Friends? Indeed!

“Whoa, Dad, you have no friends!” my son informed me last night when he was helping sign me up for a new Facebook group he’s created (Let’s Bring the Space Shuttle to Boston).

Really, it’s not “no” as in “none,” I said in my defense. To me, there’s a whole bunch of folks. It’s just that in contrast to his teen-aged sphere of influencers, or his mother’s expansive social circle, my collection of friendly faces is rather anemic.

But I can live with that. For me, on a personal level at least, having the time and bandwidth to keep track of 10 or 20 or 50 people is plenty. (At work it’s a very different story, where we measure our “friends” by the thousands.) In fact, whether at work or at home, it’s all about why you want to stay in touch and how much effort you want to put in.

For my son, FB is a platform to share comments, crack wise, and otherwise connect with his buddies from school, his ham radio club, assorted astronomers, family members, and others. FB is the flip side of text messaging, with the bonus of links and images.

My wife uses FB for business and pleasure, swapping PR pointers as well as pointed comments with several hundred acquaintances, from the governor to fabled Red Sox players, local media types, and many more. She works at it, and her network works for her. That’s as it should be.

My sister, a rather late adopter of the site, now trolls FB in search of old classmates, workmates, and others from her past. She thinks it’s funny that I don’t much care about these bygoners. I’m OK with that. My brother too has built an impressive network, mostly to promote his documentary and his varied music and media interests. Good for him.

Social media is all about what you need and what you’ve got to give in return. And, of course, who’s on the other end of the line. It’s public platform versus personal touch. So if you’re looking for me on Facebook, I’ll be there when I have something to say to my friends.


P.S.: If you’re reading this, you might notice that it’s been a while since I last checked in. Heck, sorry, I’ve been busy. Since that last item was about summer on the beach, let’s just pretend I wrote it the other day and here I am again today. Welcome back!

Eleuthera Diaries

NO NEWS -- The world’s troubles are playing themselves out in several notable ways here on Eleuthera. The sun may be shining, but there are dark clouds here as well.

The Nassau Guardian daily newspaper has cut off delivery of the daily paper to Eleuthera, and presumably other of the Out Islands. In announcing the change, the paper acknowledged that the cost of ferrying small batches of papers to these not-so-remote outposts had become prohibitive. The news is available online, they said, repeating an all-to-common alternative.

This raises a number of troubling issues. For any of the Out Islands, they are now yet one more step removed from the parliamentary processes that govern them. With limited television and radio news as well, the daily paper was a way for locals to stay on top of the news of their nation that could impact their lives and livelihoods.

On a much more local scale, the demise of the newspaper amounts to a further isolation for one elderly Eleutheran woman who’s “job” it was to deliver the papers to her friends and neighbors. At age 80+, you’d think perhaps she would have easier things to do than drive around with the paper. But it connected her and, by extension, others in the community who relied upon her arrival each day. Certainly the word-of-mouth news system will remain intact, as it has been for generations. But that’s no substitute for the real thing.

What alternative do the locals have for information. Well, radio and TV will provide some of that – though most people get their TV by satellite, which means they don’t necessarily get Nassau TV. As for a local newspaper, there is the Eleutheran, the local monthly newspaper… though it is spotty. Word at The Market grocery story is the February edition has yet to be published and the month is half gone.

As for the Internet – well, yes, the Guardian and the Eleutheran are available online. But online is off limits to many people on this island. And so they rely on word of mouth – or they remain not-necessarily blissfully ignorant.


LOCAL OPPORTUNITY – One bit of silver lining in the dark clouds of the world’s economic meltdown that is touching this island is there is suddenly an opportunity to strike a new balance between natives and foreigners.

While Eleuthera has been here for centuries, it didn’t arrive on the modern map until the 1950s and ‘60s, when American capitalists like Juan Tripp of TWA, Arthur Vining Davis (Alcoa Aluminum), several Boston financiers, and others “discovered” it and planted the flag of development in the pursuit of luxury living. These men built a resort, golf course, and airstrip on the southern end of the island, and then invited their rich friend to come on down. That spurred a bit of a boom that, despite ups and down, has proceeded fairly smoothly for years. Club Med came (and was later washed out by a hurricane). British royals including Lord Mountbatten and Princess Diana parked their beach umbrellas on Windemere Island, the same beach I am overlooking as I write this. Then came Lucy Baines Johnson… and more recently, Mariah Carey. The story is the same in other parts of this island, notably Harbour Island at the far northern tip of Eleuthera, which is like the Hamptons of the Bahamas. Basically, wealth brought the wealthy, and that paved the way for more average types who could afford the million-dollar price of home ownership or the more reasonable rates at various small resorts.

This set up the familiar push/pull of prime real estate that once was the native environment of locals who, on their own, hadn’t the means to do more than eke out a living from the sea or the land, but who were graced with easy access to the natural resources and considered them available for all to share. But as developers bought up oceanside parcels, sliced them into houselots, and put up fences and gates, slowly the locals have been losing their access to the water. Pristine stretches of beach that once were gathering spots for family Sunday picnics or Friday-night fish fries have been taken off the local map. And where once a small cinderblock house at waters edge meant an easy place to put in your skiff to catch some fresh fish or dive for lobster, today that location is impossible to find, and the locals are being forced inland and out of sight.

But as the world credit markets have ground to a halt, so has nearly all development on this island. Talk with a local and the list of developments that are stalled slips easily off their tongue – Cotton Bay, Sky Beach, a Kerry-Heinz condotel here on Windemere (yes, apparently THAT Kerry-Heinz).

That means two things for the locals. Most critical is the obvious loss of income. No new houses means no construction jobs. And what work there is now pays a lot less. Carpenters and masons who, a year ago, earned $150 a day, now have to settle for $90, if they can get work at all.

But the upside here is that land values are falling too and so, for anyone with some money to invest, it is a good time to buy.

How does that help the locals? Beyond the obvious wishful thinking of “when this crisis turns around” there is another opportunity at hand. A local consortium is pulling together investors to purchase land and build affordable, good-quality homes for locals in an entrepreneurial-cum-economic-development model. Because the price of construction will be lower (by 30 or 40 percent), people who have solid jobs and good credit will have a chance to get out of the rental market and make an investment in a more stable future for themselves. The construction jobs will put food on local tables and money into local stores. And, along the way, some of the land being targeted for this project could end up reestablishing locals’ connection and access to the beach.

ENTREPRENEURIAL SPIRIT – Shaun Ingraham is a man of many hats and abilities. Member of a long-upstanding Eleutheran family, Shaun is like so many others who live in rural or isolated locales – in a word, he’s industrious. Success for him is measured in a variety of ways. In more or less equal parts, Shaun is a carpenter, construction foreman, property manager, social entrepreneur, civic activist, fundraiser… A natural networker and an actual minister, he is the sort of fellow that inspires others to help out in whatever way they can because they believe in him as much as they believe in his cause(s).

Shaun has his hands on many projects. He is overseeing the comings and goings of tourists at a few rental villas. He is managing the construction of a new vacation home. He is nearing completion on a year-plus community project to fund, build, equip, and man a new fire and rescue station for South Eleuthera, complete with modern fire truck, ambulance, and all the latest disaster equipment, for which he has done fund raising both on and off island. (Through a typical networking connection, he was paired up with New York City firefighters, who have helped provide equipment and training.) He is the linchpin in a program to bring nursing students and faculty from his alma mater, Emery University, to the island to run medical clinics and to provide on-site certification training for local nurses so they don’t have to leave the island to advance their careers. He is spearheading the aforementioned low-cost home building project. And when duty calls, he does disaster relief work in several third-world countries through the World Council of Churches and Habitat for Humanity and continues to work on fund raising activities for these efforts.

He’s a pretty well-rounded guy, who in conversation can switch from his appreciation for smart TV shows like Boston Legal and Big Love, his appreciation for Facebook, to his insights on his current reading matter – Team of Rivals, the book about Lincoln’s cabinet choices that Barack Obama credits with part of his political strategy. He can go from amusing exchanges about the weather (usually the benefits of his versus yours) to savvy views on the global business and cultural impact of Diageo, the international beverage conglomerate, or Chinese labor policies. He is a unique combination of local and worldly – his love for his home island is genuine, he views of it far beyond parochial, his horizon somewhat infinite.

BEACH READING – Having left John Adams at home (too heavy to lug on the plane) and having ripped through a Stone Barrington detective novel, I’ve picked up Herman Wouk’s classic Don’t Stop the Carnival for a second read. It’s an entertaining story, and in these uncertain times, gives one a good reason to think about career and life trajectories. There could be worse things than packing up, moving to a tropical island, and running a beach hotel and bar…

New year... new beginnings

I realize it has been a long time since I checked in here. Not that I haven’t wanted to… just have been mighty distracted. But so much for excuses… here are a few random thoughts rattling around in my mind:

Obama’s debut – Like the rest of the liberal-media-elite world, I was captivated by the quiet drama of Inauguration Day—the pomp, the speeches, the benedictions, the hats… President Obama hit the right tone in his address and demeanor. Mrs. O stood by her man, looked great (until about midnight, when she started to wilt), and set a new standard of class and cool for Washington and the nation. The children were cute. The crowds we awe inspiring. And yes, it was good to see George W ride off into the sunset.

Caroline, uh-oh – I’m glad Caroline Kennedy withdrew from the N.Y. Senate contest. She was getting chewed up in the media. It became clear she isn’t fit—or doesn’t have the right team behind her—to get into the rough-and-tumble of politics. Besides, I stick with my earlier thoughts on her: she’s much better suited to play the part of a guardian angel, swooping in to shine a spotlight on and perhaps disperse some money to worthy causes. The world remains her stage—as long as she doesn’t retreat from the edge of public exposure she has just gained.

The economy, stupid – All I can say is, god help us. Every day it’s another gut-grabbing bit of grim news. I know in my heart that it will subside and turn around someday. But man, it’s tough sledding on the way down the hill.

Spygate 2009 – The news that the NSA was listening in on all of us Americans all the time is no surprise… and that’s an absolutely horrible thing to think on many many levels. Meanwhile, I wonder if I said or wrote anything that got me on a list somewhere…

Cold shoulder – I am officially sick and tired of the weather here in Boston. Sure, it’s worse further north. But I have the good sense not to live in the arctic (which apparently now starts around Minneapolis). I am looking forward to February break in the Bahamas. And I’m having a harder and harder time convincing myself that telecommuting from the tropics—or opening a beach-bum business somewhere south of here—is not an idea whose time has come.

The Christmas Letter

Maybe it’s the crowd I run with. Maybe it’s a sign of our times – whether economic or digital. But I miss the tradition of the Christmas Letter.

When I was a boy, one of the favored holiday treats – not quite up there with my mother’s Vanilla Kipferln cookies or my Grossmama’s precious packages of Julius Meinl chocolate wafers from Vienna , but surely on a par with the Advent wreath and singing carols by the piano – were the holiday cards that arrived with a family letter. These missives from people my parents knew from The War or from my dad’s Harvard days, but we kids only knew through their annual dispatches, were a window into another world, one of privilege, access, and refinement – or at least (even to our impressionable young minds) to pretenses thereof.

Imagine, if you will, the voice and manner of Thurston B. Howell III (from TV’s Gilligan’s Island) recounting his clan’s far-flung and glamorous exploits from the year past, recited in a warm yet holier-than-thou tone: “Susie polished her tennis game this summer, making it to the top of the Juniors Ladder at the club. Stanford will be lucky to have her next fall!” “Tommy Jr. spent his sophomore semester abroad at Colgate’s little outpost in Kitzbuhl, brushing up on his Deutsch (and his slalom skills!). Mitzie and I will be joining him there after the holidays for a week on the slopes.” “Caroline is a shoe-in for valedictorian this year at Lawrence – nothing but straight A’s for our little scholar!” “We made the most of the summer on the Vineyard… sailing nearly every day with our friends Willard and Diana, and toasting the sunsets from our verandah, martini in hand.” “The only thing better was our two weeks in Florence in October – my golly, the art, the architecture, the opera… divine!”

These weren’t the only such letters that arrived, naturally. Other old friends kept tabs with notes and photos of their trips, their children’s successes, their personal bests. And usually with a little less one-uppitiness. (In fact, my mother received just such a letter the other day, from a cousin who recounted in six pages of fine detail his 5-month retirement trip by ship from the Arctic to Antarctica. "Myamar is so much better than Thailand," he says. So apparently, the artform is not altogether dead.)

Touching base

I was reminded of these annual looks back as we spent part of the past two nights hurriedly scribbling cards and sticking on stamps to get our holiday wishes in the mail before the 24th. I was thinking about was how the form has changed, even if the desire to share has not. Today, we’re ever-more instant in our personal reportage. Ace your golf game – text-message your buddy to rub it in. Get your homework done in a flash – IM a friend to check in. Have photos of the big fish that didn’t get away – post ‘em on flickr. Have an idea? Blog it. All of the above… put it on Facebook.

It’s not that we’re communicating less. It’s just that our personal news comes and goes in bits and sound bites now. We share it quickly, like a hot potato, as if by letting the moment simmer it will lose value. That we might pause and reflect on our comings and going is, like, too much effort, too much looking back and not enough “what’s next?”.

So, I miss the annual ritual of reflection that came in those cards. I regret that we too did nothing more than “touch base” this year as we whirled through the address book to get cards in the mail. If anyone reads this blog and remembers – remind me next year to put it in a letter.

The next Kennedy

The news that Caroline Kennedy might enter the political arena as the next Senator from New York, replacing Hilary Clinton, has me feeling mixed emotions.

Ever since she chose to steer clear of direct public exposure—choosing to work on the sidelines, but in enough public view to maintain her visibility and clout—I have been among the ranks who are inspired by her example, her decision not to get down in the trenches, her … well … unique separateness. It has been, I think, a source of her strength as well as a big part of her continuing mystique. She’s not a dilettante. She chooses her battles, and wages them quietly but effectively, whether for the New York education causes or as head of Barack Obama’s vice-president search committee. And despite the extraordinary push/pull that must always be there in the Kennedy family to assume one’s place in public life, she has kept her distance and led a quieter life.

Now, whether because of Ted K being on the wane or because of the inspiration of Obama, or maybe because her kids are grown and she can more freely devote herself to life in Washington, Caroline Kennedy seems ready to step up to the plate.

Don’t get me wrong. I have always thought of her as the most capable of the extended collection of Kennedy and Shriver kids. I don’t know her, and have absolutely nothing but her public persona to go on, but I just feel that she stands head and shoulders above the rest of her family’s generation.

But do I want to see her go into public office… to run for public office… and all that entails? I just don’t know… Yes, I would like to see her rise up and carry on the work and champion the causes that her uncle is beginning to relinquish. There is no one else who could do that (conversely, I shudder at the speculation that Ted is positioning wife Vicki as heir apparent for his Massachusetts seat). Our the country could be a better place for having Caroline Kennedy on the Senate floor. In fact, much of the world would cheer her arrival in our legislature and as a presence on the world stage. Her stature is simply that great.

Yet, I wonder if she could do just as much good off the campaign trail—step up her public prominence, perhaps, maybe assume a leadership role on some national or global foundation. Maybe I just have trouble dispelling the image of the little girl playing under the desk, who grew into the graceful person she seems today. She’s a quiet force right now. Does she really need to join the fray of public politics?

Old home week

Lately I’ve been mulling the notion of home and one’s sense of place …

As part of its 50th anniversary celebration, our historic neighborhood association is hosting a performance this weekend by internationally known storyteller Jay O’Callahan, who grew up in our neighborhood and has based a number of his most popular stories on his escapades and observations of growing up here in the 1940s to early ‘60s.

Meanwhile, our family is preparing for a trip to my hometown to visit my mother, who herself is at this moment down in South Carolina visiting my sister and her partner, who moved from St. Thomas to horse country this past spring. It’s been ages since I was in Erie last; the visits are way too infrequent for my mother’s liking, though for me the place changes so little from one trip to the next that it is so fixed in my mind that it is easily visited in memories.

And… my wife and I are going through our own mental exercise of considering how long to stay in our current home versus packing up and downsizing our family unit to smaller, more manageable digs. (There’s nothing like a coming winter and an economic calamity to get you thinking about having someone else shovel the sidewalk—or better still, sweep up the sand and palm leaves!).

And … at work we’ve been spending a lot of time researching 50+/senior-lifestyle subject matter as grist for possible publications and website work. The world of 50+ is a land of man opportunities right now… as a business market, as a social landscape, as a destination that is approaching fast.

Anyhow, in our neighborhood—known as Pill Hill for the many doctors who settled here at the turn of the 19th century and filled with grand Victorians and other many-roomed manses (the O’Callahan’s house has 35!)—homes rarely change hands. Until just the past few years, almost no one left their house standing up, as they say—that was the case for our home, and with any number of others around us. Certainly the burgeoning options for senior citizens (assisted living, continuum communities, and the like) is starting to cause a shift, but even then, many of the most recent expatriates have stuck pretty close to home turf as they have downsized to condos and apartments on the fringes of our neighborhood. As a result, they maintain their friendships with former neighbors nearly as much as if they still lived around the corner.

As we prepared for tomorrow night’s performance, and a reception afterwards at the former O’Callahan house, the old-timers have surfaced in great numbers and will be driving in from across town, down on the South Shore, and other parts. I know of at least one native who is actually flying “home” from California for the event! Along the way, I’ve heard interesting stories from some of them as I’ve taken their ticket orders—this one grew up next door to the O’Callahans and remembers watching the children playing in the yard (a yard designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, no less!); another one bought the house from the O’Callahans and raised her children there over 10 years, surviving a major fire and lord knows what else; still another was a cohort of Jay’s and factors into a few of his storied exploits; still one other revealed that she is guardian of a fabled cookie recipe of a long-passed O’Callahan neighbor (also central to a story or two) and asked if our caterer would object if she baked a batch for the occasion.

Anyhow, I think you get the drift… it’s a neighborhood in the truest sense. It has history. It has a back-story. It has its characters, its clashes, its gossips, its rivalries, its rules and formalities (heck, at the annual Christmas party, everyone wears nametags, even though most of them have known each other for 40 years). It has secrets that some of us newcomers will never live to know.

Except for the well-to-do-Bostonian part, it reminds me of the community in Downeast Maine where my wife and I owned a house for a number of years. There they refer to you as “from away” if you aren’t a second or (better) third or fourth generation local. You could be accepted—to a cautious degree—by evidence of your hard labors on your property and your willingness to engage in the social mix (mostly man-to-man talk, and woman-to-woman). But basically you would forever be “from away.”

All this is rattling around in my head because I recognize myself as one of those tail-end baby boomers who is somehow, somewhat rootless. It wouldn’t have done to stay in my hometown after high school—the options were just too limited, then and today. And Cleveland didn’t quite cut it when I finished college. Though I’ve lived in Boston for more than 35 year, I’m not sure I feel “from here” either. Maybe it comes from reading too many travel magazines and watching too many episodes of “House Hunters” and “Bizarre Foods.” I can see myself, our family, living someplace else. And in these anxiety-fueled days of uncertain finances and unstable employment (not to mention bio/nuclear terror, global warming, pesky Russians, killer Koreans, irrational Iranians, mooses, and other things that keep Sarah Palin up at night), I find myself thinking about starting over in somewhere that’s cheaper, warmer, simpler, and offers a bit more peace-of-mind. (Call now if you know where that is…operators are standing by! And no, Margaritaville doesn’t count.)

Then I think of a gathering like what will happen tomorrow night—200 friends and neighbors coming together to celebrate their unique sense of community and collective history—and I wonder what I would miss, what our son will have traded off when he looks back on now from his future self, by picking up and moving on.

(Spooky end note – I just noticed that the streaming radio station—reallymusicradio.com—I’ve been listening to has been playing a succession of “movin’ on” songs. The last one had a refrain that caught my ear: “time to leave .. it’s hard to care.” Ooooooeeeeee! Time to sign off!)

I stand corrected

Alright, I stand corrected... Nastia Liukin has a busier and brighter future than I predicted in yesterday's post. According to the Associated Press, she plans on competing for the world gymnastics title in London next year. She's also in line for a US Weekly cover shoot, another magazine shoot with tennis ace Maria Sharapova, and possible TV show appearances and a modeling career. OK, so I was a little hasty... good for her!

Olympics observations

I understand that NBC is somewhat beholden to the schedule of events in Beijing, but after a week and a half of Olympics on our household’s schedule, it would seem as if the only events taking place in China are swimming, gymnastics, women’s beach volleyball, and boxing. Why? Because except for over the weekend, our only time to watch is during evening hours, and the network is covering the same set of events nearly every night. Yes, they’ve successfully built up the drama of Michael Phelps’ medal chase, and Shawn & Nastia vs. the Chinese Children, but it’s come at the expense of many other sports and other worth athletes getting their shot at primetime.

Sure, I’ve gotten to see Michael Phelps win all eight of his medals (it seems like even more, given all the replays), but, really, swimming isn’t THAT interesting.

Women’s volleyball has earned my respect, however. Looking way past the clothing questions (why is it that men can compete in t-shirts and shorts but women need bikinis?), it really is a fast and difficult sport. (For the most in-your-face example of why bikinis and beach volleyball are a match made in guy heaven, see the Cracking the Code photo gallery at NBC.com. No ifs, ands, or butts about it!)

Most impressive events that I’ve seen – badminton, women’s trampoline, steeplechase in the pouring rain, team handball.

What I have yet to catch a glimpse of – the Cuban baseball team, U.S. men’s basketball, table tennis, archery.

What I don’t need to see more of – cycling marathon, marathon running, boxing… oh, and swimming.

An equity question: The NBC anchors so blatantly love U.S. gymnast Shawn Johnson, at the expense of Nastia Liukin, that it borders on rudeness and vaguely nationalistic. (The live commentators/analysts are better – they call the action as they see it.) A few nights ago, when both women were being interviewed by Bob Costas after the all-around finals, he did everything but elbow Liukin out of the way to lob flattering questions to Johnson – even though Liukin had won more and higher medals. And the camera operators are just as bad, doing frequent, adoring close-ups of All-American-pixie Johnson with her button nose and freckles.

By contrast, Liukin is so focused and steely – so stereotypically Russian – most of the time that she’s not instantly loveable. She also is a victim of bad political timing, now that the Putin Party is starting a new Cold War in Europe. Despite her own electric (though fleeting) smile and the fact that she’s won more big medals than her teammate, Nastia isn’t Apple Pie American enough to grab the spotlight away from Sweetheart Shawn.

You can already write the next chapter for both women – Liukin will follow in mom and dad’s footsteps, fading into obscurity (outside the elite gymnastics world) to become a coach to future athletes, while Johnson will get the product endorsements, the “Tonight Show” appearance, the profile on “Nightline,” the Gym Stars world tour…

Meanwhile, Michael Phelps’ face, geeky ears and all, already adorns ads for Omega watches, Visa, Speedo, and soon, Pizza Hut (huh?). I do like the fact that he’s endorsing Frosted Flakes instead of Wheaties. There’s, um, nothing like a hefty dose of sugar to help you fly through the water, I guess.

So, does that leave room for Misty May on the Wheaties box? Probably not in a bikini…

Nature of things

I haven’t written lately because, well, I’ve been busy. And now is supposed to be those lazy days of summer?? Apparently not.

Recent highpoints:

Work has had its ups and downs. On the downside – it’s budget time again and I had to come up with a 10% cut to keep pace with rising paper and ink prices, shrinking circulation, and other things out of our control. Painful, yes, but also a healthy exercise in product evaluation and quality control. On the upside, I was able to preserve the status of my most key personnel; I happily gave a glowing evaluation to a critical staff member; and today we got an RFP from one potential client, a “next steps” request from another, and an important commitment from an existing client. Not bad for a day’s work.

This is a busy period for my wife – a couple of those out-early-home-late performance weeks where she’s juggling back-to-back events, multiple press interviews and media queries, live performance photo shoots, and client visibility. She recently switched to a new web-enabled cell phone (a pocket-sized computer, really) that gives her mobility whole monitoring the several hundred e-mails she gets daily (plus weekends), and it’s already paid for itself in terms of flexibility. Now she can actually drive home from work (15 minutes) and deal with 30 or 40 e-mails before she walks in the front door. Or, if duty calls, she can book a newspaper interview from her beach chair—though she’d prefer to leave the thing at home rather than risk dropping it in the sand. In today’s anytime-anywhere now-now-now mode, that amounts to major progress.

I’m looking forward to early August, when we decamp to the Cape for two weeks. Nick will be in camp there (his annual infusion of rifle and arrow shootin’ and sailing), and while it’s absolutely not vacation time for either Kathy or me, there is a healthier pace to our life. I get to walk the dog in the early morning (something I don’t even consider at home, even though I get out of bed at the same hour either way). My “desk” is our outdoor dining table on our screened-in porch (Kathy opts for the indoor laptop and the AC). We have wireless Internet, a good printer, cell phones, and FedEx knows where we live. We haven’t figured out how to make this a permanent live/work location, but we’re considering the angles. Anyhow, I get a ton of work done on the porch and I get to hear the birds chirp – a win-win.

In non-work life, I have poison ivy for the second time since Memorial Day. Serves me right for trying to improve our view at the Cape. I don’t know where the poisonous plant was that I touched, but I’ll tell you this: Those recent reports about rising CO2 levels from global warming causing poison ivy to flourish – I believe them. Pretty soon, I’ll be like that boy in the bubble, never leaving the house without long sleeves and gloves, then stripping down to my skivvies using rubber gloves and tongs, and washing everything with Technu (I wonder if they make it in “fresh” scent?). Then again, when I gaze over the cranberry bog across the road from our house, with its seasonal colors and soft contours, or see the stars and sky through the trees, I guess a little scratching is a small price to pay…

Speaking of nature’s modes of revenge, we have West Nile Virus/EEE mosquitoes in our Brookline neighborhood (everybody out of the pool!!); it’s tick season on the Cape; and the no-see-ums were out in force last weekend on the beach. On top of that, we have deer invading gardens in our neighborhood in Brookline and hordes of ravenous chipmunks devouring our tomatoes and digging holes in the yard on the Cape. And bunnies… lots and lots of rabbits this year. The only thing we haven’t had was the cicadas. This was supposed to be their big year (one in every 17, or something like that) and not a peep, or squeak, or whatever that sound is they make. Did they appear elsewhere and I missed out on the chorus, or are they waiting till there’s a new man in the White House and all’s right with the world?