Philadelphia Troop 871

“I think the character that you learn in Scouting—working together, being honest with each other, being close knit … and depending on one another, on our camping trips and doing things—all these things build character in a young man that he takes with him into adulthood and makes him a much better citizen. And that’s why Scouting to me has always been an organization I’ve always wanted to help. I think it’s one of the best youth organizations that we … have in this country.”
James A. Lovell Jr., Mission Astronaut, Apollo 13

“The sport in Scouting is to find the good in every
boy and develop it.”  Baden-Powell

Michael, Senior Patrol Leader

 

Courage, Star Scout 

Garry earned several merit badges at camp.

 Daniel explains a favorite merit badge.

Henry describes earning badges at camp.

Four boys participated in an accelerated advancement program at camp.

Justin receives a badge and congratulations from the Scoutmaster and his Dad.

Jeremy mugs for the camera.

Demointree went to camp for the first time this year.

"Breezy" obviously loves to have his picture taken...

Ahmed likes scouting activities.

It takes some pretty dedicated and loving leaders to make any troop a success.

“When a boy finds someone who takes an interest in
him, he responds and follows.” Baden-Powell

Scoutmaster Greg takes an interest in the young men in Troop 871.

They do, indeed, follow.

Ronald is an experienced and able Assistant Scoutmaster.

Nate invested his vacation in scout camp.
“A week of camp life is worth six months of
 theoretical teaching in the meeting room.”  Baden-Powell

Luis helps out wherever he is needed, and that's a lot of places.

Philadelphia Troop 871, in the Cradle of Liberty Council:
“It’s the spirit within, not the veneer without, that
makes a man.” Baden-Powell

Granddaughters and Balloons

Got to Albuquerque on  a Friday.  By Saturday we l'arned a thing or two,  (apologies to Mssrs. Rodgers and Hammerstein) and got in on the last days of the Balloon Fiesta. 

Normally ABQ is warm-ish, but three days of rain had cooled things off.  

In fact, we scraped windshield ice. 

So here we are, bundled up.

Paul found us a great spot overlooking the valley, and when the sun came up, the temperature went up and so did 200 balloons.

Some of them got up close and personal.  

A bunch landed in the park we were in, so we got to touch some, too.

Paul and Bethany used the grandparent time to go on an adventure (Sandia Peak tram), and we got some granddaughter time.   

We went to the aquarium.  Yes, in Albuquerque. Don't laugh.  It was pretty nice and big.  

Grace just parked herself in front of each big tank (frequently in a grandparent's lap) and watched.

Alice parked in a different orbit.

 Having not seen the girls for months, we took lots of pictures.  

Princess Grace, the prettiest flower in the garden! 

The bees liked her, too, but the sting didn't last very long.

Dinner (and shopping) in Old Town.

Although Grace has her own cowgirl boots, she had to try on her Dad's for size. 

Grandma Terisa has some too. 

Is this a good-looking family, or what?

 Grace hugging a tree.  It didn't turn out as artsy as we planned, but still cute.

Alice is much happier on the grass than in the sun.

And even happier in Mom's lap.

 

The real reason we came, the main event, was Alice's first (technically second, counting the first literal one) birthday.

Grace gets silly with the hat. 

Pirate-y.  Arr, me matey!

She has a bad example to follow.

Out comes the cake.  Alice is underwhelmed.  At first.

She soon overcomes her shyness.

"Look Grandpa!  Have you ever seen so much chocolate?"

Using all tools at her disposal (no sink pun intended),

she becomes one with the cake.  Actually one and three-eighths, counting the foot...

Mom shows her the satisfying "bury your face in it" method of cake-ology.  

A success all around!

All of our tech-ees gather for a final photo.

 We're always sad to leave this bunch, but I guess that just means we had a good time.  

And another good time coming in December!

There Will Be Blog

My GPS has a warped sense of humor.

The GPS is a wonderful invention, or was until it developed a personality, which immediately became aberrant.   But as a recent transplant to the eastern megalopolis,  I am at the mercy of my GPS, which shall remain nameless for reasons that will shortly be (was that a split infinitive?) apparent, but it rhymes with "schmom-schmom."

So this week I made a trip--nay, a pilgrimage--to my eastern home office of Herndon, VA.  Herndon is hard by the Dulles airport, 15 miles west of the D of C. And got there with only a few harrowing road experiences.

Coming home was another story.  As a good boy scout, I usually pack maps and a backup route in case technology fails me, but I was running late and let myself be lulled into a false trust of the evil "pom-pom."

Having a rudimentary knowledge (read: none) of the roads in the area, I thought Miss Phyllis, the voice of my GPS (rhymes with "bomb-bomb"), would take me along wide and fast freeway arteries between big cities (DC, Baltimore, Wilmington, Philadelphia) and along clear and intuitive belt routes to skirt the congested center cities.  If I disagreed, with her, I would just navigate by the unambiguous (read: ahahahahaha!) road signs and dead reckoning.  Or the stars.  I'm flexible.

But Miss Phyllis has a sense of humor.

It started as it always does, with the GPS alarm noise, that sound of fingernails on a blackboard in a dumpster full of broken glass.  Miss Phyllis gave me a Hobson's choice: stay on the road you think you understand and suffer a 110 minute delay, or put yourself in  my hands with the prospect of taking "alternate" (read: not on any map) route to save 92 minutes. It's not really a choice.

I chose Miss Phyllis, and down the rabbit hole we went.

I paid a toll to get on a freeway.
Within minutes the fingernails and dumpster noise again: I could save another 20 minutes.
Off the freeway and back on the opposite direction.
Another toll.
Another fingernails sound;  I could save 30 more minutes.
Off the freeway and back on the original direction again.
I paid a toll.

Inexplicably, Phyllis took me through the airport rental car return loop. (I am not making this up.)
I got on another road, paid another toll.
There were traffic jams, diversions, off the freeway, on the freeway.
I was so turned around I had no choice but to follow Phyllis.
You can check out anytime you want, but you can never leave.
Indeed.

Suddenly I was driving past the Washington Monument, and the Jefferson Memorial--not on the freeway zipping past them, but in the street traffic! You know, red lights, potholes, construction barrels, congressmen, local pizza delivery guy.  We headed for the Pentagon, and I wouldn't have been at all surprised to find myself driving its halls.  They're wide enough.

It went from bad to worse.  I got stuck behind three gravel trucks racing each other between lights on the streets of downtown DC. Miss P took me east across town, circling, serpentine-ing, spinning, veering.  I swear we went so far east that I saw roads signs in French.  Couldn't have been any less helpful to me.

It was at this point I imagined the night crew in the offices of the GPS company watching a huge screen showing my tortured path and writhing in laughter.
"Lookee!  Phyllis got another one trapped!"
"How long before he'll realize?"
"Oh, she's good."
"However much we're paying her, it isn't enough."

I despaired. I was confused.  I was anxious.  I was acrimonious. And finally, I was resigned. I resolved to contact the GPS (rhymes with om-nom-nom) company and give them a piece of my mind.  I resolved to take them off the Christmas card list.

I resolved to...but wait.  In today's digital world there is another way to get revenge.  Instead of firebombing their offices, I'll mess with their reputation in the new media.  I'll post the story!

There will be blog.*

*Not even close to an original reference.  There is even a whole blog named this.  But instead of a good time, I had a good story...

Center of the Universe

It happens with all new places: as I learn about them, they become the center of my universe.  

I become hyperaware of every news item, every sports team, every happening in that place.  But with Philadelphia the phenomenon seems to be getting stronger.  Example: With 340 missions, what are the chances* of Bethany's brother getting called on a mission to...wait for it...

Philadelphia!

Or how about this example: 

Yes, this is the very same piano that Lynne and Paul (and Gabe) all learned on in Riverton.  It now lives on 46th and Osage, 4 blocks from us.  Owner Michelle bought it from us in Utah 4-5 years ago, moved it to Yale a year ago, and then to Philly last month.   Coincidence or psychic gravity?  We report, you decide.

What else could happen in this confluence of cosmic energy?  I wouldn't be at all surprised if the Phillies took the World Series, the Eagles the Superbowl, and the Flyers the Stanley Cup.  Not to mention the Penn Quakers (I am not making this up) taking the Ivy League rugby tournament.

Well, maybe mildly surprised (thanks, Connor).

* Answer: about 1 in 340, give or take, but still pretty long odds to bet the farm on