hello.

I don't even remember when I first used a Mac — I only remember using it. I'm not entirely sure which one, but it was almost certainly the original model (pictured above) that sat upright with a small monochrome monitor built in, and a thick, rectangular mouse. I was visiting friends who had bought one, back in the day, when the idea of a home computer was still new and novel (and expensive). I remember drawing a cartoon in MacPaint — nothing too elaborate, just something I could construct mostly from lines and shapes. It took time to become comfortable with the mouse, but I was able to use the software with ease, despite the fact that I had never, ever used a computer this way before. It was magic.

This week marks twenty-five years since that original Macintosh first went on sale. In the time since, the computer has gone from being an expensive hobby item to an indispensable, slightly-less-expensive appliance. What I can do with the MacBook that I type this on, I would never have imagined possible while sitting in front of that first Mac.

I'm sure I still have a copy of the drawing, somewhere. (At least, I hope I do.)

Language

It's interesting, sometimes, studying a person's body language. (I think it's a habit I've picked up from reading too many Desmond Morris books through the years.) People with Asperger Syndrome aren't supposed to be good at that (I've never been formally diagnosed, but my son has, and I have good reason to suspect it in myself), but it's never been a problem for me.

Today, I the spent time while waiting watching a woman who holds an important position, work that requires someone who is intelligent, confident and forceful. Yet her mannerisms, and the hesitation in her voice seemed to betrayed her. It's almost as if she were a child dressing in her Mother's clothes, pretending at being an adult.

Learn'd

My son, making his way through the first grade, has been learning to write and spell. He's been encouraged to write on his own, though his reach often exceeds his grasp where spelling is concerned, so for anything he hasn't been taught he relies on what he has learned, and applies that as best he can. He often spells words phonetically, which makes them adorable to read.

Today, I read that he had salid for lunch, and droo during recess. He has written that on Christmas Eve he helpd wrap presents, and opend and playd with his the next morning.

I think of Chaucer when I see that (or as much as I remember of it).

Beyond

I enjoy taking photographs with my iPhone. It doesn't have the same qualities of a conventional camera, of course, and I can't adjust the focus or the exposure — but it's always with me, should I come across something I want to share, or to remember. And I enjoy the challenge of trying to coax something worthwhile out of the humble iPhone camera under different circumstances.

Over the past several months, I've been collecting and posting my favorite images to another blog: In The Back Of Beyond. All of the photos you'll see there have been taken with the iPhone (and most likely will be for the forseeable future, as my wife has lost the digital camera).

Most have no more than simple color correction and contrast adjustment, and a few have been left completely unaltered — I've been pleasantly surprised by the vivid color the iPhone can capture. I've tried to avoid too much post-processing and jiggery-pokery (that's the technical term, you know) in Photoshop — though there have been occasions when I've wanted to try something different, such as this series of photos that were converted to black-and-white.

I don't always post new photos as often as I'd like — that depends on what catches my eye at any given moment! — but I try to do so as often as I can. I invite you to check in from time to time, to see where I've been. Comments are always welcome.

Dot Net

My ".net" domain expires at the end of the month, and I'm wondering if it's worth the effort to renew it. It quietly redirects to my ".com" domain, nothing more — though there was a time when you were sort of obliged to reserve both (and several other variations), out of concern that a despicable someone could claim the ".net" version, and confusion and havoc would be the inevitable result. But is that still the case? (I had two other domain names I let lapse a few years ago, and they still don't seem to have been registered by anyone else.)

Thankfully, my indefatigable ".com" domain remains current for another year.

Expectations

My son can hardly contain his excitement at the possibility of a snow day tomorrow. It seems likely — at least, I think it does — but I'm keeping expectations low to avoid disappointment.

I am, I must admit, conflicted on this subject. I have a great deal of work to attend to this week, and I'd prefer to be left to it — but I've never forgotten the thrill of the unexpected day off, and I can imagine the excitement I'd feel in his place.

Player-Piano Rolls

I'm fascinated by this story, and by the idea of something long thought forgotten — the last remaining factory to manufacture player-piano rolls has stopped production. Beautiful, cantankerous antique machinery that had been in use almost since the turn of the century has been shut down, disassembled, and put into storage. I wish I could have seen it at work. (Here's a tour of the QRS Technologies manufacturing facility during better times, with a demonstration of how player-piano rolls are recorded and manufactured.)

It came as a complete surprise to me to discover that player-piano rolls were still being produced and sold — over the past several years, QRS Technologies has been selling about 50,000 paper rolls each year. (I can't seem to find current prices on the company's web site, but other vendors seem to have them for around $20 each.) Who in the world has been buying them, I wonder?

You might be surprised at what songs are available — there's a list here (though I've no idea how comprehensive it is). Selections include Charleston Rag (played by Eubie Blake, no less!), Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover, Suicide Is Painless, and even Classical Gas.

And did you know that analog player pianos were still being manufactured and sold, well into this decade? (QRS Technologies acquired the last remaining manufacturer in 1993, to ensure a continued market for player-piano rolls.) They've been supplanted by a modern, digitized system that can be added to a standard piano. (You can even buy a remote with a touchscreen to operate them.)

Misplaced

I have a problem — a book my son borrowed from the library has somehow disappeared. I've looked up and down the house, and all through his room, but the problem is that my son has (and I say this without a trace of hyperbole) approximately 35,000 books of all shapes and sizes. Like his parents, he loves to read (and to be read to).

The book is due to be returned tomorrow — assuming I can find it.

River

The air at the edge of the river was frigid and still, with only the occasional breeze to disrupt the silence, shaking the dry leaves that still somehow clung to tree branches. All was quiet. I could hear the flow of great pieces of ice in the river crack as they moved, very slowly, and melted in the morning sun.

Perched precariously on a fallen tree or piece of driftwood to take this photo, I would hear the ice seem to fracture all around me. I held still, thinking I were somehow responsible. But I began to realize that it was only the tidal flow of the river beneath the ice.

Shuffling

I think tomorrow may have to be given over entirely to paperwork. There are bills that are due to be paid, accounts that ought to be balanced, information to be gathered for preparation of tax returns, forms that need to be filled out, notes to be duly noted, and royalty statements from the second half of 2008 that are due to be mailed by the end of the month.

Or, perhaps that will be left for Thursday.

Swearing In

My son and I had a brief discussion about Presidents "making bad choices" (parents of young children in these modern times will undoubtedly recognize this turn of phrase), and he asked if Presidents ever said bad things. This immediately brought to mind the colorful idiolect of Lyndon B. Johnson, fondly remembered for his use of coarse language and (as one site politely put it) "occasional moments of non-refinement." (You'll find several entertaining examples here.)

I do what I consider to be a reasonably good Lyndon Johnson impression (though there are discouragingly few opportunities to put such talent to use these days) and I hope in time to be able to share this gift with my son. For now, though, I avoided getting into too much detail.

Ceremony

My six-year-old son and his classmates watched the inauguration ceremony at school today. He admitted, somewhat hesitantly, that he found it boring — I assured him that many adults feel just the same. We talked about why some people were excited, though, and I tried to help him understand why this day was so important.

I also tried to explain why this day was important to me — that Barrack Obama had worked very hard to help people who needed help, and that this was why he wanted to be the President. "To make things better," he told me.

(Perhaps he does understand, after all.)

Inauguration Day

I ran an errand this morning, with the hope of finding my way there and back before the day's productivity was abandoned. And I was struck by how quiet and empty the stores were — much more so than I'm accustomed to seeing at this time of day. I wonder if this was because it was the day after a three day weekend? Or the uncertain economy? Or were people were staying home, in anticipation of watching the inauguration?

Mouse

There's a mouse in the garage. I see it only occasionally, from time to time, but I know it's still there when the small bits of food I leave quickly disappear. (I'd encourage the mouse fend for itself if the ground weren't covered with ice and snow, and the temperature wasn't, as I write this, 5°.)

I think most people would find such a thing to be unsettling, but as long as it isn't inside of my house, I don't much mind. (If it were inside my house, I can't imagine it would last long.)

Number Six

I was thinking yesterday, after I heard the news, that Patrick McGoohan has frequently been mentioned as having been considered for, perhaps even offered, the role of James Bond in Dr. No (based on his previous success in the role of a secret agent in a short-lived TV series) but he declined it on moral grounds. (This source says he feared "that Bond would be an unhealthy image for his daughters to see.")

I don't think he would have been as right for that role ― his portrayal may have been closer in spirit to the source material (the character was less cool than cold in the Ian Fleming novels), but I don't think he had the charisma that Sean Connery did. McGoohan was every bit as handsome and masculine, but he always seemed more ― distant to me, somehow, more remote. I don't think the film (much less the series of films) would have succeeded in the same way. (Though it's interesting that after forty years the series came around to casting an actor in Daniel Craig who, I think, has many of the same qualities McGoohan might have brought to the role.)

And of course, he probably wouldn't have been able to make The Prisoner, which would have been an enormous loss.

Orange and White

A flyer that had been posted around my neighborhood caught my eye this afternoon — someone found a stray cat in our area, yesterday. What's piqued my interest is that this cat seems virtually identical to Mr. O'Malley, with the same beautiful, distinctive markings. This cat was found with a pink collar on, so I'm assuming that this is a female. (Either that, or someone has a sense of irony.)

I've been trying to use details in the two photos as a sort of reference point to puzzle out the size — I think she's about the same size as Mr. O'Malley, perhaps a bit more svelte, which would make sense if she were female. (We adopted a pair of litter mates almost three years ago — the brother is enormous, the sister still slim.)

The woman who found her just called, while I was writing, and we exchanged stories. The lost cat seems healthy, and is very affectionate, and even smells a bit of shampoo, just as Mr. O'Malley did when we found him. (The vet suggested it might be fabric softener, and that the cat was accustomed to napping in a basket of clean laundry.) I'm sure that the owner will come forward soon — that the cat was found wearing a collar is a hopeful sign. But then, nobody ever came looking for Mr. O'Malley.

I've asked that the woman keep us in mind if that doesn't happen, and she decides that she can't offer the cat a home.

School

I had to drive my son to school on Monday (we missed the bus). As we walked to his classroom — and again, as I left — I saw an exasperated mother trying to persuade a very distressed young boy who, whatever his reasons, did not want to go to school that day. He was pleading with her, desperate. "I can't do this," he cried.

I wonder, was this his first day at a new school?

It swept me back in time. We had recently moved to a new town, I was about to start the fifth grade in a new school, and I was experiencing complete and utter terror. There had to be something, anything, I could do to stay in my old, familiar school among my old, familiar friends. But that old, familiar school was now a half-hour away.

I settled in, of course, given time (though I don't remember anything more about that year than writing a report on the state of Montana, and I couldn't tell you anything more about it than that the state capital is in Helena). And it was an excellent school district — I've come to believe it was likely better than the one I Ieft behind — with teachers whose influence I will never forget. But school was never really the same for me again, somehow. Before, I had been a great student — after that, I was still a great student, but it just didn't seem as important as it had been. And it never was again, not really.

Despite that, I would graduate from High School a year ahead (from another High School, a similar story, though one for another time), and I eventually went to college, but lasted only a half-semester before my interest began to wander (though I was beginning to pursue an interest in journalism).

I love to learn, and I've always been intellectually curious, but I don't seem to have much patience for a structured learning environment. This is one of few genuine regrets I have about the course of my life. I've always wondered if this was the point where everything changed.

Pants

I bought a long-overdue new pair of pants last week. Two pairs, actually, as I had to return the first when they proved too tight. That second pair seemed fine when I tried them on, quite comfortably so, but a few days wear has caused the fabric to stretch, and now they're irritatingly, need-to-be-pulled-up-every-three-minutes loose.

I seem to have difficulty buying pants that fit — for some reason, they're either too big, or too long. The pair I replaced were both, the cuffs inevitably catching under my shoes and dragging along the ground, fraying with wear. I've worn them far longer than I should have.

It isn't as if my weight has changed ― not by much, at any rate ― and my height is almost certainly the same. But I shop for clothes so infrequently I can never seem to remember the size I need. And even when I do, the size doesn't seem consistent across different types of pants.

Obviously, there is some mystic wisdom to buying pants that I have yet to recognize.

Fireflies

I wish I had known about this several months ago — I only recently found out about it (and then I forgot to mention it). You can join with a network of volunteers to help in understanding the disappearance of fireflies from our backyards. I wouldn't recommend spending too much time waiting for them this time of year, but if you sign up now, and I'm sure you'll be reminded when the time comes.

Many times over the past several years I've wondered why I wasn't seeing as many fireflies as I remember — they seemed to be almost everywhere when I was young. (If I had only known, I might not have spent so many childhood evenings trying to catch them.)

Fleeting

Ice continues to cling to tree branches, days after the storm. But today, the sun shines brightly, and everything sparkles and glows, each tree decorated. I had hoped to photograph this, but the glare of the sun filled my eyes, and I could not begin to capture the beauty of what I had seen in the morning sun. It will likely be gone by the afternoon.

Notes On The Day

The crystalline ground has been covered with a powder of large white flakes, the result of an unexpected snowfall. It's treacherous to the unsteady, but beautiful.

While working upstairs, I've been listening to sheets of ice occasionally detach themselves from the roof and slide off, to come crashing to the ground. (Either that, or there's a very large animal in my attic.)

While working at my desk just now, I heard what I thought might be footsteps at my door. I ignored them and continued working, thinking it was probably a late mail delivery or a package that had been left. Upon looking over my computer and out the back window, I noticed at least ten deer of various sizes in my backyard, some of them standing on my deck, eating birdseed — that was the noise I heard. The ones that are familiar enough not to flee at the sight of me will enjoy the generous portion of food I put out for them — though as I write this, minutes later, they all seem to have disappeared.

Preoccupied

It's ironic. Today I have actual work I need to do, metaphorically piling up on my virtual desk. Yet I've spent the just about entire day so far running what should have been a quick errand, which led to my taking several photographs — that's one of them, there in that previous post — then sorting them out, making a few minor adjustments here and there. (It's for an ongoing project. I'll have more to say about it soon.)

Icicles

The Bus

I've just watched the bus drive up the street, on the way to school, with my son. All is once again right with the world — for the next several hours, at least.

Without Child

My son, at six years old, has already decided for himself that he does not want to have children — he says they would take too much time away from his important goals of being an Inventor. I always remind him that he could come to change his mind, and that he has plenty of time ahead to make that choice — but his mind seems made up, for the moment.

I wonder if he somehow understands that he's going through an era right now that is especially demanding of his parents? That, as much as we love him, being his parents is occasionally difficult and exhausting? We try not to let that show, not too much (and we know it won't last), but it's impossible to disguise completely. And he personalizes this as not wanting to have a "little guy," an endearment he's known since he was just hours old.

Or is this just a decision he's arrived at via inimitable six-year-old logic?

Betta

I have recently adopted a Betta, who now swims in peaceful solitude in a reasonably large glass cube on a shelf in my office, decorated with a selection of rocks and a large stem of bamboo. I'd been thinking, through the years, about setting up a small aquarium in there (to complement a larger one upstairs), but somehow never got around to it. I've always resisted getting a Betta, because I don't care for the way they're sold and treated ― most people are led to believe a Betta will be perfectly content in a bowl not much larger than a crumpled piece of typing paper, but that just doesn't seem right to me. Hence, the cube ― it's still not the best habitat, but it's better than a small bowl on someone's kitchen counter.

I'm not entirely sure why I changed my mind on the subject. But I am already beginning to regret having done so. In reading more, I have come to realize that I can't even begin to provide an appropriate environment for a Betta. I worry that my office is too cold. Different sources offer conflicting advice on feeding. And I can't seem to get used to his unusual habits ― he doesn't swim around as much as other fish, so I'm constantly wondering if something is wrong.

Should the worst happen, I don't think I'll replace him. Perhaps I'll find a space in the office for that small aquarium I wanted, after all.