I'd take good care of it, honest. I'd show it a good time. I mean, Crater Lake! What's more romantic than that? We'd only be gone a couple of days--driving up Thursday and coming back Sunday.

Thanks!

is here:

http://www.taylorwhite.org/.

Not much yet, though I don't suppose much more than the address is truly necessary. I've volunteered my and Gary's services to spruce the site up but I need to lead off with some funds. Gary didn't go; I don't know about other airlines, but Alaska Airline's bereavement discount is a joke. I'd rather the foundation get that money.

The trip was as good as such a trip can be. The first day was sunny and warm, the view of the surrounding mountains a hint and a reminder of why people choose to live there. The next two days were drizzly and gray, a hint and a reminder of why *very* brightly-colored flowers are so popular in local gardens. I took Karly, Kevin's black lab, running in the woods with me once. She's better bear deterrent than spray, and the second-best-behaved dog I've ever met--the first being Britte, Kevin's yellow lab, gone now almost a decade, I think. Cesar Milan has nothing on Kevin.

The service was nice. The person conducting it was named Dye, swear to god, and maybe that's an unfortunate homophone and maybe not. Taylor's classmates were most impressive. Not only had they continued dropping in to visit Kevin and Carol since the accident, they created a slideshow to play at the funeral, one girl wrote and performed a surprisingly good song for Taylor, two boys played a violin duet, and five kids spoke. The saddest to me was the twin of the boy who had been driving--he had given his sister a message to read. Some parents would blame him, be angry at him, but I never heard that from Kevin and Carol. I don't feel that, either--Taylor had also been drinking, it could have been Taylor driving, Taylor might just as easily been the one air-lifted to Seattle with a punctured lung (among other things) and the boy the one the car landed on. Now Taylor is the lesson, the other boy the lesson learned too late.

A death--especially of one so young--is time for reflection, of course, and I've been doing my share, but that's for another post. Now what I'm reflecting on is the fact that my brother is living through Father's Day with a newly-dead son.

First, thank you, everyone. I'll try to but a more personal spin on that thought soon, but not right now.

Second, I'm heading out to Juneau tomorrow morning. Taylor was scheduled to get back from Anchorage last night and the service will be at The Chapel by the Lake on Friday. His folks are starting the Taylor White Foundation for Advancing Our Community, aka The Taylor White Foundation for Trying to Keep Dumbass Kids From Killing Themselves. I think I'm going to make that my permanent charity (well, that and the Planetary Society and the ASPCA).

I'll be back on Sunday. Not taking the laptop, so email will be by the grace of any local computer owners I may run across.

Last time I spoke to Kevin he didn't sound so good. He said he'd made the mistake of looking at Taylor's last yearbook the night before and hadn't slept. Haven't heard from Carol since the first time I called, when she answered with, "Hi, Lori," then, "He's gone, Lori," then, "I'd better let you talk to your brother." I think I talked to Carol's brother for a few moments when he answered the phone (southern accent) and persisted in calling me Marie after he misheard my name.

That was a little freaky; Marie was Mom. I don't really believe this, but perhaps that was a sign that Mom has taken over, and is bitching out the little twit for being a little twit. She was good at that.

Taylor Bristol White, 1990-2009. Not wearing his seatbelt.

I don't know what this will do to his parents. He was adopted and an only child. He gave every indication of growing up into a good person, but he was the kind of adolescent boy whose brain went on hiatus when puberty hit and he's been causing his Kevin and Carol a world of grief for years now.

Anyway--the first round of family phone calls is over. I thought I'd have to rush up to Juneau, but the circumstances of his death require an autopsy, so I won't go for probably another week.

It's so weird. Mitch (Brother #1) called Kevin and then called me back and talked about "the body". When I called Kevin, it was very obvious that Taylor was still present to them somehow.

I talked to Taylor Sunday, before his high school graduation. He was supposed to go to Montana State. There's good skiing around there. He was supposed to come visit. He's never been here.

Hug your loved ones and wear your seatbelts, people.

Gee, too bad I can't ask my nephew any more.

Time to get Prop 8 overturned. ASAP.

I discovered that the person most responsible for shoving me out of a work position I was fully committed while I was out of the country and couldn't really do anything about it wants experience in such matters--probably because it's a very marketable skill to have.

Hmmm. How surprising.

Just got stabbed in the back.

Am I over-reacting? Probably. I'm still pretty tired. Coming back this direction really nailed me for some reason. However, that doesn't change the fact that some decisions affecting me were made without my input.

So instead of stabbed in the back, let's just say poked really, really hard in the back. I think it broke the skin.

Nagaraj, my driver, is a pretty good guy--good stories, good jokes, likes Jackie Chan and Jet Li movies. I need to send him a copy of Ong Bak.

Not long after I arrived I got what is apparently the usual grilling: "Married? Kids?" Eyes widening. "No kids?" Tch-tch. I explained that Gary didn't want kids, I have a cat, we're happy.

A week and a half later, Nagaraj asked how long we'd been married. "Coming up on ten years," I said, rather proudly.

"You go to hospital?"

Huh? Flabbergasted by that non sequitur, I started to babble. "Well, no--I'm really pretty sturdy--I'm never really very sick. Sometimes I'll break something--"

"Most couples, they're married ten years no kids, they go to hospital to find out why."

Oh. No, I explained, a little more forcefully, Gary really, truly didn't want kids. If we'd been in India, where my marriage would have been arranged, no one would have picked Gary for me. He should have been a monk.

I think I was right.

Spent most of today in bed. *Not* a smart move, as tomorrow is back to work.

Good lord, what do I say? I had a wonderful time, even during the parts where I was at work--that's a good start. There were a few, "Hey, rich American, give me some money," moments, but what can I say? I *am* a rich American. Not in America, maybe, but even in America I have more than I need, and in Bangalore I am a gazillionnaire. A very pale, easy-to-spot gazillionnaire. Same thing happened in China, in South America--I am freaking lucky, and I know it.

Anyway, more introspection later--for now, actual occurrences. Last weekend was lovely. The Bangalore crew took me to Mysore, to see the palace. On the way we stopped at Srirangapatna to see the sleeping god in the Hindu temple, and at the bird sanctuary at Ranganathittu (Spoonbills! Painted cranes! Fruit bats! Crocodiles!)

After the temple (lots of beautiful glass, family portraits, and ivory, and a few over-heated Australians) we went to the KRS Dam, or the Krisnarajasangara Dam, where some very nice gardens with beautiful fountains have been set up by a redirecting some of the water down slopes on either side of the river downstream of the dam. Works wonderfully. The engineers among the crew (in other words, all of them) were very proud of the engineer who designed the dam and the fountain system. There were a few tourist types there, too, but fewer than I might have expected in both places. One other Westerner at the temple; it was, like most of the Buddhist temples I've visited in China, still a place of prayer, and one of the more striking memories of that was being in line waiting to get up to the railing blocking us off from the statue of the Sleeping God and listening to a man singing (quite beautifully) behind me.

I'll get some photos--I swear. They're just on my work laptop.

Crap. Another place I want to go back to.

I know all about the gorgeous Indian women. Even saw a few.

Did you know that there are some damned fine Indian boys, too?

Not dead yet--

Or the Ma'am will work too. I feel like the Queen of England.

Seriously, where do I start? Maybe with the Indian version of a wellness program--meditation and breathing exercises led by a couple of reps--except I'd have to call them disciples--of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, who is not the sitar player. Wikipedia, anyone?

Unfortunately that was followed shortly by an emergency meeting regarding an employee whose car was forced to a stop on a dark road by a bunch of motor scooter riders intent on forcing him to an ATM and emptying his bank account. They broke in the windshield and had started hitting him when a traffic cop showed up (a very rare occurance, apparently). He was pretty shaken up and we were duly warned.

I don't think my driver (Nagaraj, or Snake King) would get stuck like that. He's been around for a while. He's a pretty good guy, though. I have a movie from him I have to watch before I go--the whole Ganesha, Shiva, Parvati, and Subramanian story. I'm just wondering how the poor guy does acting in an elephant head for an entire movie.

Saturday and Sunday deserve posts of their own and it's after 1am, anyway. Just a few more bits--good, hot gulab jamun with French vanilla ice cream is the best. So is chaat. Believe me, Reeses Peanut Butter Cups got nothing on chaat.

Today's culinary adventure was pizza from Pizza Hut. The veg we got had a crust stuffed with cajun paneer. To be honest, that's the only reason I wanted it. It was good, though. Not much tomato sauce, so--ketchup to the rescue!

Last bit for now--boy, I wish I had some training in anthropology. It's so tempting to start making some generalizations, but I do not want to do the people here a disservice.

More soon.

Long flight, sweet people, great food (except sweet people keep thinking I'll spontaneously combust if I eat it, so first lunch was a Subway Sandwich). I'm the only one in the house the company rents for such occasions, and as a result I get hovered over. It makes me feel very weird. The house is in a gated community and Thaembi (sort of house manager) assured me that it's very safe by telling me, "No low people here. Only high people." Which also made me feel very weird, but the caste system is alive and well.

This morning the driver, Nagarav, told me a story of Ganesa (Ganesh) and his brother Subramanian that was sort of a Jacob and Esau story. Sibling rivalry is universal, I think. Either that or obnoxious brothers. Last night, in order to miss a big traffic jam he took an alternate route from work that went straight through a very poor area. It was like having Watts next to Beverley Hills. It's polluted and dusty--which always makes for the best sunsets.

My group is taking me to Mysore on Saturday and Poornima wants to take me shopping on Sunday. I'll look silly in a shalwar kameez but dang, they look comfortable.

I'm headed to Bangalore tomorrow via Dubai.

Wish me luck.

And that I find a plug adapter for India tomorrow before I leave. Any pointers?

But not much has been happening.

I should be working on making my office into an office where I can actually work, but instead I am busy doing that for which the office is currently most suited--surfing.

I am going to India for business in a few weeks--Bangalore, to be more precise. That's about as precise as I can be about India right now. I'll mostly be training my replacements but I'm still looking forward to it. I'll be able to tick off another continent. I'll still have three to go, though.

I had the good fortune to wallow in synchronicity while watching movies over the Christmas break. Every one I watched had a good writing lesson. Bad Santa, No Country for Old Men, Blood Car--well, maybe not that last one. And I am Legend most recently, which infuriated me, as it should all right-minded story tellers.

I've caught up to 2008 in my Astronomy magazines but still have some 2007 issues of Scientific American to go. Sad, eh. But there's a story idea in every issue. One article had a quote that went something like, "We stuck with cancer until we change the way we reproduce." (Positing that cancer cells get their ability to proliferate rapidly from sperm cells, and tumors get their ability to commandeer the body's resources from fetuses.) I love this.

Still no progress on the going back to school thang. For one thing, TMSOO has yet to start looking for another job.

Oh. And I need to write most of a book by June. Any suggestions?

ETA: Whoopers. Should have previewed.

To be followed soon by actual news.

dinogrl mentioned seeing a concert with Professor Peter Schickele, eminent musicologist at the University of Southern North Dakota at Hoople, who has rescued from obscurity the works of P.D.Q. Bach, the twenty-first of Johann Sebastien Bach's twenty children.

We missed hooking up with dinogrl, which sucked, but the concert was great.

I admit to not knowing quite what to expect--not from the music, as I'd heard some of his stuff before, but from Schickele himself. I first heard of him in high school, and frankly had no idea he was still alive. He's very much alive, and hilarious. No longer up to shinnying down a rope from the balcony to make his entrance, but he can still hoist himself up on stage after tromping down the steps, arguing with an usher all the way. Plus he can still do the hokey pokey. And play the piano really fast. And create music that makes lots of people happy.

Anyway, after watching him I realized, once again, that old age may not be for sissies, but if you're still a kid in the important ways I think you may do okay.

Makes my personal oath to be selectively mature seem like a good idea, but maybe I've been a bit too mature, lately. I hope that's it.

ETA: Had to fix references to dinogrl. Sorry 'bout that.

A few nights ago I dreamed that Something had happened to Dad's house. I don't know precisely what, but it may have involved rain. A lot of rain. Anyway, I was helping to re-shingle the roof and I was using books. Paperback books. I stapled them down.

Just thought that was interesting.

In other news, we're going to see P.D.Q. Bach in a couple of weeks. I can't wait!

A very good person, Vera Nazarian, is facing foreclosure, but some wonderful folks have set up a way to help, here.

Now, Vera just happens to have the same birthday as me. So any of you folks out there who read this and have no idea what to get me for my next birthday, help Vera save her house. I would consider that a fine and dandy birthday present.

Interesting trip, in however many senses of the word you care to apply. Good in some ways, disturbing in some ways, sad in some ways, infuriating in some ways, exasperating in some ways, frustrating in some ways, and kinda fun. A philosophical feast, for anyone with such an appetite.

Plus it was the first time we've all been together since Mom died, which is probably why Brother #1 drove from Pocatello on Friday, and stayed Saturday only long enough to help get Dad home from the convalescent center, eat a couple of pieces of chicken tandoori pizza, and already had his coat on while we posed for a family photo op. Then he left, to get some sleep before the drive home Sunday. Wacky family, though Dad doesn't like to admit it.

I did what I could while there, which was mostly shield Sister from Dad and Dad from Sister, and try to get Dad set up so Sister doesn't have to be responsible for Dad, because Sister should not be responsible for Dad. Sister would strangle Dad.

I no longer have any questions regarding why so many of us these days essentially pick our own families. My family of circumstance is jammed into me like porcupine quills, and the kind of anesthetic that would render their extraction pain-free does not exist.

I suppose that sounds rather horrible. Funny thing is, it's not as bad as it sounds, for two reasons: I have a high pain threshold, and they're my family.

After a cheap but tasty early birthday dinner out for TMSoO, some cherry pie (TMSoO is more of a pie man than a cake man), and two episodes of Spaced (in lieu of Monster's Ball because the disk from NetFlix was trashed [though I briefly lobbied for Monsters Inc. instead of Monster's Ball]), I've bopped by to wish all and sundry an opportunity to give thanks for--um--whatever moves you to say, "Gee, thanks!"

Orycon for some of you, I'd guess.

I give thanks for you, the Flist, for listening during the Great Dad Saga. Speaking of which, I have to finish packing so I can head off to the wilds of Wenatchee tomorrow. No idea of the state of my connectedness, familial- or net-wise, so may not catch you again until next Saturday.

Ta!