July 01

August 14

This time it was the jigsaw puzzle. A photo of vanilla ice cream scoops, laid out in
a circle in Dwight's living room on his nicely finished cherry table. The entire circumference
was put together but the inside was largely unfinished. Susan talked about how difficult it was,
and how she and Jennifer would spend fifteen minutes a night to place a piece of two.

Like a box of Ring Dings, Mark and Dave were drawn to it and before Dwight had finished
grilling our hamburgers and hotdogs (and of course Rob's vegie burger) they had placed maybe
ten pieces. Later, and with the only possible precedent being a game pitched by Pedro, they both
left the poker table to work on those white scoops. Ten minutes later Dave triumphantly returned
to the poker table with the question, "Okay where's the ice cream?"

"They asked me to resign." Bryan and I were sitting off to one side and when he said that; I
thought, oh, and I guess you told them you wouldn't. Couldn't quite comprehend that he had
lost his job, even though his history of taking and leaving jobs is far worse than mine. And we
knew that even his job had been affected by the collapse of all those high tech jobs. Now he's
working for Back Care Basics, but who knows for how long.

Mark had the motors for his garage doors installed and while there he talked to the installers
about his contractor. A small rural town, with lots of inbreeding, they all know one another and
this guy gave Mark the skinny. His contractor was working on his own house, instead of Marks,
and to show he was an equal opportunity jerk, described how he had begun a roof repair before
last winter, stripped the shingles, propped the rafters with supporting timbers and then just disappeared.
It seems he is almost done with Mark's, about all that is left is the electrical service and a repair of
the paving. There is a shallow depression in front of the garage that is intended to channel water away
from the entrance, not create a naturally standing pond, that given time would yield all sorts of life.
All the subs were as unreliable as the contractor, Mark recounted strings of appointments made and
not kept. Speaking of which, String Theory would posit another universe where Mark's garage was
built quickly, on time, and on budget. Too bad Mark picked this universe. Or if he is in both...too
confusing for me.

Rob's story might have been the best of the night. Maybe I should start it this way. Last Friday night,
while Diane and I were browsing in our local bookstore, we bumped into Susan. She was there to
buy a book she could read on the plane down to and back from Baltimore, where they were going to
see the Red Sox play. I knew that John Lewis and his friend Jack were also going to the game so I
told Susan to look for them. She smirked, just the thought of running into two people from Acton,
neither one of which did she think she would recognize, was too far fetched. I told her John (who in
the past had admired her tall beauty) would know her. Although in twenty years, they might have
seen one another four or five times.

On Saturday, I turned on my answering machine and there was Rob's voice, calling from Camden Yards,
telling me to guess who he was standing with. Yup, it was John and Jack. As important, it was Rob's cell
phone, and that meant he had finally decided on a cell phone carrier - Verizon. No roaming charges for
much of the east coast. His flight to Baltimore was flawless, but his trip from the airport to his hotel
(booked online) interminable because of the underground fires caused by tri-propolene gas, probably
lingering from the train that had derailed in the tunnel. When he got to his hotel, he displayed his
confirmation number but was told, "Nope, you're not in the computer." After some discussion, the clerk
finally said, okay, come backat 3PM and we'll have a room for you. He, Susan and Andrew, go off to
the game, sit through a rain delay and a loss, file out with the other 48,000 people, who apparently all
head to the same restaurant (The Cheesecake Factory) where they wait in line for two and and half hours.
Returning they are unable to make a crucial left hand turn, and get stuck on a highway headed for DC
before they are able to make a u-turn and again find their motel. Of course a different motel clerk gives
him that same line about there being no room in his name. Unrattled, Rob calls surrounding motels,
and finally finds a room but one that is seventeen miles away. Just beforehe begins reciting his credit
card number, the nameless one behind the counter tells him he has a room. So much for Quality Inns.

Dwight's cooking was, as usual, good, but the real piece de resistance was a chocolate pie that Susan and
Jennifer made. With heavy cream and melted chocolate chips, it was our best dessert to date. Promises of
a home made apple pie (complete with crust) if we returned in the Fall. Dave, always helpful, was picking
up Bryan's computer to repair and dropping off a pricelist for Dwight to pick from. His contractor...they
need to jackhammer the old stoop, but that might be about it. They did get a finished electrical inspection
so it sounds like he beat Mark, even with a project much larger in scope.

The games...oh the usual. We really need to introduce new ones, but we always say that.



		August 14 This time it was the jigsaw puzzle. A photo of vanilla ice cream scoops, laid out in a circle in Dwight's living room on his nicely finished cherry table. The entire circumference was put together but the inside was largely unfinished. Susan talked about how difficult it was, and how she and Jennifer would spend fifteen minutes a night to place a piece of two. Like a box of Ring Dings, Mark and Dave were drawn to it and before Dwight had finished grilling our hamburgers and hotdogs (and of course Rob's vegie burger) they had placed maybe ten pieces. Later, and with the only possible precedent being a game pitched by Pedro, they both left the poker table to work on those white scoops. Ten minutes later Dave triumphantly returned to the poker table with the question, "Okay where's the ice cream?" "They asked me to resign." Bryan and I were sitting off to one side and when he said that; I thought, oh, and I guess you told them you wouldn't. Couldn't quite comprehend that he had lost his job, even though his history of taking and leaving jobs is far worse than mine. And we knew that even his job had been affected by the collapse of all those high tech jobs. Now he's working for Back Care Basics, but who knows for how long. Mark had the motors for his garage doors installed and while there he talked to the installers about his contractor. A small rural town, with lots of inbreeding, they all know one another and this guy gave Mark the skinny. His contractor was working on his own house, instead of Marks, and to show he was an equal opportunity jerk, described how he had begun a roof repair before last winter, stripped the shingles, propped the rafters with supporting timbers and then just disappeared. It seems he is almost done with Mark's, about all that is left is the electrical service and a repair of the paving. There is a shallow depression in front of the garage that is intended to channel water away from the entrance, not create a naturally standing pond, that given time would yield all sorts of life. All the subs were as unreliable as the contractor, Mark recounted strings of appointments made and not kept. Speaking of which, String Theory would posit another universe where Mark's garage was built quickly, on time, and on budget. Too bad Mark picked this universe. Or if he is in both...too confusing for me. Rob's story might have been the best of the night. Maybe I should start it this way. Last Friday night, while Diane and I were browsing in our local bookstore, we bumped into Susan. She was there to buy a book she could read on the plane down to and back from Baltimore, where they were going to see the Red Sox play. I knew that John Lewis and his friend Jack were also going to the game so I told Susan to look for them. She smirked, just the thought of running into two people from Acton, neither one of which did she think she would recognize, was too far fetched. I told her John (who in the past had admired her tall beauty) would know her. Although in twenty years, they might have seen one another four or five times. On Saturday, I turned on my answering machine and there was Rob's voice, calling from Camden Yards, telling me to guess who he was standing with. Yup, it was John and Jack. As important, it was Rob's cell phone, and that meant he had finally decided on a cell phone carrier - Verizon. No roaming charges for much of the east coast. His flight to Baltimore was flawless, but his trip from the airport to his hotel (booked online) interminable because of the underground fires caused by tri-propolene gas, probably lingering from the train that had derailed in the tunnel. When he got to his hotel, he displayed his confirmation number but was told, "Nope, you're not in the computer." After some discussion, the clerk finally said, okay, come backat 3PM and we'll have a room for you. He, Susan and Andrew, go off to the game, sit through a rain delay and a loss, file out with the other 48,000 people, who apparently all head to the same restaurant (The Cheesecake Factory) where they wait in line for two and and half hours. Returning they are unable to make a crucial left hand turn, and get stuck on a highway headed for DC before they are able to make a u-turn and again find their motel. Of course a different motel clerk gives him that same line about there being no room in his name. Unrattled, Rob calls surrounding motels, and finally finds a room but one that is seventeen miles away. Just beforehe begins reciting his credit card number, the nameless one behind the counter tells him he has a room. So much for Quality Inns. Dwight's cooking was, as usual, good, but the real piece de resistance was a chocolate pie that Susan and Jennifer made. With heavy cream and melted chocolate chips, it was our best dessert to date. Promises of a home made apple pie (complete with crust) if we returned in the Fall. Dave, always helpful, was picking up Bryan's computer to repair and dropping off a pricelist for Dwight to pick from. His contractor...they need to jackhammer the old stoop, but that might be about it. They did get a finished electrical inspection so it sounds like he beat Mark, even with a project much larger in scope. The games...oh the usual. We really need to introduce new ones, but we always say that.