a midnight concert in my house

Greg and Dave are here at this very moment.



Angela and I are being treated to a concert - Dave on Piano and Greg on Cello. We wandered around Grand Haven, ate dinner at the Rosebud, and stopped by Starbucks on the way home. Now we find ourselves here, listening to this wonderful noise...

If you look close you can see how into this Greg is...

i posted

...because I was told I was going on blogger probation. You know, that place where people write you off because you haven't contributed anything to the cyber world in at least 5 days.

You gotta keep up with these things.

So now I ask you: How many days does it take before my readership is back to 5? Is anyone out there? This is not a ploy to get you to comment... just a genuine question.

Okay, maybe it is a ploy... Maybe there really isn't anyone else out there in addition to anti-onion katie, ang, and "thank heaven for Colorado Jason. " Jason may be the one person that reads this blog who doesn't feel some sort of obligation.

Well it has been a fun ride and now i must...

*end.*


-Not really... but it was pretty dramatic don't you think. Kind of like when the backburner went off the air, eh? (But even that didn't really go away. After all that drama in the end, we can still find a recent post. So, is that blog over? Or does it keep calling to the writer to return?)

4 hours...

...of straight math problems. I just returned from my finance class and I need to be engulfed by something that doesn't make any logical sense.

As much as I like order and fixed principles I can bank on, I deeply feel the need for something that is less certain. I would once like to ask if we could figure problems assuming that 3 = 8 or 9 = 21. I feel like that would be a way to make math artistic - or at least get it to put on a hemp necklace. Wouldn't this approach to math always insure that this art would remain in motion?

mixed nuts

home again...

After a relaxing vacation two weeks ago, I faced a week of busy preparation and then travel. I flew to Burlington, Vermont last Wednesday and then drove to Montreal for meetings Thursday afternoon and Friday morning. I was held up at the border for a while because I didn't have enough information with me explaining my work relationship with our corporate offices. Apparently, they thought I was trying to drive into Canada to work without a permit. Oh well - thirty minutes later and a fax from my company in the hands of the customs agent, I was on my way.

It is strange to me how immediate the feeling of being in a different country washes over a person. Well, at least this person. It is one thing to visit Canada in Sault Saint Marie, it is quite another to drive into Quebec. Everything is immediately in French. My mind starts working on overtime,

"Did I want to take that highway 'Nord' or 'Sud?'"

"Am I following all of the traffic laws here?"



Most of all there is an uneasy feeling of the unfamiliar. A feeling of being in an Eastern Bloc country in the Nineteen Sixties. This feeling mostly comes about because of the road signs that lack words of any kinds. There are just the symbols for 'arret' and 'rendement.' When you are approaching the U.S. border there is only I sign showing an officer at a table indicating that a checkpoint is approaching.

I like being home... I like being back with 'mon amour.' Her signs are easier to read, and are more comforting.

Translate the French

free

I'm listening to Jack Johnson right now and thinking about how much I love Summer. Ang is laying on the couch across from me conquering her next book for the Summer. Sometimes I am slightly jealous of her extended break during these months. I envy the freedom to be able to vacate employment during the prime months of the year. She seems so free...

Over the next week I will get a glimpse of this freedom. I have taken the rest of the week (after the 4th) off. You can be guaranteed I will enjoy being free.