Stop!

Not so powerful right now. Most misinterpreted vanity plate ever. Those who do get it however, love it, I've caught people taking pictures.

Yesterday, on my way home from my daily lunch run at Pack Monadnock I was driving through the idyllic center of my home town enjoying the fact that the rains have finally stopped. The idyll is shattered as a woman drives directly into my path from a side street. I slam on the brakes, thinking, "Surely, she is not running that stop sign. Surely she will see me and stop. Surely if she doesn't I will be able to stop in time." Alas I see her facing straight ahead, never apparently bothering, as we were all taught as children, to "look both ways". Her head never turns as she crosses into my lane. Fortunately I was able to scrub off most of my speed, with another 10' it probably would have only been a close call. Unfortunately I don't have that extra 10' and, as her head never turns, I hit her car in the right front quarter.

It would be worse if I was driving an FJ. Think mushroom cloud.

The impact is fairly minor, though I see the other car's airbag deploy. After a quick second to assess that I am intact (I only notice much later that I slammed my shin into the dash leaving a decent bruise) I jump out. By the standards of our town a "large" crowd was already milling about waiting for the children's Circus Camp performance to start. The other driver was already out of her car and being attended to. She was was none the worse for wear, excepting some minor abrasions on her arm from the airbag.

Subframe is toast, but hopefully the damage is all cosmetic.

Local mechanic and volunteer fire fighter Luke is soon on the scene and handles everything quite professionally. The police arrive later, take statements, and as far as I can tell, fail to cite the other driver for failing to stop. While that is that's their call, I can't help but think about all the little kids who ride their bikes around the center of town or the motorcyclists that come through. What would have happened to them in my place? Alternatively, if I was a semi, or one of the many driver who flaunt or local 30 mph speed limit, the other driver might not have walked away from this. I suppose I am just having a tough time getting my head around the fact that one would pull out from a side street onto the main drag through town and never bother to look. Eventually you are going to kill someone else, yourself, or both.

I was able to lash the bumper back together and as no fluids were leaking, I was able to drive the half mile to home. Then ensued a lot of time on hold with Geico. 90 minutes later a town truck came to pick up the XTerra, though not after making several calls to me in an attempt to find my house. Eventually I just went out on the street and flagged him down. Three letters for you guys: GPS. And welcome to 2009.

Now I wait till Monday to see if the damage is repairable or if the frame is bent and the truck is a total. I can't believe that it can't be fixed, but we've all heard the stories of folks in a minor fender bender whose seemingly pristine cars are declared wrecks due to some subtle damage not visible to the eye. I certainly hope that it can be fixed, I am quite found of the Exterra (or as S2 calls it, the "Etc.").

Sunny

Sadly his command of merge tracking issues is limited.

Occasionally at KRA we* take in orphaned kittens. Recently, a lone three week old male, dubbed "Sunny" by the Bride, was dropped in front of the shelter.

I love other cats...If by "love" you mean, "want to rip their faces off".

After having to drive the Bride to the shelter at 10:00 pm to bottle feed Sunny, I allegedly, in a sleep deprived haze, said something to the effect of, "Wouldn't this be easier if he was just at our house?"

Your shoe is untied. Well it's about to be anyway.

Cue to a few days later and not only is he in our house, he's in my office. Now we already have three cats, so we are fostering him only until he is adopted (and the Bride tells me we already have a hot lead). In the meantime I've learned more than I ever wanted to know about how kittens learn to poop.

I bite your face.

Now I'll say somebody hacked my account and wrote this sappy post if anyone repeats this, but I'll miss him when he's gone. Except the stink. That, I won't miss.


* I used to refer to any household affiliation with this organization only as it related to the Bride, but for better or worse I'm officially part of of "we".

This will go down on your permanent record

The paranoid among us believe that every keystroke and mouse click we ever make is recorded somewhere, by someone, for some nefarious purpose. It might not be that bad, but it's probably close.

Storage is cheap. Computers are fast. So why not archive everything? Seriously, 100 years from now somebody might really want to know what my first commit to Subversion was (other than the i5/OS port as that hardly counts now). Or what 'Paul a Cross Country Rider from Cambridge' thought about some overpriced bike bling.

Gimme Shelter

Tiny.

For the past several months the bride has been volunteering at local cat shelter.

A new arrival finally sits still for her pic.

Mostly her job involves, well, shoveling cat crap.

Zach

But as she is a graphic designer it wasn't long before their web-site was redesigned: http://kittyrescueandadoption.org/.

It's green. No it's some kind of blue. You can just be sure it ain't plain white paint. You never see plain white paint when you are married to an artist.

And with a former career in marketing it wasn't long before she was missing in action for a few days to clean up the front office so potential adoptees aren't scared off by the mess.

Bethany wastes no time taking over the bed of lesser cats.

As she is married to me and I have some vague idea how to use our camera ("point at subject, press button, repeat until photo good") it wasn't long before a web site photographer was found.

Unknown panther in the "Crazies" rooms. So named not for the cats, but for the nut jobs whose house they were rescued from. Note, people shouldn't have 60+ cats.

And as we both are suckers for the oddballs it wasn't long before we had a third cat join the household, the remarkable cross-eyed, never silent Bethany (a.k.a. The Gray Mouser, Boofanny, Springs, Pain in the Ass who never shuts up and jumps on me at 6:00 am like clockwork).

Cassandra.

It's pretty hard to work at this place and not fall for a few of them...

Solomon

...as the bride's mother soon learned after visiting the shelter several times...

If you have any old but serviceable cat furniture let us know.

...and coming home with two cats (who now run that side of the house).

Bitchin Throw blanket, circa 1973

Valentino

And lest I be accused of singing the bride's praises too loudly, there are a legion of other volunteers who make this place go with everything from cleaning muscle to the always needed supplies and cash.

This is what all the non-feral cats in the place do: Wait to be picked up.

If you think cats are aloof you've never been here.

The housing market here is still strong

LJ: One of the only blue-eyed adults in the place

Qita on yet another successful mission to smudge the lens.

Flowers (The Gray Mouser's Sister)

Zoe. Loves you with enthusiasm. Probably getting ready to leap onto someone's shoulder.

King Barry. He may not look it but he is the best cat in the place (and really, who looks good when photographed on a beige linoleum floor?) If it wasn't for the fact that our male cat doesn't like other males he would be sleeping on my desk right now.

Gloria. The Grande Dame of the Bride's Room. Frisky young males who mess with her get neutered the hard way.

The Gray Mouser settles in for another tough day at work in my office. Who the "master" is in this relationship is not entirely clear to me.

So, if you live in the southern NH area and need a good pet you know where to go.

ptb

Letting Go Is Hard To Do

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K1AWP/SK

Joseph T. Amaral Sr. Bridgewater Joseph T. Amaral Sr., of Bridgewater, Feb. 4, 2008. Mr. Amaral died at Good Samatitan Medical Center after a period of failing health, he was 88. Born in Bridgewater, he was a son of the late Manuel and Delphina (DaSilva) Amaral. Mr. Amaral was a good year stitcher for Lucy Shoe Co. for 40 years, retiring in 1984. He was devoted to his late wife Theresa (Brown) and his children, Theresa Craig Sloan of Florida, Thomas T. Jr. of Hanson, Nancy E. Reed of Halifax and Richard M. Amaral of Bridgewater; brother of Manuel of Bridgewater and the late Edward and David. Also survived by 10 grandchildren; and seven great-grandchildren.

1937

Mr. Amaral was a lifelong resident of Bridgewater, member and past grand Knight of the Bridgewater Knights of Columbus, Holy Name Society, St. Vincent DePaul and former alter server. He was active in the Civil Defense, V.F.W. and the Massasoit Amateur radio club. He also served in the U.S. Navy during World War II.

__________________________________________

Two months ago my last living grandparent died. His name was Joe but to me he was simply Grampa.

Grampa at his radio. K1AWP has signed off for good now.

Some of my earliest memories are of his and Nana's house, particularly on Christmas Eve. For almost half my life the evening of December 24th meant descending on 30 Aldrich Road in the company of my immediate family, various aunts, uncles, and cousins. On those December nights it seemed impossibly crowded at that house, even to a child who could squeeze through the press of revelers.


The highlight of the evening was crowding into the front parlor to pass out gifts. The nativity scene and Grampa's always spindly, Charlie Brown Christmas tree forever in danger of being knocked over by some wayward grandchild. Visiting the house after Grampa's funeral, that room seemed impossibly small. Likely it possessed of TARDIS-like properties to which only Grampa knew the secret.

Other memories float back from over the years. Eating Fruit Loops in the basement kitchen. The monstrous ham radio tower. The huge vegetable garden which to this day my best efforts are but a shadow of. The venerable ride-on lawn mower. Shooting a rifle for the first time in the back yard. Hanging out in the old camping trailer even though we were parked in the yard. The list goes on, but it is only a sliver of his life, as seen through my eyes.


Knowing one's grandparents can be a challenge. By the time we come along they have lived so much, seen and done so much that it's hard to grasp it all. We take them for granted sometimes, these elder statesmen (and women) of our families. They are just there, solid, reliable, forever old in the eyes of us much younger.

Until of course, they are gone. Then you recognize what they were. The center of orbiting families, their gravity holding otherwise distant relatives together. Some of those satellites may have moved far off since those days of crowded Christmas Eves and barely feel the pull anymore of that center. But when it's gone, you notice.

One of Grampa's ham radio plates in its new home.

ptb

Christmas

2007's Tree. Used the big, non-blinking "Grampa" style lights this year.

For the first time since I started my "new" job at CollabNet 10 months ago I had some real time off. The company closed for the last week of December and reopened January 2nd. This was fortunate timing as my whole family descends on our little corner of NH for Christmas and some serious cleaning needed to be done to get ready for them.

The Dinner table at my in-laws side of the compound.

I only recently moved into my new office and my old office off the bedroom had turned from a once neat, if small workspace, into a Superfund site. It alone took a day to clean. Seriously, a 7'x4' nook took 10 hours to clean. I should have just rented a flamethrower. The Brides office/dumping ground was in an even worse state.

Mary, Lenny, Suzy, and Mom apparently about to get down to some serious drinking.

But eventually everything got cleaned to the Bride's satisfaction. I was particularly excited this year because my brother and I were planning to take my nephews skiing the day after Christmas. Unfortunately T was sick as a dog when he arrived the afternoon of the 25th and it was clear that he wasn't likely to rebound sufficiently to ski the next day.

How could this child get so dirty indoors while the evening is still young? I've seen cleaner sanitation engineers getting off a double shift. It doesn't matter. Look at that face. You just ain't going to get mad at him.

T did have enough energy to open gifts of course and we performed our usual gift exchange. I got the boys Star Wars Fatheads, Darth Vader and Yoda, which they loved...oh wait, they didn't. Because Fathead ships via DHL, which must stand for Delays in Handling Likely. I paid extra to have the Fatheads arrive the day before Christmas, but they shipped one to the wrong distribution center and the other was listed as "with courier for delivery" for the entire week. I'll stop before I enter rant mode, but DHL is a joke. How they stay in business is a mystery on par with the origin of life, how to beat the Patriots, and a proof for the Riemann Hypothesis.

These demonic elves have sat on this poor deer's head for Holiday the past 30 years (as if being shot and eaten was indignity enough). The Bride used to have bad dreams about them.


Over at our side of the house for the gift exhange.

This years meal was downright traditional compared with the Bride's normally adventurous menu. Her Dad had bagged two deer this year, so despite the Bride's normal prohibitions against terrestrial meat, a venison roast was served. Bruny, who essentially eats only meat from what I can tell, approved so much he dispensed with any utensils before ripping in. When told to use a fork, he said, "T-Rex doesn't use a fork!"

The Bride gives her new pan some love.


T musters the strength to hold his sickness at bay long enough to bellow, "Behold my magnificent Mars Mission Lego set. Bow down to its superior piece count and inappropriate age rating. Who among you is worthy enough to build it for me?"

The Bear falls asleep on his Dad after a very long day.

With skiing cancelled we did some sledding the the 26th and also broke out the Bride's almost 30 year old Yamaha Bravo snowmobile. This thing is a classic, a single cylinder 250cc air-cooled two-stroke it comes from the time before global warming. I never tire of blasting around the yard with it.

Boony works it to stay in the track.

T is just too heavy for me to pull up the hill any more. So he must climb on his own...

...and then call it a day after all that work.

Hey, that thing isn't a bench!

That's more like it.

The Bear does not turn down snowmobile rides. Ever.

Minime and me. It may not look it since I'm a bearded freak in this pic, but my nephew looks just like me. Handsome kid. He'll do well with the ladies ;-)

Dana shows off the latest in sledding haute couture.

Of course no Christmas would be complete without a driveway duel between Yoda and Darth Maul. If you are at least 30% geek (or 20% nerd) and don't yet own one of these, then shame on you.

Well that's all for now. Hopefully going to get back to posting more regularly. Part II of the Expansion is loooong overdue, Jabba wants Halloween pics, and I know the public is just clamoring for my shim method how-to for quieting Avid Juicy Seven squeal!

ptb