Happy Thanksgiving!

We were blessed with delightful weather for Thanksgiving and as you can see, the girls took advantage of it -- perhaps the last time they'll wear their summer dresses and frolic in the warm sunshine this year.



After Mass, we had our Thanksgiving Tea at home. It was very simple and did not require any major preparations --just some artwork, a bit of baking, and pretty dishes. And a little girl's song of thanksgiving and praise, now happily shared with all of you. Happy Thanksgiving!

Wile E. Coyote, in two parts

Part of my job as pater familias is to keep the family well-entertained. My dear wife will attest to my efforts (if not to the fruits of those efforts ...). So in one of our rather longish car rides (it had to be more than 15 minutes in duration, so it was of the really-prolonged-are-we-there-yet-Papa? variety), I switched my story-telling tactics from historical significance ("This is how the pilgrims built houses" or "This is how seat-belts developed") to the farcical -- dare I even say: "wile"-y? -- because, well, because after telling the seat-belts story the 42nd time, I had stripped that mine bare of rich (or, even, any) material.

So, I told the story of Wile E. Coyote and the Road Runner: how the wily coyote was always trying to catch the Road Runner (for what purpose, I remained coy), and being slower than the road runner (meep-mbeep! fwhooosh!), was always ordering the latest gimmick from the Acme store (Ha! I bet you didn't know there really existed a store by that name). So, I told, from memory, the incident of the man-catapult.

My story was an instant hit. Of course it was: it had all the elements of a winner -- a lofty, albeit unattainable, goal, a persevering protagonist, the dominating force of nature, and classical physical humor. What's not to love?

Of course, the darling daughters demanded more and more stories, and so I had to recollect and recount these vignettes from memory. Then I had to make up some. And still they demanded more, applauding my efforts with peals of unrestrained laughter.

Partus Primus (that's fake latin for "Part #1")

So, my dear wife tells me, a week later, after I've returned from work in NJ (soon to be West Chester, PA ... joy, I've always wanted to add another two hours each way to my commute), that Elena, playing with a friend at ballet recounted these stories at face value after her friend told her what she had seen on TV. Think about it: Elena Marie has never seen a Warner Bros cartoon, but she's talking in context with a friend who has.

So, I wonder what my children will think of the "real thing" if I ever show them an episode. Will the cartoon reality be as rich as what their imaginings have provided?

Partus Secundus

So, the children love to put on impromptu plays and productions. So, as I was departing for work again this week, Elena Marie invited the parents to witness her latest invention. What I saw, when I was dragged to the bedroom, was the bed in shambles: on the cue of me entering the room, Isabel leapt into a pile of pillows at the foot of bed and the force of her launch propelled her into the chest of drawers (chiffonier to y'all down sauf).

Bang! Whaaaaaaa! was Isabel's heart-rent cry to my scolding. Bang! Whaaaaaa! was Elena Marie slamming the door to her bedroom and crying into her pillow.

Isabel quickly cheered up after several hugs and a promise of chocolate from a mother-haven, but Elena needed much more coaxing. Apparently the setup was to be a reenactment of the road runner and Wile E. Coyote (with the usual cliff's edge shenanigans), but Isabel, who played the road runner, was supposed to be invincible and infallible and emphatically wasn't supposed to fall off the cliff's edge, as it turned out. Elena couldn't be consoled, not because of an affectionate consoler, but because her best laid plans, well, "Gang aft agley".

Well, work, that cliff-crashing siren, called me away (fortunately, not to my shipwrecked doom, but the night is still young), but as I now have a "new" car (thank you, again, Mike and Malou for the life-saving loaner), I returned home to get my EZ Pass (another life-saver ... why waste time queuing up for tolls when one can zip right through ... like Jack-ther-Frost?) to find my little Elena Marie at the door, squealing with joy at the opportunity to receive a few hugs and to say good-bye properly. Little Isabel was sad, however -- I thought you left for work! -- she takes partings hard, and so having to part twice with Papa in one day was not something she regarded with any joy. Oh, well, sometimes you win, and sometimes you fall off a 3000' cliff chasing after dinner.

Front-paged on HBO

First post in a while. I'm supposed to write about Jack-ther-Frost or about the recent homilies at Mass or about the Wile E. Coyote or other happenings in the life of this pater familias, but I have this small offering for now:

The 40 Most Memorable Aliens
geophf let us know about a piece at the London Times - the 40 most memorable aliens. The Covenant came in at Number Nineteen. He found this link on the IMDb Hit List. (Louis Wu 21:15:56 UTC) (permalink)

See http://halo.bungie.org for the post.

I'm happy. After more than, what, three? five? years of reading hbo, I've finally been posted, by none other than lwu himself, as a contributor.

Weird (*ahem*, more weird) Work days

Vignette 1: adagio

Sometimes, work is like this. I had just finished listening to my theme song (yes, that's me on lead guitar, and, yes, I need a haircut), when the customer, Scott, asked our new contractor, Anthony, a time zone question: So, what's the time in Arizona now?

This, of course, is a trick question. Everybody knows this is a trick question, so I whipped off my head phones and said so. Scott chuckled at that: Heh! I knew you could hear me!

Of course, Arizona is on standard time (except the parts of Arizona in the Navajo nation which is now in daylight savings time). But Anthony already knew this, so he was good (being in charge of that part of the code). This lead to a prolonged, albeit genteel, gripe by Scott about the complicatedness of it all when it comes figuring out times across time zones. And how always having to be correct would wear anybody down.

Me: Except me: I am Iron Man [gentle reader: you did follow my theme song link, right?]
Scott grudgingly admitted, after the double take, that, yes, I was a perfectionist.

You could make a "Scott's Decree" that all time will now be in UTC, I continued, that way, the vampires would be confused and melt when they went out into the sunlight by accident.

That last bit gave Scott pause: Ya know, I never would have thought of that as a consequence.

Vignette 2: andante

It came on to rain, and unlike rains in the midatlantic area (Oh, should I rain, I don't know ... perhaps I'll just mist about for a while), rains in the Northeast rain with a driving purpose. Well, this rain today was more of the lento variety, so when Leo, my skydiving coworker, saw the rain, and me, inside, not dancing in it outside (yes, ask me about that later, for I am John the Fisherman), he made a remark about it.

Yes, well, this polite rain is all very transcendent in its serenity, I responded, but I prefer something a little more sturm und drang.

Leo: So you like the lightening?
Me: Nah, I'm a wind elemental, so I'm at home in a heavy wind.

The shocked look on Leo's face indicated his surprise.

Me: Ha! You weren't expecting that statement, were ya! I win.
Leo: Dougster, I've learnt not to expect anything from you, except the unexpected.

I let that non-sequitur pass.

Of course, Greg, the program manager wouldn't leave my antics alone (when will he learn?): But you could get hit by lightening!

This, of course, set me off: OOooooOoh! That would be so cool! I'd call myself ElectroMan.
Greg, chuckling, in a parting shot: Or, we would call you dead ...
Me: Oooooh! Extra crispy; love that chicken!

Vignette 3: adagio

It's now nighttime, and we, Greg, Leo, Anthony and I, were discussing code. Leo mentioned that one system, although working, was in need of optimization and was sloppy. Greg said, Well, all code is sloppy ... except yours Anthony.

Me: ... and mine; mine is good, too! I entreated.
Greg smiled at that. Yes, actually, Scott said your code was cute. I've never heard that said about code before.
We all chuckled at that, and I added: Huh! It's odd how the word never and I seem to be so closely associated. I don't know why that is, as I'm such a middle-of-the-road kind of guy.
Greg snorted: Yeah, you're just so, erhm, he stumbled for words, ordinary. as he ended weakly.
Me: Yeah, yeah, I'm like this non-entity ... like a Minnesotan: so bland you don't even notice I'm there.

Greg couldn't play at this game anymore. He burst out laughing as he headed out for supper.

Three Days with my Three Girls!

I met with my friend, Mike, on Friday, to save the world, and to discuss techniques for saving the world, when I found myself the proud owner of two Red Sox tickets.

The were actually Baltimore Orioles tickets, but the Red Sox have home-field advantage where ever they play, or, as the Boston radio announcer stated: "Welcome to Fenway Park at Camden Yards."

Hm. How to handle this (2 tickets, but 4 family members)? Fortunately, my dear wife had a plan: since Isabel was soon to be ill with a cold, I would take Elena Marie to the game. Heh! (Or, should I say, *whew*).

What followed ...

EM: Papa, are we there yet?
Me: Nope!
EM: grrrr!

EM: Papa?
Me: Yes?
EM: Tell me a story abooooooooooout ... the road runner?

... was a little girl flowering into a baseball fan born in the Red Sox Nation. So, thus beginneth her education.

At batting practice:

EM: Papa, look at that ball! as another humdinger flies out of the park.
Me: yes
EM: Papa, look at that ball! as another humdinger flies into the stands.
Me: yes
EM: Papa?
Me: yes?
EM: If I catch a ball, I will throw it back to them.
Me: Oh, no, sweetie, if you catch the ball, you can keep it.
EM, incredulously: Really?
Me: yes I say that often these days.
EM: Papa, I want you to catch me a ball!
Me, wait for it: yes

During the game:

EM: Papa, did the Red Sox get a home run?
Me: No, sweetie, they're fielding the ball, so they're pitching to the Orioles.
EM: Why?
Me: Well, sweetie, each team take turns fielding the ball and batting, at the top of the inning the Red Sox got to bat, and, since the Orioles is the home team, they get to bat at the bottom of the inning.
Lady, sitting next to us: Oh, how cute! Is she learning baseball?
Me: Yes, this is her first game.
Lady, turning to her caro spozo: Look, dear, that little girl is learning about baseball!
Caro spozo looks over and shrugs (these Bostonians are hard to impress).
EM, continuing her education: Papa? I want the Red Sox to win.

Please note, gentle reader, that this came with no prompting or indication of preference from me. If my daughter wishes to be a Yankees fan, that's her problembusiness. But it may have helped that 99.5% of the fans in our section were Red Sox fans ...

At the top of the 7th inning:

EM: Is it over yet?
Me: No, sweetie, there are two more innings.

At the bottom of the 7th inning:

EM: Is it over yet?
Me: No, sweetie, there are two more innings.

etc. Because of two stoppages of play, the first, in the third inning, which led to the Orioles starting pitcher being ejected from the game, it was well past Elena Marie's bed time, and that, with all the excitement for her throughout the day (it being her first baseball game, and all, where she shyly passed the pre-teen girl in front of us an "I like you" picture and where she kept waiting to catch an errant fly ball), the little one was all tuckered out.

Then the walk back to the car (EM: Why is everybody smoking?) and the exit to the highway (EM: Why are the cars not moving? ... this comment, in light of the fact that the Camden Yards has the most convenient parking lot in the world: it empties right onto 395!)

So, the next day, in gratitude, we composed a "thank you" card to our Tito Mike and Tita Malou, with Elena Marie providing the artwork.

Me: Is that you swinging a baseball bat?
EM: No, Papa, that's you.
Me: Oh.

Well, on Saturday, I took care of both girls, as their mother headed off to instruct her debutants in her latest creation -- since these young ladies and gentlemen are already accomplished dancers, they appreciate her choreography. Well, as the day progressed, Isabel's cold did, too. Which means that we had to go to A&J's for health-restoring soup, of course. Which she did not eat, of course.

So, on Sunday, after I had returned from the early morning Mass (which the priest gave a wonderful homily relating Wisdom ("What is this Wisdom today's first reading is talking about? Is it the wisdom of mathematics? Is it the wisdom of knowledge? What Wisdom this reading is talking about is God.") to our sacrifices described in the Gospel reading ("Jesus is not telling us to sever our ties with our brothers or sisters or our things. No, he is telling us that if any of these others lead us away from God, we must choose God and not these others, for God is worth more than all these others, and the wisdom he gives us as we read in the first reading is to choose Him."), I looked after the li'l Iz while Elena Marie and sweetie went to the morning Mass.

Well, what was to be done? Isabel and I shared some breakfast (Isabel: Would you like some ... Coffee? Isabel delights in making people coffee with our special coffee maker). And then she, as is her wont, handed me a series of books to read, the last one being Guess How Much I Love You. This last one she was not content to listen to the words and look at the pictures. No, after reading the first few pages, she left the table and acted out the words in pantomime.

Me, reading from the book: "I love you as high as I can reach." said Little Nutbrown Hare.
Isabel hops up from the table and reaches as high as she can.

So, I decided to join in this game.

Me, continuing to read: "I love you as high as I can reach," said Big Nutbrown Hare.
Then I leapt from the table and reached as high as I could.
Isabel, with wonder in her eyes, laughed out: That's high, Papa!

... which coincided nicely with what I was reading next: That is quite high, thought Little Nutbrown Hare. I wish I had arms like that.

The next part required a little bit of effort:

Then Little Nutbrown Hare had a good idea. He tumbled upside down and reached up the tree trunk with his feet.

"I love you all the way up to my toes!" he said.

"And I love you all the way up to your toes," said Big Nutbrown Hare, swinging him up over his head.

For this, I cradled Isabel in my arms and threw her above my head, inverted.

Isabel: That was scary! ... but it was fun.

There was more reading along the lines of hopping (which required that I do a bunny hop, which Isabel immediately imitated, with a near-close encounter with a coat rack and bookshelf ... my heart!) and kissing goodnight (which entailed me cradling her in our glide chair and giving her a good "night" kiss).

So, now comes the part in the blog where I outline the third day with my dear sweetheart, but this is the rawther disappointing part, because the third day was a hug for her at the beginning of the weekend and a goodbye kiss at its end. When people are lining up around the block, as for rock stars and my wife, it's hard to get in a "mo'" edge-wise.

And so it goes.

Once more with feeling: Ninjas Rule!

Okay, this link is too good to pass up:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lXX0sxUHQiU

... it's kind of like this one, but not:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bmotlurx0EM

I really must rethink my ban on television watching (22 years and counting), these were really edifying clips.

In a totally-related link (related by Chaos), it is found that Ninjas are mathematicians in this blog entry.

Makes perfect sense to me: after all, I'm a Ninja and mathmetician (don't quite remember my Erdos number right now (nor, embarrassingly, my Shusaku number, as I didn't even know this number existed until just now ... oh, the things one finds when one looks ...), so please don't ask), so, via generalization by sophistry, Every Ninja is a Mathmetician, Q.E.D. Do not read in that blog the comment posted by this weirdo geophf person, unless you're open to having your brain melt.

Bambi and Thumper

As you can see from other stories I've told, I'm quite the animal, um, activist. Well, coming home from a trip to northern NJ, our family saw a pair of deer, the mommie dear with a fawn, grazing in the field adjacent to our hotel. Elena Marie, like Curious George, was very curious, but also very good, wondered what deer eat. When I told her, oh, leaves and grass and stuff, she recommended I pick a leaf and feed it to the dear deer. Because, you know, grazing makes deer hungry. Huh?

So, armed with an obliging leaf EM picked for me, I started my trek across a possibly deer-tick-laden field to feed this family another leaf. I fully expected the deer to run off when they noticed me.

But no.

Did you know that deer hiss? When the mother finally noticed me, across a football field's worth of high grass (I guess my ninja skilz aren't all that well-polished ...), she snorted, as if expelling air forcefully through her nostrils (I guess I just did say "snorted", didn't I ...), and then stamped on the ground, as if to announce I was entering a danger zone. I, fearless as ever, continued my advance. This scene repeated twice, until my dear wife, having just finished unloading the car could now turn her attention to other things: What in the world are you doing out there, come back here right this instant and help me unpack. As I leapt to her bidding, both deer also leapt into the safety of the surrounding forest.

Diane: What were you doing with those deer?
Me: All I wanted to do was to pat them...
Diane: grrrr!

Later that night, around midnight, in fact, when I was walking back to the hotel from work (yes, it was Labor Day), a rabbit grazing in the field next to the walkway cotton-tailed its way across my path to disappear into the forest. I haven't yet found out if rabbits hiss when one approaches their young ... stay tuned.

So there you have it, folks, Bambi and Thumper, both in one day.