Leland Torrence wrote:

> "Knowledge is a journey, not a destination."
>
> Here, hear....
> Leland

That must be my que to stop lurking and let everyone know that I have
returned to the fold.  I am ready to rejoin the journey, if you'll have
me.

I am still a preservation beaurocrat in the very cool (at the moment)
state of Minnesota.  Contrary to my children's annoying habit of
observing the evidence and basing their opinions on what they observe, I
am still an architect, I have not become an accountant.

The path that lead me to stray from the pinheads did not lead to better
care for the historic buildings in my care, nor did it make me the
serious management beaurocrate some hoped for, it only made me grumpy,
lonely and less well informed.  So I used my internal compass (asking
for directions is so embarrassing), cut cross country and found my way
back to you guys....it wasn't really so hard, its not like BP does
anything efficiently, quietly or in a straight line and I never was that
far away.


A journey story...with preservation characters...as opposed to my
preservation stories with random characters:

One evening somewhere outside of Pittsburgh, Brenda (the not so wicked
curator of the east), John H. (conservator) and I had finished a long
day of examining plaster walls at an historic site and were looking for
a movie theater that claimed it would show Mrs. Doubtfire.  (I will
admit that I was driving but not until I see the rubber hose.)  We in
fact had been looking for this theater for a good forty minutes and were
approaching the West Virginia line.  That might have been a good thing,
if we weren't looking for a Pittsburgh theater.  Neither John nor I
wanted to stop for directions...but Brenda became forceful...she gets
like that after a long day of keeping John and I apart...(we don't
always get along and its a challenge manage us so that we cant work
together)...(he's not easy going like me)...(but we do good work
together when Brenda is there to keep us on task).

So to keep Brenda from doing something really awful to John, I pulled
into a car dealership so that she could ask for directions.  (Now all
the guys on the list are cracking up and I am humiliated all over
again.)  She goes in, two salesmen patiently, politely and good
naturedly give her detailed directions.  John and I are slinking ever
lower in the car seats hoping the dashboard will make us invisible.
Brenda turns toward the car, gives us a cheery wave.  As soon as her
back is to the salesmen, they begin exaggerated Marsel Marso laughing
and pointing at John and indicating that manliness is in doubt.  John's
ego will never fully recover.

To make it worse, Mrs. Doubtfire is not exactly the best movie to take a
guy to who is going through child custody problems.  Lousy timing.

I remember that the night was dark, that the roads were semi rural ,
that the comradeship was wonderful and tolerant.  It was a brief side
trip in a longer journey and worth the remembering.

-jc