OK, so for those of you whose boredom has reached desperate levels, here's a place where you can keep tabs on what's going on in my whirlwind life. Wondering who I am or why I started this blog? Find out here.
You can browse my most recent posts below, use the calendar on the right to browse by date, or simply search for something using the search box on the top right.
I’ve been on some fairly hairy hikes in my life. Sometimes the adventure is in the company: coming face-to-face with Cassowaries in Australia or Black Bears in Yosemite. Sometimes it’s the weather: frigid autumn snow in New Hampshire’s Presidentials or stifling heat in Volcanos National Park. Sometimes it’s in getting lost: trying to find Seiguera della Dei on the Amalfi Coast, or foolishly cutting switchbacks until I ended up bushwhacking through the dark in Yosemite.
But sometimes, it’s the path itself. Half Dome in Yosemite and Stairway to Heaven in Hawaii are probably at the top for coolest and scariest experiences. The payoff is always the setting and the scenery. But as you can see in the video below, I need to return to Spain to check out this part of Andalucia. Agoraphobes beware!
Hello, poor, neglected blog! Here’s a nifty little video I created from my mini ski trip up to New Hampshire and Vermont last week. The timing for this trip couldn’t have been better. Snow fell across much of the region for the 3 or 4 days prior to my trip, granting the rare New England treat of fresh powder. Killington, as usual, claimed the most with 59 inches of fresh white fluffies! As you can see in the video, I took advantage of the new snow by heading into the woods… a most enchanting experience when the world is made of white. All told, I enjoyed three days of glorious skiing with some terrific friends. Monday was Killington, VT. Tuesday was Bretton Woods, NH. Wednesday was Waterville Valley, NH.
Back here in CT, I found that by Friday it was already T-shirt weather! My crocuses are peeking out from the cadaverous ground of early spring. It’s amazing how quickly the context changes from spectacular winter wonderland to thoughts of golf… But I’ve got at least a couple of more skiing days left this year. Mammoth Mountain, California still has two days with my name on it later this month. And I’m in talks with Catamount Ski Area in Massachusetts for a big web site project; and I see at least a few comp runs after a visit there perhaps next week.
One of my favorite holidays is Thanksgiving. Not just because I get to participate in the national pastime of overeating, but because it is perhaps the noblest of our nation’s holidays. Americans have always had much to be thankful for, and it’s wonderful that we dedicate at least one day per year to stop and ponder the many things for which we owe a debt of gratitude. Sadly, there are many who squirm away from even a hint of Providence, flippantly changing the moniker to an inelegant “Turkey Day.” For me, however, Thanksgiving is a day that reminds me that every day, really, should be Thanksgiving.
The year is not yet over, but it’s already proven to be a banner year for me. In spite of what may be the worst economic conditions of my lifetime, my business has more than doubled. And that happened in between 68 days of vacation, most of which involved trips to Russia, Greece, France, and Austria! …continue reading »
Corrie, living out a childhood dream. She owes me a maple tart!
Corrie, my best friend and die-hard Yankees fan, more or less guilted me into going with her today to the Yankees ticker tape parade in New York. I’m a Boston fan myself, so naturally the situation presented a serious moral conundrum. Do I be the good friend and help make it possible for her to enjoy celebrating with her stupid Bronx Boys, but in the process commit a serious betrayal of my own team. Or do I play the part of any sensible Red Sox fan and sanction any recognition of such an abominable event, but in the process dash a childhood dream of my good friend. I mean, Romeo wouldn’t have accompanied Juliet to a Capulet house party, right? Well, I guess he did sneak into a ball, but when he got caught things started getting ugly. OK, so it’s a flawed analogy, but I suppose the bigger question is, why would I, a loyal Red Sox fan, be friends with a Yankees fan like Corrie? Someone firmly entrenched in the enemy camp. Someone who even …continue reading »
One of my favorite spots on planet earth is Squam Lake, New Hampshire. Our family had a beautiful spot in Squaw Cove, way out in the quietest end of this already marvelously untouched lake. Many of my childhood summer days were spent up at the lake. Far from the drum beat of the rat race life, there were only three types of days at Squam: lake days (if it was hot and muggy), mountain days (if it was cooler and clear), and cabin days (if it was raining). We cooked on a large, wood-fired, cast iron stove, played games around the huge dining table, read books in the alcoves by the fireplace, made “forts” in the loft, slept safely from the “wood bumpies” in our individual cabins, always swam before breakfast, sat wrapped in our towels in the warmth of the morning sun while Grandma brought wild blueberry pancakes down the path for breakfast on the dock, paddled the canoe out to Yard Islands, sailed out to the main lake, jumped off the diving rock in Rattlesnake Cove, played with cousins and friends in the woods, bicycled on the dirt roads, played on the deck til our hair turned blonde and our backs turned brown, earned our right to shed our life vests by swimming unaided across the cove, engaged in forever fascinating conversations with well-traveled, well-read family, listened to the hauntingly beautiful cries of the loon, and found ourselves all-too-quickly passing from childhood through adolescence and into adulthood.
You could hardly ask for a better setting to romp as a child, yet I found my appreciation for this magical place only matured as I saw it slip away. …continue reading »
