This just cracks me up.



Thanks, Jenn!

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I was woken this morning by the sound of, well, a mixture of sounds outside my window. I'm on the second floor, and a family of squirrels has moved into the overhang at the back of my house. This morning, it sounded like they were bowling with the acorns they gathered, then a wildcat kind of sound. Are squirrels that vocal? Or maybe Momma Squirrel was in labor. This is going to drive me crazy, and I have to get them out before I patch up the overhang.
Darn squirrels.

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Hello gentle readers! It's time for Recipe Friday, where I present some of the tastiest things to eat. This recipe grew out of a dinner I had at the Parker House in Boston, "Medallions of Veal Dijonnaise." I ran home and wrote down as much as I could remember, then began to experiment. It is a basic French cream sauce, to which veal stock and dijon mustard are added. For tonight, I'll present the Chicken version, less expensive for the family. If you want a very elegant and romantic meal, I'll give the changes for the veal dish at the end.

Chicken Dijonnaise

Serves 4

2 whole chicken breasts
4 tablespoon butter or margarine
2 tablespoons dijon mustard
1 1/2 cups whipping cream
1/2 cup chicken stock
1/4 cup onion, chopped
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 pinch each crushed rosemary, tarragon and thyme
Salt and pepper

Skin and debone the chicken breasts, then flatten into thin cutlets, about 1/4 inch. Saute the cutlets in 2 tablespoons of butter or margarine until cooked on both sides. Remove from the pan and keep warm. Melt the remaining butter in the pan, then add onion and saute until tender and clear. Add wine, mustard, stock and simmer until reduced by about half. Add the whipping cream and simmer until the sauce is thick enough to coat a spoon. Force the sauce through a strainer, and add the herbs. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Pour over the chicken breasts and warm gently.

Serve with roasted vegetables (broccoli, carrots, cauliflower, sugar snap beans in a shallow pan, sprayed lightly with olive oil and roasted in a preheated 350 degree oven for 20 minutes.)

To make the Medallions of Veal Dijonnaise, substitute two pounds of veal, pounded very thin and cut into 2" medallions. Make the sauce as above, substituting veal stock (roast veal knuckles in a hot oven, then transfer to a pot of boiling water and simmer for several hours) for the chicken stock. Adjust the dijon to taste. Saute the veal in butter until cooked on both sides, keep warm while the sauce is being made. Serve with the sauce over the veal, warmed gently before serving. Here, a steamed green bean/butternut squash dish is a great side and pretty too. Cut the ends off string beans, put in steamer with cubed frozen butternut squash. Cook about 7 minutes or until squash is cooked through. Add the steamed vegetables to a skillet that has a tablespoon of olive oil and 2 cloves of garlic, crushed in it. Coat the vegetables in the oil and heat until warm. You can add pimento or chopped cheery tomatoes for even more color. Suggest a cabernet sauvignon with this beautiful meal.

Bon appetit!

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Found at Lisa's:

You read about all these terrorists — most of them came here legally, but they hung around on these expired visas, some for as long as 10-15 years. Now, compare that to Blockbuster; you are two days late with a video and those people are all over you. Let's put Blockbuster in charge of immigration.

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create your own visited states map
or write about it on the open travel guide

Yup, I've been to all these states. And the reason I haven't been to more, is because I haven't been asked!
By the way, some times the map doesn't display. Hit refresh and try again. I'll try to grab the map and keep it
on my server.

Cool site, thanks Heidi!
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Oh, pardon me, excuse me. Thanks for letting me in, I didn't know how long you had to stand in line. Is it Valentine's day already? Oh that's why there are so many people in this aisle. Oh, there's my friend Robin, I know she's have something to say: I needed this today.

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Be proud you live in a capitalist society! You can make money any way you want! Even to be someone's imaginary girlfriend.

Hmmm. Though I can see some of the guys at the local singles hangout take advantage of this service (one-upping themselves, I guess,) this is a new low for eBay. What the premise is (in case you don't follow the link, thanks, Cory!) a woman, for a bid price, will send you perfume-scented letters and emails for a month (or more,) then you "dump" her and she sends you one more letter begging you to take her back. She sends letters, pictures, even perfume-scented undergarments (yup.) There is no meeting, phone calls, or even the need to answer the letters/emails. It is the tool for studly men who need something to show to the other studly men ("hey guys, see the picture of my hot 21-YO girlfriend!")

In case you are wondering, ladies, there is a catagory for imaginary boyfriends. But ewwww, I regretted going to one of these ebay links. Buyer beware! And I'd like to see an interview with the woman who bid on this "seksy" guy.

So, it is possible to make money in any way. But gentle readers, I am considering conventional ways to do just that.


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It's Thursday at the blog house (see outside my window at the Window Cam) and music on the turntable is eclectic today. Nicolette Larson, looking very seventies-ish in her peasant dress and long hair (and a bit waifish and sexy too,) the album from 1978. Funny, I never remembered the song about the spiritual woman and the unbelieving man. That song, which was written in 1957, is one of those where the protagonist of sorts dies and the world changes afterwards, in this case, the husband believes, her prayer before she died so he can raise the children. Well, of course I didn't blink at this song in 1978 but it sure made me cry today. The song is "Angels Rejoiced" by the Louvin brothers. Sadly, Nicolette died in 1997, she was only 44.

And, Harry James and his orchestra from a direct-to-disk album (remember those?,) the album "Comin' From A Good Place" from 1976. Oh well, I'm going to throw in a little Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir and Phil Keaggy to boot I think.

The snow has ended and the mantle of white is soiled by the dirt and oil thrown up by the cars and trucks. We didn't get as much snow as the forecasters thought, so I don't know if my nephew will be able to take Andy snowboarding this Saturday. For me, the rest of the week is busy, with my single parents meeting tonight and my counseling seminar tomorrow night.

Reunion business is blooming, not that I am in the reunion business but we had a very productive meeting Tuesday night and we're still talking about it. We are running this show like a combination of a stage show and a wedding, so we have an elegant and surprising venue. I think my classmates will remember this for a long time.

Aunt Judie has been posting about how you dance, not with your feet, but how you live your life. Interesting reading, thanks Judie!


Later...

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It's no secret that I like poetry, and when I ran across an article about a man who probably eats, sleeps and drinks poetry, it got me intrigued. Emily Dickinson, the Belle of Amherst was one of the greatest poets of the nineteenth century, and when Philip F. Gura had an opportunity to purchase an old photograph that was purported to be Miss Dickinson, a quest began to validate the photo, as it didn't appear to be one that had been ever published before.

The story, which is here, reads like a love story, and is worth the time to check out.

I leave you with a poem from Miss Dickinson, "I cannot live with you"

I CANNOT live with you,
It would be life,
And life is over there
Behind the shelf

The sexton keeps the key to,
Putting up
Our life, his porcelain,
Like a cup

Discarded of the housewife,
Quaint or broken;
A newer Sèvres pleases,
Old ones crack.

I could not die with you,
For one must wait
To shut the other’s gaze down,—
You could not.

And I, could I stand by
And see you freeze,
Without my right of frost,
Death’s privilege?

Nor could I rise with you,
Because your face
Would put out Jesus’,
That new grace

Glow plain and foreign
On my homesick eye,
Except that you, than he
Shone closer by.

They ’d judge us—how?
For you served Heaven, you know,
Or sought to;
I could not,

Because you saturated sight,
And I had no more eyes
For sordid excellence
As Paradise.

And were you lost, I would be,
Though my name
Rang loudest
On the heavenly fame.

And were you saved,
And I condemned to be
Where you were not,
That self were hell to me.

So we must keep apart,
You there, I here,
With just the door ajar
That oceans are,
And prayer,
And that pale sustenance,
Despair!


A la prochaine!


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Well, maybe that title is a bit misleading. I did have a wonderful time at the Word of Life Winter Singles Conference this past weekend. I met some old friends, made some new friends, learned a Hawaiian song, and soaked up the teaching. I may not get this now, but I am even closer to fine.

If you are married, you might be thinking, "what would they do at a singles conference?" And if you are single, you might be thinking, "what would they do at a singles conference?" Well, let me answer both of your thoughts, ok?

The format of these conferences is to bring believers (that's Christians who have a belief in Christ as their Savior) together for fellowship, exhortation, praise, worship and fun. Mostly, its fun, even in worship. The teacher this go round was Jeff Teague, who hails from Florida, and was lovin' the cold (-4F) temperatures and the snow in Schroon Lake (he recently married, and honeymooned in Banff, which is way up in snowy Canada.) His experience in working with singles at his church, and indeed his singleness until recently were great attributes in his teaching. And, he was a funny guy too. There were other speakers also, and we got together for six sessions during the four day weekend.

The rest of the time was spent entertaining the adult child in all of us. The early arrivers on Thursday got to spend Friday in field trips to a ski area, or to Lake Placid (where some went on a harrowing plane ride over the High Peaks.) The food is marvelous, at every meal, and is served buffet style. Friday night we met the later arrivals and all spent the first part listening to Jeff, the second hanging around the facilities, which includes an indoor cafe and pool.

The theme of the conference was "Tropical Dreams," and Saturday night, the tropical theme extended to the meal (a luau!) and the activities, including a belly flop competition, tube races (in the pool, it was -10F outside,) and the annual Open Mike program. Sunday was breakfast, a worship service and a closing dinner, as people from all over the Northeast began their trip home.

So, what did I take away from the conference that helped me? That my life is spent serving God, and that is the answer. No matter what I do, as long as it is done with a selfless heart, I am serving Him. I am in this place in my life to make a difference in me, my son and the people around me. That my singleness, as well as marriage, is just another step in obedience. That I need to live by faith in everything, and always attend to my spiritual health and soundness. And that my widowhood will be remanded, from time to time, as Psalm 126:5-6 reminds me that the fields of my life are sowed in tears sometimes. My prayers will sometimes not be answered right away, or at all, unless I deal with the problems in my life first.

And yes, there were two other highlights (actually there were more, like the fantastic illusionist/mime that worked for us, the music, the food, oh I've already said that,) the learning of a song from Hawaii, which really can't get out of my head and Mr. Wonderful, who entertained Mike Bush as much as he entertained everyone else. Ask me to explain.

It was great to see Marissa, Tim, Dawn, Kathy, Mario, Dottie, Steve, Chris, Toni, Vincy, Janice, Mary, Chris (the other Chris,) Paul, Felix, Mark, and a whole lot of new people. Thank you to the staff at Word of Life Inn, Mike Bush and Steve Bowen especially.

Ok, I'm done. You can go about your business now.

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Once upon a time, there was a man who was a single parent. He was smart and knew how to cook, too. One day, he was wandering though the refrigerator forest and exclaimed "A chicken! I can make chicken soup!" He took the chicken and put it in a pot and filled it full of water. Then he put in some pearl onions and some celery. He then took it to the big bad stove.

When he arrived at the stove with the pot of water, he saw four burners, the Papa burner, the Momma burner (there was two of these, was the stove practicing burner polygamy?,) and a baby burner. The man decided that he would put the chicken in the pot on the Papa burner, so it would boil fast. It did, with a rush of bubbles and rendered chicken fat. He turned down the Papa burner to let it simmer, and went upstairs.

The man was tired, so after a day of answering email, he went to bed. And very late at night, he woke up to the scent of roasted chicken. Surely this was a dream in smellovision, he decided. But then he really woke up, and went downstairs. There, on the Papa burner, was the pot, but the Papa burner drank all the liquid. The chicken looked a bit sad and a different color on the bottom of the pot. Remorsefully, the man put more water in the pot and scraped the bottom of his pot and placed it on the baby burner. He would not have any chicken soup today.

The moral of the story is: An unwatched pot always burns out, or, Use Papa's powers only when you are in the kitchen.
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I browsed a site this morning that really made me mellow, in that warm, romantic way. Asia Wong began a project to take love letters that she wrote, not only to her friends and romantic interests, but to total strangers and her "unknown" dream lover. Although the site is labeled "300 Love Letters," she actually has posted 400 scans of her letters, color coded as to their theme. Interesting catch, but you can spend way too much time here.

Hate spam? So does Tom Coates, who recieved an all too familiar piece of trash s*x spam, so he did something about it. He illustrated it. But not in the way the sender of the email intended, it was quite literal, and almost made me spit out my coffee this morning.

Oh, on the turntable this morning (actually the CD player) is Jackie Wilson, "The Titan Of Soul." Apologies to the Tennessee Titans. And, for the Amazon link, I wish I could say, "Personalities are often compensated for their appearances." Not that that means anything to anyone except radio personalities, but I digress.

Still cold where you are? How about building an igloo with your kids (or your friendly structural engineer?) Thanks, Alexandra!

The 2004 Bloggies, the WebLog Awards have announced their contestants for the best blogs of the year. Nominated for Bloggies this year are friends Michelle at Wind Spirit, the Daily Dose of Imagery, Jenn at The Scriptygoddess, Brooke at Brooklyn.org, and the group weblog, Put Down The Donut. Visit these great sites, and vote for them at the Bloggie site!

Finally, what Ferris Bueller character are you? Take the quiz. And, ask yourself, what questions made me come out of the test as Jeannie Bueller?

I want to thank everyone who wrote to me about my previous posting. You are also sensitive, expressive and I thank you for your contributions to the blog space. I'm off tomorrow, so I won't be here until Monday, and hopefully next week I'll post pictures to my picture pages on my web site. Don't forget that I also have a photoblog, and I certainly appreciate the wonderful response I've had to that effort.




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It has come time to face another crossroad in my life. I have experienced many of these, some of which had clear pathways to follow; some left me scratching my head as to which way to go. I’m not talking about a new job (though that would be marvelous,) a new relationship or a decision on something major to buy. I’m talking about acknowledging my singleness once again.

This week, I will be journeying to Schroon Lake, New York to partake in another Christian Singles Conference. Attending this winter meeting will make it my fifth since I became technically single. And, as has been my experience, I will be satiated with the love of God, good fellowship, and lessons to follow that mirror my life.

But what has my brain in a dizzying fall? It is my purpose in singleness. Why am I here, in this way? I want to be able to say, “I get what this is now” and know, and go on. But the lines are still full of static, the books are all out of focus and my heart does not feel that I am ready to be single.

What is it like to be single again in this world? I will ask that question of my friends who have always been single, as long as they can remember. To those who lost their marriage to divorce and are now alone. And even to those who feel so isolated in a bad marriage, that being single is more identifiable to them than being married.

I will tell you that being married was the greatest thing to me; half of another person, going through this world as one. I didn’t look back the day I proposed to my wife, which was only six weeks from the time of our first date. I was ready to be married and I loved being married. The vows we took that May day made the world looks sparkly, sunny, bright. “Til death do us part” had no meaning to us, it was a dark cloud on a bright day, one to be ignored. One day, twenty years and one hundred and two days after that beautiful day of expressing God’s love for us, I was no longer married. I was now a widower with a nine-year old son. And still, that was not being single, there was some strange comfort, a connection with the past, being widowed.

Two years and three Christmas days, two birthdays and anniversaries have passed, and I look for the meaning, to say “I get what this is now.” Grief, I’ve learned, never takes a holiday, though I’ve tried to stuff it, to deny it. A year ago in August, I took a magnificent vacation out West, and drove around Colorado just a month after the wildfires died down. And my longest day of travel occurred on the anniversary of Joann’s death. I did find that the anticipation was worse than the day, which was a seventeen-hour drive from Colorado Springs to Durango (with a few stops in-between.) It wasn’t until the trip home that I began to think through tears how beautiful that trip was, and how much would my wife have loved it.

Today, I see God shaping me and molding me through trials and tribulations, and I also see myself coming out a stronger man. But I still want to see what my purpose is in singleness, in being a single parent, in being a friend. To know what “this is now.” Perhaps this week, I will know what that is. I will see what I need to prepare for. I will be happy, and rejoice in what I do. “Being Single” will mean opportunities to shine. And I will know….

Gil Gross, in for Paul Harvey, told this story on the radio this morning. A young woman named Jodie S. Lane, a doctoral student, was walking her two dogs along 11th St on the lower east side of New York City Friday afternoon, when her two dogs starting yelping and writhing in pain. They had walked over a metal grate, and what Jodie didn’t know at the time was that the grate was exposed to a large electrical current from an exposed wire. She moved quickly to save the dogs, but suffered a massive jolt of electricity herself. She took a step or two, and an eyewitness told a reporter that she said something, her last words, before she fell and died. Those words were “I get what this is now.”

À bientôt.

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Go Patriots!

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Hello, everybody. I've got a big favor to ask all that read Out Of The Blue. I'd like you to take a few minutes to consider something I learned this morning. That in the Ukraine, orphanages let teenagers out on their own at 16 years of age. My church has a missionary named Laura who works with the orphanages, and sends back some very special requests.

Read More

Thank you.
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Hey guys, are you planning on getting married? Well then you'll need some advice on the ring. A diamond ring, duh. I know a lot about the color, clarity and cut as my late wife was a diamond expert, but here's a guy who knows all about what to ask for and what to look for, a guy's guide to diamonds. Check him out, and congratulate yourself for making an informed choice!


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Hello fellow gourmands! It's time for Recipe Fridays, a semi-regular feature of Out Of The Blue. As you probably don't know, I am a gourmet cook as a hobby (and to eat well every night,) schooled by the finest restaurants in Boston and around the world (well, at least around the country.)

Tonight, its Caramelized Onion Soup. Many people think that in order to have a sweet onion soup that they have to use Vidalia onions or add a bit of sugar or a sweet wine to the soup. Not so, when you caramelize the onions. Sauteing the onions long enough brings out the sugar in the onions and imparts a sweet taste, hence the name "caramelized." Try it, you'll like it.

Caramelized Onion Soup

3 large onions, peeled and thinly sliced (about 5 cups)
3 tablespoons butter
1 tablespoon flour
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
3 10 1/2 oz cans of beef stock/broth (or Tone's beef base concentrate, 1 1/2 tbls. to 32 oz boiling water)
2 cups water
1 cup red wine

1. Melt the butter in a heavy stockpot over medium high heat, and add the onions and black pepper. Stir the onions to coat with the butter, and continue cooking the onions, stirring often, until the onions are light brown. They will reduce in bulk while cooking. May take a while, so be patient, the results will be worth it. Sprinkle flour over onions and stir until all trace of the flour is gone.

2. Remove from heat, and add the beef stock, stirring, then the water and wine, stirring. Put back on medium high heat, stirring often until boiling. Reduce heat to simmer, and let cook for several hours (I let it go for four to five at least.)

3. Ladle into individual soup bowls, top with a toasted piece of French or Italian bread, cut thin, and Gruyere cheese. Put under the broiler until the cheese is melted. Serve with a red wine, I am really liking the 2001 Kendall-Jackson Vineyards Shiraz, a bargain cabernet at $10.

4. You can also put in the refrigerator after step 2, and let sit overnight before reheating and serving. That seems to improve the taste.

Bon appetit!

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P.T. Barnum couldn't have dreamed this one up. An "explorer" named Steve Currey is leading an expedition to the center of the earth. Which, at first sounds incredible, but it gets more incredible. THe more you read of this page, the more incredible (and unbelievable) it is.

Suggestion: save $8,950 now (twin room, double occupancy per person) and send me $10,000. I promise to use it more wisely than this guy.


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Time to revisit some of the stranger ways that people find Out of the Blue. Probably the best one came today, as Google delivered a reader based on this search: "Lisa Loeb" + "Dweezil Zappa" + "lasagna." Of course there was a blog post with all of that, and Google was able to deliver up only this site, so whoever needed to come back, thanks for the effort.

A poignant search for "how to kiss for the first time" landed on the First Kiss page. I hope that person's first was as romantic as mine.

Here's a good one: a person searched on "MBTI romantic servant." Fortunately that landed on the blog, not on my biography.

Many, many people are searching for love in all the wrong places, and end up on my satire-commented pages of profiles from men and women on one of the online services. Many, many of the searches are too unbelievable or graphic to post too, even though my essays are no where near a PG rating.

Lots and lots of people seach for South Station, the train station in Boston that is the namesake and inspiration for my web site.

More hits on my pages for the memorial to my wife, and information on ovarian cancer. I'm glad these pages are useful to some.

And finally, about once a month, someone searches for me. And among all the Google links, there I am. Will wonders ever cease?

P.S. Bonus points to the first one who identifies the artist who first sang the song containing the lyrics in the title of this piece!

Stay warm!



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I would have used the word "da*n" but as you know, I am on that campaign to rid the airwaves of the seven words you can't say on TV until last October. Yesterday, Michael Powell, chairman of the FCC, asked his fellow commissioners to overturn the ruling that lets broadcasters allow programs with the "F" word and other salient obscenties to be used as adjectives (can you imagine your fifth grader coming home and telling you, "Mom, did you know you can use "F" as an adjective, like "great?" But I digress...) In a related story, Rep. Ose of California is introducing legislation to permanently block obscene words from TV.

But, back to the cold. Here in Rhode Island, it is 2 degrees F, with a wind chill of -12 F. Jane has had it, and says "We?re all going to go into an advanced stage of rigormortis, planted to the pavements in little Boston statues." That makes a good environment for those penguin pets I wrote about a couple of days ago. And guess what, I left my car outside last night (I do have a garage, now full of snow as the door was open) and I need to go to the post office this morning to mail reunion invitations. And I'm out of chocolate. Those remote car starters seems like a really good idea now. Yikes, the reunion is getting closer, 58 or so days I think.

Cool site: I used to believe. A collection of childhood beliefs, wonderful to read. Hmm maybe I shouldn't say "cool" site on a day like this.

I am struck by the beautiful web sites I have come across by blog skipping, literally clicking on links in blogrolls to take you from one to another. I'll summarize my travels some day.

Have a "warm" day!


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Just trying the site to see if I am here. I guess I am. So there.

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Southstation.Org and Out of the Blue will be temporarily offline beginning at 11 pm Wednesday the 14th to 1 pm Thursday the 15th. I might not have access to email during this window of maintenance also. Mille fois merci.
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The Washington Post publishes an annual contest in which readers are asked to supply alternate meanings for various words. Here are the pick of the bunch.

1. Coffee (n.), a person who is coughed upon.
2. Flabbergasted (adj.), appalled over how much weight you have gained.
3. Abdicate (v.), to give up all hope of ever having a flat stomach.
4. Esplanade (v.), to attempt an explanation while drunk.
5. Willy-nilly (adj.), impotent.
6. Negligent (adj.), describes a condition in which you absent-mindedly answer the door in your nightgown.
7. Lymph (v.), to walk with a lisp.
8. Gargoyle (n.), an olive-flavoured mouthwash.
9. Flatulence (n.), the emergency vehicle that picks you up after you are run over by a steamroller.
10. Balderdash (n.), a rapidly receding hairline.
11. Testicle (n.), a humorous question on an exam.
12. Rectitude (n.), the formal, dignified demeanour assumed by a proctologist immediately before he examines you.
13. Oyster (n.), a person who sprinkles his conversation with Yiddish expressions.
14. Circumvent (n.), the opening in the front of boxer shorts.
15. Frisbeetarianism (n.), the belief that, when you die, your soul goes up on the roof and gets stuck there.
16. Pokemon (n), a Jamaican proctologist.

Thanks, Lisa!


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I see that Food TV will be beginning a new show soon, starring Dweezil Zappa and Lisa Loeb. This is Food TV, right? Well, if they can get a show, what about me? I can hum, and play the record player, anyway. So, I've decided to share a recipe once in a while. And in the meantime, if you're hungry, I will Blog It Forward and recommend Murray Hill 5's In My Kitchen, a fun blog site with some great recipes (and pictures, so its like a blog cookbook!)


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So, you're looking for a friend, my pet? Should he meet these top nine criteria?

1. The perfect conversation piece for parties!

2. Make great foot-warmers.

3. Lovely lawn ornament.

4. Man's true best friend.

5. Good dancing partner.

6. Bring South Pole home!

7. Come fully dressed in their own tuxedo.

8. Rid house of pesky krill.

9. Good Christmas Decorations!


Then what you need is a Penguin for a pet! Yes, Penguin Warehouse has the ultimate pet for you! I wouldn't have believed it until I saw it, though I don't personally know anyone who has a penguin for a pet.

If you get one, send me pictures.


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I have to admit something to you today, my gentle readers. I am addicted. But I am receiving help. You see, for many years now, I have been addicted to style. Yes, I admit it. Style. The evidence is everywhere. Silk wisteria hanging over the door in the kitchen. Coordinating bed ensemble in the bedroom, with coordinating paint scheme. A red dining room, in Laura Ashley colors and papers. An antique desk, decorated with antique things. Plans to update my kitchen into French Country.

I am not a style monger, nor like those guys on “Queer Eye.” I’m straight, after all. And my style tends to be more like a set decorator, or a play design. So, things might be a little out of scale, or accessories in the wrong place. But it looks nice. The lighting is perfect. And it makes me want to do more.

I’ve spent too much time in the resale shops. Watching too much HGTV. Cutting out pictures from too many magazines. Style is taking over my life! And I needed help!

The folks over at [website deleted] have given me the hope that style is ok. That I’m really a good person. That colors and fabrics are there to enjoy. That I can give my kitchen the French look without studying the real thing in Lyon. That I can have fun.

So, drop on by, and be assured that I’m ok with style. My style.

A la prochaine!

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Have you ever wondered what it would be like to escape to an island, or any temperate zone (I live in New England, so warmth at this time is an anathema,) or imagine being in a romantic foreign country, sitting on a stone porch in a two hundred year old chair, gazing out at lavender fields? Ever do this, and suddenly the daydream comes skidding to a stop, accompanied by the sound of a record player needle being scratched across a record? It happens because you are a parent.

Having a twelve-year old with ADHD is like having a person learning to drive. Push down on the gas, jerk forward, coast to a stop, slam on the breaks. Add in the hormonal changes, and the school pressures and you have a miniature volcano with legs.

This morning, I was checking his planner, a special book that the school gives him to write in his assignments and such. It is interesting that all of the school rules are also printed in the front of the planner, as if to counter the argument that "I didn't know that was a rule!" and there it is, accompanying him throughout the school day. And painted (with Liquid Paper, I presume) is a rogue's gallery of rap artists, beginning with 50 Cent, who is less than zero in my eyes. And there began this morning's rout and my break with the daydream.

I realize that he will do things to absolutely confound me (I was warned about these teenage years.) I realize that his goals are not my goals (they weren't when I was his age either.) I realize that being ADHD is going to produce some behavior, even bizarre, that I will never understand and neither will he. But, I long for that romantic getaway (with who, I haven't a clue,) and realize it is only a dream. The real work is in the real world, and being a parent, whether alone or not, is what we are called to do. I also realize that our influence on our children is not skin deep, but the Bible says to train them up in the way they should go, and when they are old, they will not depart from it. So, whatever positive things I am doing, I am assured that one day, he will wake up and tell me, Dad, you were right all along. Oops, another dream.


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Well, it's finally here, and you can have it for free! The recipe for happiness, according to CNN is, an equation. P + 5E +3H to be exact.

Now you might remember the British researchers who came up with the formula for the best toast. Rest assured these aren't the same researchers. But these two said they worked out this simple formula to quantify happiness that can put an exact figure on the emotional state.

According to the researchers, P stands for Personal Characteristics (your outlook on life, adaptibility and resilience,) E for Existance (health, friendships and financial stability,) and H is Higher Order (self-esteem, expectations, and ambitions.) The researchers asked a mix of men and women to choose five scenarios that made them more or less happy from a list of eighty different situations. And the study showed men and women found happiness in different ways! Wow, these must be rocket scientists.

So, I'm off to calculate my personal happiness, wish me luck!
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I'm finally unloading my crop of pictures taken over the past 35 years and many presented for the first time on the Out Of The Blue Photoblog. Enjoy!

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Re: Titans at New England.
Subject: It's been nice knowing you
Message: I working camera upper deck at Foxboro
Temp 5 degrees and dropping
Glamour of broadcasting

From Kevin Vahey to the boston radio interest mailing list.

What I'm doing:
Taking lasagna out of the oven.
Cracking open a bottle of Turning Leaf chardonnay, pouring just one glass.
Eating and drinking by myself while watching the game.
All in the comfort of my suburban home, where the temp is 10 degrees F and dropping.
Kevin, I salute you!

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Here's a novel idea, courtesy of the internet age and the power of Google. This guy creates a web application that converts your "statistics" (for lack of a better word, your age, sex, likes, dislikes, etc.) into a code that can be pasted into a web page (a large web page) so it can be searched by Google.

You then type a search term into Google based on what you want to look for, and voila! You get back hits of people who have those codes pasted into their pages. To me, this is the geekiest thing I've seen, and something that leverages the internet unlike the other internet dating/matching sites. But let me warn you, do you really want to find people this way? How about trolls that paste phony codes? Lead you to sites unknown. This is all free, after all. And about the guy who started this whole thing? Ladies, take a look at the page that is linked from his hit page in Google. It is marked "ladies only." This could be the stuff for a romantic comedy, or perhaps tragedy. He lists linked headings such as ""Reasons for still being single," and my favorite, "In defense of gold diggers."

One reason for the sites such as eharmony.com, match.com, friendfinder.com and the others to charge fees is to keep out some of the riff raff. I give this idea a thumbs down. I much prefer to meet people the old fashioned way.


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Tonight I was at my counseling seminar, close to the last (only three more to go!,) and had a thought that plugged into what we were talking about. Many people today blame excessively, take little responsibility, and have little motivation for anyone but themselves. You know who I'm talking about, and you probably know some that are like this. Hopefully, gentle reader, you are not one of them. But put on your seatbelts, this is a rant.

I recalled a time when society, morality, the law, the government and the church were all in synch. It wasn't very long ago, and since I was born in the 50s, my childhood recollections are a bit dim personally, but I have been a student of history and love old movies, so though I am not professionally qualified, this is the internet and I can say anything I want. Whoa, sorry.

Think back to when everybody in your class at school strived to exceed, because if they slacked or joked in class, there was the principal's office, and then your parents to face. Were we all the same back then? Read on. Movies of the day had to contain a moral ending, or it couldn't be put in the theatres. Wrongdoing was punished, always. There was a celebration of marriage as being something you did before sex. And it was with one of the opposite sex. Respect was held for the policeman on the beat, the corner grocery man, the mailman, the milkman, and the banker. We knew they were not better than us, but they had positions of respect, in fact, all adults commanded that respect. That's why we were able to stay out all day, play in the woods, go to the store to buy penny candy, and not have to worry about evil people in the woods, food that wasn't good for you, and if you did something wrong, you paid for it, one way or another. That was accountability.

It is so important to realize how all these value systems co-existed as one, and that we were raised on good things that were reinforced in every thing we did, every person we met. Contrast this with today.

Society's morals include movies that are shown to children with language that would have gotten out mouths washed out with soap (now a liability for child abuse,) scenes of people "without their clothes on," and a celebration of people who don't ply the straight and narrow, and get away with crimes of all sorts. TV reinforces this, magazines talk about subjects that were only whispered in the bedroom of a married couple 50 years ago, and teachers are impotent to have any power of authority when parents justify their kids' bad behavior. Remember "in loco parentis," in place of the parent? The only similarity between this phrase, which had been what teachers were charged with a long time ago, and now is that teachers are sometimes called upon to watch the kids, or keep them in a place for six hours before day care picks them up.

There is much that has changed in the American life style, you might argue. Two working parents for the American dream, but isn't part of the dream your kids? And how much can two working parents spend with their kids. The jobs are more strenuous, more to do in less time, and, oh there are so many stories in the Naked City. And it is a slippery slope, my friends, when broadcast TV can now say the things that could only be allowed in R-rated moves just 20 years ago. Is viewing trash next, the visual equivalent of those seven words you couldn't (at one time) say on television? Why is the divorce rate so high? Here's one suggestion: we haven't had a good role model for marriage from our parents, or parent as it may be. So we don't know how to be married, how to stay married. Unscientific proof: some of the people I graduated high school in 1973 with have been married for over 25 years. When I ask them how, some of them tell me that they had a good experience with their mothers and fathers. Divorce wasn't usually a part of their lives.

How can this trend be reversed? It isn't impossible but sure may be improbable. You have to have a good moral foundation. People need to marry for unconditional love, which will never be "put asunder." That also means they have to spend time before marriage, and without living together, to find out all of the reasons for marriage and all of the ways respect and selflessness are a part of a lifetime marriage. They have to learn what "growing together" means and be willing to accept that.

Kids need to have loving parents. Learning right from wrong is so important, and sounds so trivial, but many kids do things that they don't think is wrong. Where did they get this idea? Kids learn from their parents, so the respect between husband and wife needs to be prominent. The kids will internalize this, they will! And two of the most damaging emotions, anger and blame, need to be tempered and accountability put in its place. More people saying "I was wrong" will create an image in kids that they can be wrong, admit it, and learn from it. Self-esteem, hah! That isn't the problem. It is incredulous to me that elementary school playgrounds are being "kid-safed" because of the potential of liability. Geez, if your kid falls off the slide, what was he doing to fall off? Years ago, we learned from our experiences being a kid. Now kids learn that if they get hurt, their parents will sue. And some schools are introducing games that don't produce losing players. Wow, what rocket science is this? How is that sterile kid going to handle his first rejection, his first loss?

So, there you have it, random thoughts and make sense proposals. I know it isn't as simple as it seems, but listen to the premise. Accountability, respect, love, learn.


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An Olympia, Washington man named Chris Kirk has some funny friends. In reading this story, which I'm about to take you too, think "Trading Spaces" and "Aluminium."

Full story here. Link via Cory and Scraps.

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A screamy site (don't look at this from work, you'l disturb your neighbors.) Oh, what is it? Familiar products with unfamiliar names.


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Last night, I took Andy and my high school friend L and her son to D's house for a little sticker party with the reunion invitations. There was snow on the road leading to D's house, and the trees bent ever so slightly with a new-fallen snow on the branches. We finished a great dinner and all of the cards were labeled and stamped in no time. It was late when we left, and was snowing almost all the way home.

L and I talked about how much the Lord has been a part of our lives and it was heartening to hear how much of her family was saved too. It makes me realize how much relationships that are developed in high school can affect you for the rest of your life. I am so glad to have my friends, and know that though much time has gone by, we still respect and appreciate one another.

Today, I drove to Bellingham with the intention of delivering the postcard invitation to the post office there. I remember a post a while ago on Classmates.com, asking what happened to small Bellingham. More homes, more retail and a new postoffice (as I found out driving around after stopping into the old post office without noticing it wasn't the post office anymore!) It wasn't a small town anymore. Anyway, after I delivered the cards I drove back home as the sun crept up in the sky. It was about 11:30, so the sun was almost overhead. And what a sight I saw!

The trees were covered with ice from the previous night's storm that warmed up briefly overnight then froze down again. And the backlit trees encased in delicate ice was so beautiful to behold. I kept kicking myself (and that's hard to do while driving) that I didn't have a camera. I knew that the ice would soon be melting off the tree branches, and that the scene would have looked very plain in another hour or two. So, it was my private little show, beauty in an otherwise dull world.

I thought about this in another way today. Sometimes we are privileged to experience something wonderful in our lives, and it is fleetingly gone, remaining only as a memory. My dear sister-in-law called me today with some sad news, that her daughter, who delivered the wonderful news to me on Christmas that she was going to have a baby, lost it yesterday in miscarriage. On the way out, a woman in the waiting room saw my niece, and told her that she would have a beautiful baby, and that it would be a boy. This took my niece back a bit, and she wondered to her mother if that woman was an angel. That is the first thing I thought as J told me the story. It made me cry when she told me what the woman had said. I cannot think any other way that it was one of God's messengers.

My wife and I saw this in evidence that still gives me goosebumps. You may not believe, but I can tell you, the glow and warmth of God's love for us stayed with us through a most difficult time in our lives. Back in 1997, Joann had the MRI that showed the cancer in her abdomen. We arrived in the basement of the hospital where the MRI lab was, and Joann was privately very upset and scared. We walked down the corridor away from the entrance of the lab, past a row of chairs occupied by all sorts of people, and on the opposite wall, a woman asleep in a gurney. When it was Joann's time, and we walked past those people, they all said things to Joann, like, "You're going to be fine" and "You shouldn't be scared." The woman on the gurney sat up and patted Joann on the back saying, "Don't worry, honey, everything will turn out right." We went into the lab and were there for a short while. When we came out, the hallway was empty. No one in the chairs, no patients in gurneys. We left, thinking about the situation in ever increasing excitement. And we cried together in the car, as we realized that it was from God. The next week, Joann was diagnosed with Stage II ovarian, and was rushed into surgery. And thus began a four-and-a-half year odyssey that gave me, and our family, so much quality time, so many experiences together, until she died in August of 2001. And knowing that the Lord was there throughout it all.

It does hurt a bit to recount this, but it is great to hear again how He puts people in our way to remind us that He is in control and has a plan.

À bientôt!

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Hello sports fans, it's me, the Monday Morning Quarterback and I'm (OOOOOMMPH.) Wow, what a sack, just a sec while I get up. Anyway, I'm the Monday Mor (AAAAAUOOOFUDHNDNNSJGGGH.) Wha-wha happened? Oh yeah, I'm, the quarterback. For what team?????

So, the Tennessee Titans face the New England Patriots on the road to the SuperBowl. That's all I have to say about that, not being a perennial football fan. My money is with the Red Sox (they can do it, you know,) after all, I am a New Englander.

Now, the truth can be told. There are rules for the Shotgun, and what better place to get them but The Shotgun Rules. Read it and get out of my seat. And if you don't click the link, it's not about the Junior Walker & The All-Stars song from 1966.

Mike S. Adams, in his column today, has some advice for those of his students (and any students) who interrupt the class.

Oh great. Bedbugs are back. No, not the musical group, the bug that sucks blood. And pest control folks say it can cost more than $500 to eradicate bedbugs in your house.

Something I'll never have to worry about. Homeowners of large homes in pricy rural Virginia are giving up the dream, because even babysitters won't drive all the way out there.

Wow, the Democrats seems to be running around like chickens with their heads cut off. They try to derail Dean, who can very nicely derail himself.

And what's a good blog without some BS. I won't mention the name, but she's a pop diva with a propensity toward revealing clothing. Anyway, she got married! Then moved to get it annulled the same day! Is there anything she hasn't done?

This is your Monday Morning Quarterback, from the hospital, wishing you a great day.






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I woke up too early this morning. I mean, I was supposed to wake up around 6, and the alarm sounded the church bells and chirping birds on schedule. I lay there, thinking of the distant train I heard through the cacaphony of the birds, and closed my eyes once again. I heard Joni's guitar woven into the whistle of the train.

Last night, I spent some time viewing and listening well to Ms. Mitchell's DVD, "Painting With Words And Music." Of course, some of my favorite songs were sung, and Joni never looked so beautiful; she is another of those rare women who age so little it seems. But her plaintive guitar, an electric instead of acoustic, reverbrated throughout my bedroom (where I have the DVD player,) a growl at times, a subtle music at others. I imagine hummingbird wings sounding like that guitar at times, amplified of course. I closed my eyes during the performance as "Hejira" came and went, and I got goose-bumps listening to her guitar and the warmth of her words.

By the time my son came home, the performance was almost finished; Graham Nash came onstage to give Joni her award from the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame, who inducted her and Nash a year previous, but Joni was unable to be there. Nash joked that he carried the award around in a trash bag for a year, and brought it to the state hanging out of the bag. It was funny, and I know staged, but it was a great moment realizing that Joni got her due.

It was 1971 when I heard Joni for the first time. "Blue" came onto the turntable and seldom left, until vinyl shavings in the grooves told the tale of a record played too much. I did make a cassette copy before that died, and I can still hear the clicks and pops in songs that always played that way, it seems. When I bought a CD of the album, I expected the same pops in the same places. Somehow, it wasn't the same.

I took Joni on a car trip and she sang to me for over 12 hours one day. It was a winter day that I was to drive to North Adams, Massachusetts to shoot some pictures of the Hoosac Tunnel, the longest railroad tunnel in this country for a while. I took several shots of the east end of the tunnel back in 1976, and headed over the Mohawk Trail to the state college, where some high school friends were waiting. They had a surprise for me, a girl that I went to junior high school in Stoneham was living with them in the house, so we stayed up all night talking. I finally fell to sleep early in the morning. When I woke, there was a foot of now on the car. I had to go home by the least vertical route, so I drove south to the Mass Pike, which got me on at Exit 1. I drove in that snow for almost 12 hours, the 8-track playing Joni's "Miles of Aisles" over-and-over-and-over-and-over again. Today, I can still sing anything or repeat any of the stage patter from that album.

When I first saw Joni in concert, it was if she was singing to me directly. And I often fantisized about a wedding, though with Joni as a guest, not the bride, and her singing to wish us (whoever the bride was) peace and happiness. You could say that I grew up with her, gladdened and saddened with her. The DVD put me closer and now that heavenly singing, in a slightly lower register, fills my thoughts this day.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention one of my favorite songs as my love for trains encourages; its "Just Like This Train," from Court And Spark.

I'm always running behind the time
Just like this train
Shaking into town
With the brakes complaining

I used to count lovers like railroad cars
I counted them on my side
Lately I don't count on nothing
I just let things slide

The station master's shuffling cards
Boxcars are banging in the yards
Jealous Iovin'Il make you crazy
If you can't find your goodness
'Cause you lost your heart

I went looking for a cause
Or a strong cat without claws
Or any reason to resume
And I found this empty seat
In this crowded waiting room
Everybody waiting
Old man sleeping on his bags
Women with that teased up kind of hair
Kids with the jitters in their legs
And those wide, wide open stares
And the kids got cokes and chocolate bars
There's a thin man smoking a fat cigar
Jealous lovin'lI make you crazy
If you can't find your goodness
'Cause you've lost your heart

What are you going to do now
You've got no one
To give your love too

Well I've got this berth and this pull down blind
I've got this fold up sink
And these rocks and these cactus going by
And a bottle of German wine to drink
Settle down into the clickety cIack
With the clouds and the stars to read
Dreaming of the pleasure I'm going to have
Watching your hairline recede
My vain darling
Watching your hair and clouds and stars
I'm rocking away in a sleeping car
This jealous lovin's bound to make me
Crazy
I can't find my goodness
I lost my heart
Oh sour grapes
Because I lost my heart


If you are interested in other Joni Mitchell fans, check out the exhaustive Joni Mitchell Discussion List site.

Thanks, Joni Mitchell, for 32 years of pure poetry and wonderful images.




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Don't attempt to start a pot roast in the crock pot if you have to be at church by 8:30 and want it for dinner after church.


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Another New York Times article explores the interwoven fabric of Instant Messaging into even our homes. Ha, my son can't IM me anymore 'case I took away his wireless LAN adaptor.

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The New York Times has a review of a new "reality" TV show starring Robin (Robyn) Leach. Again. The "Life Of Luxury" premired December 29th.

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Flash from ABC News: New York is expensive to live in. Link via Cosmo via Gawker (hey Cos, how in the world did you find this at Gawk's?)

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This has got to be the most strange speech I've ever read. And maybe Michael Crichton is ready for his pills now.

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Music has been flodding my head lately, and I think its going to be a Joni Mitchell listen day.

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

But it don't snow here
It stays pretty green
I'm going to make a lot of money
Then I'm going to quit this crazy scene
Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river I could skate away on
I made my baby cry

He tried hard to help me
You know, he put me at ease
And he loved me so naughty
Made me weak in the knees
Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

I'm so hard to handle
I'm selfish and I'm sad
Now I've gone and lost the best baby
That I ever had
I wish I had a river I could skate away on

Oh, I wish I had a river so long
I would teach my feet to fly
I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
I made my baby say goodbye

It's coming on Christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
I wish I had a river I could skate away on.

"River' by Joni Mitchell, 1970, from the album "Blue"



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So, did you all have school today? I didn't. Come in, and I'll tell you a story, ok? You can leave your sweater on the chair, its ok. I like to take my sneakers off when I come into the house, don't you? That's nice.

Do you have puppets in your house? I do. And you know, puppets have people's hands inside. Did you know that? I'm glad I don't have a person's hand inside my head. Do you know, that I don't even know whose hands are inside my puppets? Someday I'll know. But not now.

Why don't we listen to some music? I have some records over h