Mina has her "ten fine toes to wiggle in the sand" doing just that on the beach at Ka'anapali as she thinks about beach chairs, the Atlantis Submarine dive, the Black Sand Beach at Wai'anapanapa on the road to Hana, Palapala Ho'omau Church, horses and rootbeer barrels, tiger sharks, and everything else she and Evan have been about in the last week. In case you were wondering ... the polish is Mango and "if you don't happen to like it, pass me by".

With Ain’t Misbehavin’ at Trinity it's like "you never do know" during Act I if you should stay for Act II because although the folks in this review are good ... OK, really good ... there isn’t anything special going on ... I mean special like that performance I saw by Wreckless Eric at the Paradise on Commonwealth in Boston in the 70s, or like Seinfeld at Shea's in Buffalo in 2002 ... so at the break I’m getting a second Merlot, wondering what Fats Waller's take on all this might be, trying to guess the average age of the crowd, and thinking "give me the solar wrench" to fix this ... but I now do know you do need to stay because in the second act "it" is suddenly happening big time with Joe Wilson Jr in The Viper’s Drag ... and now everyone (Dwayne Grayman, Barbara D. Mills, NaTasha Yvette Williams and the band) is "on" ... even Kia L. Glover, apparently under doctor’s orders to not sing, who’s skipping her solos and having her ensemble voice provided live "though the genius of advanced technology" from backstage ... and suddenly I’m wondering if my Feet’s Too Big.

It was very quiet at the Starbucks several blocks east of the University. The counter man was cleaning up where a latte had spilled during the last rush of customers. As he rinsed the sticky dishcloth he tried not to think about the two more hours 'til closing, tried hard to remember the name of the redhead with the green REI parka who had come by earlier in the evening and dropped the cryptic reference to a visit she had recently made to Jim Morrison's tomb at Pere La Chaise cemetery and, because he was trying so hard to put all this together, he paid no attention to the two men who sat in the far corner of the shop.

It might have been a simple sexual thing - the younger of the two men had a certain rough trade look while the older man had a menacing "been there done that" presence that could justify such a conclusion - simple being of course a subjective term at least as far as sex things went - but it wasn't about sex and it wasn't so simple. It wasn't about sex at all. But it was about domination.

"We think he is getting close."

The older man had an accent you might have imagined as belonging to a KGB agent in maybe a Chevy Chase movie. If this was what you had imagined how surprised would you be to learn that you were right - he was KGB - or close enough since it wasn't really that easy for bonafide KGB to actually slip into a coffee shop in Seattle without attracting a crowd. The last thing this man wanted was a crowd, and since he was good at what he did, there wasn't one - just him and his operative. And the counter man. The older man continued.

"Our analysis of the information you have provided us from the last five expeditions, the paper he presented last year in London and reports he has retrieved recently from the Nation Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration makes us believe that he has narrowed his search down to the Beaufort."

He paused to sip at his espresso. "And that he has a great deal of confidence that this is where many years of Arctic gyre activity would bring his target."

The blonde man stirred his coffee idly with the wooden paddle that Starbucks provided. He had said very little since the two men had met and continued to remain silent.

"If he finds what he is looking for we want to be there."

Here the blonde tried to interrupt unsuccessfully.

"But what good will finding a ... "

Espresso raised his hand. It was a simple gesture but the threat was so obvious that the counter man looked over from his reverie of lizard kings and red heads.

"Don't say anything. You don't need to know anymore. You have your instructions and know how to contact us if what we are hoping for comes to pass."

Espresso took another sip. After a moment of staring across the table silently and perhaps not quite sure that his guest realized the importance and gravity of where things were going decided to tell a little more.

"There are big things coming in our country. The Soviet Union is on the threshold of a great transformation. Certain things need to be laid to rest and", here Espresso paused like an extremely bad actor the blonde had seen in a recent university stage production, "there are certain artifacts of monumental significance that any discovery he makes in the Arctic may lead us to."

Satisfied that he had got his message across and made the impression he had intended the older man tossed back what was left of his espresso and stood up to go. When he saw that the blonde was not making any effort to leave he shook a pointed finger once in the face of the younger man then turned and strode out of the shop. The blonde man sat and stared out into the night rain for almost another hour while he slowly finished his coffee.

Search my Yahoo mailbox? I can do this? Yes, apparently I can, because I just read today's tip from Yahoo in my mailbox asking, "Did you know? You can search your mailbox to find particular messages.", and then I noticed the "Search Mail" button to the immediate right of the "Check Mail" and "Compose" buttons at the top left of the page which is, according to a recent study from Eyetrack III that Mina brought to my attention, the spot that gets the most eyeball "heat" ... not mine I guess. Why didn't I know this? Have I been sleepwalking through opening my mail? How long has this feature been available? Is this more fallout from the arrival of Gmail?

Zorbing

Zorbing? Rolling downhill inside a large plastic ball? Really? This New Zealand invention featured on Amazing Race seems like something worth trying. Why would I ever buy a Segway when I could have one of these ... oops ... I can't ... the clever Kiwi guys behind this will only franchise and lease 'em. So, when can we expect a franchise to open around here? Seems like something that might work at Yawgoo or just about anywhere with a slope ... or not. Hey, I'm thinking I could easily zorb right from my back door to the beach and out into the river. Hmmmm, wonder when will the first knock-offs show up at the local flea market?

The rain, that ceaseless wet that was winter along the shore of the sound here in the northwest, fell in a hissing torrent across the University yard. Allen Garrison leaned on the sill of the tall window of his cluttered room and looked out into a gray night. Gray because of his mood. Gray because of the rapidly slimming prospects for his completing the quest that had occupied most of his entire adult life. And, in a concession that Allen made to the simple physics of the situation, gray because of the rain and the inadequate flood lights installed to beat back the night for the safety of the students on campus - flood lights he was happy to use for the security of the gear he had staged in three great heaps in the center of the sodden lawn.

Allen leaned forward with his lean grizzled hands pressing against the window frame at either side. Looking away from the bright lights he could see a reflection of an old man. The old man had short gray hair in a slightly longish crew cut that almost looked punk in its wildness though Allen wouldn't know punk though he routinely encountered them on campus and at Pike's Place market in Seattle on his occasional trips to discuss dahlias with a friend who worked there. The old man used to be a little over six feet tall but even with the spiked hair was lucky if he could stare down a five eight free safety who really didn't want to be in on of the few labs that Allen still taught at the college. He taught the labs to stay real , to be in touch , and just to keep an eye on the undergraduates for promise . He'd found one or two such students over the years. He'd need to find another soon and he thought maybe he had. Behind the spartan steel rims of his bifocals his eyes studied the old man for a few more seconds. He noted that his beard, which he normally kept short and neat, could use a trim and that his teeth which he had always neglected, at least as far as several dentist friends of his were concerned, were still good, and then turned away.

His self-examination in the dark glass complete, he studied the heaps with even more care. The tarps looked secure, every edge was carefully weighted, the whole collection was roped down and Allen was confident that the precious tents and other boxes of specialized acoustic gear were safe. He wasn't so sure about the students and he didn't really care. He looked away from his supplies and peered into the shadows at the edges of the university yard. The weather was truly miserable and it was getting late.

Behind him in the midst of his campus world - a world far removed from the safety of students or any other university concerns lay a rumpled bed in which he had lain unable to sleep for much of the last several nights. He always found it difficult to sleep as the departure time for an expedition drew near. The preparation for this trip had been similar to the preparations of every other trip he had made. The long process of teasing, wheedling and ass-kissing to line up sponsors, to locate or build what he needed to accomplish his scientific objectives - to just get all the little and not so little everythings that had to be dealt with ready was over. Allen could write a book on the science of doing science. In fact he had just come back from a symposium at the Arctic Lab in San Diego where he had delivered a paper on just that. The auditorium had been full of eager young engineers who wanted to do , to learn and to just know everything. Allen had dished it out and they had sucked it up. There had been one or two that he thought might be on to something good, that might actually accomplish something worthwhile. A few of the researchers that he felt might have that promise would be joining him on this trip. But one thing Allen knew was that none of these young tyros would have anything like the compelling reason that he had for doing Arctic research - none of them had really been there in the way he had so many, many years earlier.

Yes, all that really remained now for Allen and the rest of his crew was to get on with it. Even though the arrangements had been pretty much routine this trip was not. After too many years of so many similar trips Allen knew this was the last. Allen hoped that somehow this last trip would bring closure to his Arctic efforts. Sometimes even simple science was so hard but the Arctic had always been more than science to Allen - much more than science for more years than any of his colleagues realized. Allen shrugged and, dropping into the seat next to his bed, picked up the book he had been rereading. In a few short minutes he was back in the South Seas with Ahab.

Looking into a sheer of early dappled shade on my walk at Sachuest today I am reminded of Thoreau’s last words in Walden and think ... only that flowers to which we are also open ... there is more leaf, petal and hue to come ... this bloom is but a morning glory ... and I move on.