The Real Charlie

Live Free Or Die

Had an interesting trip up to Rochester, New Hampshire on Friday night. We were heading up to see a show at artstream, where Abby's work was exhibited last year. Shortly after leaving here we hit massive traffic jams, very stressful for me at the end of a not-so-hot work week. We then had 30 minutes of smooth sailing, followed by forty minutes of white knuckle driving in a massive electrical storm, with some of the heaviest rain I've ever seen. Ever. Got to the gallery, had a glass of wine, and met the artists Lisa Congdon and Lisa Solomon - this picture is of your humble servant shaking hands with Lisa Solomon, and Lisa Congdon is standing in the background:

The patterned dress that you can glimpse under my arm is Abby, who I must say looked adorable on Friday night, as she so often does.

Always suckers for a new piece of artwork, we bought "Realgar" by Lisa Solomon:

Realgar is a mineral, a natural ore form of cyanide. I remember it will from my geology days. This piece has Arabic text, skulls and is mixed media. And orange. How can it not be awesome? I predict a fight to keep it out of Roxanne's room, as it has so many of her favorite things. Between the color and the "skullies," we might not win this one.

After seeing the show we drove to Portsmouth and had good food and awesome beer at Portsmouth Brewery, followed by a long drive home in yet another electrical storm. The rest of the weekend was fun but comparatively uneventful.

Learning to Fly

A postscript to my sea gull eviction post from last month. Today the building manager sent out a notice that gulls had nested on the roof of our building, and were teaching their babies how to fly, and we should be aware of any clumsy new fliers banging around outside our windows. My assistant saw them taking wing this afternoon. I'm sorry that I didn't get to see the little birds next door grow up. I wonder what happened to them.

On a not unrelated note, I watched Roxanne having a swimming lesson yesterday. The teacher looked like his patience was being tested; she seemed to be veering between tolerating the lesson and wanting out immediately. I so feel for her. I hated swimming lessons as a kid, found the required coordination hard to manage (kick and pull and breath and not swallow water?) and many of my teachers less than sympathetic. I hated, and still hate, getting my face in the water. I can tread water for a long time and out dog paddle most canines, but I am just a lousy swimmer. With luck Roxanne will take after her mother or my sister, both virtually amphibious. I just hope she can learn to enjoy it a least a little bit.

End of May?

It is hard to believe that May is almost over. The month didn't even fly by, it just vanished, in a flash. So, a few late spring updates and thoughts:

1) No, I still haven't gotten my 403(b) money emancipated yet. Yes, it has been two months. And yes, the nasty letter is coming. Should I start it out "Dear Thief" or "Dear Loser?"

2) Today I was walking home from the train, about 3/4 of the way home, and I heard some familiar squeaking from up ahead of me. My girls, all three of them were coming down the street. I waved, and the two little ones broke into a run (more of a gallop, actually) and caught up with me, and gave me a hug. My boss, whose daughters are 11 and 14, keeps telling me to enjoy this stuff, as the little girls get big fast.  With a welcome home like that after along (but fun, and productive) day, how can I not enjoy it?

3) This morning, my train got in fifteen minutes late. Yesterday, my line was disrupted by a lightning strike. This afternoon, two trains on another line collided. One of my favorite conductors retired and another switched lines. Why do I have the funny feeling that my mass transit honeymoon is over?

Another Thing That Never Happened When I Drove To Work

I've been taking the train most days for almost two full months. Early on, I noticed that Eddie, the morning conductor on the front of my train, seemed to know everyone, bantered with the regulars, and was generally a funny, pleasant guy. I also heard rather quickly that he was about to retire, taking a buyout from the commuter rail operator.

When I got on the train today, I was slipped a little piece of paper and a woman whispered to me the cryptic words "it happens right after Wellesley Farms." The paper had the lyrics to "For he's a jolly good fellow," and instructions to sing once we heard the whistle. Once we pulled out from Wellesley Farms, a shrill whistle was heard, and both decks of my packed double decker car burst into song. Eddie was duly impressed, and touched. At South Station everyone stopped to shake his hand, and wish him well in his retirement.

When you ride to work alone in a car, that never happens. The commuter rail can be unreliable at times, too hot often and too crowded always. But it is always just a little bit of community, at least for forty minutes each way weekdays.

No More Speed Trap Warnings

So my reading public no longer gets speed trap warnings, as I am no longer driving to work much. But I figured that I'd share some interesting things that I see from my Worcester-Framingham line commute into and out of Boston. If you ride the rails with me, you might see these things too, or you might be sound asleep or engrossed in the Wall Street Journal like the other 80% of the people on the train.

Wellesley Hills: the little shelter here is on the back of old Wellesley Hills station, designed by the great H.H. Richardson. Like most of his beautiful train stations, including the one in my native New London, Connecticut, it is sadly underused and in disrepair, now a frame shop and a cleaners in the shadow of an ugly post office.

Wellesley Farms: another H.H. Richardson station, next to a little pond. This one is a gutted hulk. Some of the landscaping, designed by Richardson's good friend and neighbor in Brookline, Frederick Law Olmstead, survives here.

Near the 128/Pike interchange: you pass through an oddly pastoral landscape, the grounds of the Martin Golf Course, and then over the Charles River. I have seen Great Blue Herons from the train here, and some cool modernist office buildings north of the tracks, near the Pike.

Newton: the stops here are rickety shacks on the edge of the turnpike. Each used to have a nice Richardson train station, all demolished for the Pike. I smile at West Newton and Auburndale, looking at the cars sitting in traffic. Near Newtonville, look north of the tracks for the National Guard armory, a nice old Victorian drill hall, complete with "MVM" lettering for the old Massachusetts Volunteer Militia.

Brighton: the graffiti picks up and starts to get pretty complicated here, the surroundings more urban. Brighton used to have a Richardson train station, also Pike-ified, Allston has a knock-off station designed by H.H.'s successors that is now the Sports Depot bar.  Some neat train cars in the big CSX yard next to the Pike.

Yawkey: a parking lot, with beautiful old Fenway in the background. Sox fans, and medical area commuters, deserve so much better. Ever more complex graffiti in this area. Check out the neat Fenway Studios building south of the train line after Yawkey Station, but before the Pru Tunnels.

Back Bay Station: grungy, smokey, loud, the cloaca  of the line. What a loathsome place to start or end the day. I can't wait to leave and emerge into the light along the Pike, with Chinatown and Bay Village to the north and the architectural variety of the South End to the south.

South Station: the Gillette plant and the postal center sit to the east, stark and industrial. Along the tracks, just before the station, the railroad workers have built a little house for a dog or a cat, complete with bedding and food. Watch for the sleek Acela trains, and the rare sighting of the Lake Shore Limited with its archaic sleeper cars.

Here I cut out the side door from South Station onto Atlantic Avenue, after tossing out my paper and my chewing gum. I am amidst the towers of the Financial District, and there are more things to see -  beautiful, strange, historical, mysterious. Another post.

On The Road Again

So I have early morning meetings three days this week, which means driving to work (my employer pays the ridiculous parking charges) instead of the train. Today I drove in, and the only good things were listening to the radio (I need to get an iPod to drown out the cellphone conversations of my fellow passengers on the train) and getting to chit chat with Roxanne on the way to nursery school. I missed relaxing on the train, reading my paper, looking at the big buildings as I walk to work from the train station, spying on my fellow passengers, etc. Someday my train will be un-air conditioned, or a hour late coming home, and I'll curse it six ways to Tuesday, but for now, I have to say it is working out OK. The job in general is awesome - busy, stimulating and incredibly varied. I stayed late tonight, and was happy to do so.

My Morning Wrecked Car Spotting

Winding things down at my job this week, I was pleased to see that Universal Hub featured something I've been noticing for five and a half years: the ugly, rusting wrecked car in some guy's driveway on VFW Parkway in Roslindale/West Roxbury. You can see my comment on UHub, and or drive by to gawk at this decaying vehicle, which is becoming one with the earth even as we speak. Do note, however, that this area is speed trap central, and watch the posted limits. I've discussed this before, in this forum, on Universal Hub, and, once, in the Boston Globe.

Universal Hub also has me all anxious about my forthcoming move to the commuter rail. I'll be riding the rails from Wellesley Square to South Station most days, and apparently the Framingham-Worcester Line is just terrible. Hopefully, it won't be any worse than Route 9 traffic. It can't be, right?

The Most Frightening Day of My Life

I don't think that I am exaggerating as I title my blog tonight. As you may know, we had a rather dramatic snowstorm today in Boston that hit mid afternoon, right around the time that everyone was sent home from work and school early, getting those people stuck in traffic, in freezing temperatures, amidst car wrecks and chaos. I was one of those people, but that isn't the scary part.

I left my office around 4, later than I would have liked because of office policies related to the need to make sure that there were enough people in the building to take care of our patients. Meanwhile, Abby had picked up the Roxanne from nursery school at 1:30, with Stella in the car. They were in bad traffic moving very, very slowly toward home.

By around 4:30 I was in deep trouble, stuck in a parking lot on Route 9 in Newton, barely creeping forward. I traveled a mile or so in an hour and a half. At 6 PM I got a call from Abby. She was just about to enter Wellesley. A few minutes later she called again: her car had broken down and totally died.
She was stuck on the side of a busy street, cars swerving all around her, two scared, tired little children crying in the back seat, no heat. She called 911, but they were overwhelmed and couldn't help her. Meanwhile I called a nearby (to her) wine shop called Lower Falls Wine to see if they were open, and I asked if she could shelter there. They agreed, and she got the kids out of the car and went to Lower Falls Wine, where they gave them food, access to the bathroom and looked after my girls very well.

Meanwhile I consulted with my boss Marsha and got off Route 9, wending my way through the snow clogged and car packed streets of Newton until I got to a more open stretch of roads. I got into another traffic jam, took another detour, then got into another jam. It was now 6:45. Not too far away, past the broken down and wrecked cars, the blinking lights and the blowing snow, I could see the distinctive red building of Lower Falls Wine Co. As I got close, I saw Abby's car on the side of the road, covered in snow, dark and dead. I fought my way into the parking lot and accosted a customer. "Inside that store there is a woman with two little children. Whisper to her that Charlie is in the parking lot." I went to Abby's car and failed to start it, but got Stella's car seat (Roxanne has a seat in my car) and a few other things. I installed the seat and then marched in to the store. I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life. I said "sorry I'm late, some fool left a Subaru Forrester parked in the middle of the road." Roxanne cried, Stella told me my hat was "pretty," and we got everyone into my car.

Twenty minutes of treacherous but unobstructed driving later, we were home. Abby's car is  abandoned in Newton, they'll probably tow it and I'll spend the day tomorrow finding it and getting the battery charged. My driveway is impassable and my car is getting plowed in on the road. I am going to miss work tomorrow.

But my little girls are asleep in their beds, my wife is safe and I am home. I truly worried that I would never see them again. Today was the most frightening day of my life

Wintry Mix

A few things for an icy evening:

1) This was my first real nasty wintry drive in to nursery school with Roxanne today. We managed to skid off the road while trying to avoid colliding with an oil truck, skid into our parking spot while avoiding a nimrod standing in the middle of the road in Newton chatting with a friend and skid into the door of the temple. That last skid only involved Roxanne's head and not the car. In all accidents, no cars, children or daddies were harmed.

2) I am still pondering my next moves investment-wise. Now I am tossing the idea of re-evaluating my basic investment manager decision into the mix. I use a stockbroker with whom I have a "fee-based" relationship - he charges me an asset under management fee, but part of it is commission-based. He provides good but spare advice, access to good research to back up my own decisions and excellent customer service. Someone else I know uses a father & son team of all asset money managers. They charge a fixed fee, use a discount brokerage for custody, make all the investment decisions based on their own underlying strategy (which involves a lot of cash and treasury STRIPs, covered call writing on consumer staples, financial and technology stocks, little international exposure and some shorting), generate superb returns even in down and choppy markets, but offer weak customer service (due to the discount broker, which stinks) and some limited options on certain things (like smaller sub-accounts for IRA rollovers, etc.).  I feel like I am at a crossroads where I need to either get way more involved in day to day management of this money or just dump it all on somebody else.

3) Hanukkah is winding down. One more night of gelt, candles and gift-mania. It has been fun to watch Roxanne enjoy it, singing the songs and prayers and getting mesmerized by the candles, and watching Stella start to learn that something special is going on.

Hope your holiday has been, or will be, as much fun.

Thanks

Thanks for a great season and a sweep, guys. Sorry I couldn't have stayed up later to cheer with you, but those girls get up at 6:30 come what may, and they do sometimes call for daddy (or "big daddy," as Stella has taken to calling me). Now for the off season. I'd love to see:

1) Lowell re-signed, at almost any price.
2) Schilling back, but not at any price.
3) An end to the idiotic "Yankees Suck" narrative of baseball life in Boston. In 2004 we got to the Championship through them, in most dramatic fashion. This year, they were a sideshow and a non-issue in the post-season. Let's give the vitriol and the hype a rest and play the game.

I find the winter without baseball long and dull. I may need to start reading, or catching up on my filing, or keeping up my frenetic blogging of the past week.