We had corn on the cob with dinner tonight, and per usual pattern around here – I simply put a pat of butter on each plate rather than putting out a whole stick-o-butter on the table.

After dinner, while putting the plates in the dishwasher, one of those pats fell and stuck inside the door of the machine. At the time, I thought nothing of it. I thought “whatever, there are bigger issues here than a pat of butter INSIDE the dishwasher. At the time, I also thought very clearly about how little effort it would be to grab the butter and toss it in the trash or sink. Like, ZERO effort.

Later in the evening, I put away the dessert dishes and noted that the butter was still there.

Just now, I came downstairs, made one final evening pass, and loaded a couple more dishes. I saw the butter – and in full cognizance of how little effort I was avoiding, started wondering “can I be sure that if I run the washer with a piece of butter stuck to the door … can I be sure that it’ll wash out entirely? What if I wind up with some sort of butter-film on all my dishes? Perhaps there’s some setting on the washer that’ll ensure a butter free solution.” At this point I’m getting the soap, etc.

Finally, at the last possible minute, unable to solve the problem any other way, I invoked the zero effort solution and tossed the butter in the garbage disposal.

In other news, I designed a home lighting solution that requires one 20A line for each 4 square feet of illuminated area. I’m working on the details now.

Found a juicy paragraph in the grandparent correspondence. This one is from my grandfather brother (John) describing a party:

When Dee was home several weeks ago we had quite a party at Bud’s house, although I imagine Dorothy (my grandmother) has given you most of the details. All of the old gang were there and Doug and Lola and Bill C. and his wife were also there. I don’t know if you have ever met this ‘Scotty.’ She is a friend of Pauline’s and her husband. They were also there and Dee happened to be locked in the same room with Scotty for a while. He was in his usual condition when he unlocked the door and Scotty’s husband walked in and gave both Dee and his wife a paste in the eye. This sort of livened up the party. Dee did not know until ten minutes later what had happened although he wasn’t knocked out – he was just feeling good enough that it was all rather strange to him. Then these two left. I daw Dee a couple of days later and his eye was not as bad as it looked like it was going to be. Just the same old stuff.

Woot.

So I’m sitting up until all hours, watching Black Hawk Down, because my brother in law went and reminded me of it, so now I have to watch it again.

And I’m at the scene where the dude with the strange and mysterious skill that’s kept him out of combat for three deployments (typing) is bedding down for a highly hostile and dangerous night in the city. For whatever reason, he’s brought his coffee grinder, some beans, and a strainer (as opposed to, say, ammo). He’s making coffee for the Delta guys who are going to keep them alive until sunrise.

And, not that there’s any comparison, but it reminded me of a cup of coffee I had in Haiti, in February of this year.

Thanks, Alan, for making space for the good stuff … and a grinder to do it justice.

It’s the little things.

I think I need to unplug for a bit.

See you in a while, internet.

Reading a phenomenal book, titled Every Man Dies Alone. It’s historical fiction about the German (internal) resistance to the Nazis during world war 2. Apparently the author survived those times – wrote the book in a frantic 25 days – and then killed himself. It has a feeling of truth to it that transcends the translation.

At this point, he doesn’t dare to think any further. He’s afraid, really afraid, of where a thought like that, taken to its conclusion, might lead. He would have to change his whole life!

I’ve also taken up a bit of a family chore – I retrieved two crates of letters from the house in Detroit. They contain years of correspondence between my grandparents – starting with when my grandfather was in boot camp – proceeding through officer candidate school – and on to his deployment in Hiroshima after the end of the war. I’m trying to read them in order, and also to scan them. I’ve got this crazy idea to make a bit of an electronic museum out of the high points. Not sure if it will go anywhere, but there it is.

The thing about these letters is that they’re so *ordinary*. My grandparents were, at one level, at least, two people who loved each other very much – whose days started with waking up and ended with going to sleep again. Along the way, they wrote to each other.

Other than that, I’m in a hotel in some town or other. Again.

Fall is in the air. I can feel the weather change in my bones … and the ragweed in my sinuses.

redmeds brother and sister-in-law came up for a weekend visit, and it was great. We’ve all settled out to the point where we were just four adults chumming around. Both of them have been doing the couch to five K program, and have started down the road to being in really good shape. We all went to a New England Revolutions game on Saturday night, had fancy North End Italian for dinner on Sunday, and Doug and I toured the Boston Beer Company’s brewery this morning. Good times all around.

I find myself re-visiting my whole life – decisions, opinions, etc. I’m pretty comfortable with where I am – but there are some outliers that make me wonder “why do I do that?” “Am I sure I believe that anymore?” I believe that it’s always good to question … and fall is the season of questioning. Of visible endings and the downhill side of cyclic existence.

I think we all know what this means: It’s time to go take in a smash-bang movie. The Expendables ought to do nicely, thanks.

With the somewhat overhyped passage of hurricane Earl (AKA rev_e), the lawn got some much needed rain – but things are otherwise stable. The rain knocked some fraction of the pollon out of the air for a few brief hours, which is very nice. As I’ve aged, my ragweed allergy has matured into something wondrous to behold – leading me to think of this as the season of free hangovers.

Amazing to me that it took 35 years to figure out that this really, seriously, is just a ragweed allergy.

It’s fall, and another summer has passed by. Not really “passed” so much, and squeezed around and through my insane schedule. This summer was better than last – insofar as we weren’t buying a house and trying to move. I grew some porch tomatoes and made several batches of gazpacho … something sorely lacking last year. The majority of the CSA produce went either into our bellies or into the freezer … with minimal waste into the compost heap. We spent evening after evening laughing and cooking with friends.

On the other hand, while the summer has been good, overall, the year has been too hectic by far. tripit tells me that I’ve been on the road 87 nights out of approximately 250 so far this year. That’s way too high – and I can see the effects when I look at the piles of un-started projects in my office, the gray hairs, the lack of progress at judo, and so on. Some of that has been glorious and crazy adventures with redmed, technolope, and others … but most of it has just been grinding away at work.

So now I find myself looking at fall, and thence to winter. Wondering what the future holds. I would start on some of these projects – but we have houseguests for something like the third or fourth straight weekend – and I’m off on four more weeks of business travel starting on Tuesday.

Fortunately, I have cats to come and give me head-bumps when I sit and think too long without typing.

BONK.

Was discussing various things with redmed this evening via skype, and the topic of wolverines came up. Wolverines, for those who don’t know, are the meanest member of the weasel family. Skunks are also members of the weasel family. The discussion started with skunks, since we apparently have one who hangs out on our porch.

Anyway, the conversation led to the observation that in a fight between a wolverine and a skunk, the wolverine would win easily. It would smell bad afterwards – but that’s okay because the only thing in the nostrils of a wolverine is BADASS.

We turned to the fact that wolverines routinely drive cougars off their kills. The following hypothetical dialogue ensued:

wolverine rrr
cougar dude, this is totally mine. I …
wolverine  RRRRR!
couger dude, I’m bigger than you – longer legs – I’ve got you by like a hundred pounds
wolverine rrrr *NIP*
cougar DUDE! WTF?
wolverine RRR! *NIP* *SLAP*
cougar Damn hombre, I’m movin’ I’m moving’
wolverine rrr (eat) rrrr

Of course, this led to the following relationship summary for and me:

Two wolverines rrr / rrr (snuggle)
everyone else (thank god)

I am exhausted, but satisfied.

Been running around like the proverbial decapitated chicken for the last several days. It started with the 16 hour drive from Boston to Michigan – we decided not to risk the border crossing with a trailer full of boxes. That makes things substantially longer than the 12 hour optimal shot. My dad and I had hour upon hour of awesome conversation … I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday than by taking time with my dad to talk until we talk ourselves out. Fell exhausted into bed in the room that was my mom’s when she grew up. Woke up in an uncomfortable sweat-drenched haze at about 2am because there was no air movement in the house.

On thursday, I got the house inspected by the city. This was somewhat perfunctory. The inspector all-but called us as a “pass” from his car. Then I drove to West Branch to see my uncle. We chummed around for the afternoon, him showing me his business and the family owned 120 acres of swampland. Thanks, grandpa, that’s some swell swampland you left in trust for me.

Thursday night, I got back to the house in Detroit at about 9pm and realized that I was fiendishly hungry. Drove north on Woodward to find the beginnings of the Dream Cruise. I settled on the patio at Como’s, had a salad, and watched some goddamn fascinating people walk around while classic muscle cars blasted up and down the street. Fell into bed about midnight, and woke up around 2am, drenched in sweat. No air movement in the stultifying house.

Friday I had the lead inspection (duh, there’s lead paint on the walls). Caught lunch with a friend, and then headed to Ann Arbor for an afternoon of working from cafes and an evening of revels with technolope, aerospacegirl, and others. Got back to the house, fell asleep, and woke in the now predictable, but still uncomfortable pool of my own sweat at about 2am.

Today, I packed some boxes, went to a memorial service for my great aunt, dropped my rental car and picked up techolope and my car at the airport, ate at the funky cafe on the corner, and packed more boxes. It is now midnight. However, technolope being a genius, he found a box labeled “FAN” and has rigged some goddamn air movement in this place. I am truly excited about sleeping.

12 hour drive across canada begins at 7am. Booyah!

I am in the middle of a truly marvelous adventure. Let me show you it.

My dad lives in Virginia. He is moving to Western Michigan. He had planned to load a trailer with stuff and make a run up the East coast to deliver some stuff to my brother in Baltimore and me in Boston before cutting west to his new place to drop off the stuff. Then he plans to go to a wedding in wisconsin and return home.

I was like “hey, I need to visit Detroit anyway. How about if I tag along with you for the Boston – Michigan leg? We’d get to spend a whole day catching up – you would have company on the drive – etc.”

So, I had a ride to Detroit with my dad. Best birthday present I can imagine. Time is the rarest commodity.

Last night, and came over to the house in Boston to light some candles and drink some remarkably good rum. It’s 21 year old Dominican rum (Opthimus) that we purchased at the duty free store coming back from Haiti. I like to say that it came from the duty free store outside the gates of hell. It’s damn close to the truth.

Anyway, shared that he was driving to Toronto today – and on a whim I was like “you should drive my car, meet me in Detroit, and we can ride home together on Sunday. So, long story short – he took my car and is now in Toronto with my car.

Dad is taking me to the airport tomorrow to pick up an in-town rental before proceeding West. I’m getting the house inspected by the city, and then packing a bunch of shit to take back to Boston because – well – I’ll have my car here on Saturday!

I can hear the echoing drums of the drum circle on the corner – and it’s sweaty and sultry in the city. As usually happens, I am losing lock on what year it is – sitting in this living room. Am I 7 years old, staying with my grandparents for a week while my parents vacation in Toronto? Am I 14, here for a funeral? Am I perhaps 25, here with my mother to carry furniture and clean out her parent’s house? No. I am 35 – and here under my own power … though not at all my *own* power.

Adventure: It’s where you find it.