We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Ask a farmer about work hours. During my career-building years, I worked 12-14 hour days. I have never regretted that, and I learned a lot in doing so. Oftentimes in my NYC days, I needed to work 24-hour days and all weekend too, and you would never hear any bitchin from me about that. Glad to have the work. Many times caught with my unconscious face planted on desk.
In my current self-employed era, I work just as hard and long as I choose to. Rarely less than 11 hours/day, and in spare time on weekends. Work is good. Mrs. Barrister values my effort enormously, which encourages me and cheers me on. She rewards me by being sweet to me and by making me a nice life. I am productive, useful, and I make money.
What else would I do, anyway? I like to read books at night, not during daytime. I surf the web when I need a short break from concentration and writing. I hate the boob tube.
It has been a great pleasure for me to provide Mrs. B with the ladylike, genteel life she aspired to. Raising kids, playing sports, seeing friends, volunteering, gardening, cooking, reading littacher and studying art history, messing with the horses. Just like her Mom. Fine with me because it all enriches my gracious Connecticut life.
Weekends I mainly structure around manual labor around the Barrister Estate, church, and socializing in evenings. We are constantly making new friends, sometimes more than we can handle. It all does me good. Life is short.
I intend to work until I drop, or until nobody needs or wants me. I guess that's my Calvinist culture and upbringing which requires being useful and productive. It works for me. Vacations and trips, however interesting, make me restless. Except for Thailand, India, and the Midi. Camera? Never, ever. After the kids got bigger, I threw it away. For me, it interferes.
Harvey Silverglate is a Maggie's hero despite his lefty tendencies. A founder of FIRE, civil liberties fellow. The book title over-promises, but it's an important topic.
The only good summer fun this state offers is the White Mountain (ie large hill) climbing/hiking. Or the lakes, of course, where they never should have allowed power boats but, freedom. Those mountains are all good hikes with no climbing gear needed except an intrepid spirit, sneakers, and pretty good health - and do not forget to bring your legs. You might need them. Nothing wrong with trail maps either, and some snacks.
NH has 48 4000-footers, and the outdoor people from Boston, New York, CT, etc. with lake or ski places up there tackle each one. That's the main summer outdoor activity up there. Insanely vigorous people try hiking those peaks in winter. I tried that once, in college. Trust me. It is not fun but it is a good test of manhood.
OK, there are some fun trout streams too. Rumor has it that there are some wild Brookies, but I doubt it. Not much else to do there for fun and recreation in warm weather. The winter skiiing is good, though, and in the fall the woodcock and grouse hunting up around Pittsburg, NH, is quite fine. A guide is a good idea for that.
Other than that, Live Free Or Die. Thus lots of meth labs and lowlifes in the woods. Not much cultcha if you go for high cultcha.
Cast iron, 120+ years old. Weigh around 65 lbs apiece. I believe they need dissembling and sand-blasting, then the powder and baking treatment, and then reassembly (they have bolts). Costly procedure.
Some antiques guy told me the set was worth around $8-10,000 but I am skeptical. Junk, or precious antiques? What's your opinion?
For finish coats on refinished or freshly done wood, Sippican recommends this stuff. It's what he used as a finish for his furniture: Deft clear finish.
I always listen to him. As an old-timey Yankee traditionalist, I figgered he'd go for for waxes or oils which I prefer on my gunstocks, but he likes a couple of coats of that Deft stuff, sprayed or brushed. I will not use polyurethane on furniture as my religion forbids it but that's not polyurethane. It's a lacquer.
I am still contemplating how to finish one of our old oak rustic, wide-board family dining tables which I sanded, steel-wooled, and stained. Why do that? Drink and other stains, and 90 years of grime, food, wax, dust, and dead mouse excretions. And rustic enough that I could not screw it up badly. Would never dare touch fine furniture. Maybe I'll use the Dreft Deft.
A friend sent this pic from Colorado yesterday. He was visiting Denver to see family, heard some slopes were open, rented some skis and boots and skied in his jeans. Arapahoe Basin.
Cosmology has been on a long, hot streak, racking up one imaginative and scientific triumph after another. Is it over?
We might be trapped in this snow globe of photons forever. The expansion of the Universe is pulling light away from us at a furious pace. And even if it weren’t, not everything that exists can be observed. There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in our philosophies. There always will be. Science has limits. One day, we might feel ourselves pressing up against those limits, and at that point, it might be necessary to retreat into the realm of ideas. It might be necessary to ‘dispense with the starry heavens’, as Plato suggested. It might be necessary to settle for untestable theories. But not yet. Not when we have just begun to build telescopes. Not when we have just awakened into this cosmos, as from a dream.
Pvt. Joe Bowers: Every time Metsler says, "Lead, follow, or get out of the way," I get out of the way.
Sgt. Keller: Yeah, when he says that, you're not supposed to choose "get out of the way." It's supposed to embarrass you into leading - or at least following.
A wife comes home late one night, arriving early from being out of town and quietly opens the door to her bedroom. From under the blanket she sees four legs instead of two. She reaches for a baseball bat and starts hitting the blanket as hard as she can.
Once she's done, she goes to the kitchen to have a drink. As she enters, she sees her husband there, reading Maggie's Farm.
"Hi, Darling", he says, "Your parents have come to visit us, so I let them stay in our bedroom."
His story reminds me of Mike Mulligan and his steam shovel. I think I read that book out loud 200 times. Mrs. BD has it memorized, just like Good Night, Moon, Hungry Caterpillar, etc.
Another place where I imagine that I could happily live (were it not for my kids, my work, my church, our friends, our clubs, etc) - Nonquitt, MA
An Indian name, of course, but it's a good name in English too. Gen. Philip Sheridan's summer house was there. It's a waterfront village in the town of Dartmouth, MA.
Work Culture: Up or Down?
Best socks for casual fun:
For finish coats on refinished or freshly done wood, Sippican recommends this stuff. It's what he used as a finish for his furniture: 
