Understandably, there has been a lot of sadness about Daniel in the last few days, especially on friends' blogs. Here's a little nugget that brings a smile to my face every time I think of it.
For years, Daniel wanted to find a house that was as grand and lovely as the house he grew up in, in Worcester. He went to many open houses, driving Graham crazy with the search. He got very excited one day to find a reasonably-priced place advertised as having "crown molding." He made an appointment and off he went. But the place was a little less grand than he'd been hoping for. He sniffed derisively at the realtor and said "You can't possibly be serious calling this 'crown molding.' Why, I'd barely accept your calling it 'tiara molding,' but it certainly doesn't merit the name, 'crown.'" Alas, the realtor was humor-impaired, and I don't think Daniel stayed long or dealt with her again.
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
DEP, 1958 -- 2004
Today was the anniversary of Daniel's death. We lit candles for him last night and tonight. This weekend, we'll attend the unveiling of his grave stone at his family's "camp" in Maine. I'm feeling mostly quiet and thoughtful but wanted to note the passing of this important anniversary.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
lucky refugee
At our much delayed breakfast on Saturday morning, I happened to mention a dance buddy named D, and in the same breath mentioned that he lives in New Orleans. We both looked up and gasped and then immediately wondered how he was faring.
Sl0w-forward a few hours to the first contra dance of the season, also on Saturday. There, across the hall was D. I went up to see how he was doing and he said he was looking for a place to stay. I happily offered him a spare bed at our house and he came home with us.
The next day, we all went out to brunch, then to an exhibit that a friend helped curate, Hope and Healing: Painting in Italy in a Time of Plague, 1500-1800. I figured a little hope and healing were in order. We met up with friends there, all went out for middle eastern food, and then home to fresh corn, salad, and bed. D took off the following morning for the next part of his adventure.
Next stop: a camp in Malibu Hills in California for two weeks.
His story was pretty simple and relatively happy. He had been planning to ride out the storm at home but friends called and convinced him to move in with them. So he spent a week in a trailer, I think, with two people, 12 dogs, a few other assorted pets. For the first few days, he stayed glued to the TV. Eventually, he was allowed to go home for a few hours and check on his place, which is fine. He threw out food, took the first plane out of town, and landed in Boston. Somehow, he found his way to the dance (not necessarily easy) and thought he'd quietly mention to a few folks that he was looking for a place to stay.
He is so lucky -- he has the inner and financial resources to have escaped, his house did not incur any damage, his mom, who lives nearby, is fine. He just needs to worry about when there will be enough resources (food, electricity, and so on) to make it reasonable to go home. And he needs to worry about his job. Apparently, he's employed at least through the end of the month, and on Monday, he was able to reach his boss' voice mail. I expect that he'll have a job at some point. This is not to say that there's been no trauma; I expect there has been at least some. Perhaps time at the camp will also offer some hope and healing.
Yow. Much gratitude is in order.
Sl0w-forward a few hours to the first contra dance of the season, also on Saturday. There, across the hall was D. I went up to see how he was doing and he said he was looking for a place to stay. I happily offered him a spare bed at our house and he came home with us.
The next day, we all went out to brunch, then to an exhibit that a friend helped curate, Hope and Healing: Painting in Italy in a Time of Plague, 1500-1800. I figured a little hope and healing were in order. We met up with friends there, all went out for middle eastern food, and then home to fresh corn, salad, and bed. D took off the following morning for the next part of his adventure.
Next stop: a camp in Malibu Hills in California for two weeks.
His story was pretty simple and relatively happy. He had been planning to ride out the storm at home but friends called and convinced him to move in with them. So he spent a week in a trailer, I think, with two people, 12 dogs, a few other assorted pets. For the first few days, he stayed glued to the TV. Eventually, he was allowed to go home for a few hours and check on his place, which is fine. He threw out food, took the first plane out of town, and landed in Boston. Somehow, he found his way to the dance (not necessarily easy) and thought he'd quietly mention to a few folks that he was looking for a place to stay.
He is so lucky -- he has the inner and financial resources to have escaped, his house did not incur any damage, his mom, who lives nearby, is fine. He just needs to worry about when there will be enough resources (food, electricity, and so on) to make it reasonable to go home. And he needs to worry about his job. Apparently, he's employed at least through the end of the month, and on Monday, he was able to reach his boss' voice mail. I expect that he'll have a job at some point. This is not to say that there's been no trauma; I expect there has been at least some. Perhaps time at the camp will also offer some hope and healing.
Yow. Much gratitude is in order.
hateful technology
With all the news items about computer worms and viruses, I've been careful in recent years to maintain an active subscription to an anti-virus program, Norton Antivirus. A few days ago, my subscription expired, so I decided to upgrade to the latest version and to sign up for two more years.
I usually breeze through these processes; I figure they were designed for the general public, and I know a thing or two about computers. So it's usually not that hard.
9:30 am. Discovered that for some reason, my computer has not recorded a subscription number. I have a serial number, a product number, an activation number, and a few other numbers, but not the right number. I start the long procedure; the short procedure is only for people with a subscription number.
9:45 am. Finish answering questions, submit my credit card information, supersize the subscription (to two years), and start to download.
10:00 am. Lose the download, start again. Find the first download. Start running the program I've just acquired and realize that that was just the program that you run so that you can actually download the software. OK, so I wait for the download.
10:30 am. Finish running the installation program. Multiple reboots later, program is finally starting to download the files needed to run the anti-virus software. (Our wireless system does not come back right away after a reboot. It takes several shutdowns and restarts before we have true internet access. Of course, during this delicate installation procedure, it's essential to have internet access, so I've stopped and started the internet connection multiple times.)
10:45 am. See an error message, go to the web site (helpfully pointed to by the error message) and realize that this is a known problem. A very well-known problem. Start to follow the procedures to resolve the problem.
11:00 am. Robert senses my building frustrating and gently suggests that perhaps he could work on the problem.
11:30 am. I run out of the house to get an errand done by noon when the place I'm going closes. Run a second errand, then come back for breakfast.
12:45 pm. We've eaten, read the paper, washed the dishes. Robert is working on the problem.
1 pm. I go upstairs to check on things, start back-seat driving, and immediately retreat.
1:30 pm. I check back in. I complain that a web browser, Firefox, that I installed at the behest of my some customer support organization always takes over email. Robert is currently struggling with it because when he clicks a web link, Firefox pops to the front but can't show the content of the web page. So he copies the web link from Firefox to the browser that works, Internet Explorer. This is getting old. He decides to remove Firefox so that Internet Explorer can once again display web pages.
2:00 pm. With Firefox off the system, we still can't get IE to display pages automatically. So Robert installs Netscape. I'm back to square one with browsers, except that I'm now using a different unwanted browser.
3:00 pm. I come back to see how things are going. Robert has by now checked internet chat rooms and has found other frustrated computer users experiencing the same problem.
3:30 pm. I realize I should stop checking in because it just makes me cross. Robert has printed out pages of instructions.
5:30 pm. Robert comes downstairs looking slightly pale. It has occurred to him to look at system log files. He's also finished the set of "suggested fixes" and finally, on the last step, done what we could have easily done in the beginning -- remove the software, reinstall, and reboot. That was the whole solution.
I wonder what happens in households where the residents don't have a combined 50 years in the computer industry, where they don't have degrees in computer science, and where they even need help learning how to use the internet. At least I won't be dealing with this for another two years.
I usually breeze through these processes; I figure they were designed for the general public, and I know a thing or two about computers. So it's usually not that hard.
9:30 am. Discovered that for some reason, my computer has not recorded a subscription number. I have a serial number, a product number, an activation number, and a few other numbers, but not the right number. I start the long procedure; the short procedure is only for people with a subscription number.
9:45 am. Finish answering questions, submit my credit card information, supersize the subscription (to two years), and start to download.
10:00 am. Lose the download, start again. Find the first download. Start running the program I've just acquired and realize that that was just the program that you run so that you can actually download the software. OK, so I wait for the download.
10:30 am. Finish running the installation program. Multiple reboots later, program is finally starting to download the files needed to run the anti-virus software. (Our wireless system does not come back right away after a reboot. It takes several shutdowns and restarts before we have true internet access. Of course, during this delicate installation procedure, it's essential to have internet access, so I've stopped and started the internet connection multiple times.)
10:45 am. See an error message, go to the web site (helpfully pointed to by the error message) and realize that this is a known problem. A very well-known problem. Start to follow the procedures to resolve the problem.
11:00 am. Robert senses my building frustrating and gently suggests that perhaps he could work on the problem.
11:30 am. I run out of the house to get an errand done by noon when the place I'm going closes. Run a second errand, then come back for breakfast.
12:45 pm. We've eaten, read the paper, washed the dishes. Robert is working on the problem.
1 pm. I go upstairs to check on things, start back-seat driving, and immediately retreat.
1:30 pm. I check back in. I complain that a web browser, Firefox, that I installed at the behest of my some customer support organization always takes over email. Robert is currently struggling with it because when he clicks a web link, Firefox pops to the front but can't show the content of the web page. So he copies the web link from Firefox to the browser that works, Internet Explorer. This is getting old. He decides to remove Firefox so that Internet Explorer can once again display web pages.
2:00 pm. With Firefox off the system, we still can't get IE to display pages automatically. So Robert installs Netscape. I'm back to square one with browsers, except that I'm now using a different unwanted browser.
3:00 pm. I come back to see how things are going. Robert has by now checked internet chat rooms and has found other frustrated computer users experiencing the same problem.
3:30 pm. I realize I should stop checking in because it just makes me cross. Robert has printed out pages of instructions.
5:30 pm. Robert comes downstairs looking slightly pale. It has occurred to him to look at system log files. He's also finished the set of "suggested fixes" and finally, on the last step, done what we could have easily done in the beginning -- remove the software, reinstall, and reboot. That was the whole solution.
I wonder what happens in households where the residents don't have a combined 50 years in the computer industry, where they don't have degrees in computer science, and where they even need help learning how to use the internet. At least I won't be dealing with this for another two years.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
staying toasty
As part of preparing for the coming winter, I called a wood person at the tail end of August for a delivery. I met the person when he helped work on the addition to our house. I'm glad I called (and that he called back) because I have a tendancy to put these things off. Then September 1 or 15 rolls around and no one has wood to sell or it gets expensive. But if you call too early, you're in the back yard stacking when it's too beastly hot to move and the mosquitos and other biters are feasting.
My timing was also good because even though gas prices had gone up a lot when I called, Katrina had not yet hit. Apparently, there's now price-gouging in the wood lot as the price of oil and gas soar post-storm.
John (the wood man) has a pickup truck that he says holds half a cord, so we'll get three deliveries in all. The first two came last night. It's beautiful wood -- quite dry -- and I think his truck holds a very generous half cord. Our neighbor pitched in, so now we have the first two thirds stacked already, with the last bit to come this evening. And our neighbor ordered some too. John will also bring some kindling by from his day job -- kiln-dried ends of 2x4s and 2x6s.
The thing is that we have electric heat, which I've never minded, but I never feel like the house gets warm into its bones. The wood stove takes care of that, and it's fun to watch the cat curl up first right next to the fire, then move half way across the living room, then back again. Given the speed at which fall is coming (it was 45 degrees last night), I think we'll be nice and toasty this winter.
My timing was also good because even though gas prices had gone up a lot when I called, Katrina had not yet hit. Apparently, there's now price-gouging in the wood lot as the price of oil and gas soar post-storm.
John (the wood man) has a pickup truck that he says holds half a cord, so we'll get three deliveries in all. The first two came last night. It's beautiful wood -- quite dry -- and I think his truck holds a very generous half cord. Our neighbor pitched in, so now we have the first two thirds stacked already, with the last bit to come this evening. And our neighbor ordered some too. John will also bring some kindling by from his day job -- kiln-dried ends of 2x4s and 2x6s.
The thing is that we have electric heat, which I've never minded, but I never feel like the house gets warm into its bones. The wood stove takes care of that, and it's fun to watch the cat curl up first right next to the fire, then move half way across the living room, then back again. Given the speed at which fall is coming (it was 45 degrees last night), I think we'll be nice and toasty this winter.
Monday, September 05, 2005
postcards from daniel
The first anniversary of Daniel's death is coming up in a few weeks, and lately, there have been many reminders of him, which have felt as if they were sent by him.
A few weeks ago in the Berkshires, we heard a newish (21st century) piece commissioned and played by a trio. The piece was For Daniel, by Joan Tower, written in memory of Ms. Tower's nephew, who died after a long illness which involved breathing difficulties. The piece was filled with love and rage, and for a new piece on first hearing, was surprisingly accessible (which means I didn't squirm in my seat from pain induced by listening).
We recently had dinner with a friend who dated Daniel near the end of his life. A few words were spoken in DEP's memory.
On Saturday, we saw a play where one of the main characters was costumed much as Daniel dressed. At the opening of the second act, the actor's straw boater was lying on the stage -- just what Daniel would have worn, especially on such a fine night.
And last week, I received a phone call from Daniel's sister, inviting us to the unveiling of Daniel's tomb stone. Last year, when I was not invited to his burial, I felt such pain, but perhaps a little relief too. The burial happened on a rainy day, the day before Robert's and my wedding, and the logistics would have been difficult. (I still would have gone had I been invited.) So with the closing of the first circle of seasons, I'm honored to be asked to attend this part of the ceremony.
Daniel is very much with us these days. We will not forget.
A few weeks ago in the Berkshires, we heard a newish (21st century) piece commissioned and played by a trio. The piece was For Daniel, by Joan Tower, written in memory of Ms. Tower's nephew, who died after a long illness which involved breathing difficulties. The piece was filled with love and rage, and for a new piece on first hearing, was surprisingly accessible (which means I didn't squirm in my seat from pain induced by listening).
We recently had dinner with a friend who dated Daniel near the end of his life. A few words were spoken in DEP's memory.
On Saturday, we saw a play where one of the main characters was costumed much as Daniel dressed. At the opening of the second act, the actor's straw boater was lying on the stage -- just what Daniel would have worn, especially on such a fine night.
And last week, I received a phone call from Daniel's sister, inviting us to the unveiling of Daniel's tomb stone. Last year, when I was not invited to his burial, I felt such pain, but perhaps a little relief too. The burial happened on a rainy day, the day before Robert's and my wedding, and the logistics would have been difficult. (I still would have gone had I been invited.) So with the closing of the first circle of seasons, I'm honored to be asked to attend this part of the ceremony.
Daniel is very much with us these days. We will not forget.
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