Shakespeare Prepares to Travel

Setting: Shakespeare is sitting on his bed with his laptop, eyeing the clothes, books, and gizmos spread helter-skelter about his bedroom floor.

Background: Shakespeare is about to travel to the Upstate New York home of his friend Sir Walter Raleigh (Ben for short), where he will add Ben and Ben's luggage to his vehicle's inventory before continuing on to resume his studies at Hillsdale College.

To pack, or not to pack? That is the question.
Whether 'tis nobler on my bed to ponder
The feeds and wall posts of outrageous Facebook,
Or to take arms against a sea of laundry,
And by much folding, end it. To stuff my bags,
No more; and in those bags to say I end
The quandaries and the thousand small decisions
That packing's heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To stuff, to haul,
To haul, perchance to cram: ay, there's the rub;
For in that car what cargo space remains
When we have shuffled off this icy drive
Must give us pause; there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long trip.
For who'd not bear the boxes full of books,
The hefty sacks, the suitcases so portly,
The need to be efficient--and the toll
That countless choices on the chooser take,
When he himself must needs decide to pack
Or leave his bodkin? Who'd not fardels bear
But that the dread of something in New York,
That well-beloved country from whose bourn
The journey stretches on, puzzles the will
And makes us rather stare at bags we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?*
Thus packing doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And schoolward journeys of great length and distance
In this regard their currents run awry,
And lose the name of action.

*Shakespeare is blaming his procrastination on a fear of being crowded once Ben's belongings and his are united. Really, though, he'd probably find something else to blame it on if he were planning to drive the whole way alone.

East Inlet

This is a loon. She is nesting . I thought about naming her Claire and making some fantastic pun along the lines of “Au Claire de la Loon,” but I couldn’t quite manage it without being ridiculous.

I took this picture a couple weeks ago while I was helping on the “Young Men’s Time” (more commonly known as “Guys’ Week”) trip up to Pittsburg, NH. On the second day we were there, we piled into the van and headed to East Inlet, canoes in tow. East Inlet is an official “Moose Sanctuary” or something like that, and we were hoping to see one of those legendary creatures in their natural habitat. Alas, we failed in that respect, but in several other ways we were most successful.

East Inlet is one of those spots in creation where you lose track of how many times you have said, “This is so beautiful!” The vista is breathtaking. Though shallow, the water is smooth and vast. The shore is thick with tall, vertical pines – a kind of tree that I have generally thought looked drab and scraggly compared to, say, a maple or a birch, but which by East Inlet somehow becomes the most beautiful of plants. And, of course, the wildlife is lovely, as wildlife generally is. I didn’t see any terribly exotic species, and nothing but birds, but when you have time to really look at it, even a crow is a miraculous creature. Fortunately for us, we had nicer animals than crows to gaze upon, and we had all the time we wanted to do so.

The beauty of East Inlet is not just skin deep, either. There's some kind of a beautiful aura there. It is so quiet – so peaceful. The kind of place where it’s easy to think about God and to be completely awed by His power and creativity. In that respect, it’s in the same category as mountain tops and secluded beaches. I love such places. They feed my soul. Have you ever experienced it? That feeling of just drinking in the glory, beauty, and serenity of your surroundings? If you haven’t, you’d better go climb a mountain right away. You’re missing out on one of the best experiences this planet has to offer.

“For the invisible things of Him since the creation of the world are clearly seen, being perceived through the things that are made, even his everlasting power and divinity.”

Oh, by the way, going to East Inlet was also successful because we had lots of fun. When you get past the vast lake part of it, it turns into a winding maze of a stream that turns 180 degrees countless times. And, boy oh boy, it’s waters like that that separate the canoe men from the canoe boys. Craig and I shared a canoe, and we had a blast seeing how sharp we could make that thing turn. We got it down to quite a science, too. We even raced past one of the other canoes on the inside of a curve, though it passed us again a dozen or so switchbacks later.

Some of the other guys were having slightly less of a blast, and when they tried to remedy this by switching places in the canoe, it flipped and drenched the three of them. They complained long and hard when we got back, but I think secretly they enjoy having the memory, and some of them at least do enjoy telling the story.

“Well, I certainly wasn’t the one who stepped on the side of the canoe…”

We continued our labyrinthian voyage until approaching darkness and obstructive beaver dams bade us return. It was a fun time, a fulfilling time, and – for us photographers – a fruitful time. I’m going to go again some day. Count on it.

Willful Misinterpretation

Yesterday I did a LOT of driving. Daddy sailed with a couple friends from Portsmouth to S. Darthmouth, MA, on his friend's boat. I'll call the friends Abner (the boat's owner) and Frank (Abner's friend) simply because it can be so much fun to come up with aliases that have some very slight connection to the originals. Anyway, I was supposed to meet them in Dartmouth, drive with them to Portsmouth, and then drive home alone while Daddy followed in his car.

For the sake of fun and convenience, I spent several hours at a friend's house in Rhode Island, a mere half-hour from the marina where Daddy & Co. were to dock. I had a great time there, and my being so near to Daddy's destination enabled him to more accurately estimate when he would need picking up.

Daddy called around eight, and I headed off for Dartmouth with a flair in my shifts (driving a car with a standard transmission's version of walking with a spring in one's step). I came to the marina with very little trouble and was introduced to Abner and Frank.

Abner was (and presumably remains) around fifty-five years of age. I believe he is rather wealthy, but my only supporting evidence is that he owns a $200,000 sailing yacht. As to physical appearance, he reminded me of King Cole, from Wee Sing's immortal classic, King Cole's Party. Those who are familiar with that movie will have a better idea of how he looks than I could probably ever conjure with my own words.

Frank was about ten years Abner's junior. While this may not be entirely fair to him, the movie character that almost immediately jumped to my mind upon seeing him was none other than the infamous toy reseller (Al?) of Toy Story 2 - the one who steals Woody to sell him to a museum in Japan or something crazy and immoral like that. He described himself as part-time massage therapist, part-time chef, and, at one point in the trip, he moaned for about five minutes about serving 220 people "all by himself."

"All alone? Are you serious?" Abner queried with some incredulity.

"Yeah, seriously! I only had four people to peel and cut vegetables, four to serve, two to run the grills, three guys to help set up the tables, and the rest I did all alone! It was ridiculous."

Much of the trip I was rather put off by their conversation, which consisted mostly of bashing policemen and teachers, and which was unfortunately often crude or profane. Daddy changed the subject several times. I tried to absorb myself in my current book, Northanger Abbey, but I could not ignore the steady stream of words from the back seat.

Not all of the conversation was obnoxious, however. The discussion of politics made me laugh quite a bit - even out loud once, although I'm not sure either of the two passengers noticed. This conversation made such a good story that it was actually my impetus for writing this blog post. It all started with Abner talking about the presidential candidates.

"I STILL think that Romney will blow everyone else out of the water!"

"Nah," replied Frank. "Have you seen him up close and personal? He's too much of a slick frat boy."

"Well, I still think he'll win. He's got the most money."

"Yeah, if that's what it comes down to."

"I don't know, I bet Thompson will change things pretty quick," Daddy interjected with a laugh.

"Oh yeah," Frank replied. "Isn't he the guy who isn't really a politician, but acts one?"

Here I put a rare word into the mix: "No, he was a politician before he was an actor." That was probably one of only two or three sentences I spoke the entire journey from Dartmouth to Portsmouth, NH. Abner and Frank probably thought I was a very taciturn individual.

"What's this world coming to when we elect actors for our leaders?" Frank mused. I was going to point out Reagan's magnificently successful presidency, but Frank's next sentence checked me. "Schwarzenegger has been OK, but REAGAN! Reagan was a DISASTER!" Ummm, right.

I don't remember the immediate details that followed in the conversation, but I think Abner was criticizing one of the candidates when Frank replied, "At least he's not from Texas!" He chortled at his joke.

A short pause ensued. Then Abner asked, "Where was Jimmy Carter from?"

"Georgia," Daddy replied.

"That guy - that guy was the most paTHETic president in history!"

"No," Frank replied with meaningful tones, "I don't think HE can hold that title anymore."

Silence once again reigned, but only for a moment. "Yep," countered Abner, "Bill Clinton deserves every bit of that title!"

It was here that I let out an audible, albeit quiet, chuckle.

I think Frank was slightly taken aback. How could his meaning have been so misconstrued? Did anyone in his right mind really believe there could be ANYONE worse than Bush, or was his friend insane? He decided to take things from a different angle.

"Well, maybe things will be different with a new attorney general."

"How so?"

"Well, if someone who's actually interested in JUSTICE gets in there, there are going to be a ton of investigations!"

I'm afraid I don't remember any more of the conversation beyond this point. It may be that some random circumstance, such as the truck that almost ran us off the road, changed the subject back to the rudeness, pride, cruelty, etc., of the nation's police officers ("They all think they're above the law!" "Mmm-hm."). Or it could be that the mention of the justice system turned the conversation to the incompetence of "that court in South Carolina" ("They're all jerks there." "I know: I've BEEN there!"). At any rate, the talk lost my interest, and I decided to learn more of the adventures of Catherine Morland instead. But not before I had had a good laugh.

Aaron and Me

Well, I'm back from Guys' week and the Fairwood youth convention. It was terrific fun. We camped, hiked, swam, had "special activities," watched Facing the Giants, played volleyball, sang, and worked. We played ping pong and volleyball. The food was delicious. Not all my friends were there, but I made some new ones and had a great time anyway. The meetings were excellent, with subjects ranging from putting on the armor of God and being clothed in humility to revival to being in the White Cavalry. That's about all I'm willing to tell you for now. There's just way too much to recap.

A few days before I left for the time at Fairwood, a little blogworthy incident came my way but did not make it to the internet...until now!!!!!!!!!!

I was sitting at the piano playing some classical piece when a little dark object on the carpet caught my eye. I glanced over to the left, and what should running around in little circles but an eensy weensy mousy!

I jumped up and tried to find a way to capture the little rodent without harming it. There were no jars or containers around, so I grabbed a tennis racket that was handy and half-heartedly tried to scoop up the little varmint. To my delight, the critter clung to my racket with a vehemence, even trying to crawl through the strings. I took him over to where I knew I could find a jar of some kind and made him a little house. I soon moved him into a much larger and more mouse-proof vase. He had everything a mouse could want: paper towel, cardboard, seeds, water... but it was not long before we noticed that he was not eating.

"Aha!" I said, "This mouse is not yet weaned!" So we fed him milk from an eyedropper. He crawled in a baby-mousish way across my hand, lapping up his dinner, and often sitting in it as well. It was great fun.

I had great dreams of the mouse becoming a sort of adviser and bosom companion, like the famous mouse Ben of "Ben and Me." Unfortunately, the mouse would not eat enough, or we did not feed him enough. The cold truth is that he died after a short two days of happiness. We hadn't even named him! We had discussed what we should name him, to be sure, but nothing was agreed on by all sides. Now that he's dead, it doesn't really matter. I think I'll name him Walter anyway.

This is Walter:

Cape Cod!

Blood and Guts - edited and toned down

Finally, finally, finally! I have a foot injury to rival the one Stephen got back in February. May this picture serve as a warning to any of you who would not hesitate to run like a barefooted Pheidippides along beautiful sandy beaches in the middle of the night. One never knows where cinder blocks might be lying about...

EDIT:
My apologies to those who were grossed out or shocked by the photo of my bleeding foot. I have removed it for their sake. Those who missed it and are prepared for a gory sight may still see it by clicking here, but for the rest of you here's what my foot looks like now.


In other news, Cape Cod has been fabulous. My family is here for a two week vacation which is going swimmingly (hahahahaha!) except for that I split my toe. See above.

Finally, although it has very little to do with the rest of the post, other than the fact that with cable and loads of time, we get to watch a lot more baseball, I would like to add this little note:

CURT SCHILLING IS THE BEST OF THE BEST!!!!

For one thing, he just pitched a whole game without allowing a hit until the bottom of the ninth, not letting the A's get a single run. For another, I can appreciate his contribution to the fabulous 2004 Red Sox season even more now that I, too, have a bloody sock.

I Am NOT Impuissant!

As writer, designer, and editor-in-chief of "Aaron's Blog", I strive to achieve a fair balance of humor and meaning, pictures and text, and reality and fantasy. Of course, I don't strive very hard, necessarily, which explains the prevalence of fantastic pictorial attempts at humor throughout this publication. I would love to reverse this trend, but I keep running out of time and having too much school or work of other kinds on my plate to consider a serious post-writing session. For one thing, I have other things to write about for school if I feel like writing seriously, and for another, I'm slow at writing anyway. Sometimes I can design a new blog template in less time than it takes for me to write a page-long blog post. (I was going to say "full-length", but what's a "full-length" blog post?) Finally, how am I expected to find the time to write on my blog on Monday nights when I HAVE to watch 24?!?!? The question borders on inanity.

So, I am going to continue the trend.

This past weekend, I attended my cousin's graduation from the Bible school in Dublin. After the ceremony, I hung out with some friends on the front lawn and proved to them, once and for all, that I am not a light-weight, muscle-less, exercise-hating, athletics-shunning, geeky twerp of a weakling. I showed them, all right! I showed 'em my special flips! I twisted, turned, jumped, and glided, and when I had finished gamboling about, they had to admit that Paul Hamm would have nothing on me if I just worked out another thirteen hours a day and lifted weights while I did my school.



Of course, it is rather strange how my arms get so muscular and tan when I jump - perhaps even as muscular and tan as my friend Tony's (!) - while my face remains pale. Natural phenomena can be really perplexing sometimes, can't they?

A Little Legacy

I have a rich uncle. Actually, he's really just the husband of one of my mom's second cousins, but we have always called him Uncle Martin.

Uncle Martin wasn't always rich. When he was born in Tallinn, Estonia's capital, in 1943, his family lived in a slightly cramped, albeit well-kept, apartment in the outskirts of the city. Although it was really too small for the family, they could not afford anything larger.

Uncle Martin's parents, Rasmus and Anna Tamm, were not considered poor by many of their fellow citizens. At a time in what was then the U.S.S.R. when the average worker had to give up fifty-six hours' pay just to buy a pair of jeans, being able to afford an apartment at all was a sign of affluence (or at least thrift). Uncle Rasmus was the manager of a major textile factory where he was paid the same salary as newly-hired workers. Aunt Anna worked as a seamstress for a slightly lower rate. They both worked hard, and managed to keep the household income above the national average. Nevertheless, the faulty Communist economic system kept them from attaining the level of wealth they deserved.

Uncle Martin realized all this, and he did not want to put up with it. A rather adventurous type, he somehow managed to emigrate to Australia before he had graduated from high school. He had almost no money left when he got there, but he soon found work on a cattle ranch and quickly caught the attention of his superiors with his skill and industry.

After several years, he had earned enough money to buy his own ranch. His household was prosperous. It was not long before the Tamm ranch was well known throughout his area for both the quality of its beef and the amazing amounts of profit its owner was able to achieve. The truth was that Uncle Martin was a genius with money. He could take a dollar and convince someone to give him two dollars for it; when that failed, he would work until his money had expanded some other way. He invested well, he worked hard, and he raised his livestock properly. All this would have been enough to make him rich, but there was one more reason for his wealth. I will expound momentarily.

One day when Uncle Martin was out riding, his dog Klimpi fell into a large hole in the ground with a piercing yelp. Uncle Martin quickly dismounted and tried to see if he could reach him, but this was not a possibility: the hole was too deep. Just as he was about to ride back to his barn to grab a shovel and perhaps a few of his workers, however, Klimpi came trotting up from another direction. Uncle Martin was quite pleasantly surprised - the thought of another entrance to the cave had not occurred to him.

Uncle Martin determined to find the entrance, and it was only a matter of half an hour before he had found it. Behind some briers on a hill not far away, there was a hole about three feet high and five feet wide that led to a uphill passage. The passage was about the same height, but it was significantly narrower. Armed with a flashlight from his saddlebag, Uncle Martin crawled up it, carefully watching for signs of hostile wildlife. There were none. The tunnel continued on in the same way for about ten feet, after which it suddenly turned downward. Another twenty feet later, it widened into a sizable room. Uncle Martin was thrilled. As a boy, he had always dreamed of finding an exciting cave, and now it was reality. And furthermore, the walls of the cave were sprinkled with gold. That fortunate fact was beyond his wildest childhood dreams.

It was not long before Uncle Martin took full advantage of his situation. He had a professional mining company excavate the cave, and his reward was in the millions of dollars. He continued to invest wisely and soon became one of the wealthiest men in Victoria.

Uncle Martin moved back to Estonia in 1995, not long after the nation had regained its independence. The rest of his family, with the exception of a younger sister who never married, had died, but he quickly became a successful businessman in Tallinn. He invested heavily in the country, and as the Estonian economy flourished under its capitalistic system and flat tax rate, Uncle Martin's wealth only increased.

I suppose you may be wondering why I'm giving you all this information. Well, it seems that Uncle Martin happened to be perusing blogs one day when he came across my post about Glimpy Soup. Since that is a family recipe, he figured we must be related, and a little bit of research convinced him. Both affluent and generous, he decided to send me a little present. Imagine my surprise when this showed up at my door:




OK, I admit it. This was all made up. I came up with the idea a while ago when I was thinking about Agatha Christie's novels: it seems that each of her characters who becomes suddenly wealthy explains it as "a legacy from their uncle in Australia." Besides, very little in the way of newsworthy material has come my way in recent days. Anyway, writing this was fun, and I learned some stuff about Estonia that I hadn't known before.

The Veteran Traveler

Today I visited three states! The sad thing, though is that I only intended to visit two. Furthermore, I traveled more in the other two than I had intended. It wasn't too bad, but...oh, I'll just tell you the story. Here goes.

Daddy went today with one of his office workers, who is an even more avid sailor than he is, to sail Eagle Wings, our 30-foot Hunter, from Portsmouth to Rye, where it will be taken out of the water tomorrow morning. I went along to take one of the cars home so they would not have to return to Portsmouth when they had finished their ocean jaunt. I had not been actually expecting to go, but I was fine with it and took my Calculus in the car with me, so I would not be bored on the way up. I was going to take my audio Italian CD for the way down, but, well, let's just say non lo ho potuto trovare. So I didn't take it. No matter! Instead I toted along a tasty collection of Classical from the library: Violin concertos by Beethoven and Mendelssohn performed by Isaac Stern (who, by the way, is TOTALLY INCREDIBLE!!!!), some Chopin and Liszt, and a Tchaikovsky CD I didn't end up listening to (but which is also terrific).

Anyway, I began with the Calculus right away, listening to the (TOTALLY INCREDIBLE) Violin CD with my Walkman. Unfortunately, I had a math test and was done in twenty minutes. How I wished I had more school to do! Not because I wanted to do school particularly, but because I was in a rather scholastic mood and wanted to get done as much as possible. However, there was nothing else to do, so I sat and listened in raptures to Isaac Stern's incredible skill.

We reached Rye in good time, and leaving the Camry in the harbor parking lot, headed up the coast to the Portsmouth Naval Base, which, for those of you who are so uninformed as to believe the Portsmouth Naval Base is in Portsmouth, is in Kittery. Go figure. I dropped my passengers and their cargo off at the pier and headed out into the great wide world, full of hope and ambition.

All was well, at first. After all, I have driven home from Portsmouth before. Misfortune was not far ahead, however. I am used to coming down the Rte. 1 Bypass, going around the Portsmouth circle, and heading straight to 101 via 95. This was impossible today, for SOMEONE had decided to close the Rte. 1 Bridge!!!!! I was furious! Why close the bridge when Aaron was coming to town? Sadly, there was nothing I could do but follow the detour sign. Actually, there were more signs than that one, but I didn't see the others in time. I sped by them, following the signs for I-95. In no time flat I found myself screaming up I-95 NORTH, praying for an exit. There was one pretty soon, but not soon enough to avoid adding another 14 miles to the trip.

So, once again I was going the right direction. I was annoyed at the whole missing-the-detour thing, but at least now I was home free, right? Of course right!

Or not. As I continued south down the interstate, I thought of this and that, listened to Chopin, and all in all drove a bit absent-mindedly. I wasn't driving dangerously or anything, but I certainly wasn't concentrating on my route. I went through the tolls with my dad's EZ-Pass, and instantly my mind was on that subject. I weighed the pros and cons of the electronic system versus the tokens, thought about whether I liked the fact that EZ-passes sometimes let their possessors get through legally but without paying (i.e., the bill doesn't charge for every toll). The statesman inside me screamed, "Return to tokens, vote in a Republican governor!" But my carnal nature rather liked the situation.

So I continued with such ponderings, and pretty soon I thought I should watch the signs. "Hmmm....495? Huh, I thought that was in Massachusetts. Weird." Hardly had these thoughts passed lightly through my mind when I was startled by three words: "Massachusetts Welcomes You!" I didn't welcome Massachusetts.

I was pretty seriously annoyed, but I remembered from a another boat excursion, that one to Gloucester, that 495 connects with 93, and I have driven that road a hundred (well, maybe ten) times. Therefore, I began to look for signs for 495 North (because New Hampshire is to the north, right? Of course right!). There were none to be seen! Everything was "495 South", "495 South." (Probably just another example of the inefficient, bureaucratic government of Massachusetts.) After going a good way further, finally there was a sign for the northern half of the highway. I took it joyously, and headed farther and farther down a little highway, with no sign of nearing my hoped-for destination. Finally, putting aside my pride, I stopped for directions.

"Hi, can you tell me how to get to 495 North?"

"Next light."

Grrrr. I made it back onto the highway. Finally, finally, finally, I was on the right track. I started to breathe a sigh of relief - but ended it as a cry of despair as another hateful sign approached: "End 495; Joining 95." So I had just gone in a big loop! So that's why there were no signs for 495 North! Suddenly it all came back to me: "You have to take 495 SOUTH to get to 93! NOW I remember." I didn't do another turnabout, though, and this time found the 101 exit pretty quickly (my eyes could not have been more peeled). In the meantime, I passed a VERY welcome sign, one of the first: "Welcome (Bienvenu) to New Hampshire: Live Free or Die"!!!! No more of this "You're going to like it here" stuff; everyone already does anyway.

The rest of the trip home was long but blessedly uneventful. I made it back to my home town without further ado, although I got pretty tired of Chopin and was too tired to change the CD. Now I am home, and it has almost never felt so good.

Below: An overview of my trip; blue lines indicate where I was behind the wheel; red indicates where my dad was driving.

Boston Red Sox!

Well, very few of my pictures came out well. It was pretty dark and it's hard to catch any movement with a slow shutter, or any light with a fast one. I don't know enough about camera settings to know what would be optimal, but fortunately, I did get a few that were OK. Here they are for your benefit.  : )

By the way, if you want to read about what happened, Ryan posted most of the major details here on his blog.

In Which I Find Myself Busy as a Bee

I have never been so busy in my LIFE as I expect to be over the next couple weeks, and especially the next day and a half. This is always the busiest time of year for me, but this year takes the cake and eats it too. (Mixed metaphor intended.) The sources of this nearly incredible surge in activity are numerous. However the largest source BY FAR is my VBS overhead for Chestnut Hill. Allow me to elucidate. Our church is having a one-week camp (Vacation Bible School) for kids aged 4-12, or something like that, and I am the official creator of the Powerpoint presentation containing the lyrics to the songs that said children are to sing. One problem: I based all my work on the presentation I built for VBS two years ago, and just recently - about two hours ago, in fact - I found out that the one from last year had far more songs, and they were in a different order (this matters for reasons to hard to explain at 11:32pm). AND I CAN'T FIND THE FILE FROM LAST YEAR!!!

Here's how I felt when I found out I couldn't find the file:



So I have my work cut out for me, especially considering I only have tomorrow to work on it, and I have to work tomorrow and go to church and go to a VBS planning meeting. I'm swamped!

Once tomorrow is over and VBS has come and gone, I will have one day to recuperate. Then it's off to Fairwood for a "Young Men's Week." That will keep me busy until Wednesday or Thursday; then I shall head off to Block Island for a celebration of my mother's 50th birthday party. Then there's Fairwood's Family Convention and then there's leftover Chemistry and Math and Reports. Ugh.

In other news, my long-lost wallet has been found! I know most of you probably never knew I lost it, but I had, and it was most distressing. It turned up on Daddy's boat the third time we looked. I am so relieved and thankful! It was very much an answer to prayer It's especially nice to have something so relieving happen when I am in the midst of feeling excessively overwhelmed.

Follow-up from previous post:

I have decided to defy the public slightly by not reading an Agatha Christie. Vacation is over now, and I have read probably twenty Agatha Christies before anyway. I am only slightly defying the public, however, because I read the second most voted for book: Miss Buncle's Book. I enjoyed it quite thoroughly and highly recommend it. The only annoying thing about it is that I had to get it from the Milford library since the local library didn't have it. The annoying thing about THAT is that the Milford library is not clearly marked. In fact, I went into the wrong building the first time. A sign right over the door said "Library," but apparently it was mistaken: it was the Milford Planning Center. Some guy who mistook me for his buddy redirected me to the real library, across the street. I went in and, after several wrong turns, found my way to the Adult Fiction Section and made off with my prize. Cara, Ryan, and I were on our way to New York to visit some friends, and Cara read the book aloud on the way there and back (a ten hour trip, and she read for about six hours total). I finished the rest last night.

We had a great time in NY, especially playing Quaker with Klara, Becca, and Ruth. I got some great video and audio clips with my digital camera, but alas, they are on a different laptop and it is too late to transfer them. I may post some of them this week. Then again, I may not.

Back to another subject: I think I will continue to go with the public's opinions for my next couple books as well. I plan to read LOTR, Animal Farm, and The Prince and the Pauper in that order. I am notorious when it comes to following through with reading lists, however, so we shall have to wait and see what happens.

By the way, when I went to get my camera to take my "how I felt" pictures, this little guy was sitting right on the doorstep. Isn't he adorable? I think I shall name him Thaddeus for no particular reason whatsoever.

Shots from 'Round the World

When we were in Pisa, Daddy wanted to make a ton of trick shots. I didn't really want to very much, but we did anyway and some of them came out pretty good. Just to prove that we weren't being original, however, I snapped a couple shots of the multitudes of other like-minded tourists.

Events

I would have posted recently if it weren't for several different circumstances. First, I couldn't get blogger to upload my pictures for some reason or other (at least, it was taking too long). Second, instead of posting last night, I spent hours and hours trying to get a networked game going among my computer, Cara's laptop, and Mama's laptop. Alas, I had no success. Instead I wasted four hours getting more and more frustrated. I had a good network connection going, and I could transfer files easily from one computer to the other, but the games would not connect. What made it worse is that it started to at the beginning, and then just stopped altogether. Therefore I spent at least three hours just trying to get it back to what it had been when I started, and I didn't know what I had changed. In fact, I still don't. Ah, the joys and sorrows of computers.

Yesterday, Mama took our two cats, Schooner and Ketch, down to Connecticut to bring them to an Animal Rescue League. The local ARL makes you pay $70 per animal that you drop off, so Mama decided to take them to CT since she could visit her mom and drop off the cats for free. The reason we were getting rid of them? Allergies. Mama thinks Ryan is allergic to cats, since he is definitely allergic to something and it doesn't seem to be food.

Mama left the house around 9:30 AM with the cats. She brought them both in one small carrier since that was all we had. They were quite snug, but they seemed to be content. Mama met her mom at her house (I think, but it's irrelevant anyway) and they drove to the ARL together. The first thing Mama noticed when she entered the place was that it smelled. It smelled of ANIMALS!!! That gave her a bad impression. Then the person in charge showed her where the cats are kept. They were all let loose in a large room because "they're happier that way." Then Mama heard that in the basement there were 92 cats that had been taken from the house of some old lady who had dead cats in her freezer. This was too much. She burst into tears and brought the cats home. So if you were dreadfully saddened that our cats were gone, take heart: they're not gone yet.

PHOTOS!

I finally got a chance to get to the office for some high-speed internet, but I underestimated how long it would actually take. I thought I could do my entire favorites collection, but it took so long just to get Rome done that I stopped there. I also have a few from Venice up.

Although I am publishing my photos to online albums, I'll still continue to publish a few favorite favorites on my blog on occasion (e.g., when I can't think of anything else to write.) These below are of a beautiful area on the coast of the Tyrrhenian Sea. We stopped there on our way down toward Elba from Pisa, and it provided some of the most gorgeous natural scenery I've ever seen...as well as some excellent opportunities for trick shots.

Happy Easter!

Location: Florence, Italy
Photographer: Ben Holscher

In Which I Travel Thousands of Miles

I apologize profusely for the lack of posts over the past week or so. It's not that I haven't had anything to write about; in fact, I have a multitude of stories to tell. The fact is that I have been busy to an extreme since I got home, and have not yet had a real opportunity to sit down and write my heart out.

I have a good amount to say about Italy (and tons of pictures to share; photo website in progress), but the stories on the home front have been building up as well, and I'd better start getting them all down in bytes.

First of all I'll expound on our stay in Amsterdam. We flew into the city only ten minutes late, but the connecting flight to Boston had left early, and was already in the air. We headed to the transfer desk and waited while they sorted out our problem. The people working for the airline were all very friendly (at least the ones we met), and that helped some. Nevertheless, I was tired and wanted to get home.

The airline probably lost money on us. We paid $382 apiece for round trip tickets, but since we missed our flight because of their mistake, they gave us two free rooms at a 4-star hotel near the beach (the picture with the lighthouse and the nighttime picture are from the balcony of one of the rooms; the sunset picture was taken by Ben on a nearby beach), $60 each off future ticket purchases, phone cards for calling home, food vouchers for the airport, and - here's the biggest plus - upgrade to business class. And believe me when I say that business class is NICE! Hot moist towels at the beginning and end of the trip, gourmet meals, fully reclining seats, travel kits, nicer headphones . . . aaaaahh. I looked up how much it would cost to purchase those tickets today, and the cheapest possible price is two thouuuuuuusand dollars!!!! And that's per person. In a way, we earned $5000 dollars and spent it all at once on luxuries.





My first major story from after I got home took place Friday night. After Sabbath meeting and a brief Sabbath treat over here, Ben and I set out for Fairwood. His mother was there for the weekend, and he went home with her the following Sunday, I believe. I decided to take the "back way" (136 to 101 instead of 101 the whole way) as it's shorter and sometimes faster. As we were zipping along (with low beams on because we had just passed another car) about 45 mph, I suddenly saw a few legs in front of me. I slowed to a careful stop and pulled over to the side. Ben pulled our "Caution" sign out of the trunk and ran back to warn other drivers of potential danger, and I pulled out my camera and flashlight to see what beast had the audacity to stand in the middle of a state road.

And what a beast it was! I raised the flashlight higher and higher, until finally the beam rested on the head of. . . .a giraffe!! You can imagine my shock! I whipped out my camera, Ben whipped out his, and we both began to photograph as though there would be no tomorrow! We found out later that it had escaped from the world-famous Greenfield and Peterborough Magnificent Animal Exhibition. What? Never heard of it? Then I guess you're not as gullible as I hoped, but dared not to expect.

No, what I saw was no giraffe. It was a hoofed mammal of relatively diminutive stature, boasting a height of only, oh, seven or eight feet. It was a moose, in fact. I never saw above its chest, although, as previously mentioned, I didn't have my high beams on. Ben said afterward he hadn't see any antlers though, so I didn't miss anything spectacular.

Instead, I missed something large and deadly. (Oooh, I love that line!) I swerved hard to the left, swerved hard to the right, and never saw the deer animal (hahahahaha!) again. It all happened very quickly, and my reaction time felt like it was well under the 3/4 second average reaction time that I learned about in driver's ed. It might have been just my imagination, or it might have been God. Take your pick.

To make a great story better, I saw eight deer that night afterward: three on Rte. 202 only a few minutes after the moose, and the remaining five on Chestnut Hill Road. I saw all of those animals well in advance and had nothing like a close call.

The weather here has been absolutely lovely the past couple days! The temperature right now, 11 pm, is warmer than the average high for days around this time of year! It definitely feels like May, and I'm not complaining.

We've been enjoying a nearly unprecedented amount of wildlife in the area. We have a beaver living in our pond once again, the last time being about six or seven years ago. We've had several mink sightings, and this morning we saw a pair of wood ducks swimming around in the pond. I don't think I had ever even seen any before! We also have the usual mallards, chickadees, nuthatches, frogs, peepers, etc., but no mosquitoes yet, thank goodness!

Rome

More from Italy

While we were still in Venice, we went on a tour of the surrounding islands: Murano, Burano, and Torcello. Once again, Ben and I both took tons of pictures. I decided I would just post these pictures of Torcello, since that is probably were I had the best time in our entire stay in Venice.

The tower in the background of the first picture was open to the public, with an entry fee of about €3 per person. Ben and I decided to climb up while Daddy stayed below. We had not much time before the tour boat left, so we ran all the way up. This was made easier by the fact that no one else was in the tower, and instead of stairs, there were ramps on each side of the tower.

We arrived at the top out of breath, took pictures of the surrounding countryside, and ran back down. THAT was the fun part. By the time we were halfway down we had mastered the technique: halfway down the ramp, we would jump and twist our bodies sideways in midair so that we would land facing in the right direction and be able to keep running without stopping. It was so much fun, and we were hardly tired at the bottom.

Well, it's a bit late, and once again we have to leave our hotel to use the internet. Ben and Daddy are waiting to head back. (We're in Rome now, by the way.) TTFN!

I'm in Italy!

More on that later.....