The Davis Report

2011-07-22T07:18:00.000-07:00

Day 5: Elements of Style

Rule: "Do not join independent clauses with a comma"

Rather one should join independent clauses with a comma and a conjunction, or preferably, with a semicolon for the sake of brevity. Additionally, one could correct the problem by replacing the comma with a period and break the sentence into two. We prefer, however, the former two, for the convey a greater sense of connection between the two ideas. Examples of correct usage include:

Joel is a strong defender; he always stops the ball.

Davis moved to Columbus, and the Texas weather moved with him.

It was Friday. Everyone wanted to get together.

An exception to the rule occurs when the sentence contains two short clauses of similar form. As in the common idiom:

"Here today, gone tomorrow."

As well as in Little Bunny Foo Foo's rewording

"Hare today, goon tomorrow

2011-07-22T06:28:00.001-07:00

Day 4: Elements of Style

Rule: "Place a comma before a conjunction introducing an independent clause."

As in: Laine gave a calculus test, and her students all cried.

In a two part sentence, where the second member is introduced by and, for, or, nor, or while will require commas before the conjunction. If, however, the two clauses have the same subject, and the subject is only included once, then more discretion is required. In the case that the conjunction is but, a comma is often useful. While, in the case that the conjunction is and, a comma should be omitted if the ideas in the clauses are similar. As in:

Laine's students wanted to do well, but did not.

Laine's students did not study enough and failed the test.

A final subtlety occurs when the second clause of our compound sentence is preceded by a dependent clause or introductory phrase that would be typically set off by commas. Here no comma is needed after the conjunction. As in:

"The situation is perilous, but if we are prepared to act quickly, there is still one chance of escape."

2011-07-20T19:24:00.001-07:00

Day 3: Elements of Style

"Enclose parenthetical expressions between commas."

As in: "The best way to see a country, unless you are pressed for time, is to travel on foot."

After starting with possessive forms and serial punctuation, two sections well within common knowledge, this section presents the subtlety and detail I expect when I hear the name "The Elements of Style." The case of parenthetical expressions creates difficulty due to the rules of application. Two similar sounding phrases might have opposite punctuation. For example:

My eldest cousin, Matthew, works for PircewaterhouseCoopers.

My aunt Kat has a beautiful daughter.

Although the two sentences sound similar, the name Matthew gets set apart because it adds no new information. I have only one eldest cousin. In the second case Kat is not separated since it is necessary to specify which of my aunts I mean. In general a nonrestrictive clause like Matthew should be set apart, and a restrictive clause like Kat should not. A good rule of thumb to determine if a phrase should be set apart is to try to form two sentences from the sentence in question. The first splits nicely, and the second does not.

My eldest cousin is named Matthew. He works for PircewaterhouseCoopers.

My aunt is named Kat. She has a beautiful daughter.

In no cases, however, should one comma be applied without the other. In addition parenthetical expressions should be used with dates and titles, and when one uses a name or title as a direct address.

Magic: Real or just an Illusion

2010-12-18T20:23:00.000-08:00

Today the Orlando Magic pulled off two block buster deals. They traded Rashard Lewis to the Washington Wizzards, and received Gilbert Arenas. They also traded Marcin Gortat, Vince Carter, and Mickael Pietrus along with a future draft pick and cash consideration to the Phoenix Suns in exchange for Hedo Turkoglu, Jason Richardson, and Earl Clark.

From the perspective of an Orlando Magic fan, I have no doubt behind the GM Otis Smith motivations (Although I would have preferred Smith bring in Carmelo or at least traded away Jason Williams. I will never forgive him for letting Rando humiliate him last year) . We all watched Orlando crash and burn last year against the Celtics. Orlando had the home court advantage and yet lost the first two games. They lacked consistency and could not score. By letting Perkins go one on one with Howard, the Orlando offense could not create shots. Nelson got into the paint some, but Lewis and Carter struggled to find their game with out the double teams on Howard.

Orlando had a very talented team before the trade (what team with Dwight Howard wouldn't be?), but they were never going to be as good as the Celtics or Lakers. With Miami rising they might not have even made the conference championship. But did the trade really give them the necessary bump?

With the trade Orlando gained a scorer in Richardson, a past all-star with something to prove in Arenas, and a play maker in Turkoglu. They also shed Carter and Lewis who both had trouble creating their own shot and both were having worse seasons this year compared to last. Turkoglu helped take the Magic to the finals in 2008 and Richardson helped lead his team on an improbable playoff run last season. The players brought in average 11.3 more points per game and improve the talent of the Magic starting five.

My gut tells me that the move will work to some degree. Arenas, eager to shed his image as a borderline criminal, will play with new found energy. Turkoglu, who has been unable to find his rhythm with different clubs will settle into his old roll with the Magic, and Richardson will provide the true scorer the Magic lacked. I cannot wait to see an all Florida Playoff series.

Quarter in Review

2010-12-11T21:35:00.000-08:00

As you probably know this last August I moved up to Columbus Ohio. I left behind the best of friends, the familiarity of Rice, and the comfort of having your parents only 2 hours away (I don't know how they have time to do their jobs and be as good to me as they are). The move meant change and more change than the landscape or the climate. Although I do think of Jack London's "To Build a Fire" every morning when I walk to school.

The past few months I started cooking for my self and teaching first year calculus. Each had their share of ups and downs.

About mid October I had tired of the few meals I knew how to cook and frozen Pizzas. I wanted something new and different. So I set out to make cheese quesadillas. Being completely inexperienced in pan frying tortillas, I called my mother for guidance, but even she could not prevent the mess that followed. To cut it short, cheese + oil + tortilla + inexperienced cook= big mess. If any one out there has a good tip for getting burnt oil off my pans I would really appreciate it. They are still dirty.

Winning the award for biggest teaching goof of the quarter came in the fifth week of classes. Often when teaching math, the teacher takes the liberty of shortening words or phrases to save time. Continuous becomes cont and measurable becomes mble. "Without Loss of Generality" becomes WLOG and "The Following Are Equal" becomes TFAE. These short cuts liberate the students from burdensome words that hinder the flow of ideas, but sometimes they create the wrong idea. As was the case when I tried to shorten "Want To Find." Fortunately no one took offense.

The quarter of teaching held also brought many successes, and perhaps the best of which came in the form of terrific students. I had quite a few, but the best by far was a first year girl in my 4:30 class. She made my classes so enjoyable. What I would not give to have 10 students like her. Every class she came presented me with 2-3 difficult problems that she wanted to know the answer to. I'm thinking of doing a second post to just present to you all the neat problems she asked me. Among the best she posed was "why does the derivative of arcsec(x) change when you used a different definition of arcsec(x) (An explanation here)?" For a first year to ask such a question blew my mind. I thank her so much for being my student.

Thank you to Beth for helping me out with my question about snow. I feel better prepared already.

Misting snow

2010-12-01T13:02:00.000-08:00

The weather turned here in Columbus last night. I woke to find that it had snowed in the night (only my 3rd ever sighting of snow) and it continued to snow all day. However, it never precipitated very hard, which begs the question what is the definition of snow? And if what I was seeing was not snow, then what word should I use to refer to a light sprinkling of snow? For varying intensities of rain you can have a drizzle, a flood, a down pour, a shower, a thunderstorm, a deluge or a sprinkle, and all describe a very different kind of rain. In Texas it never snowed enough to necessitate more than one word for snow. If there are words for varying degrees of snow I would be glad to hear. Until then I think I'll just say it misted snow today.

Mirror Lake, Bigger than Beer Bike?

2010-11-27T20:28:00.000-08:00

Four years of Beer Bike at Rice taught me that college tradition spurred students into actions that the rest of the world viewed as crazy or absurd. Each March hundreds of students fly around the track at speeds that threaten to send them into the stands. Last year one student took a turn too fast and drove right into the alumni tent, and another clipped another girl's wheel and sent her tumbling. The race inspired cheers and speeches. As Tyson Heller would say "Beer Bike could bring you unparalleled glory, or it could rip your heart out and leave you bleeding." A little extreme, yes, but that is Beer Bike. For more details including WRC's 2009 sweep check out Jen Cooper's site.

I thought I had seen it all when it came to college tradition, but last week I saw OSU's own version of tradition, Mirror Lake Jump. Walking back from the math department late Tuesday night, I noticed that more drunk college students stumbling around than usual. As I continued walking I noticed that all the students wore practically nothing. Girl donned tank tops and guys went shirtless. I got a hold of one stumbling sophomore, and ask him "Why so many students would run around half naked on such a cold night (it was 27 degrees)?" He only yelled an insult directed at Michigan and ran away.

The students gathered to make a sacrifice to the sporting gods. Each year since 1990 about 12,000 undergraduate students at OSU jump into Mirror Lake in hopes that their action will lead OSU to victory over rivals Michigan. The event approaches riot like proportions. Three times I saw groups of girls dragging a friend to force her participation. I saw a drunk guy sprint into a chain fence. I saw thousand of students in freezing water chanting "USA, USA, USA" (Why they weren't chanting OSU I don't know.). I learned some new songs appropriate if I ever want to insult someone from Michigan. There were even police on horseback equipped with riot gear in case things got out of hand (They weren't already?).

The event awed me. Never had I seen so many people in one place act with so much mindless energy. Mirror Lake jump certainly beat Beer Bike in terms of participation, but it could not compare with the glory and passion that Beer Bike inspires. For Beer Bike, participants train for months and spectators engineer a water balloon battle prior to the race with thousands of rounds of ammo of water. For Mirror Lake, participants simply get drunk and jump in a pond. No fair comparison can be made. Mirror Lake bigger Yes, but better No Way.

Next Stop, o-HI-o

2010-08-15T17:09:00.000-07:00

Davis packed it up on Friday. Some people pack conventionally. Some people don't. Davis was a careful blend of the two. He had new kitchenware in its original boxes. He did not discard the boxes and strap the pots and pans to the outside of his car or wherever they would fit. He did, however, open the boxes, remove most of the packaging, and put as many other, loose items as he could fit into the resulting empty spaces.

He also fit the card table into the trunk first thing rather than tie-ing it to the roof. Then he proceeded to fold his clothes into the shapes of the various empty spots and gaps in the underside of the table: some rectangular, some triangular. The packing continued like that from the bottom up. Eventually, he fit:

a card table,
four chairs,
his high-backed desk chair,
a ten-piece cookware set,
dishes,
glassware,
utensils,
soccer and bike gear,
chess set,
computer,
printer,
rice cooker,
dozens of books,
all his clothes,
two sets of bedding and four pillows,
a three-shelf bookcase,
a 48 x 20 folding work table, and
a package of school clothes and other cool items for Emma when he stopped in to visit her and my sister on his way through Dallas

into his Honda Accord. And he did it well enough that it passed the Walter Visibility Test, where Walter sat in the driver's seat and made sure he could see out all three mirrors, all the side windows, and the front and back windows clearly and with no obstruction.

I took pictures:

And you can see from this last picture, he actually has a tad more room for some special shaped item under his helmet and next to his clock. Unfortunately, there was nothing left to pack.

Davis made it to Columbus this afternoon, safe and sound.

There and Back and There Again

2010-07-22T15:27:00.000-07:00

Next week we head for Ruidoso, New Mexico to visit friends and family. This will culminate a summer of travel for Davis: the Epic Road Trip through the southwest, the World Cup extravaganza to South Africa, and the Institute for Advanced Studies summer program in Park City, Utah. By mid-August he will entrench himself at Ohio State in Columbus, Ohio, preparing to buckle down on some heavy-duty studying and problem-solving.

I look at my son and am amazed by his string of accomplishments. I'm not talking about his academic success, though there have been plenty of those. I'm wowed by this young man. He attended school in the same district K through 12. We traveled a little, mainly car trips, mainly to New Mexico, with one tour through the South and one trip all the way to California. We did fly to Wyoming for Erin's Make-A-Wish trip, and we went with Davis and the Science Bowl team to Washington, D.C. when they qualified for nationals. He lived in Nashville for a few years as a toddler and pre-schooler. When he finally left home, he moved 90 miles away to Houston for college. All pretty prosaic. Not much adventure, not much reason to believe he was any different than any other small town kid who would get used to the place he was born and raised and choose to stick around there.

Except.

Except that Davis, the boy who ordered the same meal from Gina's every week for years, the youth who loved routine, the teen who never even asked to take a roadtrip with his buddies, has embraced the world. He made a wikimap of all the places he has made extended stays:

The true confessor in me says that there is no way, no how, I could have pulled those various adventures off as a young adult. Move to Hungary, live in an apartment, brave the market so I could make my meals? Uh uh. Pull off research jobs in upstate New York and downtown Pittsburgh? Wouldn't be brave enough to apply or talented enough to get hired. Live with 13 other people in a townhouse in DC? You must be kidding!

This way Davis can just pick up his life and move it somewhere else, and then turn back around and fit back into the routines of our home astounds me. Here is the project we have worked on between his various trips this summer. We finished last night, three-thousand pieces of devilment and delight:

Davis's South African Pics

2010-06-22T09:04:00.000-07:00

Davis took most of our South Africa trip photos and has started a Facebook album (we are still adding comments so you know what you are looking at:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2087701&id=3006850&saved

Epic Graduation Road Trip

2010-06-06T11:52:00.000-07:00

What more can I say about the Epic Graduation Road Trip that this photo doesn't say? (Click on photo for musculature detail.)

Summit of the Guadalupe Mountain, highest point in Texas.

Dinner for Four

2010-05-19T09:40:00.000-07:00

Frankly, it doesn't do the clean, folded clothes much good to pack the dirty laundry right on top of (or perhaps even intermingled with) them for the ride home from college.

Ordinarily, Davis handles his own laundry chores, but considering his return from the epic road trip (I feel like that should be in bold and all caps and perhaps even a cinemagraphic font choice) is not anticipated for more than two more weeks, I thought I might take a go at it to avoid having my house reek from the college stench that was already permeating his bedroom.

I started sorting out piles from the three large collection of linens, towels, workout clothes, and other apparel items and decided that I wasn't going to feel guilty about using more than my share of the planet's water today.

I rescued belts and caps from their watery deaths.

I put like with like and didn't pause long to consider where he got all those light blue/gray athletic socks.

I finally reached the bottom of the final basket, only revising my estimate of how many people I was doing laundry for twice--I decided it was either a family of six or the Lads (Rice's club soccer team). I found a piece of paper, folded twice, like you would put in an envelop to mail. The part that faced up had a question typed:

"3. WHAT THREE PEOPLE, REAL OR FICTIONAL, WOULD YOU HAVE OVER FOR DINNER AND WHY?"

and an answer written in ink in Davis's cramped style:

"Jon Stewart--funny
Donna Smith--good politics"

and

"My mother--she would like to meet Jon"

I was immediately gratified that the final bit didn't say "My mother--she should at least get to eat if she has to cook the meal."

Then I started to wonder what it was. I didn't really want to snoop, but . . .

I opened the paper all the way and discovered it was The Official Rice Roommate Information Sheet that Davis had filled out just about this time of year in 2006.

Other revealing questions

Will you have. . .

a car--no
a computer--yes
a vcr--no
a tv--no
a dvd player--no
a refrigerator--no
an iron--no
a phone--no
a stereo--yes

Q6 IF YOU COULD HAVE A ROMANTIC OR TORRID RELATIONSHIP WITH ANYONE, REAL OR FICTIONAL, MODERN OR HISTORIC, WITH WHOM WOULD IT BE AND WHY?

completely blank

As I looked over that piece of paper and had three questions:

1. Why they would ask an incoming freshman about his torrid dream relationship?
2. Why in the world would Davis have that ancient form at the bottom of his laundry basket (and had it been there for four years)?
3. Would I still make the cut for dinner for four (and would Jon Stewart have a good time)?

Grad

2010-05-17T07:59:00.000-07:00

Graduation Announcements

2010-05-10T13:58:00.000-07:00

If you thought you hadn't received your graduation announcement from Davis because he was spending all his time hard at work, shutting down his undergraduate years and preparing for the future, like this photo illustrates:

You would be wrong!

Perhaps you think the four A's and one A+ this semester didn't quite push him over the hump to meet graduation requirements.

Again, you would be wrong!

Fines? Parking tickets? Overdue library books?

Nope!

Balfour misprinting the announcements:

"Graduating with a BA in Liberal Arts and a minor in Mathematics"

Yep. That happened. But we caught the mistake, called expeditiously, and re-ordered in a timely way. The new ones arrived with the right degree and major,

BUT,

the wrong graduate.

We are now waiting for a new batch.
Third times a charm.
Touch wood.
Rub a rabbit's foot.
Whatever.

It'll happen whether we announce it or not.

Senior Gala

2010-05-06T11:34:00.000-07:00

Davis had to hit the road so quickly on Tuesday afternoon (see Quick In, Quick Out) so he could make it back in time for this photo op:

Because of the lack of details they shared when they sent the photos, I am left to assume that they either went to a fun evening of dancing and celebration or that they are CIA operatives.

Quick In, Quick Out

2010-05-04T16:08:00.001-07:00

Davis popped in around 8:30 last night. I fed him, and we all watched the Spurs lose to the Suns. He woke up long enough to eat migas with us for breakfast that went back to bed until 11:45.

We grabbed lunch at Gina's, replaced his cell phone that got stepped on in his pocket when he went rock climbing, and got our South African immunizations: typhoid, tetanus, and hepatitis A (and B for me). He slipped back in his car and down the road, hoping to make it back to Houston in time to tidy up for the Senior Class Gala tonight.

The inevitable realization that moms have to make: something is better than nothing.

James Street Fulton Prize

2010-04-29T11:23:00.000-07:00

Davis received the James Street Fulton Prize. The prize was established in 1981 by Mr. Edward Hinders, a distinguished alumnus of Will Rice College, class of 1971, in honor of the first master of Will Rice College. The James Street Fulton Prize is awarded to the Will Rice student who has distinguished himself or herself above all others in utilizing the educational opportunities of the University in the face of personal or financial hardship, and who has set an example of personal achievement and community service.

Here is one of the nomination letters written on his behalf:

To the members of Will Rice College:

I am nominating C. Davis Buenger for the James Fulton Street Prize because of his high level of academic achievement and commitment to the Will Rice College community while dealing with the illness and death of his sister.

On April 13th, 2009 over 900 people gathered at the First Presbyterian Church in Bryan, Texas to celebrate the life of Erin Channing Buenger. People came because they had lost a friend, a classmate, a teammate. They came because they had lost a fellow churchgoer, a fellow joke teller, a fellow animal lover, a fellow red-head. They came because in the words of Matthew Dahlgren: “Erin made everyone feel like they had a special connection with her.”

When Davis arrived at Rice his freshman year 9-year-old Erin had been battling relapsed Neuroblastoma, a pediatric cancer, for over a year. He threw himself into studying for Organic Chemistry and doing problem sets for Honors Calculus. Davis played almost every Will Rice sport. Davis made the Beer Bike team. Sophomore year Davis continued to take challenging classes and declared Mathematics as his major. He participated in math research through the VIGRE program. Without a position or a committee Davis contributed his creativity. He organized an art show, “The Restaurant La Phoenix”, and “Ceramic Rights.” His junior fall Davis studied abroad in Budapest, Hungary, and when he returned to Will Rice in the spring was instrumental in the preparation, spirit, and muscle of the Beer Bike Sweep. This year Davis received A’s in graduate level math classes, played club soccer with the Lads, volunteered his chess talent at a local elementary school, and led in position and spirit the Will Rice Bike team.

In between it all Davis has worried and thought about his parents and sister. When his parents and sister came down to Texas Children's Hospital for appointments he would meet up with them. He lives with the maturity that comes from realizing in ninth grade that you can’t complain to your parents about why they didn’t come to your soccer game when your five year old sister has cancer. He has spent his four years at college with the rare perspective that there are things that matter more than getting the best grades and having the best resume. He has lived with the crushing knowledge of his sister’s physical pains and his parents’ emotional burdens. He has woken up knowing that it is Erin smiling and talking and laughing that keeps them all going and woken up knowing that memories of her will have to do the same.

Sincerely,
Elizabeth S. Van Itallie

Davis's classmates were so moved by this story that the college president organized a voluntary collect from the students in the college and sent us $550 for the Children's Neuroblastoma Cancer Foundation.

Uncanny

2010-04-18T18:00:00.000-07:00

Davis is about to accept an offer for Ph.D. school in Mathematics. I'm not sure how Erin knew this, but here is the evidence: The only time we ever had matching team spirit shirts (we never had Aggie or Rice Owl shirts) was when our dear internet friend Angela Thomas (Christi's mom) sent us these:

From WELCOME TO ERIN'S HOME

If you can't read the script, both shirts say Ohio State Buckeyes.

All Set

2010-04-14T16:41:00.000-07:00

We have tickets to all the USA pool matches in the World Cup. A place to stay, the entire time we are there (scheduled to open May 1. . . keep your fingers crossed that it doesn't run more than five weeks behind schedule). And as of Monday, reserved seats on a Boeing 777 leaving from Houston, headed towards Johannesburg.

Davis's graduation announcements arrived yesterday, lovingly tucked on the front porch by the UPS guy.

His degree audit is final.

I think we're set to become the parents of a college graduate and intercontinental travelers all in one swell foop.

Glimpses of Davis

2010-04-05T06:06:00.000-07:00

I couldn't settle on a title for this post. I started to call it "Jedi Mind Trick" in honor of this first story I wanted to tell you:

"Jedi Mind Trick"

Soon after Walter and I arrived for Beer Bike on Palm Sunday, we went out to the track with Davis to check conditions.

Windy, but dry. Check.
Stacked hay bales on the dangerous corners for cushioning during crashes. Check.
Lanes chalked with spirit-filled slogans. Check.

We then headed up into Rice Stadium (not officially part of the course, but for years Will Race and Jones racers have watched the festivities and gotten ready for the race up on the second deck concourse overlooking the track). Uh oh. The gate was locked tight. We walked around to the gate on the far side of the stadium, found one open entrance, and let ourselves in. As we walked back around to the side overlooking the bike track, Davis strode ahead of us, leading the way. Within moments, an official looking electric cart with an official looking groundskeeper zipped up next to Davis. From a distance it looked like he was giving Davis "what for" and asking him to leave immediately.

Davis responded. I couldn't hear how the conversation went. I think it was something like this:

By the time we caught up to the cart, the groundskeeper's body language had changed and he said something like, "Your can go about your business." I might even have heard him say "Move along."

Or I might have called it:

"Two Hours."

I never want to imply to Davis that I need him to come home, but I do like to know when it's going to happen, especially now that he often brings EVI, so that I can change the linens before they arrive. When we saw them at Beer/Bike their plans were still up in the air: either they would come home together for Easter or Davis would come home alone the following weekend for his birthday (when EVI had an Ultimate Frisbee tournament in Dallas).

I knew they had Maundy Thursday and Good Friday off from school and figured they'd choose Easter, but I didn't hear from them on Wednesday or Thursday. When Davis called on Friday afternoon, he didn't mention his travel plans at all. I didn't want to be pushy, so as the call drew to a close, I said, "Well, just give me a call whenever you are two hours away." He broke into hysterical peals of laughter, that I, frankly, didn't understand. "What? Why are you laughing," I responded, "I just want a little warning before you get here."

He said, "That's not what you said. You said, 'let me know when you are two hours away,' and I was just imagining the set of all the points I could be that I would be two hours away from you and how much trouble it would be to call every time I moved a step or two. In my room, two hours away. In class, two hours away. At the gym, two hours away."

I guess that's math humor.

The final option for a title would have been:

"The Natural"

My mom gave Davis his birthday presents early. One was some juggling balls and an instruction manual. Davis looked at the box and started to work out how to get through all the packaging to the balls. He said, "I heard somewhere that juggling is an innate talent. You can either naturally do it or you can't." Then he liberated the three balls and started juggling. He made about fifteen successful tosses before he stopped. I was holding a camera and was too stunned to catch a photo or even a little strip of video. He was as completely surprised as we were and refused to try again for the camera. Eventually, I put the camera away and cajoled him into trying again. He did better than EVI or I could on his second and third try, but it was clear that he was a novice, a novice with innate talent.

Proud Mom

2010-03-30T10:36:00.000-07:00

Walter and I headed to Houston on Sunday to watch the Beer/Bike make up race. Heavy storms the week before pushed the race back a week and a day. Possibly because officials didn't want to create back-to-back imbibing weekends (I understand the fans wake up around 5:30 in the morning to get a jump start on alcohol consumption. Now that I know that I am doubly thankful that Davis is and always has been a rider and not a spectator) the race was downsized.

I forgot to take a camera (and binoculars), so all I have is a couple of fuzzy, up-close shots taken with my phone before the race ("cheerful Davis" and "pensive Davis"):

Unfortunately for Will Rice, after the race Davis had a lot more reasons to look like the second photo than the first. The team rode well, but had a hard time overcoming a couple of race day problems that popped up.

Why am I proud, despite the loss?

If you know Davis, you know that he can be very competitive. He really likes to play games and he really likes to win. When he was younger, he could be an unbearable winner and a sore loser.

After the race, Walter and I watched as he comforted his teammates, gave them encouragement, and congratulated the Will Rice women who had won their race. He walked from person to person, giving out hugs, shoulder squeezes, and at one point sat down cross-legged in front of one discouraged team member until he cajoled a smile out of him.

I knew all he wanted to do was go off by himself and try to forget about the loss.

But he didn't. He stayed and did all of his team captain duties. And if I were honest, I would tell you that most of the time he met the dejected looks of his team mates with a countenance that looked a lot like the first photo above.

Another Math Adventure

2010-03-18T12:32:00.000-07:00

Davis heard yesterday that he got a fully-funded slot at the Institute of Advanced Studies' Park City Mathematics Institute in Park City, Utah this summer. Now I don't need to worry how to keep him out of trouble and occupied when we get back from South Africa. He will be studying Mathematical Image Processing and Compressed Sensing for several weeks.

View Larger Map

It amazes me the places math has taken Davis in the last two years: Hungary, Pennsylvania, New York, California, and Utah, and usually on someone else's dime. (Brooke, do you stay in Utah in the summer?)

We Eat All We Can

2010-03-16T06:30:00.000-07:00

Davis and Evi are making final preparations for the 53rd annual Beer/Bike extravaganza.

(Apparently, if I were a sufficiently supportive mom, at this point I would insert the following: Will Rice Will Sweep, which is the tagline for Davis and Evi's team. Last year Will Rice did, in fact, sweep all three races--men's, women's, and alumni!)

While they have honed their fitness, stamina, and biking technique over the past few months, they need that perfect edge to push them over the top. That is why they sought inspiration from the oracle last week.

Locals will recognize this as the courtyard of the Blue Bell Ice Cream creamery in Brenham (Motto 1: We eat all we can, and sell the rest. Motto 2: Making Texas Cows Proud).

Now they can race with all the confidence that having a transformative life experience can endow.

2000 Steps

2010-03-02T05:53:00.000-08:00

Davis and Evi started their Spring Break last Friday. Happily, they are using our house as their base of operations for Digging Deep into the Heart of Texas and Training for March's Beer/Bike Spectacular (their two designated Spring Break activities).

So I came home from Chess Club yesterday afternoon about 5:30 and found them dressed in workout clothes. I snagged Willie and Teddy for quick pre-sunset walk, expecting to find an empty house when I returned (on the presumption Davis and Evi were headed to the Rec Center).

Instead, I found the two of them running up and down the stairs. First Evi, up and down the ten steps to the landing, ten times in a row, in under a minute. Then, Davis, up and down, times ten, in a minute. With just one minute rest, Evi took her second turn. Then Davis. Back and forth. No rest in between. Until they had each gone up 1000 steps and back down. Like the eastern philosopher says, a journey of 1000 steps begins with the first step (and then is followed by 999 more steps!).

So here is another question:

Evi, Davis, Walter, and I have gotten in the habit of playing games as part of their visit home: cards, dominoes, charades, board games. This time they arrived with a game in mind, but without the game. They spent some time shopping around the Microplex on Saturday--Jacque's, WalMart, Target, Toys R Us--and could not find Settlers of Catan.

Actually, here is the question, finally: If you wanted to buy a game and couldn't find it in your city, what would you do?

If you were Davis and Evi, you would make it from scratch, which is what they did on Saturday evening and Sunday. They made the re-arrangeable hexagonal board. Built resource cards. Cut and painted wooden markers for the settlements, roads, and cities. Saturday we played with a rudimentary version of the game (pictured below), and by last night we had a pretty high quality version of this game.

Today they are on a road trip back to Houston. Thursday, I think they are touring the Blue Bell Ice Cream plant. Friday, they are joining Walter and I in Dallas. Besides those simple guideposts, I don't really know what else they will fit in. But nothing would surprise me.

Legos + Rubik's Cube = ?

2010-02-17T12:20:00.000-08:00

Any of you who know Davis personally can attest to his great fondness for Legos. He had twelve birthdays in a row where Legos were the only thing on his gift list. The year he didn't ask for Lego's no one knew what to get him.

He also has an affinity for the Rubik's cube (Hungarian sculptor and professor of architecture Ernő Rubik was part of the motivation for Davis choosing Budapest when he studied abroad). He has 3 X 3, 4 X 4, and 5 X 5 cubes and has been in the market for a racing cube for a number of years.

I don't know whether he has seen this, but it just screams DAVIS!

South Africa, Will I have to Drive and Live in My Car?

2010-02-10T11:59:00.000-08:00

I began the heart-stopping process of pricing flights and accommodations to South Africa this afternoon. Ack, Ack, Ack, and quadruple Ack! I think if I start now I can drive the van over and sleep on a mattress in the back. Any ideas? Suggestions? I'm beginning to feel a lot like Mary ("no room in the inn," NOT expectant and betrothed).

Southern Africa Bound

2010-02-05T13:21:00.000-08:00

When Davis started Rice, I made a deal with him that if he graduated in four years, I would take him to South Africa to see part of the World Cup, but that if it took longer than that, he would have to pay for any overage himself. Talk about the carrot and the stick! Anyway, here we are, eight semesters later, with a son who will graduate in May.

We got the notice today that FIFA approved our bid for World Cup tickets. Whatever we pay for tickets, flights, and lodging will be less than a semester at Rice. I promise.

Product

Quick Trip

2010-02-01T10:59:00.000-08:00

Less than 24 hours.

Closer to 13.

Davis and Evi rolled into town around 7:00 Friday evening to do the meet and greet at the end of our lanyarding session, full of talk of the semester and excitement over various projects they have in the works. They took a 7:00 wake-up call Saturday morning and hit the door after breakfast to make it back to Rice for an 11:00 soccer match (Will Rice 4-1 over some other college?).

We didn't even have time to discuss the EPL standings which was probably fine with Davis since my Chelsea Blues still stand at the top of the table. I will note that Davis's Liverpool has patiently climbed back to the top five after a woeful start and their share of road troubles.

The New York Times launched a new blog today about Math. I'm going to add it to Davis's side bar, but thought that some of you might be interested in math as a bloggable concept, rather than as problems to work out (or not work out as the case may be).

It's by Steven Strogatz and here's how it starts:

I have a friend who gets a tremendous kick out of science, even though he’s an artist. Whenever we get together all he wants to do is chat about the latest thing in evolution or quantum mechanics. But when it comes to math, he feels at sea, and it saddens him. The strange symbols keep him out. He says he doesn’t even know how to pronounce them.

In fact, his alienation runs a lot deeper. He’s not sure what mathematicians do all day, or what they mean when they say a proof is elegant. Sometimes we joke that I just should sit him down and teach him everything, starting with 1 + 1 = 2 and going as far as we can.

Crazy as it sounds, over the next several weeks I’m going to try to do something close to that. I’ll be writing about the elements of mathematics, from pre-school to grad school, for anyone out there who’d like to have a second chance at the subject — but this time from an adult perspective. It’s not intended to be remedial. The goal is to give you a better feeling for what math is all about and why it’s so enthralling to those who get it.

So, let’s begin with pre-school.

VIDEO

Surprise Visit

2010-01-29T06:16:00.000-08:00

My cell rang out with the "Prince Fanfare," indicating I had an incoming call from Davis (a.k.a, The Young Prince). Since it wasn't Sunday afternoon, when we usually talk just to catch up on the week, I knew he had something specific to say.

Digression. . .

I know that some of my students talk to one or both of their parents every day and some times more than once a day, but we never did that with Davis. Walter and I talked to our parents once a week (back in the day when it actually cost money to make a long distance phone call), and we just adopted that habit when Davis left for Rice. If we speak in between Sundays it is almost always "about something"--a task that we need him to do or he needs us to do. For example, "My W-2 is available online now if you want to print it for the taxes."

Anyway, my phone rang yesterday afternoon as I was gearing up for soccer practice. Davis wanted to let me know that he and Evi were driving in to Bryan for the evening. I'm not sure what they have going on, but it will certainly be great to have the key chain experts at the lanyard workshop, since they are becoming quite a popular item.

Ride Davis, Ride! Redux

2010-01-21T06:47:00.000-08:00

This entry will demonstrate the difference between the artful elegance of the photo of Davis riding his bike in the last entry and a photo taken by an unknown person with a camera phone on a moving trolley.

From all reports Davis had a good time in San Francisco, although he started off the trip with a stomach bug that someone had kindly shared with him before he left Rice (a question no mother should ever have to answer and even google doesn't seem to know: "Mom, how much tip do you leave if you get sick in a restaurant?").

I think Davis saw a lot of the sites in SF and his paper went just fine. He even had someone from one of the graduate programs he has applied to attend his session.

He made it back to Texas safely and has geared up for his final semester at Rice. I'll double check on his class schedule, but as I best recall he's having some hard math classes, an applied math class in linear algebra, a literature class, and a music history/theory class. At one point he had signed up for 20 hours, but I'm pretty sure he's back off of that since he only need the lit and the music to graduate.

Ride Davis, Ride!

2010-01-12T19:17:00.000-08:00

Davis made the Houston Chronicle as the Photo Editor's Top Photo today.

Jan 11 2010 7:28PM
Nick de la Torre /Chronicle

Davis Buenger, of Bryan, Texas, and a senior at Rice trains for the Beer Bike Race with classmates in Houston. The Beer Bike Race takes place on the Rice Stadium parking lot March 20 and is a competition between the Universities colleges. Buenger is in the Will Rice College at Rice.

I'm not even sure if he saw this before he flew out this morning for San Francisco, where he is attending the Joint Mathematics Conference and giving his first professional presentation. Davis's CV at age 21 looks better than mine did when I turned 30.

Moments

2010-01-05T07:23:00.000-08:00

I know I promised you a longer post, but cool your heels.

Join me in a moment of celebration: Walter and I made our last tuition and fee payment to Rice University today!!

And in a moment of reflection: Davis has finished his Christmas Break at home. He departed for a pre-semester trip this morning [Home-->Houston-->St. Louis-->Philadelphia-->Princeton, NJ] to visit Evi. He will pop back into Houston on Sunday to catch the first day or two of the semester next Monday and Tuesday, then hit the airport again for a trip to San Francisco and the Joint Mathematics Conference to do career-related stuff.

Abs of Steel

2010-01-02T16:25:00.000-08:00

Just a short post today, and more of a round of What Davis Did on His Christmas Vacation later.

Around 4:00 this afternoon, soon after Davis returned from a strenuous bike ride/workout, he went to his room and closed the door. A short time later we heard loud noises. . . Yelling? Laughing? Animated conversation? Bodies lunging around his room?

I looked for Willie and found him on squirrel patrol by the sliding glass door.

I knew Teddy had found the cushiest cushion in the loft and was waiting to continue assisting me while I updated Erin's website.

"Just 15 more seconds."

"Oh, that hurts."

"Hold it."

"I can't see you."

This went on for about five minutes. I'm not positive I know what he was doing, but the detective in me thinks that he (in Bryan) and Evi (in Princeton) were doing their Ab workout together using SKYPE video.

4138 Cypress Road

2009-12-22T15:41:00.000-08:00

The answer to the Holiday Challenge was that Davis and Evi built a scale-model gingerbread house of our home.

From this angle you can see the front porch and Erin's room.

From here you can see the back porch that over looks the lake and the second story
bump out sitting area in our bedroom.
Our roof is actually that steep, but not that striped.

Congratulation to Michelle P. for the first correct guess (on Facebook).

And I just couldn't resist including this Evi-photo because she is so beautiful.

Holiday Contest

2009-12-19T11:06:00.000-08:00

Davis and Evi got home on Tuesday just in time to crash the Jane Long Chess Club Christmas party. I wasn't quick enough with the camera to capture Aaron leaping into Davis's arms with his legs wrapped around Davis at the waist, but I do have the image etched in my brain.

I'm not sure the hours they had been keeping during finals, but I was willing to stay up with them Tuesday night for a little puzzling and post-final debriefing. I went on to bed at about 10:45, satisfied that we had assembled the border and made good progress on several other sections. This is what I woke up to on Wednesday morning (1000 pieces later):

Do you recognize Frank Lloyd Wright's Saguaro Forms & Cactus Flowers ?

Since then, it has been non-stop projects. In fact, I am typing away to silk-screening operation at the dining room table. One of the projects is the subject of today's Puzzle Challenge. Your job: guess what their project is.

Scrabble

2009-12-03T12:19:00.000-08:00

I have not read Going Rogue. Nor will I. I did, however, read on someone else's blog that the Palin family played Scrabble, which is the second time Scrabble has popped into my field of vision lately. The first time was in a phone conversation with Davis a couple of weeks ago. He was headed to the store to buy a game that would challenge him and was looking for recommendations. I buzzed through several options which he rejected for various reasons. Then I suggested Scrabble on the theory that as a mathematician who rocked at strategy games (he is practically unstoppable at Pente, Risk, Monopoly, and any other game based on recognizing patterns) that maybe a word-based game would take away his usual edge.

That's when Davis explained to me that Scrabble really was a math game.

Do you believe that?

He went on to explain that Scrabble required a knowledge of sets and combinatorics. The basic strategy was to maximize the overlap between the various combinations of letters on your rack and then to compare the combinations with the set of words in your mental dictionary. Once you had a set of matches, you can maximize your score through the placement of tiles on the optimal available spot on the board.

Is that how you play Scrabble?

No hording of Ks and Qs, as the Palin family does?

No memorizing of obscure words that contain multiple high point tiles (for example, QUARTZY)?

No coming up with convincing definitions of fanciful words so that you can, in one fell swoop, get rid of the problematic letters or perhaps the several "i"s that always gravitate towards your tray?

Ripstick Love

2009-11-15T17:45:00.000-08:00

This is a Ripstick:

This is Love:

This is Ripstick Love:

My first inclination, if faced with a skateboard that someone had attached super-fast wheels to, sawed in half, and replaced the middle with a wobbly joint, would not be to claim my prize, jump on, and look for something to run into. I guess that's why I haven't yet become a ripstick enthusiast, in love with the speed, thrill, and danger.

I am mildly curious about them, however. Last Sunday before I left Louisville to head back to Bryan I opened an email from Davis's friend, Evi, which included the photo you see and an brief explanation:

Yesterday evening we ripsticked from Lovett Hall to the bike track. On the bike track we practiced a trick where Davis pushes me forward and then as I go by, I grab his hand and propel him forward. Then, before he passes me completely he grabs my hand and catapults me past. When I go by him again we repeat the process.

This, my friends, is why Health Care reform needs the provision that young adults can stay on their parent's insurance policies until the age of 26. Perhaps by then, they will have retired their ripsticks. Evi went on to write:

We also tried to ride one ripstick together but we did not achieve mastery. The smooth concrete floors of the McMurtry hallways are also perfect for "rip-sticking" study breaks!

In case you hadn't guessed, I have been released from my vow of silence and am cleared to "Repore!"

Division Sudoku

2009-08-13T07:41:00.000-07:00

Davis has a new challenge for you.

Division Sudoku:

Everyone loves sudoku (well, maybe not everyone, but most people that read The Davhee Repore), the number placing logic game. Typically the 9x9 sudoku grid has a few numbers filled in and through careful examination of potential solutions you slowly fill in the grid. The puzzles range from mild to diabolical.

This sudoku, however, is different, and some say, tricky. Where other sudokus have a few starter numbers embedded in the puzzle to help you begin your logic, in this sudoku you don't get any numbers. Instead of numbers the puzzle provides the necessary information for a solution through showing the mathematical relationship between two squares. Complete rules are listed below.

None of the concepts needed to solve this puzzle go beyond knowing how to divide and to determine less than and greater than. The puzzle, however, will push the solver to think about the problem in a new way.

Instructions:

Fill in the grid so that the numbers 1 through 9 each appear exactly once in each row column, and block.
In addition, each time a cell's value divides one of its neighbors within a block, the line between the two cells is marked with a red arc shaped like a "C". That indicates that the number in cell A evenly divides into the number in cell B. You can think of this as "A goes into B with no remainder." For example, if you figured out that cell A was 3 then cell B would be 9. (Two hints: 1. The number "1" divides into any of the other numbers. 2.You might want to look for chains. . .that is, groups of cells connected by the red arc.)
The grid also contains a few greater than (>) symbols to guide your logic.

Good luck!

Things that Make Me Say HMM in Rochester

2009-07-22T06:10:00.000-07:00

Walter, Davis, and I dined in the hotel restaurant last night. When we walked into the dining room it occurred to me that our collective mean age of 42 lowered the average age in the room considerably. We didn't spend the whole evening listening in to conversations at other tables, but occasionally scrumptious parts of conversation wafted into our range.

At one point the two ladies next to us had a couple of hundred bucks in ones, fives, tens, and twenties spread out across their table, as one of them explained to the other the finer points of bill splitting and tipping. This went on for at least fifteen minutes. If they didn't looked like such dear friends, I would have assumed that they were playing a parlor game where one was trying to bilk the other into paying more than their share. I was actually a little surprised that one of them didn't pull an abacus from her enormous handbag, to finish the calculations.

The highlight of the evening came shortly before we packed it in. The table behind me had two two women and a man. Their conversation had ranged broadly over the course of their meal and included one of the women declaring her intention to see Hair (the first ROCK musical) with her sister in the coming week. That led me to mentally adjust my evaluation of their age downward. Just as we paid our bill, their conversation turned to travel, and one said, "Have you spent time in the Southwest?" to which I perked my ear, in case they had something to say about Texas.

One response: "I lived in New Mexico for a year in the '30s."

The other: "I was working in Alamagordo when we dropped the bomb."

Wow! My internal tote board whirred forward by decades as I re-adjusted my assessment. The mental calculations kept me from laughing out loud at the unexpected turn of the conversation until we had cleared out of the room and headed to the elevators.

Of course, other things have led me to lift an eyebrow and go "Hmm." Driving back from Davis's yesterday, I spotted a monastery, something not in and of itself comment worthy. What made it a Hmm moment was its proximal location across the street from the country club.

Davis also spotted a young man who had hair the same color as the back pockets of his pants. Again, not particularly noteworthy if he had on khakis, but he was wearing jeans with neon lime patch pockets.

The last thing I have to report is the half dozen woodchucks Walter and I saw near downtown Rochester when we went to view the High Falls on the Genessee River while Davis napped. In Texas, these would have been prairie dogs, but according to the local expert who we turned to in the absence of our own, private master naturalist, these were definitely woodchucks. . .and very common ones, indeed. Here's what they looked like:

See, nothing remarkable. However, it would have been another story, if we had spotted this:

Eating Out

2009-07-11T11:24:00.000-07:00

Jerry Harvey published "The Abilene Paradox and Other Meditations on Management" in 1974 (you can read the story at the bottom of this entry) to describe a common type of group decision making when a group of people collectively decide on a course of action that is counter to the preferences of any of the individuals in the group. I know I have this experience regularly when my colleagues and I try to decide where we will have lunch as we stand around waiting for the elevator. You know the conversation:

Person 1: Where do ya'll [this is Texas, remember] want to eat today?

Person 2: I don't care. What's everyone up for?

Person 3: Anything's fine with me.

Person 4: Not pizza, but other than that I don't have a preference.

and so on. Eventually, we drift towards some non-descript chain that probably doesn't offend anyone, but is also probably not particularly good.

Nobody really wants to take responsibility for the decision and so we all just go along.

What does The Abilene Paradox have to do with The Davhee Repore? It decidedly does NOT describe the way Davis acts when his group needs to choose a place to eat. Last Thursday evening they were headed to a restaurant that they had agreed upon, but that no one had ever patronized. It was, in my opinion, a pretty risky choice.

I talked to him about this on the phone before hand. When I heard that they had decided on a Mexican food restaurant, I let my regional bias show by remarking something like: "Good luck with that."

He wanted to know what I meant, and I said, "Well, you can always have fajitas." He got a little huffy and asked me to clarify further. I responded, "I've never actually eaten at a Mexican restaurant east of the Mississippi that I would go back to. I'm thinking maybe you'll have the same problem in Rochester, especially if no one has tried it out beforehand."

He said, "You probably don't use a good algorithm when you choose restaurants you're unfamiliar with. I look at the menus on the internet." I pooh poohed that suggestions, telling him that seeing the list of menu items didn't say anything about what they would taste like.

Davis patiently explained that I didn't need to look at the menu items per se. I needed to focus on the menu style. Apparently there's an On-the-Border-style menu with clever descriptions of each item, an emphasis on painting a culinary picture of the food, and a delineation of what is healthy and what is tasty. There's also a Gina's-style-menu (which, frankly, has always seemed just fine to me, but I think in and of itself may not indicate much about the quality of food) and a taqueria-style menu. Davis explained that if you go to restaurants with a taqueria-style menu, the food has to be good because you know the owners aren't in business because they went to business school or because they are adept marketers. Ergo, the only thing left is for them to serve tasty food.

I'll let you know if he found empirical evidence to support his theory.

*********************************

The Abilene Paradox
On a hot afternoon visiting in Coleman, Texas, the family is comfortably playing dominoes on a porch, until the father-in-law suggests that they take a trip to Abilene [53 miles north] for dinner. The wife says, "Sounds like a great idea." The husband, despite having reservations because the drive is long and hot, thinks that his preferences must be out-of-step with the group and says, "Sounds good to me. I just hope your mother wants to go." The mother-in-law then says, "Of course I want to go. I haven't been to Abilene in a long time."

The drive is hot, dusty, and long. When they arrive at the cafeteria, the food is as bad as the drive. They arrive back home four hours later, exhausted.

One of them dishonestly says, "It was a great trip, wasn't it?" The mother-in-law says that, actually, she would rather have stayed home, but went along since the other three were so enthusiastic. The husband says, "I wasn't delighted to be doing what we were doing. I only went to satisfy the rest of you." The wife says, "I just went along to keep you happy. I would have had to be crazy to want to go out in the heat like that." The father-in-law then says that he only suggested it because he thought the others might be bored.

The group sits back, perplexed that they together decided to take a trip which none of them wanted. They each would have preferred to sit comfortably, but did not admit to it when they still had time to enjoy the afternoon.
Harvey, Jerry B. (Summer 1974). "The Abilene Paradox and other Meditations on Management". Organizational Dynamics 3 (1): 63.

Wordless Wednesday

2009-06-24T07:02:00.001-07:00

Ruby Does Rochester

2009-06-17T07:51:00.000-07:00

If I were really cool, I would begin this entry with references to Ruby on Rails (or RoR, as those in the know say), but I'm not. Instead, I have typical vacation pics. Yep, this is what you get when you take someone's bike on vacation.

First, you have to introduce her to everyone. Her name is "Ruby," but she's so exotic, she had the French translation of her name tattooed on her chest:

She did not want to travel coach. She wanted a sleeper car. So, we made her a lovely bed:

We let her choose the soundtrack for the trip:

And the side trips:

And where we ate:

Every night, when we finished the drive for the day, we brought her up from the van and let her luxuriate in the room:

Every evening we tucked her in and read books aloud to her to help her fall asleep, including stories about her favorite conspiracy theory (Jack Ruby) and her favorite bunnies (Max and Ruby):

We only had one oversight. We forgot to pack her bedroom slippers:

Finally, after what seemed to Ruby an interminably long time, she was at last reunited with Davis.

Time past more quickly then, though it still seemed an eternity. Finally, she found liberty and her new summer home: Rochester.

Let the Wild Rumpus Begin

2009-06-06T15:25:00.000-07:00

I have the television on in the hotel in Rochester waiting for The Running of the Belmont and reflecting. I am letting my masculine side dominate by flipping back and forth between pre-race coverage and the second game of the Rice/LSU super regional that is tied 2-2. We made it through the winding, hilly road of eastern Pennsylvania and central New York. During the trip I saw one thing that made me go HMM--an empty helicopter sitting on the edge of a ridge overlooking the highway.

Our day started with me behind the wheel of the fully loaded van (three adults, four suitcases, three duffle bags, three briefcases, one backpack, and two full-sized bikes, and extraneous detritus). Walter took the middle shift (and unfortunately, the roughest drive time: too many construction zones, lane shifts, and non-expressway routes). About a hundred miles outside of Rochester, six-and-a-half hours into the trip, Walter pulled into a rest stop to turn the driving over to Davis.

Davis had chomped at the bit to drive all morning and complained about the delay every time we stopped. For those of you who have known Davis a long time, you know that he's not particularly hyper, but he can get jicky (for a definition of jicky, think about that time when you had three too many cups of coffee). We all loaded back into the car with Davis at the wheel. He beat both hands on the steering wheel in agitation while we took our various seats and belted up. Then, he cranked up the radio and announced, "Let the wild rumpus begin."

DC

2009-06-04T08:41:00.000-07:00

Davis will D/C (discontinue, in medical parlance) his stay in DC on Saturday and head back into the heady world of mathematics.

Our reunion was sweet yesterday, and I can't tell you how fascinating I found it to get my capital tour from a guide I gave birth to. I won't go into the details of how, in our hurry to meet up with him, we failed to read the fine print of the sign by the parking meter that we parked next to. Big Ooooops: $100 fine and a request for towing. Luckily, Walter had gone back to put more quarters in the meter and moved the car before someone fulfilled the request.

We have plans to see DC United play tonight, but may have to ditch given the forecast for 100% chance of rain. We did get to watch three innings of McLean Little League before lightning cut the game short (and coincidentally allowed us to forego ballpark corndogs in favor of a real sitdown meal at Pucinella's). Driving back into the city was a real adventure (we had to re-route a number of times because streets were blocked by downed trees and progress on the parkways was slowed by the unexpected sheet-like, Texas-style rain dump) that required a beer at the bar before bedtime.

Davis had to pop up for work this morning, but I took it easy while WB worked out. More later.

He Gets Around

2009-05-19T12:45:00.000-07:00

Davis has two full weeks plus of work as a Congressional intern under his belt. Lest he get too comfortable, that leaves only thirteen more days before he changes venues and moves 369 miles to the north and east to internship dos: Rochester Institute of Technology.

Walter and I will head that direction by car in even less time than that to have the first of our two road trip vacations this summer. We have plans to take the southern route on the way up and stop in at Tuscaloosa, Alabama and see our dear friend and Walter's college roommate, Mort. (If you don't have a long history reading Erin's Home Page--and by long I mean as far back as November 2006--you probably want to read more about Mort so you can see why we might want to start out our trip with a stopover in Tuscaloosa.) I think this route then veers north up through Knoxville and through the Blue Ridge Mountains at the edge of Virginia and West Virginia. . .absolutely new territory for me.

But, oops, I got distracted (probably a bright, shiny object flew by just at the edge of my vision). This post is called "He Gets Around," not "His Mom and Dad Get Around." Besides his current residence in DC and his future residence in NY, Davis added another state to his summer experience by grabbing a train at Union Station (located conveniently just blocks from his house) after work last Friday and railing it to Trenton, New Jersey to visit a friend (thanks Bethany and Shari for your willingness to be on "Davis Watch" in case anything unplanned happened. It didn't.). He has also asked me to bring his passport when we go to Washington. Who knows what other side trips he has planned?

The other thing I wanted to share with you, actually does have to do with another trip Walter and I will make (in about an hour). As President of the Texas State Historical Association, Walter has some ceremonial duties at Texas History Day in Austin this week. I had not originally planned on going with him, but when the moratorium on UIL actitivies mandated by the near (far?) miss on the Swine Flu epidemic pushed the contest back a couple of weeks, my services became more valuable (Yes, I am going to be one of the replacement judges. Only about 130 of the originally scheduled 160 judges could shift their schedule around, so voila, I am promoted.).

This honor brought to mind my dear son, who as as a seventh grader (back when I was still taller than him), won the Robert Henry Chapter of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas Certificate of Award for Excellence in Texas History Studies. It made me wonder then, as it makes me wonder now, who actually joins the Daughters of the Republic of Texas these days? Perhaps the mothers of the youth who are competing at Texas History Day this week. I will have to ask around.

Adhesive

2009-05-01T13:42:00.000-07:00

And so a weird enough semester ends for Davis. He returned from his study abroad experience and had to fit back into the flow of dorm life that had started without him in August: new roommate, new routine. The sister he left when he headed back to Rice seemed as fit and robust as ever,

but by March he found himself headed home more often to get some time in with Erin as she got sicker. Even so, classes fell into place. Will Rice swept Beer/Bike. He took finals in stride and rung the old school year out with good friends and style.

And now what?

Two days at home to unpack, regroup, and pack again. Destinations: DC for five weeks; followed by Rochester until August.

So, as I paid bills today, Davis sorted through some of the laundry baskets where he had tossed everything in an effort to empty his dorm room quickly and efficiently (emphasis on quickly). Of course, he had the requisite sets of dominoes, playing cards, and poker chips. He also stacked up several re-usable, re-sealable plastic containers that I must have shoved in his hands each time he returned back to school this spring with cookies or some other kind of consumable to tide him over until he could make it to the servery. I don't know where he go the bottle of Fe-Breeze, but he claimed that it was indispensable, and I believe him.

Among the detritus was also a dozen packets of epoxy, two bottles of gorilla glue, multiple colors of duct tape, super glue and puzzle glue, foil tape, scotch tape, and masking tape.

Now I know how he kept it together all semester despite it all: a heavy investment in adhesives. And do you know, I can take complete credit for that. Eight (or more) years ago, I personally turned him on to the potential of adhesives.

That summer Davis and Robbie made a substantial investment in driving me mad as a hatter by fussing and bickering about absolutely anything and everything. They refused to played together nicely and refused, even more adamantly, to split up and spend some time apart. One afternoon, out of sheer frustration, I reached for my roll of duct tape and firmly joined them at the forearm and calf (really quite an accomplishment because Davis had started his growth spurt, but Robbie hadn't). Within moments they were best friends, trying to figure out how to run across the backyards, climb up on to the trampoline, and jump without falling into splayed shambles.

For those of you who weighed in on the storytelling poll a few weeks ago, I would like to reveal the outcome:

57% of you thought that Escape from Babysitter Mountain was true.
30% of you thought that Time Stands Still was true.
38% of you thought that The Danger Boys was true.

Do the math. Did 125% of you vote?

No. You're right some of you voted twice (maybe thrice) and you were right to do so, because Babysitter Mountain and The Danger Boys were both true stories. Congratulations to the winners. Next time the truth won't be so obvious.

Presenting. . .Ruby

2009-04-07T17:34:00.000-07:00

Davis turns 21 on Saturday.

He brought someone special home last weekend.

Her name is Ruby.

Apparently, she is our birthday present to our fine son.

P.S. There are still a few hours left to vote in the poll (see the stories below and the poll directly to your right). You can change your previous vote. In fact, you may want to in light of the launch day of the poll (April Fool's Day).

Storytime

2009-04-01T09:25:00.000-07:00

Derelict. Absolutely derelict.

How could I have let three weeks slip by without a "Report?"

Especially since during that three weeks, Davis's bike team set new records and recorded an unprecedented fourth sweep of the 52nd Annual Rice University Beer/Bike race. Beyond that, during those three weeks, Davis accepted a summer mathematics research internship offer in Rochester, New York at Rochester Institute of Technology. Then, only yesterday, he called with the news that he had been selected to captain the bike team next year and that he might want a new road bike for his 21st birthday which comes up on Easter weekend.

In honor of these accomplishments, I am offering a special glimpse into the world of Davis Buenger.

At Rice, story telling with a twist has grabbed the imagination of the students. They have made up a game where people tell stories (elaborate or simple), and everyone in the circle has to decide whether the story is true or false. Apparently Davis has gotten quite good at the game (more because of his range of interesting stories than because of his ability to lie effectively). Here are three examples. You choose which one is true.

Story 1: The Danger Boys

You all know we live out in the country, so Davis never had a neighborhood full of friends to hang out with in his idle time. He did, however, have two brothers: Jaret and Robbie, AKA The Danger Boys. I don't want to get off track with this story to give you the many examples of their behavior that led to that moniker (perhaps I'll explain some other time), but this story gives you a glimpse.

President's day of 1997 brought us brilliant weather. Davis, Robbie, and Jaret were beside themselves with the idea that they had a day off school and it was truly warm and beautiful. The Danger Boys had waited for just such a day to launch their floating trampoline. That's right, their dad/stepdad had welded sheet metal and old 55 gallon drums to the legs of their ancient trampoline, and they were ready to pull it out into the lake to give it a try. No thought that the winter lake level was really low in most parts of the lake (so that an unlucky bounce might lead to someone burying his head in the bottom of the lake. . .or worse). No thought of the bleeding potential of clamboring up onto a trampoline with random bits of sheet metal and rusty edges attached to it and submerged in the muddy waters.

I put my foot down. "No, Davis, you can not risk tetanus nor paraplegia just to go jumping around on an unstable and rickety trampoline on the middle of the lake."

Instead, we pull up lawn chairs on the back porch, where we could watch the lake, enjoy the springlike weather, and finish the book we were reading together. Bliss.

After a while, Robbie and Jaret, having survived the outing on the trampoline, headed over to our house to check us out. They had a Christmas toy with them that would record voices, then skew them, and play them back in some cracy, silly way. Of course, for eight- and eleven-year old boys the potential was enormous. They walked up and activated the machine to play some high-pitched screechy speech they had programmed. This completely startled our yellow lab, Luke, lying under Davis's chair. He scrambled his ninety pounds up to his feet, upending Davis's chair. Davis fell off the porch, the chair fell across his forearm and snapped the bones in half, and . . .

I became the mom who injured her son by reading to him on the back porch instead of letting him play with The danger Boys on the rusty, rickety floating trampoline.

Story 2: Time Stands Still

Do you know what this is?

This is the world's largest hour glass, containing enough sand to measure the elapse of exactly one year. It lives in Budapest, Hungary, where Budapest people erected it to commemorate the 1957 revolt against the communists.

What does it have to do with Davis Buenger?

Last fall, Davis had an encounter with the clock. He was driving down the road on his bicycle with his Hungarian friend when suddenly we were sidewiped by a drunk Hungarian (Hungary has the highest per capita rate of alcohol), forcing them to crash into the clock. Fortunately, they only hit the granite edge. None of the glass shattered, but the force knocked the massive clock slightly off center.

As a result of the mishap, the sand flow slowed just a smidge. The local paper confirms Davis's calculation. The sand will now take a year and a day to flow through.

Davis truly made his mark on Hungary.

Story 3: Escape from Babysitter Mountain

I made an exceptionally bad hiring decision in the summer of 1995. I needed to hire someone to watch Davis while I worked. I had done theis many times before and really thought I had a handle on hiring (usually college students) to do interesting things with him and help around the house a bit. I have to admit that the one I hired that summer buffaloed me during the interview. I promise, I would not have knowingly hired someone who would not let Davis play outside (too hot for her) and who valued her own television time more than life itself.

Luckily, Davis was a problem solver extraordinaire, even back then.

When this sitter, once again refused to let Davis play outside (even though his best friend Bradley was over) and sent them back to his room so she could watch her programs, Davis and Bradley thought of an alternative.

They spent about an hour playing with Rockin' Robot. Davis had gotten Rockin' Robot when he was about two. It was a almost indestructible cassette player shaped like a robot. For years he carried it around by it head handle, listening to his tunes and later listening to episode after episode of Hank, the Cowdog and whatever other audio books he fancied.

That day, however, they discovered Rockin' Robot's recording capabilities. For the first hour that the babysitter sat in the living room, they entertained themselves telling jokes and in general messing around with the tape player. In the second hour, they set Rockin' Robot on autoreverse play (basically a repetitive loop) and snuck out of the house down to Robbie's. The sitter would never own up to how long she went without checking on them, satisfied that she could hear them playing away happily behind the closed door in Davis's room, but I think it was several hours.

She tried to quit, saying that Davis was the nastiest little boys she had ever taken care of, but I fired her before she got to the point that she said "I quit."

Now that you have read these three stories, vote in the poll on the right for which one you think really happened.

My Van Vacationed at Mo Ranch

2009-03-08T13:01:00.001-07:00

Not everyone can afford to send their minivan on a much needed vacation. As a reward for performing admirably during its first six plus months in our family, I decided my van should go to Mo Ranch without me. I found six young men, Davis included to chaperon her trip. I'm glad she got to go. Here's one of the panoramic views she got to see.

She didn't swim in the river, but her chaperons did. She also had trouble fitting on the sled on the Mo Slide. Here's Davis encouraging her up the steps.

With that refreshing trip (I'm sure she took advantage of the Mo Ranch amenities), she is ready for another twenty thousand miles of grunt work around town and on the highway.

The Return of the Prince

2009-02-27T13:27:00.000-08:00

Walter and Davis will roll up shortly for a week of respite from the grind of college life. This afternoon Erin made him a mandarin orange cheesecake and grated dark chocolate with almonds on top. I wonder if there will be any left when he arrives?

If it's all gone, perhaps Willie will distract him with multiple licks and jump ups.

I just want to say that having a grown son who I can talk to on an even basis, instead of having to parent all the time has been a big and unexpected blessing.

The Dragon Riddle Resolved

2009-02-18T10:37:00.000-08:00

Since I teased you with Davis's riddle, I thought I might show some mercy and give you the solution (I have also attached a copy of Davis's recent topology homework. Let me know which one makes the most sense to you).

HOMEWORK:

SOLUTION TO THE DRAGON RIDDLE:

If the product of the ages is 1 or a prime number, then you could easily deduce the ages (for example: if the dragon whispered to Geoff, "7", then Geoff would know the children were age 1 and age 7). Since he did not know that from the start, you can eliminate all prime numbers as possible products.

From there you could make two tables, one for products and one for sums, starting with the simplest non-prime products:

Product: (Possible Factors)

4: (4 x 1) (2 x 2)
6: (6 x 1) (3 x 2)
8: (8 x 1) (4 x 2)
9: (9 x 1) (3 x 3)
10: (10 x 1) (5 x 2)

And one for sums, starting with the lowest possible sum from the pairs in the table above:
Sum: (Possible Addends)
4: (3+1, 2+2)
5: (4+1, 3+2)
6: (5+1, 4+2, 3+3)
7: (6+1, 5+2, 4+3)

After "7" the number of possible addition combinations becomes too large for Sailesh to ever know the answer (clue #4, below).

Now, let's proceed. Assume initially that the product of the ages is 4 (the lowest composite).

Geoff tells Sailesh that he does not know the answer, it could be either 1 and 4, or 2 and 2. Still assuming that the dragon had whispered "4" into Geoff's ear, Sailesh would have heard either 4 or 5. If Sailesh’s sum were 4, he would have two possible combinations: 1 and 3, or 2 and 2. If this were the case, rather than answering "I don't know the ages either," he would "I know the ages." This is because he could eliminate 1 and 3 on the assumption that Geoff would have said he knew the ages if they were 1 and 3 (prime). If that were the case, Sailesh would say the ages were 2 and 2.

Since he did not know, we can eliminate those two age combinations. The remaining option is a sum of 5.

From the table we can again see that there are two possible combinations for a sum of 5: 1 and 4, or 2 and 3. Since the product of neither of these combinations can be multiplied into a prime, Sailesh also has to admit he does not know the ages either. This declaration would provide Geoff with the information that that the sum the dragon told to Sailesh was 5, not 4.

Geoff would then know that the product of the ages is 4 and the sum of the ages is 5, therefore at least one possibility is that the ages are 1 and 4.

The interesting thing about this riddle is not actually trying to solve it yourself as if you are Geoff or Sailesh, but to use the conversation the two of them and your assumption of their perfect logic to solve it.

Thus, what needs to happen next is to show the uniqueness of the answer 1 and 4. You do that by examining other combinations in the tables and see if the conversation between Geoff and Sailesh could have occurred the way it did with any other dragon ages.

Go back to the sum table. We have already elimated certain sums (5 +1 and 3+1) because the product of those ages equal prime numbers.

Another case are numbers like 3 + 2 (or 4 +2, 3 + 3, 6 + 1, 5 + 2, or 4 +3 or even larger sums). In these cases, Geoff's second statement (that "now I know the ages") would be impossible for any of these examples. Take specifically dragon ages of 3 and 2. If Geoff knew the product of these two (6), he could only guess if the dragons were 1 and 6 or 3 and 2. He has no basis for eliminating one to arrive at the statement "now I know the ages." The same logic applies to other sums listed in the table.

That leaves only 2 and 2 and numbers larger than the ones listed above. I showed how 2 and 2 were eliminated above (when Geoff knew the answer was not 1 and 3) .

Davis will be home in about a week. Because his semester started so early, his spring break starts a week from Friday. I think he will need the rest.

The Dragon Riddle

2009-02-09T07:02:00.000-08:00

Everyone knows that dragon's love riddles. So, it follows naturally that Davis is sponsoring another contest for his classmates. I think you can enter, too. Here's how it goes, according to the e-mail he sent me:

For the pursuit of glory and riches, I present to you a challenge of wit and will power. Whosoever solves this problem will be awarded a king’s treasure of $20 and be known throughout the college as the one who slayed the dragon.

One day Sailesh, in full armor, was walking with his serf, Geoffrey, through the grove, when suddenly a dragon swooped down and pinned them to the ground. The dragon, being quite merciful, told Sailesh and Geoffrey that she would eat them unless they could name the ages of the dragon’s two children (both positive integers).

[ASIDE, inserted by Davis's mom: you can tell by the reference to positive integers that you have to know math to figure out this riddle].

In Geoffrey’s ear the dragon whispered the product of the two ages. In Sailesh’s ear the dragon whispered the sum of the two ages. Their conversation went as follows:

Geoff: "I don’t know the ages."
Sailesh: "I don’t know the ages, either."
Geoff: "Now I know the ages."
Sailesh: "Now I know the ages, too."

What are the ages assuming Sailesh and Geoff have perfect logic?

Which is more interesting to you? That Davis knows the answer to this riddle or that he would sponsor a contest among his peers with a monetary reward to solve the riddle.

Creativity

2009-01-28T09:39:00.000-08:00

I caught a glimpse of Davis on Tuesday. He biked over to clinic to deliver his phone. The screen goes white regularly, and it has seen better days in other ways as well. So, I'll carry it down to my phone guy.

ASIDE: Do you have a phone guy? I have had the same phone guy, John Miller, since I got my first cell phone in 1999. He used to try to talk me into fancy phones, phones with features, anything beyond the phone that comes free with a contract extension. He doesn't even try anymore. He knows we are not hip, and he knows that we don't care if everybody else knows we're not hip, too. We don't listen to music, surf the web, or take photos with our phones. We don't use them for navigation nor for watching live television. We make phone calls. We receive phone calls. If I need to communicate with a teenager, I text, always in complete sentences with proper punctuation.

Anyway, Davis needs a new phone, and his only parameter is size: the smaller the better. In fact, his first choice is so small I think it will get lost in his pocket.

Anyway, Davis biked over to clinic to deliver the phone and give me a hug. He got there about ten after 9:00; his first class started at 9:25. You can imagine the in-depth and intricate conversation we shared.

I'm probably lucky I got a glimpse and a hug. Davis has taken on a lot this semester. He is taking seventeen hours and auditing three more, has taken on a job grading Math 366: Euclidean Geometry, and has just put the finishing touches on his applications for summer internships and research opportunities. Intramural soccer has started, and his bike team is holding time trials regularly to make sure everyone takes training seriously.

I think keeping busy will keep him out of some sorts of trouble, but I should have warned him about its stultifying effect on creativity. If he fills his days with classes and work and exercising, how will he think of interesting things for me to write about on The Report? Has he thought about that, I wonder? Probably not, he doesn't have time.

Infrastructure

2009-01-14T14:01:00.000-08:00

President-elect Barack Obama recently promised to make “the single largest new investment in our national infrastructure since the creation of the federal highway system in the 1950s." He stole Davis's idea.

Consider the potential impact of building multi-armed turbines (while trying to overlook the downside problem that birds may be attracted to a tree-shaped turbine base).

Seriously, the second dam break in Tennessee last week and the resulting hard-to-clean spill signals a great need for TVA-era infrastructure re-development. One problem that the administration faces is the dearth of "shovel-ready" projects that could start contributing to the larger economy sooner rather than later. Again, Davis has one-upped the incoming administration.

According to Davis, the current and planned construction on the Rice campus fits the bill. Rice is involved in building new colleges, rebuilding old ones, adding new labs, and even building a student rec center. The rebuilds are especially valuable to the economic recover of the nation.

Last year one of the ceilings collapsed in Davis's dorm, and the effected students had to live for a month in another room. Clearly, this fits the definition of shovel-ready. Plus, the improved living space will be substantially greener than what it replaces. The previous dorms were build in the fifties and leak heat in the winter and cold in the summer. The new and/or improved buildings would consume less coal and electricity, supporting the long term viability of Rice. Along with reduced consumption comes a reduction in costs. Following the impact argument about infrastructure, the investment in the beauty and value of the Rice Institute would increase its competitiveness in the national market.

Now, anyone who has had their commute re-routed for bridge upgrading or highway construction knows that infrastructure projects are a pain in the proverbial heel of the loaf. Davis hasn't been immune from those concerns: He recently wrote:

"The increasing number of of construction workers on the campus forced, the administration to open the center of the bike track [NOTE OF EXPLANATION: the bike track is the sacred home to the Rice beer-bike teams, a sanctuary of sorts to Davis and his compadres.] to parking. This has greatly increased the risk of biking. Just think of combining tired construction workers driving across a track where bikers are madly racing along at 30 mph with limited stopping ability."

Ever the optimist, Davis wrote on:

"But with proper planning, the hassles of the construction crew can be avoided. For the most part they have been restrained and cautious when approaching the track. Indeed I've had more trouble with pedestrians and other bikes than cars. On the bright side, the inner track parking lot closes at 4:00 pm, and the police have been unrelenting in giving tickets to the tardy removers. So after 4 no problems."

Other than a concern with infrastructure and and an equal concern with keeping his bike track clear, Davis is great. He has a week and a half of the semester under his belt, has taken advantage of the dry weather to log a bunch of miles on his bike, and he got back on the pitch last night with his championship-defending soccer squad. He did seem appropriately (how should I say this?) awed? disconcerted? put off? when I mentioned a little tidbit about one of his classmates. It seems that I still have my mojo going and the Six Degrees of Separation and The Mom's Network are more truth than fiction, when I can hear through a friend, who heard through an acquaintance, who heard through a relative, who heard through a classmate of Davis's about something going on in one of his classes.

I highly recommend cultivating the illusion of omniscience with your children. It's the ultimate investment in infrastructure.

Hungarian Retrospective

2009-01-05T08:28:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure what drives the Rice University calender, but Walter drove Davis back to Houston yesterday so that he could start class this morning at 9:00. They left early enough to beat the cold front to Houston, which meant that Davis and Sam could get a decent training (bike) ride in before the weather turned cold and nasty on them. We hated to see him go so soon.

Davis definitely brought a little Hungary (and a little hungry) back with him. I have the habit of buying everyone in the family a gift from a fair trade catalog every Christmas (whether they want it or not) and labeling it "From The World." I have never, however, actually traveled beyond my living room to procure said gifts. This year Walter, Erin, my mom, and I actually received presents brought from somewhere other than home, namely Hungary. The theme: purple, the most with it, happening color in continental Europe this season. A shirt for Erin, scarf for Walter, and hats for my mother and me.

Davis also brought photos that captured various aspects of his life in Budapest over the last five months:

Who knows what this semester will hold? After having four math classes and a political philosophy course last fall, he is mixing it up some: Spanish, either semantics or a study of gnosticism, history of Iraq, topology (math), and I think some hours doing math research. I just skyped with him, using the video, and I can say with confidence that he has resumed Rice life with no problem. I think an afternoon nap was in his immediate future plans.

The Audacity of Hop

2008-12-26T14:03:00.000-08:00

Davis's buddy Adam sent photos of his family's pre-Christmas vacation to the beach near Canberra. I don't know what I expected to see on my first view of an Australian beach--maybe a bikini clad beauty carrying a Vegemite sandwich or perhaps strapping young men wearing hats with the brim cocked up on one side. I did not expect to see kangaroos. Nor did I expect that the Tjoelkers could walk right up and pet them. And I certainly didn't think they would feel soft like bunnies instead of coarse like, I don't know, goats.

Well, I kind of got it right about the hats.

And continuing with the hop theme. Davis hopped aboard his transcontinental flight last Saturday and headed home. You already knew that. Do you know what he had in his suitcase [guess now and I will tell you later]?

There is (literally) a grassroots movement in Budapest where people in the parkolas group build littles parks in parkings spaces around the city. They will capture a parking space, fill it with turf and other plants, and temporarily make a little miniature park in the space. Davis witnessed this happening a few weeks ago, and for his support the group gave him his own tulip bulb.

Fast forward to the day the tulip started to sprout, which coincidentally was also the day that Davis left Hungary. When he touched down in Houston, he called us to let us know he made it safely onto Texas soil. He also expressed concern about bringing illegal contraband home in his suitcase. Apparently, he was unwilling to leave his friend the tulip bulb, in a cold, heartless apartment [Did you guess he brought a tulip bulb--that he did not get in Rotterdam--home from Budapest? Were you thinking paprika? Hungarian wine? Lace? A porcelain doll?]. As he explained on the phone, he hoped it would be okay, even though it was a foreign (and thus forbidden) plant, because he had declared it on his customs form.

As soon as he hung up the businessmen who sat around him, eavesdropping on his conversation, wanted to call the flight attendant over and get him a new customs forms, so that he could undeclare the tulip bulb. He refused to try to sneak it in (this is so Davis, and I'm proud that he doesn't have a deceptive bone in his body), and of course it didn't clear customs. Imagine it blooming in a trash can in Bush Airport in Houston.

Anyway, even if the tulip didn't make it to Bryan safely Davis did, which brings us to the final episode of Hop(e).

Davis doesn't ask for much for birthday or Christmas. He lives a "more is less" lifestyle. Shopping for him becomes a challenge (you mothers will understand) because I feel some pressure to keep the stacks approximately even (amount spent, # of gifts, etc., between Erin and Davis). When he told me in November the new fashion color in 2009 was going to be yellow because it stood for optimism and hope, I knew what he would have under the tree:

Return of the Prince: a Pseudo-Photographic Essay

2008-12-21T13:31:00.000-08:00

All I can say I'm glad my skill as a photographer is not my main bread-earning talent. I attempted to photograph Davis's first moment on the ground in Bryan last night and ended up with this dark, blurry, indistinguishable, but grainy image [note: the green blob in the bottom corner of the photo is not an olive, but in fact is Erin, waiting as close to the door as security would allow]. At this point, if we rely on photographic evidence, none of us are really sure if this is Davis or some stranger walking up:

Then, I tried to capture the pure joy of my children greeting each other [my hand must have been shaking with joy?]:

Oh well, Davis made it home, whether I have a photographic record of the event or not. The dogs will testify that those blurry images in the pictures actually smelled like Davis.

My mom thought it smelled like him, too.

The only way I truly knew that we had the real Davis, and not some cheap, Eastern European imitation was to take him to Gina's. Since it was the last thing we did before he left, it made sense for it to be the first thing we did when he returned.

The person with us order Los Bomberos (The Firemen's Special). At the end of the meal we were pretty sure the Prince had returned.

Still Counting Down

2008-12-19T08:13:00.000-08:00

Davis has finished packing, played his last game of beer pong with his BSM (Budapest Semesters in Mathematics) compadres, done a little Christmas shopping, visited the automatic teller machine for his final batch of forints, and collected all his grades (A pluses in two of his course, woohoo!). I think he leaves for the airport in about ten or twelve hours. His final task: leaving a note for next semester's students who will take his place in the program.

What can you say in a letter to prepare someone for five months in an eastern European city studying math with some renowned professors?

Directions to the basketball court, the soccer cage, and the ultimate frisbee course.
Combination to the lock for the bike you are leaving for your successor.
Advice on local shops and shopkeepers about how to buy shortening (and other delights).

I'm not sure what else, but I'm sure whatever else Davis has to say will be interesting.

Dutch Boy

2008-12-09T09:30:00.000-08:00

Did I mention I would only have to wait eleven more days until Davis returned from Hungary and joined the family in their pre-Christmas celebrations?

We missed him at Thanksgiving and had originally planned a week in Budapest and surroundings, just to see him and enjoy the benefit of him studying abroad. Alas, with the uncertainty of Erin's treatments and general health we had to bag that plan. Thanksgiving isn't actually a Hungarian holiday, so Davis didn't have days off from school that would allow him an extended vacation. Our nephew, Matt Taylor, found himself in similar circumstances, far from home on Thanksgiving for the first time and little time off for a vacation (Matt works for Price Waterhouse Coopers in Rotterdam).

Davis boldly made flight plans on Wizz Air (does that name inspire trust? or at least the promise of inflight bathroom facilities?) and took a weekend in another country. Matt took Davis on a walking tour of the city center on Friday night followed by dinner at a Mexican restaurant (I thought Rotterdam was in The Netherlands, not Mexico). On Saturday, being strapping young men, they went to the gym, relaxed a little, then went to see 19 old windmills in Kinderdijk, a small town 25 minutes outside Rotterdam. After seeing the windmills, they cooked Thanksgiving dinner in Matt's apartment and had some friends over.

Middle School Projects

2008-11-23T12:45:00.000-08:00

Erin has entered Project World, the time in middle school that every teacher gives an at-home project every six weeks, just to drive parents crazy. This madness takes one of several forms:

Some parents join right in and do perfect project after perfect project on behalf of their children.

Other parents avoid the actual work, but feel compelled to harangue their children every day. . ."have you started yet?" "have you made any progress?" "do you need supplies?" "are you almost through?"

Others use projects to make social comparisons and one up other parents (usually those with less accomplished progeny).

So far Erin has made a Day-of-the-Dead alter for Spanish, a made-up continent for social studies, a mutimedia presentation about England for technology applications, and prepared a debate on drilling in the Alaskan Wilderness Preserve for science. She also worked on some sort of paper for English about the book, Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor. It's this last project that qualifies this entry for the Davis Report.

Back in the fall of 2000, Davis read that book for 7th grade English and did a project of his own. I think he and Robbie Mondragon, his buddy and neighbor, did a dramatic re-enactment of the personal conflict between two of the central chacracters in the book: Cassie and Mary Lou. Here is the photographic record:

Besides the obvious quality of their project, the other thing worth noting is the penguin. As soon as Erin saw the boys dressing up in the costumes, Erin ran to transform herself into a penguin, the under-explored, and under-analyzed character in Roll of Thunder.

The penguin also provides the perfect segue into Davis's most recent experience: it snowed in Hungary yesterday for the first time this fall. Davis had seen snow as a two-year ol in Nashville, Tennessee, but he had no recollection of the multiple times I dressed him in long johns, flannel pants, coveralls, snowboots, mittens, and overcoat only to follow him outside for seven minutes before he got too cold or a little damp and started lobbying to go back inside for "mo co co" [translation: more cocoa] "Mo co co" is the first full phrase Davis ever spoke. His older cousin Matthew Taylor taught it to him to drive me crazy. I am going to have my revenge though because Matt is currently stationed in Rotterdam, The Netherlands, where he works for Price Waterhouse, etc. etc. I am sending Davis there for Thanksgiving, which they don't celebrate as a holiday in Hungary, and I am going to instruct Davis to persistently ask for "Mo co co."

Anyway, after meandering down memory lane, let's return to modern Budapest where Davis has encountered increasingly cold weather. Recollect that this is the Davis I know to abhor temperatures under 70 degrees Farhenheit. Yesterday, on Skype he claimed to have to argue with his fellow students from Minnesota about the state of the window in the classroom each morning. I assumed they wanted it open and he wanted to avoid temps in the 30s.

I got it wrong. He bikes to school every morning, and by the time he's in class, he's warmed up like toast. He has to use his best negotiation skilss to get his peers to keep the window open so that he can get some air and cool down.

Since he's a math major now, the number of projects he has has dwindled to a trickle. He wakes up each day, cleans up his apartment, makes breakfast (hashbrowns and eggs), bikes to class, and plays some pick up basketball. Afterward he rides home, tunes in to Keith Olberman on TV, works homework problems, then goes to the gym. After awork out he fixes dinner and eats, and of course works more homework problems. He might catch the Daily Show on delay broadcast and works some more homework problems. Then, he sleeps. No projects, and it's sort of a loss.

Davis has always been a project sort of a guy (subject of a later entry, I promise). Here's proof. As an 8th grader, he made a model of a DNA atom using a rainbow of sculpi modeling clay and toothpicks. It included actual representations of all the single and double bonds in the double helix. He got no help from either parent, except to carry it into the school. It is still on display in the 8th grade science room.

Sunset on Budapest

2008-11-03T15:35:00.001-08:00

No Teens in the House. . .

2008-10-17T09:28:00.000-07:00

Or so I thought. Davis turned twenty last April. Erin is a year and a half away from 13. I have been enjoying the only two teen-free years I will have over an almost two decade period.

Enjoying them, until Wednesday night, when teen Willie emerged. I haven't written about Willie in a long time. Most of you probably assumed that he had reached his majority, calmed down, and settled in for the long, comfortable adult years at Buenger Place.

Not so much.

If typical teen behavior includes things like emotional ups and downs, sporadic withdrawal from the family, worrying about one's appearance and weight, and increased argumentativeness, then I still have a teen in the house.

Walter, Erin, and I had situated ourselves around the living room, reading our respective books and waiting for dinner and the presidential debate. Teddy tucked herself in near Erin. Willie just couldn't decide what to do (the term loose ends comes to mind). He'd noodge over next me or Walter, but when we offered our lap he would turn around and run back to his (really Davis's) room. A few minutes later he would trudge into the living room, poke at Teddy to get a rise out of her and when she responded, jump up onto Walter's lap and pretend he was asleep. Twice Walter had to get up and slide Willie off his lap to answer the phone. Willie pouted both times and spurned Walter's offer to resume his snuggling. The second time, he actually walked away from Walter's coaxing, put his head behind the sofa, and started heaving like he was going to puke. Honestly, I never imagined I'd have a bulimic dog. Thursday he picked a fight with a visiting dog in the neighborhood. This morning he was perfectly pleasant.

Why is this Willie story here instead of Erin's page, where I usually write about him? Davis is the one who figured it out. I was complaining and laughing (sort of) to Davis about Willie's behavior. He said something like "typical teenager," and it dawned on me that I didn't need an animal behavorial specialist to treat Willie's erratic behavior. I just needed to be patient and let the harmones run their course. How long do a neutered dog's teenage years last?

The Play's the Thing

2008-10-08T13:24:00.000-07:00

Davis presented a weighty parenting problem almost from the start. He stayed in a home day care as a two-year old. . ."did you know he can count much further than all the other children?" He started pre-school as a young four. . . "did you know he can add figures in his head with no manipulatives?" Then, there was kindergarten. . ."he can come up with more problem solving strategies when we do calender predictions than everyone else in the class combined and multiplied by two."

As a first-time mother, I had no point of comparison. I assumed he was bright, but I guess I also assumed everyone else's kid could add in their head, know their multiplications tables by the end of first grade, and love to talk about he concepts of pi and infinity. When I finally realized those weren't necessarily typical behaviors, I worried. Maybe Davis was special and if I didn't educate him "right," I would screw him up. I started lobbying the school for more advanced math. I think I was obnoxious. No. I take that back. I know I was obnoxious.

Finally, Davis's school got him a buddy through a program at the school. Kids struggling in reading had buddies to read with them. Kids with unstable homes got buddies to hang out with and help them feel special. Davis got a buddy to do math with him. His buddy was Dr. Morris Gelber, a professor emeritus from the university. In my mind, I pictured Dr. Gelber and Davis doing higher level math problems and sophisticated analyses. I figured Davis would skip several grades in math and that under the tutelage of a professor he would learn math secrets (and ultimately that I would not have the opportunity to screw things up). Davis would come home happy on his buddy day (actually if I tell the truth, I should say that Davis came home happy every day). Finally, after a month or so I got a chance to visit with Dr. Gelber on the phone. I wanted to pump him about which math programs were best and what books and manipulatives I should invest in to support his development. He flattened me with his response: "Just let him play." Huh? "Just let him play with numbers, patterns, concepts. . .whatever he's interested in. . .whatever he likes. . ." But, I say, what if he skips over things. What if I don't explain things correctly or if I introduce concepts at home in the wrong order. "It doesn't matter," Gelber replied patiently, "If he doesn't get it now he'll get it later. Just let him play."

Best advice I ever got. You can't ruin kids by letting them play.

Davis reminded me of this advice this week. Not that he was ever privy to the conversation or to my mothering strategy regarding his interest and abilities in math. He sent me a photo series by email. Apparently, Davis has discovered the free-form and novel playground equipment favored by Hungarians. I think the message is we should all stop pressing a little and get out and play.

This first image is a lopsided circle on some sort of track. Davis often sees dads holding little kids under the arm or clasping their hand as they first walk then later run around this loop. The trick is that the blue part isn't stationary. It moves like a treadmill when you take steps. The divots in the sand mark the unexpected landing spots for kids that get flung off the circle.

Davis also likes this collection of equipment. The poles in the back actually have a corkscrew shape. Kids move the colored platform up the pole, stand on it, they twirl round as it spins down the screw. The front, boat-shaped structure, actually works sort of like a Nordic-trac. Kids stand on the black platform, hang on the post in the middle and then slide up and down the track laterally, much like like Pharoah's Fury at the Kemah Boardwalk.

If you don't like the playground, you can always explore the island in the middle of the river near the park:

Or play soccer in the cage.

Don't Climb Alone Revisited

2008-09-22T15:21:00.000-07:00

Davis and I decided to take another pass at the mountain cake entry, mainly because his original description didn't translate as marvelously over Skype [nota bene: did you know that Skype was developed by a software team from Tallinn, Estonia. Who says necessity is not the mother of invention?] as it could have and so I missed a lot of the flavor of Davis's cake party, both literally and metaphorically.

For instance, I wrote:
Make sure you bake your cake in a foreign country, where you don't speak the language and have to rely on interpreters to ask the grocer for basic ingredients like shortening? Check.

What I could have written:

Davis and his roommate Ragav went to the grocery store (that apparently resembles the store on Little House on the Prairie, if not in the range and type of goods, but in the service aspect. You ask for what you want and the grocer may help you find it). Here's the conversation:

D: "The recipe requires shortening. Have you seen any?"

R: "No, let me call Steve and have him look it up in Hungarian. Then we can ask the manager."

...

R: "Steve says we should look for zsir."
D: "Bochono, zsir?" (as you can see Davis's Hungarian is quite advanced)

Davis and Ragav follow the manager, and he shows them a row of packages with animal pictures on the fronts. He starts handing them different packages: a cow, a pig, a duck, and finally a goose. The manager handed Davis the one with the goose. He looked at it from all angles and finally found a couple of words in English: duck lard. Apparently zsir in Hungarian is lard not merely shortening. "Zsir" had unlocked the world of Hungarian lard and they found more lard than they ever wanted. It was at this point that Davis remembered that you could replace shortening with butter.

I also wrote:

Plan on making it a foot high and shaped like a mountain peak? Check.

I should have written

To make a cake a foot tall, start with three oblong cakes and slice and stack them until they resemble a mountain, and three tubs of ice cream, a copious supply of chocolate syrup, and of course, as much whipped cream as your can add without the whole thing tumbling over.

Illustration:

I wrote:

Invite eighteen friends and acquaintances over to enjoy the inaugural version of the cake? Check.

But a picture is worth a thousand words:

When I mentioned that Davis looked happy, what I meant was he looked ecstatic and thrilled:

I don't want to draw too much moral significance about a cake party in Hungary, but I do want to salute efforts around the world in places both more meager and grander than Davis's apartment, where people come together and create positive experiences for one another.

I think it's easy to fall into the trap built around our work stations and laptops. The virtual world can be kinder and in some ways more satisfying than the rest of our lives. We can keep out finger on the pulse of national elections and financial markets, entertain ourselves with games and blogs, and when that's not enough watch television loops from the Daily Show (that we miss because we fall asleep too early to watch in real time). It's easy to sit for hours. . . by yourself . . . all alone.

Sometimes the mountain comes to Mohamed, and sometimes your friends are the ones who bring it.

Never Climb Alone

2008-09-16T14:24:00.000-07:00

If you had never in your life baked a cake, not even from a box mix, what would you do?

Plan on making it a foot high and shaped like a mountain peak? Check.

How about choosing two complicated scratch recipes (Texas mud on the bottom; chocolate pudding cake on the upper stories) from the internet? Check.

Make sure you bake your cake in a foreign country, where you don't speak the language and have to rely on interpreters to ask the grocer for basic ingredients like shortening? Check.

Use borrowed cake pans and a rental apartment oven? Check.

Invite eighteen friends and acquaintances over to enjoy the inaugural version of the cake? Check.

Buy plenty of milk? Check.

That's what you would do if you were Davis, and the First Annual Chocolate Mountain Cake party held last Saturday was a grand success. One of his friends commented that she had never seen someone look as happy as Davis did when he walked through the kitchen door, carrying the cake out to the gathered guests. Davis's motto? Every adventurer knows that if you're going to make a mountain of a cake, you should "Never Climb Alone." Apparently there weren't many leftovers.

School Starts Tomorrow

2008-09-07T08:12:00.000-07:00

Davis may not have had much to say about his two-week intense Hungarian language class (and if he had something to say, chances are, I wouldn't have understood anyway), but he has enjoyed the long weekend break before real classes start tomorrow. Hungary played Denmark in World Cup qualifier yesterday, and Davis got to attend and practice his Hungarian by chanting all the cheers. His group managed to squirrel their way into the section where the hooligans sit, so they got the full experience: cheers, jeers, flag waving, face painting, and all the vocabulary words they hadn't learned in the previous two weeks. In the end Hungary kicked off their Qualifying Group 1 campaign by holding Denmark to a goalless draw. European soccer gets so intense that the opposing team is locked up after the game to protect them from the home team fans.

Another tourist-y thing Davis did during his break was bike ride to a neighboring city, riding along the river to the north. This adventure gave my stock a little bump up. Davis explained that the group had stopped in a picturesque spot and some rock skipping on the river ensued. He was amazed at how poorly a couple of girls in his group skipped rocks and how little they improved even with his eager and expert coaching. He told me, "Mom, I never appreciated how skilled you were at skipping and how easy it seemed when you taught me and Erin how to skip rocks. I thought everyone could do it."

Erin and Davis have begun plotting a new activity. They are going to throw simultaneous Chocolate Mountain cake parties: Two continents, two mountain cakes. More fun. Now, we just need to figure out how to make a mountain out of a cake recipe.

Cage Soccer and Other Hungarian Delights

2008-08-26T10:04:00.000-07:00

What do you mention in your first call home if you are a newcomer to Budapest?

The extremely cheap price of beer? Check.

The fact that you looked out your apartment window the first morning and saw someone walking down the sidewalk laden with shopping bags stop, pee against the building, then move blithely along? Check.

The plan that you are going to play soccer in a cage? Check. (See the Nike video below to imagine cage soccer. Bear in mind that Davis is not playing on a boat.)

What can a parent expect from the second call home if the first one contained so much. . .information?

Well, there was mention of the sacred national holiday last Wednesday, honoring St. Stephen. How would you honor the person who founded the Hungarian state 1000 years ago and brought Christianity to the people?

Give everyone the day off from work and school.
Plan a sacred ceremony to bless the bread.
Bake thousands of special birthday cakes.
Don't leave out the spectacular archery show, performed by the world-famous Lajos Kassai Horeback Archers highlighting why western Europe feared the Hungarians in the nineteenth century.
Make sure everyone has a great seat at the main event, the Red Bull Air Race up and down the Danube?

If you like airplanes, speed and lots of noise, the Red Bull Air Race is for you. Race officials set up an obstacle course with inflatable pylons in the middle of the Danube River and had smallish planes racing in and out of them through the middle of the city. If you are having a hard time visualizing this, think of the pod races in the Star Wars movie when Anakin Skywalker is a boy and not yet a jedi or Darth Vader.

Beyond the festivities, Davis is making a daily life for himself. He likes his two roommates, Dan and Ragav, quite a great deal and has cooked for them a couple of times (sorry no photos). I think he was taken by surprise by how old and rundown the part of the city he lives in was, but he solved that problem by buying a bicycle of his second day there. Now he can move about and discover more scenic spots, for instance the Citadel area where you can see the Hungarian Liberty Statue:

Davis is in the midst of an intensive Hungarian (which is an agglutinating language kin to Finnish and don't think that's a boatload of fun) class that will end the middle of next week, then he will have a long weekend before his classes start on September 8. The biggest problem left for him to conquer is the cultural differences concerning water. While the water is high quality in Budapest, it's not that readily available in restaurants and cafes unless you request it and pay for it. Since Davis drinks a lot of water (he used to carry it by the gallon to out-of-town soccer matches), the servers have a tough time keeping up. Hence he is thirsty all of the time.

Lift Off

2008-08-18T07:14:00.000-07:00

Davis didn't bounce right out of bed last Thursday morning in anticipation of a 4:40 p.m. departure of his Houston-Paris-Budapest flights.

In fact, by lunchtime he was still bleary eyed (perhaps with the attempt to convert to Central European Summer Time, seven hours ahead of Texas time, before he traveled).

By the time we loaded the van with his three suitcases and two carryons he had lost patience with my plan to photo document his last day at home for the next eighteen weeks.

He relented to a few more shots at the airport:

And then he was gone.

Festival and Other Stuff

2008-08-13T06:38:00.000-07:00

On Monday, Davis, Erin, Nico, and Adam celebrated the impending start of the school year by holding the 1st Annual Back-to-School Leisure Lake Cypress Ball Toss Festival. It may be impossible to explain the significance of this festival or even its origins, but suffice it to say that delighted crowds (note I said delighted, not large) gathered to watch various contests of skill and chance involving the four intrepid ball tossers. They now have upped the chances that when Erin has her summer break from college, she will kayak around the lake and note with pride the increased number of cypress seedlings holding court at the edge of the lake.

Davis is almost packed for his departure, and unless we remember something important at the last minute (like I have secretly been hiding his visa all summer), I think he is ready. Last night I did have a breakthrough moment. We were all sitting around watching the Olympics and discussing packing options and wondering what would happen if Davis got to the airport and his suitcase weighed more than 50 pounds: would they just charged him more or would he have to take things out to get down to the right weight. This led to more discussion about paring down what he was taking, choosing which suitcases to use, and how to distribute what was in each. We brought the bathroom scales down (the big suitcase weighed 16 pounds empty) and started to re-vamp plans. I decided we needed to check the airline rules online before we made any decisions, and lucky that I did. First class passengers (Davis is going first class thanks to free airline miles) can carry three (not two) suitcases and each can weigh up to seventy pounds (not fifty). It appears that everything we speculated about became moot at that moment.

We have our Skype accounts set up for free international phoning. We rented Davis a Euro-ready cell phone as a back up. We bought outlet adapters for his electronics. We have to find the airport and gate on time, but since it's about eight minutes from our house and there are only two gates, I think that's under control. Now, all I have to do is worry what he will do during his nine hour layover in Paris. The possibilities are endless. What would you do?

Tomorrow is D(eparture) Day. Let the adventure begin.

Home Again, Home Again Jiggety Jig

2008-07-27T13:54:00.000-07:00

You knew that the human family members looked forward to Davis's return to Bryan and had planned a suitable celebration. Did the canine members anticipate his arrival just as fervently? At least two members of the canine household weighed in in favor, and frankly, I think a randomized poll would indicate unanimous and enthusiastic support among the dogs (to the extent that ancient Luke is aware of anything beyond his food bowl and that Uma cares about any human). I had to pay Willie and Teddy a tall stack of Milkbones for their serious looks in this photo. The rest of their waking moments they have raced around the house in joy and ebullience, celebrating the return of their young man and hoping to lick his various body parts.

Erin had an equally thrilled, if less rambunctious, reaction to Davis's return. She spent about seven and a half hours in the kitchen on Friday, whipping up a homecoming supper that included, in addition to fatted calf, curried cauliflower, a pasta salad, naan bread, and her signature fruit tarts. Excuse her disheveled look in the photo, but she wanted to dig in rather than freshen up after the "big cook".

We have a lot to fit in during the remaining nineteen days until Davis's departure for Hungary. Plus, we leave on Tuesday for family vacation to New Mexico (how can you beat hiking and horse racing?). That means we have a limited amount of time to get organized and packed for his four month trip. It's hard to know how to prepare for life seven time zones away that shares the same latitude as Minneapolis. . .

Of course, laundry and some shopping made the playlist yesterday. Today, Davis concentrated on shedding. In Davis language, shedding means thinning out his personal possessions. We have moved on about half his vinyl LP collection and a similar percentage of his clothing. If you are tall, thin, and have eclectic tastes (music or clothing), drop me a line, and I'll share some of his sheddings with you. He has also pulled out his machine to do some much needed repairs.

Davis's Pittsburgh

2008-07-21T07:08:00.000-07:00

Maybe when you think of Pittsburgh you picture smoke stacks and steel works, possibly a crumbling city with more than its share of pollution and less than its share of glamour or culture. That doesn't match our view, but come to think of it, everyone has their own image of that city. Case in point: Davis's Pittsburgh differs from Erin's significantly. Oh yeah, they both have rivers, but Erin's view of the true Pittsburgh tends towards Kennywood and the quirky flamingos at the Conservatory, and Davis's is decidedly more, I don't know, Davis-like. He has embraced the concept of public transportation (he secured bus passes for all of us before our arrival so we didn't have to figure out fares or carry loose change). Rarely did we step on a bus together that he didn't know someone already riding, and he delightedly reported that after we left Pittsburgh he found two locals thrilled to use the remaining days on our passes.

When you mention Pittsburgh food, most people envision items from the following food groups: Heniz ketchup, Clark Bars, Klondikes, Primanti Brother's sandwiches (garnished with vinegar based cole slaw and French fries), Iron City Beer, and Isaly's Chipped ham. Davis automatically thinks of bananas and canned tuna (which have comprised the staples in his diet since his arrival). Despite his love for bananas and tuna, he took us to some very fine eateries, including an Ethiopian restaurant and a very tasty Indian restaurant. Erin could never understand why we didn't eat Mexican in Pittsburgh, but that wasn't on the playlist.

Here are two views from Davis's dorm window. He overlooks the Monongahela. The first pic looks to the west, downstream towards the Ohio, and the other faces towards the East.

Another thing Davis views from his dorm room is his collection of Izze Soda bottles. He collects them and he and visitors to his dorm room use food colors to make a palette of artfulness, somewhat akin to the famous Pittsburgh glass collection (although not quite). The first pic is Davis's Pittsburgh Izze glass collection. The second pic is a Pittsburgh glass chandelier at the conservatory. You can see the similarities in art form (I made the red bottle second from the left!).

Davis showed us a fabulous time in his city.

We love his city and would gladly return BUT not this summer. Thursday is his last day of work and by Friday evening we will be enjoying each other's company lakeside, rather than riverside. We can hardly wait.

In other Davis news, his replacement passport arrived on Saturday leaving Walter and I to heave a great sigh of relief. True, he will arrive in Hungary sans visa, and thus run the risk of ejection after 90 days. BUT we have assurances that some helpful folks will assist him in squaring away the visa problem once he gets to Budapest. In the meantime, we have rented a cell phone that will work in Europe, ordered him a travel vest to secure his valuables, and taken Walter's trench coat our of storage for those cold Hungarian nights.

Let the Hunting Begin

2008-07-10T08:00:00.000-07:00

Davis Buenger, Intrepid Hunter Man.

It's open season for meeting interesting people and building profitable relationships, and I'm here to provide you with a comprehensive guide to master the sport

Start off with something easy. Try just saying hello. Traditional greetings include:

Hi there.
Howdy.
How's it going?

Or, if you are shy and don't like to instigate conversations, experiment with departure dialogue.

Traditional goodbyes:

Have a nice day (works best in grocery store lines and with people you may not remember if you see them again).

Experimental goodbyes:

Have a peaceful day.
Have an inspired day.

Note that many times your opening shot only startles the prey and scares them off. Don't be discouraged. These are to be used like a machine gun or a shot gun, fire a lot and hope you hit something. I found these methods work best on prey that is a captive audience, like the lunch lady, the bus driver, the policeman, and the desk watchman.

Good hunters also move beyond the individual target and identify likely terrain for their safaris. Fertile ground includes pickup sports games. Sports like Frisbee, soccer, and to some degree basketball use many players and can adjust to new players easily. The low-key culture of Frisbee, in particular, makes it prime hunting.

Some tips for the hunting sportsman in the pickup game habitat:

Before approaching the game, count the number of people playing. If the number is odd, then your success is almost guaranteed. Try this shot: I see you have uneven sides. May I join?
Don't be discouraged if you count and discover an even number of players. Take a hunting buddy and you can both have a shot.
After the game try to give your cell phone number to the leader of the pack and request him to call you when they play again. Amazingly, the prey actively seeks out the predator in this case.

One particularly valuable target in the hunt are the lone wolves, guys who don't travel in packs or take part in communal gaming. I value these specimens the most because they usually don't have huge egos that might hinder the approach, and they are most likely interesting but misunderstood. Best of all, they are among the most easy to bag because of their innate curiosity.

Prey of the opposite sex are more difficult. They're jumpy. They question your motives. Most stick to the underbrush, unless they move in the safety of packs. The best approach for these specimens is to attempt to tame them a bit by constant interaction. As they get used to the hunter's presence and perceive him as non-threatening, traditional greetings and sharing of other pleasantries may result in at least partial hunting success.

When you are out in the wild, remember: A good hunter is friendly and prepared.

*********

We will hunt as a family group, starting on the 11th, when Walter, Erin, and I will journey to Pittsburgh to see the sights and hang with the Intrepid Hunter Man. Do not try to steal anything from our home in our absence. We have left booby traps that involve much more than pails of water falling on your head or pies hitting your face. In fact, our cunning traps make Home Alone look pitiful. We are leaving Willie in charge of the thinking and Teddie in charge of the muscle!

We received official confirmation from UPS that Davis's passport and visa are lost and unrecoverable. We now move into expedite mode.

Market Report

2008-07-06T15:00:00.000-07:00

Do you follow the news?

Chrysler will shut down its St. Louis minivan factory on Halloween. (What will the Buengers do without a quick source for minivans?)
Life expectancy in Zimbabwe has fallen from the low sixties to high thirties in the last twenty years. It used to be one of the wealthiest countries in Africa.
There hasn't been an outbreak of multistate monkey pox in the United States in exactly five years ago. Do you really feel safe?
Willie thinks "Possum Blood" would be a great name for a rock 'n roll band, and he has an idea for the artwork on their debut album. It looks a lot like a stain left on Charlotte Lane earlier this morning, after he shook a possum that didn't "play dead" quite fast enough.

If you followed the news in Davis's life you might have a very different view.

[Camera focuses on the Anchorperson, who jots notes on their notes, then looks up earnestly at Camera 1]

"The green arrow is up for bananas. In a steady upward trend, Davis has moved from eating a couple of bananas a week in late May to sixteen bananas each week in early July. Analysts suspect this trend is related to no kitchen or cafeteria facilities in his dorm. This is counter to the nationwide trend where the increasing price of bananas is cutting into demand (Over the past six months, the price of Central American and Ecuadorian bananas has increased by 43%. Between May of 2007 and May 2008 the price increased by 19% and peaked in March of 2008. A five year time frame shows an appreciation of 198.9%, while a 25 year time frame shows a price increase of 83.89%. There is significant volatility in the price of bananas. The lowest price within the past 25 years was USD 250.51 per metric ton in June of 1994, while the highest was USD 1027.36 in March of 2008.)

"The market for one-piece jumpsuits has. . .well. . .jumped. Again, analysts are loath to explain this sudden shift in trends, but local eye-witnesses report seeing the following in Davis's e-mail inbox:

Davis,

YOUR RECENT JUMPSUIT ORDER HAS SHIPPED.

Unnamed sources spoke to Davis by phone earlier today, and he confirmed he received delivery on his new jumpsuit, which he referred to lovingly as his tent. Apparently to get one to fit him in his chest and shoulders it arrived about eight inches too big in the waist. Inquiring minds want to know why he didn't go to the mall and notice the chest-to-waist ratio of those who wear jumpsuits before placing his order?

"Davis has placed a "buy" order for McBirneys (according to Davis, everyone should have their own McBirney family). Apparently, their good love has grown steadily this summer. Last weekend they treated him to a spaghetti dinner (finally catching on to how to feed a strapping young fellow. . .sources should have warned them about letting him swim and work up an appetite before feeding him). Sources close to Davis report that they have also tolerated him reading the New York Times cover to cover and in general relaxing. This weekend, they included him in their birthday party for America.

"Perhaps in the most surprising news of the day, we see an old industry re-emerging in Davis's economy. Like the phoenix rising from its own ashes, letter writing is re-born in Davis's life. Once pushed out of the market by "new and innovative technologies" like e-mail, texting, and instant messaging, letters are now cutting edge. Here's what Davis, himself, had to say about this new trend:"

Davis: E-mail and IM are impersonal and lack a human touch,creating an opportunity for letters reentry into the market.

For years the e-mail has held a place near to our heart. It is so quick. So easy. Five seconds and you can communicate around the world. But its very strength has led to its weakening. People quickly came to rely on e-mail, making it the primary source of communication. In doing so, communication lost meaning and touch.

Writing a letter really shows you care. You care enough to take that personal step. To buy the stamp. To sit down and write.

Camera focuses back on the anchorperson, who nods into Camera 1: "What's more is letter writing is especially popular among the young. Let's go to our reporter in the field with a report on what the youngsters are doing today:

An interview with another Davis:

I like sending mail the old fashion way" the other Davis says, "Today I bought 42 dollars worth of stamps and have been writing one or two letters a day. I have two approaches: traditional letters and circular letters. You know what a traditional letter is like. Here's an example of some Circle Mail I have started:

Sam, Frank, and Spencer,

I had been considering ways to keep in touch, when I discovered circle letters. Generally, circle letters follow this algorithm: You obtain a group of people and enumerate them. One then writes to two. Two reads one's letter, writes his own, and mails both letters to three. Three reads both, writes his own, and mails all three letters to four. This continues until the last person receives the letter he will mail to one. One then removes his first letter and mails the other letters to two. This way we can all keep in touch without having to write to everyone.

Tell me what you think. Maybe we should include John also.

Davis Buenger
co/ Sandy Russel
308 Mellon Hall
Duquesne University
600 Forbes avenue
Pittsburgh, PA 15282

"That wraps up the Market World in Davisland. Tune in next time when the Davis Report explores ways to meet interesting people and build profitable relationships. Until then. . .

I'm recommending all my investor to invest in letters today."

Power of Positive Thinking

2008-06-30T14:51:00.000-07:00

Davis is one of the most optimistic guys I know, and getting more upbeat every day. He truly believes that success begets success, and that once you are on a roll, almost anything is possible. Doc C at Rice taught him this mantra: "Myth, Power, Value." When you have success, you gain a reputation or "myth." The myth bestows power beyond your original success. That power has value and can help create more success. Davis has applied this to foosball, soccer, and math. It even worked for Beer/Bike. Doing something well makes you confident and puts you on top of the world. Once you are on top of the world, everything comes easier.

Which brings us to Pittsburgh. Davis arrived there after a string of successes in the spring which provided a launch pad for more successes. His conversational skills have blossomed. He can tell funny stories and interact with strangers. This is all new territory to him and he likes it. In fact, he wrote to me "I must learn to capture this positive thinking, i.e. learn to assume I will succeed." He went on to write that his philosophy had an application to Erin: "All around her must mirror positive thinking onto her and create in her mind the assumption that she will win." I never really thought the same approach that took you to the top of the foosball ladder would constitute a therapeutic approach to childhood cancer, but I think he's onto something.

It's one thing to match Davis's outlook and create an aura of positive thinking with regard to Erin, especially in light of her current energy and spark. I wish I could match it on another matter, however. The never-ending saga of Davis's visa added a new wrinkle this week and the only way I can figure out how to avoid going crazy is to shoot myself.

Close to two months ago, I had Davis sit down and fill out all the paperwork to apply for a visa to study in Budapest, beginning in mid-August. As part of the process he had to send his passport, travel itinerary, and a boatload of other documents to the Hungarian Consulate in Hungary. Some time after we completed and shipped the paperwork and before the Consulate processed it, the price of visas went from $89 to $95. We got a phone message with that information. Unfortunately, the bureaucrat hung up before we could ask any pertinent questions, like "should we wait and have you return the material we had already sent or should we just send a money order for six bucks and hope for the best?"

We followed up by e-mail, but the consulate never responded. We followed up by phone, but no one ever answered. We tried to leave a phone message, but other people's messages filled consulate phone answering machine, leaving no room for ours. Finally, we went ahead and sent the money order, crossed our fingers, and hoped for the best. About two weeks ago, someone from the Study Abroad at St. Olaf's (who is administering the program), forwarded an e-mail from the consulate letting us know they had issued Davis's visa and shipped his visa and passport home. I started tracking the package with my handing software and tracking number. When it got to Mesquite, Texas on the afternoon of June 19, it stopped. I think it joined the Federal Witness Protection Program. No more scans since then. No progress. Davis's passport and visa apparently like Mesquite and have abandon the trip south.

Of course, we have already bought Davis's airline tickets (retail value $2200) and paid his fall tuition (retail value,don't ask). No one at UPS seems inclined or able to help me. I think I'm supposed to continue logging on to the tracking website. Praying is optional.

Just Southern Enough

2008-06-11T15:00:00.001-07:00

Davis works in a group of thirteen (and cares not a wit that they could form an unlucky dinner party guest list). Nine of his fellows grew up in the vicinity--if the state of Pennsylvania is small enough to comprise a vicinity.

I think they have had fun comparing and contrasting with each other and have delighted in the similarities and differences. Davis observed that his teammates would find the long drive to Kennywood nearly unbearable, and the thought that I would drive two hundred miles a day to take Erin to get her chemo puzzles them. Most have never traveled out of the Northeast. They mainly thought that Texas was the opposite of Pennsylvania:

Texas = hot + dry + flat

Pennsylvania = hilly + cold + miserable

Texas, Davis admits is hot and where he's from is relatively flat. It does, however, rains in Texas. And as he pointed out, the rain comes down. . . not like the sky is spitting, but like it really means it. . . great bucket loads. He sent them to the record book to see which city (Alvin) and county (Brazoria) in the country had the record for rainfall in a twenty-four hour period:

THE U.S. 24 HOUR RECORD RAINFALL TOTAL OCCURRED
IN ALVIN, TEXAS ON JULY 24 1979.
43 INCHES OF RAIN FELL ON ALVIN DURING THAT 24 HOUR PERIOD.

[NOTE BENE: Alvin is my hometown. I opened and staffed a Red Cross evacuation shelter by myself during the first night of that flood in the old gym at Alvin High School at the tender age of 18. Eighty percent of the homes in Alvin took water that night when a cloud a mile thick from top to bottom stalled over the town. Ironically, Alvin holds the record with 43 inches and its elevation above sea level is only 43 feet.]

The most interesting observation Davis has made was that his new friends had strange expectations. They were almost delighted how little accent her had (he writes, "as if I had overcome some great burden to speak correctly."). Davis has hammed it up a little to add to the mystery of his Southern persona (no, he hasn't bothered to tell anyone that Texas is really more Southwestern than Southern), by peppering his speech with phrases like "I reckon" and "That horse won't trot" and anything else he thinks might be Southern vernacular (seeing how he doesn't commonly use those phrases). I don't think he has said "Whoa doggie" yet, but perhaps it is on a future playlist.

Anyway, in the end, Davis has decided he has something in common with Barack Obama, except, instead of being just black enough, he is Just Southern Enough--different enough to get some notice, but similar enough to fit in and be liked.

Taste Tripping

2008-06-06T15:11:00.000-07:00

Before he left, I tried to convince Davis that the optimal way for me to keep The Report updated was for him to make basic entries on the dashboard that I would fluff and fold for him into the usual fare that his readers have come to expect. I just needed more fodder than a once-a-week phone call would provide to keep his prose-hungry, report-devouring public satisfied. He agreed, but only to shut me up.

Thus, the lack of updates.

Here's what I know:

Davis loves Pittsburgh and wants us to buy a summer home there (this option will necessarily wait until we no longer foot his tuition. Oh and maybe until we actually visit Pittsburgh.). He even became a Pens fan in the fortnight plus that he's lived there (most people in Davis's hometown could not tell you what a Pen was or what sport it played).

He really misses having a kitchen with a big frig, a pantry, and a stove. He misses the servery at Will Rice. Heck, he even misses the cafeteria at Bryan High. I don't think he has ever lived for more than a day or two when he hasn't had someone else anticipating his eating needs. This summer he is on his own to forage for food. Most twenty-year-olds with an income just dine out. Davis can't get used to that ("It's a waste of money". "It takes too much time." "Restaurant food isn't healthy.") He's found some novel ways to stay nutritiously fed: tuna, bananas, eating with kind acquaintances. Luckily, things may change, at least for a week or so. The McBirneys asked him to house sit. Hooray for food cooked at home.

Davis has found people who also like to work out and some others who like to hang out. It's a friendly place.

We did get a celebratory call on Tuesday when Obama clinched the nomination. Davis called this outcome back in January.

Most remarkably, Davis has found a new investment opportunity: Synsepalum dulcificum. Apparently, Synsepalum dulcificum is the twenty-first century equivalent to "Plastics!" All I know is what I have read about it in the New York Times (the video is remarkable). The fruit from this west African tree has the miraculous capability of shifting your taste buds around so that anything you eat tastes sweet. Lemons? No problem. Vinegar? Mmm-mmm good. Tobasco sauce? Gargle it for fun.

For $90 bucks you can get a package of 30 berries shipped to you. What would you do with thirty miracle berries? Why, of course, you would give a "flavor tripping party" where you invite your friends and people you have never met to eat a berry and then give them nasty things to eat. They will think you are the very best cook ever. In urban areas, young people pay up to fifteen bucks a piece for a berry to swirl around in their mouth for a few minutes and a buffet of unpleasant foods to eat afterwards. They look a lot like Texas mountain laurel berries, don't they? For your own good, don't mix up the two (Texas Mountain Laurel berries are poisonous).

Does Davis want to start a business where he give flavor tripping parties? Nope. He has much longer-term aspirations. You can buy a whole tree for $20. He thinks he would like to be a Synsepalum dulcificum rancher. It takes eight to ten years for a tree to make these berries. He figures by 2020 he will be in the money because surely taste tripping will be THE THING of the future.

Do you want in on the deal?

Goodbye Already

2008-05-18T12:58:00.000-07:00

What seems like a day or two ago, I drove to Houston and packed up Davis's sophomore dorm room and brought him and his stuff home. I managed to capture just a piece of this history with a snapshot of his wall: Erin's birthday present in the upper right, map of Pittsburgh directly below, hurricane tracking chart to the left, black lab puppies above that, and of course, the item indispensable to a college dorm room, the less-than-life-sized wooden cigar store Indian (notice how I artfully avoided any glimpse of mess that may or may not have filled his room).

Since that afternoon, my time with him has breezed by, slipping through my fingers before I could capture it. I meant to do an entry about the project he got going with his friends at the end of school. You've heard of a Bucket List. Davis has made lists like that since first grade, but his list are not wishful, uber-ambitious lists of the 100 things to accomplish in a lifetime. Every May before school let out, he put together a list of at least 100 things that would entertain him in the summer. As the last days of the school year crept by, he would harness his brain and capture ideas about what he wished he could do that day. Summer would eventually arrive and, of course, the excitement of summer would eventually wear off. When the doldrums of July kicked in, he would dig out his list and pick something to do. Because of that list, I never heard, "I'm bored."

Anyway, he started his list in the dorm, and some of his friends joined suit. I don't know whether the novelty of Pittsburgh will wear off, whether he will have any spare time for consulting his list, or whether he will need a list to prompt him to find something enjoyable to do. All I know, is that he didn't want to find himself at loose ends and without a plan.

So he packed up his list along with his clothes and his laptop and boarded a plane to Pennsylvania this morning. I felt stretched thin as a mom. Erin's tournament put me 100 miles away. I called around 6:00 and found him already checked in and waiting to board. Thank goodness he and Walter hadn't overslept (as if that would ever happen). I now know he has touched down, collected his luggage (do you know you have to pay $25 extra to check a second suitcase. . .but how else could he get gear for a ten-week stay up to Pittsburgh?), and caught a bus to the McBirneys. Thank you Joan and Don for helping him get situated! He'll get into his dorm tonight and start work in the morning. I would tell you what he was doing, but so far, he hasn't figured out a way to explain it to me so that I would understand.

He left me a gift. He downloaded all the photos he took this semester with his new Christmas camera. Here are a couple of highlights:

Shepherd Davis with his temporary pet goat, Leonard.

Davis with his roommate Sam (on the far right) and buddy, Spencer (in the pink shirt) and some friends of Sam's family.

And a shot of Davis either demonstrating what an impressively long tongue he has or licking the cellophane that his birthday cake came wrapped in.

Davis, if you are reading this, I miss you already.

Home of the Bullet-Proof Roof

2008-05-05T06:59:00.000-07:00

Of all the things that have made me say hmmm lately, this one tops the list. Last Wednesday, Davis and I were driving through Grimes County towards home and passed by a roofing business whose slogan was painted on the side of the building:

"Home of the Bullet-Proof Roof"

I just couldn't get my head around this one. How big is the market for bullet-proof roofs? Is it for families that like to shoot up the inside of their homes, but don't want the bullets escaping through the roof, or is it for those who fear fly-by shootings?

As the semester wound down, Davis took the chance to nip home for a couple of days. He had finished his scheduled finals (woohoo, he scored an A in "hard math" which is the second semester of the theory of calculus and A's in Spanish and Knot Theory) and just had two take-home finals in Adolescent Development and Religion and the Social Sciences left to write. While he claimed to want to see the fam, relax a bit, bring the bulk of his dorm stuff home, I had the sneaking suspicion he came home primarily to lunch at Gina's on opening day Thursday (NOTE: it was as good as we expected).

Davis returned to Houston on Friday to finish things up. Unfortunately, for me at least, he won't return home today even though he will be done with school. He is working with a friend to produce a television show, "Face of the Snations" for the Rice television station. They have filmed a pilot and have the go ahead to shoot a dozen episodes. I think this week will be a real brain trust, as they try to get ideas, scripts, and plans in the can for the show. I guess, in hindsight, this whole thing, coming out of the blue is actually at the top of the list of things that make me say hmmm.

The new videos linked to the right are of Davis's roommate, Sam, who qualified for the National Collegiate Taekwondo Championships in California weekend before last. Way to go Sam!

And here is Davis with Teddy. Davis wasn't expecting to like her, but he did.

Came and Went

2008-04-14T11:45:00.000-07:00

I let last Friday come and go without alerting you that Davis had left his teen years behind. I guess I just didn't want you all to know that I was the mother of a twentysomething. Not that it matters all that much, seeing how I was a child bride and everything.

I have always believed that Davis was born at the perfect time of year. I didn't have to sustain my pregnancy during the hottest months of the summer and a wool cape kept me toasty enough and suitably swathed during those few cold snaps the Texas winter brought that year. The moderate April weather didn't keep us in too much once we brought him home. The biggest problem I can remember is that Davis was born during tax season and my mother worked for a accounting service, so she had a tough time getting to town for birthdays for a few years.

Davis had an interesting birthing story (wait, guys, don't click away to another website. There is no agonizing labor story pending. The story has to do with how Davis got his name.)

Walter admired his grandfather, Carl Buenger, a great deal and had always wanted to name his first born son Carl. I had never met Walter's grandfather and didn't have anything against him. However, I have a difficult time pronouncing the "ar" sound correctly, and every time I practiced saying "Carl" I pronounced it in an unflattering way. I didn't have a preferred name picked out, I was just anti-Carl. I think I might have leaned towards Benjamin or William, both family names.

In my own mind, my plan was to wait until I had labored for hours and hours, and in my sweat and pain I would ask Walter to forego the name "Carl" for something else. I figured he would be pretty vulnerable to the request, as the labor-class teacher had told us that first time births often took at least twenty-four hours.

The day of Davis's birth I had an OB appointment at 2:00. Everything checked out fine. I made an appointment for the next week at the same time and went back to work until 5ish. Then I headed home for a leisurely evening. Walter had job candidate duties, so his plan was to go to the candidate's reception after work and then take him out to eat afterwards. A little after 6:00 as I watched the evening news, I thought I might have started labor. Luckily, Ashley our most sensitive dog, sensed my situation and kept up with me as I paced the house doing all the breathing exercises I had learned. I called Walter (remember this is pre-cell phone days), but the host of the reception had turned the phone's ringer off to avoid interrupting the party. Around 7:00 Walter called just to say "hi" before dinner. I told him I preferred for him to come home, NOW.

He did, and within about a half an hour he was home. He started to put a Stouffer's frozen dinner in the microwave and was actually fairly incensed when I told him we didn't have time for that and that if he was starving he needed to grab some cheese and crackers (in his mind we had at least 23 and a half more hours until anything was going to happen).

We made it to the hospital, through check in, and up to the OB floor by about 8:00. Unfortunately, the birthing suite we had reserved to while our laboring hours away wasn't immediately available. Anyway, I had forgotten the music tape I had cobbled together with Pachabel's "Canon" and "Born to Be Wild" on it. The nurse put me in a tiny exam room to assess my progress, and Walter went down to fetch the tape and park the car so we didn't get a ticket. I figured by the time he got back we could start nesting in the birthing suite and maybe spend some time in the hot tub. In parking the car, Walter almost missed Davis's birth. All I can really remember as I sat in that tiny exam room is the nurse saying "Wait. Wait. Don't push yet. The doctor will be here in just a minute. He's in the building. He's scrubbing up." All the while she was slamming trays around, digging in the supply closet, and rolling equipment into place. I hadn't even changed into a hospital gown. I still had my tennis shoes on. There was no time to negotiate on the name. By 8:50, our first, only, and best-beloved son was born. We named him Carl, but never called him that. Frankly, he just looked like Davis.

Pittsburgh

2008-04-04T07:39:00.000-07:00

Did you have recess in college? Davis does. I don't really understand it, but at the end of classes on Wednesday, Rice dismissed it students (and I suppose its faculty) for a four day Spring Recess. I checked Google for April holidays and discovered that April was Holocaust Month, National Poetry Month, Jazz Appreciation Month, and Be Vigilant Against Child Abuse Month. We all celebrated April Fools on Tuesday, and Thomas Jefferson's birthday is coming up on the 13th. We also have Earth Day and Arbor day tucked in towards the end of the month. These occasions don't seem to merit time off from class and nothing else about April (other than Davis's April 11 birthday) seems to suggest a reason for the recess. Despite the illogic of it, Davis asked no questions, but headed home for a break. Finals start in about three weeks.

The big news that he brought with him was an offer for a ten-week research internship at the University of Pittsburgh Medical School in bioinfomatics. (Is it legal for a college student to have a job doing something his mother hasn't a clue about?) He starts May 19 and finishes up at the end of July, giving him August to vacation with the family (Do 20 years olds do that?) and get ready for his semester in Budapest. I asked him last night if he wanted Walter or me to fly with him to Pittsburgh to get settled. His look said it all, if all, in fact means "No." My Plan B is to find folks who live in the Pittsburgh area that I can enlist as spies (or at least emergency contacts). Please let me know.

Last night Davis and his friend Paul, left the house at 9:00 in search of spray paint. I don't think they have tagging in mind, but since I was asleep before they returned and they are still asleep now, I'll have to get back to you on why two guys might need spray paint badly enough on a Thursday night that they are willing to go to WalMart.

If You Had to Choose

2008-03-24T15:22:00.000-07:00

So, I'm standing between two cars in the newly-opened underpass beneath the railroad tracks that separate the west side of Bryan from the rest of town. There are four lanes for traffic, but clearly, with my sister Elisabeth's VW stalled and refusing to start in one lane and my van tucked in front of her, traffic flow (at least in our lane) has been reduced. It's 10:30 on the Saturday night before Easter, and it may be the first time in my life to be out on a Saturday hoping for a police car to drive by and stop.

Apparently, my sister had driven through the Bermuda Triangle on her way to get replacement eggs. (NOTE BENE: She had used all the eggs in my refrigerator sometimes during the twelve hours earlier in the day when I left town to supervise little Mystics on the pitch in Round Rock. Some time during the late night news she felt compelled to replace them. I guess she thought I needed eggs for breakfast, or perhaps for Erin's Easter basket.) Anyway, en route she had driven down into this underpass, and her car lost power. . .all power. She used the last drop of battery in her phone to call me for help.

So I went. Walter came along. Elisabeth was using my phone to call roadside assistance. Walter was assessing the situation and hoping it was just a dead battery (nope). I was wondering many things, but at the top of my list was when was I going to get Erin's Easter basket put together? Ah ha, a police car drove up. Now I think about the glass (goblet?) of wine I had rewarded myself with upon our return from the big soccer day and the Bud Lights that Elisabeth had. Am I really glad to see the police?

Elisabeth waved the phone at me, and said, "It's Davis. He's called about three times in a row."

I thought, "Oh, yeah. Right. It can't be Davis. It's Saturday night. He never calls on Saturday night. Nobody in college calls their mother on Saturday night." I took the phone anyway. It was Davis.

He said, "Hello, mom. I have a question for you. If you had to choose which emergency room to go to, would you pick Hermann Hospital's Urgent care or St. Luke's Minor Care?"

My brain is screaming, Need More Information! Need More Information! But my voice says, "I'd pick St. Luke's every time. Hermann would be the last place I would go on a Saturday night. Why do you ask?"

Davis: "It seems the skin on my shin has split open, and I think I need to have it stitched back up."

Then he says, "My phone is almost out of battery," I'm wondering if the Bermuda Triangle is spreading, "let Sam give you his number so you can call me back with the insurance information." I'm wondering how he can be thinking so clearly if his leg is bleeding and he's going in for stitches. Maybe it's not as bad as he thinks.

I take down Sam's number, find the insurance card, process some information with Elisabeth about which towing company to trust and where to have the car towed, send Walter in the van with Annabelle who has been "holding it" as long as she cans. Then I try to have a "normal" conversation with one of Bryan's finest.

All I can say, is that it's a beautiful game. I drew the policeman on the Bryan force that played soccer from when he was four until he was nineteen instead of a football, basketball, or baseball cop. We chatted about soccer, about Erin and her first goal ever, about the local adult league and the Soccer Moms Club. He asked no hard questions about how Elisabeth had ended up in the situation she was in. When the wrecker came he bid us adieu.

We dropped Elisabeth's car off at the mechanics. Walter picked us up. In the meantime, my mom had put together Erin's Easter basket. No dyed eggs this year (but you can understand why), but we redeemed ourselves by putting coins and chocolate in the plastic ones. I still stayed up until 1:00 though. I had to wait for Davis to phone me back that all was okay.

Eleven stitches up his left shin. How did this happen? I'm not sure. It involved a game with pairs of players (a blinded-folded thrower and a sighter steerer). The steerer guided the thrower around the space and the thrower tried to hit the other pairs with rolled up socks. Apparently, there was a shin high post. Davis was a thrower, not a steerer. Next time, I think he should drive. Next time, I think I will stay home.

So Fast, He's Blurry

2008-03-17T11:39:00.000-07:00

The Rides of March

2008-03-15T15:22:00.000-07:00

Q: What's worse than an absent landlord?
A: An absent blogger, but I'm back.

What better way for Davis to celebrate the Ides of March than with a total victory in the Rides of March. That's right, both the men and women's Beer Bike team from Will Rice College won their races today in slam dunk fashion, finishing at least a lap ahead of the second place teams. Let me refresh your memories:

About a year ago, I explained Rice's Beer/Bike Race to all you (or should I say both of you?) readers. For the past fifty years, Rice students have held a competition where teams of bikers and beer drinkers (ten of each per team) alternate riding and chugging in a race of titanic proportions. Last spring rain washed out the event twice, before the organizers changed the format and had the bikers run their laps through the standing water on the course rather than canceling it completely. Alas, Davis's team didn't win the running portion.

This year Davis and his compadres dedicated themselves to total victory. He only agreed to come home for spring break last week because I identified (and underwrote) all the available "spin" classes at Gold Gym for him in advance, AND I guaranteed there would be at least twenty stories in our Corpus hotel for him to build his Quads and Hams on when we left easy commuting distance from the Gold's Gym (Yes, in fact, he did spend his beach vacation running up and down the stairwells at the Omni Bayside Hotel). He and his teammates remained true to their training mission and blew everyone off the track today. Both Davis and his roommate Sam set personal records for their laps.

While Beer Bike has stayed center front as the most important thing in Davis's life since I last wrote, two other things deserve a mention. Much to his surprise and delight, he got chosen as the caucus secretary at the Precinct 67 caucus last week. He was extremely proud of his first foray into adult-style politics and was sure that many of his buddies had attended caucuses (or is it caucusii?), but that none had served as an officer. He proudly sent two Obama delegates to the County Convention.

The other bit of news (HUGE to me, but clearly behind Beer Bike and the caucus to Davis) is that he has decided to study abroad next fall. . .at the Institute of Mathematics in Budapest, Hungary. Report readers, do any of you know ANYONE in Hungary? Eastern Europe? Continental Europe? Please let me know.

Anyway,on that note the Report is back in business. I should have victory pics to post soon.

Goat Gone/Goo Gone

2008-02-06T09:08:00.000-08:00

Well, the goat story had an anticlimactic ending. After a couple of days, word got out (does this surprise any of you parental units?) that someone in Will Rice College was harboring a goat. Apparently some e-mails flew around campus, reportedly reaching the Provost's office (though I hope that's apocryphal). When I returned from class last Tuesday, I had a missed call from Davis, and when I couldn't reach him I phoned Walter to see if he knew what Davis needed.

Walter told me that the jig was up for Leonard. Security folks were combing the grounds around the dorm looking for goat scat and other telltale signs of goat occupancy, and although Davis may have considered barricading his dorm room, he needed an alternative solution. . .quickly. Davis, he reported, was shocked that the higher ups thought dorm room goat pets were out of line and broken hearted that Leonard would have to go. The only thought that crossed my mind was whether I should delay paying the February tuition, lest Davis be discovered, goat in hand, and tossed from the university before he had a chance to ditch the goat. The only thing that crossed Walter's mind was all the different ways to say NO, THE GOAT CAN"T COME LIVE AT HOME.

Walter's description of Davis's dejection over the whole matter brought to mind his earlier years. Winnie the Pooh was a staple at our house. Whenever Davis, normally irrepressible, energetic, and constantly cheerful, had a rare down day, he reminded us very much of Tigger in the story from The House at Pooh Corner called "In Which Tigger Is Unbounced." You may recall that in that tale, Rabbit, tired of Tigger's inconvenient exuberance and bounciness proposed a plan to take Tigger in the woods and get him lost. When they went back and rescued him, Rabbit explained "he'll be a different Tigger altogether. . . he'll be a Humble Tigger. . . he'll be a Sad Tigger, a Melancholy Tigger, a Small and Sorry Tigger." Now, as then, Davis was a sad and sorry Tigger, but true to the real story, Tigger never stayed sad and sorry long, nor did Davis.

By 6:15 that evening a call from Davis interrupted my soccer coaching. I took the call, hoping he wasn't calling from Rice lock up. Apparently, he had taken a break from his troubles to do some bike training. On his loop, he passed by a farmer's market and on a lark stopped to see if any of the farmers needed a goat. One did. Davis smuggled Leonard out of the dorm in his backpack and ransomed him to the care of a lady farmer who lived about fifty miles outside of Houston. He left the hay in its secret storage place to confuse security and because it wouldn't fit in his backpack (note: it has since been discovered by the University folks and tossed in a dumpster, a sorry fate for usable hay bales).

The next time we talked to Davis (on Sunday, as usual), he had moved on, telling tales of his soccer team's 7-0 win over Hansen College and how he had scored points in one of his classes by mounting a plausible argument in class discussion that no one else had thought of.

Thus, I've explained Goat Gone, but what about Goo Gone? One of the interesting things about the statcounter that I use on Davis and Erin's website is the variety of information (interesting, but not particularly useful or revealing, at least to me) I have access to. One of the things that I can look up is Came From. What that means is that if you visit either Erin's or Davis's site by clicking on a link from another site (as opposed to typing the URL into the browser bar), I can tell. I guess if I operated commercial sites that had a huge numbers of daily hits I would know something about my customers. As it is, almost everyone who visits Davis's site comes directly from Erin's Homepage. Most of the people who visit Erin's homepage type in the URL (so I have no idea where they come from, nor do I care). A fair number of other visitors come from various sites run by family and friends of other neuroblastoma patients who have added a link to Erin's page to their own. It also shows up if someone Googles Erin or Yahoos Erin or uses some other search engine to find her website. What's fascinating to me is that if someone is searching for some other key word, her site occasionally comes up in the results, and folks who are not looking for Erin end up clicking through to her page. From a casual and only occasional glance at the Came From statistics, the most common searched for term (other than her name) that brings people to Erin's website is "crab soccer." About once a week, someone, somewhere wanting to know something about crab soccer ends up visiting Erin's website by clicking on the link to Crab Soccer, Ugh!, my October 29th entry last fall.

I had no idea (and for those of you getting impatient, we are almost to Goo Gone).

When I told this little factoid to Elaine (who shares my distaste for crab soccer, which by the way, by my mentioning it here today will now also direct folks to Davis's site as well as Erin's site when people search for crab soccer), she saw it as an opportunity to hide little tidbits of information that people may search for in these pages as a public service.

Case in point:

The Tjoelkers came over on Christmas day, which you may recall was practically a perfect outside day for our families. She and I made one tactical mistake. Elaine, wearing her favorite pair of cream capris, and I, wearing my brand new jeans, decided to loll around on the deck in the backyard under the branches of the cypress trees, while Walter, Mark, and Davis kept track of the children. Unfortunately, we both sat on fallen cypress tree balls. If you don't have bald cypress trees you probably don't know that they have marble-sized (shooters and taws, not mibs and kimmies) cones that fall in the fall and eventually break apart to secrete resin that easily adheres to clothes and stains them (I thought permanently). This happened to Elaine and me (and I might add "again" because it has happened to both of us before).

Apparently, Elaine was okay with her capris getting stained because they were older and not pristine, but it worried her that I had ruined my jeans the first time I wore them. With a little ingenuity and some experimentation (not to mentioned Mark's timely, and I think sleepy, comment that citric oil works on resins), Elaine discovered that the nasty and some thought permanent cypress ball stains would come out with Goo Gone, followed by a little Shout.

Worked like a charm. Now, because I have put it in the Davis report, if anyone ever soils their clothes on cypress ball resin and Googles the world for a cleaning solution, they might find this link and save their skirts and trousers.

The Saga of Leonard Scott

2008-01-28T08:43:00.000-08:00

The fictitious Leonard Scott appears in The Davis Report today on two accounts. In the first instance, he served as an inspiration for Davis's dinner party. You can view a video showing Davis explain the historical significance of Leonard Scott and the importance of black-eyed peas by clicking on the video image below. If you wondered why black-eyed peas played a central (and exceedingly voluminous) role in Davis's meal, this is must-see video.

The saga of Leonard Scott didn't end with his remarkable story appearing on You Tube. Davis celebrated the one week anniversary of his party honoring the amazing Leonard Scott by driving to Magnolia on Saturday with his buddies. They bought an actual, live, 12-week-old pygmy goat, whom they named Leonard. I do not have a photo of the grandgoat yet, and I hesitate to put any information here, on the chance that someone in authority might not look kindly on a goat sharing quarters with anyone on campus.

In preparation for the arrival of the critter, the three young men drove to a hay store. They had room for four bales in the compact car (two in the trunk and two in the back seat) if they stacked two of the young men up in the passenger seat, leaving the other one free to drive. Although not comfortable, they managed to get to within blocks of campus. At that point, driving in the full traffic of Houston's main Street, a Houston police car heading in the opposite directions threw on its lights and siren and pulled a "U-ey" right behind them.

Note Bene: at this point as he was telling me the story Davis said, "I have guests at the door, mom. Can I call you back in a minute?" I think you deserve the same moment to let your mind wonder about how this tale will turn out as I did.

As promised Davis phoned me back a few minutes later. He had forgotten what we were talking about, in his euphoria over the goat, and i had to prompt him to finish the story.

The young men promptly pulled into the left hand turn lane (that would lead them into a campus parking lot), fully expecting the police car to follow. Instead, it pulled into the right hand curb, behind a full, two-car wreck that none of them had even noticed in their guilty reaction to hearing the sirens and seeing the police lights swinging around behind them.

Pea is for Perfect

2008-01-20T12:52:00.000-08:00

I can remember the first time I threw a party. Fall (September, actually) 1978--Freshman Year. I gave myself a birthday party (monumental number 18). I invited a bunch of people I didn't know well along with my high school buddies. I friend with a car took me to Skaggs Albertsons (doesn't that sound like an appetizing place to grocery shop). I filled my cart with cheap beer (since I didn't drink at that point, I can't remember the brand. Probably Budweiser. Maybe Lone Star.). I also threw in some bags of chips and probably a can of bean dip and a tub of French onion dip. I cleaned my room (at least I hope I did. I don't really remember). That evening, people (some invited, some not) stopped by my dorm room, had a beer, listened to whatever I had cued up on the stereo (I'm guessing Billy Joel), and after a while drifted off to do something else. The small crowd that lingered longer ended the evening by carrying me across campus (I struggled, but not so hard that they would drop me) and dumping me in the fountain by the student center to fully inaugurate me into campus life as an adult.

My first dinner party required a little more planning. I think I had spaghetti and a green salad.

I'll bet your first college party and your first dinner party have a lot in common with mine.

Davis's doesn't, unless he is a very good faker (in which case, my hats off to him).

That's right Davis threw his first self-planned, self-organized party Saturday night. My first clue that it wasn't what I expected came last weekend when he wanted me to suggest some sort of meat that would go with black-eyed peas and cole slaw. It needed to feed a lot of people.

Black-eyed peas? I tried not to worry about what he had up his sleeve and suggested that a ham might do the trick.

I didn't think about it again until Wednesday evening when he called, miffed because his friends weren't R.S.V.P'ing in a timely way. "How," he complained "will I know how much food to buy if no one RSVP'd?" I told him not to worry. His friends would come. They probably thought RSVP meant the same thing as BYOB. That didn't comfort him much.

Friday afternoon he called again, this time from the Rice Epicurean Market. Could I explain the difference between a sweet onion and a yellow onion? I couldn't to his satisfaction, so he rang off to consult with my mother, who had provided him with the pea recipe in the first place.

Now I'm starting to worry. Walter, Moo, and I wonder what he has in mind. He's a dorm student. He's planning a sit down dinner for sixteen. He's never actually cooked before.

He called on Saturday morning. For instructions? No. It was Walter's birthday and he had remembered to give the old dad a call (Walter beamed all day). We did suggest if he were planning peas for dinner, he'd probably need to start before 4:30, which is what his friend Frank proposed.

Around 3:00 the phone rang again. "Does the bacon need to be cut before it goes in the peas?"

"Yes."

""What should I use to cut the bacon?"

"I generally use a knife. Do you have a knife?" (I'm worrying about the ham if he can't cut the bacon.)

"I've tried the knives. They don't work."

Thinking, thinking, thinking. . ."Do you have some scissors? I think you could snip the bacon into bite sized pieces with scissors."

"Okay."

"Or an exacto knife, if you can't find sharp scissors."

"Okay. g'bye."

So Walter and I worry. He's invited 20 or so folks to dinner, but doesn't know if anyone is coming. We don't know where he's planning this party, but we know you can't fit 20 people in his dorm room. Nor does he have any utensils (including a knife sharp enough to cut raw bacon) or dishes. I remember he has cooked before. His repertoire includes Raman noodles, Kraft macaroni and cheese, Bagel bites, cheesy tortilla roll-ups.

At 9:30 my cell phone rings. We're at Madden's with the Tjoelkers for Walter's birthday dinner. I answer, even though it's rude.

Davis breathlessly reports that he's had a perfect party and he's sending photos and a video to my email.

The pictures include each of the ingredients of his meal, including one shot that had twelve serrano peppers ("My Lord," I think to myself, "I hope he didn't use all of them."). From the looks of it, it took quite a lot of prep work.

But, of course, it would take an inordinate amount of prep work to make this amount of peas (so at least we know he didn't run out of one course of his dinner):

Davis also thought of appetizers (cheeses, crackers, and pimento cheese-stuffed celery). Note the elegant serving trays, which for the Martha's among you, can also serve as cafeteria trays in a pinch.

He also had his friend Justin stand in as a bouncer/greeter to remind guests of the dress code ("Please wear something black, white, or yellow."). Brian Benjamin though he could slip in with his yellow hidden below his plaid.

The group mingled and conversed, waiting for the main course.

Davis presented the black-eyed peas, followed by the rest of the meal, honey-baked spiral ham and cole slaw:

Everyone ate themselves into a stupor:

The New Year's ball dropped (I'm having a hard enough time explaining the dinner party, without having to explain why they also had a Times Square ball drop, so don't ask).

Did You Pack Your Shovel?

2008-01-16T11:55:00.000-08:00

There we sat. Erin strapped in behind me. The van filled up with back-to-school necessities. My mom standing curbside, shifting her weight from one foot to another.

Finally, my mom broke the silence, "Is Davis making one last run through the house to check for things he might have forgotten?"

"No, I think he's in the shed."

We sat there some more, and through the silence heard a soft shooshing, metal gently scraping against metal.

"What's that?" my mom asked.

"I'm not sure. I think he's cleaning a shovel."

Her look reflected her thinking: You're sitting waiting. Erin's sitting waiting. I'm standing waiting (when I could be getting on with an afternoon nap). Davis is cleaning a shovel. Now that clarifies everything. She made a quick calculation and said, "Oh, he must have used one of Walter's shovels and wants to leave it clean for when Walter gets back from DC."

"I'm not sure," I said, because I wasn't. "I think think he's cleaning it so it won't mess up my van when he slides it in back."

"Oh," she said because what else do you say when a young man has three people waiting for him in a running vehicle while he cleans his shovel?

He emerged soon after with Walter's good flat-back square shovel, fitted it under the back seat, kissed his grandmother, and we hit the road.

And thus I took Davis back to Rice for the start of his fourth semester. On deck this term:

Knot Theory (this is not a boy scout ropes class, nor the follow up to a Physics class in string theory; it's a math class)
Analysis II (the first part was billed as the hardest math class Davis ever took. This one will have no exams because his professor doesn't believe the five-hour limit Rice rules place on the length is enough to properly test.)
Spanish (this is Texas and he does play a lot of soccer, so Spanish is essential)
Adolescent Development (student know thyself?)
Religion and the Social Sciences (I haven't a clue)
Community Gardening
Swing Dance (nothing like being well-rounded)

But back to the shovel. If you have read this far, you might think you have resolved the shovel puzzle with the gardening class. However, if you know the difference between a shovel and a spade, you realize that the shovel he's packed isn't that handy for digging. It's square rather than pointed and more suited for moving loose material than for gardening.

So why the shovel?

Last fall Davis discovered that his dorm had an attic. He and his buddies planned to clean it up and use it as a hang out (although the running joke is that they are planning on raising pygmy goats up there). Apparently there was a lot of dirt and other loose material that need to be off loaded and carried away before it would make a suitable hang out. This explains the shovel.

Since then, Davis has put two and two together and reasoned that, given the age of the building and the composition of the loose material, he was probably dealing with free floating asbestos in addition to decades of dust. He has abandoned the project for now, on the outside chance that breathing said dust might hamper his beer/bike training. I guess they'll have to keep the goats in their rooms.

What Was I Thinking?

2008-01-05T08:16:00.000-08:00

Did I really think I could get Davis to re-enact the making of the ho ho sacks so I could take pictures for a visual tutorial? That falls into the category of yet another time I misjudged my stroke with the lad. Oh well, here are some simple, non-illustrated instructions (depending on your skill, you could get much more complicated and elaborate than this, but it's a good, quick start):

Materials: Buy colorful fabric ribbon, and enough yardage of pretty fabric (holiday fabric is readily available in craft stores) to make the number of bags you want. You may also have some nice fabric stored at home in a drawer or closet. We tend to buy about three or four yards of fabric (42" to 45" wide), so that we can make four bags big enough to hold clothing boxes.

Of course, you can make any size bags you want and adapt them to this pattern.

Step 1: For one bag, cut out a piece of fabric 22" x 42" (or 45", depending on the width) in size. Fold the fabric in half so that doubled it is 22" x 21" inches in size.

Step 2: With the "inside" sides pinned together, stitch the side seam and the bottom seam (try to pay attention to the pattern of the fabric, so it's not upside down when you use it). Turn inside out. Then turn inside the raw edge on the top of the bag and hem, either by hand or with a sewing machine.

Step 3: Cut a cloth ribbon at least 18" long. At the seam of the bag on one side or the other, about 4 or 5 inches from the bag opening, stitch the middle of the ribbon to the bag.

Step 4: Enjoy and share.

So what derailed Davis from the mass production of Ho Ho sacks? Like college sophomores around the country, Davis believes that he would have a much better summer this year, if he arranged to spend all or most of it somewhere other than his parents' home. Don't think this implies that he doesn't love us, but he has had the natural, yet uncomfortable experience of coming home to a place that's no longer what he remembers. What does he have in mind for next summer? Davis hopes to spend at least a couple of months next summer in a REU program. I hope that clarifies it for you.

Okay, I was joking. Not about REU, but about that clarifying it for you. Davis has spent the last three days busily filling out applications, writing statements of purpose and essays, and in general doing the messy work of applying for summer internships. What has he chosen as his focus? Coaching soccer to in Spain? Working in a Congressional office in DC? Dark chocolate taster? National park tour guide? No, Davis has his eyes set on math research internships. He has chosen fourteen (maybe fifteen) spots around the country that give college undergraduates (that's the "U" in REU) the chance to work on math problems for the summer. And that's better than staying home with mom and dad? More distant readers, beware. I may call upon you to look in on him, if he ends up in your part of the country. Here's what he looks like:

And here's what he sounds like:

Viral Ho Ho's

2007-12-29T14:09:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Davis, we had one of the most peaceful and enjoyable, dare I say enriching, Christmas's in a long time. As I mentioned on Erin's website a week or two ago, Davis is slowly, but surely transforming my life (as it pertains to Christmas) with the idea of re-usable, fabric gift bags (Ho Ho sacks). I have to say I am completely sold on the concept. Wrapping is fast and easy (slip the gift into the bag and either draw the string or tie the ribbon at the top). Clean up is even easier (take the gift out of its Ho Ho sack; use the gift; tuck the Ho Ho sack back in the storage box). About a quarter to a third of the gifts under our tree this year were in fabric bags. We're hoping to eliminate wrapping paper from our family package exchange completely next year.

So why viral Ho Ho? Davis would like the idea to catch on in other families, too. To make that happen, over the next couple of days, Davis is going to write a pictorial tutorial to make a simple Ho Ho sack that can accommodate a standard shirt box. He and I made a dozen of them the day after Christmas without much muss or fuss. We think you should give it a try.

Ho Ho Sacks are easy, reusable, eco-friendly, tape and paper-free, waste-reducing, time-saving, mess-eliminating, plus they allow you to remember and reminisce about previous gifts you've given or received every time to pull them out. Start by using them with your immediate family. When you have plenty for yourself, send them out to your friends and extended family so they can spread the word to the world and encourage others to do the same.

Bad Luck/Good Luck

2007-12-20T07:18:00.000-08:00

Walter put the quietus on my plan for early departure to Houston yesterday morning because of the fog. I cooled my jets until 9:10 before jumping into my aging van. The fog still clung to everything, but by running my wiper blades on slow intermittent, I kept pretty good visibility. With Amy Goodman and Democracy Now keeping me company on the radio, I was making good time.

About a mile before I crossed the Navasota River, my wipers made a sweep across my windshield. The one on my side returned dutifully to its place, but the one on the passenger side flopped about willy nilly and then laid to rest askew, looking much like Davis's arm did when he fell off the porch many years ago and broke it. I turned off the wipers to keep them from scratching the windshield and pondered my situation. No way I could drive in Houston traffic and the fog without wipers, plus rain was forecast for later. I drove on and made it into Navasota (the town, not the river), where I pulled into a convenience store to assess the situation more closely. Was this a job that I could fix with duct tape or paper clips? Didn't look like it.

I wondered if Navasota was large enough to have a full-service gas station with a mechanic who could help me out. As I started around the side of the building, worn-out wiper in hand, to ask someone that very question, I looked up. Lo and behold across the street and down a little ways I saw my dream come alive: A Chrysler dealership. Lickety split, I hopped back in the car, jiffied over there, and discovered they had my very blade in stock. In a matter of minutes, I had bought it, and they had installed it.

If this wasn't enough to put a spring in my step as I headed back down the highway, here's the really good luck part. As I approached Houston on Highway 290, traffic stalled and started backing up. At first I was bummed because Davis was going to have to wait even longer for my arrival. When I got a little further along, I saw the hold up: a car burning. Not just smoldering. Not just smoking. Big flames, everywhere. Enough for two fire trucks to have a tough time handling. I tuned the radio to try to find out what happened. The traffic reports didn't really know, but whatever it was had taken place about ten or twelve minutes before (just about the exact amount of time I had lost in the windshield wiper blade incident).

Maybe I should have framed it as "oh darn, if I hadn't been slowed down by my wind shield wiper breaking, I would have already been passed this section when the car caught fire ,and I wouldn't be sitting in traffic right now." That, however, wasn't my first thought. Instead, I thought, "oh thank goodness I took that small detour, or I might have been right next to or directly behind that car when it went ablaze, and who knows what might have happened?"

Anyway, I counted it as a blessing and after a short wait, moved on down the road.

Before snagging Davis, I stopped in at Texas Children's Hospital to call on Layla and her mom. They got the disruptive news on Tuesday that Layla had a central line infection, with the accompanying news that they would have to stay hospital bound for another ten days. . . straight through Christmas and beyond. (Hint: most people don't want to stay in the hospital for ten days with an active toddler, especially at Christmas). Hilary, Layla's mom had done the same about face on bad news that I had done about the wiper blades. She re-framed it. When I found their room, Hilary was in high gear decorating Layla's walls and other spaces for Christmas and in general, making the best of it.

I was an hour late picking Davis up, but that didn't matter. He had his third semester behind him and everything else was just fine. Our trip home was unremarkable, except we just couldn't stop smiling.

One More Sleep

2007-12-18T06:28:00.000-08:00

Only one more sleep until I jump in the mini-van (that incidentally has logged over 99,000 miles, mostly back and forth to Houston, over the four and a half years) to retrieve Davis from college. By university standards his break will not last long: two and a half weeks until the spring semester starts back up. I don't think his mean-hearted mother can talk him into a job for that short a time.

His first four exams, according to first-hand reports, have gone well. Bio-chem may even have gone well enough for Davis to choose receiving a grade rather than a pass. Let me explain. Rice has this cool policy to encourage students to take classes that might be interesting, but challenging. They can, mid-semester, designate a course pass/fail (for instance, if their first test doesn't go like they expect it), and later, even as late as after finals when the course is done, they can choose to take the grade they earned. This encourages students to take hard course and continue to work at them even if they have a slip up during the semester. I am proud that Davis thinks he has overcome his slip up and may have raised his grade back to a level that he is willing to accept.

Davis's last exam is in the History of American Thought and Society. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this one turns out as well as the others.

In other news, I heard through the grapevine that Davis spent some time last Friday shopping for baby clothes. No, he's not having a baby. Our friends Pam and Cadie Engler are having a grandson, and realized, horror of horrors, they had not procured any Rice baby togs. I think Pam got Davis on his cell phone and walked him through the process of selecting appropriate outfits for the first grandbaby. I can just picture Davis, cell phone pressed to his ear, holding up onesies, tiny knitted sweaters, and little sweatshirts, trying to decided if a War Owl design would be disturbing to a infant, or if a blue on gray combo would hide spit up better than gray on blue.

I'll call him after lunch to see where he wants me to place his advent ornament and what time he expects me tomorrow. In the meantime, my mother and I are putting the Chex party mix factory into operation today. It's an all-day affair, so I'd best get going.

Fifth in the Nation

2007-12-11T06:57:00.000-08:00

Davis may not have played his personal best in the National Collegiate Chess Championships last weekend, but his 2.5 points contributed to a fifth place finish for his Rice University team. Actually, I'm glad he didn't rip through his opponents, because that would have meant he was spending more time honing his chess skills than studying--a choice this mother does not prefer in the weeks leading up to finals.

And finals he has. Five of them. Bigger than life. Two scheduled; three take home. It is small comfort to know that he can spread them out between today and a week from tomorrow.

So, for now, he has put away his silk screen and duct tape, finished with soccer for the fall, and possibly handed his foosball crown to someone else. Its time to study and dream of Christmas.

Have I mentioned he sent his Christmas list the other day?

duct tape
shoe strings
new silk for his silk screen
bike shorts
a zipper sweater
a field guide to Texas plants

I say he sent me this list, but for all I know, his body may be channeling the well-loved, but certainly departed Fred Rogers.

Notice in this photo the prominent sweater, shoes with laces, and unidentified plant in the corner. A closer examination could reveal that the curtains contain silk screen images, and for all I know those blue pants cover up tight fitting shorts with a padded bottom. All that's missing is the duct tape, and I'm willing to bet that the bench Mr. Rogers is sitting on has a hidden storage space with a cache of duct tape.

I'll probably know more a week from tomorrow, when I drive to Houston to pick Davis up. I'll see if he's packing puppets or rhapsodizing about the beautiful day in the neighborhood. If he suggests we take the trolley, I'll know for sure.

Twenty Bucks and a Bottle of Wine

2007-11-27T09:49:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned on Erin's website, I picked Davis and Dillon up from Houston last Wednesday and officially started my (and their) Thanksgiving holiday. In an effort to catch a break on Houston traffic, I arrived at noon (earliest possible departure time) and forced marched them both to the far side of Houston before I would consent to stop for lunch. They barely survived.

I did have to have a very serious conversation with Davis when we arrived home. The bill from the Mastercard he carries for emergencies (that we foot the bill on) had arrived. I had stern words, "What is this fifty cent charge for parking at the Rec Center when you were home for fall break? Don't you think that a bit extravagant?" Now, to understand this completely, you have to know that this Mastercard is the ONLY credit card he carries and the fifty cent charge was the ONLY charge on the card for the entire month. Nor does Davis carry a debit card. Does he have a money-spending allergy? Perhaps.

He may have a money-spending allergy, but he doesn't lack the fun gene. For most of the weekend Dillon and Davis worked on a spoof presentation worthy of Second City TV or Saturday Night Live. They spent hours developing a script (and because Dillon is a scientist and Davis a mathematician) with supporting data and statistics. And of course, since it involved Davis, there had to be the requisite silk-screened t-shirts. I don't think anyone video taped the actual presentation, which happened during the busy lunch scene at the servery at Will Rice College yesterday, but I do possess one of the few publicly held scripts, which I reprint in its entirety below.

Warning! This is serious subject matter. You must each decide for yourself, and for minors (and miners, too) under your care whether to read the following. It concerns what could become a national nightmare: mis-stacked dishes in the dish cleaning area.

Davis (standing at the podium at the front of the eating area at Will Rice College): Secretaries, Will Ricers, Doc Cuthbertson. I speak to you today for the dignity of man and the destiny of mankind. A plague has struck at the heart of Rice University, and it threatens to destroy the very platform in which Will Rice shows its greatness. Citizens hear me out. This could happen to you. What started at Jones as a failed organic chemistry experiment, now has spread across campus, wiping out the north colleges and infecting much of Lovett and Sid Rich. It may be among us as we speak. What is it you ask? Dare I speak the name? It has been known to cause hair loss, weight gain and hay fever. The affliction however, is not biological, but rather physiological. It is within your power to stop. I now present to you Dr. D.H. Miles with explanation and evidence.

Dillon: Thank you, Senator Buenger. The effects of this disease truly are terrible. Symptoms mainly appear at the dishwashing window of the college. Although dishes may appear to be normally stacked at first, the disease quickly manifests itself in the form of dishes stacked very erratically.

Normally, plates are stacked according to size with salad plates forming one pile and dinner plates forming another. Following exposure to the disease, plates are generally stacked with less organization. For example, a salad plate or bowl may be placed on a dinner plate, preventing the next user from placing their dinner plate on top of the pile. These instances were quantified in a 20 day study of Lovett College, clearly showing the progress of the disease.

(ASIDE: this is the best I could do to get the Excel graph on your screen. If you are really interested in these phony statistics you can click on them and see them quite clearly.)

Here we can clearly see the rise in errors per plate, which is defined by a user placing smaller chinaware on top of larger chinaware. A similar increase is seen in fatal errors per plate, which occurs when a user places a larger plate on top of a smaller one.

My colleague James A. Teeter (not to be confused with Jim Tuttle, an advocate of ceramic rights) has devised a further measure of the progress of the disease, the teterability of stacks of plates in the dishwashing area.

(ASIDE: Again, I apologize for the poor quality of the image. I think key is the sudden upslope of the curve, but this one is clickable for visibility, as well.)

Teterabiltities lower than one, as seen in days 1 through 9, indicate relatively stable stacks. Following exposure to the disease, teterability quickly increases to the point of being off the chart.

As of recently, we haven’t gathered data for Sid Richardson College, but this aerial photo clearly shows the very high teterabilty of Sid. Now, here is the Vice President of the CRO, Frank Ko who will speak about possible solutions for this problem.

(ASIDE: Excellent use of photoshopping skills)

Frank Ko: My organization’s mission is a simple one. We strive to promote awareness and educate the masses about this horrible disease. In order to achieve these two goals, the Ceramic Rights Organization is planning a plate stacking competition to emphasize the importance of proper plate stacking. We have also put several T-shirts into production promoting the idea of ceramic rights. You can buy these for $5.00 at the back of the commons every day this week.

Furthermore, in order to move the idea of ceramic rights into mainstream thought, the board recently approved an event to raise awareness. “Jump Rope for Plates”, as we like to call it, will feature at least one person jumping rope at lunch every day of the week. Senator Buenger will now conclude:

Davis: There have already been rumors from the administration about a possible installation of security cameras in the dishwashing window to monitor any violations. The administration has already quarantined possible violators in the lower 30’s with a gigantic box prison. Do we want all of Will Rice to suffer the same fate? I say NO! Sam Kim! Are you ready? (Sam says yes) Let us begin the jump to freedom, NOW!

Apparently, Ceramics Rights have captured the imagination of the college students at Rice, who as finals approach may border on delirious anyway. Davis and Dillon had made five or six t-shirts depicting to well-stacked and improperly stacked dishes. They gave a couple to Sam and Frank who helped them with the presentation and sold the rest for twenty bucks and a bottle of wine.

Match 22 - SVN v USA - 18 June, Johannesburg 16.00	CAT1	3	Successful
Match 5 - ENG v USA - 12 June, Rustenburg 20.30	CAT1	3	Successful