Our Bubble

Today was an interesting day in that we finally admitted we live in a bubble.

There's been quite a bit of discussion about bubbles. Now Glinda arrived in a bubble so I am a bit torn here. (Glinda being the Good Witch of the South). There are many aspects to this whole bubble thing.

Our admission was because we were the only ones in the movie audience who did not applaud LaLaLand when it was finished. There were three of us and we just could not get that excited about it. It was obvious from the surrounding group along with critical and friends' reviews that we were definitely bubbleized.

Now we remember The Boy In The Bubble and how heroically he strove to emulate Pinocchio and be a real boy. Paul Simon memorialized him in song and perhaps we grew a little more accustomed to the bubble effect.

Then there are those economic bubbles. NASDAQ defines it as: A market phenomenon characterized by surges in asset prices to levels significantly above the fundamental value of that asset. Bubbles are often hard to detect in real time because there is disagreement over the fundamental value of the asset.

So what asset am I overvaluing in my own little bubble or am I just not in real time? Real time here in Miami Beach is regulated by ocean levels. If you haven't drowned it must not be 2020 yet. Or the asset whose elusive value beckons will make its appearance upon doing our taxes.

The symbol of a carefree life was once epitomized by frolicking with a plastic loop reshaping some glycerin solution into soapy spheres. Was that done in real time or was Rod Serling narrating in the background that we had lost all sense of sight and sound and of mind?

I feel like I'm in the fifth dimension sometimes. This is mainly because I don't get the first four.

A dangerous bubble is the one I ride in on Miami's highways. Foolishly I think that the farthest left lane is the passing lane and that the speed limit should be able to be measured on the dashboard without panic setting in. Here, and perhaps outside my bubble, lanes are considered 'opportunities' and speed limits are casual 'suggestions'. I take my bubble with me as a pedestrian because I need all the protection I can get.

LaLaLand was just a movie but this bubble thing is disturbing.

I mean the Jetsons were all about bubbles.

And they represented our wonderful future.

So I guess I will now try to shop for bubble accessories. Or perhaps I can convince the powers-that-be that my bubble is a service bubble and that I need it wherever I go.

Well, we know where we're goin'

But we don't know where we've been

And we know what we're knowin'

But we can't say what we've seen

And we're not little children

And we know what we want

And the future is certain

Give us time to work it out

We're on a road to nowhere

Come on inside

Takin' that ride to nowhere

We'll take that ride

Talking Heads

Road to Nowhere

What Will The MoldMan Do?

This has become a primary concern. We have decided to emphasize the 'apart' in apartment. The floor is apart; the cabinets will be coming apart; kitchen drawers come out when they feel like it; baseboards are also apart.

It was an idyllic day, or so we thought. Lazing in our retroment and thinking of our next cocktail/happy hour.

The reverie found competition from sounds in the hallway. This was not particularly unusual since in the past twelve months our balcony had been closed for building-wide repairs and the hallway had been dismantled because of several obscure reasons dealing with firecodes and fear of boomerang pushback. However as we left the safety of our bedroom we were in denial as we thought that sea level rise had made its ugly appearance a bit early.

Not quite the crimson tsunami of The Shining but definitely a laminar flow itching to become turbulent was proceeding along our small entrance hallway and eagerly seeking the living room.

“All hands on deck!” “Swab like your life depends on it!”...and other epithets echoed from our crew of two. Towels, robes, terrycloth cabana items were frantically thrown into the making of a temporary dam. But wait...there are two doors into the apartment from the hallway. Oh no! “Damn the dam and head for the kitchen!”

Opening the hallway door to check on the madness out there only gave the water better access. Who knew that dust-bunnies could surf?

Equipment not seen since The Empire Strikes Back began to appear as the troops bravely staunched and sopped. In our place we kept sneaking look's for Mickey/The Sorcerer's Apprentice.

Eventually the hallway pipe had been throttled. A plethora of trash buckets of water were now heading into Biscayne Bay, courtesy of #207. Four apartments took the brunt with the hallway beckoning the White Whale.

So the good news is that sea level rise has not accelerated but we think our insurance rates will.

As we have all come to realize, no one is responsible for anything in 2016. Floods happen.

So began the battle. Now, we have to say, we stand behind our staff here in the building (especially when they are in action) and that the hallway perpetrators were a company that was hired to deal with code irregularities and update existing configurations...ahem.

The next day our building manager came to our place to interview us and survey the damage. He brought with him a contractor who coincidentally worked for the water mitigation group associated with our hallway workers. This has led to a veritable parade of concerned professionals whose concern is evident upon entering but not even as redolent as burnt toast upon the morrow.

We have, soon to be had, laminate flooring in our place. It was very durable and we liked the way it looked. Water has a way of exploring.

For three days of unrelenting cacophony, humidifiers, who were the illegitimate children of Zambonis, reigned rampant in our little love nest. The curling began in two days. Gini tripped on one of the edges on the third day. With the removal of the water vapor eaters it only took a few more days before black stuff seeped through the seams. Squishing became ambiance.

The parade continued with experts. More hand held devices were whipped out and activated than all the Klingon/Borg/Romulan/Federation confrontations combined. Conclusion: “It's wet in here!”

So who is responsible? Oops, sorry! Judgment Tourettes unchecked there. I will try and do better.

Meanwhile, the black stuff continues to ooze as we pondered and waited. By the fourth contractor the advice of taking up the floor echoed. So I take up the floor by the hallway, in the closets, the kitchen and some of the dining room. Phone calls to the hand-held device wielders encouraged us that the mold reports were forthcoming (hack,hack...cough). A little more than a week after wielding and activation we are consoled that mold levels are “elevated” but not bubonic-like. Boy, that's a relief. But another “however”, the mold-clause in our homeowner's allows for mold removal regardless of mold concupiscence of any kind. Oh, btw, that means we tear apart your kitchen cabinets, baseboards, closet doors and neatly pile them in your living room for you to do with as you wish. We'll even “fix” them so you can put them back some day.

And then the moldman advance troop appeared. Confidently he proceeded with assuaging and mollifying as he wielded and pivoted...Was the floor torn up like this when the original measurements were taken? No. ...I am so sorry, mold perturbation is a serious issue. Were you hermetically sealed along with the affected region during de-flooring? This omission, I discover, is the equivalent of making our entire apartment a veritable Plato's Retreat for fungus. Fear of further wielding and pivoting lurks; the master air conditioning unit must be expurgated. Very small people need to be recruited and injected into our intake vents with swabs (wielding ensues).

As of this writing we have looked upon the event as an excuse to remodel the “apart”ment with the help of a line of credit and maybe even some insurance money. Oh yeah, porcelain tile is on the list.

Love That Carbonara

Greetings:

TV Guide actually outranked National Geographic in my childhood home. I do not remember seeing even a single issue of the latter strewn on any coffee or end table. Perhaps the au natural joie de vivre of the dancers from the Dark Continent were thought to be an intimidating temptation no Catholic-raised boy could resist without incident.

Nevertheless, there was an exalted aura to that little media magazine. A critic named Cleveland Amory would write a weekly review of some trending show (wait we didn't trend, we had 'fads' and 'hit series'). Every once in a while,

though, Mr. Amory's column would be supplanted by other literary genre such as a cooking recipe.

On one such occasion I espied a recipe for 'Spaghetti Carbonara'. ...I did not know much of the world then...it was a simpler time...little did I know that I knew so little about the pedigree of this dish. Had I been more aware I would have avoided the nagging existential choice of cream or no cream.

TV Guide not only advocated cream but also required the schmoozing of bacon grease with more respectable ingredients. Within a few short years this grease was rejected for the bounder that it was and nothing more was said of it again.

It would be with similar disdain that a modern Italian chef would rain on me for my continuous use of this despoiler (“Out, damn'd cream! Out, I say!”).

So now that I stand culinarily exposed before you, I will describe this proletarian pasta indulgence and you can do with it as you will.

Decades of requests for this dish and subsequent digestive onomatopoeia (love those four vowels in a row) have created a pseudo legitimacy and desirability of my carbonara. It was requested for our son and daughter-in-law's wedding; it gave Gini a well-rewarded night off from cooking; it generated molto requests for its construction.

To prepare for this certain expected and some choice components need to be assembled.

A pound of fresh linguine (I recommend 'Mr. Pasta''s in Miami Beach – your own if possible)

A half pound of bacon (the cognoscenti are grumbling at this point since pancetta would be their choice and guanciale for most of those who have not read this far)

Three eggs (fresh, fresh, fresh)

A cup of grated cheese (Yes, grate it yourself, parmiaggiano-regiano or pecorino or half cup of each)

A teaspoon of black pepper (freshly ground)

Cream (Did I say that? (Heavy or whipped will do)(Usually a bit less than a cup but you decide)

The complete recipe includes:

Yes, that would be shaken, not stirred.

As you have probably assumed there is a significant amount of grating and grinding involved. Get your bacon going first and then proceed to the grating and grinding. Should you go the pancetta or guanciale route you can wait a bit longer.

Crack ice, place in shaker, count to two for every interested party while pouring your favorite gin (Bombay would be ours) and acquaint the shaker with dry vermouth. Run some olives through with something a little more creative than a toothpick and pour over ice for the majority and straight up for the purists.

As you serve these frigid phenomena also hand out the pepper mill and that block of cheese and grater. It should be quite festive at this point but keep an eye on that bacon.

Start boiling your water and set aside a colander in the sink. Timing is going to be crucial. Get to know the people in your kitchen a bit better at this point but avoid religion and politics. Beat three eggs with a fork, add the cup of cheese as you continue beating and the cream. Gather the cooked bacon in paper towels and crumble. Briefly cook pancetta or guanciale and reduce to small pieces if you are going that route.

As the water reaches a boil throw in some kosher salt. If you have real fresh pasta you are limited to less than a minute to prepare for the chemistry that needs to happen.

You are essentially trying to cook the eggs with the hot pasta. Too much heat curdles/scrambles the eggs. Drain the pasta into the colander and quickly throw it back into the pot. Begin to pour the egg/cheese/cream mixture into it. Using a large fork and spoon, lift clumps of pasta through the mixture and coat as much of it as you can – like all of it. Do not do this over an electric burner that was turned off recently – curdle city. Throw in the bacon, mix, and sprinkle the ground pepper. People should, at this point, be scrambling for plates, silverware and wine glasses. Chianti will do just fine. Caesar salad would have been a nice request for those wishing to bring something.

As for the cream...Mangia bene, ridi spesso, ama molto...Buon appetito.

Couch Parenting in Portlandia

Now let us get something clear here. Portland is a bit different; a “horse of a different color” as the denizens of Oz might claim. In fact it's in the same area code. So when one sees “Couch” on the street sign, one quickly discovers that it is pronounced “Cooch”. Therefore the punning never ends here.

At one time the Baroness and myself could have passed for cognoscenti, stable citizens of the world. Portland has changed all that. How we came to be couch parents is a bit hazy. It just happened; couch parents happen.

Periodically we would de-couch. We initially tried familiar worlds we have known such as when we ventured out to a bakery for breakfast bagels. The clientele seemed comfortable, the fashion seemed nebulous, the ambiance was almost retro. Funky but within our weltanschauung (gezundheit!).

The Gay Pride Parade was family-oriented and joyful. This too was comfort food.

Not realizing what was looming, geographic orienteering seemed like the usual curiosity. The Willamette River became our orienting landmark in this city of roses and bridges. It divides the city into east/west. Burnside St provides the north/south demarcation. Chip and Alexa live in the SE quadrant in the Sellwood neighborhood near Milwaukie. Heel clicking will not bring you to Wisconsin or Kansas. They are excited about the new light rail station opening in a few months that will quickly connect them with downtown.

This is the most bike-friendly place we have ever seen in the US, not quite Amsterdam but close and pretty impressive. An amazing amount of streets have dedicated bike lanes while there is a bike trail (Springwater Corridor Trail) that runs for miles and miles through and away from the city. Chip and Alexa's backyard is a mini-bluff overlooking the trail.

Obviously this demanded bikes! Within 48 hours, thanks to Craigslist, 2 bikes, a pump, helmets and locks were obtained as housewarming gifts. Gini and Chris pedaled east towards Mt Hood on their first escapade:

There was actually a phase for bikes crossing on some of the traffic light cycles.

Other trips were taken along the Willamette towards downtown, then across the Steel Bridge whose lower level is dedicated to pedestrians, bicycles and trains. Cars dominate the upper level. Once across the bridge the world of food trucks becomes available. There are many dedicated lots throughout Portlandia for dozens of anchored trucks offering a choice of international cuisines. A few of our nights were just eating and hanging out with Portlandians at these sites.

One of our first entertainment outings was Soul Night. Arriving early was a great idea because, even though this was a weeknight, long lines quickly formed in hopes of being able to gyrate and strut to retro soul. The dance floor was packed, mostly with younger folk. The music was excellent in that it covered soul and rhythm/blues but was not the top 40 that you might remember but deeper cuts from that era. It was then that we met Kari who had known Chip and Alexa in Chicago and recently regrouped. The other tenants from Chip and Alexa's building also attended replete with James Brown buttons for all.

Many of our days included cavorting and frolicking with Kari.

Another regroup took place with a Newfound, NH graduate, Josh Larkin. He had graduated a year or two before Chip and had headed for the Pacific Northwest to ski and cast his fortune. Thirteen years later he and his partner Rhonda had established a business in Portland: Home Grown Apothecary.

 They had applied and received a medical marijuana license. The interior decoration provided a Victorian décor for clients to also peruse essential oils, teas, herbs and spices. As of October 1 of this year the license will also allow them to sell to anyone.

Just as in a doctor's office waiting area there was reading material. Snickering, as I recalled “High Times” and Head Comix, I thought it would be “cool” to read “Dope” magazine. Well, I might as well have picked up Scientific American since the technical jargon encompassed “receptor cells”, CBD, CBN and the familiar THC. Where have I been?

The Home Grown is eponymous. Another road trip brought us to Sandy, Oregon where Josh has his farm.

Josh took us to Clear Lake where we floated about on paddleboards, a kayak and a canoe. Mt Hood was breathtaking.

The couch awaited.

These volcano/mountains are a real signature for the northwest. They continued to make their appearance as we also traveled to Port Townsend, WA to visit Bonnie Masi who also hailed from the Newfound area. Mount Baker was the totemic icon this time.

Bonnie is a physical therapist in Port Townsend. This is a boom town from the 1890's that quickly lost its economy. For the past twenty years it has re-emerged as a healthy, cultural and artistic community where there is always something interesting to do. The victorian influence is strong with buildings from that era still preserved, maintained and utilized. Here is the B&B we stayed called the Quimper Inn and an example of a downtown building:

Bonnie outdid herself with entertaining us with dinner and a lunch. She also provided an interesting audience of friends to banter away the evening. The following morning we were also able to enjoy some outdoor music after a brisk walk on the shore of the Puget Sound.

The Columbia River Gorge, which divides Washington and Oregon, has some beautiful falls that we just started to explore. Here is one of the most dramatic but several will have to wait until our next visit:

And then there was bike smut. Who could pass up the opportunity to hang out with bike-riding, fun-loving Portlandians who have a penchant for cinema that depicts what can really happen in the world of biking? As a result, though, a bike repair shop and the accouterments of the trade will never look the same. Be still my derailleur.

Chip and Alexa took advantage of the recent bikes purchase to join in the Naked Bike Ride in Portland on a Saturday night. About 15,000 enthusiasts “protested” the indulgence of fossil fuels in exchange for fun and frolic au natural.

We had barely (sic) time to regroup to our couches before we all headed out for Sunday brunch at the Acropolis. This was a restaurant/bar that raised its own cattle, a la the Hilltop Steak House, charged $7 for steak and eggs and provided some dancing entertainment. It seems that clothing was considered optional by several of the employees but by now we just assumed it was Portland and sipped our brunch Bloody Marys.

The neighborhoods here are their own art form. It is not unusual to come to an intersection and the entire street is covered with a mural that spills onto the 4 incoming avenues:

There was definitely an otherworldliness to this experience (ya think?!) that may have been captured in one of the coffee houses:

That is not a mirror but a portal.

The trip had many other adventures that included rose gardens, Japanese gardens, Rhododendron gardens and more craftsman-style houses than anywhere we have ever seen. Alexa and Chip feel like they are among their peeps and we hope there will be a return visit. Chip is in a provisional job as a builder/foreman/designer and Alexa is headed for yoga instruction and whatever Portland offers her.

In all seriousness (whatever I am thought capable), Portland is the most egalitarian city I have experienced. There have been towns and communities that can make such a claim but we're talking about a major metropolitan area. Gini and I had watched the TV show Portlandia before arriving and our eyebrows were raised in a quizzical fashion. Keep 'em raised but know that everyone here thinks it's okay to do so.

Once In a Lifetime - Letting The Days Go By

Greetings-

Blog posts have now become less frequent than Mad Max movies but still a peculiar form of recidivism. Given that the blog was to be an exercise to ponder and express Baron and Baroness Von D'Lucci's Retroment, a recent incident has given cause.

Health and mobility seem to have risen to the top of the perspective charts. So trying to get one's life in perspective of the “long strange trip” seems to be less than monumental ...or necessary. One's beginnings, original game plan and current status might not provide the palette of a satisfying self-portrait, anyway. The aesthetic dissonance and ethical cacophony, alone, might generate complaints from neighbors, family or friends. The dying echoes of “Who cares!” would eventually fade in the presence of a whimsical smirk.

So I indulge my smirk. I always have.

Here are our heroes in their aurora glow:

Earth mother and her wayward son. Peace, love and birkenstock...don't Bogart that pose because no one remembers any of it anyway.

Yet I do remember Gini's gift of a Caribbean cruise being an existential dilemma for the socialist minded. There are also glimmers of Branch Street rallying of the Rodriguez Family. The Moody Blues provided idyllic ambiance to a simple life.

You would think after 10 years they could have done better than this:

Family life radically changed the game. In fact, it got pretty serious. Rodriguez was eventually subsumed by Von D'Lucci. The Talking Heads provided the beat, credit cards provided the cachet. The Circle Game was being elliptically morphed and AARP had more meaning than CREEP.

Living in a Miami Beach condo with a doorman, pool, Biscayne Baymbiance, and friendly fronds still has a jarring effect as the occasional flashback ebbs. How did I get here? My God...What have I done?

So now the glorious swan dive into the bourgeois bouillabaisse. Golf at the Biltmore!

Thanks to GolfNow.com, an affordable greens' fee made its appearance similar to the frequency of this blog's issuance. Gini was fully compliant.

In 1924, young land developer Merrick joined forces with Biltmore hotel magnate John McEntee Bowman at the height of the Florida land boom to build "a great hotel...which would not only serve as a hostelry to the crowds thronging to Coral Gables but also would serve as a center of sports and fashion.”

Johnny Weissmuller and Esther Williams were “employees”; trains from the NorthEast marqueed their locomotives with “Biltmore” instead of “Miami”. Thanks to a couple of partners in crime we have habituated High Tea, Sunday Brunch and afternoon mojitos at the Biltmore. Each visit would have a snooty moment of gazing at the golf course and sniffing the sour grapes of Shangdu. This would never be and...who cares anyway? Well, I guess we do and, oh, did we have fun:

Now about that yacht...

Continuity

Continuity

Recently in preparation for a summer reunion of the Lowell Tech chapter of Kappa Sigma Fraternity (Kappi Xi), an all-out effort was proposed to contact and encourage brothers that have not been seen or heard from in many years to attend the reunion. After several months of dedicated efforts among several of the brothers something became clear. Many of the newly contacted brothers were pleasant enough during the contact but were not going to come to the reunions. Others had just become impossible to get a response or even find where they are.

So perhaps what was seen to be as a desirable goal, that is everyone getting together to party the rest of our days, may not be so desirable to many. Community is often viewed as a visceral commodity. But who communes with whom may not be readily apparent. What was a “frickin' blast'"

in college is actually anathema to those not wanting to look in the rearview mirror of nostalgia and “foolish behavior”.

Retroment for the Baron and Baroness has been reflective of the Von D'Lucci community and family. This context existed before and it looks like, for us, will continue.

Since the sale of the barn in March, “Whither thou goest now?” has begged some form of an answer.

Granted Miami Beach is now “home”, hurricane season and high temps laced with high humidity provide an impetus to head north during the summer. New Hampshire summers and particularly the fall are world-class options. So rentals were arranged in the Newfound area.

There was a “Tenney Mountain Condo” sandwich between slices of Manor Estates. At the end of April the northward trek was undertaken with relatively few stops to arrive in time for our nephew's college graduation.

The condo at Manor Estates (see pic) provided an excellent venue for retromenting and just enjoying the view of Newfound Lake. However the monthly rent could not cover the weekly rate after June 1. Tenney Mt, an abandoned ski area with condo developments, provided a fiscally responsible alternative. After labor day Manor Estates would become available at the lower monthly rate and life would be autumnally rewarded with color and aqua-nimity.

But what about the meat of the sandwich? Our heroes just could not sit still. Not one, not two, but three two-week excursions were travelled. Retro-math yields the fact that six weeks were spent away from our rentals. Economic culpability begs an answer.

The quick response is that this is the first year of such activity, now that the barn is no longer ours. This is an experiment. Okay. Underlying this is a strong current of continuity. The barn was a nexus for the Newfound and Von D'Lucci families. Its physical absence is part of the hope-to-be-brave new world. How important is the convening of friends? Is dinner for two night after night such a bad thing?

The fortnight forays included a family reunion on Long Island; a fraternity reunion in Tully, NY; Manhattan; Fishkill, NY (twice); Annapolis; Norfolk, VA; Floyd, VA; Lewisburg, WV; Newcastle, Damariscotta, Boothbay and Searsport, ME; Bolton, MA.

Maintaining decades-long friendships would seem healthy and important. Getting thrown out for overstaying a welcome is not so healthy but also important.

Here is a sample of one of the journeys.

Which vehicle? The Element or the Camry? To spice it up we decided to trade both of them in for a 2012 Prius with just 18,800 miles on it. However we were leaving the next day and would have to use one of the older vehicles. The Camry would be ruled out because its odometer was at 99,000+ and would sell better with it under 100,000. So the Element it would be. Last heard from our friend the car salesman: “Take care of that car!”.

Manhattan would be our first stop to see Rick. W 71^st, one block from Central Park, is a fine destination. Emotional support for our friend as he closed his business and decided what to do next was also on the agenda. However we were not real excited about the crack in the windshield courtesy of a wayward stone in Connecticut as we parked by the apartment.

Rick and Gini decided to morph into mer-people as we discussed life at the fountain in Lincoln Center:

Crack and all, we headed for Annapolis, Maryland to see John and Diane. Thanks to the miracle of cellphones an appointment for replacing the windshield awaited us when we arrived.

John was the artist/craftsman who oversaw the renovation of the barn and construction of the hot-tub room. Chip's nom de guerre is Charles John. The 'John' being derivative and in thanksgiving for John's expertise, patience and loyalty.

Gini made a significant Facebook appearance piloting their boat on Chesapeake Bay:

Eating, of course, was also a big agenda item. We did take one evening off from cooking by eating at Wegman's. I love it. You pay by the weight of the food. A sight seeing trip to St Michael's provided another day's activity.

Then it was off to Floyd, VA. This is a town about 7 miles from the Blue Ridge Parkway. It thrives on music with a peak of FloydFest in July. Our friends Linda and Peter Baisley live in the area. Peter has a home overlooking the Shenandoah Valley. Linda has her own place and caretakes her 96 year old dad who is a neighbor. Touring, mountain-climbing and farm-to-table-dining were the highlights.

Mabry Mill

 Site of FloydFest in the Blue Ridge

Then it was on to Lewisburg, West Virginia. A former student, track athlete and good friend of Chip's, Luke, was getting married to Christine. They were going to have a variety of events. Thursday night was a meet and greet at an Irish pub in Lewisburg. Much to my surprise there were other Newfound graduates/track athletes, Seth and Carl. These guys had been a key part of the team in 2000 that finished third in the state championships; the highest of any team I have coached.

Touring the next day brought us to Greenbriar. This is a high end resort that caters to the PGATour and, historically, anybody who was anybody including the regularly visiting Duke and Duchess of Windsor. The 'Bunker' underneath the complex had originally been excavated to accommodate both houses of Congress during the years of the 'Red Scare'. Some reporter blew the whistle on its covert existence in the 70s and now serves as a tour stop of the grounds.

The next night was a hoedown at the local Elks Club. What a trip!

On Saturday we were all packed into buses and headed for Christine's family farm. Abandon cellphones all ye who enter here.

My heart swelled with pride at the fortunes of this young man. Christine is amazing and both families made sure everyone felt a part of what was goin' down.

At the party back in Lewisburg later an interesting event occurred. As some may know, Chris gave out a gift bag to certain graduates each year at Newfound. Key components were a couple of “Prole” t-shirts. These were shirts designed by Chris that embodied George Orwell's totalitarian world. The proles were a class of people who were 'under the radar' and seemingly not drawing Big Brother's attention. Luke, upon receiving his t-shirts and embarking on his college career at Boston College, decided he would propagate the Prole legacy and had hooded sweatshirts made. He proceeded to wear his for all of his years at BC.

Fifteen to twenty of the people at the wedding had or still had one of these sweatshirts courtesy of Luke. Upon arriving at the after-party I was wearing my Prole sweatshirt. This drew a little attention from some. One person in particular was commenting quite a bit on the whole Prole business. He was speechless and in denial when I announced that I was the designer. He settled into: “It's an honor to meet you”. I felt obligated to have a beer.

The next morning saw us driving across most of Virginia on a vector to Norfolk. Gini's 93 year old Uncle Buzz and cousins Mike and Mary awaited. This visit was like a grand bonus round. Mike and Mary are just great people. They are extremely intelligent and well read. So much so that I can't get away with any careless attempt at being clever. One has to be on one's toes around this crew and that includes Buzz. The highlight (besides some serious bay seafood) was a visit to the Naval Air Museum at Virginia Beach. This is a privately owned series of hangars with dozens of aircraft, mainly from WWII, of which over 90% are still air worthy.

Buzz had brought one of his three flight books that chronicled thousands of hours of piloting in the 40s, 50s and 60s. The guide was quite knowledgeable but quickly realized one of his charges was the real deal.

That P51 Mustang in the background was supposed to go airborne for some visiting dignitary but we were to be disappointed with any aerial display.

They did, however, have Buzz's craft that he flew on and off aircraft carriers, the AD-4 SkyRaider:

They gave him something the size of a clothes hangar tied to the rear of the plane to hook one of the cables on the carrier deck. Psychedelia has nothing on these flyboys.

One of the best moments was when the guide was explaining the features of another aircraft. Most things on it had to be manually controlled. Buzz chipped in with the fact that it took 27-29 turns on the controller to fully pull in the landing gear. With a smile the guide pulled out a notebook and recorded the little nugget for future tours.

A long drive to Fishkill, NY followed to celebrate brother Tom's birthday with his partner Sandy. He was turning 52 and would be playing with a full deck (so to speak). Sandy claimed that all evidence pointed otherwise.

They picked out a fabulous place to eat that was outdoors and right on the Hudson River. A most enjoyable evening.

Finally we would wend our way home stopping of course at the First Homely House (or Last Homely House depending upon which direction you are traveling). There one would find Rich, Val and Val's mom. It is our Rivendell.

Continuity as a mathematical term makes most people's eyes go in different directions. In math class, though, it was visually one of the easiest concepts to grasp. If you can trace the graph without taking your pen off the paper, that is no breaks in it, you have a candidate for a continuous function.

If you can stay in someone's community, virtual, geographic, anecdotal, familial or otherwise then I believe you also have continuity. Maybe not so mathematical.