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Zero Tolerance made us into a supervillain
Caitlin Dickerson’s frightening and moving article We Need to Take Away Children was the cover story of the September 2022 issue of The Atlantic magazine. It reports on the US “Zero Tolerance” policy, the policy of deliberately separating immigrant children from their parents. It should be required reading for everyone. At least everyone who can read English. It is not just a “this was awful” piece, but also dives deeply into who wanted this policy, what they did to get it enacted, and who failed to stop it and why.
In a letter to the editor in the Novemeber 2022 issue, Dr. Ranit Mishori reports that Physicians for Human Rights asserts that the policy in question meets the UN’s criteria for torture. I am not sure it does — but if it does not meet those criteria, it is worse. Criterion (3) is that torture is “for the purpose of coercion, punishment, or intimidation”. I do not know if that criterion is limited to coercion, punishment, or intimidation of the person being tortured or not. While it is clearly torturous to a 3 year old to be forcibly removed from her parents, in this case, the U.S. government policy was in place not to coerce or punish or intimidate the 3 year old, or even her parents. The policy existed to intimidate third parties, namely the victim’s countrymen who might be contemplating an attempt at entry into the United States. Let me state that more succinctly: we were torturing person A (a child, no less) not to extract information or change the behavior of person A, or even of her parents (person B), but rather in an attempt to affect the behavior of person C. Leaving aside the question of what on earth made people like Stephen Miller think that the average Venezuelan contemplating an attempt at crossing the US border is going to have a clue what US immigration policy is like — let’s be clear, the mule who wants to charge an outlandish fee to help transport him and his family is not going to tell him — this is worse than “normal” torture. In fact, this behavior – torturing one person to affect the behavior of someone else — is so heinous it is exactly what Hollywood has the bad guy do whenever they want the audience to cheer when the good guy kills the bad guy without any due process at the end of the film.
Think about it. In Jack Reacher: Never Go Back the Hunter (Patrick Heusinger’s character) threatens to torture, and then abducts and threatens to kill, 15 year old Samantha in an attempt to control Jack Reacher’s behavior. In The Dark Knight the Joker tortures and kills people, particularly Brian Douglas, in order to try to get Batman to “take off his mask and turn himself in”. In Olympus Has Fallen Kang Yeonsak tortures several people, including Secretary of Defense Ruth McMillan, in order to coerce President Benjamin Asher to give him the code to Cerberus. In Skyfall Raoul Silva tortures (and then kills) Sévérine, in part as punishment for her betrayal, but mainly just to upset James Bond. Heck, Darth Vader himself does exactly this in The Empire Strikes Back: he tortures Leia Organa and Han Solo for the sole purpose of luring Luke Skywalker into a trap.
It is hard to swallow that we, the United States of America, are behaving not just like the villain in this story, but like a supervillain.
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29th Wedding Anniversary Haps
Four years ago I suffered a mildly amusing sequence of mishaps on our anniversary. This year no serious mishaps, but I got my wife such an awesome present, I am posting about it instead.
We live in an area where the USPS delivers mail not to your door, but rather to your mailbox which is on the street. These ubiquitous mailboxes are typically situated on top of a post. The height of the mailbox and its distance from the road are regulated by the USPS, so most posts are roughly the same height. Here is a picture of a standard mailbox on a boring wooden post, like you would see hundreds of times over if you drove through my town. Better yet, here is my son David walking our dogs Sisko & Dax past our neighbor’s mailbox, and both David and my daughter IJ doing the same 6 months later. You can see the back of the mailbox and post in this shot of Dax trying to climb the fence.
Like most anything to do with a home, these posts and boxes sometimes break down or have problems. Often the breakdown is assisted by an outside force. E.g., every 5–10 years some teenagers decide that it would be fun to drive down our street and smash mailboxes with a baseball bat. And every dozen years or so a passing snow plow either accidentally hits it, or kicks up something heavy enough to do damage.
About 3 years ago our box had been smashed with a bat, but I was able to bang it into shape and re-attach it to the post. So while it looked quite a bit worse for wear, and leaked a little when it rained, it was otherwise completely functional. Then last winter (I think the 29 Jan 22 storm, but I am not sure) a snowplow knocked the mailbox off the post, damaging the platform the box rests on.
I am not 100% sure I could have fixed it, but I strongly suspected I could. But I had other plans. I wanted to replace our simple, vulnerable wooden post with a seriously strong piece of Dalmatian-themed art. That would take time, though. So I spoke to my local P.O., and they kindly held my mail at the post office, and I drove (or rode) up 2–3 times a week to pick it up. I told Anne I was not going to fix it (deliberately failing to mention why), and would be replacing it “in the Spring or Summer”.
I knew there was a chainsaw artist in town — I had seem him working on occasion by the piles of logs on the NE side of Fairview Ave. But I had no idea if he was still around, or how to contact him. A month or so later I was stopping by Munroe Feed Supply to pick up dog food. Since they are right down the road from the log piles, I thought I would ask if they knew how I could get in touch with the chainsaw artist. “Oh, Mike? He works back there”, pointing South, “just around the corner, behind that building”. Whaddayaknow. I wandered over to a spot ~110 m S of the customer entrance of Munroe Feed Supply and introduced myself to Mike Higgins, aka “Chainsaw Mike”.
After one conversation I decided I liked this guy. Mike is really nice. He is also quite accomplished at exactly the task I had in mind. I wanted a mailbox post that had a Dalmatian on each side. He has carved both dogs and mailbox posts before. (He has also carved a lot of other things you may have seen, like the Paw Sox Bear at the (now defunct) McCoy Stadium, and the benches at Brigg’s corner Pizzeria (see pic1, pic2, or pic3).)
Fast forward 2 months, during which time Mike whipped up some sketches for me and knocked a few crazy ideas out of my head; and I got him the specifications from the USPS, the dimensions of the mailbox I intended to use, and a set of pictures of my dogs. (Note that Mike does not have a computer nor smartphone. So I did not send him (a pointer to) that page, I had prints made.) It was now late April, and while we had talked about this project a lot, there seemed to have been no actual progress whatsoever.
So, both because it was what I was hoping for, and to make sure we had a deadline, I gave Mike my plan. My 29th wedding anniversary would be on Sun 12 Jun 22. I was hoping that the mailbox post could be installed while Anne was at work on Fri 10 Jun as a surprise anniversary present for her. (She would love this, I thought.) That would give us about 8 hours to get the carved post down to my house, remove the old post, dig the hole, put in the new one, and then put the flowers and stones back around its base. This seemed to me to be a big ask – a difficult, if not nearly impossible, task. Mike did not seem daunted at all, even though he had not yet found a piece of wood suitable for the job yet. He seemed to think that between us it would not be difficult to find sufficient help moving it and installing it. Mike does not have a (working) vehicle, and this thing was not going to fit in my little Honda Fit. We needed to borrow a pickup truck and draft some muscle. But he had some friends and was unphased.
Meanwhile our mail carrier was apparently getting sick of separating our mail out for me to pick it up. I had been told by a different USPS employee at our post office that we could keep up this arrangement indefinitely, so I was a bit surprised when our mail carrier left me a note that said, essentially, “put some kind of box up there or else”. So I guess indefinitely meant for a non-defnitively specified duration, rather than permanently. I explained that the expected date of the new mailbox was Fri 10 Jun, but no one seemed to care. So with 5 weeks or so to go I bungee-corded our old mailbox onto the old post. Luckily there were no major storms during those 5 weeks!
Fast forward again, this time to the first week of June. I told my colleagues at the Women Writers Project (part of Northeastern University’s Digital Scholarship Group) that I would not be working on Fri 10 Jun. But there would be no changing the Text Encoding Initiative Technical Council meeting which was scheduled for 10:00–11:30 that day — the Council has 11 members spanning 9 time zones, so rescheduling is not an option.
Meanwhile, Mike had just found a suitable piece of wood, and had started carving. However, it was starting to sound like Mike would not have access to a pickup truck or extra hands for the move and installation effort. I had been planning on hiring a handyman who had dome some work for us in the past, but had been unable to find him.
Anne and I do not have many friends in Rehoboth. Actually, that’s an exaggeration. We don’t really have any. But as a paramedic I am on friendly terms with many of the firefighters in town, particularly those of the fire station near my house, South Station, also called Station 3.
So on Tue 07 Jun I stopped by South Station just when I figured their monthly drill would be winding up. There were half a dozen firefighters from Station 3 and the S.A.F.E. officer standing around gabbing. I explained my plight to the group, but to a person not one of them was available to help. The S.A.F.E. officer — a wonderful gentleman named Lt. Randy Larrivee who is the proprietor of The Horsemen’s Limited, a high-quality tack store in North Rehoboth — was willing to lend me his pickup truck, however.
The next night I was on ambulance duty alone. However, Michelle Ingemi, one of our EMTs, joined me to transport an intoxicated gentleman to the hospital. (He had been clever enough to pull over and sleep rather than continue to drive both drunk and tired. Apparently someone saw him and thought he was unconscious or something and called the police. Turns out that, although we had never met, he and I had lots of friends in common from the late 1980s and early 1990s, so we had a great chat in the back of the ambulance.)
I do not recall how the topic came up, but after the call I mentioned to Michelle that I was looking for physical help on the coming Fri. She volunteered her friend, a firefighter from Station 1 named Karl Poellemitz. I do not know exactly how this works, because as far as I know Karl is not officially a member of the Rehoboth Ambulance Committee; but nonetheless he is the maintenance officer in charge of keeping our 4 trucks (3 transport ambulances, 1 non-transport SUV) in running order. I spoke to Karl on Thu 09 Jun, and he was willing to come help on Fri 10 afternoon (he was busy in the morning).
Meanwhile, I had spoken to Lt. Larrivee. He was going to be taking Engine 4 from Station 3 to the middle school for an all-day event on Fri 10. Thus he would not be using his pickup all day, and had planned to leave it parked at Station 3 (a mere 2.8 km from my home). So we set up the plan: he would throw a post digger and pry rod in the bed of his pickup (just in case we needed them), park it at station 3, and leave the keys at a specific location in the station.
So the big day arrived. I woke around 07:00, but stayed in bed and then slogged along like it was a normal day until Anne left at ~07:20. Then I started running around and getting ready. At 08:15 I headed out in my car to station 3, having packed a few tools, gardening gloves, some duct tape, and a flashlight that had a red blinking feature. The latter two were because I knew the post was longer than the bed of Lt. Larrivee’s truck.
After getting to South Station I parked next to what had to be the Lt.’s pickup, as it was the only other vehicle in the parking lot. I found the keys just where he said they would be, and then went about transferring my stuff to his truck. I had kinda hoped that Randy and I were close enough in height that I would not have to adjust his seat and mirrors, but no such luck. After adjusting them I set off, and arrived at Mike’s place just before 09:00.
I sorely wish I had had the foresight to film myself & Mike moving that post into the pickup truck. In truth, I was stressed about the time and the enormity of the task ahead, and it never even crossed my mind. But think about it for a minute — How do 2 guys, neither one a huge weight lifter, move a log of wood that weighs way more than the two of them combined?
But Mike had a plan. He had done this before. With lots of cribbing and lifting only one end of the piece at a time we had it loaded in about 40 minutes. I duct-taped the blinking red light onto the end of the pole that was sticking out of the pickup, and we loaded half a dozen boxes of Mike’s various tools and a few loose shovels, etc. (It turns out you are not required to use a red flag or light in Massachusetts unless your load sticks out 4' or more past the rear of the vehicle, but I did not konw that distance at the time, and figured once I had it there, better safe than sorry.)
We then drove (slowly) down to my house, arriving at ~10:06. As per our previously arranged plan, I tore off to run upstairs and join the TEI Technical Council meeting (already in progress) leaving Mike to start the process of removing the old post and digging a hole.
When the meeting was over, I grabbed 2 bottles of water (one tap water, the other frozen) and headed out to start working on digging the hole. To my absolute astonishment Mike had just finished digging it! It was only 11:40, so he had removed the stones surrounding the old pole, knocked down the old pole, dug out the plants at its base, and then dug an ~Âľ m^3 hole in 90 minutes. Needless to say he slugged down a lot of that water pretty quickly.
At 11:44 I called Karl. He said he was busy testing the brakes in A-2, but would be over shortly to help. Roughly ½ an hour later he arrived. In the meantime Mike had sent me to reprint the instructions from the USPS (he had left the copy I gave him back at his workshop), and then we re-positioned the pickup truck and rotated the piece so that it would be facing the right direction as soon as we slid it out. (While it would not have been impossible to rotate it after it was vertical, it would have been quite difficult.)
When Karl arrived the three of us slowly slid the piece out of the pickup. I was in the bed of the pickup and Mike & Karl were on the ground; by applying upward pressure (with all our strength) we were able to repeatedly slide it perhaps ~10 cm at a time towards the hole, then re-adjust our grips. When it started to “go” (i.e., the weight of the bottom portion sticking out of the pickup began to pull it down and thus the top end began to go up) I slowed its progression (basically by leaning on it with my entire weight), and Mike & Karl guided it to the center of the hole.
The three of us then spent the next hour shoveling dirt back into the hole, tamping it down, re-planting the dispossessed plants, and replacing the stones that surround the area. Then Karl & I smashed and cut the old post into pieces so it could be moved easily, and Mike used a sawzall to cut down the house number sign so it was small enough to fit its new mount.
Karl left at roughly 14:00. I had made an anniversary “card” for my wife — just a piece of paper with “Happy 10,591 day anniversary!” or some such on it. My plan was to have that in the mailbox when Anne came home, as she usually picks up the mail on her way in. But I know it is against federal law for anyone other than the USPS to put something in the box intended for the homeowner. So when my mail carrier came by, I handed her the paper and asker her to put it in the box.
“I can’t touch that,” she said, “it doesn’t have postage!”. This was a possibility I had not considered.
“Well, then,” I replied, “you are hereby deputizing me to put this anniversary card in this mailbox.”, and did so.
Mike put another coat of varnish on the post, and then we cleaned up and packed up his various brushes and tools into the Lieutenant’s pickup truck. We left at about 15:00 to go back to Mike’s workshop, but I realized I did not know what time Lt. Larrivee was getting back to South Station. Since I did not want him to be without a car, we took a detour and I dropped off my car keys at the station (in the same spot Randy had left me his).
We drove up to Mike’s workshop and unloaded the pickup. I then drove it back to station 3, and shuffled my stuff from the pickup to my car. Before I left I deliberately moved the driver’s seat all the way forward, so that Randy would know he had to re-adjust the seat and mirrors before he drove off. I then went home, getting in at about 16:00, and had some lunch.
Anne was due home soon. Having spent 4 months being sure she was going to love it, it was really odd to suddenly find myself unsure, worried that she wouldn’t like it at all. What the heck would I do in that case? She finally got home around 18:00 or 19:00, so I was only left to my self-doubt for a few hours. She loved it, and still does.
The next day I went up to Vino’s, where happened the one mishap in this story. Despite the fact that their website said they were open until 20:00 (and so did the sign on the front door), they were closed when I arrived in the late afternoon. I went back on Sun 12 Jun and purchased gift certificates for Karl and Randy, which I mailed out on Monday. (No, I did not put them in the box, I was going near the post office anyway …)
In the days since Mike has come down to put more varnish on and touch up the paint job. It looks t e r r i f i c!
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On abortion, Roe v. Wade, and Justice Amy Coney Barrett — why can’t anyone count anymore?
SCOTUS is soon to consider knocking down Roe v. Wade. One pivotal player in this drama is Justice Amy Cony Barrett. Per several news accounts (including The Supreme Court Gaslights Its Way to the End of Roe), her position is “why wouldn’t safe haven laws take care of the problem?” Why indeed.
This position holds water, morally. I do not think it wins the day, but it is at least sensible. But practically? Not even close. It is the kind of argument that makes me wonder why someone as smart as Justice Barrett (who is plenty smart — she was top in her class of 1997 at Notre Dame Law School, and both ΟΔΚ and ΦΒΚ from undergrad) can’t seem to count.
According to Christian Life Resources there were well over 852,000 abortions per year over the last decade (2008–2017) in the US. According to the Adoption Network 135,000–140,000 children are adopted in the US each year. Even if striking down Roe halves the number of pregnancies women would wish to terminate (a ridiculous proposition), and even if the nation rises to the occasion and we start adopting babies at twice the rate we are now (another ridiculous proposition), that still leaves 146,000 extra babies per year that are waiting to be adopted, either on welfare or forced into an overburdened foster care system (that already is dealing with 428,000 children; according to the Child Welfare Information Gateway in 2020 there were 407,493 children foster care in the US, although only 110,278 were waiting for adoption). If striking down Roe causes no such changes, it could leave us with 717,000 unwanted babies per year. That’s a lot of extra tax dollars.
I suppose our society could handle that for 1 year, but certainly not for decades. According to the U.S. Census Bureau 2014 projection the US population is projected to be just under 400 million in 2050. Do we really want an additional 4–19 million people (an extra 1–5%), the vast majority of whom likely did not or are not growing up in loving homes, but rather live or are destined to live lives of addiction, crime, and poverty?
Many people assert that Pro Life is the moral position. It is not. It is the religious position, or to be more precise, merely a religious position. And, as is often the case (ask Kepler or Galileo), religion has fallen far behind reality and morality. The Pro Life position probably was a moral position 3000 years ago, when the population of homo sapiens was a mere 50 million. It might have been a moral position 2000 years ago, when the population was 180 million. But now that the population is well over 7.5 billion people? I submit it is indefensible.
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25th Wedding Anniversary Mishaps
I had a teleconferece call scheduled with my colleague Ashley Clark[1] at 14:00. We chose 14:00 to give me time to bicycle into Providence to have lunch with my friend Peter DiCamillo and then bike home, take a quick shower (if there was time), and start working. That made the timing a bit tight, but quite doable.
I worked from ~08:00 to ~11:00 and then stopped to order flowers for my wife, as it was our 25th wedding anniversary, and prepare to leave. But the florist I used last time[2] was closed for vacation. So I did some quick web searching and found Gilmore’s Flower Shop. I chose this one primarily because it was located such that it would be easy to give delivery instructions (only 2 turns from them to my wife’s office; it had also been 2 turns for Floral Designs, and only 1 turn for Carousel),[3] but also because it would be easy to stop by on my way into Providence if I wanted to pick flowers myself or drop off a vase. (It seemed like a good idea to me to re-use[4] a vase from home, rather than buy another.)
The nice woman I spoke to on the phone (whose name I have since forgotten) was willing to make a bouquet of flowers and put it in my vase, which seemed like a good idea to me. She did not think that it was reasonable to transport it by bicycle, though. I thought she was probably right, but I have a dual-strap bungee cord[5] in addition to a panier, so it might be worth the effort to avoid the $8 delivery fee.
After making all these phone calls (and getting a spam robo-call), then washing and wrapping a glass vase carefully in newspaper for the journey, I was now quite late. I had been planning to leave home shortly before 11:30, but it was actually ~11:40 by the time I left.
So I was already 10 mins late, and stopping at the florist would take another 10 mins. But because I was stopping at the florist, I was taking a slightly different route than usual, which would probably add another minute or two. This route takes me through Luthers Corners, an intersection I am very used to taking by bicycle.
As I approached the intersection (travelling downhill WSW on County Street, for those who looked at the map :-) I realized that it was being repaired, and it was now a large construction zone that was even bumpier than usual. So I deliberately slowed down. Not enough, though. Just as I cleared, my panier (which, remember, was holding a glass vase) fell off my rear rack, and started bouncing and dragging along the road, still attached to the bicycle by the bungee cord. I pulled over and stopped, picked up the panier and replaced it on the bike. The bungee cord, which had already been somewhat stretched and lame, was now pretty much shot. I wrapped it onto the bike (so that it wasn’t dragging or rubbing against the wheel), but it was no longer very useful at holding things (including my decades-old U-lock) on. Sigh. I resumed my journey.
I was worried that the vase might have broken, that I was now another 5+ minutes late, and that I really should replace the bungee cord ASAP. It is part of what holds the panier onto my rack,[6] and losing the panier, even when it does not have a large glass vase, can be very dangerous.[7] So a change of plan was in order. I should stop by East Providence Cycles and pick up a replacement dual bungee cord. But all this had me a bit discombobulated, I guess, because after passing my kids’ ex- high school I failed to take a turn towards the bike shop rather than the florist. I recognized my mistake a mere few hundred meters later, and turned back.[8] But this made me another 5+ minutes late.
When I got to NBX Bikes the salesperson there (who I recognize and who recognizes me, but I do not know her name — she has been there for years and is both helpful and nice) helped me out, but in the end did not have anything in stock that would do. So, an additional 5+ mins late, I went 250 m W on Warren Ave to the East Providence branch of Providence Bicycle. They also did not have anything particularly useful in stock. The salesperson (Neal) and I then had an interesting exchange:
Neal: We may have some at the main branch in Providence.
me: Is that the one over on …
Neal: Branch.
me: Right, Branch. That’s too far, I’m afraid. I’ll be on the East Side.
Neal: You could try Legend.
me: Oh. Is that where Rainbow used to be?
Neal: No, it’s right across the street where Hub used to be.
me: Oh, right — I’ve been there before.
Neal: Rainbow doesn’t exist anymore, it’s a dress store or something.
me: Yeah, that sounds right. In any case, I’ll be eating at Louis’, so it will be close.
Neal: Right down the hill. That was a very “Rhode Island” conversation we just had.
me (laughing): Indeed.
So, an additional 5 mins late, I headed out. The next decision I had to make was about the florist. Gilmore’s, the place I had intended to go, is not directly between Providence Bicycle and the bridge to Providence. It would add another 5+ mins to my journey to stop there. But Google Maps had listed 3 florists nearby, 2 of which were essentially on the same corner as Providence Bicycle, and 1 of which was just up Warren Ave, on the way to the bike path to Providence. I was unsure at the time (and still am), but I suspect 2 of those shops are no longer in business. But P&J across the street was certainly open.
However, I had already told Peter I would be late, and I was now late enough that there was no way I was going to get home in time to be just 3 mins late to talk to Ashley. I would have to call her and let her know I would be late no matter what I did. Since the woman from Gilmore’s had been nice on the phone, and I had already told her I was on the way, I decided to just tough out the extra ~5 mins and go to Gilmore’s.
The route from Providence Bicycle to Gilmore’s is pretty easy, despite the fact that this is the area of East Providence divided by I-195 – there are only a few roads that cross it between Broadway and the river. I had it in my head to just head W (really WNW) on Warren Ave, then turn N (really NNE) on Potter. Gilmore’s is on the corner of Potter and Taunton Ave (aka Route 44).[9]
But as I rode up Warren Ave, I could see all sorts of detour signs — the Potter Street bridge over I-195 must be under repairs, as traffic was not allowed. (And I remember from having driven on I-195 recently that traffic is down to 2 lanes in each direction for construction work on a bridge.) So I turned around and crossed I-195 over the Lyon Ave bridge, and made may way over to Potter on Orchard, adding another ~5 mins to my trip.
Once I was finally at Gilmore’s, I unpacked my panier, and carefully unwrapped the vase so that I would not get sliced by broken glass if it had shattered. Thankfully, it had not. I picked out some flowers for my lovely wife (which she adored) and gave the salesperson (not the same woman I had spoken to on the phone) my demographic details, delivery information,[10] and payment.
This all took only a few minutes longer than expected, and I was off on my way again. I headed over the Washington Bridge and into India Point Park on the East Bay Bike Path, then meandered over to Brook Street and stopped at Legend Bikes. They also did not have the kind of bungee cord I was looking for. I picked up a simple bungee cord so I would have something in case my current one snapped, and went up the street a few blocks to meet Peter for lunch.
We had a fine time at lunch, with no mishaps. I had originally planned to leave Louis around 13:00. (12:55 would give me time to take a shower, 13:05 would not, but either way I would make my meeting on time.) I was leaving at 13:45. Sigh. I sent Ashley a text message to let her know I would be late.
My route home takes me pretty close to my wife’s office. In fact, since you can take a bicycle from Dewey Ave to Office Parkway (even though you can’t drive a car through there), it only extends my trip from the Henderson Bridge to home by ~1–2 mins to pass her office. So I often do so and leave a little note in her car, just to cheer her up. Little did I know how much cheering she needed …
I was literally standing next to her car in her office’s parking lot when she sent me a text message that she was not feeling well at all, could I bring her some medicine from home. Well, no, I answered, but (given that it was an OTC medication) I could easily pick some up at the store and drop it off for her. Since I had to head the same direction whether I was going to the store or back home, I started off without waiting for a reply. But as I looked up from my phone and got on my bike, there was a woman walking towards the front door of the office building carrying the flowers! I scoot over and stopped her briefly so I could see them (I had picked out the types of flowers, but not seen them arranged). I thanked the delivery woman and went on my way. At the end of the road where I had to turn L to go home or R to go to the store I stopped and checked my phone. Anne indeed wanted me to go to the store, so I did so. It took me awhile (and some texting back & forth with Anne) to get the right medication, but luckily the store is very close, so it did not take long at all to get it back to Anne.
While I was waiting for her to come to the back door I got a text message from our housecleaner that she had inadvertantly broken a (glass) picture she had been dusting. She was quite distressed, and had sent a picture of the broken picture, which I showed to Anne. I sent her a message back not to worry about it too much, and finally started on my way home.
I finally arrived home and began my meeting with Ashley at ~15:09. We had a lot to do; and poor Ashley had not eaten lunch!
[1]: We usually, but not always, use Skype at the DSG. However, we had a problematic connection in that I could barely hear Ashley due to distortion that sounded to me like it was likely to be a loose connection in her microphone. So we tried Google Hangouts, and the connection was fine. So it was not her microphone.
[2]: Which I found because they took over the phone number of the previous shop I had been using — Floral Designs of Seekonk, IIRC — which phone number I quite liked because it was the same as my home number with 2 digits transposed.
[3]: Why I am worried about delivery instructions remains a mystery. There is no such thing as a first-world floral deliverer who does not use GPS.
[4]: I did not use the official page for fear that Mr. Pruitt will have removed it by the time you read this.
[5]: Similar to, but not the same as this one.
[6]: The rack itself is a bit bent, so the panier may pop off on any significant bump. I use the bungee cord to prevent this.
[7]: If the panier gets into the spokes of the rear wheel, the bicycle comes to a screeching halt whether you are in the middle of traffic or not.
[8]: Actually, having just missed Apuila I turned S onto George. In retrospect, I would have done just as well time-wise to head W to Broadway, but I did not know that, and headed E back to Pawtucket Ave. The difference is that the Broadway route is a somewhat nicer ride than super busy Pawtucket Ave.
[9]: Actually, N of 44 Potter is called Walnut. So technically Gilmore’s is on the corner of Walnut and Taunton.
[10]: “No, no card. If she doesn’t know who she’s getting flowers from on our anniversary, we have a problem.”
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