The Bat in the Kitchen

Yes, this morning, very early, I was greeted by a bat when I got to the kitchen. No, not a baseball bat, the flying kind. Kind of startled me. But what really pissed me off was that the little bugger had the temerity to make its presence known before I had even had a chance to make coffee. That's not cricket! I was made to feel rather anxious by this state of affairs, and then Waldo complicated matters by coming downstairs and plopping down in the middle of the dining room and acting thoroughly unperturbed at being buzzed by the bat. So I'm trying to get Waldo to move, but he just doesn't see what the fuss is about, and at the same time I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to make coffee while not turning my back on our uninvited guest. Perhaps stupidly, I did pay attention to it, and as a consequence I paid a price: standing at the entrance to the dining room, the thing came right at me, really right towards my face. I backed up and, having yet to receive an injection of caffeine, stumbled and... well, nothing really happened, but this was not a bright moment for my dignity, so it's a good thing it was just me and Waldo. I opened the door to the garden and after a couple of minutes the bat got itself out. I think. Unfortunately, after I opened the door I went looking for a tennis racket. When I got back the pest was gone, so can I be sure it left? Maybe it's hiding inside a ceramic vase or in some other small, dark corner. (Asun did discover the vase trick some years ago while doing some cleaning: a mummified bat!)

Well, now I've had some coffee and feel much, much better. Bat: now there's a Germanic etymology for you. I don't understand how you got from this idea of "to strike" to this flying rat. Because people tend to strike at them? (I don't think so.) In any case, it's nothing like the latinate murciélago that you have in Spanish: "blind rat." Now that's a descriptive word!

Where Is the Noise Coming From?

It's a good news bad news kind of morning. The bad news is I did not sleep well, probably attributable to excessive caffeine consumption yesterday. The good news is I get to really enjoy the early morning quiet that is especially attractive in the hour just before dawn. It's a calm, starry night in Carlisle. But what's with the annoying humming sound? Something, somewhere is causing this humming. It's coming from the exterior but I can't identify the source. I'm pretty sure I've heard this humming in the past. Once the daytime noise starts you can't detect it, so who knows if it's always there or not. Background noise. And rather annoying. Get me back to the woods... In fact, I was thinking on my last hike: wouldn't it be nice to just walk, walk, walk... I've never been on a real long distance walk and it's something I'd very much like to experience.
Sunday was the Feast of the Assumption! Without a doubt one of the most beautiful days of the year!!!

So now it's on to day two of the Willoughby Fellows technology workshop. It will be a busy day.

Finally: your homework is to go see the film City Island. Very funny. Don't miss it.

Deep In the Woods

For the second Saturday in a row Waldo and I had a splendid hike. We never really achieved a Zen state, but our time on the trail was much enjoyed. It was a cool, overcast morning, great for hiking. We did the Scenic Vista trail out at King's Gap and I had a few curious moments in which memories of previous hikes on this same trail were brought to the forefront of my mind with tremendous vividness. It was a good feeling. About half way through the hike I had a brief moment when it seemed that we were far, far away from any kind of distraction. Beautiful! We were there, deep in the woods, wrapped in a deep green silence. It is a wonderful place to be and I'm sure this is the central treasure that leads me back to the woods again and again. It is very quiet, the light is soft. Many shades of green. It is a gentle, inviting environment, but quite alive. There is nothing spectacular for the senses to behold, there is nothing to do, no call to action. Just being, perhaps in a moment of deistic acceptance.

Zen Dog

Yesterday morning Waldo and I had a magnificent hike out at King's Gap. We hadn't done this in a long time. Usually it's too buggy in the summer to be out in the woods around here, but yesterday I woke up early to cool, crisp air. Let's go! About half way into our hike we came to a point where a one mile loop, the Locust Point Trail, heads off to the right. It's a nice hike but I wasn't planning on going that way, thinking that Waldo was going to be tired enough as it was and that any extra distance was asking for trouble. But my little four-legged hiker insisted on going to the right, so off we went. And in very short time we found ourselves in a wonderful state: no distractions, no thoughts, just moving along, following the path, which must be very much like a tunnel to Waldo. No stopping to mark territory, to sniff; just becoming part of the trail, hiking in unison at a perfect, steady pace. No distracting noises, lots of shade. A minimal touch of breeze. Lots of moss on the trail bed. Our breathing even seemed synchronized. Zen. This lasted all the way around the loop. When we reconnected with the Boundary Trail we seemed to get thrown back into a more normal state of awareness. (And, curious detail, we walked by some scat that I believe was bear; I've been comparing images of bear and deer scat on google, and I'm confident it was bear. If there had been a bear on the Locust Point Trail we may well not even have been aware of it, we were that gone. Or that there?) In any case, the return to normal time was fine, and when we came to the stream on the King's Gap Hollow trail, Waldo had a grand time sloshing around in the shallow water. It was about a 3.5-4 mile hike all together. A hike I won't soon forget: that time on the Locust Point trail was magical.

A Good Deed

On Monday afternoon I called our youngest daughter, who is spending some time in Manhattan. A man answers the phone. For a split second a dark cloud takes over my brain. What the...? But in a moment I understand: our little knucklehead had left her phone in a taxi. The driver was very kind and helpful. He explained that our 15 year old had been his last fare of the day and that he had just dropped the car at the garage and was now headed home on the subway. He offered to return the phone the next day and would call when he ended up near Lincoln Center. And it worked: he met Daniela down on the street and returned the phone. It would have been so easy for this guy to just blow it off, but he didn't. He was polite and accommodating. So, three cheers for New York cab drivers! It reminds me of a driver from West Africa we had on a recent trip. Very nice. And this guy, a good man! I trust our daughter gave him a very sincere thank you. And hopefully a good tip.

Speaking of tips, at the time I was trying to call Daniela on Monday, Asun and I had just checked in to a very nice Bed and Breakfast in Oxford, Maryland. Beautiful! Right on the water. An extremely relaxing setting. Anyway, one little detail I couldn't help noticing was the envelope/note suggesting we leave a tip for the cleaning lady. I suppose there are two ways to look at this: one is, if you can afford to stay here you can certainly afford to tip the help. True enough. On the other hand, and I subscribe to this latter mentality: hey Mr. Innkeeper, if you can charge really luxury rates, you should be paying your help a living wage. Or just charge even a little more if the balance sheets are really so tight, but tipping is, in most instances, an undignified custom that we should be working to end. Our "housekeeper"? We were at this inn for one night. Why would you tip someone just for doing their job? In any case, we did have a most enjoyable stay and had fun discovering an area that was completely new to us. Outstanding.

People en Español

Yesterday I was waiting in line at Wal-Mart (Ben & Jerry's attack) when I noticed a new addition to the magazine rack: People en Español. Yet another sign of our changing demographic. There have been lots of Hispanic migrant workers just south of here, in Adams County, for many years. (Asun helps out in some clinics they have for the workers, and will soon be bringing her students along, continuing an initiative started by a colleague who is on sabbatical this year.) But there was not a noticeable Hispanic presence in Carlisle until much more recently. The change was subtle and I first noticed it about three years ago in... Wal-Mart. Clearly the local management has noticed the change too. I'm curious about the degree of overlap between the migrant worker community in Adams county and the more recent immigrants who came to provide cheap labor for the construction and service industries. This latter group is much more visible to the general population, at least in this area. Not many people make it out to the orchards and actually witness the hard labor that very few are willing to perform. And who among us witnesses the work in the slaughterhouses? And of course, we don't see the conditions of extreme poverty in Mexico or Guatemala these workers are fleeing in the first place.

I was thinking about that earlier this morning: Carlisle is our little bubble, for the most part, a very pleasant environment. I always get that notion, for example, when I'm in the Dickinson library. Wow! It's a little piece of heaven.

The Bird Feeder

When I bought a bird feeder a while back I also purchased a two or three pound bag of seed. It lasted a few days. I went back to Wal Mart and came home with a ten pound bag. It didn't last long either. So the other day I came home with a forty pound bag. I'm not certain what amazes me more, the astounding ability of these little creatures to consume one hundred percent of their body weight in very short order, or the impressive economies of scale involved in buying bird food. I don't remember the exact prices of the varying bags of bird food, but the differences are wildly out of proportion to the sizes. $5.99 for 10 pounds and $7.99 for forty pounds (!), something along those lines.

We have been getting great enjoyment from observing these birds just outside the window. And also receiving the occasional fright when one turns from the feeder and flies right into the window. Bang! It's happening with some regularity, but they don't seem to be hurt by it. We've all seen photos of summer tourists feeding the bears in parks, that's a standard image of our popular culture. And for a long time now we've been thinking, oh how stupid we were, how ignorantly intrusive on the ways of nature! So why is it ok to feed the birds? Is it ok? In any case, I have very quickly incorporated the newly enlarged bird population into my sense of "garden aesthetics." They help define the spaces at and above eye level in ways I would not have imagined just a short time ago. Their colorings, mainly grays and browns, are subtly pleasant. The occasional cardinal adds a welcome touch of airborne red, which is otherwise only to be observed in the geraniums. And their songs! Most are, in fact, uninteresting musically (chirp, chirp, chirp...), but now and then you catch a gem. At his very moment I'm seeing a little bird perched right at the pinnacle of a little tree (oh, to not even know the names of the plants in my garden!) and, oh, a squirrel just leaped from the Japanese maple onto the roof, oh my, it's a ballet!

Here and gone

This past weekend we had everyone under one roof. Cristina arrived Thursday evening on a train, having just returned from her trip to France, with a quick visit to San Sebastian included. Unfortunately, an intense thunder storm left trees fallen on the tracks west of Philadelphia, delaying things a few hours and so she missed that evening's ballet. Alma drove down Friday. We had about thirty-six hours together. What a wonderful feeling! And so fleeting. It's all so fleeting. But we have these cyclical tendencies that keep us going, and thankfully we get to gather again this weekend in Rhode Island. Well, we're not sure yet about Daniela, but I'm hopeful. Very early Sunday morning we drove her up to NY for her summer program at School of American Ballet. This just hours after a very intense two performance day of dancing to finish the June Series. Spectacular! And about the same time we were leaving, Alma and Cristina were heading back to Ithaca. So the house is feeling pretty empty this week.

It was interesting to see how they are set up at School of American Ballet. It's all under one roof on W. 65th St., right next to Alice Tully Hall, where Daniela had her great Swan experience as a nine-year old. Now she is in a double room on the 17th floor, with views of Lincoln Center below and the Hudson River just a few blocks to the west. Her suite mates have come from all over the country– California, Ohio, Florida... and two of her friends from Víctor Ullate's ballet in Madrid are also there. At the same time we were getting Daniela settled in, a ballet legend, Darci Kistler, was giving her farewell performance to bring to a close a long, long career (30 years!) with New York City Ballet. (Walking across Lincoln Center Plaza we ran into one of Daniela's CPYB mates, now an apprentice with the company; she was getting ready to perform as part of the corps de ballet.) In any case, here's part of what Times critic Alastair Macaulay had to say in his summary of Ms Kistler's career: "Since then (1992) her career has been a long, slow fade... Her pale autumn has lasted far longer than her bright spring and summer combined, and I cannot see that since 1992 she has been a good role model for the young. Often her mane of hair has been a mere shtick. Her solo dancing in the Stravinsky ballets was wretched, flicking lightly at steps that require a rigor she lost long ago." Ouch!! Makes you think that maybe fleeting is not so bad! (In the wonderful photo by Rosalie O'Connor, Daniela with her partner, Antonio Anacan, in Raymonda Variations.)

Greed

A couple of weeks ago I put a bird feeder in our garden, not far from a dining room window. It quickly became quite pop-ular and I have learned that the little flyers can go through a lot of bird feed in a short time. Just a few minutes ago I was watching a few of them. (I have not yet made a serious attempt at identifying the different species. Most are grey and brown hued and smallish: sparrows, thrushes, an perhaps the red-winged blackbird...) Just as I was thinking to myself, my, these birds are getting bigger and fatter, boom, one of the recently porked up gluttons flew right into the window. Drunk on the seed! Is this a case of too much of a good thing? I was wondering that myself the other day as I spooned up on one of Leo's almond-coconut-chocolate chip ice creams. What happened to those new year's vows to slim down and get in shape? The year had started off so well in that regard... Will I ever get it right?

Is greed universal? Surely we can overcome it to some degree. Maybe the question is, can we overcome it to a sufficient degree? (In the photo, a song sparrow.)

Disjunctions

This morning I was at the supermarket and during my stroll I was assisted by a curious individual. This man seemed angry and had a noticeably brusque manner. At first he struck me as quite rude. But I was wrong: he was actually quite nice, pointed out a couple of helpful details and wished me a nice day. Rarely do I come across such extreme disjunction. People are interesting that way.

More disjunction: last night I watched the film A Beautiful Mind, about mathematician John Nash. Asun insisted that I had seen the film with her years ago. I was certain I hadn't. And as the film went on nothing seemed familiar, zero recollection. And yet, Asun is pretty good about these things and I suspect she's right. If that's the case, it's not good for me. How could I forget something so completely? In any case, it was an ok film. The story is certainly interesting.

Lots to think about, much to do. Here's a question: is it important to remember? (I just can't get excited about World Cup Soccer.)

The Mirror and the Dog

Some days you get a lot of work done and other days you don't. Nothing new there. This morning as I walked Waldo I was thinking about staying motivated, and about religions, in a comparative sense. And about baseball, caffeine, some poets, parenting, and what it might be like to be a dog. A little scatterbrained. Some days are just like that. Later today I had the very infrequent, and in this case unexpected, opportunity to sit in on one of Daniela's private ballet classes. One on one. Some of the positions she puts her body in just don't seem healthy to me! I worry about her hip socket. After lots of warming up and technical work at the barre, she worked on two solos. Waldo could inspire a ballet. Two recent observations have me convinced this dog is somewhat unusual. Not long ago I spied him in the guest room upstairs, where he usually sleeps on a futon mattress. He was staring at himself in the mirror! This dog is self-conscious! Typically, you put a dog in front of a mirror and they don't get it. Indeed, the famous "mirror test" research performed by Gordon Gallup in 1970 suggests dogs are not self-aware. I beg to differ. Then, the other day Waldo is by the back door. I toss him a treasured treat: a scrap of chicken. He jogs over and is about to grab it, but he stops to look up and listen to a bird that is breaking into song. And he really stops and listens. So not only is this canine self-aware, he's a poet on top of that. I envy Waldo: I doubt very much he ever worries about wasting time.

Harmonies

"A poetic image of eternity, of order, symmetry, harmony..." I read these words this morning with great interest. Eternity, order, symmetry, and harmony: hey, it's what I'm after! The image referred to is the opening sequence of the famous "Shades" scene from the ballet La Bayadere. I became familiar with this ballet in 2007, when Daniela performed it with CPYB. (In 2008 we saw the complete ballet performed by Angel Corrella's company in their debut at the Royal Theatre in Madrid. The ballet was created by the great choreographer Marius Petipa, based on a score by Ludwig Minkus.) This morning it is the subject of Roslyn Sulcas' reflection in the New York Times. The first time I saw it I was completely enchanted and so now, having seen the ballet twice, I understand Sulcas' affirmation. You can watch the scene here, performed at the Paris Opera Ballet. The movement is slow and repetitive, and may strike some as simplistic, but it is no easy feat and for the dancers it requires tremendous strength, discipline, and pain-staking coordination. I guess what interests me is the group dynamic. Thirty-two dancers! (CPYB and other companies do this scene with twenty-four dancers.) That's harmony. Perfection! (I get a similar feeling with some of Jorge Guillén's poems, especially his décimas.) There is something somewhat otherworldly about this dance. And dreamlike.

Well, that's what I read this morning. Now it's time to get to work. Must prepare an exam. Yesterday too much time was spent cleaning up from Friday's damaging hail storm. Asun worked on the damage done to her vegetable garden, and I tried to repair some of the damage done here at home. This morning we just noticed the broken window panes in one of the carriage house windows. Ugghhh, more chores, more lack of perfection and harmony. The hail storm certainly did not suggest symmetry, but it sure was a poetic image. Perhaps of chaos, of cosmic anger. My head got clobbered! Some of the hailstones were pretty large and there sure were a lot of them! Incredibly, even though it was warm after the storm passed, there was still ice in the garden yesterday afternoon, twenty-four hours after the storm had passed.

Cycles

Another semester of teaching is almost done. Classes have finished. The academic calendar lends a strong cyclical character to my calendar. I guess most of us live with that sense, and maybe a little more so for those who have children in school. I wonder what it's like for childless people living near the equator? No seasons, no school calendars. Perhaps life would be more like a straight line. Then again, the consistency of sun up, sun down, may compensate: it's real cosmic equilibrium when you can count on twelve hours of sunlight day after day. (I'd like to go the equator someday.) I am reminded of Jorge Guillén's great poem, "Las doce en el reloj". Oh, blessed harmony!

Mother's Day. A little heresy: I'm against it! Against all these made up holidays. They're an insult to our imagination and intelligence. We need Hallmark to tell us show a little gratitude? Well, if I were going to be really consistent, maybe I should be against Thanksgiving itself. I'll think about it. The problem is, I love Thanksgiving dinner. It's actually my favorite American holiday and it is an important foundation myth. And speaking of significant days, today is the birthday of Dante Alighieri. Nel mezzo del camin... I fear I am more than half way, but I'm hopeful. Our neighbor lived to 102 and I'd like to go a little further.

Pedagogical Experiment

This morning I will exper- iment with my students. One of their tasks this semester is to learn a sonnet by heart and recite it for the class. It occurred to me yester- day that one way to emphasize how end rhymes can help them "learn" a sonnet is to have them "put together" a previously unseen sonnet. So I'll give them the fourteen lines of a sonnet "cut up" and scrambled and have them work in groups to rebuild the sonnet, putting the verses in order. We'll see how it goes.

Later: it went pretty well. The students were certainly engaged in trying to figure out the correct order of the verses. And they got there after about fifteen minutes.

April 28th and cold! Might get frost tonight. In the image, the manuscript of Baudelaire's famous sonnet "Recuillement". (And I just learned there is a very, very large-breasted woman by the name of Ewa Sonnet: that's what you get when you do an image search of "sonnet". She's a polish model.

Squid and Earthquakes

Today it's just reminders for a tired brain: yesterday our department hosted the Dickinson Club's weekly get together. It was nice to have many nice contributions from colleagues. I made some black rice (that is, a squid in its ink paella, basically) and it came out wonderfully, if I do say so myself. It was the first time I had done that dish large scale. Hector's pork in a sweet sauce dish was extraordinary, as was Beatriz's bean dish. It was a beautiful Spring afternoon, a fun event. From there we went over to the CPYB studios to watch an open rehearsal of Cinderella's Ball. Next weekend Daniela will dance the role of Cinderella. Excellent. And this morning it's work, which is going to start momentarily.

When someone says something truly outrageous, a not uncommon response is to suggest that the provocateur should not be dignified with a response. I agree. However, sometimes the outrageous is so wacky, responses, in the form of healthy laughter, can be ventured with no danger of lending any credence whatsoever to the intelligence-challenged blabbermouth. Such is the case with the Iranian cleric who declared that the cause of recent earthquakes is scantily dressed women. And apparently, scantily dressed, large-breasted women! Well, at least this guy is working within the tradition of a rich metaphor, perhaps universal in scope: the erotic impulse as supernatural force, so strong it makes the earth tremble! The rants become tiresome, sometimes they are quite dangerous, and once in a while we can just laugh.

Transportation

Our van died on Sunday. A rubber seal burst, we lost all the transmission fluid, and the transmission is cooked. So now we need to buy a new car, not an easy proposition in our current state. Go super cheap and hope to things get better in a couple of years? Finance something more reasonable and pray that everything falls into place? Of course, what I really want to do is not even think about it. I'm not interested in cars and would prefer to live without one, but that's simply not feasible just yet. And I'm really busy right now and not excited about this process. Oh well, this is one of those problems reserved for the fortunate of the species. Deciding what car to buy! I just need to think for a moment of the hundreds of millions who are trying to figure out real problems: how to eat, how to avoid violence, how to provide for a family.

What impressed me about the breakdown was how relatively non-eventful it was. Easy! It's Easter Sunday and I'm thinking, man, this could be bad. Not at all: we call AAA and a guy comes right away. Pete Ford, you are one of the nicest men I've ever met! Amazing. Pete drove us to the Elmira airport, where Alma had reserved a rental for us. Off we go and that was that. Pete then continued with the van to a car place in Ithaca. All told we were only set back a meager 60 minutes. Pretty impressive. Jay Ohlsten: you are a paellero extraordinaire! Thank you! The day was beautiful and lunch was delicious. All of us together. Magnífico! Ok, it's late, time to go to work, do something productive. Oh, oh, oh, how about that play by Mark Buehrle to open the season! You won't see that again ever, I can assure you. I'll remember that one. (More on that later!)

Fallas

As I write these lines we are just minutes from some very beautiful words: "Senyor Pirotecnic! Pot començar la mascletá!" March 19th! The last Mascletá!!! It fills me with tremendous sadness not to be in Valencia right now. Fallas! I just watched the video of yesterday's Mascletá by Ricardo Caballer. Thunderous! Last year I described the event in some detail, so I won't repeat myself. Now it's 2010 and here I am in Carlisle. It's a beautiful morning, very quiet, and strange to think that thousands of miles away a hundred thousand people are jumping with excitement, waiting to get their ears blasted with celestial music. Waldo seems to be reading my mind at this very moment. He's staring me down, even whining a little: celestial music? Are you kidding! Waldo does not appreciate fireworks. In fact, it seems to be the one thing in this world that can send him into a state of high anxiety. Joe's of the world: happy saint's day!

A March Morning

This morning's words are here mainly for the sake of my memory, so that some day in the future I can read them and think... well, maybe they won't provoke thoughts of any interest whatsoever, but with a little luck they'll fire some neurons such that I will maintain the illusion of a life lived with narrative coherence. OK, so yesterday we had some good timing: the checking account was in the red (not a novelty!), but then the tax refund came to the rescue. Good news. And bad news: there are already commitments and bills that more than double the available funds, easily. Someday this cycle will get better. No, no complaining, we've got it good, as they say.

It's practically mid-March and there are some signs of Spring. The days are longer, for one, and today the morning light has a promising quality to it. So, future reader: in March, 2010, on a Saturday morning, there was a sense of moving forward. There is much fun to be had without spending money. Travel will have to wait.

(Right now on the radio they are talking about trying terrorist suspects in military tribunals vs. civilian courts. The White House is going to reverse course. Big mistake! I thing about the Spanish example and the fight against ETA. Spanish democracy, with some stumbles along the way, has ultimately been greatly strengthened by treating ETA militants as the criminals they are. It's a very imperfect analogy, but there are good lessons to be learned. More another day...) In the photo, LeTort Spring Run.

Spring Training

It's snowing (again!) in Carlisle this morning, but spring training is underway and that's what matters. It's going to be a great year for the Pirates. And for right fielders generally. As I have written before, as long as we can keep playing baseball... Of course, one could argue that it is ridiculous to think about baseball when there is so much suffering all around us. How can we be dedicated to fun when there is hunger, war, disease, and loneliness? Can we make attempts to address human suffering and have fun? I think we can. Combining fun and solidarity will be on the agenda tomorrow at Carlisle Theatre, where Dickinson College students are organizing a fund-raising event for victims of the devastating earthquake in Haiti. Something along the lines of a variety show: singing, comedy, dancing... A handful of CPYB students will participate and Daniela will perform her Flames of Paris solo. It's easy to be skeptical towards these kinds of events and our modest do-goodism in general: is there real compassion or do we help just to ease a guilty conscience? I've reflected some on this and am trying to be less skeptical because, in fact, I do believe most of us are sincere in our efforts. In any case, it would be wrong for me to worry about others' motives. It's the same as always: less talk, more work. Yes, time to get to work...

The Big One, Part Two

Snowing again! Last night another eight or ten inches fell and this morning it's still coming down. It's quite pretty. The mess will come soon enough. One of the funny things about Carlisle is how people who live in the downtown area become extremely possessive of parking spaces after they have shoveled out their cars. The most common technique is to leave a plastic chair or two in the newly created space, but one finds all kinds of objects left as signs that are equally clear in meaning: "mine". The semiotics of winter parking is really quite simple. In an article in the local paper our borough manager pointed out that there are no municipal ordinances that deal specifically with this issue. It is assumed that neighbors will work it out. Good! Steve added that, legally speaking, any objects left on the street are considered abandoned property. Except cars! Well, there could be lots of room for interpretation here. Speaking of interpretation, I recommend Stanley Fish's most recent NY Times column on the supreme court's most recent ruling regarding campaign financing and the first amendment. The link is here. It's mainly Fish being Fish, but he does offer a wonderful example of what I think I'd call "antifoundationalist reasoning". To sum up briefly, Fish argues that first amendment law is oriented on a basic divide between speech and action, and that determining where that divide lies cannot, ultimately, be based on any objective principle. It's kind of like winter parking in Carlisle: what is the principle by which we determine when property in the street is really abandoned?