I did most of an update yesterday, but had a computer crash and lost it. I then didn't have significant time to retype, so it got put off today.

The moral of the story? Save early and save often, kids.

So! What to discuss from the last week or so? Well, not the promised essay on the car, which is a pity as I got a decent hook for that essay in the mail. Too many events to really cover a perspective essay like that today. We've been very busy with Eileen still being far and away, Mason learning the ropes and preparing for different summer programs and all, my trip to the State House, teaching at B.S.I., and the phone never stopping ringing. There it goes again. So, today we're playing catchup on various topics.

First off, Fairhaven hasn't been touched in over a week. Mason is very good for my social life, for my activities calendar and for generally having a blast, but he's Hell on writing at home. That'll change when he moves into his own place, but for the moment we're acting out a kind of good natured sitcom. For example, last night we went shopping -- a pleasant enough activity -- for foodstuffs for the next few days until the dining hall opens back up. We shopped for many things, and Mason learned many things I don't know the first thing about buying.

For example, hamburger. I've never purchased a cellophane wrapped package of any type of red meat in my entire life. That falls under the category of 'cooking,' and it scares me. Even chicken, which can be microwaved into a strange appearing substance that's hot and has no parasites, is a rare purchase for me.

Does no one else get creeped out by the fact that 'hamburger juice', which is to say blood, slicks the bottom of these packages? I'm not a vegetarian, but I draw the line at bloody packages, normally.

So, practically speaking, my writing's gone back down for the moment. This journal's reflected that as well.

Moving on, we go to Brewster Summer Institute, which I was going to take this year but there's simply no way I can get the time with Eileen away. As it is, my days are jam packed and fun filled. B.S.I. is our training program for new faculty, and it's excitement on a plate. I teach the first section, on a Sunday. It's affectionately called "Computer Basics." I teach Ethics (don't let your students distribute child pornography or pirate software out the back of the classroom, even if you get a percentage), Firstclass (this is your e-mail. This is your e-mail on drugs. Any questions?) and Troubleshooting, plus some applications. I did a Powerpoint presentation I'm sure bored them to tears and we had some fun. It was five people, and they were very quiet, but it all worked out.

Right now, they're off doing "Best Practices" and learning "The Curriculum Development Tool" which always reminds me of The Completion Backwards Principle which was the title of the best album the Tubes came out with. Well, I guess I'll take it next year.

The summer help (Akira and Chris) have been building Clones all week, getting ready for The Big Cloning. Which is here now, as they've been told machines will need to get finished sometime soon. I hope so, as we're coming up on deadline. It's just been hard to directly ride herd at the same time as I do everything else. This is the problem with having a four-professional office, having two professionals out, then replacing one of them but having no time to train. Plus, Fran was cloistered until two days ago....

Wow. No wonder I've been tired with headaches.

And, of course, I lost most of yesterday on the road to Concord, our State Capital, the Governor's Council, and Governor Jeanne Shaheen, whose name rhymes, but we don't recommend making fun of it to her face.

A little backstory.

We do Bonds with the State Government. This lets us do things like finance our Powerbook buy at significant savings for the parents. (We make no money on the deal, but it's still a Good Thing to reduce costs for our parents as much as humanly possible.) The State agrees with our thinking. Everyone's happy.

But to do anything with the government, you have to jump through the right hoops. Perform the sacred rituals. Deal with Commissions.

Which we've been doing for some weeks, under Bob's gentle care. Bob is an amazing Business Manager -- if he can save a dollar he will. If he can spent two dollars to save five, he will. He's what we call savvy.

However, it all comes down to the Governor's Council.

You see, back when New Hampshire became a state, there were fears that the Governor would become a de facto King. The power would be abused. The people would be oppressed. This is a state whose motto, faithfully reproduced on every license plate, is Live Free or Die and they mean it here.

So, to restrict the Governor's overall power, they wrote the Governor's Council into law. This is a group of five people from around the State, duly elected, who represent different districts and their interests. When the Governor attempts to do many of the things she (or he, for that matter) does in her day, she needs the approval of that Council to do them.

One of these things is the issuing of Government Bonds. It's actually a nice system. It keeps everything up front and open to public debate. However, it means that ultimately, the Governor's Council has to decide whether Brewster Academy gets to finance at the nice low State rate, or if we need to go to private companies. (We're talking a good $600 a student differnece here, which is a lot of money when you consider how many students we have.)

So, they set the date Brewster Academy's bond would be on the Agenda. Tuesday, two days ago.

When Bob was in New York State. And Elaine Hazeltine -- his deputy -- would be out of town. And Alan Bain was double committed out of town already. And... and... and....

And the only Director Level person who had even a tangential connection to the Bond (my office is the one who spends it, you see) turned out to be... me.

So, I was dispatched to the State House and the Governor's Council, to make the case along with Jack, a fellow from the Finance Authority. I wore my summer 'work clothes,' which I hadn't been in since the end of school. I hadn't missed the ties. I wore a banker's tie.

I remember, when I was growing up, seeing my father run downstate a lot for meetings. He was the Executive Dean over at the University of Maine at Fort Kent, which in my youthful mind meant he was the most important man in the world, except perhaps for Martin Landau. (I was a big Space: 1999 fan at the time.) He had to go off to meetings in far away cities like Portland, and Augusta, and Orono. People always spoke respectfully to him. And to be fair, he was a community leader.

I remember when I was fourteen, my paternal grandfather died. We got a lot of well wishes. One of them was a letter from George Mitchell, the Junior Senator from Maine (who later went on to become Senate Majority Leader, who helped broker peace in Ireland, and who is perennially mentioned as either a potential Supreme Court Justice or the next Commissioner of Baseball). It was personalized. 'Dear Roland, I was very sorry to hear about the death of your father....' and so on.

It impressed me. A United States Senator had written to my father to express his condolances, had signed the letter and everything. Dad dismissed it, more or less. He certainly didn't put any stock into it, and I didn't understand that.

Today, of course, I'm older and cynical. I know that Dad was a community leader and significant in the University System, and he and Mitchell had met a few times, so of course his staff tracked when different functionaries and personages had tragic events happen to them. That letter was good politics, and certainly cost Mitchell nothing. He may even have remembered Dad and legitimately wanted to express condolences, as you would do for anyone you had as a casual acquaintence. But, while I'm not anywhere near an Executive Dean of the Academy (that would be Alan, my boss, with the Headmaster being the equivilant of the President of the University), I had my first brush with the life my father had led, being sent off to joust for money from people of importance in high places. And leaving it, I think I understand why my father was dismissive of that letter from Senator Mitchell.

The New Hampshire State House is a grand old building with a bright golden dome visible from all highways. It wasn't exactly hard to find. Concord is a nice city, trying hard to look like a city three times its size, at least for several blocks around the State House. As you get more than those few blocks, the feeling of 'New Hampshire town' returns.

I met with Jack, from the Finance Authority. He was the one who would be petitioning. I was Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote. He promised me this was going to be a Civics lesson.

We walked up to the room where the council met, which was already filling up with Petitioners. Jack murmurmed that there were three hundred different items on the agenda. We, it turned out, were first. "It's good to start at the beginning of the alphabet," he said. Which, being named Burns, I've known all my life.

Our local council representative stopped off, and asked me if certain people had been interviewed at the Academy. I promised to look into it, as did Jack. Politics, you know. They then sat down and started, going through internal business. Confirmations of appointments. Confirmations of resignations. Recognition of meritorious service. A police officer had her picture taken with the Governor, who herself was witty and cheerful. She offered to let the male councilors take off their jackets in the heat (the old State House isn't wired for air conditioning, and replacing the wiring would take too much money, so it was very warm in there). They all took off their jackets. She then offered the petitioners and audience to take theirs off, "and nothing else," which got a chuckle.

I left mine on, following Jack's lead. I noticed not a single male petitioner nor audience member took his coat off.

And then we were up. And I'll confess to being nervous. I was there to answer technical questions, and had been cautioned to make the answers short and simple. Mostly, I was there as a diplomat.

Jack laid the case out in very general terms. The governor, who had smiled and seemed receptive, asked for questions.

One councilor asked Jack about something in the documents. Another asked about why we used this method instead of another. He asked me, but Jack answered, saying this was less expensive for the New Hampshire parents of students. He had numbers, but the Councilor was satisfied. The Governor asked if anyone else present had questions. No one did. They were thinking about their own petitions.

They took a vote, five to nothing. It passed.

I hadn't said a word. Jack had hardly said a word. This had been decided days ago, clearly. We were there as part of the ritual of government.

Governor Shaheen shook my hand and congratulated me quietly, and I thanked her. So, I can claim to have met the Governor as a part of my work duties. Which I suppose would be an ego stroke if I felt like I'd had any part of this process at all. And I had been significantly involved in the selection of equipment and the negotiation of unit prices, to be sure, but still....

Jack and I chatted for a bit on the way out. I thanked him profusely. The whole thing had taken ten minutes.

If I do a few more things like this, Governor Shaheen will recognize my face, I'm sure. It's part of her business. Her staff will take note of me as a community leader in Wolfeboro. Alan and Bob, I'm sure, have that status now. And if there's a tragedy in my family which receives some notice -- obituaries or the like -- and if Governor Shaheen is still in politics, I might get a letter from her, expressing her condolences and regrets.

And I'll know then what my father felt, when his father had died, and here was a letter on yellow stationary from a man he didn't really know, who hadn't known my grandfather, who hadn't been a part of either of their lives, but who had an obligation to follow through with a member of the community and constituancy in a form that was recognizable.

As recognizable as me standing before a council who had no interest in me, or what I knew, but needed an Academy Director to stand before them. Two sides, both ritual, both comforting in that it keeps the government and society working as people expect, but both ultimately empty.

Lots of people have congratulated my diplomacy, and I've demurred. I didn't do a thing except stand there. Bob was very pleased on the phone -- he's actually had one turned down. But Bob is a person who will engage and discuss things with people, and clearly the Council doesn't want to talk about things. There are three hundred and ninty nine other people to go through. They know how they'll vote.

I drove home, and went to work. I had a lot to do, what with Mason being trained and Eileen being out and the Clones being built and B.S.I. going on... all the things that kept me from writing or keeping a journal. All real. All things that had to be done or the school wouldn't work.

And as I drove, I thought of my father and his meetings. All important ones. Ones he had to be at for the school to get money. Ones that made the difference between U.M.F.K. having impact on the University system and not having impact. And I wondered how many of those meetings were ritual -- he had to be there because he had to be there. I wondered how many times he'd thought about how many things he had to do with his day that he couldn't do because he had to stand and be seen in a meeting. How many times he'd had to work late to recover time lost to trips downstate, to the Legislature, and to other such things....

Well, I need to go to work. I didn't really have time for this entry, but it's ritual too, I suppose. And to me, as important. And if the Governor is reading, thank you for the Bond. No letters needed.