____There were two letters waiting for me at American Express although I recalled notifying no one except Shelly of my whereabouts. One was a letter from my Mother_____ all the way from a pseudo-log cabin on the Vermont-New Hampshire border where it is questionable whether there are more cows or more cable tv antennas, and the fate of the Internet is seldom a subject of discussion. I could see her looking out the window (while the frozen lasagna grew warm in the microwave) at wooden wind driven devices stuck in the garden among the lettuce and tomatoes -- antique airplanes with propellers that spin, yellow dutch windmills, ducks with unusual tails. On the access road that is shadowed with birch and white pine, Dad is fishing.

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