Winter solstice occurred for us in the northern hemisphere yesterday at 1:08 AM, EST. Our hours of daylight will now become longer, making another spring an eventuality. Let us welcome the return of the sun.

Every now and then it probably does us good to be reminded that we are part of something larger than ourselves, much larger. Humans have been using this date to do so for a long time, in many ways, in many places. We are probably better off for that.

Just Right

From the first moment I set foot in what would become our new home I felt something was missing in the living room. Between two windows on the east outside wall should have been a fireplace. But none was there. Given the difficulty (and expense) of adding a traditional masonry fireplace to a log wall I looked for an alternative, one that would also provide both supplemental and backup heat. The Cottage Franklin Soapstone Gas Stove was our choice.

We ordered it early last spring when it was on sale and finally installed it a few weeks ago. It was one of the few projects around here that went off more or less with no surprises. The stove has performed perfectly, providing backside warming on cold mornings - like today - and a pleasant glow in the living room in the evening. I like to wake up before sunrise, make my coffee, push the button on the remote, and watch the flame and feel the radiant heat as the sun comes up. Given the layout of our house the stove can heat the whole house if called upon. When we complete the soapstone heat shield and mantle behind the stove that space between the two windows will look complete.

Thank you Woodstock Soapstone Company, West Lebanon New Hampshire. It was a pleasure to work with you. Great Stove!

Now all I need is to pull my chair closer to the stove, open a good book, and pour some egg nog. Winter has its rewards.

Edwin Bearss

Last weekend my daughter and I traveled to the Gettysburg area for a two-day tour of Civil War battlefields. Leading our tour was the dean of battlefield tour guides, 84 year-old Ed Bearss, shown here last Sunday at the site of the beginning of what is known as Pickett's Charge.

We traveled north for two reasons. First, my great grandfather Edwards was probably wounded during Lee's Pennsylvania campaign and I wanted to visit the locations where that most likely happened: Gettysburg's East Calvary Battlefield, Smithsburg, or Hagerstown, MD. Second was to once again listen to and absorb from Ed.

Aside from a cool wind on Sunday afternoon when we retraced Confederate footsteps on July 3rd 1863, it was perfect. I had toured the Wilderness and Spotsylvania battlefield sites with Ed in June and was amazed at his knowledge, presentation, and stamina. Not only would he paint a vivid description of battle in great detail off the top of his head, he would walk your butt off. Nothing was different this time at Gettysburg except the temperature. There is nothing like an Ed Bearss tour. He stands alone.

I am not a civil war buff, whatever a "buff" is. I am uncomfortable with those who find war, any war, glorious. Or who profit financially or emotionally from it. With just a little bit of research and empathy most of us who have never participated in battle would find it horrid. Those who have participated already know. Fully informed, sane people would not wish it on themselves, nor moral persons on others. Yet wars continue.

Ed knows war personally, as a US Marine badly wounded in the south Pacific in WW2. Trying to be careful that I do not put words into his mouth - or remove them - I never heard him try to wrap up the clash of armies and the human responses of individuals to its death and destruction in righteous, self-serving metaphors. He just tells it like it was, like Shakespeare who so vividly presented ourselves to ourselves.

Yes, there is evil in our world that occasionally must be violently opposed. Yes, kill-or-be-killed situations can bring out the best within us as well as the worst. But most of war is a muddle, bad ideas poorly executed. SNAFU. Perhaps it is wise for us to remember well the smell of the battlefield, the cries of the wounded, the fog of war. Then we might more carefully choose the time and place the next soldiers, and bystanding civilians, will die.

As Edwin Bearss served his country as a Marine and with the National Park Service he continues to serve us all as a battlefield tour guide. When he speaks of the Civil War I do not hear us or them. I hear we. We would do well to listen to him.

TJ

Writing in a recent issue of The New Yorker, which, by the way, consistently contains the best writing in the English language, historian Jill Lepore reviewed
Edward J. Larson's new book, “A Magnificent Catastrophe: The Tumultuous Election of 1800, America’s First Presidential Campaign” (Free Press; $27). Her review was titled "PARTY TIME - Smear tactics, skulduggery, and the début of American democracy."

The following caught my eye:

But the most ferocious attacks on Jefferson concerned his views on religion. Jefferson had once offered a Franklinesque statement of his passionate commitment to religious toleration: “It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no god. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.” All over the country, clergymen preached that such a view could lead to nothing but unchecked vice. From New York, one minister answered Jefferson, “Let my neighbor once perceive himself that there is no God, and he will soon pick my pocket and break not only my leg but my neck.”

I smiled. Maybe Jefferson would have also, thanking God for his Virginia neighbors rather than than those of the minister.

I Feel Good

In the spring of 1958 the US was launching its first earth satellites, Castro was just starting his revolution in Cuba, and Prince Rogers Nelson was being born in Minneapolis. Elvis had just been drafted, a Coke cost 5 cents, and the Wham-O Company was doing quite well with the Hula Hoop. Their Frisbee and Hacky Sack were still several years away.

And as my family sat down for dinner one spring evening my mother took off her glasses. Trying to be funny I put them on. To my surprise I could see better with them than without them. A few days after my announcement to all assembled Dr. John Van Hoy, our local optometrist, put glasses on me for the first time. There, in one form or another, they have remained, until yesterday.

LASIK is the acronym for Laser Assisted in Situ Keratomileusis, a type of refractive laser eye surgery performed by ophthalmologists for correcting eye defects, including myopia and astigmatism. I suffered from both, until yesterday.

Thanks to an off-hand comment three weeks ago by the side of our local pool, the friendly folks at Laser Eye Center of Carolina in Cary, and some VERY sophisticated computer driven equipment I put aside my glasses (prescribed last year by the same Dr. Van Hoy!) for the first time in 49 years, yesterday.

I will still need glasses to read and sunglasses to look cool. But I am already at 20-20 uncorrected with improvement very likely. I feel better than James Brown.

Now maybe I need a tattoo.

P.S. Daughter Malindi spanked me pretty good recently for not updating my blog. How did I do? :)