My grandparents needed some help with "things," so Ellyn (technically, my aunt... Dad's sister) asked Corinne to go down with her for a week. Originally they were going to drive, but (thankfully) I talked them out of that idea. They flew out Tuesday afternoon, and come back on Tuesday the 22nd.

With Corinne out of the house for a week, I can't sleep at home. (Shannon's 21, her husband won't be home for another nine months, and I don't want anybody getting the wrong idea.) Since I can't stay at home, I suggested they take Lauren with them also. Shannon and I both need to work, but one of us would have to take the week off to watch Lauren full time if she had stayed at home.

Thus, my first tweet of the day, yesterday, "Woke up alone in a strange house in a small bed, far from home." (The bed was in Ellyn's & Gary's guest room.)

For most of the week they're gone I'll be working from home, but mornings from Thursday to Saturday are at Rich's house. He and his family are out of town, so I'm making friends with his gigantic, 30-inch Cinema Display and officially Getting Stuff Done™. In the afternoons I'm heading home again, going for a ride (weather is PERFECT this week), then working at home until late evening when I head back into Westerly for the night.

Yeah, I'm missing my girls. :-(

Corinne and Ellyn both report that Lauren was a nightmare on the plane down there. She screamed more often than she was quiet, and just wouldn't settle down. She slept great Tuesday night, but terribly Wednesday night and awoke everyone except Gramma. When Corinne and I last spoke, Lauren was screaming in the background.

I think my girls miss me, too. ;-)

Shannon's son Richie was supposed to be up here now for a three day visit, but that was canceled at the last minute. So Shannon is bored, but has Saturday off and is going bowling with her friend Jen.

Quick status update on Shannon: she is now working a second job at a Hallmark store, and can't seem to decide between starting a cleaning business (simply because her Mom says she could make good money doing it) and going to school for massage therapy (which is what she really wants to do). I'm strongly in favor of the massage therapy (because, as I said, it's what she really wants to do), but she also wants to get her son back. If she's working one or two jobs and going to school for massage therapy, there won't be much time left for her kids. I'm hoping she'll just keep on keeping on until Mike comes home in January.

We left the birthday party after cleaning up the Carousel Building, at mid-to-late afternoon.

Traffic was very heavy on Route 95 South, as it almost always is in the summer time on a weekend. This being a long weekend, the traffic was extra heavy.

There was a pickup truck about five hundred feet ahead of us. We were in the right lane, driving sixty-five mph. Corinne and I were talking.

Something looked odd about the truck, something was moving around. Before I could figure out what it was, a double-bed-sized mattress flew out of the back, fourteen feet into the air, and floated along for a few seconds like the first leaf of autumn. It was very cool. And crazy dangerous.

The mattress floated over the cars in the high speed lane, spinning gracefully, and landed in the grass in the median against the guardrail.

"Wow!" I yelled. Corinne babbled.

He clearly didn't know anything had happened, so I sped up to tell him. Before I could get there, the car to his left "explained" it to him. He pulled over, and I asked Corinne if she thought I should help him.

Normally, I would just pull over to help without thinking about it. This time I had my wife and (someone else's) kid in the car. On a busy highway.

Corinne babbled some more. I pulled over, way into the breakdown lane, and backed up slowly towards the pickup. Traffic zoomed and roared past us.

He was a college kid. The first thing he said to me when I jumped out and walked back to his truck was, "Where did it go?" I pointed out how far back it had flown away, and described the scene to him.

"My roommates warned me that would happen."

"Oh, you mean because you hadn't tied it down AT ALL?" I didn't ask. Instead I just nodded.

"What should I do?"

I gave him three bungie cords out of the blazer to tie down the box springs, and told him to go up to the next exit (6A), turn around to go North back to exit 7, turn around again to go South, and then pull over into the median near the mattress to recover it.

He thanked me, shook my hand, and we drove away. I immediately decided he was too, uh... well, I decided he still needed help, so I led him all the way back to the mattress.

(Aside: I must say that pulling out of the high speed lane of a busy highway, onto the grassy median, is not for the faint of heart. Whoosh.)

By the time he pulled up behind us, I had the mattress in the air over my head. He ran around to release the bungie, I threw the mattress on top and passed the bungie back over. He couldn't hook it properly, so I ran around to do it for him.

After thanking me a couple too many times, his final pair of statements were equally amusing.

First, "I'm not going to tell my parents about this."

Second, "What do I owe you for the bungies?"

Just don't get yourself or anyone else killed on the way home today, buddy, and we'll call it even.

My father's father (Arthur Dilingham, Sr.) has a beautiful birth date: 7 • 27 • 27. It's symmetrical and palindromic, and also happens to mean that this summer marked the end of his eightieth lap 'round the sun.

Saturday his wife, his children, his children's children, his children's children's children, and a very (very, very) small percentage of his friends and extended family from around the world gathered in his honor to tell him just two things: "Happy Birthday," and "We Love You."

The party was held at Goddard Park in Warwick, RI, at the old Carousel Building.

There was a very cool tribute video assembled by my cousin Tiffany and her husband Josh (with, I think, the aid of the rest of the NH contingent of Dillinghams and their kin). It included pictures and/or video of most of the family, and a stirring, deeply emotional, recorded message from Barry Van Heerden in South Africa. (I've heard Grampa sing Barry's praise many times over the years, but I had no idea that he looked at Grampa as a father and mentor.)

Corinne shed a few tears when she saw Shane's picture in the video. Tif had written to me in advance to make sure it was ok. (Of course it was! Including and remembering him is always better than the alternative.)

They even included at least one picture of Lauren in there. That was cool, especially as Gramma and Grampa have both treated Lauren as their latest great granddaughter.

There was also an open mic on the stage, where we were all supposed to tell stories. Unfortunately, though some of us inherited some of Grampa's storytelling talents, none of us will eve be The Master Storyteller that he is. So, most of the stories were told by him! Three times he (literally) lept onto the stage to tell another story, and then hopped back off it again to retake his seat. (Eighty years old, hoppping onto and off of a two-foot-high stage! He's spry.)

He told the Bert and I classic, "I am Gagnon, Champion Moose Caller" story, but (more importantly) he also told some of the TRUE funny stories from his life, including the one about the skunk in the ventilation system at his school in Dighton, MA. I think his school principal probably went to his grave wondering who did that.

I have tons of stories I could have told, but couldn't think of the best ones until after we left so I never took the stage. Had I remembered, I certainly would have recounted the trip to Florida with him, Jed, Dad and myself (I wasn't ten, yet), to move Aunt Marrion. The highlights of that drive to FL included:

• Arthur Fiedler's Greatest Hits (Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B!)
• the brain teaser about the man with three sons
• the brain teaser about the egg-laying chickens
• Dad and Grampa acting like it was hot the moment we crossed the state line
• Aunt Marrion freaking out when Jed and I happened to be in the vicinity of Grampa's wallet
• feeding the seagulls on the beach

Everybody picks on Dillinghams for being... well, Dillinghams. Smart, knowing it (all of it), easily brought to tears, always having an opinion, and "talking until we think of something to say." Though Gramma had as much of a hand in forming us as did Grampa, there's no doubting the source of those particular characteristics. :-)

But, as much as we tease him and each other for those things — endlessly — we love him for them, too. We're a big family (wink, wink), and he’s been the patriarch for as long as most (any!) of us have been alive. (So it's not that we think he's perfect, or pretend that he is. It's that hearing him speak yesterday, and hearing everyone else speak about him, it's clear that he inspires us to aspire to perfection, and we're all better for it.)

Happy Birthday, Grampa. I love you, we all love you.

Last night, Corinne and I brought Lauren to the Westerly Summer Solstice Festival. She's three and a half months old and has no clue what all the stuff is, but we figured it would be fun anyway. :-) We were right, but mainly because we met Ellyn, Katie, Tom and Gramma there.

The highlights of the festival included the best smile picture of Lauren (so far) as seen here; a really tasty sausage and peppers grinder; the rock wall that Tom couldn't climb often enough; the beautifully restored, antique fire truck owned by the Westerly Fire Department, and the local karate school's street show.

I took lots of pictures, so go peruse.

2006 was a good year for me and mine, in many ways.

To all of my family near and far, to my ecclesia here and worldwide, to all of my friends new and old, close or distant:

Happy
New Year!

Hoping 2007 will be even better, for all of us...

Tuesday was an intense day, with some very high highs and very low lows. I'm just going to brain-dump it all.

Low and High:

Perry died. This is very sad for all of us, but he lived a long, full life and had plenty of time to know even his great grandchildren. I had to call this both a high and a low... it's hard to attach anything "all bad" to Perry Lanphear.

High:

Breakfast at Snoopy's Diner with a friend and client. The business side of the meeting went well, as plans were made and progress reviewed. The friendly side of the meeting was even better. Best of all were the pancakes! Mama mia. Must take Corinne there so she can replicate those Apple-slice-filled beauties. (Oh wait, I gave up food. Nuts!)

High:

After my gigantic breakfast, I drove up to see Steve Davis in MA so we could go for a ride. He had a basketball game the night before, so was worried that he'd be too tired for my pace. I promised that I would ride super hard the day before and then eat a huge breakfast to weigh me down. I did both, but neither were necessary: he kept me talking the whole time! It's hard to push the pace when you're talking so much that you can't breathe heavily. Sneaky, Steve.

This was ride #103. Stats: 36.4 miles (58.60 km) in 1h 59' 37" for an average speed of 18.25 mph (29.39 kph).

Low:

Our average speed for that ride. (Sorry Steve, couldn't resist.)

High & Low, Again:

After I left Steve's place, I went straight to Gary's & Ellyn's house in Westerly. Ellyn had invited the whole family for a "send off dinner" for Gramma and Grampa. They were up here in New England for much longer this year than previous years, because of Mandi's wedding, but now they're heading home and last night was our last chance to see them this year. I was about 90 minutes early because the alternative was driving all the way home, finding something to do for 30 minutes, then driving back again.

I had a chance to watch Grampa cut down a whole Pineapple into rings. He'd never done it before, and definitely did not like the fact that there's so much waste. Rather than just slice a little more deeply as he "skinned" it, he made shallow cuts and then worked with a paring knife to dig out the bits of rind that were left. After slicing it down, he carefully cut the inedible core out of every piece. This was all both highly amusing and rather painful to witness, but he didn't cut *himself* so all's well that ends well. :-)

Almost everybody made it to the dinner. Corinne had to work until 6:30 so she was late, but wanted to be there so she could say goodbye. Dad was there until 6:45, but had to leave to teach a class. Gary worked late but made a quiet appearance while we were still eating (spaghetti and meatballs). Katie's in Colorado so couldn't be there at all. Mandi, just back from her honeymoon for a day, showed up just before G&G were about to give up and go back to their rental for the night. (She had to work late, also.) Sarah was there but left a little early because Art, who couldn't make it due to work, needed some dinner. Everybody else in the family (Mom, Jed, Ellyn, Gramma and Grampa, Tom, and Rusty) was there, too.

Quite a day.