Answers to the 1911 Trivia Quiz:

All the trivia questions are multiple choice. Feel free to guess.

1. According to the 1911 scout handbook, which are proper ways to stop a runaway horse and buggy (safety and first aide were combined)?
a. Throw rocks at the horse's head
b. Stand in front of the horse's path and wave arms vigorously
c. Run next to the horse with your hand on the shaft, grab the reigns and pull towards you. (Correct)
d. Turn the horse toward a wall or a house and they will likely stop (Correct)

2. Identify what steps you should take for an object in the eye that were included in the 1911 handbook but no longer included in current instructions.
a. Use a toothpick or the tip of a knife to gently scrape the object out
b. Hold the victim's opposite nostril closed and have them blow vigorously as if sneezing (Correct)
c. Use a drop of Castor oil to soothe the eye after the object was removed (Correct)
d. Hold the victim upside down and shake, letting gravity dislodge the offending object

3. Can you identify which of the following instructions or items about heatstroke were included in the the 1911 handbook?
a. Sunstroke and not heatstroke was mentioned (Correct)
b. Prevent heatstroke by wearing leaves under your hat (Correct)
c. In severe cases encourage the cooling aspects of arterial circulation by applying leeches to the extremities
d. Reduce body temperature by burying the victim up to their neck in cool dirt such as peat, mud or sand near the waterline.

4. Please identify the two treatments for shock that were included in the 1911 handbook but seem to be missing in the current edition:
a. Stimulate the victim by poking his feet with sharp objects
b. Have the victim drink hot coffee, tea or a mixture of aromatic spirits of ammonia and water (Correct)
c. Improve circulation and heat by rubbing the extremities toward the heart (Correct)
d. Slap the victim to divert his attention and help him retain a clarity of the mind

5. Identify which of the following were required to earn the first aid merit badge according to the 1911 Boy Scout Handbook: (All Correct)
a. Demonstrate the Sylvester and Schaefer methods of resuscitation
b. Carry a person down a ladder
c. Treat mangling injury of the leg without severe hemorrhage.
d. Show treatment for bite of finger by mad dog
e. Demonstrate rescue of person in contact with electric wire
f. State the chief differences between carbolic poisoning and intoxication

And the Doctor Weighs In

Well, it was off for blood tests and to the doctor this week for the annual check up. Last year at this time my Cholesterol was running high. Not high enough to give me drugs, just high. So the Doctor told me to lose weight and exercise.

The first thing I did was shed my job. Maybe not the best thing to do but it seemed the right thing to do at the time (especially since I wasn't given an option). That left me all sorts of free time and readers of this blog know that I spent as much as possible cooking.

So much for the weight loss.

And have I mentioned exercise on the blog? I am saving that for my New Year's resolution.

Having struck out on two of the two things the doctor instructed me to do I faced the physical and the results of my blood work with some trepidation.

No need to worry folks. The cholesterol is way down. How can this happen you ask?

I chatted about it with the doctor some. The best we can figure this out is that I have been cooking most of the recipes for the last year from Cooking Light Magazine (which features fresh ingredients and techniques to lower the fat) plus we have not been eating out as much. He was surprised that we could have that much of a turn around. The doctor asked me if I kept the recipes (I did).

Anyway, it was nice to have the fresh ingredients, low fat cooking thing validated. Also, after a whole year, it's still been fun and tasty.

First Aid Quiz - 1911 Version

OK, every year I operate a first aid meet for the local scout district. It involves writing five first aid scenarios, various questions and bonus questions. This year I added a trivia section coinciding with the 100th anniversary of Scouting.

I am willing to share as long as no one tells a scout.

All the trivia questions are multiple choice. Feel free to guess.

1. According to the 1911 scout handbook, which are proper ways to stop a runaway horse and buggy (safety and first aide were combined)?
a. Throw rocks at the horse's head
b. Stand in front of the horse's path and wave arms vigorously
c. Run next to the horse with your hand on the shaft, grab the reigns and pull towards you.
d. Turn the horse toward a wall or a house and they will likely stop

2. Identify what steps you should take for an object in the eye that were included in the 1911 handbook but no longer included in current instructions.
a. Use a toothpick or the tip of a knife to gently scrape the object out
b. Hold the victim's opposite nostril closed and have them blow vigorously as if sneezing
c. Use a drop of Castor oil to soothe the eye after the object was removed
d. Hold the victim upside down and shake, letting gravity dislodge the offending object

3. Can you identify which of the following instructions or items about heatstroke were included in the the 1911 handbook?
a. Sunstroke and not heatstroke was mentioned
b. Prevent heatstroke by wearing leaves under your hat
c. In severe cases encourage the cooling aspects of arterial circulation by applying leeches to the extremities
d. Reduce body temperature by burying the victim up to their neck in cool dirt such as peat, mud or sand near the waterline.

4. Please identify the two treatments for shock that were included in the 1911 handbook but seem to be missing in the current edition:
a. Stimulate the victim by pressing sharp objects against the sensitive regions of the feet
b. Have the victim drink hot coffee or tea or a mixture of aromatic spirits of ammonia and water.
c. Slap the victim vigorously on the cheek, avoiding the eye socket, to divert their immediate attention and to elicit a clarity of the mind.

5. Identify which of the following were required to earn the first aid merit badge according to the 1911 Boy Scout Handbook:
a. Demonstrate the Sylvester and Schaefer methods of resuscitation
b. Carry a person down a ladder
c. Treat mangling injury of the leg without severe hemorrhage.
d. Show treatment for bite of finger by mad dog
e. Demonstrate rescue of person in contact with electric wire
f. State the chief differences between carbolic poisoning and intoxication

I have Been Busy On The Net, Just Not Here

Folks, for the last couple of weeks I have been busy on the web, just not on the blog. I have been working as a volunteer with the Connecticut Rivers Council (BSA) on their web presence. It started with my work on a local district, then I analyzed the entire council presence and lastly I was asked to put together a web page for the 100th anniversary.

Well, one thing led to another and my redesign of the site is being implemented, I have been revising their web pages and featuring more interaction, better abilities to react, etc. I have moved on to creating a marketing campaign, setting up a you tube site, facebook accounts and group and a twitter account. We haven't rolled the sights out publicly yet but we are already getting hits and interest.

I now have the computer ability of a 15 year old boy.

How to be a Volunteer

I don't think its a secret that being a bit immature helps me as a scout leader. The ability and occasional desire to joke and play with the boys has helped establish a relationship. The relationship enables the honest conversation required to influence and help guide these young men.

A willingness and even desire to serve also helps. This provides the example the boys need as well as the essential internal motivation for me to take on those tasks that not everyone is interested is.

The willingness to serve is why, on this election day, I am spending collecting canned food for the local food bank from polling places every two hours. Times are tough and this year the food bank in town (OK, my old town) is relatively empty and there is a pressing need for this election day drive to be successful. In fact, this is the first year we have ever seen so many people withdrawing food while we deliver more. I do feel honored to serve.

The food bank is in the town hall in the back stage section of the old High School auditorium. To get there you must either enter the building after descending a flight of stairs or a long switch-back ramp. My first delivery was large and after carrying a couple of bags down to the food pantry I returned for another load and brought along one of the food pantry shopping carts for the return trip.

But there is that immaturity thing and a ramp and a cart.

Does it ruin the volunteerism elan when you ride the cart down the ramp?

The Axis Powers Are Still Trying to Kill My Mother

I remember the first time I heard about the plot to kill my mother. I was young, maybe ten or eleven and sitting at the kitchen table. I was too young to understand the import of what she was saying then, but slowly, over the years, the evidence was amassed and the conspiracy was uncovered.

Here is what I was able to deduce:

• The Axis cabal started initiated World War II at a time of diminished industrial capacity and when food was labor intensive to produce.


• They sucked up all the labor of the allied countries into vast pools that were designated as "Armies" and "Navies" depriving the agricultural economies of a key resource.


• Furthermore, through overt aggression, the Axis powers contributed to an political evaluation and prioritization of these "Armies" and "Navies" and diverted critical food products to them.


• Finally, the axis powers employed tactics that encouraged food scarcity; capturing food producing regions in Europe, employing blockades that restricted commerce, the conversion of critical farm land to war production, and the diversion of petro-chemicals from farm use (tractors, pesticides) to war uses.

Alone this appears to be normal by products of warfare. But, this came at a curious time in industrial agriculture. More directly, this was shortly after the invention of a butter substitute called "Margarine". Margarine was an effective substitute but lacked the flavor, texture or color of butter. If you are to hear Mom talk about it, the 1940s version of margarine was particularly repulsive.

Thus, an impressionable girl at a formative age was deprived of a critical comfort food at a momentous time. Later, having achieved an economical stability Mom replaced her margarine (but not her children's) with artery clogging butter. We were all treated to long winded explanations about how the Nazis deprived her of this staff of life as a child, the very horrors of early margarine, and how now, as an adult, she was entitled and even required as a 1944 scrap drive activist to eat butter rather than margarine.

How very diabolical those evil Axis mad men were to trade four years of gustatory deprivation for forty years of slowly built up cholesterol. A lasting attack on the "not quite old enough to be the greatest generation".

The Pumpkin Cheesecake Brownies Cooking Disaster

Or at least a new cook.

I made the batch for Pat's office but I had to use the old metal 9x13 pan. We own two of them and they nest well together. So well that I did not notice that I put both into the oven together. This created a nice insulation for the center of the pan so the brownie layer never cooked through in the center.

You know that if you feel really satisfied with something the odds are you will screw it up. I am still tweaking the concoction. I want to lower the temperature and cook it a bit longer to ensure that the bottom cooks through.

Still, Pat was happy - I made a back up batch of milk chocolate brownies that were cooked perfectly. In addition, folks at her office had requested my Oatmeal Junky Cookies (this is an oatmeal cookie with raisins, walnuts and coconut). When arranged on the platter the cookies and brownies were sprinkled with those rather horrible pumpkin looking candies (they normally come with sugar Indian corn). None were left at the end of the luncheon.

The Pumpkin Cheesecake brownies on the outside of the pan were fine. These and most of the rest of the cookies went to the scout meeting where they were devoured. I had a couple of recipe requests for the brownies.

Oh, gooey or not, we ate most of the undercooked brownies at home.

Now I am off to apply for a job in disaster recovery.

Oh, and I do plan to make a batch of the brownies for Pat to bring in to the office - if only to fine tune the recipe.

Something New

I created my own recipe!

First let me explain by saying that Pat's office is having a party on Thursday. Each of the management staff, except the two vice Presidents, was asked to sign up to cook a dish for the party. The two Vice Presidents, both men, were exempted by themselves because they did not cook and, according to the memo, did not think it appropriate to put their wives out by having them cook. Pat came home and asked if I would mind cooking her assignment.

Of course, being a dutiful house husband and afraid that she would turn off my allowance, I agreed. The assignment is for two dozen brownies and two dozen cookies. How pedestrian!

After some probing it turns out that there is a "Harvest" theme to the party. Not a Halloween theme, even though the party is on the 28th of October, but a harvest theme. Seems that religious sensibilities are to be avoided (but not sexist thoughts).

So, I decided to make Pumpkin Cheesecake Brownies. The problem is that I didn't have a recipe. The recipes on the Internet all lacked for one reason or another. Either there wasn't enough pumpkin or they wasn't enough Cheesecake. They all managed the brownie bits.

So, off I went finding an appropriate Pumpkin Cheesecake recipe that I could use to modify a cheesecake brownie recipe. After some work I found one that I could cut down to size to match the brownie proportions and stiffen up to work in the shortened cooking time. I rewrote the recipe and then brought it into the test kitchen for a tryout.

While cooking I did find that the cream cheese was too liquid to set properly so I modified the recipe again and added more flour to stiffen the cheesecake (I managed to do this within the first batch before combining with the brownie mix).

The result was imperfect. The cheesecake is more liquid than the brownies and swirling the two together makes the brownies soft. But the correction is simple - do not swirl and cook at a slightly lower temperature for a slightly longer time.

But, no one complains. The brownies are pretty (a nice orange topping) and delicious. Add one of those sugared fall pumpkins as a decoration and they will be perfect.

And, the recipe is mine.

Bon Appetit!

Happy Birthday to Me

Seems I was a bit premature about announcing the end of the year of Anti-Bob.

As expected Pat made an Apple Pie for my birthday. Pat makes the best apple pies (the secrets are good apples cut thin and a flaky homemade crust). Pat claims that she learned how to make pie crusts from her mother. I claim that I taught her how to make pie crusts. It does not matter, the crust was excellent as was the pie.

Stu went out after dinner so the dessert and gift portion of the evening was going to be delayed. Pat, catering to my inner child, made tarlettes out of the leftover crust and raspberry jam. They tasted wonderful; flaky but with that chewy, sticky candy like raspberry. They were so wonderful, in fact, that I did not notice that I had swallowed the one gold crown I own.

I did not tell Pat about my dental failings until after the pie was consumed. After all, they deserve to celebrate my Bobinicity as well as I do and we all put a lot of effort in our mini-celebrations. They put up with me for the year so they deserve pie.

There are few things I like less than dentistry. One item that is below the dentistry bar is having 1/2 a tooth. So, I spent my first day as a 51 year old arranging for and going to the dentist.

I figure that the lost crown was a fitting end of the year of the anti-Bob. Job had it worst. Lots of folks had it worst. All I could do is laugh and move on (and I did laugh).

Come On Over for Dinner

Tonight's dinner is

• Turkey Breast with Spinach-Feta Stuffing
• Wild Rice Salad with Pecans and Strawberries
• Italian Bread baked yesterday (by a local bakery)

For Dessert:

• Steamed Butternut Squash Pudding
• With Vanilla Jack Sabayon

For breakfast pat had a spinach = feta omelet and toast. Stu had bacon and eggs and toast and I had toast. We all had Cinnamon Coffee Cake still warm from the oven.

For lunch Pat had an early sampling of the Rice Salad while I had leftover Spicy Malaysian Style Stir Fry Noodles (Leftover from Saturday night). Come to think of it, on Saturday, Stu also had a leftover Moroccan Flat Bread (R'gayef) that I had made on Friday. This was before Stu went out to a birthday party and then, at 10:30, went to Outback for burgers.

Why do I bring this up? I am having a good time going out on a culinary limb. I am relearning techniques and trying new ingredients. The Malaysian Stir Fry required Tofu (a first for me). The flatbreads were a homemade yeast product. I haven't done that in 25 years.

Even tonight's turkey roll required butchery and other skills. I bought an entire hotel style turkey breast and then trimmed the two breast halves and wings (the other breast and wings are frozen). I had to roll a spinach feta mix into the Turkey, tie it up, brown and then cook it in a dutch oven (no - there are no hot coals involved - but there could be).

The pudding was cooked from scratch and the sabayon required an extensive effort on the double boiler. The jack refers to bourbon, by the way.

So, come by some time, and I'll cook up something bizarre.

It's Been A Month

OK, this has been a tough year. It's funny but I looked forward to turning 50. I was nearly fifty for so long that I did not care that this was a milestone. I was happy at work, Pat was happy, Stu was Stu. What more could a guy want. I wanted to celebrate a half century of not being a putz. Fifty was going to be a great year.

Well, Pat has been having minor health issues all year. Nothing big, nothing lasting, just enough to make her miserable at times (which makes me miserable). The problems have been enough for her to consider her mortality and read the AARP magazines from cover to cover. Age creaps up on all of us.

The work thing has been a real pain. I was really hitting my stride - getting projects funded and completed, making clients happy, forcing IT to relook at how they fund and staff projects and small work so that they reviewed and created a more sustainable process. I was smokin' - until the axe fell. I must admit that it was tough to go from 75 to zero all at once.

Plus I have discovered that no one really wants a fifty year old guy to work in their department. If I get close to getting a job the job is eliinated or withdrawn. It chips away at you.

As this birthday has crept up I have not been happy.

Then Pat let me know that she had plans for my birthday. So, I have that going for me (that and the secret of life from the Dali Lama).

And I am a damn good cook.

Plus I have been a terror at the library getting DVDs, CDs and the occaisional book to make Pat happy and relaxed at home. I now know all sorts of tricks to get what you want from other town's libraries even if they normally don't transfer media to your town. Pat wanted new exercise playlists on her Ipod (by the way - we still call them 'Exercise tapes") and I learned alot about creation of playlists, multiple IPods on the same PC, etc.

Oh, Mindy, you had a book waiting for you at the Newington Library - I was there picking up Nirvana's "Unplugged" album and they tried to give me your Sales Success book. Good luck with that.

The job hunt still stinks. We are looking way out of the box now.

And, Stu is still Stu - so I have that going for me.

Delivering Bad News

Delivering bad news stinks especially if the bad new pertains to yourself.

I heard through the grapevine that the folks at Lee Hecht Harrison were under the assumption that I had landed the job at CIGNA. They had even told my friends as much. The assumption was made based on the extended nature of my "finalist" status.

So, I went over to West Hartford to check in with Dick and let him know the true status. Bringing up the non-job wasn't something I relish doing but Dick is a good guy and I thought that I owe him an in person update.

Dick wasn't in. He took the day off. So, I had driven to West Hartford for nothing.

I killed some time talking to some friendly staff people but the outcome was that I still had to return to talk with Dick.

Dragging up my experiences at CIGNA at some future date was not thrilling me as I left the building.

Then, while reaching out with my keys to open my car door (really just pointing and clicking) a bird flew by and crapped on my hand.

I started to laugh. After all, I thought that having to return to LHH to talk to Dick was pretty crappy. This was true shit. Suddenly talking to Dick wasn't all that bad and the old axiom had just been proven; it can always be worse.

For those keeping score, I do have a short term job currently contacting my references. I also have a job posted with a friend at the Aetna (among other job postings). So I am still out looking.

I'll let you know when I am again adding to the economy.

No Sour Grapes For My Pizza

Food can be a bit odd lately here on the hill. All sorts of new foods have crept onto our menus. I learned how to make Tzatziki Sauce, cook with fish sauce, and have used an entire bottle of Mirin (sweet rice wine).

The impact, however, has been genuinely positive.

Pat sends mid day e-mails asking what is on the menu. She sends notes thanking me for the lunch salad.

Stu asks eagerly what is for dinner. He schedules around it and has put off going out until after dinner.

I enjoy the challenges of new meals and assembling a menu.

Grapes on a pizza was a bit of a challenge. At least on my part. It was a tough concept to get my head around. However, the use of Mango and dried cranberries in rice salad were both successful (they were two different salads). So mixing sweet and savory can be more overt than I am used too.

We all liked the look of the pizza but approached it hesitantly. Chicken Shawarma was less of a tough sell than Chicken, Red Grape and Pesto Pizza.

Still, the dish was another hit. I will make it again but next time I will dig out the old Pizza stone to crisp the crust.

Grapes on a pizza. Who knew.

In Search Of the Elusive Udon

Ok, I am trying to cook all sorts of new dishes. Tonight's meal was Cold Sesame Noodles with Chicken and Cucumbers; something new from Cooking Light magazine. Not a difficult dish but one that requires new Asian flavors.

Shopping for this dish required quite a search in the Asian food section for Udon Noodles. This is tough to do when you have no idea what an Udon is or how they are squeezed into a noodle. After some delay in the Asian aisle I was able to locate a vacuum sealed container of 7.22 oz of semi-cooked Udon noodles. Since I needed only 8 oz I declared success and moved on.

That was Friday.

Monday evening it was time to cook the Cold Sesame Noodles. Having already made Pat's lunch dish (Bulgur Mint and Parsley Salad) it was time to move on to the main dish. Calling up the new item on the PC (I set the PC on the counter and read the recipe).

Imagine my surprise when I read that the dish calls for dried Udon noodles. I evaluated the situation and determined that the semi-cooked noodles were a single portion and not enough for three.

So, Pat and I headed back to Shaw's to find Dried Udon noodles.

There are no dried Udon noodles at Shaw's. We bought something that we might want to substitute. I suggested we try a local, nearby specialty store.

So we headed off to the Asian Market near our old house.

It turns out that "Asian" means Indian/Pakistani. Udon noodles are Japanese. We were out of luck. I hesitate to mention this but there were employment advertisements for package stores and a 7-11 by the door. They are not helping the stereotypes.

Pat was ready to give up but I drove off to find the elusive Udon.

Pat was amazed when we went to A. Dong's Oriental Market. There was the elusive Udon in 3 lb and 1 lb packages. Not bad. We chose the 1 lb package for $2.09. Remember, we only need 8 oz.

The meal took less than 30 minutes to prepare. As a bonus it also required Chili-Garlic Sauce which we already had on hand. Chili-Garlic Sauce is one of those specialty items I buy that Pat thinks that we will never use up. Ha Ha, it's half gone already.

Anyway, Pat does not like Udon noodles it turns out. They are too thick and a bit chewy, according to her. Stu and I really liked the Udon, however.

And, half the noodles are still uncooked. I must not waste them, Pat wouldn't like that. Maybe Curried Noodle Salad with Lamb,

I am composing, of sorts, my second tome.



The first was my book of poetry composed for Pat on the occasion of our twenty-fifth anniversary. This was all original work (excluding a parody or two) and was heart felt. The new work is somewhat more plebeian.



I am putting together a cookbook.



I can hear you all salivating at the thought.



Have no fear I do not intend to sell or give you this work. I would be embarrassed too; each of the recipes are stolen. Even though I was taught as a historian that plagiarism is the sincerest form of flattery I will not claim anothers work.



The cookbook is a collection of the recipe's that I am trying on a near nightly basis. Having some time on my hands I have determined to toss caution to the wind and try many different recipe's and techniques.



Recipe's are chosen based upon family interest, past successes and even cooking techniques (there have been many challenges that I have approached). Pat had begged for weeks for Panzanilla (bread salad) and I had steadfastly resisted. Much to my chagrin, I mad it the other night and thoroughly enjoyed it. Don't tell her - she will gloat.



So far I have been fairly dead on on my selections. The Three Cheese Penne was almost entirely consumed by Stu. I have made a variety of Bulghar Wheat salads that Pat loves for lunch (and Stu and I tolerate). Tomorrow we are bringing to Pat's sister a Bean and Potato Salad that broke Stu's embargo on green and yellow beans (he never has liked beans; I site as evidence as evidence a picture from toddler times wherein he rubbed them into his gossamer haired pate rather than ingest them).



But why a cookbook?



The cookbook is an attempt to retain the recipe's that we like. So each week as menus are created the recipes are selected from the Internet and copied into a file. The ingredient list becomes the basis of the weekly shopping list and when the recipe's turn has come up they are printed so that the computer is not forced to withstand the tortures of a cooking area. After the meals have been road tested I do go back and make clarifications and modifications.



Only today did I reveal the truly anal nature of the residents on the hill. Not only did I reorganize the document into cooking categories but I went and made all the recipes consistent in font and format (previously a table of contents had been created).



Now, the document has developed some permanency.



Pat is happy, I am happy and Stu is eating out less and appears eager to ask what tonight's dinner is.



For those of you who are curious we had appetizers of Mixed Herb (Pesto) Bruschetta and Tomato Basil Brushetta and are having a main course of Caribbean Shrimp Salad With Lime Vinaigrette. I do hope that salad is good.

Vacation Part Deaux

Pat and I have been walking almost every evening. We are the unofficial census takers of the hill.

We do not count the rug rats; that would require higher math. We count, instead, the footed fauna that is so abundant here.

It's not any species that we search for. It is one; the Eastern Cottontail Rabbit.

One would assume that the inclusion of "Eastern" in their name would imply that they are native to this area. In fact, they are not. They are Eastern only in relation to the Western Cottontail and Connecticut is not their native habitat.

Despite this geographic naming anomaly, their population has exploded. The other day, on our two mile walk, we spotted nineteen of the little critters. Some we spotted in pairs and assume that more little bunnies are in the offing.

The spotting of these creatures has become a bit of a sport. Two must see or one must plead and provide significant details for a spotting to count. Pat hates when I point into a neighbor's bush to identify a hiding spot. I dislike the lame "he hopped away" explanation.

Despite our constant census, we long for more. On Wednesday we left our homestead and had hardly begun our walk when I pointed out that we should be seeing other species. There are plenty of deer, ground hog and turkey about and I speculated aloud as to the reasons they don't appear on our walk.

No sooner had we gotten to the bottom of the hill but two deer were seen standing in the farm field. The next night the deer were replaced by two turkeys nibbling at the undergrowth.

Why is it that only after we questioned the lack of sightings did these beasts appear? Could it be that the Cottontails were tired of our cross species voyeurism and requested help from their larger cohabitants?

We can only assume that the ground hogs were a bit recalcitrant and have yet agreed to appear.

Vacation News

For the past two weeks Pat has been on semi vacation with me. The first week of vacation she was not supposed to work. The second week she was only supposed to work 1/2 days. She did manage to fit in her fair share of work both weeks. I'm not complaining - she is too conscientious to let things go long.

I did find out that a job I was a finalist for went in another direction. To go from one of two finalists for two positions to not getting a job in less than a week was very disheartening but survivable. When discussing the job possibility with my fellow campers I did point out that many jobs are withdrawn or filled internally rather than result in an outside hire these days. In this case one position was filled by a contract employee and the other left fallow.

I was supposed to not look for a job the first week. However, having lost the "sure thing" I did do a little employment dumpster diving. I do have a bunch of little fires in the iron. Some of which are pretty off the beaten path.

So, what does one do on vacation? We go to breakfast.

One of the complaints that Pat had when moving to Wethersfield was that no one could tell her were a good breakfast spot was. So, with trusty computer in hand, I went in search of new locations. Here are the results (so far):

• Cheesecake Factory (West Hartford): This is more of a brunch location. We found it to be a disappointment. While Pat enjoyed her omelette I ordered the Crab Hash with poached eggs. The eggs were underdone to the point of being barely able to hold their shape and there were crab shell pieces in the hash. They crunched just like egg shells which is an absolute no no to me. Anyone who knows me knows that raw eggs are a no no as well (I reference an international raw egg on ham incident in the mid 80's that caused me to for forego breakfast on the continent).
• NY Pickle Deli: This is the closest to us in nearby Rocky Hill. We actually went here before this weekend but this truly marked our first excursion. The food is good but the menu is rather brief in it's listing of possible items. Pat, who wants eggs without potatoes or meat, could order "off menu" but that is never a best bet. Try the wheat pancakes. This is the closest breakfast place to our house but the service is atrocious.
• Anna's Pizza Restaurant: This is where the old folks go to meet the children. The food was good, the place homey. Pat loved the Spinach Feta Omelet (they let her get a two egger rather than three). My pancakes were a bit crisp and the syrup was corny =without a hint of maple flavor. Still this would be a great place to eat if I had my teeth in a jar.
• Mitchell's Family Restaurant (Coffee House): This is a great find near the house (just over the Rocky Hill Border on the Silas Deane). It was crowded (we sat at the counter) but there were plenty of choices (even for those who did not want potatoes or meat) and the food was served promptly. The Hash was a bit peppery but the potatoes (sliced rather than cubed and with onions) were wonderful. This is an easy repeat location.
• Pepper Pot: Location, location, location. This is right off the beautiful green in Southington. There is plenty of space and a good menu and the neighborhood to walk off the food afterwords. If you could transport the green and the restaurant to someplace closer it would be a favorite.
• Ken's Corner Breakfast and Lunch: This place is loaded with both variety and the ability to order a la carte. This has the best service in a restaurant that we have ever seen. These folks are phenome ally attentive to the elderly that come in alone; helping them sit, order and even open a sugar packet if needed. This is a family spot (either that or every waitress in Glastonbury has the same features) and it shows in how they respect and handle folks. Your coffee never hits bottom here and just about every breakfast junk food item is represented (kielbasa, Italian sausage, fresh fruit, and pumpkin pancakes). Unfortunately, the line is long and the wait can be difficult.
• O'Rourke's Diner: If only they were closer. O'Rourkes has been featured in Diners, Drive Ins and Dives on the Food Network. For years I had friends tell me about this place. I even thought I knew where it was. Still, when we entered Middletown I was happy to see that the Local Fire Department was out making a boot collection so I slowed down, tossed in a couple of bucks and asked, only to see the diner right behind him (so much for being suave). We managed to get right in and grasp the thick, long menu. Pat immediately found items that she could warm up to; brown bread and beans are a common side in their tribute to Ireland. This was a special trip so we both ordered from the specialty items. Pat ordered a Mexican themed dish that included both brown bread and beans - a most English interpretation. I had the meat lover's dish that included Pancetta, Maple Bacon and Jalapeno Bacon as well as Irish Bangers. Thankfully I have no cholesterol screenings for a while. Everything was cooked excellently (Pat even said it was the best tea she has had). As we left there was a line of folks standing in the sun waiting to get in. This and the distance makes O'Rourkes only a mid-week, special occasion trip.

So there you have it, an obscure thing to do on vacation (finding breakfast restaurants) but fun none the less. Its the little things to do with your special friend that makes them special.

I thought I should mention that Stu, currently between semesters and without current employment, made only one of these breakfasts. Now that is a boy who can vacation!

Just Take Your Time

When did "No Rush" change from a reminder to savor an experience to a plaintive call to vacate your seat by a petulant waiter? Am I the only one who has noticed this subtle shift in tone? I prefer that the waiter just wish that the door doesn't hit me on my way out.

Those that know me understand that I inhale food faster than a hoover hooked up to a new power source so dawdling in a seat is never my first instinct (unless, of course, I am orating). I have not been the recipient of this less than professional prodding but have observed it and been offended. At the rate of fare in these restaurants many a diner would be justified taking the chair never mind renting it for a while.

So the next time a waiter drops a "No Rush" sarcastically or a "Take your time" do just that. Oh, don't forget to ask for another refill of your coffee.

How to Survive the Black Hole

This past week I was blessed to be placed in charge of eleven first time campers ranging from the age of ten to the ancient age of twelve. Two boys, Jacob and Kenny, shared a tent across from the adults and next to our former scout, now 'adult', college student. Mom and Dad had put them there for a reason, and we hope it wasn't just to drive us crazy.

Kenny and Jacob had many things in common. They were friends first and foremost. They did everything together except change. They went on hikes, took the same classes, failed or passed swim tests and even bugled together.

While changing alone they were lost by themselves and may have been confused by the process as it took forever to accomplish the task. Often, when asked to change out of a swimsuit and into a scout uniform they would change into shorts and not the uniform shirt or into the uniform shirt and retain the swim trunks. Eager reminders by the adults or older scouts were greeted by eager responses and painfully slow endeavors. Despite a plethora of available empty tents to accomplish their changing Kenny and Jacob only changed in their own tent in sequence, each taking so long that the second forgot the task at hand and had to be rounded up for his turn. I am now prepared to deal with Alzheimer patients.

There was something else that Jacob and Kenny did not do together; clean. In fact, neither did this at all. Every morning their tent was neatened and straightened out - most often with the help of an exasperated older scout or three eager to get to breakfast. In neatened condition their tent would remain until shortly after lunch when without the slightest provocation the tent would explode in a frenzy of activity centering on a search for an ancient artifact needed to make their day complete. At least once I had to ask if there were survivors from the tent explosion.

I remember the search for the seven dollars by Kenny. At least five times Kenny was instructed to look in his foot locker and on and under his bed. Each time Kenny came back on the edge of tears, never questioning that it was stolen, but mourning the loss. We adults, across our narrow campsite, quietly discussed taking up a collection amongst ourselves while watching Kenny search anew through the piles but interestingly, not his foot locker. Upon another return to our tent we questioned Kenny and asked him why he wasn't checking the footlocker. "Because I don't remember putting it there" was the replied. In his fifth attempt he humored us and was quickly rewarded with a discovering of the seven dollars and shortly he and Jacob were off to the camp store leaving us with a view of the black hole now containing an empty foot locker.

Money wasn't the only item lost that week. Uniform shirts and parts disappeared with some regularity. At one point I assured Jacob that no one else wanted to wear his stinky shirt. Bathing suits were lost (to be found on the clothesline behind the tent) as well as Gimp (found throughout the campsite. Temporarily lost was a bugle, merit badge book and a leather work kit. Permanently lost were two neckerchief slides (replaced by a loaner and a slide made from duct tape).

Also temporarily lost was Kenny and Jacobs self confidence on succeeding nights.

Kenny's was lost after Mom and Dad came for a visit on Wednesday (along with the other parents). Kenny did well until it was bed time and then collapsed into the abyss of loneliness that often calls for young campers. Kenny hung around with the adults for an extended period well past the other campers sack time and listed to us tell and retell the corniest of jokes while seemingly ignoring him until the mere wisp of a smile appeared. He stayed up for a while longer and was assured that there are friendly adults still about before returning to his black hole.

Jacobs loss was far more severe and nasty. Having survived and cheered Kenny through his homesickness Jacob likely had already had weathered an assault of loneliness. However a case of insensitivity by his peers caused Jacobs confidence to crumble like a house of cards. Having to choose between two boys to be the sixth and final member of a card game the card sharks voted Jacob out publicly and another boy in. Such devastation laid Jacob bare and I was faced with despondent tears. Nothing seemed to cheer a now lonely Jacob out of his doldrums.

In an act of desperation I relied upon the black hole and told Jacob that I wanted to see the knife holder he completed in his leather work merit badge. Jacob moped over to his tent and began his search. In a frenzy I grabbed a tree lopper, cut and pruned a small tree, trimmed the resulting stick with my jackknife, cut and hole punched a piece of leather, created a handhold with the leather and sewed it to the stick with a piece of gimp I had found (presumably Kenny's) to create a serviceable walking stick. The whole stick creating operation took less than ten minutes and although done in Jacobs sight it was completely unobserved.

Jacob returned to me without his leather work or a memory of being asked to get it. I introduced him to the walking stick as an example of my leather craft. He thought it great, I offered to let him try it and even showed him how a walking stick was operated. Sadly, it was too short for me and as I had one already I was wondering if Jacob would like it. It was the one item that never did succumb to the black hole as it was never out of his sight for the remainder of the week.

Later, when feelings had calmed, I did talk to Jacob about what happened and discussed why he might be excluded from a card game by a group of older boys in favor of another older boy. The discussion was two fruitful and was completed while Jacob had a firm grip on his walking stick. A conversation was also held with the card player who, to their credit, had realized their faux pax almost immediately and spent the rest of the week including both Jacob and his stick in all activities.

On Friday evening the black hole was abandoned and the boys slept by the campfire. Ever concerned they were visited ever so often by the adults who walked unseen to the edge of the clearing to watch and listen quietly. On one of these trips I saw all was well and was leaving when I heard the walking stick being discussed. I turned in time to see Jacob holding the stick above himself and declaring, "Thank you Mr. P." Jacob doesn't know I heard him. He never meant me to.

Oh, and I do feel bad about cutting down a live tree.

Happy To Be Home Again

I spent the last week at Boy Scout Camp living in a tent, mentoring boys. walking up many a dusty hill and generally sweating. Throughout the week I did not lose a camper but I did lose plenty of sleep - my cot listed toward the center of the tent and I was too tired to replace it. My constant companions were the mosquitoes who were thriving on the previously wet weather and my blood stream and constant calls of "Mr. P, Mr. P . . ." from a very young set of campers. In short, I had a great time.

A Pretty Good Day

Well, is rolling to a close and that coincided with Stu's closing out his summer class. So, to celebrate I asked Stu if he wanted to see a movie once he came home from his exam and after I prepared dinner (Chicken Shawarma and a Bulgar Wheat, Edamame and Cherry Tomato salad). So Stu and I headed off and saw Harry Potter.

At Harry Potter we were the only people there except a father/daughter couple. Stu and I had fun making fun of the movie. Midway through the movie my phone rang. It was a scouting friend and I got rid of him by telling him I was at a movie. I used to find days I could come home early and go to movies with Stu. It is always a fun time and we get to regress to father and son (except now the snarky movie comments flow both ways).

Pat loved dinner. I told her that we were having broiled scallops but I outsourced the meal and it came back as Chicken Shawarma, an Indian dish. These are high vegetable, low fat meals that are new and different to make and eat.

Ron Cady called back to let me know that I was selected as a Silver Beaver by the Connecticut Rivers Council (Boy Scouts). I felt bad that I had not called him back. He let me know that I'll have to get my photo taken and attend a dinner. Pat, who avoids scout dinners like the plague, has indicated that she wants to attend this one. The funniest thing is that I get to review the information on the application prior to the award. I hope some of it is true.

The World Turned Upside Down Part 2

On Saturday morning Stu came home after staying with a group of friends and complained that my phone call at 4:19 AM woke his friends up. Apparently I needed to be more considerate. I told this to Pat and she laughed. Had we ever been woken up by the Rock Band crew playing through the night? Of course. But the Rock Band Crew never called us. They just crooned classic Aerosmith through the sub-woofer under our bed.

This probably could have been avoided if Stu had turned off the lights in the house. But at 3:30 I was woken by a playful kick to my shins (a reminder that I should stop snoring). Maybe This precipitated nature's call and the discovery in short order that the light's were on and Stu was not at home. When informed of a missing young man Pat's painful stare illuminated the darkness until I did what the kid's do and texted Stu.

Stu did not respond to the text and a half hour later I could not take the prodding silence and called Stu. He missed the call but quickly called back with some indignation and hushed tones to explain that a group was crashing at Rachel's house.

Rachel is the lead singer of last summer's Rock Band. I doubt Stu's ring tone was as pleasant as her voice.

Buying at the Big Box

I am sitting at Panera Bread doing e-mails, job surfing and all those other wonderful things with a panoramic view of Walmart. It is amazing what the folks at Walmart can do for you. This is a small Walmart (if they can be considered small) but does contain a garden shop, pharmacy, automotive section, and a small restaurant.

Other Walmarts include small Doc-in-a-box operations and even others have tried wedding chapels. You can have a blood test done, pick out the wedding trousseau and have the ceremony all in one location. If you don't take the tags off the dress you can return it on the way out. If the groom doesn't work out you can return him too. Can you imagine the return lines for the wedding chapel? I don't think I really want to have the P.A. system announce the results of the blood test in the middle of the wedding vows.

What can be next for Walmart? Can Sam Walton discover some long lost Native American relative and open up Casinos throughout the country? Given their propensity to pressure supplies to stretch the bounds of appropriate labor I could imagine that some slots would never pay off while others pay off constantly. I'd put the machines right by the check out lines so that the patrons could have a chance at doubling their stake and buying that extra mega bag of beef jerky.

Out in Nevada Walmart could add discount Cat Houses. Maybe they could get their laborers overseas. After all, they have been screwing the overseas labor markets for years.

What Kind of Fool Am I?

OK, so I am a full time house husband right now.

Sure, I continue to look for another job but with Pat working a tremendous amount of overtime I have decided to make the most of some of my domestic goddessness.

And, lets face it, I am not good at the house husband thing. I do not clean well. In fact, I can walk by the same pile of stuff an unlimited amount of time and never notice that it needs to be cleaned, put away, folded, dusted or any of the above.

But, I can cook.

And, I can shop for food. In fact, we on the hill are a bit anal in our shopping. Each week we will compose a full menu and create a shopping list from that. As the list is compose we naturally writ it in order of the aisles in the store to encourage an easier shopping experience. Normally, this is done under Pat's supervision on Thursday night, after the weekly sale flyers, for a Friday trip.

But as Emiril says, "Let's kick it up a notch."

Two weeks ago we did not create the menu on Thursday night because Pat was working. Ever observant, I decided Pat needed something to help her through the week so I got a couple of Cooking Light Magazines and created a menu with a couple of nicer items for Pat. This included a Berry Peach Cobbler, a Mediterranean Eggplant Salad and an Oriental Chicken Salad (of my own invention).

By mid week Pat was either e-mailing or calling me to ask what was for dinner and proclaiming it the highlight of the day. She also hinted that I could do that type of cooking again if I wanted to. When I didn't immediately respond, she begged.

So, last Friday I got out the cooking lights and created a new set of menus. I even made sure that ingredients used early in the week could make a repeat appearance in later meals (waist not, want more).

Friday, to celebrate the end of a long week (for Pat) we had Grilled Ginger Lime Shrimp, Rice, Grilled Asparagus and Strawberries Romanoff for dessert. That went over very well and was fairly easy to do.

Saturday night we went to Max Amore to eat their swordfish special. OK, so Pat ate the swordfish. I availed myself of their prix fixe menu (got to love being forced to have the dessert).

Pat had requested a Roasted Chicken on Sunday. But to accompany this on sale item we had a Marinated Bean and Fingerling Potato Salad. This required that the Green/Wax Beans be blanched and then submitted to an ice bath. I am 50 and had avoided blanching so far under the srict adherence to the belief that the only good Blanche was my Grandmother. However, I relented and it came out perfect. Stu, who last enjoyed green and wax beans when he mushed them into his hair while in a high chair, even admitted to liking these. The cumbled Bacon bits probably encouraged Stu's fondness.

The dessert was a stretch and something that Pat had lusted for ever since the cooking light first revealed the recipe in July of 2008. Rhubarb Maple Fool in Phyllo Stacks. Kind of a Napolean for the veggie eating Canadian set. I got to cook with new ingredients (Maple Sugar), work my way through a reduction, and create Pyllo Stacks (I haven't worked with Phyllo in 20 years). It was really good.

We also had the chicken, beans and rhubarb on Monday. The chicken was modified into Chicken Salad with the addition of Miracle Whip, green onion, and thyme, rosemary and basil picked fresh from the garden.

So far the kicked up menu is working. Pat is excited to have dinner. I am having fun constructing the meals and Stu is letting us know what his meal plans are far in advance.

Please note that I have refused to wear the French Maid outfit.

The World Turned Upside Down

Stu came by this morning at 3 A.M. to ask if everything was OK. He was concerned. Our TV was on and he could hear the floor squeaking so he knew someone was up. He wanted to know if something was wrong and if he could help.

First of all, you should know that the only thing wrong was a combination of too much rich food, caffeine too late, no drinks, Pat having taken an afternoon nap, and once awake and looking for a distraction, a good movie on the TV. When Stu stopped by we were long past the recovery stage and were stuck in the "too far into a good movie" situation.

Still, we were bemused by Stu stopping by and did not react with the air of indignation we've come to expect from him at 3 A.M. It was nice to know he cared and nicer to think that he may one day realize that our mid morning queries are based on the same love and concern.

Of course, once he stopped by we were now locked into watching the entire movie - if only to prove to ourselves that we still can when we want to.

It's Friendship that Survives

While I was away in Canada a tornado came to Wethersfield. Our house was relatively unscathed. The porch suffered some damage and several screens needed to be replaced. We suspect that the porch may have acted like a sail and was stressed by the wind. The furniture and flowers on the porch were all blown around. The force of the wind must have been pretty fantastic.

With that wind force in mind it was with some bemusement that we found the bottle cap.

The cap had been placed on top of the hook holding one of the plants by Pete during the end of the year Troop Adult Committee picnic. There were several caps hidden about the porch, deck and house. It is Pete's game with the homeowner and a game he takes seriously. He only plays the game with close friends.

When I see the bottle cap, previously so well hidden but now so obvious I can't help but smile and think of Pete and my other scouting friends. I will make no attempt to remove this brave survivor.

There are other bottle caps that survive in the houses of Pete's friends and family. Other reminders of his friendship and generosity. Some are known to homeowners and left there as fond remembrances. Others are known only to Pete's co-conspirators and spoken of in whispers.

Friends are important and must be tended like flowers. If you don't give them adequate attention all you are left with are the weeds.

Avoiding A Canadian's Red Glare.

Pat and I once took a romantic weekend away in Quebec City. At least that was the plan until Stu's trip was cancelled and our romantic weekend became a bit larger. Still, we made the best of it and had Stu invite a friend and booked an additional room.

We stayed at the Chateau Frontenac - one of the destination hotels built by the Canadian Pacific Railway and a truly romantic spot. Pat and I overlooking the river and Stu and Andrew overlooking the parking lot.

We arrived on July 1st which is Canada Day - the celebration of the signing of the Articles of Confederation on P.E.I. which effectively established a united and English speaking Canada. This is not the highlight of the year in Quebec City, the emotional heart of French Canada. Coincidentally, we arrived during the International Police Olympics.

After checking in and settling in we met the boys for a walk and lunch.

Right outside of the hotel at the central fountain a protest group wearing and waving the Fleur d' Lis had gathered to chant, give impassioned speeches and burn the Canadian flag. At least I assume so as their French was much faster than I can translate and did not use the usual catch phrases. I was bemused by the number of international Policeman in casual attire watching protests that would not be allowed in many of their countries (the cops were fairly obvious as they mostly wore t-shirts with various spellings of Police and/or badges on them). The local gendarmes did nothing to stop the protest.

One of the protesters singled me out, got in my face and aggressively shouted "Je pense que vous etes tres beau et voudries te montrer la ville. Apres nous pouvons avoir un verre de vin et d'une cigarette dans mon grenier." Unaware of what he said and wanting to be satisfied with my response I took a guess that he was complaining about the English and replied, "Imbecile" while shaking my head with a knowing Gallic tilt. With a satisfied smirk, he went and rejoined the group.

I went off with my group to find a glass of wine.

We returned from our weekend three days later to find that they were shooting fireworks at Shea Stadium in remembrance of Independence Day. They missed the plane.

Old E-Mails

I never like to clean out e-mails and when I do I delete it but never clean out the deleted mail file. Thus I create a long lasting archive that exists until I either blow out the hard drive or change jobs. I do eliminate SPAM and some larger files from the deleted or sent folder but I generally file and forget it. I even had to learn how to set up multiple archives to retain useless information.

Losing my job meant I lost a tremendous archive of old e-mail. That hurt greatly. My last hours were spent culling some special e-mails and sending them home. However, I had e-mails dating back to the last century and lost many a gem.

What do you do with old e-mails? Well, as a long time corporate employee you discover whatever is new is usually old in a new package. Sometimes an old e-mail will shed light on the situation and give you a leg up.

At least that's what we say in public forums.

In private its easy to admit that old e-mail can be used for a variety of reasons.

• You can reacquaint oneself with an old colleague. There's nothing like replying to a decade old e-mail to someone and asking if they still need an answer to the question they asked.
• Send a reminder to a friend of something stupid that they wrote.
• Return any prognostications with a pithy note on their accuracy.

But, more importantly, old e-mails are subtle reminders of friends and friendships. So, I keep them and occasionally respond.

Thankfully, memory is cheap these days.

How to be a Romantic Fool or the Neighborhood Idiot

One thing that I have learned over twenty-five plus years of marriage is that you occasionally have to remind each other why you got together in the first place. The easiest way to do this is on a date but after twenty five years - how do you make this special? I believe that pure idiocy can help.

Last Sunday Stu was out, Pat was working in the office and I was watching baseball in the family room on both the TV and the PC. The game was wrapping up, I was hungry and Pat needed a break from work. I walked over and delivered her a wine cooler (step 1). Returning to my seat in the family room I waited an appropriate time for the wine cooler to be drained and then I invited her out the way the kids do it these days - via e-mail (step 2).

After the Red Sox won and shortly before the agreed upon time I took a quick shower to eliminate the debris from a day of lawn mowing and house repair and then quickly dressed in better than average weekend attire (step 3). I did not interrupt or talk to Pat during this process.

Then came the idiocy part. I left.

I got into the car, drove past a bewildered Pat looking out the office picture window, down a the block to the next cul-de-sac, turned around and came home. Under Pat's watchful eyes, I parked on the street, locked the car,went to the front door and rang the bell. (step 4).

Pat was rather bewildered when she answered the door while still maintaining a phone conversation. I stood there, cold bottle of wine in hand (purloined from the fridge on my way out - step 3a) and asked if I was early for our date (step 5). She looked at me, laughed and told the folks on the phone that she had to go.

Unfortunately, the plan fell apart from here as the first two restaurants were closed as a result of the holiday weekend causing us to drive in a zig-zag pattern across town until we found that our third choice was open.

The restaurant mix-up didn't matter as Pat was both surprised and delighted as a simple Sunday meal was changed to a date. It didn't cost me anything more than a little loss of dignity driving around the neighborhood and being seen hanging around outside our house with a bottle of wine.

Oh, we saved the wine for after dinner.

When the Cat is Away . . .

My in-laws do not travel well. The two hour drive to our house is insurmountable. I understand this. They are older, they have never liked driving. The last time they were down we had to send a car to bring them to Stu's Eagle ceremony. Still, Pat would like them to at least see the new house.

Instead, this weekend, we were visited by the next best thing, her siblings. OK, maybe 'we' is a bit incorrect as I left the country to stay in a foreign jail rather than hang with the in-laws. Well, I didn't leave the country because they were coming but it worked out.



Besides, I always said that hell would freeze over before they visited. Instead, we were visited by the next best thing, a tornado. I leave the country for one day and both a tornado and my in-laws arrive in town.

Fortunately, we suffered only minor damage before both left town. There may be some permanent scarring - at least to Pat's psyche. She spent the evening in the basement huddled with Stu while the wicked witch of the east did her skyward twirl. All the while Pat was bemoaning a lack of adequate flashlight batteries. Of course we were bound to run low when one refills the six flashlights located within six feet of her side of the bed. Yes, that is six flashlights in one room. There are more flashlights and the occasional candle in the other rooms. Combined we could replace a light stanchion in Fenway Park for a few minutes.



I include a picture of the six flashlights if only to reveal a subtle difference between husband and wife. Included for comparison is my camping flashlight (attached to the knife). I carry a larger flashlight as well when I camp but I can't remember ever using it - the smaller light being so much more convenient. In that way I am the anti-Pat. Of course it will take more than a tornado to get Pat camping.

Eh? Canada?

I just returned from my fifth trip to Ottawa with the Boy Scouts. Our troop goes on one of three major trips every year; Ottawa, Washington DC and Gettysburg. Each provides a great experience but Ottawa provided some of my fondest memories over the years.

Ottawa brought an appreciation for architecture into the troop. You're dealing with 11 to 18 year old boys full of testosterone and without a matriarch to guide them. The timing of our trip to Ottawa coincides with the start of warm weather, the Fringe Festival and the preparations for Canada. The city's spirits are high and the dresses are short. Among our older scouts language became rather coarse. We were on the edge of becoming the ugly Americans and corrupting the younger scouts. But how to control them? We talked, we lectured, we threatened. But, they are boys and testosterone driven. Finally we suggested that as an alternative they admire and discuss the local architecture. We asked them to look at the park and pointed out a nice structure that was finely built. One replied that all they saw was 'a good looking girl'. Slowly it dawned and instead of crass comments architectural terms were substituted and our assault of the Canadian ears ceased. That is until one less adept senior scout told another to "look at the ass on that building". Oh well.

A thirsty scout asked an adult where to get water on Parliament Hill to fill his water bottle. Having just arrived after a short walk the adult asked if he had dunk all his water. The scout said no. The adult asked why the water bottle was empty. The scout was confused by the question. So the adult tried again and asked why he brought an empty water bottle along with him. The scout pointed out that he was told to bring a water bottle but no one told him to fill it.

Then there was the time we were the first guests of the new American Embassy. The ambassador himself, just returning from the newly designated Nunavet territory above the Arctic Circle came in and addressed our group. He eagerly told the scouts about embassy duties and the variety of events he attends. Having completed the speech he asked for questions. Up went several hands. He carefully selected one of the younger scouts who promptly informed the ambassador that he had just farted and then asked the ambassador if he knew where the bathroom was.

Hey there

I apologize for not writing recently. The job search has been a heavy load lately and I promised to keep this light. A recent trip to Ottawa refreshed my spirit and literary muse.

How to be Nice

I decided that I would grill Pat’s long requested sword fish and scallop dinner. OK, maybe she didn’t request sword fish and scallops but the grilled fish request had come often and with increased vigor. However sword fish and scallops is part of a limited list of acceptable fish to me. And, I was being nice.

The rain started right after I turned on the grill.

On the way into the house I was splattered by those robin egg sized rain drops that portend a summer storm but by the time I was in the kitchen the grill was being pinged by an onslaught of hail. I could see the hail dance atop the sizzling drill and disappear in a puff of steam.

I could also see the ice lined bowl containing the swordfish and scallops. A demanding combination that was unforgiving about tardiness and premature warming.

Still, Pat looked at me rather quizzically as I grabbed the scallop’s grilling pan and a raincoat and proceeded to head outside for the essential preheating. “Wait and it shall pass,” she instructed.

Still I headed outside in my rain resistant (not rain proof) coat, threw the pan on the fire and returned drenched. Maybe waiting a few minutes wasn’t a bad choice after all.

After ten minutes of careful observation we determined that the rain was letting up so I grabbed the fish and went outside. No sooner had I dropped the fish on the grill than the skies opened up again.

I was committed, or at least I should have been.

Every time I opened the grill the thermometer dropped precipitously. Scallops, which require constant turning, alternated being shielded by the grill cover and being doused with the cold rain. The serving platter sat inverted on the grill shelf, waiting for the fish to be done and a quick flip before receiving its burden

Pat laughed at me and waved through the windows of her dry and comfortable shelter. I had no choice but to laugh between my impatient peeks at the all too slow cooking food.

At last the fish was declared done; the decision based equally on both culinary and self preservation requirements.

I sat soggily at the table eating a well prepared meal. Somewhere between the first and last scallop the sun came out and lit the glistening grass in it warm rays.

Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be nice.

What a Dumbass Way To Die

We have all heard the stories on the news of someone who exits this earth in unusual and sometimes poetic manner. There are entire book collections (the Darwin Awards) devoted to the subject. But, occasionally, we all get a glimpse of our own departures while doing something incredibly ridiculous.

I had my glimpse today.

Yesterday I was exercising on the treadmill and killing time while listening to NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me. The show ended a few minutes before my hour was up so I put the IPOD on shuffle. The very next song was from the Music Man Album (2000 Broadway Revival Cast). This is evidence that I will put just about anything on my IPOD (Gregorian Chants, Klezmer, Rap, Show Tunes but NO Enya). Anyway, I decided that listening to the entire cast recording might make for an interesting treadmill experience even without Ron Howard, Buddy Hacket, Shirley Jones and Robert Preston of movie fame.

So, today’s treadmill featured the entire cast recording.

How could I not sing along? I grew up with this music. I remember Sundays where it played on the phonograph in the living room. We saw it on TV. I learned to harmonize singing barbershop with the School Board (they are very forgiving). Robert Preston sings in my key and range.

How could I sing along? I can keep the beat even on the treadmill (syncopation requires the adoption of a limp) but Harold Hill’s staccato attack leaves no time to breath. I was like a pearl diver at hight tide, coming up desperat efor air whenever possible. But the show most go on and lost in the pure joy of a chilhood friend come to visit, I redoubled my efforts.

The volume went up on the IPOD to cover my inadequacies. This only resulted in me belting the tunes out louder and needing to surface for air more frequently.

When Hill gets off the stage for a breather others get on. Somewhere in the dim recesses of my addled mind I had stored the shows entire book or almost all of it. I was putting on a magnificent performance – even adding a slide step or two, hand gestures and covering the treadmill from side to side in interpretive exercise. No part or song was unapproachable – I just adjusted the octave to fit.

However, the IPOD has no mercy. The songs came one after another. There was no respite – not only was I belting out the tunes but I was pounding the treadmill as well. I silently begged for appearances of Marion as her tunes were mostly ballads and I could cheat a little on the long notes and breath deeper.

And then I saw it; my demise at the foot of the treadmill comeplete with tread burns on the face.

A forensic team would be sent in to probe the death of this ruggedly handsome and fit young man who could obviously out run the treadmill. They would discover the last music played. This bit of evidence would cause them to reevaluate the gruesome look and determine that I had died in mid song, tripping on a change step while broadly gesturing and imploring Marian. My demise would be another death to be attributed to American Musical Theater.

Luckily, I survived.

Once again my diversion ended shortly before my exercise period. Once again I put the IPOD on shuffle only to hear . . . The Diva Song from Spamalot.

They say that on any night many tired performances go to Broadway to die. I’ll go back to listening to NPR tomorrow.

How to keep on a diet without really trying

OK. It was noon. I was hungry. Pat was raving about some frozen meals that she liked so I opened the freezer to fine a Lean Cuisine meal staring at me: Pumpkin Squash Ravioli.

Pumpkin Squash Ravioli.

I am sure they spent hours developing it.

I am sure that there are food tasters that relished it.

Apparently Pat liked the concept.

I decided I had better things to do than eat. I didn’t even want to look at the other food items.

Pumpkin Squash Ravioli.

For me (and maybe me alone) it was as efficient as a lock on the freezer.

I wonder what's in the pantry?

How A Left Wing, Wing Nut Infiltrated The US Army

I was not an individual that the Army sought out. I was a child of the 70s complete with long hair, a beard and a learned distrust for the man. If I had been issued a draft card I probably would have burned it just because I was stubborn enough to want to make up my own mind.

But, I made friends with Manny, Paul, Shah and eventually Bill and they were in this ROTC thing. As a lackluster Boy Scout – great in the woods bit lousy in the meeting – and had my fill of uniforms but these were great guys and where they hung out I hung out. So they invited me to join. I was invited to go out on some of the field exercises where I was happy in the woods (at this point I was still a Natural Resource Conservation Major). Plus Melody was in ROTC and she was cute.

It helped that the Army was desperate for folks. The draft had ended and pay scales were not yet adjusted so enlistment was very low. Having just suffered through Vietnam morale was even lower (FTA was a common enlisted greeting and graffiti– it stands for “F” the Army). Only in this environment would the Army not only welcome but desire a long haired hippy. They didn’t ask me to cut my hair or shave or make a commitment until the start of my Junior Year(s). Thus I looked more like Fidel Castro than Sgt York in the old green uniforms.

Still, I debated. My personal political views and operating philosophies did not mesh with the relative conservative and regimented viewpoint of this organization. Major Bobby (Robert E. Lee) Thompson and I had long conversations and I came around to realize that the Army was an institution that was necessary and I could not ask someone to join if I was not willing to. At least that was my argument. My friends were in and I got to do some cool stuff that I was good at. Plus, some of the girls were cute (Melody had disappeared). So, I signed my contract and I was off to Kill Commies for Christ.

Still, being somewhat more liberal than my comrades I did get in trouble almost from the start.

When I was at ROTC basic training (we called it summer camp) there was only one other individual from north of the Mason Dixon Line in my platoon. We soon established a close bond – if at minimum to fight the pervasive attacks of grits in the breakfast line every morning. But like most college students we began to discuss classes. We both had recently completed Political Science/Philosophy classes on Utopian Societies and one lunch we debated which Utopian Society was better (our initial stipulation was that no Utopian society could exist given human nature but ignoring that fact . . .). It was a pure philosophical argument.

Imagine my surprise when the two of us were instructed to go to the company commander’s office. Off we went to sit quietly in the day room until summoned. After a long delay we met our Company Commander (a man we seldom saw). He then informed us that we had been identified as “subversives”. We were shocked and could not respond. We were further told that we had been heard openly supporting Communism. We were stunned. Thinking hard we remembered our philosophical debate and started to explain ourselves. The Company Commander began to interrupt with a series of questions that turned more challenging and philosophical. It turns out our Company Commander was a Boston College graduate with a degree in Political Science and we spent a good portion of the afternoon having an animated discussion.

That was one bullet dodged but not the only one.

Having been commissioned a Lieutenant I eventually had to attend a delayed Military Intelligence Officer Basic Course. The course had no days off except one three day weekend between the Basic part of the basic course (how to be an officer without tripping over yourself) and the specialty part of the course (Tactical Intelligence). A three day weekend was defined as being off from noon on Friday and having to return on noon on Monday. That’s 72 straight hours off and 72 straight hours is three days, right?

A bunch of coastal guys decided that we had to see an ocean so we thought it reasonable to drive for ten hours to San Diego; crossing one of two shifting sand deserts in the US and the continental divide in an AMC Pacer. On the way up the mountain the thermometer broke and on the way down the brakes broke. In the days before bank cards this left us broke.

Still, we pooled resources and in a weird corruption of the current Army Slogan we decided to “Tour more before nine than most people do all day”. At both The San Diego Zoo and Sea World we were met by well tanned and buxom young lasses inviting us to a Sunday Lunch. So, on Sunday, broke and hungry (I was engaged by then so I was just hungry I believe my compatriots may have been horny) we headed off for our free lunch.

Imagine our surprise when we showed up to lunch and the buxom babes were not to be seen, just orange robed, bald headed Hare Krishnans. Still, we were broke and we decided to break bread. I have a fair guess that we were the only group of Intelligence Officers to go as a group to a Hare Krishna dinner. We had a great time, chatting, debating and eventually dancing.

A Hare Krishna dinner ends in a ever quickening dance/chant. The belief is that through the concentrated joy of the dance chat you achieve enlightenment. I suspect that through the aerobic workout and constant chant you achieve an oxygen deprivation buzz. However, we fine examples of manhood were running five miles a day in the high Sonoma desert (over a mile high) and there was no way we were going to be oxygen deprived at sea level. So as the Hare Krishnans began to drop out we continued to accelerate, chanting what had up to now been John Lennon Lyrics.

Fortunately I was blessed with two left feet and rather than trip myself and others I dropped out, taking one of my fellows with me. We observed that the remaining Krishnans were getting more winded as the remaining two officers were now adding a jig steps to their dance routine. We realized that the Krishnans were attempting to keep up with us now and despite their mellow nature were determined not to be out nirvana’d. With some effort we signaled the remaining two to politely retire from the floor. Everyone having caught our breaths we politely thanked our hosts, regretted our lack of a fealty to Krishna and left for one last prowl of the town before returning to Arizona.

Shortly after our return to more militaristic pursuits the four of us were summoned to our Company Commander and to sit quietly in the Company day room. We were told not to discuss the issue among our selves. Having not been told what the issue was we suspected that we were to be chastised for our unprofessional appearance on Monday at 11:59 in rumpled uniforms (we had changed into our Friday uniforms in the wide windows of the pacer as we negotiated a Tucson traffic jam).

Imagine our surprise when we were asked why we shouldn’t lose our security clearances after joining a subversive group. A loss of clearances meant a transfer – probably to the Infantry and retaking the Officer Basic Course and a further separation from my fiancée. We attempted to explain, defend and otherwise enlighten our Company Commander. Our attempts were falling on deaf ears when someone blurted out the truth “they had hot babes”.

Apparently, Army Intelligence officers are allowed to do rather stupid things if a potential capture and interrogation of the enemy sex is attempted or anticipated. The remaining discussion centered on a boy’s club discussion and our chagrined at finding orange robed Krishnans rather than disrobed women. We were told to be more careful and find saner women. We never told this officer that one of the four of us was a Buddist – a fact all four of us decided not to reveal based on the CO’s basic refusal to recognize any value in experiencing different cultures.

Oh, they reinstated the selective service registration. They caught up with me and I was instructed to register or face penalties. I do not agree with the selective service laws as written. I feel that selective service should register both sexes (I knew plenty of women in the military that were far more impressive than the men) and should offer an out for service that is non-military. I also don’t have a problem of two years of Service being required – we are a community and a community requires participation and vesting.

Still, I strongly object to the selective service registration rules as written and am stubborn enough to refuse to register. I tried to ignore the requests but they did not go away. So I wrote the selective service folks a letter and simply stated “I do not feel it appropriate to register for the selective service.” I typed the letter on company (HQ Co, 826 MI BN) stationary and signed the letter 1st Lt Robert D. Porell, MI, USAR. I never did tell them why I felt it inappropriate. And, come to think of it, they never asked.

Job Hunt Update

Yesterday, while preparing for interviews at one company I saw by the spy phone that the other company I had interviewed with was calling.

Companies only call with good news so I eagerly answered the phone. It was not good news. OK, maybe not horrible news. I did not get the job but they were very impressed and were forwarding my resume to another area in the company.

I do understand why he felt that was “good” news but getting kicked in the balls and being told that “at least I didn’t get both testicles” is a rather unwelcome message.

So, with that to cheer me up, I started to prepare for the Cub Scout crossover ceremony that night. My speech was well received there. Maybe that was because I abandoned my prepared comments on the way up and spore more or less extemporaneously. Something a bit more upbeat and involving the kids. Also a couple of allusions for the adults that sailed over the kids heads. Nothing slascious, jst self depricating. I'll be opening in the coconut room on Tuesday.

We try to tell the Boy Scouts that false enthusiasm can mask many sins – here was living proof. Except for Tim no one knew that I did not want to be there. Leadership is also doing what is right rather than what is convenient (if any of you scouts have found this blog you better get that message).

After the meeting a Boy Scout was angling with Tim to get his endorsement for senior Patrol Leader. His angle was to denigrate the other contenders by pointing out their failings. When pressed, he failed to comprehend that he shared in the failings. Needless to say he was not getting an endorsement.

I only mentioned this because that Scout showed up in a dream last night. {OK, that is a sentence a scout leader should never write.} This boy was my co-worker as a parking lot attendant (in the dream if you aren’t following). When my back was turned he lobbied for a better job and became my supervisor. When I confronted him he headed into the office leaving me to do all the parking lot work.

Way to get psyched up for an interview.

Despite this I was boffo in the interviews. It’s for a job I could really do in a business culture I am familiar with. I was very much at ease and could easily discus the subjects at hand. Plus I didn’t use the word boffo or any swears, which had to be good. I would not be surprised with a second set of interviews. Then again, I would not be surprised if I didn’t – it is such a weird job market these days.

When I got home there was a message from a recruiter at my old company. They wanted to set up a screening interview. I was a bit shocked by that as I have worked with most of the management of the area and didn’t think a screening was required. However, the job is to support a big government contract and they wanted to know if I had Government/Military service (yes) was honorably discharged (yes – they’d do anything to get rid of me) and whether I am a US Citizen (unless Mom and Dad have a shocker for me I am pretty sure I am).

So as usual, the week ended looking up. At least I’m not looking up for the usual reason – I’m passed out on my back on the floor (OK – if there is a recruiter reading this – that was humor. It was poor humor, but humor nonetheless.

TTFN.