Dear Cyndy,

Happy Birthday!

Thank you for your letter; I had been concerned that
my ramblings about this and that might have annoyed you,
but apparently not.

The trip to Nantucket was strenuous but successful, as
you can see for yourself from the four sample images
which I append. The images are stamped with the time
at which they were obtained.

Camera 1 is attached to a stud in the outside wall of
the downstairs northwest bedroom and points to Margaret's
bed, and beyond it to the open walls of the bathrooms and
to the front door.

Camera 2 is attached to an external stud on the second
floor, directly above Camera 1s, and is aimed at a
very temporary kitchen counter which in this night time
picture is illuminated by a timer-controlled lamp, 
intended to suggest to a potential nocturnal burglar
that the house is occupied after all. All the cameras 
are equipped with infra-red light sources which make
visible a ten foot perimeter even in the dark.

Camera 3 is mounted on an L-shaped assembly of 2x12
treated lumber which was left over from the framer's
efforts. This camera is located next to the well and
views the south facade of the house. The colored stripes
which disfigure this image express, I think, a fault in
channel 3 of the video capture card, for which I could
find no software correction. Though it offends a certain
childish perfectionism it does not interfere with the
interpretation of a very informative image.

Camera 4 is located on the septic drainage field north of
the house. We did not have time properly to level it, or
for that matter, adequately to secure the electrical
connections: it failed within 24 hours of installation.
If this camera had continued to function, it would have
provided a very useful view of the ruts and tracks which
snooping sightseers' or would-be burglars' automobiles
left in the soft, muddy sand. But one can't have everything.

Even only three functioning cameras give "proof through the
night that our (house) was still there," - far different
from having to leave it unseen and unattended for six weeks
as we most recently did.

Klemens' company was essential. Connecting the computer
peripherals, mounting the camaras, running extension
cables and buring these in the sand was so much work
that alone I couldn't have accomplished it, especially
inasmuch I was afflicted with a very stiff, very swollen
and very painful knee. After thumbing my nose at Aesculepius'
disciples and impostors for forty-five years, I finally
got my comeuppance. Both legs had been slightly swollen
for many months, - dem Alter entsprechend - according to 
age, as my father liked to say. Then, a week ago, the
right knee swelled and became painful. Klemens, - my inhouse
doctor - agreed with me that we might be confronting a
relatively dangerous deep venous thrombosis. To ascertain
the diagnosis, Klemens arranged a Doppler study ultrasound
exam for me, and when on Wednesday, I dutifully boarded
the No 74 MBTA bus bound for Harvard Square and New England
Medical Center beyond, I rememberd my great-grandmother's
instruction for her funeral arrangements. "When it's time,"
she said, "Just hand me a nickel (Groschen) and put me
on (streetcar) No. 4," known to all to terminate at the
cemetery. Visibly, I was the only patient. The ultrasound
study was performed by a pleasant technician, probably in
her late thirties, but young-looking to me. Klemens showed
up with professorial dignity in his white coat, and observed
over her shoulder. It was immediately apparent that there
was no circulatory impairment, but an accumulation of fluid
behind the knee, in the popliteal fossa, presumably from a
ruptured "Bakers' Cyst"; and that it was compression of veins
by this fluid which was causing the pain and the edema.

Three days later Klemens and I went to Nantucket. He did all
the driving and carried the duffle bags with the computer,
the cameras, cables and other electrical paraphernalia.
My patient-friend Patricia Loring met us at the boat, hugged
and kissed me as if she were trying to break up my marriage,
and whisked us to Madaket. There she instructed us, - somewhat
imperious as she is, - when we had finished with our installation
to park my '95 minivan in her driveway. We did; she fed us bowls
of exquisite clam chowder and drove us, from her house on the Harbor
a mile and a half to the boat.

I think I'll stop here for now. Supper is almost ready.
Maybe more later. Stay well and give my best to Ned.

Jochen