All the world is a phage,

And we are but carriers of it.

Phage is short for bacteriophage; it means bacteria eater.  Phages can be beneficial by killing bacteria in wounds.  On the other hand, they can also make other bacteria more dangerous.

Inspired by University of Minnesota, Duluth, University for Seniors class on micro-organisms., 2016-03-06

I thought of this phrase independently, but a Google search for "all the world is a phage" turned up many sites that had used this phrase long before I did.

Riding a rocket to a standstill

Our son and his four-year old son were coming from Japan to the Twin Cities in the last week of August.  My wife planned to stay in the Twin Cities until Labor Day and then bring our grandson back to Duluth with her.  I didn’t want to stay in the Twin Cities that long and wanted to spend most of the weekend at our cabin.

There was no point in driving two cars down so that we could come back separately.  Ah ha! This is my chance to try Jefferson Lines’ Rocket Rider.  I went to Jefferson Lines’ web site and determined that my best choice was to get the bus at 5:55 P.M. at the University of Minnesota stop.  That seemed the easiest to find.  The bus would arrive at UMD at 8:55 P.M., just in time for me to catch the 9:00 DTA bus down the hill.

I ordered my ticket online, printed it out and tucked it in my backpack.

After I had my ticket and before we left for the Twin Cities, the rains came.  And the rains came.  Our sump pump turned our lawn into a swamp.  There was so much water that it washed the mulch and gravel down from the side of our newly-built steps to the front walk.  It even undercut the steps.  There goes going to our cabin on Saturday.

I fretted about it for the rest of the week, even more so when I was in the Twin Cites and more rain was coming in Duluth.

Well, it wasn’t raining when my wife dropped me off at the U of M stop in Minneapolis.  The bus arrived on schedule.  I gave my ticket and travel bag to the driver and got on a nearly empty bus.  Plenty of window seats left.

The next stop was the Union Depot in St. Paul.  I was glad that I didn’t chose that as my stop.  Even though I have some familiarity with Downtown St. Paul, I couldn’t keep track of the streets that the bus driver used.  Besides, there must have been twenty people waiting for the bus.

Two young men got on that were speaking some foreign language that sounded Slavic to me.  I asked the man that sat next to me “What Slavic language are you speaking?”  He looked at me in consternation and said that was German, they were from Basel, Switzerland!  Finally, I understood why my German colleagues in Basel were upset with their Swiss colleagues for holding meetings in Schweitzerdeutsch.  Anyhow, the two young men were impressed that I had spent several weeks in Basel.  We had sporadic conversations after that; my seat mate was engrossed in a book, as was I.

The driver announced that we would be at UMD by 8:30.  But he didn’t consider the heavy traffic going north for the long weekend.  It didn’t really clear up until Forest Lake.  Although the bus driver allowed lots of room behind the cars he followed, my guess is that he was going 75-80 miles per hour.  It seemed that he spent more time in the left lane than the right.

As darkness fell, I had a harder time knowing where we were.  I would see the signs as the bus approached them, but I never saw them as we passed them.  Of course!  There often were not any cars close enough behind to shine lights on the signs.

We arrived at the West Duluth bus station sometime before nine.  Most of the passengers got off there.  The Swiss asked if I was familiar with an address in the 300 block of E. Superior St.  One was getting the address out of a guide book, but I didn’t think to ask to see the entry.  I suggested they take any of the buses on Grand Avenue and offered to look up the schedule on my iPhone.  They said they would take a taxi.

The bus arrived at Kirby Plaza after nine.  I didn’t want to walk home with a heavy backpack and a travel bag, and so I had to wait until ten.  Oh, to be back in Basel where one tram line ran every ten minutes even at midnight!

I’ll spare you the details of how I fixed the erosion by our front steps, but I think the new sod will hold and be green.  But the task left me too tired on Sunday to go to our cabin, and I was still to tired on Monday.  So, my rocket ride left me at a standstill.

What did I think overall about the Rocket Rider?  It beat driving alone for two-and-a-half hours.  The seat was comfortable and I got to read a good portion of a book.  The overall time was longer, considering having to come from Shoreview to Minneapolis and waiting forty-five minutes for a local bus ride of three minutes.  The $27.99 I spent for a senior ticket would beat the $50 or so that I would have to spend for gas.  But that’s round trip for gas.  I would be ahead with an SUV over a bus had I taken the bus both ways.  If I had taken the Prius, I would have spent less for gas for a round trip than I would have spent for one way on the bus.

If you consider a family of two or more, then the car is definitely a better deal than a bus trip.

I couldn’t find any quick information about the Northern Lights Express, but my guess is that it may be a good deal for somebody traveling alone city center to city center.  All others would find a car cheaper and quicker.  That’s a hard thing to write for a guy who likes trains.

Mel would move back to Basel but it would be too far from his cabin.

Sprechen vous svenska?

Let me guess.  You may be one of those who claim to never have been good at foreign languages, but I bet you know the meaning of each of the words in the title of this article.  Not only that, you probably know which language each is from.

Maybe the reason you are “not good” at foreign languages is that you didn’t care for the way you were taught a particular language.  Maybe you rebelled at the way it was taught and didn’t let it soak in and use it.

I myself have had mixed feelings about each of my language experiences.  For example, I forgot almost everything I learned in high school Latin, but I retained enough of my two years of college French to read books, magazines, and newspapers and to have simple conversations.

The first time it was really important was when I transferred to Europe as a Univac employee.  Supposedly I was to move to Italy.  I got an Italian grammar book and started studying from it.  “Oh, wait, before you go to Italy you will spend several weeks in Basel, Switzerland.”  So, I got a German grammar book and started studying German.

I had all my travel arrangements made for me.  The last leg was a train from Zurich to Basel.  When I got to Basel, there was nobody to meet me.  Where do I go from here on a Saturday?  I knew we were to work at Sandoz, the big pharmaceutical company, and so I looked up Sandoz at a public phone.  When I reached Sandoz the guard spoke only German and French.  As best I could I explained my situation in French.  He said he would look up the Univac people in the computer room.  Within an hour or so one of the hardware guys came and got me.  It was only once I was in the hotel that I met the software guys I was to work with.

I have many anecdotes about learning German (Hochdeutsch) and Schweizer Deutsch, two different languages.  Ja jo! Wie goht’s!

One, I learned enough German to read some of the newspapers and to read the directions on starting the computer - drucken… (push…)

Two, I didn’t learn enough German to get in and out of East Berlin on my own.  The end story is that I had ten East German marks I was not supposed to leave with.  My Swiss companions were in a discussion with the guard behind the counter.  I kept swiveling my head towards whoever was speaking.  Finally, the guard looked at me and said, “Sprechen Sie Deutsch?”  I replied, “Nein!”  That cracked everyone up.  After I put my ten marks in the Red Cross jar, we were on our way out through Checkpoint Charlie.

When I finally arrived in Italy, I slowly learned more Italian.  It didn’t help that our work language was English.  I did start reading Italian newspapers and books and speaking Italian where I could.  I spoke it to my barber and I think I bought my car using Italian.  One difficulty was at some office where I wasn’t getting across to the clerks.  One exclaimed, “Questi stranieri!” (“These foreigners”).  I understood her, but I don’t remember if I made any reply.

After two years in Italy, I requested and got a transfer to Sweden.  Again I bought a grammar book or two and started reading newspapers.  Newspapers are wonderful for learning foreign languages because of the names and events in the news and the large number of similar words.  By my second year in Sweden, I disappointed a small group I was to supervise by stating that we would speak Swedish.  My rationale was they had many chances to speak English, I had few for Swedish.  After a year, many of my colleagues said I spoke “flyttande Svenska” (fluent Swedish), even those who didn’t report to me.  On the other hand, there were many who disagreed.

When I came back to the States, I decided to take German at a community college.  I added a couple more semesters when I returned to Minnesota.  Darned if I can remember much of what I learned in class.

This same phenomenon happened when I took Russian long before I left for Europe.  I still had notions of getting a PhD, and one of the requirements was to have some familiarity with two foreign languages.  I took a year of Russian in summer school.  I did B or better work, but I didn’t enjoy it.  The basis for each lesson was a short conversation we were supposed to memorize and recite with a classmate.  I’ll never forget the first sentence of the first conversation: “Привет Нина! Куда ви идёте?”  “Hi, Nina!  Where are you going?”  I didn’t go back for a second year.  For awhile my Russian handwriting was better than my English handwriting.  I still do recognize many Russian characters, but I have made no real effort to study Russian anymore other than look at the headlines on some online Russian newspapers.

Over the years I’ve put a little bit of effort into learning some bits and pieces of Finnish, Ukrainian, Greek, Dutch, Icelandic, Serbo-Croatian, Spanish, and Japanese.  I’ll finish this with my Japanese joke: “Watashi-wa nihongo-ga wakarimasen.”  I say it well enough that Japanese relatives laugh at the contradiction: “I don’t understand Japanese.”

If you’re over 50 and enjoy languages as much as Mel does, join him for “Jolly Polyglots” in the winter quarter of University for Seniors at UMD.

This was also published in the Reader Weekly, 2014-08-28 at http://duluthreader.com/articles/2014/08/28/3970_sprechen_vous_svenska

Quote of the day: On top of the world and outside history

"Well, here we are on top of the world, and we have arrived at this peak to stay there forever.  There is, of course, a thing called history, but history is something unpleasant that happens to other people.  We are comfortably outside all of that I am sure."  Arnold Toynbee, historian, remarking about the atmosphere while watching a parade during the sixtieth anniversary celebration of Queen Victoria, quoted in "The Post-American World, Chapter 6, American Power" by Fareed Zakaria.

Apropos that, watch "ShiftHappens: What Do You Know?"  We saw this video this morning on a smart board at the administration building of the Duluth Public Schools.  It was part of a presentation on technology in the Duluth  Public Schools for the University for Seniors.  Although the presenters had all this high-tech equipment, they said American schools are still run as if preparing students for factory jobs in the 19th Century.

I think with our militarism, politicians beholden to certain business interests, and lack of investment in public schools we are behind the parade of history.

Pondering while wandering led to floundering

As I returned from a University for Seniors class this morning at UMD, walking on snow-packed and icy sidewalks, I thought of how parental advice can be problematic in these situations: "Stand up straight" and "Watch where you're walking!"

If you stand up straight, by looking farther ahead, you might not see a slippery spot at your feet.

If you watch where you're walking, you'll get a sore back and might walk into an overhanging tree branch or protruding shrubbery.

As I pondered these profound thoughts, I stepped off a curb at an alley, my boot skidded on some ice, and I went down on one knee and then to one forearm.  I didn't damage anything, but I soaked a knee of my jeans and my gloves.

Nobody saw me that I know of.  I picked myself up and continued the couple hundred feet to my house without any soreness.

I don't remember which advice I was following - "Stand up straight" or "watch where you're walking!"  Whatever, one of them didn't serve me well.

Limp or wimp?

Today I decided to make my traditional triangle walk to Bixby's for coffee, UMD for University of Seniors, and back home.  I have been driving to Bixby's because with all the unshoveled walks, walking has been no fun.  However, parking at UMD is no fun during the day.

Because the city of Duluth has partially cleared many walks with a large snowblower, I've been able to stride instead of mince.  Even though it was snowing lightly, off I strode.

Our street wasn't so bad.  Then I got to the first traffic light.  The pedestrian button was unreachable without climbing a thigh-high pile of snow - an icy pile with few footholds.  I got up high enough to push the button, but when I turned around to come down, things looked almost impossible.  I kind of leapt down from depression to depression but my momentum carried me right into the street.  Fortunately for me, no cars were whipping around the corner.

I stood at the corner waiting for the light to change, but guess what?  There was no traffic!  Do I cross now or wait?  I waited.

The rest of the walk to the coffee shop was uneventful.  Some parts of the sidewalk were even, some had deeper snow, none too difficult to walk in the 8-inch work boots I had on.

After coffee I went to UMD for a couple of classes.  When I got to the campus, the walks were freshly brushed with only a dusting of snow.  There were some icy patches at the edge, but I could walk normally.

While I was in the classes there was light snow.  I wondered if I wanted to take a bus home or walk.  As I told a friend, it was a question of limp or wimp - limp on uneven sidewalks or wimp out by taking the bus.  I opted to limp.

Again, the campus walks were no problem at all.  As soon as I crossed into a neighborhood, the situation deteriorated.  The first couple of blocks had wide boulevards and plow snow had not made it to the sidewalk.  But few had shoveled their walks in the last couple of weeks.

When I turned onto the thoroughfare, things got worse.  The city's snowblower had come by, but a plow had been by again, putting snow and "rocks" on the sidewalk.

Now walking became mincing.

Just after I took the picture and stepped off the curb at the corner, a car turned right in front of me!  What nerve!  What luck!  It was my wife who was coming home from her own activities.  I only had about three minutes walk to get home, but I was glad for the relief.

She wended her way through the neighborhood to our alley, and just as she was pulling in the garage, I saw the bus coming down the hill.  I would rather have ridden with her than with a bunch of strangers.

Critical thinking about pricing disparities

Many students have complained about the high cost of books, especially at university bookstores.  I recently found out how great the disparity was between bookstore prices and online prices.

I keep telling myself to take Critical Thinking in the Philosophy Department at the University of Minnesota, Duluth.  I even got my wife to consider taking it also.

Today, I looked it up in the UMD catalog.  For the fall semester the class is full and even the waiting list is full.  Besides, I looked at the costs and it would be about $1,000 apiece to take the class, if I read the fee schedule correctly.

OK, what's the text, maybe I'll just read that.  I clicked on the bookstore link and Moore and Parker's "Critical Thinking" is $111 new and $83.25 used.  What does Abe Books charge, a consortium of used booksellers across the country?  Would you believe $1.00?  With shipping less than $4.00?

As always, there is a caveat.  Although the books may be in fair or good condition, these super-low prices are for editions from the 1990's.  If you want an edition in 2004 or 2005, then the prices with shipping are about $35.00.  If you want the latest edition (2009), then it will cost you less than $70.00.  Three were available new and one used.  That still beats $83.25.

The advantage to the newer editions may that they use examples from current events.  I would think the pre-2000 editions wouldn't have much about global warming or wars of choice.

Now to figure out when I want to read "Critical Thinking".  I think I have over 200 books on my to read list:)

Food, A Personal Essay

I was cleaning my desk and came across the printout of the following essay.  At first I couldn't find it on my computer, but then I did  as a WriteNow document.  I was able to get a scrambled version with Word and edited it to its original form.  I originally wrote it 2000-08-03 for a Split Rock class at UMD, “Personal Essay Seminar” with Bill Holm.

What is it you remember of “memorable” meals: the food, the place, the guests, or the conversation?  I find that I remember the place and where I sat more than anything else.  I may remember the guests, especially family members.  Sometimes I remember the food.  Rarely do I remember the conversation.

I can remember sitting with my wife and children on the terrace of a restaurant on the road between Rome and Naples eating a fish of some sort.  I don’t remember the name of the fish, only that it was a small, whole fish that I ate without a bit of squeamishness, an achievement that I felt proud of.  But I remember better the terrace above the road and the road above the sea which was about a mile away, each being separated from the other by a bright, green band of trees which we looked down on.

I can remember sitting in another outdoor restaurant near Pompei on the same trip.  I remember that we sat in the ell of the building with a trellis overhead.  I don’t remember the food but I remember that we drank Lacrima Christi (Tears of Christ), a pleasant white wine.

I can remember eating Wiener Schnitzel, pommes frites, und gemichste salat at a restaurant in Basel, Switzerland.  I should remember as I ate there frequently and selected that food most of the time.  I was alone and sat at one of many sanded tables.  I may have had the table to myself or if the restaurant was crowded I would share it with strangers.

I can remember eating lutefisk for the first and only time in an office building in Sweden.  I didn’t like the lutefisk.  My Swedish colleagues chose something else from the menu.

If I remember the food, I remember little of its texture and taste.  The place is much more memorable.  My position at the table, the position of the table in the room, the decor of the room, the neighborhood of the restaurant.  Why is this?

Do we remember more by sight than taste because we spend so much time navigating with our eyes?  How rare is it that we move toward a smell?  We may turn into a restaurant because of the good smells coming from it, but we didn’t criss-cross a neighborhood like a predator sniffing the air for prey.  We first went through the neighborhood using our eyes to find our way.  I remember loving to walk or drive by a commercial bakery, feasting with my nose on the invigorating smell of fresh-baked bread.  But I got to the area using my eyes, not my nose.  I wouldn’t be able to smell the bakery three blocks away.

Great chefs and good cooks understand the importance of sight in appreciating food.

Bör dock ögonen ha sin spis och födo till fyllnad.
Yet must the eyes have their nourishment and feed until filled.

A Swedish chef lays out a smörgåsbord as a series of platters and dishes in a pattern suggesting the appropriate order to select groups of dishes.  Silver herring, golden cheese, and dark hard bread.  Red salmon, green parsley, and yellow lemon.  White chicken, brown paté, and red tomatoes.  Golden flounder, pink sausage, and green beans.  Red berries, yellow melon, and ginger cookies.

The staff of a Japanese ryokan serves dinner and breakfast in a dozen lacquered dishes for each person.  Most of the items have bright colors and they lay out the dishes in a specific pattern.  A clear soup with red snapper and green onions.  A slice of golden rolled omelet with green daikon.  Chilled white tofu with black sesame seeds.  White and green cabbage with dark shitake mushrooms.  They hide the workaday electric rice cooker and airpot of tea on the floor at the end of the table.

A German cook piles a plate from edge to edge with meat, potatoes, and vegetables.  The large servings suggest abundance and encourage Guten Appetit!

A French chef places a few ingredients on each plate of a many course dinner.  The chef balances the flavors and the appearance.  The small servings suggest that the dish is to be savored slowly.

On the negative side, one of our friends turned our stomachs off just with how the food looked on the plate - burnt chicken with mushy canned peas and lumpy potatoes.

We also remember the service we receive.

At a Holiday Inn we ordered lunch at a busy time.  We placed our order and soon after a waitress served my wife’s food, our kid’s food, and my bottle of beer.  A couple came to a nearby table.  They ordered.  A waitress served their food.  The couple ate, paid, and left.  My wife and kids finished their food.  For forty-five minutes I tapped my foot and twiddled my thumbs, but nobody brought my sandwich.  I said we were leaving.  As we stood up, a waitress pushed a cart with sandwich came through the door but I ignored her.  I told the hostess that I would pay for my family’s food and my beer but not my sandwich.  I felt an immense power when I noticed that her hand shook more than my voice.

At a restaurant outside Rome eight of us had had a reasonably pleasant meal and good conversation.  When we were ready to leave we asked the waiter, “Il conto, prego” (the bill, please).  He replied, “Subito” (right away).  Five minutes later, we asked, “Il conto, prego.”  He replied, “Subito.”  And again, “Il conto, prego.”  “Subito.”  And yet again, and again.  After about twenty minutes, we all stood up and started to leave.  The waiter wrote the bill subito!

At a restaurant near the Houston space center, the service was impeccable.  As soon as I finished a course, the waiter would appear, remove the dish, and bring the next course.

This little exercise is bringing back so many memories of memorable meals.  I do remember many tastes but almost all of them are associated with place.

I remember eating kielbasa in the train station in Budapest but neither the flavor or the texture.  But I can still taste the Polish sausage from the Twin Ports Brewing Co. in Superior, Wisconsin.

I can remember the melted ice cream sandwich that still held its shape but not where I contemplated eating it.  I can remember sitting in our dining room savoring every spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s The World’s Best Vanilla Ice Cream, the only ice cream worthy of the name “ice cream”.

I can remember the calamari at a long-gone Thai restaurant on Hennepin Avenue in Minneapolis; it was so hot that it made my eyes and nose run.  I can remember picking jalapeño peppers from our garden in Plymouth and nibbling them as I took them to the house;  “Ooh, that’s hot!  Mmm, that’s good!  I’ll have another bite.”

This is making me too hungry to continue.  My wife just came back from the deli with supper.  I’m going to check out what she bought.

Postscript: The deli food was so-so veggie stuff but she also bought a fresh, locally-grown, organic beefsteak tomato, picked fresh raspberries from a co-worker’s yard, and bought Ben & Jerry’s The World’s Best Vanilla Ice Cream!

They sang better than I would

Yesterday I led the first session of the University for Seniors study group "Singing for the Singing-Impaired". Well, none of the participants were singing-impaired and certainly none were shy.

Too boot, I still had a bad cough and could only get through the first two or three songs.

I used a computer-driven, MIDI-played, and video displayed words and notes, a cappella "call and response", and YouTube.

If you're still thinking about joining us, we sang "Happy Birthday", "I knew an old lady", "Do Re Mi" from "Sound of Music", "Dough, the stuff I need to buy beer", "Auld Lang Syne", "Yankee Doodle", "Aura Lee" and its reincarnation "Love Me Tender", "This Land is Your Land", "Clementine", "Pop Goes the Weasel", and "We Shall Overcome".

All that signed-up but two showed up. We'll see how many return next week. We still could use more lower voices.

For more about the study group, see "Are you timid about singing?"

Are you timid about singing?

While I was sitting in church I thought that I should put an announcement about the study group I'll be leading, “Singing for the Singing-impaired”, in the University for Seniors announcements. Maybe because it was Poetry Sunday I started thinking in verse. Then it was announced that poems were welcome from those not on the program. I read mine, and surprise, I received applause as well as laughter.

When singing begins in the house,
Do you want to hide like a mouse?
When songs ring out in a bar,
Do you try to be afar?
When voices raise in a house of worship,
Do you look for ways out the door to slip?
You need fear no more,
Singing is no chore!
Join Singing for the Singing-Impaired;
You will be very glad that you dared!
And if you voice is lower,
You will help our group flower.

Singing for the Singing-Impaired, Mondays 1:00 p.m. Except January 18, University for Seniors, University of Minnesota, Duluth, KPlz 303. Basses especially welcome.

For more information, call 218-726-7637 or email cschweig@d.umn.edu

Why should students stay in Duluth?

Many in Duluth complain that not enough students stay in Duluth. The implication is that there are not enough jobs for them in Duluth and the cause is that Duluth is "business unfriendly".

One would hope that a large percentage of high school students would remain in the town in which they attended school. If many remain, it would provide some stability and continuity to the town. On the other hand, no locality has all the possible opportunities that graduating students might seek. To be in the cutting edge of many ideas, a student has to move elsewhere. How many foreign service officers can Duluth support? How many computer scientists can Duluth support? And on and on.

One cannot expect a large percentage of college students to remain in town. The reason is simple; most of them didn't grow up in Duluth and will move on for personal reasons and for the reasons above.

I saw a good illustration of this in a UMD theatre program. Of the 24 student collaborative artists in the production of "Sugar", only three are from Duluth. Thirteen are from elsewhere in Minnesota, four are from Wisconsin, three are from North Dakota, and one is from Zambia. Of these 24, fourteen are seniors. Can a metropolitan area of 100,000 people support fourteen new actors and designers in any given year? Most of them are going to go elsewhere for graduate school or to become part of a pool of actors and designers in cities across the country.

What many people don't look at is how many students do stay in their home town and quietly build businesses. Some are modest, some are large. Almost every week I read of some little success story of local people in business. These are the people who follow the zoning rules, don't ask for government subsidies, and don't demand tax breaks to even consider their projects.

The mayor of Eden Prairie said some years ago, "We didn't do anything special to attract business; we just made Eden Prairie a nice place to live." Do you think she was on to something?

Busking at Glensheen

Today I had my first outdoors singing performance at Glensheen Mansion. The occasion was the open house for the 30th anniversary of the University of Minnesota, Duluth operating it as a museum.

The marketing manager placed me in an outside nook of the carriage house. This suited me fine as I could either stand in the shade or stand with my back to the sun; I could avoid sunburn on a face already irritated by allergies. The walls on two sides would also amplify my voice nicely.


I could see people coming from three different paths, and as I learned my surroundings I realized that there were often people behind me on either side of the carriage house.

I didn't have any particular plan; I just started singing out of my repertoire. My first senior moment was not remembering all that was in my repertoire.

Things went quite well. Almost everybody smiled at me and three people added a dollar in the first half hour to my seed dollar in my cap. The informality of the situation made my life easier. If I made a mistake, I just shrugged it off. I even felt comfortable starting over again if I didn't feel I was right.

I tried to make eye contact as often as I could. It embarrassed some people who seemed to want to walk faster, and other people would give me encouraging looks. Whenever kids were around I would start "I knew an old lady who swallowed a fly" or "Allouette". It almost always got their attention but the family generally kept walking. These two songs made most adults passing by smile.

I did my "La ci darem la mano" segment of the seduction song from Mozart's "Don Giovanni" several times. Not one woman realized what I was singing, and so I didn't bother to follow-up with my parody, "Solamente un scherzo (It's only a joke).

I was disappointed that few people stopped and those who did really didn't make any conversation. I would get some compliments as people passed by, and some staff chatted a bit. I hoped that some people would ask what I was singing.

The real downer was that I was getting colder. It was in the 50s when I left home and I had a light jacket and no sweater. With Lake Superior only about 200 feet away it was probably in the low 40s. There were many people in shorts and T-shirts, but they were back in cars or buildings before they got to cold.

I did move to the sun (or was it the sun moved to me) and my black jacket helped a bit. Fast forwarding, I was still cold when we went out to lunch, when we took our own tour, and after we got home. I am almost warm as I write this four hours later.

At about one-and-a-half hours my throat started feeling rough and I had to choose what I sang carefully, avoid the "high" notes. With about fifteen minutes to go, I started hearing my notes wavering more and more. With about five minutes to go, my wife returned to pick me up. She could hear from several feet away that I needed to stop.

But before I packed up I had to at least pretend I was singing for a photo.

Meanwhile, the next act was setting up in the section behind me. I don't know their name, but I had seen them at the Gallery Hop auditions. They were also using a portable PA. I'm glad I didn't follow them; they were so much more polished. I waved at them as I went by and dropped one of my three dollars in the guitar case. The other two dollars I put in the donation jar for Glensheen.

As we headed for lunch the marketing manager thanked me for coming and asked me to come again. I don't know if she had heard me or gotten any comments.

My throat has recovered and I am not cold anymore. I wonder if I'll do this at Grandma's Marathon next month.

I busked and I'm bushed!

Today I was a busker at the Tweed Museum of Art on the UMD Campus as part of the Gallery Hop. A busker is a street entertainer, but I wasn't on the street. I was in the Activity Room where coffee and cookies were offered as well as some kids' activity materials.

People wandered in and out of the Activity Room and the adjacent Museum Store. Sometimes people would poke their heads into the Activity Room from adjoining rooms. Because my voice could be heard in other rooms, I would sing even if no one was in the Activity Room. I figured the music was part of the ambiance and would be welcome as long as it didn't intrude on conversations.

I sang from a list of fifteen songs with varying skill. Every so often I would have a senior moment and forget what came next. Making mistakes was often an ice breaker. Sometimes I would start badly and have to sing the beginning notes softly to myself before starting again.

A few people would sit and listen to me for a while and we might chat about the music. Some were fascinated that I sang songs other than in English. Every so often people would applaud.

Some parents came with children and I would start "I knew an old lady who swallowed a fly" or "Allouette". They would look at me with rapt attention, but they would not join in.

I did leave out a list of the songs, business card, and a cap for tips. Nobody took or left any paper. Oh well, I was not in it for the money but the experience and the fun.

My assignment was for three hours and nobody was assigned to follow me. But at two-and-a-half hours my voice was getting strained. I put more time between each song and called it quits at three hours.

Sometimes the best part is leaving. As I left, some staff members congratulated me on my performance and said my voice resonated nicely through the rooms. I prized the comments even more because one staff member was a musician who was having a CD rollout party tonight.