Das Is Culch

Loosed From Our Moorings

Just Sippican

Are You The Verb, Or An Adjective?

Perspective

A Sippican Dialogue

Coal Breaker (From 2009; RIP)

Take 5

Wait a sec . . .

Florence At Night

Be there . . .

Master Builder (Part 8)

But I just . . . gotta . . .

The Borderline Sociopathic Book For Boys

Boys and guns.

They go together.

Master Builder (Part 7)

More kitchen . . .

Master Builder (Part 6)

Master Builder (Part 5)

The man knows his windows.

Master Builder (Part 4)

Windows matter . . . a lot.

Master Builder (Part 3)

Color the Master Builder right.

Master Builder (Part 2)

Your pront door matters.

Master Builder (Part 1)

The Open Plan

Music Hath Charms . . .

The larger son came home from school today, and made an unusual request:

"Dad, can we get your trombone out of the attic? I want to learn to play it."

Glenn Miller notwithstanding, the trombone's not where it's at. It's plumbing, not music, as I used to say. I played it thirty years ago, and haven't touched it in twenty years.

The Greatest View In The World

The Vanderbilt cottage.

To Be A Father

As he was our first child, we had to figure out how to be parents, on the run. When he sneezed in his crib, you'd stand over him, and tried to draw each labored breath out of him with your willpower alone, and prayed and listened intently for the next.

Joe

Let's talk about something important.

Joe.

Oh yes. Coffee Joe. Java, jamoke, kaffa, kahveh, sludge,

silt, bilge, mud and a shot-in-the-arm.

Mud in your eye. Hojo, qahwah, latte, moche.

Just gimme that coffea whatever you call it.

A Musical Imperative

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

Get Out Of My Way

I found out something fascinating yesterday.

I can be educated by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

For free.

I Need Something Beautiful

Something beautiful?

No sweat.

Leisure

In 1910, leisure was a newfangled concept to most of the people that trod the earth. The idea of a "weekend," a rest from the work week, was just about to be invented in Britain, but for the aristocracy only. You didn't get a day off at all if you were a beater for some viscount on a quail hunt on Sunday.

It's been almost a hundred years, what's changed?

Well, everything, of course. . .