Sunday, December 13, 2009

St. Lucia Day

Today was St. Lucia in Sweden, thus the early morning choral concert. When we went down to breakfast the singers were there and a different group serenaded us at a fabulous Nobel Lunch at Uppsala Universitet.

Prior to our lunch the boys and I were treated to a lovely mini-tour of the new building (built in the 1880s) and the University Museum, including the Anatomical Theater. My boys will not, I think, forget too soon that organs cut from cadavers were handed to professors who then sniffed and sometimes licked them. Off to a permanent collection with a Carl von Linné exhibit and an Art Cabinet that was, well, shall we say, all inclusive. Stone inlay designs, carvings, depictions on one side from the old testament on the other from the new and at top a tribute to Neptune and Venus (just in case?) We also learned that the King built up his army to tax the church and positioned his canons to face the Cathedral, which he apparently did destroy at least once. They have the canons there now, facing the Cathedral from the bulwark known as the "Bishop Controller."

After lunch all four us walked along the canal, where oil lamps jutting from the stone walls above the water burned - the reflection of the flames bounced off the opposite side of the canal so it looked as though it were lit on two sides. We went up past the Cathedral to get back. Walking between the Cathedral and it's side buildings - administrative? Former convent? We saw young women getting ready for Lucia concert in their white robes with red sashes and lingonberry leaf crowns.

Back to Stockholm for a rest. On the way in we saw that Town Hall had a candle in every window. It was beautiful. Jack and I rested until my mother called to say that the BBC show on the Laureates was on. The boys and I caught the second half the medicine segment (Jack did not want to see himself on TV) and even got to see a nice shot of our cat Oliver looking out the window for prey. We all caught a glimpse of my sister Karen applauding in the audience at the Nobels.

We had a nice dinner at an Argentinian restaurant in Gamla Stan and are gearing up for one giant day of sight seeing tomorrow. Who would have thought an Argentinian restaurant would be the one to satisfy three vegetarians and an omnivore?

The streets of Old Town (Gamla Stan) were quiet this Sunday night. The shops were all closed and without the crowds you could actually see the charm of the alleys and walkways, appreciate the holiday lights and relax. Good thing we didn;t relax too uch as we caught the tail end of the dinner seatings! We had been waylaid a bit at our hotel by a new Lucia Chorus singing in the lobby and bar when we were on our way out. Swedes can most certainly sing.

Happy St. Lucia Day.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

Lucia in the morning

A chorus of white robed attendants, star boys and one Lucia complete with candle adorned lingonberry leaf crown came to our room this morning bearing candles - to fight the darkness, saffron buns, to fight want and coffee and hot chocolate (for the boys) because this is a highly civil society.

It was gorgeous. And the singing was divine. They even sang "Deck the Halls."

The Prize - Part 1 visual aids

You can see some of the ceremony and banquet here
I will write about it all later.

Here is some media from the event

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Oh What Fun it Is to Ride this Magic Seigh.

Let's skip ahead to today, the day I skipped out on the Nobel lectures to hang out with my kids. I had hoped we would get a museum , we did, sort of, and get some errands done, we managed two, and chill. Done and done. Still, somehow I thought we'd make it Gamla Stan or on a boat ride, but no such luck.

Tonight we had the Nobel concert, and it was a personal lesson, as if I need one after yesterday, that what ever detail goes wrong here, though it seems huge at the moment, all will be well in the end. I even told Jack this once. Yep, always better at the telling than the coping.

This morning I met my sister for breakfast - I was having a serial breakfast with my husband, my sister and my boys. I asked her about the concert tonight, who was coming and she said neither she nor Mom had tickets, which I thought was odd as I was certain one of them had, in fact, been on the final list. But Jack sent in the list and had to deal with the juggling so I didn't know for certain, He was off all day with media prep, talking to kids at a high school and attending lectures so I didn't see him until late when I was rushing to get some work done and get ready for the reception concert and dinner. Finally, in the limo, I take a breath and ask who will be at the concert. In the limo he lists my mother as one of the invitees. My cell phone is not enabled to work here. I have no idea how to try and contact her, I don't even know where in the hotel she is. She could be in the spa, my rooms, her room. I had no idea. Then Kiki, our most fabulous and fantastic driver, said she would drive back to the hotel to see what she could do, which she did and somehow, I still don't have one complete picture, when we arrived in the concert hall my sister Karen was sitting in one of the seats looking elegant and fabulous in a black ruched evening dress. She was up and away from the rest of us and I told her to come down, but she had changed seats with my sister-in law Kathy (glad this is non-fiction, or I'd be in trouble with those names. What's with all the K's?) so that Kathy could sit with her sister and mother.
This ended up being a boon to Karen - which I will get to in a few beats.

First, the Nobel concert featured Martha Argerich, the stylistic piano player. She is known to be temperamental but a friend, the same one who assured me that Jack would win the Nobel this year, insisted that Ms. Argerich would never cancel a performance like this. The Royal family is invited, after all. I wanted to wear a long dress to the concert, but Britt-Marie, a career diplomat, was able, wordlessly, to convey that this may not be a good idea. Now, it wasn't going to be a flamboyant long gown, more like an extended cocktail dress, but I went with something simpler and a silk embroidered opera coat. And Britt-Marie was right. Yet, my wardrobe would not take this change without a fight.

First, I had to figure out which shoes to wear. I thought I had and then, whoops, the shoes didn't work with the necklace, and I love the necklace. I decided to go with strappy black heels, didn't love them, but they would do. And yes, you need to know this for later in this tale. Be patient. Jack was not patient - "we're supposed to be down there"," where is your sister"," pace grumble pace." Finally my carping back chased him down to the lobby so now I could actually get to the business of finishing up make up and pretending to pin up my hair. Really, this is my do technique when I don't have pins, I put it up as though I do and tuck and twist so it will stay. That you didn't need to know.

So, shoes on, opera coat over my shoulders, and purse in hand, I shouted a good night to the boys as I flew out the door. Perfect moment for what happened next, one of the straps on my right shoe broke. THE strap, the one that holds the front of my foot on to my shoe. But I'm late, kind of. I knew we didn't have to be there at a precise moment, but I didn't want to push it, plus, Jack was upset and not even I am allowed to upset him this week. What to do, the only other shoes I could think of, short of my Jimmy Choos, clashed with my jewelry. I figured I'd work something out. I had to save the Jimmy shoes for Thursday.

"Mom," I heard behind me and I stopped. Aran was standing in a door, "Eamon wants to say goodbye." Eamon came dashing out a different door for a good hug. I shouted to Aran - then can you get my Jimmy Choos. "Which ones are those?" They're the ones in the bag that say Jimmy Choo. I hugged Eamon, Aran found my Jimmy Choos, I handed off my broken Via Spiga's (no, you didn't need to know that they were Via Spiga. Yes, you do need to know the new ones were Jimmy Choos, can you please stop interrupting.) I had my earring in one hand as I had planned on putting them in on the elevator, now I dumped them in my purse and tore off down the hall. I passed a distinguished looking woman, considered the sight I must be, shoes in hand, opera coat fluttering out behind me and said as I passed, "I know, elegant, right?" I got one shoe on while I waited for the elevator, the other was just done being buckled as I arrived at the ground floor and the elevator announced "Reception." I was now off to the ticket chaos in the car.

Moving ahead to the VIP reception. It was fine. Not so interesting. I have yet to figure out who actually gets invited to these events and what makes them VIPs, other than the laureates, of course, largely because they seem to keep to themselves and avoid all laureate interaction. I gather it is a see and be seen event for Stockholm, but I'm not sure if the lack of intermix is due to reticence or ennui.. I mean, there are new Laureates every single year. It can get old. But social politics never get old, especially to someone like me who is oblivious to them. I looked up at the ceiling, it was plaster, painted to look like wood and it reminded me that in the hotel bar, where the hot chocolate far out performs that on the Veranda according to leading experts, Aran and Eamon, the ceiling is detailed plaster work. While my connosuers imbibed and I studied the plaster to try and estimate how many times it had been painted over since it's last restoration (Not that many. Detail is still quite clear,) I thought to share this tidbit. "You know tin ceilings used to be done to imitate plaster ceilings like this. They were the poor man's plaster ceiling." So, looking up in this room in the concert facility I thought, "and plaster was the poor man's carved wood ceiling." Poor of course never meaning actually poverty but that perceived lack of enough money to spend so as to look like you have as much as Mr. Lodge. Or would that be Cabot.

Anyway, looking at the ceiling and the details in the room I noticed a couple of curious things. First, there were theater lights around the room. I thought I figured this out when I saw the sound/projection booth, maybe this had been a cinema? Perhaps, smaller concerts of string quartets plaing Berlioz were held in here? But I couldn't make any explanation work with the room. Then I saw a camera - a security camera - jutting out from under the balcony, a balcony which held no seats. The camera was unidirectional and too far out to take in the whole room. Even if there were cameras in the booth, the couldn't see the under the balcony or even in near proximity to it, and this is where the main doors are. I never did figure this out. And I forgot my camera, but after seeing me check out the camera and scanning for others I don't think the very serious security detail would have let me take any.

Why so serious? One of the princesses was to be in attendance.

In the meantime we chatted with our guests and others. A friend mentioned my shoes and Jack said something about the words "Jimmy Choo" resounding down the hall. How would Jack know, he was in the car. Right by me was Marjorie, who wanted to know what thirteen year old boy knows what Jimmy Choos look like. I was happy now and no longer rushed so I didn't say, the ones who can read the words that are now under my foot, but just what I told Aran, "it was written on the bag." So we talked about Jimmy Choo awareness and obliviousness for a brief moment. Natasha, my seer friend (art historian, actually, but I believe she is missing an opportunity here) asked about our visit to the White House. I was seated to Elinor Ostrom and her guest. If you read the previous post/rant you can imagine we had to get off of that topic to keep the mood festive. Suffice to say that I believe Elinor voted for Hillary in the primary.

The orchestra began to tune up. They stopped. The house fell silent. It stayed silent. Jack wondered if the conductor was stuck in traffic. I said "he's waiting for his wife to finish dressing."

The conductor used stealth technology to come out. Or it coul dbe I didn't see him enter because everyone stood all at once - there must have been a secret signal or telepathy at work. The princess and her fiancé entered. You stand when she enters, of course. The whole place, as it rose, turned toward her seat, so that everyone in the balcony in her row (that was us, but not too close) turned sideways and those in orchestra looked up, whether their seats would allow for a biew or not. The conductor lead the orchestra in the national anthem and looking up to her in what is probably termed the Royal box but which is really an area in center front of the balcony cordoned off to various sizes depending on Royal turnout, they Swedes sang. It was liking catching extra terrestrials trying to pass as human engaging in some devotional ritual. Especially after that telepathy trick. I have two boys and a scientist husband, of course that's what I'm going to think of. It was truly bizarre.

Yet, other than that and the future stand sit upon her entering and exiting it was fine. I was never so glad not to be a princess as when I noticed that their was a camera on her throughout nearly the entire concert. I did mention this was being broadcast live by a couple of carriers and simulcast as well. I thought it was uncomfortable when - well, it was. I had that awful itch you get in your throat at a concert when you have forgotten to numb your throat with Bianca. This happens, of course, at the quietest, most emotionally devastating part of Martha Argerich's performance. Thank god for Elinor Ostrom, not only does she pick fabulous students who go on to stellar careers of their own, she brings at least one of them to Nobel Week and this is the one with Ricola in her purse, one of which she whips out and puts in my hand. Saved! Though until I could get some lozenge in my throat I was still trying not to cough and thsu tearing up. All I could hope was that if I did get snagged by a camera sweep it would look as though the music had moved me to weep. Which it might have if I hadn't been concentrating so hard on not coughing. Fortunately I did recover quickly and so it was a mere interlude in which I struggled. And Argerich was fantastic. And kind enough to sign my sister's program. When she had finished performing she came and sat down a few seats from Karen and someone asked for a pen. I missed all of this, it must have happened during intermission. Karen insisted on giving the program to Jack, to give to whomever he'd like so rather than have it unneccesarily fondled I handed it to Kathy, the violist. It's who he would have given it to. And he would have been dead on.

n.b. Swedes do not stand up. I don't know how many bows Argerich came out for before playing a brief encore, or how many the conductor for the second half of the evening accepted before waving "enough." But it was more than three in each case, yet only a handful of people, not even that many, stood. I would have, for Argerich, but I wasn't sure if it was a breach of protocol to stand if the Royal Family member is sitting. Come to find out, nope. Swedes just don't stand very often. Apparently while we engage in standing O inflation, they are the teacher who never ever gives an A.

After the concert all family members in our group; Jack's mother, Viola, and his sisters, Kathy and Carolyn, along with my sister rode back together in the limo. Then Jack and I went off to a dinner at the hotel. It was held in an opulent room whose name means mirror,though I din;t notice any. It was the room, the Nobel ceremonies were held in until they became too large an event. There was no seating assignment and we were a bit lost at having to almost fend for ourselves. Britt-Maire told us to find a Noel Foundation table, so we did. We stood behind our chairs waiting for waited the table to fill. Then we tossed our napkins in to our seats, and Jack's mail in his - he had received tons more. Did I forget to say that when we arrived there was a stack of mail for him. All were, as are the new pieces, requests for autographs complete with item to be signed - a card or photo - and that marvel of the 20th century, the SASE. The price of fame is blistered and inky fingers. Oh the agony. That's OK, though, he'll keep the prize.

Jack attempted to introduce himself to the man on his left. (It should have been a woman, but that was not my doing, we were their first. The man, I didn't actually get his full name, sounded American, as did his wife, yet his lapel pin was of the three crowns, of Sweden.( He introduced himself as Jack and this led to some confusion since my Jack was also attempting to introduce himself. Finally, Three Crowns Jack had introduced himself, my Jack had done the same and I and the other spousal unit were dutifully included (Jack actually likes to introduce me, as long as it isn't in the Oval Office.) Three Crowns Jack asked my Jack how he came to be at the shindig, was he with the Nobel Foundation. My Jack explained that, no, he was one of the laureates in medicine this year. Oh, Jack of the Three Crowns said, rather as though he were Capricia Penavic Marshall. Awkward silence followed before Jack and I went off for our food. When we came back the couple had abandoned us for more promising neighbors.

I had an opportunity to speak briefly with Liz Blackburn. Brief in the sense that is was me and Liz Blackburn talking. Kind of like the poor man's carved wood ceiling. Anyway, it was yet another highlight of an utterly magical evening.

I did have to run off to meet a dress maker in my room at 11:15 - she had just come from the Opera . She saw Wagner's Valkyrie at the Opera House then rushed over here to work wonders on my dress. I love Sweden, truly.

More tomorrow, late. Long day ahead. - starts in 2 hours.

Not walking the walk at the White House

I was forgiving of President Obama keeping the Nobel Laureates waiting for half an hour in the Roosevelt Room at the White House and then giving them short shrift to attend to other matters. I placed no blame on the President for the Protocol disaster that was his chief of Protocol’s remarks at the reception, which included a large mea culpa for failing to mention the presence of a House member and a virtual shrug at leaving off the name of the first woman to ever win the prize in Economics, Elinor Ostrom. That shrug was commensurate with her remarks, in any case, which seemed to feel the presence of the Laureates at reception presumably in their honor was an after thought. I was willing to give the President a pass, but am no longer so willing.

The first excuse: The President had a very busy day. Yes, he did. And the Laureates know he has much on his plate. But he kept them, along with the Swedish and Norwegian embassies waiting for a date to meet. Presumably, the wait was so that he could find a date that would allow time. He scheduled his Afghan talk and the meeting with the Laureates on the same day, no one else did. It is telling that he had no such conflicts when meeting with “Laureate of Rock n’ Roll” Bruce Springsteen. True, Springsteen was a high profile supporter in his campaign. But let’s get real, the President just likes to hang wth celebrities. If in doubt, take a look at his State Dinner invitations. Notably absent, brand new Laureate and Indian American Venkatraman
Ramakrishnan, included was Stephen Spielberg.

At the White House the Laureates were determined to make the most of their time with the President and asked about his commitment to science and math education and his plans to improve it across the U.S. The President then delivered a mini-campaign speech and his aides, before too many more questions could be posed, opened the door to usher the Laureates and their families out.

If President Obama truly wants to improve science and math education and promote the same in this country perhaps he could treat those who have reached the pinnacle of their fields - those who have changed the way science is done, opened up new paths of inquiry and established the basis for entire new applied endeavors - at least as well as he does rock stars. Afghanistan and the economy aside, if he has time to party with the Boss, he has time to have press conference with the Laureates.

Here in Stockholm the Laureates are treated as celebrities. Autograph seekers wait outside the hotel. People line up to have their photos taken with the prize winners, take photographs of their passing cars and snap shots of them as the enter and leave events.

The award ceremonies themselves are televised and half of Sweden watches. I am told it is actually an event across much of the world. One of the Prize in Medicine Laureates has been asked to address the members of Parliament.

If you want to know why we are falling behind this may be a good place to start. I respect all the artists celebrated at the Kennedy Center Honors, but these people and their work do not lack recognition. If the President is serious about keeping the United States in the forefront on science and technology I strongly advise to him consider changing whom he celebrates and how.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Arriving in Stockholm

The plane landed at Arlanda just a bit late. I figured we would be met at the airport so I knew we wouldn't have to worry about jostling for a cab. As we all stood in the aisle waiting for the gangway to be connected to the aircraft one of the flight attendants told me I could get my gowns out of the closet as I deplaned. Then, instead, a flight attendant had them out for me and carefully handed them off (I had three bags of gowns)to from the front seat where she had them ready to go. So, off the plane onto the gangway and there are two people standing their, Jack, who was the forward bookend to our kids, was speaking to them, laughing. They were clearly meeting him as they were facing the plane and standing over to the side. They greeted me and the boys and one of them opened the door behind him. No gangway for us. Down the stairs we went to a waiting limo. I met our driver for the week, Kiki - beautiful and professional. Britt-Marie, our week's attendant who works in the foreign ministry (in the off season?) is our attendant for the week. As we got into the car she let us know we would be driving 100 yards to the VIP receiving area. In the building was a lovely waiting room of which the best airline first class lounge is a poor imitation, not merely because we were the only ones there. We seemed, in fact, to be the only ones in the building. We sat and waited. Jack had a coffee, me a diet coke and the boys noshed on chocolates n gold foil wrappers stamped with the image Alfred Nobel. There were other snacks availble, was it cheese and crackers? granola? pastries? I don't recall, but everything was just the right amount. Enough to make you not fear you might take too much and not so much you felt gluttonous looking at it.

There were candles, unscented, and holiday decorations in the hall. There were lovely, comfortable, upholstered chairs and no piped music, no one interrupting, no announcements over loud speakers. Just the head of the Nobel Foundation speaking with Jack about his journey, about finding out about winning the prize, any manner of thing. Quiet, calm, relaxed. Such a luxury to a traveler.

After a bit of waiting we were told it was fine to go. Kiki showed us the back of the vehicle that had arrived and asked if those were all our bags. It looked like something was missing, but the expertise of the people was so much in evidence I doubted myself. I was the one with jet lag, after all. "Jack, did we have five checked pieces?" I interrupted as he continued to chat with Thomas (men hate the word chat. They consider chat feminine perhaps? Chatting it was, all the same. "Yes. Five," he said. And we climbed in to the limo. We arrived at the Nobel Foundation offices where, while the boys and I stayed in the car, Jack signed for his "walking around money." This is why they tell you, in the preparatory emails that you won't need any currency. Nice.

Then off to the hotel. We were greeted by staff, ushered in to a lobby that states with regal but not opulent certainty, "We are a five star hotel." Marble floors, relaxed but well appointed lounge area, rich wood paneling in the bar, and high detailed ceilings. There was no check in, we were simply shown to our room. Rooms. Our luggage was there waiting. It still seemed to me that we were missing something. We have a two bedroom suite overlooking the Norrstrom River to the palace, the House of Parliament, and the spire of city hall. Significant because these are the places of our events. The master bedroom as a raised half-round nook, with windows all about it's outward facing sides. Jack has claimed this one, like he's the laureate, and I am working at a desk in the main room at antique looking desk. The power outlet is hidden under the small mirror, where a brush or pen drawer might have been at one time. To my left is the boys room. Each room has a full bath complete with deep soaking tub. Not that I've had a chance to have a good soak.

We decided to go for a walk and as we returned to the hotel a man stopped Jack and asked for his autograph, Jack agreed but then the man produced several photos. Clearly, these were not intended as personal keepsakes. I wasn't sure how Jack felt about signing these ebay bound pics but once in the room he dropped his smile and was clearly irked.

Next walk out Jack was hungry so, for the sake of the autograph hound I helped Jack brush him off by taking his arm and walking rapidly. Jack with low blood sugar is not someone to be messing with. On our return that evening, after showing him how to walk with a group to keep shielded I ushered back into the hotel, myself between what was now a full bevy of autograph seekers and the like.

Jack has a reputation for being a nice person. He got this reputation by being a nice person. So I said, "OK, new rule. One autograph per person, then we move on." It isn't that he thinks he's Brad Pitt (For my part, I prefer Jack, who has actually changed the world, not just played someone who has.) And he loves people's enthusiasm for science. That scientists here earn a kind of fame is astounding to him, and me. He is at once encouraged (in the larger sense) and amused by it(as it pertains to him.) So we worked it once. It went well and Jack is now great at being his normal, pleasant self while signing one autograph per person.

So, that is how it went we got here. The paparazzi did bot show up until the fifth - the date by which all laureates must be in Stockholm. Perhaps some on that later. Tomorrow I'll catch you up on the events.

Small Talk 12-07-09

I am sitting here in the suite, listening the boys practice evil laughs and forbidding threats in the manner of Marvel Comics. Not that they've read any, but I think Star Wars suffices for fodder. And now they are doing their variations of a Marx Brothers movie. I am ready to believe this week truly is magic.

On top of this, we have deduced the whereabouts of the soft toy known as Big Bear. (Eamon had no recollection that he was ever called that and declared, "He's not big." Then I pointed out that Big Bear dates back to his first birthday and the concept relative size was remembered. "Oooohhhhh. Could I even carry him?"

During our everyone who is here to see Jack collect his Nobel come to our rooms soiree Eamon came out of his safe zone, that is, his bedroom, and asked where his bear might be. He was looking for it, he went up to Marjorie and asked in a clear, soft voice if she knew where it might be.

Many folks looked but I decided a final run through rooms would have to wait until everyone had gone. We fairly turned this place over, no bear. Throughout thsi I asked Eamon, did you bring him in the limo, did you bring him to breakfast. Margie revealed that she had seen bear in our rooms when she dropped by after 11:00 a.m., before the lectures. I didn't remember seeing her and that is when I remembered this tid bit. Jack and the boys had fittings for their tuxedos today, but at different places, so a car was sent the three of us while Jack took the limo to his. I had a facial scheduled for ten nearby (the spa here was booked and my free time is rare) So I dropped the boys back here and they went up to the rooms while I was whisked off to my appointment. I did not see the boys until I met up with them again at the lecture hall for the Nobel in Medicine or Physiology lectures. This meant that Jack had got them dressed and to the limo by himself. I began to surmise that an anxious father might have coaxed a reluctant child to come along quickly by telling him he could take his bear. I asked Eamon again, maybe you brought it with you in the limo? No. He was certain. We looked in and under, around and over everything in the room again. No bear. Eamon and I went to the front desk to inquire about the bear. No bear, there. Up in the room again I worried Eamon would never go to sleep for fretting over his bear. Marjorie kindly offered to let him borrow her leopard (long story) but I thought it better not to as if would be likely to take as a write-off of bear, or at least an indication that we consider bear replaceable. Jack comes into the boys bedroom. "Who was carrying your coat this morning?" (It was noon, really, but this wasn't the time to get technical on him.) "I don't know," Eamon said. "I was, his Dad said. "Remember, I said you could bring bear because we were running late?" you could almost see the memory surfacing, him holding bear by one paw, being urged along, yet again, by Dad to go somewhere in this suit and tie. Then a concern, "I didn't see him in the limo." "It was dark, I said, plus Kiki put something in the trunk. Maybe it was bear, because she didn't want him stepped on."

It didn't happen exactly as I thought, but pretty close. Call me MOM.

In other news of the day - they rushed off in the limo to pick me up, but when I came out of the galleria they weren't there. I thought maybe I missed them, or perhaps I'd come out the wrong door so I decided to walk toward the hotel, just five minutes away. When I got to the hotel I asked Carol Greider's aide de camp, "Did Jack Szostak leave?" Yep. Damn, so I begged two things of her, could I ride with them to the lectures, and could she call Britt-Marie and let her know I was going to do so.
So it all worked out in the end. But when I suggested to Britt-Marie that I take the family and guests bus or catch a taxi to the Chemistry lectures she seemed as though she had never heard of such a breach of protocol. I was to ride with Carol Greider and family again. As the spouse of a laureate I am required to arrive in a suitable car, it appears, and Jack will be going from the grade school where he is giving a talk straight to the lectures in order to be on time.