Easter Sunday

But at daybreak on the first day of the week they took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb; but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. While they were puzzling over this, behold, two men in dazzling garments appeared to them. They were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground. They said to them, "Why do you seek the living one among the dead? He is not here, but he has been raised. Remember what he said to you while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners and be crucified, and rise on the third day."

And they remembered his words.

Then they returned from the tomb and announced all these things to the eleven and to all the others. The women were Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James; the others who accompanied them also told this to the apostles, but their story seemed like nonsense and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb, bent down, and saw the burial cloths alone; then he went home amazed at what had happened.

Luke 24: 1-4

Good Friday

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?
Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they nailed Him to the tree?

Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?
Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they laid Him in the tomb?

--Traditional, African American Spiritual

The Public Till

We've lived on the Quarter Acre for about 2.5 years. Next week we are facing our third property tax vote since moving in. As a March 31 article in The Boston Globe states this month 50 towns in the Commonwealth are voting on property tax increases to cover shortfalls that will save libraries, teaching and police jobs and lifelong public employee 80% pensions.

At what point, we ask, will the government -- local, state & federal -- realize that they can't keep coming to the citizens for cash? At what point will we, the citizens, begin to demand that they stop? Last year 59 of 89 tax hike proposals were defeated in the Commonwealth. Perhaps the tide is turning, but the bureaucrats don't seem to get it and property tax-hike-proposals continue to flow to the electorate. We appreciate the opportunity to vote on them, but are indignant that the powers-that-be can't get their financial houses in order.

We understand the governmental tropes about rising health care, pension and other costs, but, at some point, things need to be cut in order to service those commitments. Decisions need to be made about what is truly important and what is not -- never an easy for a bureaucrat, but a daily decision for the taxpayer who is compelled by law to pay the taxes or else. No other "career" has such cushy bonuses and perks as does that of the "public servant" -- we're obviously excluding the UAW here.

We work in private industry, and we have no pension beyond what we save ourselves, nor will we have gold plated health care benefits upon retirement. Why should public service of twenty years equal lifetime comfort from the age of 42 until death? We think that the founders never intended for "public service" to be a career, and certainly never intended for it to confer a life-time sinecure financed by the public weal.

On the Quarter Acre we cut back in lean times, and moderate our expenditures based on cash flow -- we freelanced for a long time, so income was not always steady -- would that the government do the same. Alas, that will never happen because once an entitlement is granted, or a program started it must be honored in perpetuity. Hopefully, the voters of this state flock to the polls and defeat the latest encroachment into their pockets. We will be there, on April 10, casting our vote against all overrides in our town (there are two on the ballot) in an effort to keep more of our money where it belongs -- within our family, spent as we see fit, on things that we need, want and desire.

A Few Good Quotes

“Patriotism is as much a virtue as justice, and is as necessary for the support of societies as natural affection is for the support of families.” —Benjamin Rush

“We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst.” —C.S. Lewis

“Politics, n. strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles.” —Ambrose Bierce

From (Patriot Post) Patriot Vol. 07 No. 14 | 04 April 2007

Athlete-Media-Relations 2.0

Regardless of where you stand on Curt Schilling, he is a unique talent both on and off the field. While he rubs many the wrong way -- esp. The Boston Globe's curmudgeonly Dan Shaughnessy -- as a self-promoter, he is redefining the way athletes relate to the media and the fans.

We happen to think Schilling is terrific and we look forward to his weekly chats with Dennis and Callahan -- the morning drive guys on Boston's sports-radio-giant WEEI. He always sheds great light on the game, and provides terrific insight into how it's played at the highest level -- at least in his POV.

Schilling has long been an active participant on the Boston Dirt Dogs and Sons of Sam Horn bulletin boards. He's also known around these parts to sports radio listeners as "Curt in the Car." This spring Schilling launched his own blog, 38 Pitches. It must be a nightmare for team-management to have a guy as savvy, intelligent and opinionated as Schilling out and about, opining and talking about whatever he wants.
This is a perfect example of the issue of how brand owners are losing control of their brand. Ownership, understandably, wants to control, what their employees say, but they have to be even-handed and judicious in how hard, and when or if, they come down on a player such as Schilling. We think that ownership understands that they would surely lose in any war of words with Schilling. This new foray into the blogoshpere is certainly forcing them to walk a razor thin line.

For now, ownership of the Sox is showing forbearance and continuing to permit Schilling to be visible and opinionated. It will be interesting to see how long they permit this, especially as the season progresses and Schilling draws nearer to free agency. Like the Sox, Schilling also has a brand to maintain and he does so by being open and pushing his message across multiple channels. There have been athlete blogs in the past -- ESPN has contracted with marginal players to chronicle a season -- but this is about as high-a-profile a player as we know of to go the route of the personal blog.

We'd love to hear and see more players go this route as well. It will radically change the relationship between player and fans as well as player and major media outlets. Part of this, no doubt, lies at the root of the issues between Shaughnessy and Schilling. In Shaughnessy's world, the player is supposed to sit there, give good quotes to the grizzled, old-media pro and allow the latter to control the message. Alas, the days of the gate-keeping, myth-making, and mythical reporter as major arbiter of player access are numbered.

Welcome to Athlete-Media-Relations 2.0. People like Schilling are helping to change the field of play (so to speak). The ballpark scribes now need to compete with the athletes themselves for the scoop. As long as this foray into the brave-new-world of DIY news production, brand management and self promotion doesn't distract too much from on-field performance -- Schilling got lit up on Opening Day by Kansas City -- we are all for it and look forward to the evolution.

Opening Day

Opening Day is upon us, again. The Boston Red Sox are in Kansas City playing a daytime season opener and the whole summer lays out before us filled with potential and dreams of October glory.

The Quarter Acre season opener was March 31, 2007. Along with Pater Agricolae we thatched and raked all day. In what is developing into a tradition, Quarter Acre was tended first and then we travelled to Pater Agricolae's Acre and did the same. It was a great workout and a beautiful day to be outside working. The yard looks neat and clean, and though still in its latent period it is about to burst back to life. We helped things with a dose of fertilizer -- the season's first -- and look forward to the greening.

The season is open!

Friday Sky

Fatherhood

The Boston Globe's Jeff Jacoby wrote two great articles this week -- one to each of his sons who are 10 years old and 16 days. He writes one each year, and has for the past 10 since the birth of his first son, Caleb.

They are powerful, open, honest. They embody the best hope of any parent for their child, and the highest goal of parenthood. Thank you, Mr. Jacoby, for bearing public witness to this.

A Message To My Newborn Son

Messages To My Son

Hilllary, Barack & 1984

This morning's Wonder Land column by Daniel Henninger in the Wall Street Journal turned us onto this video. After reading his typically, on-target observations we wandered over to YouTube to check things out for ourselves.

A very well executed play on Mac's seminal "1984" commercial we think that it nicely captures what Hillary is all about -- actually, what the Democrat Party is all about as they seek to take care of us, the naked savages in the wilderness. That it's produced by someone connected to the Obama campaign -- Phil de Vellis -- makes us laugh. We are still 10 months from the primaries and 18 from the general election and the aspirants on the Democrat side are already bloodying themselves.

Previously, we posted some comments on how organizations are losing control of their brands -- a talk we heard at an advertising symposium -- and they need to let it happen, there is no fighting it. This latest dust-up strikes us as the ultimate inside-outside-job of late. A "political pro" (Henninger's description) uses a grass-roots tool (YouTube)to lambaste a major brand (Hillary), all the while being an operative for another major brand (Obama) and, at least for a bit, making it appear as if it was the work of some Obama supporters.

The next ten months should be fascinating to watch. Republicans, and conservatives, should just sit back and watch the Democrats shred each other in their effort to achieve their ultimate goal -- power.

Red Winged Blackbirds

This week a bunch of Red Winged Blackbirds have been visiting the Quarter Acre bird feeder. Last week, one came by for breakfast a couple of times. Yesterday, about 12 of them were out in the yard, eating the birdseed that had fallen out of the feeder. When they take off, en mass, it's pretty amazing.

One day last spring we had about 25 visit the yard at one time, around this time of year, but then didn't see another one for the rest of the spring and the summer. The Quarter Acre is not far from the Charles River and there are lots marshy areas with tall grass that is perfect for the Red Winged Blackbird. Our yard must be a quick stop on their migration back to their summer grounds. It's a welcome visit, and another sign that spring is certainly here.

"Public Service"

The Quarter Acre is situated in a town without curb-side pickup of rubbish and recyclables so we take a weekly trip to the town dump to dispose of our household waste. We actually look forward to this trip -- it's not overly difficult as far as tasks go, it has visible and tangible benefits.

During this week's trip an incident with a public servant sparked the question: whatever happened to "pubic service?" Let us remember that service is the operative word. To get into our town dump one must purchase a sticker (valid for the calendar year) that is affixed to the lower left hand corner of the windshield. A public servant sits in a booth and checks to make sure you have it. No problem.

This past weekend there were two men checking stickers. A car in front of us stopped, and the guy impatiently waved him through. Seeing this we rolled slowly into the checkpoint thinking that would help to keep things moving. But, no. The checker scowled, waved a hand for us to stop, which we did, looked exaggeratedly at our windshield and then let us pass, waving us along, impatiently.

This was a small thing, a momentary blip in the weekend, but it annoyed no end. There was no consistency in the approach. No rhyme. No reason. Pure caprice and a petty power play by a guy who, as Steve Miller sang "makes his living off of the people's taxes . . . " was on full display. Other interactions with "public servants" at the town dump have inspired similar feelings. The woman who works in the office and takes your $15 to dispose of computer monitors etc. is sullen, hostile and miserable. The guy who hovers around the dumping zones is equally miserable, and somewhat menacing.

The local town dump -- and ours is a very efficient and good dump from an operational perspective -- is about as grass-roots as one gets in the national governmental spectrum. Yet dealing with its agents is unpleasant at best, disheartening at worst and overall, very frustrating. We believe that it was Kafka that wrote about petty people with petty powers in petty jobs, and we, the citizens of this country, fund a bureaucracy -- at least three levels deep, each with myriad sub-levels -- filled with people that Kafka would most certainly recognize.

The service side of "public service" is dead. Long live the service side.

Small Signs

After our morning constitutional, during the cool down phase, we took a walk around the Quarter Acre. A week ago we got a solid, late-season dumping of snow that froze very hard. A couple of lovely spring days have melted it though, and the smells of thawing earth and melt-water once again fill the air.

Greening grass, emerges from beneath winter thatch. Tulips and daffodils, planted last fall (some partially sprouted during a weirdly warm December, and are now a bit burned) are sprouting in earnest; and, Tiger Lilies, that will not bloom until late June, have broken through the soil to begin their ascent. The sun shines brighter, longer, at a steeper angle each day, warming both earth and air.

Today, we sense a certain Spring-hopefulness. The Quarter Acre is shedding its drab winter garb and emerging from its latency. It is time we did the same, the signs are all around.

With It, Or On It

We've not yet seen "300" and may not -- it's hard enough to land baby-sitting, and when we do we typically use it to go to dinner, not the movies. We have, however, been thinking about this film, reading about it, browsed the graphic novel upon which it is based while visiting a bookstore, and watched a History Channel show about the battle of Thermopylae. We found a link to an interesting review of the film at The Weekly Standard while browsing Newmark's Door.

The reviewer, John Podhoretz, makes an interesting point about how the film is resonating with audiences. In its first two weeks in general release "300" has netted $100MM. As Podhoretz notes there are no stars involved, either in front of, or behind, the camera. The film does have striking visuals, and tells an incredible story of duty, honor, courage and sacrifice in the face of impossible odds.

Podhoretz writes:

300 is nothing more than a comic book rendering of that tale--quite literally, as it's slavishly faithful to a 1999 comic book by Frank Miller, whose violent imagery and hardboiled storytelling have now been immortalized in two successful Hollywood films (the other being Sin City). Despite the vulgarity and overheated solemnity of its approach, 300 does tell the Thermopylae story without a trace of irony. It depicts Sparta and the Spartans in all their proud, martial, vicious, nasty, unsentimental, and egalitarian glory. Director/co-writer Zack Snyder offers not even a moment of doubt that the Spartans are the good guys--believers in human freedom who oppose the Persians because they demand nothing but submission to a false god-king.

I don't think this movie has a single idea about the nature of cultural conflict, the meaning of martial valor, or anything else. But here's the thing: If you choose to tell the story of Thermopylae, you cannot escape the fact that you are choosing to tell a story of Western civilization taking a stand against rampaging barbarians from the East. And it's precisely this aspect of 300--as well as its entirely unapologetic celebration of war at its most insanely bloodthirsty--that offers the only coherent explanation for its galvanizing effect on audiences.

Kyle Smith, writing in the New York Post, points out that people seeking to draw parallels between the action onscreen and the war in Iraq or the war on terror are looking in the wrong place, since 300 hews close to Miller's 1999 comic book. That is certainly true. But while Miller foresaw no parallel, the audience seeing 300 in the year 2007 is responding viscerally to a story of a clash of civilizations that takes the side of the West against the East.

We've always been intrigued by the battle of Thermopylae. Though, and despite priding ourselves on our knowledge of history we never realized (embarrassingly) that the Greeks lost. We have, however, always understood the subtext of the battle, and have always viewed it through the lens of West versus East -- "a clash of civilizations." What the History Channel show imparted to us was that the act of Spartan sacrifice was born in and helped to foster the idea of Nation. So, despite defeat in the pass of Thermopylae and the subsequent burning of Athens (payback for the Greek sack of Sardis a century before) the Greeks rallied, as a nation, to drive the Persians from the Peloponnese. What ensued was the flourishing of the culture upon which Western Culture rests -- despite politically-correct efforts to deny this. Had this idea of nation not taken root when it did, and had the Persians remained in Greece we would live in a much different world than we do today.

The elites in our government, media-entertainment industry and educational establishment no doubt look upon such thoughts as those of a simpleton -- one who fails to see nuance. Thankfully, unlike those who see only gray in our current clash of civilizations, 300 Spartans (and 1,000 never-mentioned-Thesbians) saw things in black and white, stood their ground and fought for an ideal embodied in a national culture and a way of life. Would that such stalwartness existed amongst our "best and brightest."

Perhaps, some training in a Spartan agoge -- where Spartan boys between the ages of 7 and 19 learned to fight, steal, evade, kill and survive in combat for the good of society -- would change that. Before departing for war, as they handed them their shields, Spartan mothers would tell their sons, : "Return with with it, or on it." Collectively, as a nation, we carry our shield in some nasty parts of the world, in defense of the greatest way of life in the history of mankind. Will we return from these endeavors with our shield in hand, or will we be carried home on it? There is no return without our shield, that is not an option.

Super Market Tourism

After digging out from a late season snow storm, we took Child One and Child Two to their grandparents' house. Saturday was the birthday of Pater Agricolae, and we kicked off the weekend with a visit to the Super 88 -- a huge and wonderful Asian Market with a several outposts in the Boston area.

We visited the flagship store in Boston's South End. Fans of supermarkets in general, we love Asian Markets. The breadth and depth of merchandise and the variety of produce is astounding. It's a true cultural experience. We shopped for a birthday meal that we were preparing on Sunday and it was a blast. Child One was amazed by the live fish, crabs, lobsters, beef tongue, duck necks and various fowl feet. Child Two sat quietly in the seat of the cart and took it all in, concentrating quietly and intently. We can only imagine what it must be like to a toddler and an infant, respectively, and have so much visual stimulation in a place so different from their typical supermarket experience. Pater Agricolae enjoyed it immensely as well -- sharing this experience with his grandchildren was icing on the cake.

The meal, on Sunday was a great, pan-Asian feast that was a joy to prepare, and pretty good tasting to boot (if we may be so bold). We made Thai shrimp soup in spicy lime broth; green papaya salad with tomatoes and star fruit (Viet Nam); chicken and potato curry (Laos); stir fried veggies with fermented soy bean paste (Yunnan). Wine with the meal was Champagne (Moet & Chandon) for the soup course and then New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc (Oyster Bay) when the Champagne was gone. For dessert we had old fashioned, and from-scratch, chocolate Devil's Food Cake with home made butter cream, mocha frosting.

The shopping trip was wonderful, the meal prep and ensuing feast was equally great and it was a super way to cap off the weekend and spend a Sunday. Though it goes without saying, we are happy to live near our family to be able to share such things.

March 16?

More fun!

Commute

Fun!

Mouth Wash Bum

While walking through Harvard Square the other evening we saw a mouthwash bum, the first one in a long time.

We're more likely to see some junkie on the nod nowadays than we are to see a bum hitting a bottle of mouthwash. But there he was, as bombed as could be on the corner of Mass Ave and Ellery St., carrying his bottle of golden mouthwash, CVS brand.

Convergence Culture Talk

Yesterday morning (3/14), for work, we attended the morning session of an advertising symposium in Boston. We heard a few speakers the most interesting of whom was Henry Jenkins -- co-director of the center for comparative media studies at MIT.

His area of focus is fans, and fan culture, particularly how fans influence, and alter a brand. He had a great series of dichotomies in a string of his slides that highlighted the change in the media-scape and that create challenges for the marketer and the brand manager.

Interactive
Participation

Individual Consumers
Collective Intelligence

Mass Markets
Brand Tribes

One Size
All Size

Attraction
Activation

Sticky
Spreadable

The most interesting insight that he provided, however, was that "we [marketers/brand managers]don't control the whole brand and that we've already lost control." Rather than try to control it we need to find ways to embrace this fan participation and use it to our advantage to improve both the brand and the brand's communications.

This loss of brand control was also echoed by Jim McDowell, VP of Mini Cooper USA. There is opportunity in the ambiguity -- always.

Damnable DST

Mark us, along with farmers and others who are up and at 'em on the earlier side of the day, as opponents of Daylight Savings Time.

We run, and winter is always a hard time to maintain the regimen given the cold weather and treacherous footing. The greatest hindrance, however, is the darkness: it's purely psychological, we admit, but it's a huge hurdle. Because we have children at home there is no time to run in the evening and that puts us squarely on a morning routine. The past couple of weeks have been great and relatively bright -- a nice reward for dark January and dim February. Again, with the imposition of DST we run in pre-dawn gloom rather than lovely first light.

Many of our colleagues are giddy about the fact that they get to commute home in daylight . . . we say who cares? Admittedly, it is nice to have light until 9:30 PM; but, after finishing dinner and putting children in bed it's not the most useful time of day for us. Sitting on the porch in the gloaming is nice but we realize no efficiencies from this extra daylight.

We realize that we are in the minority on DST, but in a lifestyle geared to the morning hours, waking up in light rather than gloom is preferable. Perhaps, sometime in the not-too-distant-future time will always be "standard." Until that time however, we'll lay out our running gear now so that it will be easier to find in the dark, tomorrow morning.

Mark Twain Quote

“The mania for giving the Government power to meddle with the private affairs of cities or citizens is likely to cause endless trouble, through the rivalry of schools and creeds that are anxious to obtain official recognition, and there is great danger that our people will lose our independence of thought and action which is the cause of much of our greatness, and sink into the helplessness of the Frenchman or German who expects his government to feed him when hungry, clothe him when naked, to prescribe when his child may be born and when he may die, and, in time, to regulate every act of humanity from the cradle to the tomb, including the manner in which he may seek future admission to paradise.” -- Mark Twain

Read in Patriot Post Brief March 12, 2007

Random Thoughts

We've got a bunch of random thoughts and observations that we've been hashing around since the last post on 3/3, with nothing really coalescing into any sort of coherent post. So, here goes:

Oops!
DeVille Patrick is in trouble again. He made what essentially amounts to a lobbying call to Citigroup and his old pal, and fellow Clintonista, Bob Rubin on behalf of a company for which he served as a board member. The latter is struggling and Citgroup has business interests in the Commonwealth. This side trip into an ethical gray area (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) occurred after DeVille specifically warned his staff to avoid any actions that could be deemed "unethical." Clintonistas know how to skirt the ethics line, and, somehow, to get away with it. Together we can . . .

Jumped the Gun
We spoke too soon in regards to the demise of the ice age. Arctic cold dropped like an anvil on top of Boston where it has remained for the past three days. The once slushy ice sheet in the backyard is now a solid sheet of glistening ice.

Comets on the Curb
Speaking of ice . . . the stuff that's left by the sides of the roads, covered in sand, dust and other substances is something beyond ice at this point. It's more akin to the material that makes up comets.

Doves
There are three nesting pairs of Doves in the backyard who have been riding out the cold hunkered down in some Myrtle and left-over oak leaves. They sit in the sun on the hill at the back of the Quarter Acre for hours on end, puffed up, eyes half closed. When we lived in Brooklyn we had a nesting pair who built a a flimsy little nest on our fire escape. The nest held two eggs, both of which hatched. A crow however came and upset the whole thing, stealing one baby, and knocking the other to a lower roof where the it ended up in a gutter. The parents tended the baby there and the baby dove eventually flew away -- literally making it out of the gutter.

Call of the Wild
There is a cool cat that comes wandering through the yard, on a pretty regular schedule. He's big, he's clean, his gray and white coat is thick. He took a run at the birds on the ground (see, above: Doves). Before we saw him charge down the hill some birds got skittish and started bolting -- we thought that maybe the hawk was coming in for a kill. The cat scattered the remaining birds and squirrels none of whom returned until the next day. We're not at all cat (or even animal people) but hunting, outdoor cats are pretty cool -- mini suburban tigers.

The Ice Age Winds Down

Today was a beautiful, sunny, 50 F day. The ice sheet that covers the Quarter Acre is melting rapidly and the yard is being revealed. Spring is definitely on the way. An interesting leftover from the ice sheet's retreat are large number of rocks and pebbles that washed down the hill at the back of the property. They occupy the area at the foot of the hill and the top of the lawn, piled up like glacial scree.

Another interesting leftover is copious amounts of rabbit droppings. It almost seems as if a whole herd of bunnies sits on our lawn eating and pooping all night. On close inspection the grass is fairly well cropped, and the amount of droppings is staggering. There are also some rather dense tufts of rabbit down. Our theory is that this part of the yard gets sun all year 'round and the snow melts in this area -- whereas much of the lawn sits in the house's shadow and sits under ice still. So, the rabbits come and dine on what they can find, and fertilize as they go.

The Harvard Square Falcon

On Wednesday, 28 February (this is the second post this week to start this way), while sitting in a meeting we happened to let our attention wander and gazed out the window. Across the street from our office, visible outside of the conference room in which we were sitting is a church with a tall stone spire. Perched on the cross atop the spire was the Peregrine Falcon that we had seen hunting at St. Paul's in December 2006. It perched on one of the arms of the cross, surveying the scene, primping and preening for about 10 minutes before flying away to look for breakfast.

Supporting The Wrong Team

Tuesday, 25 February, at lunch, after picking up a sandwich from a Cambridge deli we detoured through Hahvahd Yahd with a couple of colleagues. While hustling across the quad with streams of students we spied four students holding a pair of Palestinian Liberation Organization flags and a sign. I couldn't read the sign, and the students stood peacefully, largely ignored.

We commented to our colleagues that this a great place where you can stand holding the flag of a sworn enemy of our country and no one bothers you. One colleague commented sarcastically that they were exercising their First Amendment rights. We asked what would happen if we stood across from them with an Israeli or a U.S. flag; or let them know that we thought them idiots. Somehow, we knew that our exercise of our own First Amendment rights would not have been viewed as kindly upon HU's hallowed campus.

The third member of our trio is dating a Marine Aviator currently on station in Iraq. She wondered what would happen if she carried the Marine Corp flag across the quad. We laughed, because we all the knew answer.

In a terrific article in today's WSJ, Daniel Henninger writes about this divide between the men and women of our armed forces and the civilian establishment. He relates the tale of U.S. Army Major Bruce Crandall (ret.) and his recent receipt of the Congressional Medal of Honor and the lack of coverage of either the feat or the ceremony in the mainstream media.

Henninger writes the following about the words of Gen. Peter Shoomaker, the Army chief of staff:

"Look at his words and consider whether they still stand today, or whether as a matter of the nation's broader ethos of commonly accepted beliefs, they are under challenge. Gen. Schoomaker said: 'The words of the warrior ethos that we have today--I will always place the mission first; I will never accept defeat; I will never quit; and I will never leave a fallen comrade--were made real that day in the la Drang Valley.'"

Henninger continues:

"The secretary of the Army, Francis Harvey, went on in this vein: 'The courage and fortitude of America's soldiers in combat exemplified by these individuals is, without question, the highest level of human behavior. It demonstrates the basic goodness of mankind as well as the inherent kindness and patriotism of American soldiers.'"

The "warrior ethos" and soldiers as exemplars of "the highest level of human behavior" are certainly not views held by critics of the war in Iraq, the military or the bush administration. Henninger concludes:

"All nations celebrate personal icons, and ours now tend to be doers of good. That's fine. But if we suppress the martial feats of a Bruce Crandall, we distance ourselves further from our military. And in time, we will change. At some risk."

Indeed. To the protesters on the Harvard Quad, celebrate Bruce Crandall. Celebrate the (true) warrior ethos of our military. Honor the exemplars of human behavior who serve in our armed forces -- not the PLO.

Feeds

To all three of our readers, we're sure that you'll notice that we've added a new feed features to this layout. We've made a move to FeedBurner, partly to see what sort of action this site gets, and partly to play around with FeedBurner for professional reasons. If you have a feed to this site we'd appreciate it if you replaced the old Atom feed with the new FeedBurner one. It will be interesting to track stats and see what happens with this site. We have no visions of grandeur, just a desire to play around with the technology available to the hobbyist and professional alike.

Snowman

Another reason to be happy about our move.

Social Justice

A while back we read a fascinating string over on Little Green Footballs about a women's' studies prof at Loyola -- can't recall which one -- and her alleged run-in with some Iraq War Marine Veterans. Women's' Studies + American University Politics + US Marines = no hope of the truth emerging about what really happened.

The course this prof was teaching dealt with "social justice." We didn't think much of it at the time -- except that the prof was a certifiable moon bat -- however until we came across a brilliant commentary on the the new film "Amazing Grace" in the Weekend WSJ Pursuits section. The day before the film had gotten a pretty good review (as a film) in the WSJ Weekend section (Friday, 23 February). The author of the commentary piece blasts the film for ignoring the religious (specifically Christian & Methodist) underpinnings of the Continental, and eventually US, abolition movement. The film frames the abolitionists as secular humanists when in fact they were evangelical Christians who viewed slavery as a sin, not just a matter of politics and social justice.

Reading the comments on LGF, and the above article, helped us to crystallize what has always troubled us about the term "social justice." The term lacks moral underpinnings. Social justice, as preached today, is a political conceit, something to bandy about in the public arena while playing both sides of the game at once and refusing to declare one way or the other -- waiting to see who will win, yet screaming all the time at those they "feel" to be "wrong." Abolitionists like William Wilberforce -- the protagonist in "Amazing Grace" -- engaged their crusades girded by belief in a defined universe, limned by their religious faith, of right and wrong, moral and immoral. Today's crusaders for "social justice" fear such absolutes and eschew faith, never realizing that without these things nothing will ever change if left up to the vagaries of the zero-sum political game.

Sunset

Distance Training

We've started a new blog that will be a team blog and serve as a training diary. It should be a fun experiment and hopefully serve as motivation in our own training.

We've been a runner for a long time, but the move from NYC to Boston has wreaked havoc on our training. After some stern admonishment from our doctor we began training again in earnest about 4 weeks ago and have been running faithfully for that time. You can see the new blog over here:

http://distancetrainers.blogspot.com/

Governor DeVille Patrick

In a previous post we took a swipe at the Governor of the Commonwealth. Well, we're back again with another one . . . This really is too easy, it's like shooting fish in a barrell, or panning the average aspirant on "Idol."

Governor DeVille has proven himself to have nothing substantive to enact during the typical honeymoon at the start of any new term in office, and he has also proven himself completely tone deaf. As this article in today's Boston Globe demonstrates Hizzonner has come to the Golden dome with visions of grandeur, and a penchant for the luxe. The delicious irony of the whole thing is that the so-called-man-of-the-people (as if all of the people have been former appointees at Justice, sat on Coke's Board and worked at white shoe law firms) and political "outsider" (c.f. that darned appointment to Justice)who ran on vague promises of changing the political tone in the Commonwealth has demonstrated himself to be more enamored of the privileges of rank than the work that accompanies the title. Perhaps his legislative agenda will catch up with his tastes, though, given his politics we hope not. Besides, it is highly amusing to watch him fumble and watch the utopians who voted for him become disillusioned.

Why We Moved Back

Sunday, while outside with Child One, playing on the ice sheet that now covers the Quarter Acre we realized why it was we moved back. Watching Child One run, slide and sled on the ice was great. When Mrs. Agricola and Child Two came out we decided, on the fly, to head to a local golf course for some winter fun. We spent an hour or so walking around on our snow shoes -- the first time they've been used this season -- playing in the snow, exploring frozen sand traps and water hazards, collecting pine cones and enjoying the fresh, cold air. While we truly loved NYC and Brooklyn there was no way that we could have decided on the spur of the moment to go play outside and ended up in a wide-open, naturalistic place in less than 10 minutes. It was a wonderful Sunday and it helped to underscore the benefits of the choices that we made to return to Boston -- benefits that are not always readily apparent, but that exist none-the-less.

Our Friends, The Austrians

Another story that we've been slow to pickup on is the emergence of .50 Caliber, Austrian made sniper rifles on the battle field of Iraq. We link to a WSJ opinion piece that appeared in that paper on 16 February.

Apparently, of the 800 Steyr-Mannlicher weapons sold to the Iranians in 2006, about 100 of them ended up on the battle field within 45 days of the sale. They, like the shaped, and more lethal IEDs that have been recently traced to Iranian sources are responsible for 170 US combat deaths and 600 wounded. While the press though impugns the Bush White House, and US intelligence nary a word is spoken about the role of the Iranians in Iraq. Rather than grill Ahmadi-Nejad, Dianne Sawyer appears in head scarf to toss him softballs, and the Democrat party and their employees in the party's media organizations berate the US.

We know we are somewhat behind, but this story has really gotten under our skin. Our soldiers are being killed by enormously lethal weapons, sold by a country who though not exactly an ally is also not a friend, to a country who is our avowed enemy and is then delivering these weapons to the battle space to kill Americans. Where is the outrage? Where is the condemnation of Iran by the majority party in congress (or the minority for that matter)? Maybe once they are finished with their non-binding resolution denouncing the planned surge they will get around to focusing on this issue. Or not.

Tax Freedom, Mass Style

Admittedly, we've been behind in our writing, trapped in February's doldrums. However, as so often happens, the end of the week brings us many things with which to deal.

There is a law in the Mass legal code that compels municipalities to petition the State Legislature for approval of the imposition or raising local taxes/"fees." Govehnuh Patrick wants to relax that rule and make it easier for towns to tax more things. While we applaud his impulse to return power to the municipal level, lessening the centralized governmental control, we feel that it's unfortunate that this has been done for the benefit of more taxation.

It's funny how "tax freedom" can mean one thing to one group, and the complete opposite to someone else. When we read "tax freedom" we thought that Patrick would lessen the levies, or help towns to do so. Silly us. A liberal can not change his spots. No, in Massachusetts, "tax freedom" means the freedom to raise more taxes. The posts on this board make us wonder who votes for these people, and why.

It's certainly not a done deal, thankfully, but it is terrifying as a citizen of the Commonwealth to think that the only thing standing between us and Patrick's socialist utopia is the State Legislature -- hardly a bastion of conservative values. Just before assuming office Bob Travaglini and Sal DiMasi -- majority heads of the State Senate and House of Representatives respectively -- told Patrick in no uncertain terms who wears the pants beneath Bullfinch's Dome. This cowed the Gov for a bit, but he's now beginning to feel more confident, obviously, to try and implement his vision. Perhaps riding around in a state funded chopper helps one feel up to the job.

Missed Opportunity

Though well into our mid-thirties we still enjoy the thought of the snow day. The Boston area -- much of the country from the Midwest east, actually -- got whacked over the past few days. We went to bed Tuesday night with dreams of "working from home" dancing in our head, and the work laptop downstairs in the front hall. Alas, the accumulations were neither earth-shattering nor travel-prohibiting, so we waited out the morning rush and headed in.

Such a disappointing turn of events . . .

Then, upon returning to the Quarter Acre we reveled in the distinct pleasure of shoveling frozen snow for nearly two hours. Despite working diligently, we only managed to uncork the end of the driveway, and, sort of, uncover the rest of it. One bonus, however was that the snow wasn't actually frozen all the way to the ground. No, no, the top was frozen solid, and the layer below was slushy, wet and heavy. February is grand.

The Longest Month

We must admit that we are sinking a bit . . . the inexorable power of the shortest, yet longest, month of the year is grinding us down. Despite enjoying the cold, and embracing the variable weather of winter-Boston there is something psychologically brutal about February. Even though the sun is rising earlier and setting later, the month's 28 days seem exceedingly long. Perhaps it is the fact that when we look outside the Quarter Acre is shrouded in a duo-tone palette of brown and gray. The brutally cold weather the past few weeks has sucked the moisture out of everything and left the lawn dessicated. The trees seem more gray, and diminished than just four weeks ago. The Quarter Acre dwellers do not love February though we take heart in the fact that on Sunday (18 February), pitchers and catchers report to Ft. Meyers, FL and the Red Sox kick-off the 2007 Season. Surely spring is close!

Removing the Monkey

As die hard citizens of Patriot Nation this is a mildly bitter Monday for us. Peyton Manning finally got the monkey off of his back and won The Big One. We watched very little of it -- some of the first half, a bit of the third quarter and the final 1:19 of the fourth. The game held little interest for us.

What was fascinating however was the post-game celebration. It may have been the rain, or it may have been utter exhaustion at finally having lived up to expectations, but the Colts were very subdued. No Colt, however, was more subdued than Manning. There was very little emotion, never mind jubilation, on his face at finally having stuffed his critics. No matter what else we may think of him, he will now, always, be a Super Bowl Winning quarterback.

He appeared nearly uninterested. Maybe he was overwhelmed by the whole thing, but it all seemed quite stilted and unnatural -- as if he were not really there in the moment. Perhaps one of the most illuminating things about the post-game ceremony was Manning's interaction with Bob Saunders -- the Colts' terrific safety. They hugged each other on the podium as if meeting for the first time. It was weird.

One of the most hilarious parts of the post-game celebration happened when CBS's Jim Nantz flubbed the pass-off of the Vince Lombardi trophy. Rather than passing it to Sanders as he was supposed to do, he had Manning pass the trophy to the team with these words: "I'm sure you can't wait to share this with your team." Perhaps he was being ironic, but we doubt it, this is Jim Nantz after all. Does he know nothing of Manning? Has he not been able, all of these years, to see through his man-crush and see that Manning hates his teammates?

We think that this is the reason for Manning's recalcitrance. The Colts' victory in SB XLI was a total team effort. Manning proved again and again that he couldn't win the big one alone as had been prophesied his whole life, and as he had come to believe. He needed his teammates to play brilliantly as well in order to win. As a result, his self image was shattered during this year's playoff run. While a terrific QB, he couldn't do it alone despite what his dad, his pre-pro-coaches, his agent and all the fawning sportswriters in the US had been telling him for his entire career. He won, but he did it as a a teammate and that, for Manning probably removed much of his joy at finally the removing the monkey from his back.

Boston Chaos

So, in the wake of the stupid marketing campaign that snarled traffic and unsettled Bostonians over a wide swatch of the city, we are left with one question: what was TBS thinking?

Obviously, they weren't thinking. As advertising industry workers we wonder how that campaign made it from concepts through final client approval. Throughout the chain of command outrageous decisions were made that lead to this past week's upheaval. The pair of buffoons who are now on trial in Boston are not solely to blame for this and we think that the creative, account, and production teams on the agency side as well as the client-side chain of command should be prosecuted . In essence, this was a conspiracy.

We think that the response of the city of Boston and the Coast Guard was admirable and impressive. They were able to deal with multiple suspicious devices across the city in a seemingly coherent and effective way -- however, if they had been actual bombs then who knows what would have happened had they detonated. The performance of the defendants, yesterday in court, give ample evidence to both their childishness and their attitude towards the terrorist threat (what terrorist threat?). Is there any doubt about how they vote, and how they regard the war on terror?

It should come as no surprise that this campaign was approved by TBS. After all, TBS is but one more brand in Ted Turner's leftist broadcasting empire. Obviously, the anti-war/Bush/conservative/American editorial bias of CNN -- the official broadcast-organ of the Democrat Party -- permeates the other properties in Ted and Hanoi-Jane's media conglomerate.

For us, this incident underscores the lack of seriousness amongst members of the left about the real threat that stands before this country. While many a liberal says there is no threat, and that we are less safe today than we were four years ago (Bush's war-mongering and all that) the appearance of the marketing devices obviously struck a raw nerve. People are on edge whether they admit it or not -- even in liberal Boston, debarkation point for the two planes that felled the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. Given the attitudes of the Solon's of Atlanta towards the country's anti-terror efforts, it's not surprising that this campaign "went live."

Liberal Wit

One of the great joys of commuting around the Commonwealth is that we get to see all of the hilariously witty, liberal bumper stickers.

Don't Blame Me I Voted for Kerry!
Somewhere in Texas a village is missing its idiot.
Bush, like a rock, only dumber.
More trees, less Bush.

Then, this one, seen today, the crowning achievement of liberal bumper sticker wit:

Where are the Republicans taking us and why are we in this handbasket?

None of these are funny. None are witty. None are that interesting. If you replaced Kerry, or Obama, or Hillary for Bush, and changed the state to match, lefties would get mad and say that conservatives are puerile and stupid. Yet, they cover their vehicles in this inanity and somehow think that they are being funny. The "don't blame me" bumper sticker is a holdover from the first Clinton Presidency. It was only mildly amusing then, and now, co-opted for use against Bush it lacks a certain impact, yet, there it is, shouting in our face at many a stoplight.

These silly little liberal tropes really sum up for us the inanity of the left and its lack of seriousness. All protest and no program. Sound and fury . . . signifying nothing. We wonder why the level of debate in this country is so low. The answer is on the leftist's SUV in front of you at the light.

Mass Weather

As evidenced in this photo post it's cold today in Massachusetts. It is the first truly cold day of the year and of the winter. Despite weeks of warm, wet, strange weather prior to today, people are crying about this short cold snap. They also complained about the mildness and wetness. They will complain, no doubt, in the summer when some insufferable weather descends upon us in that season.

To live in Boston is to live in a place of highly variable weather. We will not go so far as to say "extreme," but definitely variable. Boston is far enough north that it gets blasted with some very arctic air in the winter -- as it is today. However, it is not so far north that it avoids stretches of oppressive heat and humidity each summer. This makes residents of this region quite hardy, and adaptable, we think.

When the first sub-50 degree day arrived in NYC many residents broke out the down coats and wrapped their faces in scarves. This is not so in Boston. There are many Bostonians, even today, wearing light coats, with faces uncovered, going about their business. We admire this stoicism and take pride in it. We enjoy it when the the weather is this cold. We also like it when it gets very hot in the summer. This is what the seasons are all about, this is why we live here.

On another level, days such as today make us grateful for what we have -- a house, 5/8 of a tank of home heating # 2, and food on the table. We are blessed. We also appreciate the cold because it's a bit jarring to the system, it knocks us out of our complacency and imposes some discomfort on lives that are often too comfortable. Bring on the cold.

Minus 4 Fahrenheit

The coldest morning yet on the Quarter Acre.

Winter Morning

Winter finally comes to Boston.

End of Day

Winter Beach

Off Season

Save Us From Oursleves

Two thing caught our attention today. The first was that a proposed law in Bangor, ME became actual law. People smoking in cars with children under 18 years of age can be ticketed and fined $50. The state of California is mulling over an idea to ban spanking of children under four years of age.

We see people smoking in cars with kids and think it somewhat dumb -- though the research behind second hand smoke is shaky at best, and we don't smoke, why take a chance with your kids. Telling people they can't spank their kids is silly. How and when to discipline children is a parent's prerogative. Also, there are already rules that define abuse and prescribe punishments for it. Is this rule necessary? If someone spanks their child enough to warrant a trip to an ER they should be prosecuted under the existing rules.

We are not sure where stand on spanking. It has not yet been necessary on the Quarter Acre. We know that we received a couple of spankings in our youth. It was a painful, but effective way to make a point. We don't think that we suffered any long-lasting physical or psychological effects. We don't hate our parents, nor do we blame them for anything. How could the state have prevented the spanking? This measure is one of those typical, liberal moves meant to make the sponsoring legislator feel good about themselves and appear to be protecting the constituents of the home-district by imposing an unenforceable law on the populace.

It strikes us as a direct violation of privacy to say we can't spank a child or smoke in our cars with our children. When will they pass a law that says we can't smoke in a house with children under X-years of age? Where is the outcry? Why does such inanity not arouse the public. Most people we bet simply shrug, say "that seems silly, but they mean well, it's for the children after all," and move on. Never do we realize that one more regulation has been enacted that chips our rights, all in the interest of protecting us from ourselves.

Growing the Middle Class

Be very afraid. With the commencement of the 110th congress one of the stated goals of the newly minted Democrat majority is to help the middle class grow. Oh no. If you want to do that, then get out of the way. Reduce regulations on people's businesses. Preserve the Bush tax cuts. Let people keep more of their money. Get an economic clue and learn that the government doesn't help to build up business and make people rich -- people permitted the freedom to spend their capital as they see fit do.

Since we're talking about the middle class let's define it. At what income level does the middle class start? Where does it end? While we are at it, please define "Rich." At what income level does one become rich? Does exiting the middle class (upward exit, of course) mean we are now rich? We've seen rich defined as $100K annual income. For a married couple filing their taxes jointly, that's not exactly what we'd call rich. It's time for the Democrats to stop playing class games, define the terms they are using and lead the country. It's what they've been craving since 2000, now is their chance. However, based on a goal like "growing the middle class" we fear we are in for typical American-progressive squishiness that only succeeds in growing the size of government and creating an ever larger bureaucracy -- not exactly something we need.

Epiphany

When Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days of King Herod, behold, magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, "Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We saw his star at its rising and have come to do him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was greatly troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. Assembling all the chief priests and the scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They said to him, "In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it has been written through the prophet: 'And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; since from you shall come a ruler, who is to shepherd my people Israel.'" Then Herod called the magi secretly and ascertained from them the time of the star's appearance. He sent them to Bethlehem and said, "Go and search diligently for the child. When you have found him, bring me word, that I too may go and do him homage." After their audience with the king they set out. And behold, the star that they had seen at its rising preceded them, until it came and stopped over the place where the child was. They were overjoyed at seeing the star, and on entering the house they saw the child with Mary his mother. They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed for their country by another way. When they had departed, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Rise, take the child and his mother, flee to Egypt, and stay there until I tell you. Herod is going to search for the child to destroy him." Joseph rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed for Egypt.

Matthew 2:1-14

The Real Estate Knockdown

Our town is filled with knockdowns -- those unfortunate, less-than-spectacular but solidly built mid-century American homes that don't meet Americans' current definitions of real estate grandeur, success and the good life. In place of the older, more modest homes, owners, builders and speculators build McMansions, replete with farmers' porches, multi-car garages, gas fireplaces and a total lack of consideration for lot size, landscaping and even coherent roof lines.

On the lot next to the Quarter Acre, a quarter acre lot itself, stands a large house. It's not a bad looking house, and the interior is actually fairly nice. However, not six feet from the back wall of the house stands a retaining wall that holds back a hill that was cut into to make room for the foundation. As a result, there is no real yard in which kids could play. Yards, apparently, are no longer part of the American Dream -- just really large houses.

On a lot down the street some neighbors tore down their modest Cape to build a new home. The exterior is basically complete -- walls, glazing, roofing and siding are in place. The interior work is about to commence and from what we see as we drive by the new place looks to be a nice house. A bit of interesting back-story shows how common the knockdown and rebuild is in our area. When the owner of the house was sharing the plans with neighbors at a cookout, a nine year old girl looked at the plans and said that the house looked big for the lot. She had a point.

Another bit of startling commentary on real estate came this fall, from Child One. She mentioned that if you build a house and don't like it, you can always knock it down and start again. On some level, houses have evolved into disposable assets, even in the mind of a toddler.

When we were children we never saw a blueprint in person, much less understood how to translate what was on it to real world space. We also certainly had no idea that you could knock down a house. Kids who can read a blueprint and understand houses to be impermanent objects demonstrate a tremendous change in perspective. Obviously, not everybody knocks down their solid little house to build a big dream house, but enough do that they have altered the next generation's understanding of "House" -- and possibly even "Home." This altered understanding will transform further the American suburb as this younger generation grows up and buys property.

A Really Great Article

Over on ESPN.com, in his weekly column, John Buccigross has a really nice exchange with a member of the 10th Mountain Division, currently based at Bagram Air Base, Afghanistan.

We are hockey fans on the Quarter Acre. We are fans and supporters of the US Military (though we never served, we have the greatest respect and admiration of the men and women of our military who serve in harm's way). We are a fan of John Buccigross. His passion for the game of hockey is unbridled, but not more so than his passion for people. He is a true voice of the fan, a.k.a the ordinary guy. He writes sentimentally, openly, unapologetically, and un-cynically, as a fan, for the fans. For that we thank him. "Bucci" is always worth a read, but the aforementioned lead-in makes this week's installment one not to be missed.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to any and all Quarter Acre readers (all two of you). May you and yours have a happy, healthy and prosperous 2007.

The Post-Christmas Hangover

Is there any tougher week of the year to work than the week between Christmas and the New Year? We don't think so. It is not only hard to motivate to do work-related things after the heavy focus on hearth and family, it is hard to find people to do them -- except for a silly few, the author included, offices are empty. Perhaps this emptiness is good -- the trouble with finding people to do things, aside -- because Christmas, as much fun as it can be (and it was a very fun Christmas on the Quarter Acre) is exhausting. The preparation, the parties and the cleanup leave us feeling toasted. It's hard to shake off the hangover that lingers after Christmas and focus on the work-a-day details that make the boisterous and present-strewn-celebrations possible.

So, we return to the grind with eyes-all-a-bagged, mind cloudy (at best) and nothing to look forward to except taking down the decorations, January, February, March and at least half of April.

Birth of The Savior

While they were there, the time came for her to have her child,
and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear. The angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger." And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests." When the angels went away from them to heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let us go, then, to Bethlehem to see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us." So they went in haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the infant lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known the message that had been told them about this child. All who heard it were amazed by what had been told them by the shepherds. And Mary kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart. Then the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, just as it had been told to them.

Luke 2:6-20

To Bethlehem

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that the whole world should be enrolled. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town. And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.

Luke 2:1-5

The Dream

Now this is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the holy Spirit. Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly. Such was his intention when, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: "Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel," which means "God is with us." When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home.

Matthew 1:18-24

The Annunciation

In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary. And he came to her and said, "Hail, full of grace, the Lord is with you!" But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and considered in her mind what sort of greeting this might be. And the angel said to her, "Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High; and the Lord God will give to Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of His kingdom there will be no end." And Mary said to the angel, "How shall this be, since I have no husband?" And the angel said to her, "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the Child to be born will be called holy, the Son of God. And behold, your kinswoman Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son; and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. For with God nothing will be impossible." And Mary said, "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be done to me according to your word." And the angel departed from her.

Luke 1:26-38

Dark Lights (2) & Decorations

Our Brother has a theory about the intensity of the Dark Lights: being LEDs they have no white in them. Traditional lights have a filament that burns white and shines through either clear or colored glass. LEDs have no white to soften their glow and lend warmth to the night. We like this theory, but still think that the Dark Lights miss the point.

The NY Times has an amusing article about the blow-up Santas, polar bears and other "seasonal" characters who populate suburban lawns in ever-greater numbers. We are not sold on these decorations and think that they, like the Dark Lights, miss the point. While we prefer more traditional Christmas decorations, we do see some humor in these blow-up behemoths (there is one giant snow man snow globe, with swirling "snow" and a lit-and-star-bedecked-Christmas tree within the globe, that must be 12 feet tall not far from the Quarter Acre) and know that Child One takes tremendous delight in riding around to look at character strewn lawns this time of year.

Dark Lights

With the Christmas Season in full swing, and houses bedecked in their holiday finest, we've noticed many shrubs lit by super-bright LEDs. The intensity of these lights is startling. They burn like little suns but cast off little ambient light and accentuate the darkness rather than alleviate it.

This seems to miss the point of the Christmas light. Traditional Christmas lights cast a warm glow and brighten dark winter nights. They serve as beacons in the gloom to guide visitors to welcoming homes -- a fitting symbol of the season's true meaning.

Decorating Disaster

Last night, we decorated the Quarter Acre Christmas Tree. Child One unwrapped ornaments, commenting on the beauty of each, and hung them with glee, absolutely enjoying the moment. This is the the first year that she has been able to actively assist in the hanging of ornaments and it was one of the most enjoyable tree decorating events of our young family's history.

We decorated the tree twice last night. We also re-strung all of the lights.

While taking stock of the gift inventory in the basement, we heard the bouncing and popping of hard objects above our head. We ran upstairs to discover that the Quarter Acre Christmas Tree had toppled over, shattering many ornaments, spilling tree solution all over the rug, and generally creating holiday mayhem in the living room.

We are unsure of what made the tree topple, though we have a theory. We had placed some newspaper beneath the tree-stand to absorb any liquid that might spill during watering. Though the stand seemed stable it was obviously out of balance for when laden with lights and ornaments . . . It was ugly. Broken glass, pine needles and ornaments littered a soaked rug.

We picked up the broken glass, and tried as best we could to dry the rug. The physics of this event are intriguing to a non-scientist. Many of the balls on the sides of the tree landed on the floor but their hangers remained in place. The light strands dislodged from their original locations and clumped together in disheveled bands. Evidently, this fall generated a lot of force -- too much, at least, for tree lights and decorations. We lost some beautiful ornaments, one of which was a an antique purchased in Rhinebeck, NY several years ago. There is something extra-disappointing about breaking an ornament.

So, we restrung the lights -- they look better and are applied more rationally than before -- rehung the surviving ornaments, and went to bed when done at 1:30 AM. For the first time this year it finally felt like the holidays.

Christmas Tree Lighting

Everyone we know within our generation has a story of helping their father string lights around the tree and being told to "pass me the lights! Pay attention! Don't bump into the tree! Give me some slack!"

Now that we are a homeowner, responsible for purchasing and lighting our own tree, we laugh when thinking about our role as a lighting assistant, and understand completely why it was such a trying experience for our father. Because Child One and Child Two are too small to help, lighting the tree is a solitary endeavor with many spacing consultations and other internal reviews with Mrs. Agricola, and Child One.

From having rolled lights onto reels in the wrong direction at the end of last year (more on that in another post,) to seeking out the dead bulb that shorted half a string of lights, this year's Christmas tree lighting was an epic endeavor. What we had hoped would take only an hour ballooned into a three hour effort that pushed the decorating process into a multi-day affair. A tradition of sorts -- similar to being told to "pass me the lights!" -- has been born on the Quarter Acre. Someday, we're sure that we'll look back on it and laugh.

Encountering the Raptor

Despite living in NYC for the better part of a decade we never saw the famed nesting- pair of Red Tailed hawks that lived in Central Park; nor the Red Tails who were evicted and later reinstated at a tony address on 5th Avenue; nor the Peregrine Falcons who supposedly hunted at will throughout Midtown; nor the trained falcons used to control pigeons in Bryant Park. It took our move to Boston to start encountering urban raptors.

Just last week, while walking near my office a sudden movement high atop a bell tower caught my eye. The pigeons who roost up there suddenly took flight and started flying around the tower in large swooping arcs. Within moments a Peregrine Falcon coasted into view looking for lunch. The small bird peeled away and about three minutes later it reappeared, approaching the bell tower and potential lunch on a new vector.

At another job, in one of Boston's tallest buildings, we had the good fortune of sitting in a cube with a westward facing window -- looking out towards Fenway Park and Boston's western 'burbs. A Peregrine Falcon lived nearby for we saw it almost daily, hunting while riding the updrafts that scoured this structure. Our perch was high enough that at times we could see the falcon from above.

As much as we might have wanted to we did not see either of these falcons make a kill. We did witness a kill on the Quarter Acre in the spring of '05. One morning, while holding Child One by a window, watching birds on the feeder, all of the avian diners bolted in a panic. Within a moment a hawk dove past the feeder, talons out, and landed on the lawn. It came so close to the feeder that at first we thought it had picked off an unfortunate sparrow. However, as it flew away, after standing proudly in the middle of the lawn, most-definitely occupying the top of the food chain on the Quarter Acre, we saw that it had nailed a ground-feeding chipmunk.

This same hawk has flown by our porch -- at eye level, close enough to hear the air moving over its body -- and we frequently hear it while working in the yard, chirping and screeching from its nearby, but unseen nest. Last spring this raptor had a partner and we watched them soar high, high above us, nearly transparent in the sky, but highly audible as they screeched to one another while making lazy circles.

Spending as much time as we do commuting to our job we also notice many hawks perched above the highways and byways of the Commonwealth. Two hawks hunted from neighboring lampposts over I-95/128 in Woburn. One was struck by a car -- we saw its carcass by the side of the road in the late summer -- leaving only one hunter to scan the shoulders and median strips of that road. A giant hawk perches atop a lamp post along Soldiers' Field Road in Brighton, hunting along the obviously abundant banks of the Charles River.

The overt presence of these amazing predators is one more exhibit in a growing body of evidence that nature is adapting and growing ever more comfortable living in close proximity to humans. Many might argue that Man encroaches ever-more into nature, and forces this adaptation. Our neighborhood, however, was built in 1954, and is therefore, not a recent encroachment into some pristine wilderness area. Despite the seemingly settled nature of our man-made environment we are surrounded by the eternal struggle between hunter and hunted, entropy and stasis. It would not take much for our environment to revert to its original state as evidenced by the raptors that live comfortably in our midst.

Seasonal Opening

This past weekend,in addition to rekindling our love affair with the Martini we began the process of decorating the Quarter Acre for Christmas. Greenery was purchased for the outside of the house. Lights were placed in windows, and on Sunday a yard-tree was dressed in lights, a spotlight was placed in the lawn to shine on the front door and the Christmas season officially opened on the Quarter Acre.

Child One helped us with the window lighting which was very fun. The house is really coming to life, and assuming a magical air. This is one of our favorite times of year on the Quarter Acre. A week after putting the yard to rest until the spring, the focus shifts to the house, the home and the interior life of the Quarter Acre. We take comfort, and delight in this transition which is so fitting at this time of year.

Rekindling An Old Flame

This past weekend, in the midst of starting the Christmas Season by decorating the house with lights and greenery, we created and knocked back a couple of delicious Martinis. In the past this was the defacto, winter drink of choice on the Quarter Acre. However, due to unknown reasons the Martini has not been agreeing with us and has fallen out of favor. Perhaps our body is telling us that ingesting three shots of Gin, one shot of Dry Vermouth and olives is not a great idea because even one Martini would leave us feeling less than delightful the following day.

Despite all of this, we mixed up two Martinis this weekend -- one on Saturday, the other on Sunday. They definitely agreed with us this weekend; and, as the Christmas season truly gets under way, an old flame has been rekindled. The turning point in this relationship happened about two weeks ago. While out to dinner we ordered a Martini and received instead a glass of chilled gin containing some olives. This irked us. Recipes are written for a reason and are meant to be followed. If we wished to drink chilled gin and olives we would order that.

The abominable drink that we received motivated us to try out our tried and true recipe (Thanks to DrinkBoy for being our guide and our high priest of classic and classically prepared cocktails) and give our preferred winter beverage a new chance. The old flame is back and burning brightly. Just in time we say, as the world enters the darkest time of year.

Seasonal Closure

Rather than spend the weekend after Thanksgiving battling the masses for silly sale prices on silly things we don't need (at Christmas time or any other time of year for that matter) we spent the weekend around the Quarter Acre shutting down the yard for the season.

We've raked the yard a couple of times this year, mowed the lawn close, applied the winterizer and basically kept things looking sharp. This past weekend was the final push. At the back of the property is a hill that runs the entire the width of the plot. Atop this hill sit several oak trees that produce copious amounts of acorns that litter the lawn and leaves that blanket the hill.

The leaf-blanketed hill is messy-looking, and we spent 6 hours raking it, bagging the leaves and taking the refuse (23 thirty Gallon bags) to the giant leaf pile at the town dump. It was one of the best days yet on the Quarter Acre -- a crisp, beautiful, November, Saturday, outside, engaged in good honest hard work that added a blister to the inside of our thumb, and a new layer of dirt and scuffs to our boots. Additionally, we cut the dead Hostas, Astilbes and other perennials to the ground; raked out beds; mowed the lawn for the last time (mainly to pick up stray leaves); put away the gas grill and the Adirondack chairs and disposed of a completely rotten chimenia.

The yard is neat and trim and looks as spare as the leafless trees that surround it. There is a beauty now to the Quarter Acre that is both of and from the season that increasingly settles upon it. Stripped down, dormant and waiting, the yard is closed for the season, anticipating the Spring and the beginning of next year's ministrations.

Crazy Friday

A friend of Quarter Acre asked us to write about the first shopping day of the 2006 Christmas Shopping Season. This friend was horrified by of our fellow Americans and described them as "greedy" as they bum-rushed the gates of stores to scoop up holiday bargains. We certainly agree that the behavior of our fellow Americans on this day is disturbingly boorish. However, we're not completely sure that it's evidence of greed, per se, but rather misplaced priorities and consumerist venality.

One thing that we've always thought is that people like to shop on the day after Thanksgiving because they want something about which to talk and complain. Americans love to tell stories that involve distress and discomfort. For us, there is nothing more uncomfortable and distressing than the thought of arising at 5:30 AM to push and shove strangers at the door of a store to buy things that will be thrown out, disused and forgotten within weeks of their receipt -- because, honestly, isn't that the fate of most of the things we buy in the big box stores? Yet, each weekend immediately following Thanksgiving, the media, and our personal spheres are filled with tales of shopping-woe and mall-based-misery arising from the "Official Kickoff to the Shopping Season." If the so-called savvy-shopper doesn't know that this weekend is going to be miserable by this point then there is not much that we can do to help them; and, if savings of 50% - 70% off regularly priced items don't mitigate the agony then is Thankgiving-Friday shopping really worth it? What's wrong with internet shopping?

Thanksgiving Eve

Today is Thanksgiving Eve, the true kickoff to the Holiday season. This is one of our favorite days of the year, and the start of one of the most enjoyable times on the Quarter Acre. There is much work to be, much to be prepared over the next month, but it is all fun and all driven by love and cheer. We love that the darkest, coldest time of year brings this period of heightened focus on family, home and charity -- the old boys who set up the Ecumenical calendar knew what they were doing all right. As we try to do each day, but particularly on Thanksgiving, it is fitting to give thanks for all that we have, especially:

Family
Friends
Job
Home
Food on the table
Our Armed Forces
Being an American

Happy Thanksgiving to all who may stumble upon the Quarter Acre.

Milton Friedman, RIP

“Those of us who survive, who remain in this fight can—and should—take courage from [Friedman’s] example. Few of us will live as long; even fewer will be able to match his achievements. Still, we can continue the struggle, do our part to leave the world a bit better, striving always to advance freedom; and, in doing so, we will benefit greatly from the intellectual ammunition and the personal example he leaves us. For that and much more, we should all mourn and honor this great man.”
—Fred L. Smith, Jr., President, Competitive Enterprise Institute

“[Milton Friedman was] able to thoroughly discredit the idea, common since the Great Depression, that capitalism is inherently flawed and requires the ‘fine tuning’ of government to avoid excess and disaster. This has been the central conceit of the Keynesian state, administered by educated elites, adjusting tax-and-spending policies to tame the business cycle... Friedman attacked these beliefs at their root. He ambitiously argued that the Great Depression was not caused by the ‘defects’ of capitalism but by government incompetence. Going back to the 1930s, he demonstrated that the one-third fall in GNP was due to a one-third cut in the money supply from 1929 to 1933. ‘The Great Depression in the United States, far from being a sign of the inherent instability of the private enterprise system, is a testament to how much harm can be done by mistakes on the part of a few men when they wield vast power over the monetary system of the country’.”
—Ed Feulner, President, the Heritage Foundation

By Hand

One of our favorite things about the suburban transition is that the domicile is in need of work. Now, we're not talking about major renovations, but rather about cosmetic changes -- painting, cleaning, yard work. We just finished painting the dining room. This necessitated patching walls, the ceiling, sanding, cleaning, priming then the application of two coats of paint to all surfaces in the room (yes, we painted the ceiling and all the woodwork, if you don't do that, don't paint the room).

There is a lot of woodwork in our dining room -- chair rails, base boards, crown moldings and three door frames, a window frame and a neo-Classical styled corner hutch -- and it grew tedious near the end but looking at the finished product is gratifying. The job took several nights of work, after the day job and after the children were put to bed. A professional could have done it faster -- though not necessarily better -- and we would have been free to remain forever ensconced before the video altar. But, we took matters into our own hands, and got dirty, got paint splotched, and started to work on the callouses, toughening up relatively pink office hands.

One of the realities of living in a service based economy is that we can pay others to do nearly everything for us. Others can paint our dining rooms, mow our lawns, cook our meals and even train our children to pee in the pot. We like to do manual labor around the Quarter Acre. It reminds us of where we come from. It permits us to connect with our surroundings; use our hands on something more than a computer keyboard; take greater ownership of our property.

With Gratitude

“War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things; the decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks nothing worth a war, is worse. A man who has nothing which he cares more about than he does about his personal safety is a miserable creature who has no chance at being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself.” —John Stuart Mill

With deepest gratitude and respect we thank America's Veterans, and her active duty troops. You are in our thoughts and prayers this Veterans' Day, and every day.

Next Blog & Portuguese Blogs

One of our new favorite web pastimes is to come onto Blogger and keep hitting the "Next Blog" button. It's fascinating what you bump into. One thing that amazes on a daily basis is the number of Portuguese-language blogs that we encounter. We're unsure how the randomizer works on this button and what the criteria are, but we've never blogged about Portugal, or Brazil, though we have visited the former and loved every moment of the trip. Perhaps the next blog button has some sort of psychic powers, and can read our mind and thus connect us with people who also have a connection to Portugal. It would not surprise if Google had this in Beta . . .

Together We Can . . .

That was/is the motto of the Commonwealth's first African American governor. It's a terrific marketing line. It says much and says nothing. It's brilliant and permits the reader to finish the line and therefore believe that the coming administration will fulfill his or her governmental dreams. The Patrick campaign never permitted itself to be defined, to take a stand or to declare its beliefs. Instead, it used its brilliant slogan to make the electorate believe that anything is possible. It's a great message, it's a great slogan but unfortunately the lack of substance, and the apparent lack of a plan behind the slogan don't bode well for the Commonwealth which is now a true, one party state.

Kerry Healey did not deserve to win. She ran an abysmal campaign that focused on one small part of Patrick's past. It was illustrative of the type of governance that we can now expect, but it never helped to define her, or help the electorate see how her proposed vision was better for the Commonwealth. Locally, nationally, and even more forbiddingly, internationally, it was a bad election day for Republicans. Like Kerry Healey they didn't deserve to win. They have spent the past two years aping Democrats -- spending like drunken sailors -- and failing to uphold the conservative credos that swept them to power in 1994.

A person close to us thinks that this election spells the end of the conservative movement and that conservatives will be out of power for at least another 12-15 years. We disagree with that, and take heart in the fact that conservatism actually seems to be on the rise, last night's results not-withstanding. It was a bad night for Republicans, not conservatives. Many of the Democrats who challenged and won were not Howard Dean/John Kerry leftists, but conservative, pro military, pro-religion candidates. The conservative movement will carry on. The Republican congressmen and senators of the 109th congress will not. This is a painful lesson for the Republican party, but perhaps they will return to their conservative roots and remember what it is that first brought them to power. Together we can . . .

A Thousand Words

This is an image of the Korean Peninsula, at night, released by the USDOD.

Front Lawn Activism

As the country approaches the 2006 mid-term elections we can't help but notice the blossoming of lawn signs proclaiming fealty to one candidate, or one cause or another. Throughout our neck of Metro-Boston the liberal Democrat candidate Deval Patrick seems to be the darling of our neighbors -- his dominance in opinion polls echoed by the prevalence of his campaign signs that have sprouted on suburban lawns like dandelions in July.

We do not begrudge our neighbors the opportunity to tout their man, and support a candidate who will finally move the Commonwealth into the single party model of the old USSR. Surely, a socialist utopia will ensue. We have no problem with any statement of political affiliation, but we chuckle over the following, prevalent political signs:

War is NOT the Answer.
A Call to Our Conscience: Save Darfur.org

These are statements from the same chapter of the liberal rhetorical playbook that reflexively promotes "dialogue" over fisticuffs, in all instances. These signs express a cherished liberal ideal that talk will fix everything. No doubt, dialogue has reigned in Iran's nuclear aspirations and subdued Mahmoud Ahmadinejad; The Six Party Talks prevented the N. Korean nuclear test of 9 October 2006; negotiation has convinced Omar al Bashir of Sudan to spare the lives and folkways of the animistic peoples of Darfur. This, however, is not the world in which we live.

Because of our extreme civilization, we often forget that it is necessary to "go medieval" particularly when dealing with those who are themselves medieval. As terrifying as hordes of self-satisfied American suburbanites brandishing lawn signs can be, their anger and the concomitant desire to dialogue is hardly a motivator for folks such as Bashir, Kim and Ahmadinejad. Repeated, disciplined beatings with an iron fist and an even steelier resolve to stay with the fist until our enemies relent is the answer -- despite what we want to tell ourselves with our lawn signs.

Fantasists

During its heyday in the late-70s to the mid-80s we toyed with playing Dungeons and Dragons -- the seminal role playing game with the crazy set of 6, 8, and 20 sided dice -- but honestly could not get into it. It was too much work, too cerebral and way too steeped in competitive seriousness with levels of skill etc. If you came late to the game you couldn't just play with your buddies who "knew" how. The owners and their "Characters" had too much "experience" to willingly play with a novice who would undoubtedly slow down game play and make the game un-fun.

So, now, rather than drawing mazes, and building characters via dice rolls, and some predetermined allotment of gold coins, men -- many of whom no doubt played D&D as boys -- now "draft" "teams" of professional athletes and play fantasy (fill in the blank). We know that there are many massively-multiplayer-games on the web that more closely mirror the old paper/pencil/dice-D&D experience but we don't play those for the same basic reasons that we never got into D&D. That said, fantasy (fill in the blank) players (aka: "team owners") are as geeky, dorky and obsessive as any of the most hardcore, 15th level warrior-owning D&D dice-rollers ever were. In our second year of Fantasy Football (FF), we feel much as we did as a 13 year old D&D aspirant -- frustrated, uninterested and basically fed up with the whole inane process.

By nature, we are competitive, and losing is not a fun experience even in relation to something as irrelevant as FF. FF is aggravating and there is enough aggravation in life without willingly submitting to an aggravating "game." Games, by their nature, are supposed to be fun. However, given the unpredictability of "any given Sunday" in the NFL, FF becomes a game of chance and we hate games of chance. So, just as we did 20-odd-years ago with the D&D craze, we'll remove ourselves from the Fantasy universe and leave it to the true fantasists and obsessives. Anybody for Monopoly?