AEIB (An Englishman In Boston)

Lost and Found Two

2010-01-21T15:00:00.003-05:00

trucks-1
Originally uploaded by traces
to see more click here

There is something about abandoned vehicles that draws me to them.
The patina of rust, faded paintwork and gap-toothed grills. Seats sagging with the imprint of miles driven. Slumping tires, slowly wheezing air from a past age. Stories left unwritten, tales of near misses, places visited and lives changed that can now only be imagined.
Slowly nature coddles their once solid form in its creeping embrace, as if to trap and eventually devour.

Shipwrecked - Story telling at its best

2009-12-16T15:34:00.004-05:00

Shipwrecked by Donald Margulis is based on the story of Louis de Rougemont (hint - this is not his real name), who leaves home and his sickbed at the age of sixteen to travel the world. Taking passage as crew of pearl diving ship, he and the faithful ship's dog are washed up after a storm on an uninhabited tropical island.

After many years and rescuing a similarly shipwrecked native woman, her son and her father, he returns with them to their own land where he rides on turtles, fends of marauding pillagers with the aid of stilts and acrobatics, marries the woman, fathers two children and eventually returns home thirty years later with a fantastic tale to tell. It becomes a serialized sensation and he is hailed as a hero, adventurer and raconteur. And then comes the Oprah moment when...no go see it or if you really can't, just Google it.

This Lyric Stage Company of Boston production is the best of their season, so far. The three actors are a tour de force and two of them playing multiple roles with comic voices and timing to match are simply outstanding. The show runs until 20th December - see it and experience the true art of the story.

Let it snow

2009-12-06T17:39:00.004-05:00

Cool walk in Minuteman National Historic Park after a night of wet and heavy snow. The building is the Hartwell Tavern and dates from the time of the American Revolution. In the summer it is open to the public and features demonstrations of musket firing, weaving and the games people played.
Today there was simply solitude.

Left Behind to Rust in Peace

2009-12-03T14:43:00.004-05:00

Had a trip outside of Boston for Thanksgiving and found a great place to photograph the final resting place of many transportation artifacts. From Buggies to barrows, buses to Buicks this place has it all. I know as a conservation minded person I should be appalled by the dumping, but I really like the way nature reclaims - muting colors, eroding strength, and masking presence. In 50 years time, if the land does not become a housing lot, then this particular transformation might well be complete.

Leaving home

2009-12-03T14:07:00.005-05:00

Early morning is not my favorite time of day, especially when it means a trip to Logan for the first flight out of the day.
A week ago was different.
From home - 13 miles northwest of Boston - to departure lounge in a little over 90 minutes thanks to a lift to Alewife 'T' Station and then a $1.75 ride to Terminal B. True, a limo takes half the time, but at a cost of $85. Automatic check-in, quick baggage handling, even quicker security check - does it get any better?
Well yes, because after grabbing a Starbucks coffee and rounding the corner to the departure gate, this is the sight that met my gaze. OK, the sun was a little higher than first viewing by the time I grabbed my camera, found a spot to minimize through-glass reflections. You could call it a glowing send off.

Tapes and Gatesgate -not.

2009-07-28T13:46:00.007-04:00

Recently released tapes of a 911 call to Cambridge police identifying a possible crime in progress are surprisingly innocuous. No racial profiles or slurs, deleted expletives, or over dramatization. Simply a female caller, expressing her concern and uncertainty. So why does the story continue to have legs?

We could point the finger at Professor Gates and Officer Crowley or President Obama and Governor Deval Patrick and everyone else who hitched their wagon to this particular sideshow caravan. We all know the lingering discomfort of being in the wrong and failing to admit it, whether at home, at work in a car or on the street. We also know the feeling of panic from being in the wrong place at the wrong time or the right pace with the wrong people around us, whatever our race or background.

First as a visitor, then work visa holder, legal resident alien and now US citizen I am deferential to the police when they ask to see my identification. I can not be certain, but I think this would be as true in my home as it has been when outside. As the scorpion who stung the frog carrying it across the pond said when asked 'why?' "it's in my nature". It's who I am, just as those involved at all levels are who they are.

It will take more than a beer and a White House photo opportunity to resolve the underlying issues of acceptance, tolerance and respect that exist in all countries and for all nationalities, races and religions, but the ones that triggered this media firestorm - they're no Gatesgate.

Tall ships come and go - memories linger

2009-07-28T12:50:00.006-04:00

Without doubt attendance at the Sail Boston tall ships events exceeded downplayed and downsized expectations. The events' pre-911 visit to Boston in 2000 attracted more than 100 ships and 7.5 million visitors.

With organizers marooned by the City's lack of security funding, Sail Boston cast adrift the pride of show Parade of Sail event. This year's visit, limited to only 40 ships, had been expected to attract only 500,000 visitors but due to good weather and perhaps the fact it was 'free', the organizer estimated 3.5 million people took time to view the ships dotted around the harbor wharfs.

With fewer ships open only 5 hours per day, there would be a real crush if everyone attempted to snag a tour. In fact it would mean that 87,500 people would have to get on board each ship over the 5 day event period. That's 3500 per hour, or 1 person per second.

Many, like myself, chose to view at a distance and still enjoyed a rarely seen and spectacular sight.

When do we become our children - what does your photo say?

2009-05-27T13:20:00.006-04:00

I noticed a strange phenomenon on Facebook when following a link to the Mother Connection meet-up group. (Full disclosure I am not a mother, but I have one).
If you've used Facebook or any social networking site you know that you can create a profile image to help friends identify you or perhaps with you.

Here's what I noticed.
Of mothers attending an up-coming meeting, the majority (66%) had a picture of their child or children as their profile image, 27% had a picture of one parent and child(ren), 9% had an image of 2 parents and child(ren), 9% had no image.
Not one person attending the meeting had an image only of themselves.
This may not be too revealing until compared to those declining, maybe attending, or not responding. Of these 9% had a picture of their child only, 30% a child and 1 parent, 21% a child and 2 parents, 20% a parent alone, 7% a couple alone, 9% no image.

So a parent who profiles themselves with an image of their child or children is more likely to attend a meeting like this one. More than that, so is a parent who identifies themselves in an image with their child.

In conclusion, a scant 8 out of 54 mothers identified themselves with an image that included only themselves, while another 3 identified as a couple without children and 5 had no image. That means 10 see themselves in the image their children, 17 as themselves, plus their children, 11 as a couple and their children.

So when did mothers stop being individuals and identify as their children or a family unit? I dare say the same may apply to other groupings, fathers, grandparents, tattoo artists, musicians, hikers and bikers.
What does your image say about you... and tell others?

Volvo Ocean Racing In-harbor pro-am race day

2009-05-10T21:48:00.002-04:00

Great day of sitting around watching others do all the work. No points towards the overall race, but a chance to see these amazing sailing craft in near full sail in a windy Boston Harbor.
All photos taken from shore using a 200mm telephoto lens on Nikon D300.

Who buried the Volvo Ocean Race Village?

2009-05-04T22:24:00.005-04:00

Had to look twice at this photo from the Volvo Ocean Race Boston page.

At first I marveled a the beautiful reflections of buildings on the glass-like waters of the harbor. Have they ever been so still?

Then I marveled at the beautiful buildings and greenery on Fan Pier so sharp and crisp compared to the high rises in the background.

Why only yesterday when I visited the Volvo Racing Village, which shares the exact same real estate on Fan Pier, not only were the building not finished, only one of them had actually been started.

But worse was to come. Two huge building now loom over the newly constructed Institute of Contemporary Art, dwarfing it and eliminating all parking. Or maybe that isn't a snippet of the ICA roof poking up in the bottom left hand corner and it's gone with the push of an artist's digital erasure.

Sure would be nice to make some other buildings, such as the monstrous Government Center in downtown Boston, vanish instead.

Heads up

2008-06-04T23:12:00.004-04:00

It's better to seek forgiveness than ask for permission. So with your forgiveness I couldn't resist snapping this restroom shot taken at the Hopworks Urban Brewery in the SE Portland district.

The brewpub beers are excellent and food well above what is normally described as pub grub.

Men will require no explanation for the bike saddles strategically located above the urinals.

Let's just say men adopt many different styles when doing what comes naturally and those styles are often directly influenced by the amount and strength of alcohol consumed.

So when the time comes and head heaviness is impossible to deny, how much easier on the forehead is a soft saddle than the stone wall normally provided.

Keen observers will note that, rightly so, headrests are not provided for children using the lower of the two urinals.

Doubt, A Parable - a great play

2008-06-04T23:07:00.001-04:00

Doubt is the absence of certainty.
Living without doubt is as near impossible as living with certainty.
Certainty brings people together, but so does doubt.
Doubt is a broad church.
Doubt pervades all cultures; it is a most human instinct and drives the search for truth.
A perceived truth may be so strong nothing will induce doubt.

John Patrick Shanley explores these themes in his 2004 Tony and Pulitzer Prize-winning play – Doubt, A Parable.

Set in St Nicholas Catholic School, The Bronx in 1964, Sister Aloysius (Jayne Taini) is convinced that popular Father Flynn (John Behlmann) is plying an altar boy with communion wine in order to abuse him. Father Flynn – who the dialect coach furnished with a Boston accent – denies any improper conduct, accusing Sister James (Jennifer Lee Taylor) of spreading gossip and uses his sermon to point a wagging finger at her conduct.

He likens her action to someone who takes a feather pillow to the roof and slits it with a knife, scattering the feathers in the winds and four corners of the world. Gathering those feathers and stuffing them back in the pillow is like trying to redress a defamed reputation, says Flynn

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the play was the determination of Sister Aloysius to confront Father Flynn, concocting her own lies to trap him, which she never does.

She attempts to enlist the help of the boy's mother Mrs. Muller (Lisa Renee Pitts) who instead providing help makes a passionate plea for the Sister to turn a blind eye so that her son, and the only black child at the school, can graduate and have an opportunity to attend a better school.

"It's only 'til the end of term," she pleads.

Father Flynn resigns under the relentless pressure from Sister Aloysius, and is promptly promoted to lead an order and school in another city.

Did Sister Aloysius do the right thing? In the end she agonizes and doubts both her own actions and those of Father Flynn who she accused so zealously.

The play, staged by Portland Center Stage in their remodeled, refurbished and beautiful armory building, carries it weighty subject with calm assuredness – no doubt about that.

#42 - A Chinese garden

2008-06-02T19:51:00.002-04:00

The problem with visiting a Chinese garden is that as soon as you leave you want to visit another one. OK, it's a poor joke - but a good garden.
Located in Portland's downtown Chinatown and tucked away behind grey painted stone walls, the Portland Classical Chinese Garden is less extensive, but as expensive to visit as the more distant Japanese gardens. Rocks, water and buildings feature more profusely than flowering plants, giving a harsh defined edge to most vistas.

Japanese Garden, Portland

2008-06-01T16:08:00.003-04:00

It is difficult to capture the shear beauty of this gardens either in words or pictures. Manicured is too clinical a word, perhaps ordered is better.

Each garden, a delight in itself, leads to another, blending stone, bamboo, sculptures and plants into organic shades and shapes.

Even in drizzly overcast weather, a fact of life in Portland as it is in England where it creates a similar green lushness of moss and foliage, the garden is serene and welcoming.

The price of a thirty-second thrill

2008-05-31T15:42:00.001-04:00

Seven small steps lead to a painted platform, where, locked into place, rests what looks like a special love seat – with seat belts and shoulder harness.

At either side of the seat, two pairs of steel cables stretch tight as they soar up more than 150 feet into the air, disappearing at the top of flimsy steel towers, themselves guy roped back down to the platform's steel structure.

At the top of the steps, small wicker baskets provide a safe repository for pocketbooks, coins and keys – or anything else likely to fly loose in the brief vertical flight skyward.

A chubby raven haired woman tucks her flowing skirt under her legs, as if that will be enough to spare her modesty as she catapults from the ground, accelerating to 60 mph in under two seconds.

The scraggy bearded man next to her is all bravado, waving to friends on the ground in an exaggerated two-fisted pump. The sound of a motor whines into life and bank of 3-inch diameter coiled steel springs arranged in a 20 x 20 matrix begin to elongate under the determined influence of a hydraulic shaft, its surface glistening with fluid in the high noon sun.

For a fraction of a second there is silence following the clunk of the safety catch release. A scream rises in pitch as the love seat soars high into the air, tops out above the pylons, inverts, and the couple begins their face-down freefall accelerating at 32 feet per second, for each second they plummet towards the ground and certain oblivion.

Two-thirds of the way down to eternity, the steel cable pulls tight arresting the descent before firing the now silent duo back up to the top of the tower. The sinusoidal decay continues for a few more seconds, before the mechanism lowers them to ground where released from their restraints, they stumble towards the same steps previously trod with great gusto.

Muted victory salutes acknowledge reminders to retrieve their valuables from the baskets.

This is Portland, Oregon waterfront on Rose Festival week where such thrills come at the high price of $50 for a thirty-second ride to the sky.

The answer to your question is no, no way.

The optical art of Anish Kapoor

2008-05-28T23:03:00.004-04:00

Visually stunning, disorientating, and acoustically engrossing, the oversize art from London-based Anish Kapoor on show at the Boston ICA invades the senses.

Individual pieces, some 12 feet high and 20 feet wide are grouped to compliment each other, but are best seen when the crowds are thinnest to allow plenty of time for experimentation.

This is achieved by positioning the eye or ear in different focal planes or at the focal point of the gracefully curved and highly polished forms.

Sounds and images change, depth perception alters. In fact with some pieces, it is impossible to tell if the image is a delicately shaded art image or an aperture that curves deep into the gallery wall. Initially the only clue is the strategically positioned member of security, alert and attentive to any attempt to touch or reach into the artwork.

Members preview night on Wednesday was a little too crowded to fully take in the work and I recommend viewing the ICA made film about the sculptor and the cultural inspiration behind his work before viewing the actual pieces. It will explain the construction techniques and heighten the delight when you do see them in close up.

Details and slideshow of the work can be seen on the ICA website, but this is one show you should experience in person to appreciate its shear scale.

Monday in the park with the Band of Liberty

2008-05-26T18:00:00.004-04:00

The diversity of events in our region never ceases to amaze and delight me. Perhaps it is the result of a happy confluence of history and military presence.

Like me, you may have not heard of, or heard playing, The United States Air Force Band of Liberty. Stationed at Hanscom Air Force Base – an electronic counter measures research site and home to a military population of 3000, including family members – the Band of Liberty is a 60-strong ensemble of talented musicians who play music from jazz to swing to military marches and the classics.

On Monday, Minuteman National Park played host to the Band of Liberty on an afternoon sunny enough to drive the audience to find shade, but breezy enough to give the musicians timing problems as they made repeated attempts to turn over their sheet music.
The program, which ran for nearly almost two hours non-stop on this Memorial weekend, had a strong theme of remembrance, but not in a morbid or overtly solemn sense.
Rather, the tunes themselves offered up their own memories, featuring classics from the eras of past conflicts – WWI to Vietnam. Nor was the music limited to instruments, thanks to fine singing renditions from three of the service members.

A serviceman with a distinct gravelly 'James Earl Jones' voice narrated portions of past presidential speeches, as relevant today as when they first given life.
It is not possible to capture the quality of musical performance in my words. Trust me, this is a very accomplished set of musicians.

I checked the bands website and music is available for streaming, but not for purchase. Indeed, the only way to hear it in CD quality is for your local library to request a set of CD's from the Band of Liberty directly and then to borrow the discs from the library.
Here's a brief sample from The Band of Liberty website:

From On Silver Wings, released in 2007:
1. On Silver Wings (10.29 MB)
2. Air Force Hymn (7.06 MB)
3. No Finer Calling- An Airman's Symphony- Movement I (5.41 MB)
4. No Finer Calling- An Airman's Symphony- Movement II (6.86 MB)
5. No Finer Calling- An Airman's Symphony- Movement III (15.08 MB)

From Salute to the American Spirit, released in the wake of the tragedy of September 11, 2001:
1. Fantasia in G (5.43 MB)
2. America Is (3.9 MB)
3. When You Believe (4.85 MB)
4. Let Freedom Ring (4.44 MB)
5. George Washington Bicentennial March (4.18 MB)

Photo's from the event

The tale of two W's

2008-05-25T16:16:00.005-04:00

A hike in the morning and beer samples in the afternoon make for a great day out. The fact that both can be found not more than five miles apart around Westminster, MA, and have a strong connection to each other makes it even more interesting.
Mass Audubon Wachusett Meadows Wildlife Sanctuary offers numerous trails, old stonewalls, beaver bonds and miles of trails such as the one that leads up to Browns Hill, a 1320 foot hump that offers great views of Wachusett Mountain to the north and the beaver flooded marshlands to the south. Trail maps are available at the office.
From the boundary of the sanctuary to the north, the Mid-State Trail snakes gently for 2 miles through trillium studded woodland towards the summit of Mount Wachusett before exploding upwards over the last half mile in a leg-burning, lung-busting… well you get the idea… climb up natural granite steps to reach the summit. From there, views extend as far away as Boston, some 50 miles to the east.
The round trip from sanctuary to summit is 8.2 miles, has an elevation gain of 1471 feet, and is achievable by any reasonably ambulatory person, the only variable being how long it will take.

Also highly achievable is a tour around the Wachusett Brewery Company, which runs every hour from noon, (but not every day, so check their website). Started in 1994 and still owned by the original three founders, all engineering graduates from Worcester Polytechnic Institute, the brewery has grown to be the second largest packager of beer (bottles and kegs) in Massachusetts after the Harpoon Brewery. The largest brewer, Boston Beer Company (brewers of Sam Adams), do not bottle in MA.
The tour is informative (thanks to brewer, Dave Higgins) and the brewery allows each customer two small beer samples afterwards - my favorites being their IPA and a beer called Green Monsta.
I've bought the IPA and Country Ale on draft locally and in bottles, but nothing compares to the fresh brewed, just pumped taste of those samples.
The brewery sells refillable growlers, pricey for the initial purchase of the 'glass' (which is a work of art) at $20, but each 2-liter refill (about six 12oz bottles) costs only $6 thereafter.

It's just a pity they are so far away, but all the more reason for another hike when the beer runs out.

The walk (click on image for larger pictures)

Cranes Beach awaits your attention

2008-05-18T18:30:00.001-04:00

New England offers an amazing range of environments, from challenging mountains to soft and yielding seashore.
Cranes Beach provides easy walking, soft sand, seashells, flotsam and jetsam, sun bleached garbage abraded into new shapes by the tides, and my own favorite, tree roots.
Nothing is more fascinating than the salt whitened shape and form of a large tree root, battered and smoothed, immersed and dried in cycle dictated only by the moon and tides.
State and Trustees of Reservations laws forbid removal of such items, and rightly so as they provide a natural trap for small living organisms important to diet of foraging birds.
Each time I go back to this place, usually before the summer crowds take over, wind whipped dunes are missing or perhaps simply relocated.
The Red Trail walk through scrub wood and crunching pine needles comes with a subtle scorched-cotton aroma, before topping out over sand dunes for the first blue water views.
The moderate walk is 5.8 miles of sheer delight, stretching far out to a marshy headland, before looping back along miles of flat beaches.
This is a peaceful place. A place where communication with others, with the land and sea and with one's self comes naturally.

One walk - many views (click on photo to go to album)

Lacking in earnest.

2008-05-17T18:27:00.005-04:00

Maybe changing our usual seats gave me a new perspective; one I did not like. Somehow being in row 'I' (rhymes with high) distanced me from the action, even allowed for a few minutes of guilt free shut eye.
The Importance of Being Earnest is a classic, but for me, the Lyric Stage Company production failed to deliver the punch lines with enough power, inflection and timing to do justice to Wildes words.
Algernon's character was just not large enough in terms of stage presence.
I waited with keen anticipation for Lady Bracknell's immortal line, "A handbag? A handbag?", and it seemed so did Bobbie Steinbach playing the part. The audience reaction said it all. Flat. As flat as the delivery.
Where was the explosion of indignation, the withering stare, the pause for audience reaction?
It was left to Ed Hoopman as Jack to save the day, projecting some of the plays best lines in his booming voice far into the blackness of the rafters.
Attending later performances in a run, polished with time, perhaps has spoiled me.
But, I'm still signing up for Lyric Stage Company season tickets next year.
How could I not? Its become one of my best of Boston traditions.

On aging and making mistakes

2008-05-13T10:11:00.007-04:00

I have aged 20 years over the last three days, hopefully on a temporary basis. For these long days, getting in and out of a car is a tedious mix of twists and turns and false starts, gasps of pain and quick adjustments. Looking over my shoulder to reverse from a parking space is next to impossible, as is turning the steering wheel to get into the same gap.
It's tough to reach up, it's tough to reach down, dropped items go unclaimed or wait until two or three are at the same level. Standing up, sitting down, lying down and turning over in bed, causes wrenching muscle spasms and squeaks, grunts or shouts of pain , depending on the element of surprise.
Sneezing, laughing, blowing my nose and undertaking other necessary daily routine body functions, well let's just say it all takes a very long time – and hurts.
What brought me to this level?
A sequence of events of course: no snow baskets on my hiking poles, allowing their support to vanish at a critical moment; a pack overloaded for the conditions due to late changes from a day hike plan to full backpack; faulty traction devices (do not ever by Stabilicers – the majority of traction studs of mine simply fell out in the first 2 miles). I could go on.
I fell about 10 vertical feet in several stages, first slip, grind arm on rock, attempt to rebalance using poles, topple head first, flail and turn sideways head still pointing down towards a tree, twist and land on my side, on a log, pack up and over my head, it's 40lbs of weight pinning me, crushing the damaged rib further.
Did I cry out – you bet, with every breath I tried to take until rescue came ten gasps later when the pack was unstrapped and lifted clear.
We should have walked out the 5 miles back to the trailhead and abandoned or modified the weekends plans.
We didn't.
We carried on, climbed two 4000-foot peaks on Saturday, hiking 7.9 miles. We slept in a three sided shelter and climbed three more peaks over 4200 feet high (one of them twice when we took a wrong term with me head down in the front) plus the same two Saturday peaks as we had to retrace our steps to leave New Hampshire's Pemigewasset Wilderness. The completed round trip totaled 20.3 miles with 7029 feet of elevation gain and loss.
Sympathy, no thanks.
A huge slice of good luck - plenty considering the spear like tree limbs, boulders, other obstacles - and the fact a women visiting from China died not 6 miles away last Thursday when a 5 feet by 3 feet by 20 inch slab boulder broke loose and fell on her.
Wilderness lessons to share, plenty.
Here are the good views of the weekend

Storm Over Everest

2008-05-07T23:19:00.002-04:00

I sat in the audience of filmmakers, producers, mountaineers and 60 or so other people who had applied to attend a preview of Frontline's 'Storm Over Everest' in WGBH's plush Brighton studio auditorium.
Prayer flags strung along the sidewalls fluttered in the air conditioning.
Climber, producer, director, David Breashears waited 10 years, almost to the day, to release a film the events of 1996, when 11 died on Everest in what has been variously described as a freak storm and a failure of leadership.
I have read several accounts by those involved, Jon Krakauer, Anatoli Boukreev, Doug Hansen, to name three. Each differs in there account, unsurprising given that most of what happened occurred above 26,000 feet, where, put quite simply, the brain fails to function.
Breashears' film does not solve any of the many riddles, not does it provide much fresh information. What is does do beautifully, using a mix of simulation and first hand accounts, is to put the events in the context of the appalling conditions in which some died, some lived, some were heroes and others were found wanting.
A nervous Breashears, who was on Everest with his IMAX film team and took part in the many rescue attempts, introduced his work and he answered only a few questions after the preview.
In fact Breashears seemed as concerned that is two godchildren approved of his efforts as he did the audience. At least they gave him a thumbs up afterwards.
None of the Storm Over Everest film footage came from Breashears 1996 filming activity and is a recreation of conditions. This does not detract from the film's emotional poignancy, exemplified by the audience silence during rolling of the credits, before breaking out into a mix of applause that ranged from polite to enthusiastic.
The film will be aired on PBS on Tuesday May 13 and online until June 16.
I recommend putting on a down jacket, turning the air conditioning to minimum, yanking up the audio system volume and trying to imagine what it was like to be trapped in the death zone. Just don't try and figure out why – it's what people do.

What's in a name?

2008-05-04T19:30:00.001-04:00

Like me, you may never have heard of Domenikos Theotokopoulos.
Not only is the name a mouthful for non-native speakers of Greek, but it lacks something in the way of branding that 'El Greco', Spanish for 'The Greek', conjures up so admirably.

This wasn't one of my first thoughts as I wandered through the Boston's MFA special exhibition, but it did set me thinking about brand and image (as did the recent Annie Leibovitch photo of Miley Ray Cyrus aka Disney's Hannah Montana - but for different reasons - like exploitation).

The fact that El Greco was talented and that his paintings have an elongated, mystical and at times overpowering weight to them, would probably have counted for little without support and sponsorship, in his case from the Duke of Lerma and later Philip III.

El Greco also had some luck, albeit at the second attempt.

His first attempts to gain court acceptance did not find favor with Philip II - who might have been pre-occupied with four marriages, the inquisition, expelling all non-catholics from Spain and trying to invade England with his Armada - and El Greco returned to his home.

Later, after Domenikos Theotokopoulos painted an altarpiece, his work found favor and he became widely known as El Greco and one of the first branded artists.

I wonder if Miley would sooner be known as the brand Hannah Montana or more simply as Miley - certainly it appears that father Billy Ray and mother Tish are looking to alter the perception of their daughter.

Another loaded walk

2008-05-03T21:30:00.002-04:00

Rain is your friend.
At least that's what I told myself as I tramped up and down the hills of Middlesex Fells on a training hike, carrying 50lbs in my new Osprey Aether 85 (liter) backpack.
Rain cooled me down, rain made everything a vivid green, rain made the rocks wet and slippery giving an excuse to go slow and steady. Rain meant I could try out my new Seattle Sombrero from Outdoor Research.

Seven miles and 3 hours 45 minutes of Skyline Trail hike time, and a short drive later, beer and nachos were my new friends.

The pack stood up well, sat comfortably and can only improve when I get the belt custom heat-molded to my hip bones (if I can find them).

On the other hand, the hat looked slightly over the top, but in Alaska will probably go completely unnoticed.

Three Tall Women - Lyric Stage Company reaches new heights

2008-04-25T10:51:00.005-04:00

Albee's 1991 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, directed by the Lyric's Spiro Veloudos, is simply quite stunning.

The biographically story of Albee's estranged, adoptive mother is told in snarling, senile, humorous, and at times, pathetic terms by the three actors who dominate the stage with performances that are astounding in their complexity and delivery.

Anne Scurria as the 92-year old version, dying from a compendium of ailments, gives a performance of acid vindictiveness and tragic decline that should be rewarded with a best actress award or two at year end. Please shoot me if I ever end up like this woman.

Paula Plum plays the 52-year old version of the same woman, who believes that now is the best time of her life, knowing what she knows and at ease with herself and the path she has chosen. Plum is at once sprightly and humorous and oozes a rich sensuality that the much younger version of herself comes nowhere near. Were it not for the presence and performance of Scurria, Plum may well have stolen the show.

Working hard not to be out done by the classy performance of two of Boston's best acting talents, Liz Hayes as the 26-year-old version plays her role admirably, imparting her character with a solid mix of naivety and hope, convinced that she can never become the two women with whom she shares the stage.

The fact that all three are on stage at the same time, convincingly playing the same person but at different stages in their life and discussing with each other what has become of them and why, is an amazing piece of writing from Albee.

The play runs until April 26 and for me this performance alone, compressed into the Lyric Stage Company's intimate setting, is worth the price of the season ticket for the all the other plays put together.

Lincoln Minute Men Muster

2008-04-24T10:28:00.001-04:00

It's not every day that I get to interview figures from the eighteenth century and write about it from my perspective for publication.

Captain William Smith, woken at 2 a.m by Mary Hartwell, herself roused by Dr. Prescott after the capture of Paul Revere rides into the center of Lincoln to muster the militia.

The story as printed in the Lincoln Journal.

It is the time of year, with winter exhausted and taxes filed, when colonial militiamen recreating events from 1775, chase weary and outnumbered British soldiers back to Boston
Read more...

The real event - music and action

2008-04-20T23:15:00.003-04:00

OK, here's the real event, I'm just sorry I did not capture the sound - perhaps you'll join us next year and hear it first hand?

Space invader - living in a world of your own

2008-04-20T22:00:00.000-04:00

Sometimes words fail me, which for a writer is a wee problem. It happened the other day at a fife and drum concert in Lincoln, ostensibly a celebratory occasion in Pierce Park when marching bands play music from the revolutionary days.

Now you have to imagine a very large an empty field, with people scattered about and a smaller roped off arena where the bands play. Some people bring low-slung chairs, others, like us, spread out on blankets.

We left a respectable gap between the arena rope and our blanket, into which wandered a party of four, two women, one man and a younger girl. One of the women carried a garish blue and green umbrella that she must have got for free judging by the logos adorning its sides. It wasn't raining, nor did it appear likely. No this monstrosity was a sunshade (in April) and shielded the woman, and could have kept the suns warming rays of everyone in the party. Rays that would have meant she might have been able to remove the fleece blanket-like jacket she wore.

As she made herself comfortable a few feet in front of me I asked politely, or so I thought, if she intended to use the sunshade once the bands started to play.

"Aren't you high enough to see over it?" she asked without making eye contact, although that would have been difficult through her sunglasses.

"Well no, not really and I think it's a bit rude," I said.

What I wanted to say was, "Is this how your mother taught you? I this any example you set your daughter, to push in front, to have no regard for anyone else, to carry such an obnoxious glaring piece of Chinese produced crap and place it right in front of me," but she had already turned away, obscured behind the umbrella.

It occurred to me that perhaps the woman was unwell, perhaps a cancer survivor or undergoing treatment. I demurred and moved away, but it seemed that every angle, every photograph featured the umbrella. I have no way of knowing if she was ill or just ill mannered, but it added a sour note to an otherwise excellent musical event.

Eventful Patriots Day

2008-04-19T09:59:00.003-04:00

Compared to last years rain soaked weekend this one was sublimely tropical. Somethings don't change though. like the bright colors, loud noises, enthusiasm of re-enactors and beer and chilli afterwards.

For those that couldn't make it, enjoy the show.

Spuds were never this heavy

2008-04-13T19:12:00.005-04:00

When I were a lad I'd go to the farm with my dad and pick up a 56lb bag of spuds and waddle with it to boot of his old Austin A40. It were a right struggle and no mistake.
OK let's drop the Hovis bread accent. But that was and still is a lot of weight to carry, even for a short distance.

On Saturday I began my Alaska hike conditioning and since I figure I need to carry somewhere north of 5olbs, what better way to practice than to load up my backpack with 56lbs and start walking for a 7 mile round trip to Merriam's Corner along the Battle Road.
Thankfully an early Patriots Day event started shortly after my arrival at the historic site and the hour long ceremony provided adequate recovery time before the walk back.
Total walking time racked up - a measly two hours with an elevation gain and loss of a derisory 110 feet.
To put this in perspective, the 12-day Alaska hike has a gain of 11,956 feet and a loss of 13,512 feet - so basically it's a few thousand feet downhill, right?

Did I ache after lugging that load? Surprisingly only in my hip joints. But it did make me realize how important it will be to get in some 5-day (or longer) hikes with a full load well before this summer's big trip.

'Last Post' for winter hiking

2008-04-07T14:29:00.005-04:00

It's over, done with, crampons sharpened and oiled, ice ax hung tenderly in the back hallway and boots dried and, of necessity, airing out as I write.

It was a great weekend in New England, especially in New Hampshire, where we took the opportunity to get in one last winter hike for the season - before the warmer weather turns the remaining snow to slush.
Mount Washington, home to wind speeds of up to 231mph - the highest recorded anywhere on earth – beckoned.
The Tuckerman Ravine and Lion’s Head trail rises 4256 feet to 6288 feet over a distance of 5 miles, with the last 1200 feet, a rocky, icy climb, in a little over 1 mile.
Out and back, carrying about 25lbs of winter gear and wearing 4.5lbs of mountaineering boots and crampons on each foot, took a little over 8 hours. Once again, the Lion’s Head winter route provided plenty of technical challenge, overcome by toe-pointing and a deftly swung ice ax.
Wind speeds at the summit were light at 33mph, with gusts up to 56mph and temperatures a balmy 22F.
A 32-mile drive along the Kangamangus Highway (a misnamed narrow twisty two-way road) and we were at the Franconia Ridge side of the White Mountains and set up after eight hours sleep (on the floor of our host’s cabin) for day 2 – a 12 miles round trip hike up Mount Garfield.
Garfield’s grade is less aggressive than Washington, with a summit at 4500 feet, rising from 1400 feet at the road and requires a one-mile walk-in along a forest road before the trail begins.
Five miles later, after a couple of rock-hopping stream crossings, tangling with the close-packed tops of fir trees poking through the snow and post-holing (sinking up to the thigh in softening snow) more than 20 times, the summit and its old fire tower base offers spectacular views.

Mount Washington photos:

Mount Garfield photos:

Roll on spring and the mud season - because then it's summer.

A weekend of two halves

2008-03-31T11:35:00.008-04:00

We spent all day Saturday doing our civic duty, voting to spend taxpayers money at the Lincoln Town Meeting. And yes, I did stand up twice to ask questions and make a point, although I left the hat at home.

Highlight was the adoption of a warrant article to reduce the use of fossil based fuels in new construction and major renovation of town owned buildings (including residential) by 50 percent by next year (2008) and to eliminate its use completely by 2030 - a very aggressive schedule. The town is following the lead of the Architecture Challenge 2030 initiative.

The warrant is particularly relevant given the Lincoln Public Schools K-8 identified the need to spend between $33 million and $65 million on rehabilitation or rebuilding over the next 10 years and the town's green environment committee identifies these public building as the least energy efficient in the town.

It was also good news for people who like to speed through Lincoln as they make a rat run around 128 bottlenecks in their dash to Routes 2 and 2A. The town voted to spend $5.5 million dollars over three years fixing its notorious - some would say quintessentially Lincolnesque - potholes.
Sorry everyone, the work will not start until after next winter's pothole season.

So if Saturday involved sitting in the dimly lit Brooks Auditorium for a little over nine hours, albeit for me for the first time in the "comfy seats" rather than steel chairs set out for non-voters, then Middlesex Fells once again provided an antidote of blue sky, bright sunshine and croaking of tree frogs in place of, at times, the long winded carping of residents.

We met up with AMC friends for a more leisurely walk of the Skyline Trail which afford the opportunity to spot and handle a garter snake, listen to freshly minted tree frogs and see numerous birds, including red tailed hawks and a great blue heron swooping overhead.

Sadly the Osprey Aether backpack was missing from this trip. It's on back-order - one of the many other signs of spring.

Middlesex Fells a revelation of a reservation

2008-03-23T18:05:00.001-04:00

OK, so no snow, elevation, mountain vistas or cold weather, but Middlesex Fells, only 20 minutes from home (excluding the time taken to find a parking spot among the dog brigade) is nothing short of delightful and proved a great place to try out my new Asolo Fugitive GTX boots.

The 7-mile long Skyline trail, cunningly marked with white blazes to simulate the Appalachian Trail, criss-crosses the parks other trails to such an extent that it is more a test of observation than stamina. Its craggy terrain, mix of mud and occasional steep section were a vast improvement on the silly-sloped test bed found in most outdoor stores. Pity it left its mark on the sole - guess I'll be keeping these boots, despite the relaxed fit.
Covering the 7 miles in a little under 3 hours under light to no-load conditions sets a useful benchmark for measuring fitness conditioning as we count down to the big trip.

Next up it will provide the perfect place to try out my new Osprey Aether pack, the one I currently covet for our Alaska back country trip. That is when I buy it.

Another weekend of magic in the snow

2008-03-11T13:54:00.006-04:00

We got to play in the snow again as part of the above treeline workshop run by the Boston Chapter of the Appalachian Mountain Club. Thanks to Larry, Reji and Bob for all their sound advice and encouragement.

Check out the self-arrest practice.

Lot of fun.

More pictures: Harvard Cabin Above Treeline

Cardigan Lodge High Cabin

2008-02-17T19:46:00.001-05:00

The high cabin is situated about 2 miles and 1200 feet above the much cozier Cardigan Lodge. Only two hours from Boston and with some brutal above tree line weather, great snowshoe trails makes this a great getaway destination.
We had an interesting weekend, as much for the personalities, as for the hiking activities which felt curtailed by some participants lacking the correct gear required for the trip above tree line.
Still, as this was billed as a workshop, much learning took place.
For example, carry firewood to replenish cabin supplies, even if only three logs, makes for a long slow climb. Oh, and there's only so much food (which I have to say was all very filling and tasty) that seven people can eat and carrying it both ways feels, well, excessive.

I used my Osprey Atmos 65 pack for the first time. I just love its suspension system, easy access and abundance of useful features all in a 3lb 12oz package for the tall version.

Sideshow

Crawford Notch Weekend - winter hiking

2008-01-07T17:48:00.001-05:00

The Shapleigh Studio Bunkhouse is much warmer than Harvard Hut. A delight.
Arrive early to snag the four-person room (with en-suite toilet and clothes storage). It also has the benefit of not being a thoroughfare, unlike the 12-person bunkhouse.
If you snag the four person room, try not to look too smug all weekend as you pass through the masses to your domain.
Having a bottom bunks make organizing gear easier than doing so on the top bunk, so be aware of the difficulties someone 'up top' may be having.
When lights go out people are respectful of each other's need to sleep. Snoring was not a problem (at least not for me).
Make sure lights go out at reasonable time (like 10 p.m.) and if two people want to carry on discussing gear until 11:15 p.m. (even if they're leaders) ask that they do so outside of the sleeping area in the communal space.
Food is plentiful and filling, if a little overcooked (and kept warm too long).
Add a fruit teabag to hot water in your Nalgene bottle to provide a hot/warm interesting drink for the hike.
Packets of honey make a useful quick energy boost squeezed from packet or dissolved in water.
The Highland Center is not particularly conducive to group bonding. There are too many alternative places to go – like film shows, ping-pong, the fireside or bunkhouse.
After a 9.2 mile hike lasting from 8a.m.until 4:30 p.m. and an elevation gain of 2700 feet, the bunkhouse is too tempting an option.
If you take a bigger pack then you will tend to overload it with unnecessary gear.
The weekend pace seems non-stop. Breakfast at 6:30 a.m.; pack gear and convene at 7:30 a.m.; depart for hike at 8:00 a.m.; hike until darkness; shower/change and happy hour; dinner at 6:00 p.m. and then other activities or exhaustion.
Repeat first three next day.
The hiking pace is steady but constant, with the longest stop being one of 15 minutes with multiple stops for water, snack and layer changes of one, two or three minutes.
Calling out length duration of stops e.g. one minute water break, two minute layer strip, three minutes to eat, drink and adjust gear etc. works really well in keeping the group organized and moving (thanks Larry).
Anyone cna and should call a stop when they need too.
After a long hike it's worth knowing that the shower nearest to the kitchen area runs cold or lukewarm at best. It has a long-term valve problem according to the caretaker.
Towels are provided, so you don't have t pack one.
Trip leaders are knowledgeable and communicate well to a mixed cross-section of ages, fitness and experience. They don't always have to be in front and will let you take your turn route finding and trail breaking.
There is a wide range of fitness levels, some people overestimate theirs and can usually be seen carry an over sized pack.
Group dynamics were excellent for most of the weekend - AMC people are amazing, but...
If people are silent while hiking, it does not mean they are unfriendly – just enjoying the peacefulness.
Some people like to talk about themselves too much, which is OK the first time you hear it, but when the same information is conveyed loudly to multiple people in the same hiking party, it becomes.. well, boring. It invades the quietness of winter, snow falling from trees, the swish-glop sound of snowshoes on powder and water running under thin ice.
Quiet two person conversations are OK (but difficult when hiking in a line with adequate 'slip and slide space' between hikers.
You can be too hot in air temperatures of 34F in a couple of thin base layers when hiking up hill in calm weather. Same applies when it's 10 or 20F
Carry fewer layers – and ideally use a multipurpose soft shell with 'windstopper' water repellent fabric.
Re-tie boots tighter at the ankle for descents – to pull foot further back
Leave boots tied loosely at ankle for ascents to allow for inclination angle and prevent shin bang damage.
The winter views are simple amazing.

More Photos:
Mount Pierce and Mount Eisenhower
Mount Jackson
Mount Avalaon

Harvard Cabin - trip photos

2007-12-09T19:43:00.001-05:00

Photo show

I now know that...

2007-12-08T19:26:00.001-05:00

Things I learned or would like others to learn.

If you leave your gear downstairs and go to bed, people arriving later will simply move it out of the way to some random place. Don’t assume others will not touch or move your gear.
Mark all gear. That includes boots and snowshoes. Asking if someone has your boot liners or trying to get feet into the size 10 plastic shells of someone else instead of your 11’s, well simply wont work.
Bring your stuff in stuff sacks and keep them together in another bag.
A bigger backpack than is needed is better than a backpack that is too small. Err on the large size.
Some people I have an incredibly loud snore that only they can sleep through. Yes, the trip leaders warned me and I had ear plugs, but for some unknown reason I still did not use them.
Some people have never tried or used their equipment before. This is understandable early in the winter hiking season or with rental equipment. If you’re in this position, how about spending an hour alone with that new gear, adjusting it, walking about outside in those rental boots instead of waiting until everyone is dressing or dressed to leave for the hike?
People with new gear to put on or use should not ‘volunteer’ to do breakfast clear up.
Your level of fitness is a perception before a hike and a reality during it. Make sure your perception matches reality by testing yourself honestly before demonstrating its lack in front of your fellow hikers.
Even in rustic surroundings social graces count for a lot. So put the lid down in the composting outhouse, wash your hands or use sanitizer and sneeze into the crook of your elbow not on my plate.
Watch out for people near your car with snowshoes strapped to their packs. They have no idea how large they are.
Snowshoes can accidentally scratch down to bear metal on your car in 0.2 seconds.
Don’t put backpacks with snowshoes attached into the passenger compartment of your car, if you value your paintwork.
Don’t value your paintwork, or carpets.
Hot water in a Nalgene bottle inside your sleeping bag is heaven.
Put the Nalgene in an old sock or else it will burn you.
Bringing one bottle of wine is not enough – unless of course everyone brings one.
Wear waterproof shells or pants that shed snow. Even when cold, snow melts when it comes into contact and soaks through.
The same goes for hands. They may be warm enough not to wear gloves or shells, but only until you slip and put one or both hands into a snow drift.
Don’t expect to hike fast. A lot of time will be spent adjusting gear by people who have not used it before. The same people are likely to have minor problems like shin bang, blisters or other gear problems and general discomfort.
People like to define themselves and you by the job they do or by where you work. It’s a reasonable conversation starter, but not the best. Try to find a new approach, unless you’re the President (of the USA).
Listening is as valuable as talking.
Stopping or turning to talk on the trail is not good for the five or six people walking behind you.
If a stop is called by the leader for 2 or 10 minutes the keep it to 2 or 10 minutes. Avoid roll on. For example hiker ‘A’ stops for a layer adjustment, ‘B’ adjust layers and goes for a pee, ‘C’ adjust layers and has a drink and eats some food whilst ‘B’ pees and then decides – heh, I need a pee too. ‘D’, ‘E’ and ‘F’ stripped off ready to go in 2 minutes and stand around for 10 minutes getting cold. Empathy and awareness please people.
Smile – this is fun, this is the outdoors, this is winter hiking in groups.

Winter wonder land

2007-12-07T22:30:00.000-05:00

That extreme cold numbs the brain and slows down response time was not an excuse we could use. Well, not yet. Especially after a comfortable and cozy drive to New Hampshire and Harvard Cabin for the winter hiking program “debug the gear”, weekend in December.
The propane tank is leaking. The propane tank is empty. The circuit breaker is sticking or not sticking. For more than 30 minutes - as one of the early arrivals at Harvard Cabin on a Friday evening in December when the external thermometer read 19F and the one inside the cabin read 10F – five others and I attempted to master lighting the massive heater.
The fact that the cooker in the kitchen wouldn’t light either re-enforced the no gas theory and brought fresh concerns. Yes, we could layer up, keep moving or simply go to bed in zero degree bags we were instructed to bring. Mine was only rated to 15F, but that wasn’t the problem on my mind. Cooking food and melting snow for water, now that was a problem, although we wouldn’t starve – not with a brewpub 10 minutes down the road.
The heater instructions were long, but straightforward. All except the initial one that told of operating a switch above the breaker box. Now my definition of a breaker box is also straightforward. It is a box with breakers inside. There was no switch above it and so no switch was switched, making the execution of the next seven or eight steps meaningless.
Folks, the switch is IN the breaker box – above a bank of breakers. It is in itself a breaker and looks like the master switch of a normal breaker box.
I can’t remember who made the discovery, but I know I went to the cooker one more time, turned the knob, smelled gas and lit it. I went through similar steps with the heater and we were all set for the weekend.

Getting out the immigrant vote

2007-11-21T11:24:00.000-05:00

According to a report in today’s Boston Globe, applications for citizenship in Boston are up 71 percent from a year ago.

Increased fees, up from $400 to $675, concern that immigrants legally in the country may get caught up in changes to the law affecting those here illegally and a desire to vote in the 2008 elections are cited as part of a perfect storm.

An unstated concern may be that the Patriot’s Act of 2001 denies habeas corpus to legal resident aliens.

The net result is increased processing time up from the seven months currently quoted to an unspecified duration.

Even before the fee increase, announced in February 2007 and put in place in July the same year, I waited more than eight months for an interview. Add another month’s wait for the oath ceremony and the lead-time was at least nine months, and that was before the number of work visas that the Department of Immigration and Naturalization Services also process increased by 800,000 this year.

That’s not the end of the story, either.

Without an alien registration card, more commonly know as a green card, it is impossible to travel outside the country unless you have a passport. During the swearing in ceremony, immigration officials exchange the green card for a naturalization certificate. To obtain a passport the original certificate has to be sent in for processing.

The wait time for a passport recently was as high as three months, unless additional payment was made for expediting. The increased wait time was due to changes that require a passport for travel between the US to Canada or Mexico, instead of other government issued ID.

Speaking of ID, not only is the wait time long, but during that time, the now naturalized citizen retains no evidence that they are a citizen or have any right to be in the country or is able to travel, say for a family emergency, outside of the country. Habeas what my newly minted Patriotic friend?

So is the current 12 months too long to wait for the privilege of being a fully documented US citizen?

Of course not.

But don’t forget that the majority of immigrants wait at least five years from when they receive a green card and may wait longer than the 14 months I did for my green card, whilst in my case, here on a three-year work visa.

It’s an arduous, expensive, time consuming and often confusing process. So if you’re newly arrived, legally that is, you should start getting to know the candidates and planning to vote in the presidential election.

The one that’s due up in 2016, that is.

Winter perils in the making.

2007-11-14T10:59:00.000-05:00

Tripping up the steps of 5 Joy Street, headquarters of the Appalachian Mountain Club was not the ideal way to begin a five-week training program on Winter Hiking.

Maybe it was the strain of ambling up Beacon Hill from Boston Common, but that’s what I did.

Fortunately, two pairs of hands instinctively reached out from the top of the steps and I found myself pulled to safety from the top and pushed to safety from the bottom by my wife, who stood a step or two below me. The hands from above belonged to two of the course instructors, who later also introduced themselves as trip leaders for our winter hikes. I wondered as I brushed off my embarrassment if this wasn’t just the first of many times when helping hands would be required.

The Hiking and Backpacking Committee, H&B for short, of the Boston Chapter of the AMC runs this course annually, or has for the past six years. During this time they have developed a half-inch thick tome of knowledge, artfully titled ‘An Introduction to Winter Hiking’ - just in case the uninitiated thought that this was all there was to it.

Checking-in I collected my nametag and found myself a minor celebrity. Not only was my badge number 1, which meant I was the first to register and pay for the course, but I also shared the same family name with two of the instructors. We are not related, at least as far as I know, but within a few minutes of the start of the formal part of the evening, it felt as if I had joined a rather large family of similarly minded people.

Formal is too strong a word for events as they unfolded. It’s hard to be formal when someone stands barefooted in front of an audience in his underwear and explains the theory of heat management – which can be over-simplified as layers good, perspiration and cotton clothing bad. Not just bad, but very bad, bad to the point of forbidden.

The same goes for anything other than two-layer footwear; the sort that has removable liners is the only type of footwear allowed on AMC led winter hikes. Hard plastic mountaineering boots (similar to their downhill ski cousins) seemed to be the boot of choice for the majority of leaders in attendance, although at least one person favored the old stand-by Sorrel boot.

I don’t want to give the impression that these hardened devotees of winter solitude came dressed in expensive duds, although one person did sport a Arc’teryx® backpack that I know comes with a $549 price tag. Pants, stuff sacks and backpacks sported their fair share of duct tape patches, a simple remedy I suspect for a brush with unguarded crampons and ice axes or unavoidable tree limbs.

Perhaps the main advantage of attending the course, which works out at a meager $9 per week - apart from the obvious one of limiting the chances of ending up as a statistic in the New Hampshire Fish and Game annals of bad things that happen to others – is the opportunity to sign-up for those illusive winter trips I said I would do last year.

These are the ones I read about in AMC Outdoors or the Charles River Mud newsletter a week before they happen, or more usually a week or two afterwards.

Imagine that. Planning your winter hikes, secure in the knowledge that your destination hut or lodge is not booked up, that you will be in the company of like-minded or at least as insane people and led by an experienced hiker who has not only lived to tell the tale, but is willing to share the experience with a novice.

Roll on winter – at least until next week's session

Dying City - dying to leave

2007-11-09T13:03:00.001-05:00

To my profound relief, the Lyric Stage performance of Dying City ran only 90 minutes, and without an intermission.

I say that not because of poor writing, direction or acting.

The story of twin brothers (both played by actor Chris Thorn), one a gay actor, the other a marine Lieutenant, who dies under dubious circumstance in Iraq, is set in the Manhattan apartment of the dead soldier's wife (Jennifer Blood).

The dialogue sparked, raged and sobbed with emotion as the story of their last night together unscrambled in the form of flashback action and current reality a year after his death.

Such was the concentration and pace of revelation of humiliation, abandonment and of a marriage gone sour, that at the end of the performance, I like the rest of the audience, sat in stunned silence, scarcely even breathing let alone applauding until the lights came up revealing the two actors smiling facings and bowing gestures.

Some saw the performances as histrionic or over the top. However, this is what happens – perhaps over a longer period, but it happens nonetheless.

The question is do we want to bear witness and to invade the privacy of a family with issues (even if fictional), in the name of entertainment. For those that have experienced such emotions, it is perhaps a timely reminder of past decisions. For those that have not – perhaps it may serve as a warning not to take such decisions lightly.

Not for the first time in the Lyric's cozy 'in the round' seating and intimate atmosphere did I give thanks for sitting further back than in the first three rows. Seated any closer, I would have been compelled to reach out a comforting arm and wrap it around Jennifer Blood's shoulder or to kick Chris Thorn's backside as due payment for his total lack of sensitivity.

This was theater for grown-ups. Sometimes it's better to be a kid.

Ottawa daze

2007-11-02T14:09:00.000-04:00

So with the parade over it was time to be 'Not An Englishman in Boston' but a 'AEIO'. That's right – an Englishman in Ottawa – at least for a few days.

Ottawa is a city that just draws me in with its museums, galleries, the Ottawa River, Rideau Canal, Gothic buildings and a regular schedule of events that range from jazz and blues festivals to the Wine and Food show.

The latter provided the impetus for a five-day break. That and expiring Air Canada miles and an overdue opportunity to catch up with good friends made before and during our time living there from 1998 to 2000.

Of course, I noticed the flailing US dollar purchased less and the unmistakable look of satisfaction on d' Canadians' friendly faces as we talked about where it had all gone wrong (or right depending on which side of the border you hang your woolly hat).

I spent almost an entire day in the newly minted Canadian War Museum – where amongst other things I learned with satisfaction that people from 1766 called patriots in the US are described less politely as 'The American Rebels' in Canada.

Indeed much of the early infrastructure, at least after General Wolf defeated a somewhat overzealous Montcalm to win Canada from the French, was established to defend a Canada loyal to the English crown from American infiltration.

Still the wine and food show presented a great opportunity to drink to the Americas and bring into the fold a few Commonwealth countries such as Australia and New Zealand aswell as some EU partners such as France and Germany. Curiously, save the smallest table imaginable, Italy was absent from the party.

The National Gallery of Canada, fresh with a photo exhibit 'Snap Judgment' featuring the brighter side of life in the continent of Africa (at least for the most part) presented an opportunity to replace the all pervasive images of disease, famine, warlords and genocide that are the 'photostock' trade of journalists and image makers. In addition, all of the images came from talented and in many cases self-taught, up-and-coming African photographers.

My own images of Ottawa can be found on Flickr at by clicking here.

I spent a wonderful afternoon on Halloween in the Earl of Sussex Pub, just people watching/listening. Everything changes, the whole dynamics of personal interaction, when at least one of the people is hiding behind a costume mask. Sadly, I was not one of them and could only marvel at the bravery of some souls.

Road show

2007-10-30T21:08:00.000-04:00

It was only right that I should show up to the Red Sox parade. Dashing off an article for this week’s paper on some not very interesting local politics, I dumped the car at Lincoln Station and took a commuter train packed to the gunnels with kids and young adults skipping school or work. Not for the last time that day did I feel old.

Police were out in force, some in riot gear, others regulation issue sun glasses. Others pacified dogs, eager to get in on the action. The crowd boisterous and vocal lobbed whatever they could find and officers would tolerate back and forth. If you needed toilet paper at one of the port potties then too bad. That was among the first missiles to decorate the roadway.

But it was a fun day, the parade passed quickly, but not quietly, and an iron grip descended on the crowd as it wrapped up. North Station was a zoo as massed ranks of weary travelers tried to unravel the station announcements and weave between dazed and tired fellow members of the Nation to reach the right platform.

It was a good day to claim allegiance to the home town team.

Thank you Red Sox

2007-10-29T11:48:00.000-04:00

I really appreciate the Red Sox response to my last post. Thanks to everyone, life can get back to normal.

I can shift the pile of Globe sports reports that has been growing taller in their "lucky place" on the dining room chair since the turnaround win in Cleveland.

I no longer have the responsibility of watching games through to the end "just in case" because they lost game 2 and 3 to Cleveland when I retired early on those nights .

It was a great year and I actually got to see a game way back in April on supposedly "unlucky Friday 13th".
Boston beat the LA Angels 8:1 that night - the very team they swept in the AL Series later in September.

Lucky for them I was there to start things rolling.

Wearing down the fan

2007-10-26T17:06:00.000-04:00

Red Sox and Fox, you are running me ragged.

Game start times in late evening, extended innings and nail-biting finishes are giving me a serious case of nervous exhaustion.

Soccer cup competitions, with extra-time and penalty shootout formula are tense, but quickly over in comparison.

In baseball, every pitch is a potential disaster or delight, for hour after hour. No wonder everybody in the ballpark drinks or eats to distraction or spits whatever they spit (and that seems to vary as much as each game).

Perhaps it’s that I don’t understand the nuance of the sport, that it’s OK to throw a ball instead of a strike to certain hitters, or to hit a sacrifice and be out. But I see the same tensions ebbing and flowing on the faces of thousands of fans, players and coaching staff. Commentators and journalists refer to it as ‘the changing momentum’ and boy is it fickle.

Even with the Sox sitting on a commanding lead, I still expect them to blow it in late innings, and I’ve only lived here for the past for seven years, perhaps the most successful since their early years.

I cannot imagine how lifelong fans deal with each experience building on the past, like grains of sand in a sandcastle that is inevitably washed away as the tide turns.

So please stop it. Go Denver and win two more jut like 2004 in St Louis. Please, I need to feel better than this and so do the rest of Boston and the grandiose Red Sox Nation.

More required than a passenger bill of rights

2007-10-24T16:15:00.000-04:00

Boston City Councilors are seeking to create a taxi passenger bill of rights along the lines of providing a safe, functioning and clean cab, with no music playing in the cab or cabbies chatting on cell phones while driving. In their response, according to an article in the Globe, cab drivers want a bill of rights for themselves; no drunk and vomiting passengers, no more than four passengers per cab ride and no abuse of the driver by passengers.

What I want is to pay via a fairs fare system, not take my life in my hands when I (rarely) take a cab and a driver who knows where he or (rarely) she is going.

I can say in all honesty, that I have never ever had a good or even satisfactory cab ride in Boston. Compared to the black cabs in London or even the yellow cabs in New York, Boston’s thinly disguised white coated cabs and their drivers are more like opportunists in clapped-out, cast-off cruisers. That seems to go for the suburbs too, based on my recent experience.

Journeys over 12 miles are charged at a flat, non-metered rate. A cab from Logan Airport to a town like Lincoln, 18.4 miles away, costs a flat rate $46.80, plus an airport charge of $2.25, plus tunnel tolls of $4.50, say $53.75 in all. Flat rate fares are charged at $2.60 per mile, metered fares are charged at $2.40 per mile plus a starting meter charge of 2.25. Either way the base fare, excluding tolls and airport fees, is between $46 and $47.

When I took a cab from Alewife T station to Lincoln--a distance of 9.6 miles--I assumed the same rules would apply. Not so – at least according to the driver and the dispatcher he had me talk to on his cell phone.

I should have been clued in by the fact the driver disappeared for a few minutes when we got in his sweltering cab and left us sitting there while he talked to the driver behind him. I should have known when he did not start the meter that we were in for a flat rate and as it turned out a flat out ride.

We had been traveling from Ireland to Boston via Dublin and Heathrow, including layovers, for the better part of 18 hours and were understandably tired. We took the Silver Line to South Station and then the Red Line to Alewife Station. The cost for the 40-minute subway-ride was $1.75 and it was around 9:30pm when we dragged ourselves to the taxi rank.

Then the cab took us for a ride.

Loading our bags ourselves, we found that there was hardly room in the trunk for our two modest size suitcases (they weighed less than 42lbs each – thanks to judicious packing and the weight restrictions imposed on the Heathrow to Dublin leg of the flight).

We could not see out of the cab windows, any of them, because they were so steamed up. More to the point nor could the driver, except through a fuzzy patch the size of a laptop screen.

When we reached the ramp at the Lexington line, we were all plunged into a blackness that the cab’s single working headlight could not penetrate. The driver did not slow down from the maximum permitted speed of 65mph, or perhaps that was just how fast the straining engine could go. The driver’s solution was simplicity itself. He straddled the lane marker, even when three lanes became two and he followed it unerringly, despite the attempts of other vehicles to persuade him to pull over.

In fairness, he did get us home or at least to the top of the drive where he stopped on a our unlit narrow, but busy two-way road, 3 feet from the curb - without hazard indicators flashing.

I waited for the driver to tell me the fare, clutching a twenty and a ten, perhaps more in hope than any real expectation. I was definitely unprepared when he said the fare was $56.

I protested and asked to look at the book of fares. After five minutes of rummaging, he came up empty. I asked for the dispatch telephone number. That’s when I made my second mistake.

He dialed a number and spoke in a language I did not understand and then handed me his phone. I should have dialed the number on my phone.

The dispatcher, or someone who said he was the dispatcher, told me that the fare to Lincoln from Alewife is $56. I paid. It had been a long day.

Did I get the cab drivers name, cab plate, registration or telephone number? No, as I mentioned it had been a long day, now going on 20 hours of travel and foolishly, I was keener to get off the pitch-black road and indoors after 17 days away.

Did I get wise to the cab industry in Boston? Most certainly.

I will never get in cab without checking that its lights work, the driver has a medallion with his picture on it and I know the price he is going to charge.

These are your rights and mine; everything else is just a load of bill.

How much is enough for us?

2007-10-23T18:08:00.000-04:00

Should we measure the value we have in our lives by the amount about which we have to complain?

I’ve been thinking about this a great deal recently.

For example, at the regatta on Saturday, an articulate, and to all outward appearances, well-fed and adequately clothed black man clutching a bundle of newspapers approached the crowds lining the riverbanks.

“Ladies and gentleman. Ladies and gentleman. Can I have your attention for just a moment? Can you help the homeless today? Can you spare a dollar to purchase a newspaper from me to help the homeless?”

Of course, I bought the $1 newspaper, called Spare Change, as did five or six people from the all-Caucasian crowd around me. The seller went on his way smiling and calling out the same line to garner attention from the next pod of spectators.

Inside the thin paper were articles on the laws affecting homeless people, editorials and advertising copy. There was also a warning to check the seller wore a blue badge. As with most things, these days there are several scams as this report in the Globe from last year indicates.

I have to admit I did not look for an ID - not for a dollar purchase/donation. Perhaps that says something about the relative value of a dollar to me as the buyer and to the seller, whether homeless or not.

On the inside back cover, a list of organizations indicated that it was possible to obtain hot food three times a day, various food supplies and somewhere to stay overnight. I don’t know the quality or general availability of such hospitality and in truth hope never to have to test it out of need.

Food, shelter and an opportunity to earn a small wage appeared to hold a greater value to that individual than seems apparent for those given to complaining about their boss or the traffic conditions on the journey to work. Throw into that mix their angst over rising mortgage repayments, shrinking house values and the stock market volatility. Take a break from that as you sip an overpriced Starbucks' latte and ponder whether the Red Sox have the right (highly paid) players to win the World Series and the difference is glaring.

One of my former bosses, consoling me after he told me that I would not get a pay rise that year because of conditions in the industry, said that I should actually thank him.

“It’s a well known fact,” he said, “that people live 10% beyond their salaries. I just saved you money.”

Perhaps he was right.

Head of the Charles Regatta and others.

2007-10-22T13:33:00.000-04:00

There has definitely been a theme of trying new things this year, although you will be forgiven for not knowing that due to the paucity of posts.

I plan to rectify the posting situation by resurrecting this blog and in the immortal words of Highlander, “There can be only one”, so this blog is it.

Strictly speaking I should remain the blog “An English/American in Boston” since I became a citizen last May, but it does not have the same ring to it.

Ok, I have ignored the Head of the Charles Regatta for the seven plus years I have lived in the Commonwealth. Not for me I thought – all those Ivy League types, the rowing community – men in caps and blazers that fit them thirty years ago parading with waspy-waist women in summer dresses, hospitality tents with cucumber sandwiches and white wine, jazz bands, pretentious awards and phony accents. No thanks, not for me sir.

Oh dear, it turns out that I was getting confused with the Henley on Thames Regatta, which I attended on one occasion to receive an award for design innovation – but that’s another story.

The Head of the Charles Regatta was real people having fun, pumped up with live rock and reggae music, lots of free stuff and blessed with glorious fall weather. Wave after wave of rowers, buff, synchronized, almost majestic, swept seemingly effortlessly up the river.

Being amongst fit people of all ages, doing what they enjoy is uplifting to the human spirit. It appeared so exhilarating I almost wanted to take up the sport, but I’ll probably settle for the stationary rowing machine at the gym. There’s less chance of capsizing that way.

Peabody and more

2007-01-06T19:52:00.000-05:00

Today was an opportunity to get out and explore Salem, MA. More infamous for its much heralded and now commercialized witch trials, Salem is home to two institutions worth visiting. The first is the Peabody Essex Museum, recently renovated and expanded it bills itself as a cultural art museum. The emphasis is on maritime and Asian art, which seems and odd combination at first, but since Salem was once the premiere port in the New World, many artifacts from the Orient found their way to America via Salem.
The museum boasts a fine collection of maritime art, photos and china. Native American art from east to west coast and down to New Mexico is part of the permanent collection as are works from China, India and Japan.
We went to see the exhibition of contemporary furniture "Inspired by China" and fell in love with several pieces. Not in the sense of the need to possess, but rather the desire to make similar pieces. A pipe dream, maybe, but the simplicity of design and artistry of the work, coupled with its sensuous texture, created a "what are you smoking" moment? We both love working with wood and have about 60 mature oak and maple trees on the lot, so judicious cutting and replanting with younger more vigorous oxygenating trees could maintain our existing carbon dioxide neutral state and provide materials for crafting. We just need a three (or four) season workshop.
A bonus was the art exhibit from M.F. Husain, India’s most famous living artist and his epic work "The Mahabharata".

The photograph is of Cornell "Sugarfoot" Coley performing traditional drumming and dance works from West Africa, Cuba and Brazil, to the delight of children and adults.

The second best discovery is Boston Beer Works. Terrific, brewed on the premises selection of Extra Special Bitter (aka British bitter), hoppy India Pale ale and cask conditioned (yes wooden casks) strong ale. Food is great pub fare with flare (stir fried vegetables with ginger on jasmine pilaf rice) and the fish part of the fish and chips is real fresh haddock, white and flaky, not the usual soggy frozen gray mush served up by other pubs. The size of the portions is excellent without being obscene - two large pieces of fish, which provides plenty for a hungry one, or two on a budget. Quibble - why don't they teach bar staff to fill the glass. Imagine being served a 12 ounce glass, with a half inch of nothing above and inch of foam. Needless to say it was sent back for topping off.

Did I mention we are brewing our own beer at home these days ?

First Night - first time

2007-01-01T15:15:00.000-05:00

A strange thing happened on the way to New Years Day 2007- we stayed in Massachusetts.
After 6 years of living 12 miles north-west of Boston, we actually spent New Years Eve in downtown Boston. But why was this the first time and just where were we in previous years?

With help from digital photo records, it turns out it was with family in Peoria, IL on two occasions (2002/2005); hiking the Yorkshire Moors, England (2004); sightseeing in Washington DC (2003) and with friends in the Adirondacks NY (2001) and Banff, Canada (2000). No wonder we felt at a loss for something to do this year.
A quick peruse of the Globe gave us the kernel of a plan. 2007 First Night - Boston, a series of events started thirty-one years ago to celebrate local artists and neighborhood organizations. Performances in forty locations consisted of short films (mostly good – some very good), music (classical guitar - standing room only and in one case with dire acoustics – barber shop chorus in a shopping mall), comedy, puppetry, parades, ice sculptures (melting) and of course fireworks. Free admission to some museums, the aquarium and all events with a $15 button was great value, beaten only by free travel on the T (subway) after 8pm.
Trouble was that by 10:30pm we were so tired, cold and full after dinner at an Italian restaurant all we really wanted was to go home, stretch out in the warm, watch a movie, and drink champagne.

And that's exactly what we did.

Happy New Year and best wishes for a great and successful 2007

Multi-level friends

2006-11-14T14:46:00.000-05:00

The invitation to go out to dinner on Saturday night in Arlington was unexpected, but we pride ourselves in our flexibility. I live far from my family in England and lead a monastic, solitary life as a writer in terms of "workmates" and even after 6 years here have made no long-term friends.

That's not surprising really. People whose company we enjoy or who we started to get know well invariably, a) got married and found a new focus, b) moved to a different state and in one case country, c) had children which curtailed their freedom or d) had family or work life that overtook them.

For our part, once hosts to several parties a year, we just got out of the habit of entertaining. Oh sure, we had some clunkers in the party stakes, but we also had some great dinner parties too. For some reason the effort became greater than the reward.

The invitation to dinner came in a phone call from a couple we did not know at all really. My wife first met Monique (not her real name) at a conference and could hardly wait to tell me about this spirited woman of French extraction she had found so simpatico.

We agreed to meet Monique and her husband Lenny (nor his) in an Indian restaurant, chosen by them for our benefit because we are vegetarian. We are easy going and so were they. Conversation flowed. What do you do? I guess I was feeling dumb, because his answer, "We've started a franchise – but it's hush hush," did not raise any flags. Sure there were questions like – "where do you see yourself in five years?" and talk about residual income and financial security. We explored each other's background, discussed films, health, food and touched ever so gently on politics, which was unavoidable given the proximity to state and national elections.

We split the bill and parted as if old friends, with a promise to share a film, to stay in touch and to meet up again soon.

The following Tuesday night, past the hour that our respective families would consider appropriate to call, my wife recognized Monique's number on the caller ID and answered the phone. After a few minutes, I heard her normally exuberant tone ratchet down a notch or two.

"No Saturday was not a good day for us," I heard her say.

It was true; I would be out of town at a mystery writer's conference.

"No Tuesday would not work either," she said, although I wasn't quite as sure why not. Then I heard her say, "What exactly is the opportunity?" followed almost immediately by, "But what is the product?"

That's when I knew we had been multilevel marketed to. My wife was on the phone for another 15 minutes, too polite to be impolite as she certainly would have been to a cold caller with a proposition. She finally closed the conversation by agreeing to talk to me about attending an "opportunity meeting" and promising to call back the next day by noon to give Monique our decision. For Monique's part, she said that regardless of our decision we would still be "friends" and go out again together.

Based on my previous experience of multi-level marketing 10 years ago and, according to my wife, with uncanny accuracy, I played back the conversation I surmised she had just had. Seems the pitch script has changed little in that time.

As agreed, my wife phoned Monique the next day and told her that it was the wrong time for us and not the sort of business that her MBA from Babson, one of the country's foremost entrepreneurial business schools, was targeted at. Again, it took several minutes to disengage.

"Multi-level marketing and friendship" is an oxymoron. Friends don't use each other. Studies show that 97% of all people involved in this multi billion-dollar business do not cover their costs or even make enough to live on, let alone enough to retire on.

The only friends that I want are those that are on the level, from day one. Anything else is just dishonest.

Google aquires wiki company Jotspot

2006-10-31T18:02:00.001-05:00

I posted an article about this on my Project Leader blog and thought that I would link to it from here.
About a year ago I started using collaboration software known as a wiki written by startup company called Jotspot.
I was very taken with the way it allowed multiple people to share documents, collaborate on them in real time, make comments, track changes, brainstorm and maintain a record, all without the use of emails. In fact I believe that one day all teams of employees, volunteers, perhaps even writer's groups will work this way.
It seems that Google liked this philosophy of online sharing and collaboration so much that they bought the company.

No offence to workers or deer

2006-10-30T14:00:00.000-05:00

Two news items caught my attention today, which I think we could combine to our Town of Lincoln's benefit.

The first concerns the proposed 700-mile long fence between the USA and Mexico, which President Fox has compared to the Berlin Wall.

In fact, the communist regime built the Berlin Wall, which was only 103 miles long, to keep people in the East, as opposed to the USA fence, which is designed to keep illegal immigrants out.

Another article suggests that factories on the Mexico side of the proposed fence (aka. the border) are suffering from a shortage of workers. So perhaps in hindsight President Fox is correct in his comparison and Mexico does need a Berlin Wall type fence, in which case Mexico should build it and fund the $1.2b that the Secure Fence Act requires.

Experts are concerned about the dire effect of the fence and lights on the migratory patterns of animals and birds, which links to the second item, one of Lincoln's favorite subjects, the ever-expanding deer population.

Some residents have cited increased accident rates as one of their fears. A report indicates that, with the end of daylight-saving time, the chances of encountering a deer crossing the road increase in October and November, since deer move about based on sunrise and sundown, and have no way of knowing that you have changed the time you leave for work or set off for home. However, according to a report from CNN, Massachusetts does not even make it into the top 10 states for deer/vehicle accidents.

So here's a thought. Let's build a fence around Lincoln to keep the deer out completely or perhaps simply to contain the ones we have, depending on your political point of view.

Fears feel foreign

2006-10-24T17:33:00.000-04:00

I have provided more personal details than I ever knew I had.

I have supplied details of all of my travel outside of the USA, including my departure and return dates, the destinations and number of days outside of the country for the last five years. My fingerprints and palm prints are now on record, not once, but twice in the last four years. I have provided not only my details, but also those of my family, those of my children, my wife and my ex-wife and of alimony and my tax payments over the past five years. I have provided details of every organization I have ever belonged to, which ranges from the Boy Scouts to the Museum of Fine Arts. It is unlikely the US government has as much information about the average person reading this blog as they do about me.

You see I am a foreigner, an immigrant and as such less, than a US citizen, a status to which I still aspire.

I have an alien registration number and a "green card" giving me the privilege of permanent residency and I have lived and worked here legally since arriving in May 2000.

What I do not have is the right of habeas corpus.

That is the right to petition a court to appear before them to show that any detention for, in the words of the Military Commissions Act of 2006, "WRONGFULLY AIDING THE ENEMY", is unjust or in error.

Of course, it will never happen. I will not be detained simply because I will never aid the enemy of the United States of America. But, with so much information now so freely distributed, with reports of hackers and data losses (I have been notified twice now that my data was made available by mistake – thanks Boston Globe) what are the chances of identity theft occurring or even worse, being in the wrong place at the wrong time? If not identity theft consider this:

Moore is the 9^th most common surname in the USA and is possessed by 0.312% of the population (9,360,000 people). Even Geoffrey, considered the English spelling of Jeffrey is ranked 386^th most popular and used by 0.032% of the population (960,000 people). The combination is not a search possible on the Census Bureau website and so in truth, I hesitated even to post this out of concern for raising my profile. But fear makes victims of us all.

I just give thanks that my name is not James or Mary Smith.

Staple diet

2006-08-22T15:50:00.000-04:00

A $5 voucher from Staples represents a powerful inducement to shop. At least it does at this stage of my writing career. Three reporters note pads, a whole pack of pens, five blank CD’s, the possibilities are endless. Couple this with another voucher, delivered courtesy of an email inducement, for a free 5 pack of multi-colored gel pens and I made it a point to shop at the Mall, which has a new Staples store.
My mission was simple. Come out with the pens, $5’s worth of other goods and not be tempted into buying anything else.
Within two minutes of entering this Aladdin’s cave of the business, art and school worlds I was sucked in by the video presentation of a Lexmark five-in-one printer, scanner, fax copier, pictbridge (print direct from a compatible digital camera), color, black and white, multi-sheet feeder block of solid grey plastic; only $99.98 after easy rebates of $50. Mmm… multi-sheet scanning, just what my wife needs for all her MBA notes, currently stacked and taking up valuable mystery novel space on the bookshelf. Yeah, I could sell that. A fax too; just what I need to deal with all those highly anticipated book contracts that will need signing urgently to prevent a logjam in cyberspace. Wait. A danger sign. It doesn’t say it uses the feeder for scanning and there’s a big pile of inkjet cartridges on sale at two for $39.99, yielding 200 pages each.
Ok, peace. I have four perfectly fine not-in-ones; laser printer (toner cartridge $59 for 2500 pages), photo printer, scanner (which doubles as a copier) and I can always leave the mystery books piled up on the floor as they have been since January, waiting for some loving attention.
But I could use a new memory card for my camera. It would save me taking my laptop on the plane for downloading the hundreds of pictures I will take of Lake Tahoe, Yosemite, Kings Canyon and Sierra Nevada National Parks. $49 for a gigabyte is a bargain, but that’s for the slow speed version. Ah, this one. $69 for a high speed version. Okay, discipline is required in taking pictures and in spending, find the pens, find something for a $5 and get out.
Pens. Pens, so many pens, but none of the free ones. What a con. What else can I buy? Oh, there they are; $3.99 a pack. The advert said $5.99, but Ok, free is free. Just add some special pens for marking backup DVD's and CD’s for $4.99 and we’re off to the cash desk.
“How is it you are doing?” says the woman behind the desk.
"Fine, thanks and you?"
She scans the first item, my free pens and bags them and then the second item. I hand her the free pens coupon and she starts to read it.
“For what is this?”
“Pens, gel pens.”
She picks up the CD marking pens, rescans them and scans the coupon. The scanner does not work.
“Oh is not working,” she says eying the line of six people behind me.
“No for the gel pens,” I explain. “Here, look, sonix gel pens.”
“Is out of date”
“No, it says that the offer is good until 31/8/2006.”
She picks up the gel pens.
“Ah, these.”
The scanner is not working. Eight people shuffle their feet like a centipede whose Valium is wearing off. I imagine I hear a sigh.
“I type number,” the woman says and proceeds to laboriously read and finger tap the 13 digits. The register blinks, beeps and spits out a receipt for $0.
“No. No. Is not good,” the cashier says, looking at the receipt before realizing that that is exactly what it should say.
She repeats the digit entry from my $5 coupon. Nothing happens.
“Manager, front desk, manager front desk,” she says into a handset. The conga line of 12 people moves their shoulder as well as their feet, no doubt pondering giving up their purchase and searching for an escape route.
“I think it’s this number you need to type in,” I offer, pointing to the one under the bar code. She does and the register repeats its performance and spits out a second receipt, this one demanding 25 cents. The tax, I’d forgotten the tax. Mission failed. I offer her a $20 bill.
She looks at me and across to the line of 15 puzzled people who are now making huffing sorts noises. “I have no change, something smaller please?” she said.
I breathe deeply and shake my head as she reached into a drawer below the counter searching for pennies. I realize that there is still a chance to declare 'mission accomplished'. She finds only 15 cents.
“Ten,” she says and then again, louder “dime.” I wait for an offer from the line behind me, but another checkout has opened up and is moving fast and instead the remaining customers in it move to the new line, unwilling to pay 10 cents to end the ordeal. We look at each other, waiting to see who cracks first. It’s me.
“I have it the car,” I said reaching for the plastic bag. Her hand beat me to it.
“OK, I wait,” she said, now clasping the bag and its contents to her bosom.
By the time I return the new register is closed and all customers dealt with. It is just me and her and I hold out one of the 25 cents I keep in the car for feeding parking meters.
She picks up the handset again and speaks into it.
“Cancel manager front desk. Cancel manager,” booms around the store.
“Have nice day,” she says exchanging the bag for my quarter.

A trick question?

2006-08-18T14:27:00.000-04:00

Here's a few more of examples of the defensive nature of some people you meet here on the east coast.

Hard(ware) times.

"How you doing?"
People ask me that all the time, often not listening to the answer, but friendly enough. So I thought I'd do the same at an aging hardware store in Acton, about 20 miles northwest of Boston. The place serviced garden equipment, mowers, ‘weed wackers’, chainsaws, and refilled propane bottles out back in a shed so rickety and full of holes that the wind or a heavy snowfall was more likely to flatten it than a propane explosion.
"How are you doing?" I said to the fit looking man who was tanned, 50-something, dressed in working boots, kaki shorts and a faded blue tee.
"What?"
"How ya doowin?" I asked again broadening my accent in a lame attempt at a 'Bawstn' drawl.
"That's a trick question," the gasman said, taking the container from me.
"No. No tricks here," I said. "I don't ask trick questions." He didn't look up or say a word as he went about filling my 20lb bottle, gauging how full they were by opening the release valve until liquid gas squirted out, hitting his bare leg and evaporating. Fumes filled the shed pushing me further back and re-enforcing his invisible 'no-go' zone.
He took a deep breath, handed me the bottle and oozed, "Mmmm. That's a full one."

Checking out.

"Phew, it's really warm outside," I offered in casual conversation.
"Must be nice to get out there?" the woman cashier in a red Hawaiian shirt replied as if it was my fault our roles were not reversed.
"Yeah, but a bit too hot to do much," I said in an attempt to convey it was better to be packing groceries in an air conditioned shop.
"I went for a bike ride this morning," she said squashing three bananas under a can of organic tomatoes.
"Really, that must've been great." I fiddled with my wallet, extracting an ATM card to pay and paused while I swiped my card. "So where's a good place to bike around here?"
She looked at me with eyes narrowed, as if considering an invitation for a date from the Boston Strangler.
"On bike paths," she said turning to serve the next customer.
"Oh. Thanks," I said and went outside to eat a banana.

I'd be interested to know what you find different from where you're from.

A place to work and play

2006-08-07T15:28:00.000-04:00

Rockery Pond at the Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary

Today I want to work for the Massachusetts Audubon Society. The idea started with my membership renewal coming due and the realization that I had to find at least $50 to pay for it. At least save a stamp I thought, and renew on line. A five minute task done the pen and snail mail way turned into a two hour perusal of their website at http://www.massaudubon.org/ and for the first time I understood its not all for the birds, although they do provide the main theme for conservation and advocacy. Indeed, it was two women, Minna Hall and Harriet Hemenway, who founded Mass Audubon in 1896 and did so to stop the large-scale slaughter of herons and egrets in the South. Hunters killed the birds solely to provide feathers for women's hats. Hall and Hemenway successfully pressured their contemporaries to shun feathers, reducing demand, and Mass Audubon later advocated for the passage of the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918.
If not birds then, what is the focus? Well, land (approximately 31,000 acres of it) plays a very large part in what the Audubon Society seeks to protect which in turn conserves the flora and fauna that thrives on it, including the birds.
So what exactly could I do for them? Full time jobs range from Director of Legislative Affairs located on Beacon Hill to Apprentice Livestock Manager (well for a 1-year period). In between are office jobs, educationalist, camp leaders and travel tour planning, with many roles located at Lincoln's lovely Drumlin Farm.
The Audubon Society appears to be the perfect vehicle for a journey back to the land, a stepping off point to conservation and wilderness work. It would be strange to start the journey of protecting goldfinches on the cultured highbrow slopes of Beacon Hill with its gold-domed State House. I'll mull it for a day, which is what I do with most fancies, and then get back to making a living as a writer.

"Verizon. Can YOU here me now?"

2006-07-17T14:37:00.000-04:00

"Can you here me now?" has become a trademarked catchphrase of corporate telecom giant Verizon thanks to millions of dollars spent on media advertising. So it was with some sadness and frustration that I found myself cancelling my landline service and giving up the distinctive phone number that I've had for the past six years.

Something went badly wrong with the phone line while we were out of state facing down a grizzly in Glacier National Park, but that is a story for another day. When we returned, messages on the answering machine were indecipherable. Was that a job offer or just another Sierra Club solicitation? We will never know. A buzz all but obliterated every word. "Hello…BZZZZZZZZZZ..."

Hunting out an old bill for the number and after navigating multiple key press options to call the repair line, the voice recognition system was unable to understand anything I said. Usually when that happens it is because of my English accent. This time, it was the "BZZZZZZ." After a few minutes of hearing,

"I can't understand what you're saying,"

an agent came on the line and took details of the problem, informing me that there was a $91 call out charge and that any work required would be $91 per half hour thereafter. Having spent 28 years working for Nortel, a company that makes telephony and data equipment, I had already checked the house interface and found out that the problem was not within the house wiring.

"Ok, there will be no charge if it's our line," the agent said, adding, "someone will be out between 4 and 8 on Wednesday."
"But it's Monday; can't they check the exchange and fix it sooner?" "No'" was the response.

On Tuesday, we got a call and barely made out that Verizon were confirming that the service person would call Wednesday between 4 and 8 and that no access to the house would be required. "4pm and 8pm," I confirmed. "Yes."

Wednesday came and went, then Thursday and Friday and still the "BZZZZZ" was overwhelming. On Saturday, I phoned the 24-hour repair line. The number was unavailable, I tried from a cell phone. I tried from an internet phone. The number was just unavailable.
On Thursday, I received an email from Vonage, offering unlimited dialing across the US, Canada and get this, to five European countries, including the UK for $24.99 per month with 2 months free for existing customers (which I am, but that's also a story for another time). This compared with paying Verizon $29.49 for local service only (including taxes and caller ID). We had eschewed both Verizon's and ATT's long distance service due to the standing charge and high rate to the UK. Both were achieved by using included cell phone minutes and paying extra for calls to the UK at an admittedly low price of 3cents per minute, using a third party supplier, Pingo, and dialing access codes and passwords.
Within two minutes of pressing the order button, a confirmation email detailed my new number. Within 70 minutes it was up and running.
On Monday, one week after the first call, I phoned Verizon service centre. With no word on the repair, so I requested cancellation. The operator wanted to know if I was moving, presumably so they could sell the service to the person moving in. I told them that I was cancelling, because I did not have to put up with an inferior quality line or service, at a cost that exceeded other suppliers.
After holding for a few minutes, I was put through to another department, expecting at least some interest, an apology or an offer of compensation for lost service. The technician simply asked,
"When do you want me to turn off service?"
"How about now?"
"We can do it within two hours," he offered, also asking where to send the final bill.
And that was it. I checked the line 30 minutes later and the BZZZZZZ was gone and so was my line and old telephone number.
"Verizon. Can YOU here me now?"

News articles for Lincoln Journal

2006-06-24T14:39:00.000-04:00

Work published to date includes local news and lifestyle features. The first article, published on the Journal’s front page involved attending and reporting a meeting on controversial expansion in Lincoln’s historic district requiring interviews for information and quotes. Click here to read. The second in the Arts and Lifestyle section is a feature on aspiring writers and the Lincoln Library 'Write Stuff' writer's group. Click here to read.

Think local, act local

2006-05-17T10:37:00.000-04:00

Freelance writer, Geoffrey P. Moore, signed a contract today covering his services as a correspondent (a stringer in the vernacular) for the Lincoln Journal.
No get rich quick scheme, the Lincoln Journal will provide an audience for Geoff's writing and source of attributed clips, required for progress towards a full time career and credibility in magazine journalism.
A small step perhaps, but with the purchase of Community Newspaper Company (CNC) by Gateway Media Inc. the focus on local news will in the respected Journal will increase.
Large media publication readership has declined over the past year, whilst the number of people subscribing to newspapers covering local news events has increased.
Perhaps, as readers have become weary of the deluge of media information on global events, they prefer to shut their doors to what is going on outside their immediate sphere of influence and think local. I hope so, at least for a while.

A taste of England - courtesy of the Phoenix Rising

2006-05-14T18:18:00.000-04:00

For the first time since I moved to the USA I watched the FA cup Final, this year between Liverpool and West Ham United.
For those that don't know West Ham is a district in the East end of London, very close to my birthplace. Too close as it happens - I support Leyton Orient, because they are my home town team and Arsenal, because I lived only half a mile from the ground and had many happy hours in the local pub, listening to the crowd and watching on TV. Tickets were impossible to get - harder even than the Red Sox.
So West Ham are rivals and since I was in the Phoenix Rising - an Irish pub on Mass Ave just up from the Central T stop - that was decked out with Liverpool flags and patrons outnumbering West Ham supporters 5:1 - I supported Liverpool.
The place was packed when I got there, no seats and no chance to get to the bar until half time. That worked out fine since kickoff was 10 am EST, so it was respectfully past 11am by the time I took my first sip of beer.
The pub was filled with chanting - oohs and aahs at each miss and hearing the cockney voices of West Ham supporters made it feel as if I was back in the London of my youth.
Why had I waited so long to find a pub showing football. Well $20 each for this pay per view event is one of them, denial is the other. But this game was worth it with Liverpool coming back from a 2 goal deficit only to fall behind and come back again to draw with a spectacular strike on 90 minutes (full time). Extra time was a drag, with West Ham coming closest and the game finished level to be settled by best of five penalty shots. Liverpool's keep saved three penalties to give them the win. All in all a really great game, the last to be played at Cardiff Arms Park in Wales and the first to be witnessed in Boston

Advice from a Lemon

2006-05-12T12:07:00.000-04:00

"I hope he is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law." So says a quote from Bridgewater Board of Selectman, Herb Lemon, in Thursday's Boston Globe.
Mr. Lemon added, "I don't care what this person's background is, homeless or not, there is no excuse for it."

The heinous crime? Did he hurt someone or worse molest a child under the guise of priestly protection?

No. On a hot day, a homeless man dressed in dirty jeans, a thick leather jacket over a hooded fleece and known by residents to be living rough in local woodland, put his hand in a change jar at a roadside lemonade stand and took out $8 instead of paying for his drink.
The stand was set up and being run by children aged 8 to 12 in aid of Relay for Life, an annual cancer walk of the American Cancer Society. The children, who appeared shaken and voiced disbelief at the alleged theft from their charity effort, had raised $40 towards their target of $100 after 4 hours work.

Yes, people should not take money from children; yes, children have a right to sell lemonade for a good cause (especially if they had a hawker's license and a charity registration).

However, people of America, Selectman of Bridgewater, Boston Globe -- let's get things into perspective.

A homeless man, overdressed on a hot day, living in woodland is arrested and charged with personal larceny, which carries a maximum sentence (fullest extent of the law) of 24 to 36 months in prison for $8. The Globe reporter and photographer is on hand to snap pictures of a cowered man being led away in handcuffs and a second police officer handing dollar bills (the evidence) back to a group of 8 children.

Does this make any sense?

Doesn’t this AMERICAN man need help, at least as much as an American Cancer Society and at least as much as people in other countries that the USA is pouring billions of dollars into? When arrested he still had the $8 on him. That's it; no other means to pay for a glass of lemonade was mentioned.

Perhaps Mr. Lemon's call for retribution came from his heart and not his head, since he has just finished a course of cancer treatment and was grateful for the funding of research that allowed such treatment?

It is a petty he had not just finished a course of being homeless. He might have had a trace of compassion for those for whom a lack of treatment or a glass of lemonade on a hot day is a way of life.

$0.027 for your thoughts.

2006-05-06T18:09:00.000-04:00

Every 5th grade physics student knows that hot air rises and that the web is full of windbags letting rip on people they know; lovers, mothers, brothers and others. Some even make a buck or two by being profound, original or plain stupid enough to make people click through to see their attempt at winning a Darwin award.

A comparatively new web site, a cross between about.com, squidoo.com, ask.com and probably more that I know nothing about, came to my attention last night during a Cinco de Mayo Mexican bean feast and few bottles of Corona sporting a green, wedge shaped bottle stopper.
The site’s premise is that you, in the guise of an expert, sign up to answer questions of importance to people who go to the site for answers and then click through to Google Adsense or Adwords.
When people click on your answer (as opposed to the answers from oh, sixty or seventy other experts), ranked by peers as the most valuable (no you can't rank your own, but if you know enough people I am sure they can do it for you), you get the payout that is listed against the questions.
Payout amount depends not on difficulty of question e.g. "explain Einstein’s theory of relativity" but on which questions are likely to attract most people to the answer and generate the most Adwords and hence click through revenue. So questions like:

"How do I completely get rid of fleas in my house?" receive their own front page headline, right next to another burning issue:

"How do I know which grade of motor oil I should use in my car?" Answer - look in the handbook buddy (no I made that one up myself).

The site is said to have patented fraud detection. The question "how does this work?" is neither asked nor answered. Peer reviewing is said to bring the cream to the top. Unfortunately even the top answers leave a bit of a sour taste and are at best similar to those that a Google search generates, which is where it appears most 'experts' appear to have gone for their answers to post.

Of course it’s not about the money for people answering questions. It’s for the fame and prestige of being a published writer, an expert in you chosen field of answering the ultimate question:

Are there any online writing sites that pay for writing?

Yeah right - you mean like this one (by pure coincidence the top answer).

The site is at beta and will be upgraded to remove the emphasis on money and replace it with one requiring writing skills. This can only improve the quality. Take a look, it has promise, but read the small print before posting. Give an answer that infringes copyright, injures someone or something when they follow your sage advice and you, not the website owners, are liable for damages and just about anything else if sued.

Now there's a way to make dollars from other people's thoughts.

http://www.heliumknowledge.com/dn/index.aspx

Counter Measures

2006-05-03T18:18:00.000-04:00

Smooth talk.

Today was a day for experiment; a day to engage and commune after 72 hours locked away bleeding out the plot and first two chapters of: Collage – A Harry Flash Mystery Novel.Not much sustenance left in the fridge so it’s off to the liquor store.
Sam Adams Black Lager and some obscure but cheap IPA from Paper City Brewery in Holyoke find their way, with my support, to the cash desk.The liquor store owner drags himself away from a loiterer discussing with bile and vitriol, what Johnny Damon did, a far cry from 2004 when the popular question was "What would Johnny do?"
He ambles over and I am struck by the age of the counter on which I had just plonked my plonk. It was Formica, so that meant 50's, maybe 60's, worn smooth and colorless; edges rounded creating an irresistible tactile surface. My hand instinctively caressed it as I would a woman's back; gently, exploring, fingertips tracing silky contours.
Distracted by these thoughts I ask, “So how long has this counter been here?”
The look on the owner's face tells me instantly that I am in trouble.
In the USA, I have found that context is vitally important to understanding. If you say something that a person is not expecting, or perhaps that no one has asked before, life becomes similar to using a speech recognition program or a voice activated telephone response system:

“Hello, I’d like a number for…”
“Please say the name of the city town or state you are trying to contact.”
“Heston”
“I think I heard you say ‘Austin’ please say ‘Yes’ if this is correct.”
“No, Heston”
"I think I heard you say ‘Yes’. Please say the name of the person or business in Austin for which you require a phone number.”
“No Heston”
“I think I heard you say Noel Eston, please say ‘Yes’ if the is correct.”
“No, Heston.”
“I think I heard you say ‘Yes’. We have no listing for Noel Heston in Austin.”
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

You get the picture.
So, when I said “How long has this counter been here?" the owner of the liquor store had several options.
A humorist might have said, “About thirteen feet, same as it's always been.”
A historian might have said, “Now that is a very interesting question. Records show that this shop once functioned as a moneylender and the counter is worn smooth by ebb and flow of debt and repayment. In fact it's a little known fact that…”
A theologian would have considered the question and then raised doubt about its origin as a man made object and of its meaning.
My man made me explain it, bit by bit.
So I said,“The counter, its made of Formica.”
He gave me a dumb look.
“The pattern, it’s been worn off.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“In places it’s worn right through to the underlying brown backing.”
Incredulous stare.
“The surface is smooth and edges are rounded.”
Checks to see if the surveillance system is recording.
“It …looks…very…old. How… long… has… this… counter… been… here?”
Hint of recognition.
Sage response, “A lot of six packs have slid over this counter.”
So how long has this counter been there?
I never found out, he obviously thought I was casing the joint, or from the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, or the IRS, or just some lonely old sod with nothing better to do than to buy booze and ask stupid questions.
Well at least he was right on one account.

Disrespect

2006-04-03T22:06:00.000-04:00

As if Massachusetts motorists don't have enough problems getting from A to B it appears that the local state and possibly local police forces are recruiting drivers with an aggressive streak. They are not even doing it candidly, but blazing the words "Police Seek Aggressive Drivers" across I-95 (Route 128) on flashing overhead signs alternating with the words "Show Road Respect". Well I have never dissed a road in my life and unless an aggressive police driver causes me to, I don't intend to.

The next generation

2006-01-20T18:06:00.000-05:00

It's been difficult to write for the last few weeks. Sharing thoughts starts with having them. My mind has been whirling, but not my fingers. I have been flitting between work for short story competitions, the Harry Flash mystery plot, study of dialogue and police procedure and feeble attempts at general freelance work via the project management institute.
I had trips to Peoria, and England, interspersed with an internal physical exam, the prep for which can only be described as distinctly unpleasant. I am pleased to report that all three had satisfactory results.

The trip to England was catch up with family. I met my grandson of 14 months, Freddie, whom I had not seen in the flesh for a year and fell in love with him. A gentler, happier child I have never seen. My granddaughter, Faith is now a photo shy 3 year old, but as adorable as ever and my 3-week-old grandson, Lucas, has a lot to live up to.

Trips to Halifax, Nova Scotia and Missoula Montana for June weddings are in the works. I am tempted to try salaried employment. Don't let anyone tell you that working for yourself is easy. It requires immense discipline, drive and commitment. A steady paycheck is a dreadful temptation. I am going to get out more, put a routine together, and be more aggressive with my time. It is too valuable to squander.
There has to be a reason to be an Englishman in Boston.

There and back again...get the picture.

2006-01-02T16:09:00.000-05:00

As I said in an earlier post, this is American Eagles escape method from the front of the aircraft, which sits 5 feet 10 inches above the ground. Not a great picture, but the little plane that could was shaking about as I tried to take this shot of the safety card. Click the image to see a full size version.
The more I look at it, the greater is the pained expression on the face of both participants. The other thing I noted is that both are women and wearing long pants. You can play with any combination of women, men, children, short skirt, long skirt, old young short or tall and come up with some interesting combinations that would cause a significant problem for either of them and the passengers waiting behind. In a panic you might even have passengers tumbling out and piling up on the ground. In the words of someone famous - it's the economy (section) stupid.

Game over

2005-12-25T15:02:00.000-05:00

New toys, new clothes and new hopes abound at this time of year. Old ones are discarded on purpose or accidentally cast off. Perhaps these were dropped by a careless trash collector or worse, as a result of someone not looking twice and listening.
Relationships and personal plans are sometimes like that too. They get cast off or accidentally lost.
It is a great time to appraise the past, live in the present and plan for the future. It's time to listen to other's views, listen to what your inner voices tell you about the past and then to act to make a better future.

Two inches or $2 million - passengers jump at choice

2005-12-24T22:32:00.000-05:00

American Eagle have saved $2 million by lowering the landing gear on Embraer aircraft by 2 inches. This makes the escape door only 5 feet 10 inches from the ground instead of six feet, eliminating the need, at least in some peoples minds, for an escape slide on emergency exits.

I discovered this on the flight today when I read the escape instructions on the flight safety card. It shows a picture of a woman, sitting on the edge of the open exit door. In the next picture her fall appears to be arrested by the passenger in front on the tarmac standing in the way or perhaps offering her back for support 'piggyback fashion'.

"Looks painful doesn't it," the steward said when I asked if the picture was a warning to 'stand clear' or an instruction to 'make a back'. He went on to describe the savings mentioned above. I aim to get a picture of the card on the return jouney and let you be the judge.

Crowning achievement

2005-12-23T15:08:00.000-05:00

‘African-American women wear hats to praise the lord’ is too simplistic to describe the Lyric Stage Company production of Regina Taylor’s ‘Crowns’. But in essence, that is the whole story for two hours as seven talented actors, six female and one male, pour out their souls in high energy gospel numbers and reminisce about family, fashion, faith and their African heritage. The performers are accompanied by the beat of percussion and electric piano and as usual set design is minimal, but effective.
Directed by Lois Reach, the show is adapted from the book Crowns: Portraits of Black Women in Church Hats.
The audience is the most racially diverse that I have ever seen at the Lyric in the past 20 or 30 productions I have attended, perhaps because of the subject and all black cast. The show is funny, sad, uplifting and at the same time exclusive, with ‘insider’ anecdotes that only half the audience can really be in tune with. This does not detract from the overall enjoyment; we laugh together.
There are several fine performances, from the moody New York gang member, Yolanda, played by Heather Fry, to the enigmatic Mother Shaw, played by Fukani Haynes, who by day is a Boston based pediatric nurse and by night a member of Equity, the actor union.
I can’t help thinking what an interesting mix it would be if the same audience, many wearing hats that matched and in some cases exceeded the style of the ones on stage, attended the next Lyric production.
I know I’ll be there.

Happy and sad...

2005-12-22T15:38:00.000-05:00

Today 3000 miles feels like a million.
Christmas came early for my son and his wife with the arrival of their second child - a son, Lucas. I got a message to call my son on the answering machine at about 10:30am my time, seven and half hours after the birth and it took me another ninety minutes to track him down. Of course in tracking him down I heard the news from someone else. Distance does that. Time-shifts news.
So I am happy to have a second grandson, and my third grandchild and sad that I am so far away physically from them. My trip to England, which was planned for two weeks after the due date of 2nd January, now seems too distant and I'll have to find a means of bringing it forward.
Excitement is similar to a virus - contagious if you are within touching distance. For now virtual touching is what I have and that comes with the territory and my decision to be an Englisman in Boston.

Scene in Newbury Street

2005-12-18T13:17:00.000-05:00

The last leg of our assault on Mount Christmas had started so well. Bright sunshine, temperatures of 18F and a clear run down Route 2, gave a false sense of calm as we elected to drive to our downtown base. This was going to be a breeze. Traffic on Storrow Drive ebbed and flowed easily, but then stopped as completely as the frozen Charles River. We bobbed and weaved our way around ice patches, cutting fresh tracks around slower trekkers and jeeps, slipping easily past the slower but more luxurious limousines that conveyed premium seekers of joy and gifts. We made for base camp under Boston Common and pitched the vehicle into the first vacant slot. Climbing from the darkness beneath the frozen ground, which was as hard as the concrete tomb we were leaving, the smell of the emergency latrines, conveniently located in the stairwell, bought an acrid awareness of our situation. We would be on foot from now on, but not alone.

We fought the conditions along Newbury Street, many times having to wait our turn as Sunday pedestrians, most well dressed but untrained for the conditions, impeded our determined progress to the top. Fierce biting wind gnawed through our outer survival gear, and sliced through inadequate layers of cotton and silk until it chilled the flesh and drained the warmth of fellowship from the soul.

We saw evidence of far away travelers from the highlands of Rhode Island. Not for them a hike along icy paths on foot. With their Mountaineering vehicle's four wheel drive engaged, they shunted back and forth to squeeze into any available space as shown in the photo.

Patagonia proved a worthy destination, providing a colorful display of clothing made from wool and strange man made fiber. However, our real treat was the return leg and finding the aromatic Lush location on Newbury. The mix of smells will be us for days.

When one won't do hire two

2005-12-14T11:16:00.000-05:00

What a strange irony it is that the Red Sox announce two General Managers to co-manage in place of one Theo Epstein. True Theo walks on water and the Kendall Square T shirt brigade is already replacing the line of shirts that say "What would Jonny do?" with "What did Theo do?", but seriously, is this the way of the future?

It got me thinking. What other jobs would two be better than one?

How about starting at the top. Why not two Presidents, one for the rich and one for the poor? One to take vacations at the ranch and one to run the country. We could have two Vice Presidents, one to go into hiding at the first sign of trouble, the other to be a visible leader. We could have two Secretary's of Defense, one to tell the truth, the other to... Well you get the picture.

We could extend it to baseball world. We could have two Manny's, one to sulk and demand a trade because he doesn't like the exposure in Boston and another to earn $20 million a year. No wait, we've already one person doing both.

What other jobs could we have 2 people do? Send comments on a $20 bill to pay for the heating oil this winter.

A lasting impression

2005-12-09T13:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was a very long day, most of which I spent sitting on my rear. The morning was spent at Right Management Consultants, an outplacement company who are kindly helping me work out what to do next with my life, time and ambition.
Topic of the day was Power Networking. Nothing to do with the electricity grid, this is how do you make 300 contacts, to obtain 3 quality interviews to get 1 job that pays as well or better than the last one you held. Eric Ross, a business operations manager in transition himself, did a fine job of showing how someone "without a walks on water resume or personality and more introverted than the glue on the back of flowered wall paper" can obtain a succession of jobs that pay more than the last. Lest you think me unfair to Eric or ungrateful, I should point out that the text in quotes is just that. His quote.
Its about understanding and honoring the process, of "keeping the path trod, lest the weeds grow" and "being a persistent professional without becoming a perpetual pest". Eric has a way with words and very clear process steps, which I can't share here because it was a 2 hour lecture. But Eric does have a DVD on Amazon.com which he assures me is of him, presenting the same material. For those who may be reading this, and perhaps comfortably employed and thinking you don't need to network, my advice and Eric's is don't wait until you need to, because it takes time and is hard work.
The evening was spent at the Project Management Insitute Mass Bay Chapter meeting, where Frank Saladis, a gentleman with enough charisma and energy for 200 Erics, shared his view on the future of project management.

As great as Frank was with his insights and fine tuned observations, the highlight for me was sitting next to Santa, cunningly disguised in civvies as Mike Butler, who is the only certified project manager I know who in December sheds his fake business suit and reveals his true identity of Chief Santa at SantaCo. So how do I know he's the real deal? Man you should have seen his snowy white beard and let's just say he left a lasting impression.

Getting some practice

2005-12-05T15:41:00.000-05:00

The Project Management Institute, Mass Bay Chapter, December Newsletter has just been published with 2 articles I wrote and another that I edited. This is my first excursion into this area of local volunteer work.
The first article is a member profile of Ellen DePaul, Leader of the chapter's Project Manager Career Connections and Big Sister Association of Boston, Big Sister of the Year 2005. It describes her work with both the chapter and her Little Sister. Writing the article involved, researching both organizations, interviewing Ellen, obtaining photos and permissions from the subject and Big Sisters. The whole thing was pulled together in 5 days.

The second article is a summary of a longer article by Robert Sommer, written to add punch and relevance. It asks the reader questions and proposes solutions as to how to get the most from networking on line and outside of chapter meetings.

The third article is a complete rewrite of chapter speaker report, which was unfocused as written. Note that I get no credit for editing and rewriting (but that's OK, I need the practice).

I spent a few conference calls, listening to the Project Manager Career Connections (PMCC) team trying to catch up with who was doing what and pulled together all the information, publishing it on collaboration wiki site.
General consensus is that this is a useful repository, but team members need help in using a wiki type tool and are unsure of the value of them sharing information in this way rather than by emails. I know from my experience that once they become accustomed to the fact that any signed up member can change, improve and add to any document they will wonder how they managed without it.

Rising to the challenge

2005-12-03T21:39:00.000-05:00

For many reasons we needed to get out today, to spend some time together doing what we enjoy. That's how we ended up at an elevation of 3156 feet, hiking in temperatures of 18F and being blown around by wind speeds of 20-30mph. At times, standing up on the summit became a difficult balancing act.
Mount Monadnock, is the world's most climbed mountain according to some accounts. There are several reasons for this. It is easily accessible, has great views and Japan's Mount Fuji, which has always been considered the most climbed, has seen a decline in hikers due to the availability of public transportation to the peak.
With visibility of approximately 100 miles on a clear day, it is possible to see all six New England States from the top of Mount Monadnock. Today, the skyline of Boston, seventy miles away, was the best we had ever seen.
But views come at a price. Conditions under foot were slippery, with leaves covering ice, and water frozen on some rock surfaces. The white dot path we took is only 31/2 miles long, but is steep, requiring as much scrambling as hiking, and it is all up. The white cross path is less steep and best for descending, but follows the path of a stream, which makes it very icy in winter.
It took 1.5 hours to drive the 62 miles there, 1.5 hours to climb 1700 feet from parking lot to summit, 2 hours to get down due to icy conditions and a stop for lunch and 1.5 hours to get home. Nice symmetry, and probably the last high hike this year, unless Santa brings crampons and an ice pick or two.

Acing the interview - a certain perspective

2005-12-01T09:46:00.000-05:00

I can’t decide if I am unemployed or just not earning any money. Since unemployment benefit dried up after 26 weeks, the state has no mechanism for me to register weekly as unemployed. In theory then, I guess I dropped out of the system and off the non payroll of the largest band of brothers and sisters in the country. You’d think we could organize a union of non workers to look after our interests. “The National Union of Unemployed” has a nice ring to it. But, is an author unemployed if he or she is writing, but not selling their work yet? At what point is an author considered to be employed? These are difficult questions, but there are other difficult questions, the sort that are asked at interviews.

Because I can’t decide if I am unemployed technology worker or an unpaid author, I have been on interviews for ‘real jobs’, in cubicle world, making the top three candidates, if 2nd interviews are used as the criteria for that metric.

That’s how I found myself at the Career Place, which,

“since 1997, has served over 46,000 individuals and more than 3,000 local employers. Chartered by the Metro North Regional Employment Board, and managed by Middlesex Community College, The Career Place helps individuals to find current job openings, assess their skill levels and interests, and enter education and training programs.”

I clearly don’t have the skills to make it to #1, so I signed up for “Acing the Interview.” In fact this is such a popular course, that I waited a couple of months for a slot and so arrived early to ensure a seat in the small conference room used for training. This course normally costs $59, but you don’t have to be unemployed to take it or any of the courses offered. In a perverse way it helps to be unemployed and out of benefits, because then courses are free.

To my surprise and disappointment there were only three other people interested in “acing the interview”, all were female and our tutor, also female. I could feel the estrogen levels rising in the room as we went round the table, delivering our 30 or 60 second elevator introductions and practicing interview answers.

G, a paralegal with 2 masters’ degrees and 5 years experience, that appeared to consist of solving filing problems and butting heads with people unwilling to prioritize their work to suit her needs, I had met before. My heart sank; I knew G. wore her issues openly. At our last meeting during “behavioral interviewing” I suggested that she stop answering interview questions during our practice sessions with a 10 minute life story, which included why it was not fair. It is impossible to give meaningful, short answers in an interview, if you spend your practice time outside of them hashing and rehashing bad experiences. On several occasions I gently stopped her after 5 minutes or so and suggested a more positive positioning of her answer, until she began stopping herself, to do the same.

K. is a senior admin and is unlike the rest of us, currently employed. She works for a non profit organization and has no time to research companies as the instructor suggested, is unaware that libraries open in the evening (when she has to do the washing and cleaning), but has been on many fruitless interviews, where starting salary was below her current mid level salary. I suggest she look for the most inefficient non profit charity available, since they will be the ones spending most on administration. Later I show her how to find a prepaid cell phone (suce a Virgin or T-Mobile) for emergency use, such notifying the company if she running late for an interview (she relies on public transport) or to phone up the company she is interested in and ask about the salary range.

D. worked at a school, supporting teenaged children. I don’t recognize the job title, but it sounds like a school welfare worker and she has a degree in it. When asked the practice question, “what is your greatest accomplishment at work?” she is hesitant and needs prompting to think of one. Eventually D. tells us in a disorganized manner, of an occasion when she talked a troubled girl out of committing suicide on the school grounds. I am staggered and have to tell her that her greatest accomplishment is that “she saved a life”. Not many people could match that answer at a job interview. She brightens, smiles briefly and thanks me.

These people don’t need help acing the interview, to be told to arrive early, wear clean shoes, and send thank you notes or any of the other process steps required. They need help to get rid of anger, to organize their thoughts and deliver them in a coherent and high impact manner and yes, to be shown how to manage their time and to buy a pre paid cell phone.

Me? I learned that my delivery of interview answers was too quiet, that it showed a lack of confidence (when it really showed disinterest). But today I was employed, at least for 4 hours as I listened to 3 people and helped them see themselves in a better way, in a way they really were. Of course, I didn’t get paid, but I wouldn’t have if I sat at home writing, not yet anyway.

A different kind of sting – anger warning

2005-12-01T07:22:00.000-05:00

Something has been bothering me for a few days, since last Saturday night to be accurate. The question that’s been nagging at me is, “why do liberals spend so long arguing with their allies that they end up distancing them and fragmenting every effort to improve things?” They spend so long preaching change and moralizing to people who don’t need convincing in the first place, that they end up alienating the very group they could enlist in their cause.

Take this guy I met at party, we’ll call him Ed, because that was his name. Ed is nice, retired, Habitat for Humanity, Bush loathing (doesn’t matter which one to me either), volunteer type of person. He is a gregarious host, serves up a decent dark beer and is open to conversation. He is also a rabid fan of the European health care system, having spent several years in Germany. I am not sure he was there before or after unemployment hit 11.6% this year, having risen stubbornly for the past 10 years. No matter, he views the US medical system like the antichrist and 20 % of the population without basic medical cover, as sinful.

Well, I am no fan of fat care health insurance companies and funds that should be going to doctors, nurses and patient care being spent on billing systems. Being in transition or out of work as it used to be called, I am acutely aware of the flimsiness, cost and inadequacy of the state provided comfort blanket. So Ed and I agreed. Not according to him. No, he prescribes a strong dose of the European system, specifically the UK National Health system.

This is a system that was devised 60 years ago and is still wearing the same post war ration book clothing and his suggestion would be laughable if it did not make me feel so sick inside. We were allies no more in the fight for a better medical system for a needy John or Jane Doe.

I tell him that in my 45 year experience of it, the system is archaic and terrible, but he wants specific examples. This is difficult for me, not because I have none, but because I do. I know people that have died under its inadequate glance, instead of its alert and watchful eye. Heck, at eight years old, I was nearly one of them due to delays in diagnosing acute appendicitis that ruptured mixing poisonous fluids to the blood circulating inside me.

But it’s my dad I think of. He took out private health coverage for all of us to augment the inadequate health system and so that he could have a sinus operation and another for fusion of his vertebrae to fix a poorly treated work related accident, without waiting a painful 12 months. Even that did not help when he lost his job and could not afford premiums and reverted to National Health. He was not helped by a system, private or National Health that was content to treat only the effect of a disease, without consideration of the cause. He bounced from unemployment, to a stroke and then a heart attack that the National Health doctor told me was mild and meant that he would be home the next day.

That night I looked at him, lying in an open ward, with no heart monitor, an oxygen mask clamped to his face, unable to speak because of the dryness of his lips and throat. I removed his mask briefly and dribbled water on his lips. He was sad and frightened as he scratched at the skin under the metal strap of the wrist watch he had been given for 25 years service, just before they eliminated his job, and slowly pulled it off, passing it to me for safe keeping. When I left I carried it in my hand to the end of the ward not wanting to assume ownership, and turned to look back at him. He saw me and raised a hand, but only from the wrist and as it flopped down again, I slid the watch on my wrist and mouthed “I love you, see you tomorrow night.” I never did.

He died the next morning from a massive heart attack, alone except for my mother who was with him and ran frantically searching for medical staff to help the man she had been married to for 30 years and for whom she could do nothing to stem the pain.

My dad, dead at 52 years of age; that is the legacy of the UK National Health System. It wasn’t until I came to Boston, even after 2 years in Canada, that I even realized that there were health care screening options for men.

This year was a milestone for me, of a sort. This year, I passed the age that my dad was when he died 27 years ago. My doctor, at my now bi-annual check up, remarked on me “beating his mark”, but it was with great sadness, for I knew that he had now been missing from my life for more years than I new him in his.

Ed wanted to know specifics, I couldn’t tell him. I was angry, bloody angry, but not at the all inclusive National Health system, that works well if you are well, but at Ed and his liberal rhetoric and quick fix solutions that made me want to argue against him, instead of uniting and arguing with him.

And you can hear it in my accent when I talk

2005-11-29T11:01:00.000-05:00

It is just over 8 years since I moved from a small flat on the Highbury New Park Road, less than a half a mile a way from the Arsenal Football Club ground and 75 yards away from the White House Pub; scene of some of the most exuberant celebration I have ever witnessed. The pub's described as "adequate with wooden tables and chairs, but let down by its clientele" and as "a place for a pre-game pint". Both observations are true, I was that person.

Actually, thinking about it, the most exuberant celebration was the party with 600,000 other guest on News Years Eve in Edinburgh, Scotland, at least by volume of alcohol consumed, broken bottles and can discarded and wayward kisses freely bestowed on the unwary.

In terms of "what the heck is going on?" it was being caught up in the frenzy of Spanish fans streaming down the Ramblas in Barcelona, when the football team of same name won the Spanish league title.

But for sheer emotional outpouring, the folks in Boston were hard to beat just over a year ago, when the Sox (there is only one color) did it and became World Series Champions.

And I am not about to start quibbling about the misuse of the word "World". Without the assistance of alcohol and at around midday, give or take a 4 hour wait, thousands of clearheaded fans celebrated something not done for 86 years, and then went home.

That's what I miss, the ability to keep a celebration going, until sleep is the only option.

But I digress. It's been 8 years, Thanksgiving has just passed, spent with new friends and relatives, the Foisy family, our neighbor's Emily and Graham and friends, Crystal and Bob; good kind people all.

My English family is 3554 miles away and my mum, in her 76th year, thinks to send us a Thanksgiving card. I miss my sons, my daughter and my 2 (soon to be 3) grandchildren, my brothers and sister and their families.

Eight years and I am fortunate to have much more than I left with. I am still an Englishman in Boston and you can hear it in my accent when I talk.

I like my toast done on one side...

2004-07-26T21:21:00.000-04:00

You must be aware, if you lived within 30 miles of downtown Boston, that the Democratic Party held their National Convention in Boston during July 2004.
Was it the blanket TV or media coverage that tipped you off? No. It was just so quiet on the streets, in the restaurants and bars. Seems everyone wanted to get away before the convention came to town. The fact that there were so few ways to get downtown from the outskirts kept everyone else at a safe distance.

That is unless you were one of the more fortunate to be a fun loving out of town conventioneer and not a worker that week. Felt like a pretty clear demonstration of the two Americas. The one having fun and the one having problems making a living.
It does not have to be that way, not in our America.

As Senator John Edwards reminded us, “This is America where everything is possible”, so please, can I have my toast done on one side, because I like it done that way.

I don't drink coffee I take tea my dear...

2004-07-05T09:47:00.000-04:00

Stamp duty, Boston Tea Party, Boston Massacre, Paul Reveres ride, the march on Lexington and Concord by 800 British troops, the "shot heard around the world", July 4th 2004, Declaration of Independence. History being celebrated, much of it originating right here in Boston, where other Englishman arrived long before me. In those days there were muskets, today fireworks. However, not this year, for this was my first year in the USA with no fireworks.

Well there were fireworks; I just did not go to see any, being too tired or complacent or both to make the effort. Next year will be different, especially as I recall past events that I have shared with a cast of thousands in Boston three times and Portland, Oregon twice. All were memorable for more than just the big day display.

The first was in Portland, anchored in the middle of the Willamette River on a 30-foot yacht, on a calm and windless night, surrounded by boats of all shapes and sizes. We motored out, cast out the drag anchor to hold against the fast river flow, and watched a staggering display and then made a dash to the shore. Or, rather, we didn’t...

With seemingly only gas fumes in the small outboard, no wind in the sails and an anchor rope straining against the river current we just bobbed there, long after the rockets red glare had faded.

The normal technique is to motor forward, take the load of the drag anchor, pull it up and take off. Each time we got it free, the motor would cut out, causing us to rapidly drop the anchor back down to the riverbed to avoid a nasty trip backwards.

After a few attempts, we made appeals to passing craft. “Ahoy skipper, got any spare gas”? Were they ALL hard of hearing or just intent only on getting into safe harbor and off the single lane road from the peninsular? In any case our shouts brought no response, save the occasional look of disbelief, contempt for our bad planning and oh yes, some laughter. Those Brits, such a wacky sense of humor…

Three hours later, a breeze sprang up inspiring a desperate attempt to start the engine. I have always considered it strange how the mind works when under pressure.
Did I mention that one of the crew was to be matron of honor at a friends wedding next day or rather today as it was by this time.
Well would you “Adam and Eve” (believe) it”. That little engine that couldn’t or plain wouldn’t, inexplicitly could and started gurgling happily. Slowly motoring into the mooring, cold, tired and in need of something hot to drink all I could think of was a nice cup of tea. You see…
I don't drink coffee my dear.

It's been a while...

2004-06-30T02:33:00.000-04:00

I moved to Boston from England in May 2000 at the height of the technology bubble. Well to be honest I moved from Ottawa in Canada, but I moved there from England in September 1998. So it's been a while.
An Englishman in Boston, does not quite have the same ring to it as an Englishman in New York (with acknowledgement to Sting), but that's what makes Boston, well Bawsten. Hope I got that right, sometimes it's so much easier to go native. Like when you need a glarse of wadda from a waitress. Don't get me wrong, it's what I like so much about Boston.
Things like the taxi drivers being short with you if you don't know the exact route and directions to a place you've never been to before within 10 miles of downtown.
I am going to use this blog to record my thoughts and experiences. Something I should have done way back when I arrived. But in truth it takes time to understand what makes this great City and its people tick. Just as it does to get on the right time zone. As I said. It's been a while...