CurlyShavings

Did I mention that I love my Mac? A very long time ago (1997, we thinks), I bought a souped up Dell notebook/laptop. Very nice. Lots of RAM, fast CPU, much disk. It had Windows 98SE on it (the last small but stable of the Windows family). It ran. It did my stuff. And I was happy.

Then it developed a rattle. This was probably 2004. Long life, right? And the hard drive began being unstable. And it crashed ("click, click, click, click . . ."). And I replaced it. And began running Linux (various Red Hat versions). But there was something wrong with the power on this box. It would freeze and require a hard shutdown (the "one-finger salute") to revive. Which would occasionally fry the new disk (just the data, not the disk). Unstable. And I was not happy.

I didn't read my email. I didn't respond to questions. I didn't write anything of note (and still don't). I began relying on my work laptop for most of my personal computing needs. This was a Bad Thing because I work for in a Highly Regulated Financial Company with draconian InfoSec people who forbid using corporate resources for personal use. And this is a good thing because you don't (or haven't yet!) seen Highly Regulated Financial Company in the news for losing a million credit card numbers or accidentally leaking half a million social security numbers. But I still didn't check email (because they actually enforced that part of the policy). And I was not happy.

Said Dell laptop died one more time. As I was making backups. Really bad die this time. Had to format and start over. Very unhappy. And so I approached this family's Budget And Requisition Board for a new computer. "What?! Ten years since your last computer? Go get yourself one." I don't like spending money (specially on myself) and I was still not happy.

After a few days of making others in my family unhappy, said BARB (Budget And Requisition Board) repeated the request. And I drove my youngest son to the Apple store with a list of part numbers. I flumuxed the sales person because she didn't have to sell anything to me, just get me part numbers from the stockroom. Yes, there was a minor transaction having to do with a piece of plastic, but there wasn't a "sell". And we drove home. And I was happy.

And it sat in the box during dinner and some time after. Oldest son was frustrated because he couldn't open it (it isn't his) or touch it (it isn't his) or use it (it isn't his) or watch Dad use it. Dad wanted to read the instruction book. It didn't take long. Something around five little-bitty pages. And I savored all of them. And I was happy.

Getting up and running was a piece of cake. A slice of pie. As easy as falling down. And so I invited Oldest son to help read me the 128-bit encryption key for the WEP on the wireless router. And he messed it up. And messed it up. And messed it up. And I was unhappy. So I took it from him and typed it from my own eye-balls. And it worked and I was happy.

And I remain happy. I answer email. I distribute pictures. I read the news. I write stuff (still poorly). Apple makes a nice product (hardware and software/OS). I've used a ton of OSes and I know what makes a good OS. OS X 10.4 is a great OS. The laptop is a great laptop. (It just better last me 10 years!) And I am happy.

Douglas Adams once wrote in one of his books about a fellow that, once he learned to fly (defy gravity, actually), he learned to understand Bird (a twittery sort of language). I believe that it ruined the experience of listening to the birds for him. Lots of inane chattering going on about seeds and wind currents and stuff like that.

Well, Twittering seems to me like it suffers from a similar problem. Let's deal with this in two ways, self and others.

For myself, who wants to know what I'm doing at every waking moment? Well, besides the nefarious deeds people, but we'll address that later. No one. So maybe I reserve Twittering for status changes of import. But what if I forget one? According to my Twitter page, for three+ days, I've been "Getting organized for the day. Too many loose ends right now." Not helpful if you want to know what I'm doing right now. So maybe I reserve Twittering for intense thoughts, impressions, ideas. That might have merit. Unfortunately, when viewed by themselves, they seem rather pithy and without context. (We may be on to something here, hmmm, context.)

For others, who wants to know what I'm doing at every waking moment? (Wait a minute, didn't we already use this argument?) Well, besides the nefarious deeds people. I imagine one could figure out from some of my Tweets when I'm going to be somewhere or not somewhere. It may be possible to determine that I frequent a certain Starbucks at certain times of certain days. Or that on one day, I might be seen as a small sailboat nearing a particular Cleveland landmark. This aspect of Twittering may or may not be important. Hard to say. By the time it becomes important, it will probably be too late.

So, like the fellow who learned how to understand Bird, who cares? Who cares what a million people are doing at every point throughout their day? Who cares.

In the meantime, if you want to listen to some strange bird twitter interesting (and irrelevant) thoughts to the ether, subscribe here.

I suppose I'm conflicted. This time of year I like it cold, crisp and bright outside and warm, moist and bright inside. (I'd really rather be sailing, but that's another thing.)

Like Anna at little.red.boat, I'm a bit impacted by the dark gray skies and short days. (I sometimes read little.red.boat simply because of the little red boat graphic.) Seasonal Affective Disorder is a bummer and so I might huddle under my "happy light" more in the next few months than I ordinarily would.

And now I remember that tonight the US Congress has inflicted a "Fall Back" maneuver on the timepiece. Daylight Savings Time ends (or begins, I forget which) tomorrow at 2am Eastern. Having saved nothing in terms of energy (which the bill/law was supposed to do) and expended tons in terms of effort (to update computer systems, etc.), we merrily go our way into the darkness that is Fall in NE Ohio.

Patrick O'Brian's 13th in the series, the Thirteen-Gun Salute is a bit disappointing. I felt as if I had stepped into the middle of a book rather than entering into a new one. In many real ways, I did. We meet our captain and his crew shipwrecked on an island (where we left them in the previous book). And at the end, well, I won't spoil it but I didn't get the feeling that we'd finished anything.

Yes, there were several bright spots of really good writing and overall, the book just doesn't seem to stand on its own the way some of the earlier ones had.

The Order of the Arrow (OA) is Scouting's National Honor Society. It exists to recognize campers who exemplify the Scout Oath and Law every day, to promote camping and to provide service to others. There are three basic honors one can receive and in October I went through the third, the Vigil. (While it is a secretive society, it is by no means a secret society. Some Sections, geographic groupings of Lodges, provide a Vigil "preview" for parents, allowing them to see what takes place during a Vigil. It is my understanding that all ceremonies are open for observation, just ask your Lodge.)

My Ordeal took place in the early `80s, in Karankawa Lodge on the Texas Gulf Coast. I don't remember much. My Brotherhood took place in April 2005/4, in Cuyahoga Lodge in North East Ohio. It was the most meaningful of the three. My Vigil took Place in late September 2007.

We arrived, hung out and talked for a while, did introductions of new and old Vigils, went over names and generally had a good time of it until well after dark, around 10pm. At that point, we gathered our things and one-by-one walked with a guide to a remote part of camp where our Lodge Chief waited. He spoke to me, gave me certain things to think about during my time alone and asked me not to speak to others during this time.

I was then led to a still-further remote part of camp where I was to spend my night. My guide (my dear friend who was my Staff Adviser during my very first Program Director position at Webelos Resident Camp) helped me clear some ground and get a fire going (one match, lots of dry cedar shingles). Then she left and the darkness swallowed her.

The Lodge Chief had given me a packet of letters, each to be opened at specific times throughout the night. In addition, between these letters, I was to receive a visit from out of the darkness to remind me of certain things, to make certain I didn't need anything and, I suppose, to make certain I was still awake. The first letter said nothing I didn't already know. In fact, all the letters provided were reminders of things that had been said and learned in years past. They were mile-markers through the night, though, and that was useful.

I soon settled into a bit of a routine. I gathered firewood, sawed some logs (literally, not figuratively), set up my camp chair, opened my snacks, got my journal and my Bible and set down to enjoy the night.

It was a cool, clear night with a nearly full moon. I was able to stay in my Scout shorts the entire night as long as I kept the fire going.

By 2330, I had my first "deep" thought: The fire burns only when fed and such also is the fire within us -- without constant feeding, it soon dies out.

At 0030, the fire was beginning to burn low, with many coals. The fire won't let you rest, it must be kept or it doesn't burn at all. Throughout the night I found that the fire changed shapes, not the flames, but its footprint and its character. Some of what determined that shape was what I fed it, logs, sticks, twigs, they all gave it different characteristics. Soon, that which was consumed to coals was consuming other fuel: newly-laid sticks and logs.

In the silence of the woods, the trees breathed around me, insects were singing. The owls called to each other, the fire crackling. The mist, which didn't stay long, crept past on its way to somewhere else. The moon soon joined my vigil, striving to peek between the leaves to see what it is I was doing.

How slowly moves the moon! Silver slivers that dance between the trees, the stumps, the hills in the distance.

A clean-burning life needs to be poked, prodded. Things need to be removed, added. Strategies change with the changing direction and strength of the wind.

Puddles of silver-light on the unkempt leaves and twigs of the forest floor.

By 0200, two of the envelopes had been read, filling my mind and lighting the blackness of the night. I was beginning to wonder how this fire would be put out. Moving further from my circle to find fuel, I found a stump, four inches in diameter of weathered trunk, about four feet high. I knocked it over and, while sawing it into two-foot sections, found the rusted barbed wire. Oh, well. It burned cleanly and long. The ants who had taken up residence were not appreciative.

I picked up my Bible and began reading. "Do not work for food that spoils."

By 0250, the wind began shifting to the east (had been south-southeast), blowing the heat and the smoke into my face. Time to move my camp chair and by 0300, it was decidedly from the north. "Work for food that endures to eternal life."

The moon is puddling over my shoulder, the selena light of silver on rotting leaves behind me. By 0350, it was overhead and then behind me, casting my shadow on the fire before me.

The visits had been quick and timely, their words appropriate for the stage of the night. So too, with the letters, their contents a welcome reminder of Ordeals and Brotherhoods past. And so it was at 0600 (or rather 0555, since I couldn't wait any longer!) that I ripped open my last letter, hungry for additional words, additional thoughts to add to those I'd already read and thought and searched for. Only to find: "Extinguish your fire and wait for your guide". Oh, the disappointment!

I pulled apart the fire and allowed things to grow cool. I had just enough water left to dribble over the coals and hot sticks that now gave me a smoky steam-bath. Stirring the mud and ashes, even the ground became cool. And so I waited for my guide.

And waited. And waited. Had they forgotten me? Without my fire to guide them, would they be able to find me? And so the coldest part of the night began and soon ended as we were collected and walked back to the center of camp where a large and hot breakfast awaited us.

Some places get to vote today. Our community, county and state have a couple of interesting items.

At the state level (Ohio), we have to decide whether it's OK for strip joint workers to be touched and who compensates their employers for lost wages if they can't be touched. (OK, that's sort of a simplistic, one-sided view of things...) It doesn't matter since it didn't get enough signatures, so (as far as I understand), voting one way or another doesn't matter.

At the county level, (Cuyahoga), we get to decide if we should continue paying taxes to our Port Authority. This is a same-millage tax levy, not an increase. I'm thinking No on this one, although there isn't an easy answer in sight. Mostly because I've been frustrated by the types of projects the Port has decided to fund, what they call their Development Finance Authority. This is the Port Authority, not the local bank. Focus on Port projects. DO something about Whiskey Island (or stop moaning about it). DO something about the Flats (or stop moaning about it). DO something about the land east of the Cuyahoga mouth (or stop moaning about it). Get out from under the County Commissioners' thumbs and show some real leadership.

At the city level, (Cleveland Heights), we have the usual bickering between city council members (and want-to-be members) and the usual posturing between school district board members (and want-to-be board members). Very frustrating on both counts. City Council doesn't seem to be able to do much planning for the future in some situations. There was a recent issue around Euclid Heights Boulevard and declaring some state of emergency. Did the road suddenly get worse? No, it's been declining as long as I've lived here. Wake up and plan for the future.

It's hard to talk about our School District (CH-UH) without talking about their leadership, too. Years ago (starting in 2004?), we, the voters, voted down three separate ballot initiatives to increase the millage on our property values for the school district. We said "No" three distinct times (or was it four?). CH-UH threatened to close schools, threatened people's favorite "Peace Programs", threatened all the usual stuff to get people's attentions. Then, the county guys planned to raise everyone's property values (I think the average was around 10%). The school district said (in effect) "OK, we hear you, this number X is too high, we'll go for Y". The deal is, they would make more money off of Y and the new property values than they would have with X and the old property values. The public didn't look under the covers very well (and they had it on the ballot in November, after the snow birds (who apparently vote No) had already left), and it passed.

Guess what? They closed a school anyway. And they allowed a library building project (really a testament to their greatness) to go over budget by millions. That's right, CH-UH owns our libraries, not the County system. (As much as I hate the County guys, we at least should join the County system.) We have a duplicate infrastructure that we get to pay for also. Then there's the two $100k contracts that got bought out when instead, the recipients should have been put on trial (probably).

Well, anyway, now they're threatening to close a school, stop everyone's favorite programs, etc. if we don't approve the increase. Message to School Board: How much is enough? When money gets tight in the Gifford household, we tighten our belts. We don't go running to mamma and asking for more money. The slogan on all the signs are something like "We can't stop now". Why not? The only folks who claim that more money equals better schools are the school districts, teachers unions, the teachers and the people they inform. The key is parental involvement. There's no direct correlation between money/student and better education. Go back 200+ years and you'll see a consistent theme: successful students had parents behind them who were involved and cared.

[I'm sure I'll get blasted by readers (if there are any) that I have my facts/dates all wrong. Fine. Send them to me in a comment (below) and we'll get a conversation started. I've been wrong before; it's been known to happen!]

Anyway, don't forget to vote.

Here's an example of what I was talking about yesterday: the Port Authority issued some bonds for an office building (no where near the port). Can't we let private citizens decide if and/or where we need more office space? Why do taxpayers have to help? Let these builders/developers get a bank loan.

Crain's Cleveland posted yesterday some information on office buildings in the `burbs. The Wall Street Journal posted some vacancy rates for Cleveland. It seems pretty high and is rising (2Q2006 was 17.9% and 2Q2007 was 18.1%). Why build rather than buy? Is it that much cheaper? (Never mind the County's $35MM asking price for their E9th street screwup.)

(Full disclosure: I work for a bank. And while I may not sound like it, I love my town, Cleveland.)

The Port Authority levy passed and the CH-UH School District levy passed. Rats.

I got another ten seconds of fame recently (out of my 15 minutes). Check out page seven of our Greater Cleveland Council's newsletter, The TrailMarker. Without my knowing it, someone apparently saw the plates somewhere and snapped a picture of it.

Fame, while fleeting, does occasionally strike twice and you'll see me mentioned on the bottom of page sixteen (of the same issue of The TrailMarker).

(While the plate's snapshot is somewhat anonymous, I've already received one email about the second item!)

I've been pretty good about writing every day this month. What I haven't been good about is writing things that need to be written. I have a backlog of ideas and have only crossed off one of them. What's up with that?

Part of the problem is that my anonymous employer wishes me to not blog during work. Except in internal blogs (which you can't read, firewalls, etc.) which I'm not allowed to also post externally. So some days this month, I've double-blogged but can't share. Bummer.

Really good stuff, though. We're recognizing the need (for some time now) to be more agile. Our developers are already well-down that path (or think they are) and now the Operations side of things needs to get more agile. I blogged long and hard about how enterprise agility is significantly different than agile development. I brought in examples, included a picture that demonstrated some contrasts and even made a reader (who actually picked up the phone and called) somewhat anxious about what I was writing. (Now I know I at least have one reader!) At the end of the day, though, I think I expressed myself well and had an interesting dialog (with my one or more readers) about enterprise agility. Now if I could only post it here....

Am I wasting my time? Or just yours?

E.F. Knight chose a very effective writing style, stuck with it and ended up with quite a readable travel narrative. The book, The Falcon on the Baltic, isn't widely available and you might want to try reading it online (and here). His was a simple goal, a summer's cruise in the Baltic. That's it.

He writes very well and makes all his stops interesting to the reader, even when the harbor or city or canal wasn't very enjoyable.

I have attempted to collect some of the placenames from his book into a Google Map and also as a Google Earth KML file. They are, by no means, authoritative. Nor are they even in order. I may yet get to improving them over the holidays.

Ripe from Downtown Salsa comes in two varieties (medium and hot) and is really quite good. Not authentic Mexican-from-my-childhood good, but "Hey, this is good!" good. And it is quite exciting to be able to eat something local. The Cleveland Botanical Garden has an outreach program that produces it.

While researching this blog I discovered that I couldn't determine how I'd found out about this. [11/14/2007 - Update: It came from this TOIstudio blog entry.] We stopped by Heinen's yesterday and grabbed two jars (and consumed one already). We'll look at Zagara's later this week.

Two in a Boat: The True Story of a Marital Rite of Passage is an interesting read about a couple, oddly paired, who take on the adventure of cruising down to the Mediterranean from England. One of the things that makes it a good read is that the author (the wife in this pair) readily admits that she's fairly "messed up" (my term, not hers, she would be much more clinical about it). I bought the book 1) because it was at half-price books, 2) I usually like sea-going stories and 3) I'd like to go cruising with my wife someday and thought I'd learn something.

I did learn some things, both what to do and what not to do. The book ends tragically enough but before you get there, one realizes just what corporate America (or England, or anywhere) can do to a person's soul. You get a real glimpse into this couple's marriage and how things work and don't work. It's easy to empathize with both sides in this adventure and that helps make the book likable.

[11/27/2007 Update: Turns out the author's got a whole web site to herself and a page just for this book.]

Re-reading yesterday's posting, I was reminded of the true story of a friend who explained why he doesn't keep a gun on his boat, even when cruising in drug-runner-infested water. They had gone aground, for the 13^th time that day and the husband was employed (again) in swimming an anchor out a ways to bury in the sand, swim back and then attempt to winch themselves off. After multiple attempts at burying the anchor and all the back-and-forth swimming, the husband returned to the boat and the boarding ladder wasn't down for him. So he started swearing like a sailor at his wife who reached into the seat-locker, grabbed the handiest thing around and pointed it at him. Luckily for him, it was only an airhorn and not a loaded gun. Unlucky for him, it was still an airhorn.

We had a district roundtable tonight (Glacier Ridge District, Greater Cleveland Council) and the first item on the agenda was to recognize two fellow scouters for finishing their Woodbadge Tickets. Very exciting indeed and congratulations to the recipients, C.J. Campbell and Jeff Day!

O'Brian's The Truelove is a well-crafted story of intrigue, a screwed-up relationship, some healthy ones and lots of sailing.

I use the word "crafted" intentionally; the book feels a bit less organic than some of his others. Perhaps "architected" would be a better word. The reader is led along and there's little chance of the story getting away from the author. "Scripted"? Would that be better?

Still, it is a very fun book to read and it is easy to get caught up in the action.

I'm going to play around with Google Maps and see if I can get some of Jack's Journeys to be mapped out.

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So I called Western Reserve Wines and Kathy answered. "We're very interested in South African wines," she said. Maybe she says that to everyone. She'd look into it for me.

So then I called my sister in Annapolis (only she was in northern VA at the time) and she agreed to go find me some.

Anyway, later that evening Kathy calls me back with a list of Stormhoek that her distributor carries: `05 Pino Grigio, `05 Sauvignon Blanc, `04 Shiraz and an `04 Pinotage. I took four bottles of the `04 Pinotage (price was right). They weren't going to be getting anything newer. It sounds as though the proprietor (Kathy) wants to find some, too but her distributor won't do it. Too bad.

Then my sister calls back while I'm on the bus. Her wine store has old `04 stuff, too. (Who knows, maybe the older, the better in this situation.) I respectfully passed.

We'll be in NoVa Friday next week and will have a look around for some there. Maybe we'll get lucky.

I'm expecting a call from Kathy tomorrow (Friday). I sent an email to The Grapevine asking if they could get me some. I want some `06 and an `07. Meanwhile, I'll drink my `04 Pinotage.

I have a tailor. I've never met him, never had him take a tape to my shoulders or my arms or comment on my girth. And yet, there he is. Please let me explain.

Several years ago, I got hooked on Hyde Park Oxfords over at Lands End. Really nice, thick oxford cloth shirts that could take an iron over and over again and not look terrible. And then they changed how they made them. Started making them of inferior fabric. Didn't last as long. Very disappointing.

I also like the label "Made in the USA". Now, I'm not a complete nut. One of my cars is made in Canada, the other, Japan. My shoes are made in Minnesota. Many of my electronic gadgets are not made here. My bandsaw and jointer are both made in the USA. My coffee, well my coffee is made all over. (I found a local roaster but can't seem to get my schedule and theirs in sync.) Still, there's something about the "goût de terroir" (taste of the earth) when you open a bottle of wine that was grown in the same Lake Erie watershed. (But I digress.) I am deeply disappointed that much of our nation's manufacturing has fled our shores. I buy my cars from Honda to thumb my nose at Detroit's arrogance and I buy my shirts from David Mercer because he has a shop in Maine. Well, that, and he makes a really nice shirt.

My last pink Lands End Oxford died a few weeks back (wore out too soon) and so I picked up the phone. David was on vacation at the time so I carefully left a detailed message and a week later he called back. "How about those Indians?" he started. (We live in Cleveland but I follow the Cubs.) "Just checking the measurements" and he read back what I'd ordered before. "Still want the half size on the sleeves?" My arms are weird, OK?!! He verified that I still wanted to use the xxxx credit card, he wished the Indians a better next year and gave me a hard time about my Cubbies. And that was it.

Soon, I'll receive a small package in the mail. It will have the most beautiful pink oxford known to mankind in it. It will have a hand-written thank-you note somewhere. It will have pins in all the right places and will be a joy to open (like an Apple iPod). It will fit. It will last (a reasonable number of years). And I will know, that somewhere in Maine, David and his crew are working on someone else's shirt.

So. I buy my shirts from a guy in Maine whom I've never met. He once replaced a blue shirt because one of the seams burst open. We never did determine if it was my cleaners or workmanship. He didn't argue, he just made me another one. I called him once and explained that although I work at a financial institution, I am a people-person technologist (the subject for another blog). I don't want to look like Wall Street. And he recommended a fabric for those days when I meet with the LOB. And I look great. Like a technologist who works for a bank (oops!).

So I may never have met David. But one of the reasons I buy my shirts from a little shop in Maine is that he treats me like he has run his tape from my shoulder to my wrist. I may just be another entry in his Rolodex but I'd never know that.

He's my tailor.

When I was building my boat in the garage, I moved many of my tools out there. Not the stationary ones (drill press, router table, bandsaw, tablesaw) but the handtools. Some planes, hammers, sanders, etc. And you know what? Except in extreme, specialized cases, I didn't use them.

Here's what I used:

• 20 year-old nail apron with pencils, screws and tacks


• low-angle Lie-Nielsen block plane in a scabbard


• 16oz hammer


• 12' tape measure


• cordless drill/driver and bits

I'm not saying that I'm a master craftsman (I could tell you stories . . .). I'm only saying that one doesn't always need the latest and greatest tool. Just a couple of ones that work well for your craft.

Would Shakespeare have written more elegantly (or just more) with a 21st century MacBook? Or would he have gotten bogged down in Leopard vs Tiger and quit when his hard-drive crashed? We'll never know.

Here's a really cool Cub Scout podcast for all those "hip" Pack Leaders, Den Leader and Cubmaster types who have an iPod and use iTunes. These "Cubcasts" are short, informative and entertaining audio presentations for Pack leaders on having a great program for your cubs. The topics generally go along with your Program Helps.

Inside iTunes, choose "Advanced", then "Subscribe to Podcast..." and then paste this URL into the dialog box:

http://www.scouting.org/cubscouts/podcast/

You'll soon be Cubcasting!

(If you don't use iTunes and/or an iPod, you can still find it here and listen to them on your computer.)

Found some Stormhoek yesterday and brought it home; Western Reserve Wines had called their distributer and got me four bottles of the 2005 Pinotage Western Cape.

Nice bottle, good information on the label. It's also nice to see who is importing it; perhaps I could deal directly with them for a few bottles of the new stuff. Or send WRW their way for me?

We're thinking this might be our Thanksgiving wine (Thursday this year!) and so there might be more ink on the subject after that event. Cheers!

As readers will remember, I was honored by my Order of the Arrow lodge earlier this year. It was a very fun experience and one whose impact will not likely go forgotten over the years.

It used to be that the Vigil honor was accompanied by a pin, a little triangle device with three arrows pointing along the perimeter. My Dad has one; very cool. I want one, too. So off to eBay we go. Sure enough, there are two. One with the arrows pointing clockwise and one pointing counter-clockwise. Can't seem to find any information on which is correct, so I bid on and lose both. The clockwise one has come back as a second bid option. Since then, there have been two others, also clockwise.

I hope to end up with one or the other, but I'll forever be curious; what's up with counter-clockwise?

Readers, (if there are any), do you know anything about this?

[11/19/2007 Update: Check out this research page for more on this issue. Clockwise is correct; counter-clockwise is incorrect.]

I started O'Brian's The Wine-Dark Sea a couple of days ago and expect I'll finish it this week. The edition I'm reading is a hardcover first that my wife picked up for a song at our local book-selling, empty-your-basement weekend event. I don't know if it's the hardcover or the words on the page that make this one a good read, but it is. Better than some of his preceding ones, perhaps he just got back into the groove.

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(If this map doesn't show a sailboat near Hawaii, view this entry by itself. The entry for The Truelove must still be showing on this page.)

I'm not finished with the book yet and doubtlessly will have more to say about it later on.

To Grandmother's house we go! We leave tomorrow morning at oh-dark-thirty for Grandma's house. Here's the route we're planning to follow:

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You can follow our progress here:

Somehow, without breaking the sound barrier, we managed to make it to Grandmother's house shortly after lunch-ish time. There was a brush fire under a bridge for the other lanes and that caused a rubber-necking delay; other than that, we almost flew.

Traffic felt light for a Thanksgiving day. I half-expected bumper-to-bumper traffic and long lines at the pump. As it was, it felt about the same as any other trip.

Now Thanksgiving dinner, well, that was something else. We had turkey, garlic mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing, red stuff, two different types of green beans, lima beans and copious amounts of wine and water. I brought a 2005 Mondavi Cabernet Sauvignon that was delicious. Of course we started with a sparkling Chardonnay from someplace west. And then we moved over to a 2005 Chardonnay from Texas. Yum, yum, all around.

I really enjoy getting lost in the woods. Not completely lost, just mostly lost; somewhat lost.

After we woke up today and started moving again (coffee!!!) we went in search of a couple of geocaches. It's nice to have a somewhat large park full of windy paths and trees and stuff in your parent's back yard. Once, about 15 years ago (I haven't spent much time there in the last decade or so), I was there during that summer for a week (or something) and had gone for a walk in these woods. I kept hearing a baying sound and eventually found a woman walking two dogs who were making all the racket. She was chasing a fox. Yeah, right. I walked back to the house and when back to the streets and sidewalks, something caught my eye from between two houses. Yep, it was a fox, red as can be.

(Fast-forward to the present . . .) So after the woods, we went to the Steven F. Udvar-Hazy Center (cheap/free admission, expensive parking, great museum) and met quite a gaggle of cousins, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, assorted spouses and two sisters. One of my more delightful times was taking my 6mo nephew for an extended walk (carry!) from the entrance to the southern extreme, up the spiral staircase (to see the Virgin Atlantic Global Flyer, Steve Fossett's Burt Rutan-designed plane), down the incline to the northern extreme, back to the center, down the stairs, then back to the southern extreme (to see the Rutan VariEze) and then back to the entrance where Mom (my sister) was waiting in line for the observation tower. I'm a big fan of Burt Rutan. Fossett, while likely dead (missing anyway) is/was a Boy Scout.

Anyway, somehow we survived the trip, made it back to my parents' house where most of the gaggle met us. And we ate some more, drank some more (La Crema Pinot Noir, a Beaujolais Nouveau and a Spanish Cava) and had a really good time of it.

Today we went to Mt. Vernon.

Three mysteries. One was this: If no food or gum-chewing is permitted on the property, why did the docent lady pop a stick in before she started her talk? The second is like it: If there are all these restrictions on food, why did they let dogs in (who might deposit something worse than gum on the ground)? The third is less interesting: Why was the green channel marker on the far side of the body of water we saw?

I thought it would be red: Red Right Returning (to port, upstream). So it should have been a red channel marker.

Hmm.

The only problem is that the channel is only 200 feet wide and we couldn't see any red ones from our vantage point. So the old adage holds true. Next time I bring my spy-glass.

We recently sold a lot of stuff on eBay. Now I've got to get it down to the post office and mail it. Is it worth it? I'm not sure.

Weird Al captures my thoughts most concisely: "the kind of stuff you'd throw away" -- that seems to be it. Rather than throw it away, let's see if anyone will consider buying it for $.99 and $6.00 shipping!

My new shirt arrived today! I pulled open the plastic bag UPS used to protect it against the rain and snow, carefully pulled open the paper padded envelope and there was my pink Oxford! After removing the pins I was able to try it on; it fits well. Happiness, indeed.

I recently wanted to add a "tag cloud" to this blog but found that out of the box, it simply listed the tags used, from A-Z without any distinguishing characteristics. So I poked around a little bit, found one with no code and another that wanted to charge me. And then I found some info on SixApart's website. Really, there are only a couple of things that need doing to add a tag cloud on your Moveable Type blog.

I'm leaving the instructions somewhat vague with the idea that if you don't know what I'm talking about, you won't attempt it. Seriously, you could mess up your site if you did this wrong and didn't know how to un-do it.

First, find your site's Main Index template. Find where you want your Tag Cloud to go. Open a different window with SixApart's Tag Cloud page. Find the section marked "Displaying a "Tag Cloud"" Copy the code from that page to your template. Save.
Second, find your site's CSS file or files. You may need an editor (emacs, anyone?) to do this. Select the one you want to edit. Find where you want to add your Tag Cloud CSS. From the SixApart page, copy the CSS code from under the "Displaying a "Tag Cloud"" code into your CSS file. Save.

Rebuild (I guess that's step #3) your front page and refresh your browser. You should see a neat little tag cloud wherever you told it to be!

If you wanted to do it differently, you could create a MT Widget and add it to your Widget Set (that's what I did). That way, when I want to mess around with the tag cloud by itself, I can do that. I also added a couple of lines to the CSS to get the effect I was looking for.

One of my favorite things to do at the office during the holidays is to make candycane reindeer. You should see the different kinds of reindeer that get created each season. Each is about as different as the person who made it.

Last year we had a dreadlock "rasti-reindeer", an all-seeing reindeer, a 32-point reindeer and many other variations. This year I made some instructions and will leave them out for people to see what's going on. I'm also trying to figure out how we can get some pictures of peoples' creations; maybe we can post them here or something.

I'm adding a clothespin version this year; when I get a prototype together I'll post it here.

Also, these make a great craft for a den of Cub Scouts!

(Yes, that's a view of my office desk in the background!)

[Update 12/14/2007] Here's a rouge's gallery of Reindeer!

I miss my vinyl. Not exactly, but let me explain. Years ago I bought Ziggy Stardust on vinyl, that was about the only choice. I listened to it frequently and repeatedly. Then I bought a Walkman and wanted to take my vinyl with me, so I tinkered around (I'm a bit of an audiophile) and recorded all my vinyl to linear magnetic tape (cassette). Something happened during the recording to slow down the platter and give Bowie a slight defect for less than a second on "Five Years". It wasn't too bad. I listened to that for several years.

Somehow, during one of our married moves, all my vinyl got lost. And so I couldn't rip it to MP3 files. So I invested in iTunes, got the files and stuck them on my iPod.

And my brain can't hear "Five Years" without missing that little warble. OK, so it's not on my vinyl. But I still miss it.

We walked about two miles on this hunt. <Spoiler!> The first cache was a nice ammo box near a distinctive tree; the other was a teeny-tiny magnetic micro under a park bench. Both were predictable enough that we just needed the GPSr devices to get within twenty feet and the rest was "geo-sense". <End Spoiler!>

Still, it was nice just to get out of the house, get some exercise and do something. We like getting lost in the woods (our euphemism for geocaching; you're never really lost -- you might not know where you're going or where you came from, but you're never really lost). It frequently gets you to places you'd never normally go.

Now November is over and while we're looking for low 20F tonight, we don't yet have snow. I have one of the boys tomorrow while Mom takes the girls to a Lady's Tea. Perhaps we'll go get lost in the newly-opened Treadway Creek...