Saturday, April 23, 2005

Postcard from Maine

Union Cemetary

Early morning is a good time to visit a country cemetary. The woods are a flutter with birds and the chickadees are whistling off in the distance. A rich smell of forest fills the air -- musky and rich with pine and spruce. In the distance a dog objects to something.

All in all, a man might rest peacefully in such a place.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Postcard from Maine

Pitcher Pond

Odd shaped ponds like this are scattered everywhere in Maine. This shot was taken looking south from the Belfast Road (Route 52) as the sun was near setting.

Postcard from Maine

Penobscot Bay

After a stormy night, the sun is rising over Penobscot Bay this morning. All the scent was washed out of the air last night ... Or maybe my nose is just stuffed up.

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Earle P. Lowell (1930-2005)


In May, 2004, my father and stepmother flew out to Colorado to see me get my Ph.D. I hadn't seen him in several years so it was wonderful to spend a few days with him. After the graduation we went up to the YMCA of the Rockies -- a huge, and beautiful resort-like place just outside of Estes Park, Colorado -- and I snapped this picture of Dad and Betty standing on the front steps of the main administration building just drinking in the scenery. Since many of you don't know him, you won't recognize his expression as "broad smile" -- that confuses a lot of people.

Last month, he and my stepmother were on a 2-week cruise in the Caribbean. They had a grand time. I talked to him about it on the phone two weeks ago. It was a nice call. A couple days later he was in the hospital with pneumonia and last night he passed away.

I debated making a post on it. The rather macabre image of wearing a black "I'm blogging this" t-shirt to the funeral ... but as you can see, I decided that I needed to post something to honor his passing.

He loved the sea. I think the old Lowell blood called to him -- back a few generations we were fishers and farmers along the central coast. For many summers he worked as crew for a cousin on a charter boat on the weekends, coming home sunburned and calmed. Eventually, circumstances permitted his getting his own boat and he loved spending time puttering up and down the coast in it.

He was one of those quiet guys you find in Coastal Maine. Independant, self-reliant. Ok ... stubborn. He was a quiet, gentle, self-effacing guy. When he did say something, it was usually something worthwhile. When I was a teen, I went to work with him in the factory in the summer. I learned a lot about work and about him and about the questions one needs to ask about becoming whatever it is one becomes.

People outside the family don't understand us very well. We don't talk much. I talked to my dad on the phone 3 or 4 times a year. I haven't talked to my brother in years. I have his email address here somewhere. But we all know we're family. We're all busy living our own lives because that's the way we do it. The lesson that Dad taught us all was "live your own life."

When he was here for my graduation last May, we knew it might well be the last time we'd see each other. We made our peace then. I know he was very proud and that he loved me very much. Ultimately, what else can a son do for his father?

Thanks, Dad.

I love you.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Tough Day

The EVO group in my aggregator .. ah .. what would I do without you guys??

My sympathies to Leslie. I hope the "site" is restored soon.

Nancy, thanks for making me think a lot. It distracts me something horrible - and nice that liked Scott Adams' post on Reasons to Blog. We're on a campaign over in my professional group to try to get them into the zone :D

Marco -- I loved the Errand Boy! And you've gotta be a masochist to keep reading CogDiss!

Blinger! "...hooked on phonics ..." that's sooo funny.

But where is Sarolta? I miss your clear voice! Has the coming of spring silenced you?