From the land of the long shadows

The last time I got a speeding ticket, was around 1975. I was zipping along through a speed trap in Holden, Massachusetts. I got a ticket, but back then there was a program that if you watch two hours of post-car crash video, you didn't have to pay a fine. I think I was doing 40 in a 35 mph zone.

Oh, wait, did I say the last time? That would actually be... today. I was doing 43 in a 30 mile per hour zone. See, I'm not one of those people who drives 75 to 80 on the freeway. You know, the people who never seem to get stopped for speeding. No, I get stopped for going forty-frickin'-three.

Anyway, I've written up the whole sordid story here.

At the time I got stopped, I was trying to find the hockey rink where Patrick and I played last week. I found it, thanks to the police escort!

The ice queen cometh

Carolie and I had an idea a few months ago to build an ice castle with ice candles from a mold I bought. The weather since December has been perfect for it, except for one day when a couple of candles perished in the warmth of a sunny day and an uninsulated garage.

Then tragedy struck one recent morning when the temperature was below zero. A crack rendered the mold useless.

So this evening, she built what she could with what she had.

Skating, not working

I'm having the most enjoyable winter since I was a kid. I don't mean things are going well and it happens to be winter -- we all know in the big scheme of things, things ain't going that well. I mean that winter -- the season -- is a blast this year. I love the cold weather, I've enjoyed the arctic candle making, and I'm skating more than I have in years, which is to say: twice so far.

Today, a small group of MPR employees and I spent lunch hour in downtown St. Paul, where they've closed off a street near Landmark Center (a beautiful building) and built a skating rink, along with a warming hut.

It was 9 degrees and several Minnesotans said it was "too cold to skate." Nonsense. The sky was blue, it wasn't that windy, and it felt great to skate. You can find some more pictures here.

We're going to do it every Friday afternoon until dreaded spring comes.



Notice those lengthy shadows? It was noon.

Christmas at Casa Collins

Season's Greetings from Minnesota! I am the last person standing. Carolie has gone to bed and the boys have gone back to their respective homes. It was a successful holiday. Sean seems to really enjoy the camera gear. Patrick has a new laptop. I have Guitar Hero World Tour. I gave Carolie a copy of Leif Enger's latest book - So Brave, Young and Handsome.

We got Sean a little r/c helicopter from Brookstone. Here are his early minutes of flight school.



Eventually, he got it working pretty well and was in the process of hovering in an attempt to land on the ceiling fan blades when something went terribly wrong and it crashed head-first into the bowl of sauce for the shrimp. It didn't work after that. Fortunately, Carolie was smart enough to buy a service plan.

I bought Patrick a cookbook (he doesn't cook) called "Beer is not a food group." The word beer was in large letters and as he unwrapped it, he exclaimed, "Coool!" I figured then and there that I was the world's best Christmas shopper. But, alas, he thought it was a cookbook of beer recipes or a book on how to make or drink beer. It wasn't.



Here's some pictures:

Six Degrees of Mary Lucia

A Christmas present to ourselves and a curiosity have led me to invent a new game -- Six Degrees of Mary Lucia.

The 4th Season of Rescue Me -- my wife and I are big fans -- was tucked in between the doors this morning. It must've come yesterday. So we watched the first episode which ended with the song, "Backseat Nothing."

"Who does that?" I asked my wife. "It sounds very Elvis Costelloey."

She didn't know so I logged on and did some research and found it was the Del Fuegos, a Boston-area band in the '80s. Dennis Leary, the Emerson College grad (as am I) is from the area.

Anyway, the description said the Del Fuegos were an up-and-coming alternative band that had garned some celebrity support including Tom Petty and the Replacements.

The Replacements were fronted by Paul Westerberg. Paul Westerberg is the brother of -- wait for it -- Mary Lucia (on whose show I do waht can loosely be called the news in the afternoons).

So to recap

Christmas Day ==> Rescue Me ==> Del Fuegos ==>Replacements ==>Paul Westerberg ==> Mary Lucia.

This game is going places, I tell you.

The Christmas miracle

No, not the miracle you think. I am legend in my family for many attempts at projects that collapsed. I was known as the "Scotch Tape kid." Years ago, my attempt to fix a lawnmower didn't go so well, either. I hoped that I wouldn't need the parts that were left over when I rebuilt the engine, but when I started it, it exploded. I guess they were needed.

This is my latest "project," an arctic ice candle. OK, you can't really screw these up, but I've lived out here for 16 years and I've always wanted to make one. Some listeners on The Current gave me some tips which were too hard for me to follow, so I bought a "mold," a simple plastic bucket with an indentation in the bottom (which becomes the top of the candle). Freeze for 12 hours and pop it out. The unfrozen part becomes the part where you put the candle. Even the Scotch Tape Kid couldn't screw it up.

We don't do big holiday lights at our house; it just doesn't seem a wise use of electricity (although I think LEDs change the equation on that). We go for the simple Pagan approach: wreathes and boughs.

So tonight the arctic ice candles lining the driveway fit perfectly. Add -3 degree weather and a ton of fluffy, powdery snow and, well, it doesn't get much better. The only thing missing is Lex Luthor and Superman.



Maybe if you click that and look at the bigger photo it'll make more sense. In the background is the picture window with our illuminated tree. Trust me, the person that brings the morning paper on Christmas morning is going to love it -- and the tip.

(Update 7:47 a.m. 12/15 - I think they look even better just before sunrise. By the way, sunrise this morning is at 7:50 a.m.)



So we're wrapping presents for the kids who will stop by tomorrow. Carolie is showing me a wrapping bag that says "no peeking," when you pick it up, a siren goes off and a voice says "put the present down and back away slowly. Nice.

Some of Sean's presents for us arrived today, but the apartment complex office was closed so he can't get at them. That frustrates him, I assume, as it does all young people.

When we were kids, our parents would always say 'you don't need to get me any presents' and we just figured they were saying that because everyone says that and nobody could possibly mean it. But I'm pretty sure they did. Because I know Carolie and I have everything we need, and when our two kids walk in the door on Christmas Day, they will have given us the best presents ever.... again.

The "for sale" sign

I've put 7 -- almost 8 -- years of work into the RV-7A project and I intend to continue working on it, but I have to prepare for the obvious -- that I'll have to sell it. The economy is bad -- a dozen folks got gassed at my place today and more are due -- my health and that of my wife have been deteriorating to the point where it's obvious my plans for how we'd spend our senior years are not in sync and not really possible, and the economy has pretty much destroyed our retirement funds and although there's enough time before we retire (I hope) to get them back where they were, there's nowhere near enough time for the fund to get anywhere near our being able to live at the level we'd hoped.

I'd hoped to be able to finance the engine purchase but that hasn't worked out well either and this is not a good time to carry debt.

I've sketched out roughly what I've put into it and that's what I'd likely sell it for -- what I put into it. No profit, no charge for the work and no discount.

Here's what I've put into it:

Tru Trak single axis autopilot = $1,500
Icom A210 Radio - $1,200
Artex 406 mxh ELT - $950
Whelen System 6 Strobe package - $950
GRT EIS - $1500
VP-50 - $1,500
Dynon D100 Super Bright pkg - $2500
Garmin 327 Transponder $2,300
Airflow high-performance boost pump - $415
Equipment Subtotal --> $12,815

==Interior==
Seats (Flightline) $507
Hooker harness w/ crotch strap - $750
Oregon aero cushion core -$580
Interior subtotal -->$1,837

Mattituck IO-360 FP engine (but can be a CS) fuel injected with one Lightspeed ignition - $24,500
Engine subtotal --> $24,500

RV-7A project
On landing gear (nosewheel breakout force has not been set), canopy frame is done and the front fairing completed. Tip-up. Tops skins not riveted on (I need access to the tail). 1,800 hours of work invested so far
Total -->$20,000

I get about $60,000 in my calculation and that's about what I'd sell the project for. No tools are included because I need to hang onto the hope that I can build an RV-12 and do the kind of flying that I'm more likely to be doing -- by myself, in the daytime, in the vicinity of the airport.

Alternatively, I'd consider taking on a partner in the plane, although I have to admit I have no idea how such a partnership works. So you'll have to supply the brains.

If you'd like to take a look at things, I would encourage you to plan to come up to the hangar at South St. Paul (KSGS) and assess it for yourself.

Like I said, I'm not anxious to sell it and cash out, but at the moment I'm willing to and I probably should before I absolutely have to.

Don't hit the cow

I'd love to tell you that one of the first things they teach us in flight school is "don't hit the cows." But it's not.



(h/t: Michael Wells)

The Christmas shopping trip

Today was the annual Christmas shopping trip for Carolie and me. We both take the day off and head to the Mall of America for people-watching and gift buying. There weren't, as you might expect, as many people this year as in years passed, but there's still plenty of buying going on.

And we also got the annual goofy picture of Carolie. Check out the sign(click on the image to enlarge it).

You Are My Sunshine

It was a bittersweet day in my "career." I live-blogged the end of The Morning Show on Minnesota Public Radio. I dare say there was no place else in the galaxy this morning where someone was singing "Getting to Know You" on a live radio broadcast. And there will be no more.

But people started lining up in 9 degree weather at 2:30 in the morning to hear it. And an overflow crowd at the Fitzgerald Theater spilled into the Central Presbyterian Church. It was a remarkable moment in broadcast time and a real highlight of the 35 years I've spent in the business.

At the same time, it was a funeral; a passing of an era. And later in the day we got a budget update. We have millions of dollars to cut like every other media company and I suspect there'll be a layoff for many people in the future. For me? Maybe. Maybe not.

I just know that no matter how bad things get, I'll always be able to hold onto the feeling I had when hundreds of people sang along with Peter Ostroushko on "You Are My Sunshine" in the pre-dawn darkness of Minnesota. A theater full of people were doing more than singing words; they were comforting themselves and others with a reminder that all is not lost as long as get tears in our eyes when someone plucks a mandolin.

Things get bad, life goes on and will get better.

An occasional chill up your spine is a good thing to regain perspective. So here it is. Have a box of Kleenex ready.

Here's the blog:



And here's the entire show.

The health care scam

I've been having a problem with my neck. I think. My neck itself doesn't hurt but the neckbone is connected to the legbone -- OK, it's not, but work with me here. The neck is the spine and something's wrong in there somewhere which has caused my left shoulder to be about as productive as Eddie Guardado's. It also has left two of my fingers numb. I don't know whether they're hot or cold or what. The only thing they seem to tell me is I'm old.

Which, not surprisingly, is what a neurosurgeon told me last week. My spine is shrinking and it's compressed a nerve... or something. I really don't know because after two doctor visits, an MRI, and then a referral to a neurosurgeon, nobody has told me exactly what's wrong with me. And, because I'm a typical health care consumer in the United States, I haven't asked. I just expect them to do something. And they have; they've collected co-pay after co-pay after co-pay.

I'm stuck in co-pay hell; the criminal system that is the American health care system, referred from one person to another, always just a step away from someone who might be able to do something about it.

My MRI was three weeks ago. I never did get the results, just a phone call from the neurosurgeon's office who said I'd been referred there. Fortunately, I only had to wait 10 days for an appointment and, I presumed, relief from "old man hell." I had anticipated I'd get a shot directly into the spinal area. That's what my regular doc had predicted. That would be followed by months of physical therapy, all at $35 a pop.

When I finally got to meet the neurosurgeon on Friday, he asked me in rapid succession, "what is your name, where do you live, do you live with anybody there, what is that person's name?" I figured my diagnosis was going to be worse than I thought.

"There's a 75-percent chance you won't need surgery," he then announced, displaying an uncanny ability to gaze into the inner workings of my spine merely by my identifying the name of the woman I've lived with for 26 years.

He offered several alternatives, suggesting a priority on "the shot." "OK," I said, "let's go with that."

"Fine," he said. "The nurse will be in to set up a referral to one of our pain clinics."

Say what?

The neurosurgeon's office to whom I'd been referred, apparently doesn't actually do anything but tell you pretty much what you already knew, take your $35, and whatever could be billed to the insurance companies. The original doctor, the neurosurgeon, the pain clinic, and the physical therapy center are all owned by the same health group.

How stupid do you have to be to not understand what's happening here and millions of other doctor's offices every day?

Oh, the pain clinic, I've got my appointment and I only have to put up with the pain of a shoulder coming apart for 2 1/2 weeks. I think.

Squirrel patrol

I come from a long line of squirrel haters. If a scientific study were to come out tomorrow that global warming is making squirrels extinct, most everyone in my family, I think, would start every car they own, turn up the thermostat (after changing the heating system from fuel oil to coal... good, dirty coal), light a fire in the fireplace and break into the refrigerator's compressor long enough to release the freon into the atmosphere.

My Dad spent a large chunk of his retirement catching squirrels in the backyard and then hauling them over to Crow Hill to release them. They either found their way back, or there were plenty of ready replacements. He's dead now. The squirrels are still there.

They had a dog, Sam, who loved to run after the squirrels. She, too, is dead.

My mother is still very much alive and chasing squirrels, too, who are also -- it should be pointed out, still very much alive.

Somewhere along the line, there is a genetic disorientation in the Collins clan, because I recently moved the bird feeder in the front yard over to just in front of the window in the family room, so I could watch birds and squirrels. The birds don't seem to mind the squirrels, and neither do I.

I have to go. I have to let the dog out. He wants to chase some squirrels. He thinks they're rabbits that climb trees. Stupid dog.

Dining recommendations

Carolie and I don't dine out a great deal but I'd still have to say the Bayport Cookery, along the St. Croix River just south of Stillwater, is certainly one of our favorites.

So when Carolie's folks, Don and Oralie Thurston, were in town this week, we made sure to make it a stop tonight. Patrick and Sean joined us for a very lovely evening.

Don to the Hall of Fame

Carolie's Dad, Don Thurston, was inducted into the Massachusetts Broadcasters Hall of Fame. He's in bigger "halls" -- the National Association of Broadcasters Hall of Fame, for example -- but it's nice tribute anyway.

A story is on the North Adams Transcript Web site.

Fall flight

My 90-day currency was going to expire in the next few weeks, it was a nice day out, and I wanted to get away from the ridiculous campaign nonsense on all sides. The only way to go is up. I rented a Warrior and flew around the southern edges of the Minneapolis St. Paul Class B, landing over at Fleming Field to check in on the RV project and do a few touch and gos. Here's some images.

It was 23 years ago today...

At 5:38 p.m. on October 18, 1985, Sean Michael Collins was born. The next day, a 5.3 earthquake struck Armonk, New York in Westchester County where we lived. I'm not yet convinced the two are unrelated. Sean entered the world intending to change it, gifted with the abilities to do it.

He arrived early, about a month early. Carolie went into labor several days earlier, and doctors did everything they could to keep his arrival at bay after tests showed his lungs may not have been fully developed. Carolie hung in there, in labor, for more than 36 hours three days.

A few days later after we got home from the hospital, me driving as carefully as I ever have, a box arrived from friends I only thought were acquaintances. The people at WHDH Radio in Boston, from where I was laid off a year or so earlier, sent me a Cleveland Indians outfit for him. Indeed, I said, I will make Sean into my own image.

And so I put the Indians outfit on Sean, and he immediately threw up on it. Thus ended a promising social experiment. He would later become a fan of the New York Yankees, which was enough to make me vomit.

In his first days on the planet, he didn't sleep at all, unless we took him on stroller walks in the cool air. He loved the cold. Years later, when we moved to the Berkshires, he'd go outside just to lay in the snow.

His first years were spent in the Berkshire hills where he enjoyed climbing trees, and following me while mowing the lawn, with his mower that blew bubbles. We;d burn brush and we'd sit in the woods on our property and he'd look at the sky and ask questions about all sorts of things. Between answers, I'd tell him how nice it was to have him in the world and how he shouldn't forget these moments and how much his Dad loved him. But eyes were on the sky, the questions were on his mind and he seemed somewhere else. Then, when it was time to go in, he'd head for the house, turn around and say, "I love you, too."

That's Sean. He absorbs the world in ways few people do. He was reading at 4 years old, an IQ off the charts, and a character that pushed him to hurry up and get to the next thing there was to see. In that latter way, he was like his Dad. He found contentment difficult in the present, because there was always a future to get to; there was always something else.

He started school when we moved to Minnesota. He made such an impression on his first-grade teacher, especially being a kid in new surroundings and all, that one night she brought her dog over to the house, and gave it to Sean. There aren't many teachers who would do that, nor kids worth doing it for. Sean was one of them.

He played baseball and was good at it. He had pinpoint control. He scored the winning run in a championship game. He played the trombone for a time. The first time I saw him as a young man was a band concert in, I think, 4th or 5th grade. There was Sean up there, playing a musical instrument I certainly didn't know how to play, experiencing things I never experienced. That was the moment I realized, he was off on and running on his own.

Sean had some tough times during school, and learned early that evil comes in all sizes and at all ages. He wears his heart where a man should -- on his sleeve -- and a little kid like that made for a big target. He does not suffer fools gladly.

By 17, he was gone. He moved out of the house and into an apartment. He was on his own. I didn't hear from him much, but every night before I went to bed, I walked out on the back deck, looked out in the direction of where he lived, pounded my heart with one fist, and pointed to the stars with the other and said, "I love you, Sean."

Despite my worry, he did fine and taught himself computers, absorbing everything he could in a way that, I'm sure, few do. He ended up working where I work (he got the job on his own), and nearly every morning we have coffee together. The happiest years I've spent in my business, have been the years he's worked at my place.

Like many 23 year olds, he's got more friends than he realizes in a world that's waiting to embrace him.

His future will not be what he sometimes thinks it is. He will change the world for the better, and despite his intelligence, he will probably be the last to realize it.

Happy birthday to my son, in whom I am well pleased.

Live-blogging the Palin-Biden debate

As part of the day job, I'm live-blogging the Palin-Biden debate. Hope you can join me with a few comments.

The new house

After a couple of days of work, the old house is completely resided. Down goes the yellow aluminum, up goes the "aspen" vinyl (I forgot I really don't like the seams that come with vinyl siding). I'm happy to have the work done but I wish the colors available were more risky than variations on suburban beige.


I still have to paint the trim (I elected to do that myself to save a few bucks). The blue is out, we're thinking a charcoal grey at the moment. Also the garage door has to be painted with the new color.

Goodbye yellow

This is the yellow aluminum-sided house I've lived in since 1993. Within a few days it will be a not-yellow, vinyl sided house instead.

While I was in Denver, the workers replaced the 20+-year-old-roof with new shingles and now the rest of the house is getting the makeover.



The workers arrived this morning and set out pulling all the old siding off. In its place will be a more suburban-looking (ain't that great?) light greenish. I'll be be painting the trim when they're done -- exact color to be determined. That big fake vent above the garage is getting tossed. I'm not sure what will replace it.

Most of this is being financed through the insurance company for hail damage, which I still think had more to do with kids throwing tennis balls against the house, but... whatever. With the economy being what it is, I'm feeling pretty panicked about the additional $4,000 it'll cost me.

Why Democrats aren't fit to run the country... and neither are Republicans

I tend to consider myself a person in the middle and, like most elections, the election of 2008 is frustrating to those of us in the middle. Why? Because we're forced to choose between the utter stupidity and hypocrisy of one side (in this case, McCain-Palin) vs. the unbearable arrogance of the other (in this case Obama-Biden).

It would be swell, perhaps, if elections were won and lost on the brilliance of the arguments on specific issues. The problem is, whoever wins: you actually have to live with these people.

I've often said in the years I've covered politics is it's not usually the candidates I hate, it's the people who support them I can't stand.



So maybe I'm wrong, maybe it's the Democrats who are stupid because they keep making this same mistake over and over and over again and it's why they keep losing elections over and over again. If you're too stupid to understand, Democrats, how you constantly look down at other people -- you with your fancy book learnin' and all -- are you really smart enough to run the country?

If the Democrats really were the party of change, then the Obama campaign would tell Hollywood to shut the hell up.