Artifacts of a Product Manager

Artifacts of a Product Manager

Photography Was a Passion of Mine Long Before I Became a Product Manager

After just a single elective photography course in college, I became hooked. The class format was simple enough — first, we received our assignment with some basic instruction from the professor, next we took to the streets with our overpriced film to capture our shots, and we then selected our top 3 to 5 film negatives (remember those?) that we wanted to develop onto photo paper.

That magic occurred in the darkroom — a barely lit cave directly adjacent to our more formal classroom. It was filled with dangerous chemicals, *early 2000’s emo rock, and intensely frustrating iteration — all to create something a little more tangible. My head was spinning. I loved it.

Once we completed the development process, it was time for our instructor to kindly deconstruct exactly how and why our photos sucked, but “don’t worry” she explained — if we enjoyed photography and kept working at it, we were almost guaranteed to get better.

She was an expert photographer, and I proved her correct



My footing was sure before the ground shook.

After graduation, I worked at 2 technology startups that could not have been more different from one another. The first spun off from an established R&D firm and made it easier to search for audio online (speech to text). The second was an online personals website that made it easier to hook up. Although both were very different (with equally quirky cultures that I enjoyed) both provided a great primer on the day to day hands on work required to market and sell products and services to a group of people who can benefit from its use.

After 5 years; I built up enough experience and knowledge to become semi-dangerous. My footing was on solid ground — and my future path was becoming a little clearer as I understood more clearly what I wanted to do, and what I didn’t want to do. I was in full stride and gainfully employed. I wore a Halloween costume to work for the first time ever. I was going on international business trips (yes, international)

And then the economic crisis of 2008 occurred and people were frightened. The people who ran companies were also frightened — and many (including my own) responded the best way they knew how. Layoffs.

I created digital shipping tools after I was an office boy.

A few years later, I graduated from a corporate-sponsored MBA program and dove head first into my first official role as a Product Manager with FedEx. My excitement and curiosity were matched with challenge and ambiguity — but more importantly, with the praise and kudos from my team and management on the victories and progress made along the way.

After a few years I came up for air to reflect — experts were asking me for my opinion, no two days were the same, and I was helping people in my own humble way — making online shipping easier and more efficient, in particular — for those silently head down in the largest and ugliest cube around — getting all the most essential and despised tasks/chores of the day — like preparing labels for shipments. You may have heard of them as they have many different titles:

  1. administrative assistant
  2. secretary
  3. temp
  4. regular assistant
  5. personal assistant
  6. executive assistance
  7. <insert your own> assistant
  8. person sitting next to the person in charge
  9. office boy
  10. me

And trust me, after providing that service (even for a single year at one of those startups) my appreciation for these task managers grew. All from our shared experience, holding down the cube.

To be continued…

Night Moves – On Connections

A Collection Inspired by “Night Moves” – A song written and performed by Bob Seger. One of my absolute favorite songs ever.

I was a little too tall
Could’ve used a few pounds

Tight pants points hardly renown
She was a black haired beauty with big dark eyes
And points all her own sitting way up high

Way up firm and high

Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy
Out in the back seat of my ’60 Chevy
Workin’ on mysteries without any clues
Workin’ on our night moves

Trying’ to make some front page drive-in news
Workin’ on our night moves in the summertime
In the sweet summertime

We weren’t in love oh no far from it
We weren’t searching for some pie in the sky summit
We were just young and restless and bored
Living by the sword
And we’d steal away every chance we could
To the backroom, the alley, the trusty woods
I used her she used me
But neither one cared
We were getting our share

Workin’ on our night moves
Trying to lose the awkward teenage blues

Workin’ on out night moves
In the summertime
In the sweet summer time, summer time

And oh the wonder
Felt the lightning
And we waited on the thunder
Waited on the thunder

I woke last night to the sound of thunder
How far off I sat and wondered

Started humming a song from 1962
Ain’t it funny how the night moves
When you just don’t seem to have as much to lose
Strange how the night moves
With autumn closing in

Night Moves
Night moves (night moves)
Night moves (night moves)

Yeah, Remember, night moves
Sure do remember those night moves (night moves)
Ain’t it funny how you remember (night moves)
Funny how you remember the night moves
I remember, I remember, I remember, I remember night whoa, whoa
It’s works, Working and practicing
Oh, on the night moves
Working and practicing….


My Post (18)

Dream Files from Old New England

An excerpt from “Final Resting Place”.

My body violently jerks out of sleep. Like in the movies when you see someone wake up in a dream. It’s never happened to me before.

It’s happening right now and I feel it — perhaps the strangest sensation I have ever experienced. My body rises out of bed and makes its way to the downstairs back door as if being controlled remotely.

My body senses the disconnect and tries to kick into gear — catching up to current movement — but it can’t. It feels like I’m tripping and I hate that sensation. I don’t let it take over this time. This is meant to happen — don’t fight it.

I arrive at the back door as it swings open — the backyard is visible through tunnel vision and everything outside the radius is blurred. Tunnel vision — like the depression sometimes.

Refocus. This is beyond me and my thoughts. However, this dream is more informative than the others.

Even now, my thinking takes over. I stop and just wait, the expanse of the green before me. The backyard trees form a dark canopy gently lit by the dim moon. Just enough to see directly in front of me. Then something from the far right corner comes into view.

My hesitation almost tears me away, but I stay. Accept it.

And who approaches — none other than Buddy, the neighbor’s dog. He is not floating though, his pace is quicker and purposeful. He comes and sits about ten feet before me. His eyes are wide open and his mouth appears to be smiling — almost. He sits there for me simply to enjoy his presence. A joyous feeling takes over.

And almost as quickly as he appears — it’s over.

Stuck in Time: The Abandoned Westborough State Mental Hospital


Original Hospital Plan


Campus Pencil Drawing




The East wing of Building #23. The windows are covered with plyboard and a security fence outlines its perimeter.


Building #23 – Another section of the massive main hospital – which house approximately 200 in-patients at any given time.


Building #23. The front “visitors entrance” into the lobby of the main patient ward.


A peak inside building #23


Building #10. This structure predates the main patient ward and was the site of the original boy’s home on the campus grounds.



The quiet and bare grounds of the abandoned hospital campus.



Small trash door and show. A look inside the courtyard of building #23.



Building #7 – Administration
This structure sits on the south side of the now abandoned Westborough State Mental Hospital campus – just a 3-minute stroll from the main patient ward at building #23
Here, staff would perform various administrative duties and rest during breaks from caring for the approximately 200 in-patients residing at the hospital at any given time.



Building #7



Euro Mutt

“The world’s trash and mutts – the whole lot of them, in ships every day by the dozen.” – Matilde H. Journal Entry (est. 1880) recording of an overheard comment during passage to an American port (NYC). German Immigrant – 16 at the time of passage. Traveled alone.

Or, personal labels I am comfortable with – by Matilde H. (1883)

My sense of beauty is Italia,

simple yet bold.

pragmatism of Deutschland

thoughtful and structured

attitude towards others of France

laissez-faire but curious

passion of Scotland

misunderstood yet strong

presence of England

conservative and reserved

pace of España

relaxed with meaning

purpose of Ireland

complicated and symbolic

surroundings are Kongeriket Norge

filled with peaceful tranquility

I do not love them,

Nor hate them.

I am with them.



My X-MAS Time Gift Wrap


All of these precious gifts from you

they consume me

and often at times like these

oh how they can confuse me

“why am I acting my way

through Christmas again”?

I know we do not have much

in the way of material things

which sort of makes

  • it sting a little more.

Did these gifts

ever hold a real sparkle in your eye?

You heaped them on me

and I always knew

this was your display to me

of love –

everybody could see.

I never learned to wrap a gift

decorative bags became an indispensable friend.

Perhaps I am lazy,

or have never found the perfect packaging

for my one and only true gift

to you.





Please Come Home

A 20-pound ball of empathy –

he is one of our marvelous creatures.

Has anything ever held a mirror up to your humanity

like an animal that loves or

an animal that fears?

Throughout history,

we have served each other’s purpose.

They are bred in our reflection

mutts at the core, wanting to be truly known,

begging for nourishment –


*Chase — otherwise known as booter, booter-butt, chicken butt, or boo boo

Seriously though; what does love have to do with it? With any of it at all?

He sits on his folded legs, 3 feet from the large stand bubble that practically dwarfs his little body. The large expanse of a room consumes them both.

He is excited. The MTV is on and he knows his odds are about 1 in 4 that the new Tina Turner video will be coming on shortly. He has deliberated – and there will be no touching of the actual tv this time or getting too up close, this time he wants a pan of every single glass tube end. Maybe he could record it in his head better that way.

And then it happens just as he knew it would.

Tina is over for another brief visit. But she is even more mesmerizing than before and those vibes begin quickly — with a high intensity that will quickly subside, but stay long enough to leave a slightly deeper impression that eventually will need to be filled.

In front of him, she is shaking and strutting, he is hypnotized by this “dance”? The hair. The voice. Those legs. Is this expression!? How you can be?

Where do you learn this?

Certainly not at school.

Not even at the local skating rink. That’s why he never skates much – too busy watching.

Like right now – but today she has a message for him as well. He knows to pay attention because she keeps on repeating it – and it forces him to open his ears a little more.

What’s that Tina? That question you are asking – “Whats love got to do with it”?

Has a better question ever been asked?  What does love have to do with it? With any of it at all? Another question he can add to the running list.

At that moment, he discovered his first expert. His first “expression” expert. He will meet many more experts in the years to come – all of them having valuable lessons to teach.

However, first – he must tackle the complicated world of gender roles as exhibited in the American domesticated house pet – cats and dogs in particular.


We Came To Rest

We Came to Rest

I came

and my monster followed closely behind,

out here in the December air;

both ready


to rest.


Is this it?

Did the night air just speak to me?

The fullness of her light is dancing as the wisps of vapor energy float by –

a gradient drop of the pressure in the air.


Unfreeze my heart,



Have we located the

final resting place?

Something feels closer.

I feel it more so every day.

Nothing is Ever Easy

A Small Glitch Appears In Utero

A nuchal cord was wrapped around my neck 3 times when I was a fetus inside of my mother’s uterus. After discovering this on the sonogram during a final pre-labor exam, the doctor decided to enact emergency labor, as he was concerned the cord might restrict the flow of oxygen to my tiny brain – perhaps rendering me with some sort of lasting brain damage.

Although it may sound ominous from the first pass, this type of incident is not all that uncommon during pregnancies and depending on the severity of the knot, is usually fairly benign – in fact, some studies claim it occurs in about 1/3rd of births in any given year in the U.S.

And like my own delivery, most occur without incident, as the baby is removed, and the cord simply cut. As you can imagine, the ordeal caused some unneeded stress for my mother.

She reflects on it with a mildness today, but I can imagine this must have shot her nerves – unless she has completely changed since then. Doubtful.

Similar to myself, she is prone to worry – a chronic over-thinker. However, the focus of our anxiety tends to be different; hers on close loved ones and mine tend to be a bit more selfish in nature.

Looking back, I wonder if this incident had any effect on shaping her view of me as her youngest child. Did it make her more protective or more prone to worry about me? I remember her doing plenty of both growing up – incessantly at times.

Did this first glitch set off a domino effect of others – or was my fate sealed even before then?

You Are Conscious Matter

Aerial View of The Abandoned Quarry with Graffiti – Quincy, MA

The Quincy Quarries produced granite for over a century and was the site of the Granite Railway—often credited as being the first railroad in the United States.

The last active quarry closed in 1963. After their abandonment, the open quarries filled with rainwater and groundwater. The flooded quarries soon became a popular spot for cliff jumping.

However, many people were injured—sometimes fatally—while diving into the quarries from great heights. This led the police and the city of Quincy to grapple with what to do with this abandoned space.

In 1985, Boston’s Metropolitan District Commission purchased 22 acres, including Granite Railway Quarry, as the Quincy Quarries Reservation. A solution to the public safety problem was found with the massive Big Dig highway project in Boston. Dirt from the new highway tunnels was trucked in to fill the main quarries. This created new sections of rock to climbers, and the site was subsequently improved to encourage public use of the reservation.

The reservation is connected to the trail system of the Blue Hills Reservation.
#graffitiart #landscape #outdoors #winter #environment #weather #nature #daylight #scenic #calamity #graffiti #darkhistory #dystopian #rockclimbing #historicalnewengland #aerialphotography #naturereservation #bluehillsreservation #contrastingcolors #urbandecay #urbanphotography #bostonphotography #newenglanphotography

Great Blue Hill at Dusk

Commuters on Interstate 93 drive by the Great Blue Hill in Canton, Massachusetts – part of the larger Blue Hills Reservation, a 6,000-acre state park located roughly 10 miles southwest of Boston, Massachusetts.

The reservation covers parts of Canton, Milton, Dedham, Randolph, and Quincy and is one of the most expansive sections of protected conservation land in the metro area and a popular recreational area with a diverse ecology that includes marshes, swamps, upland and bottomland forests, meadows, and bogs.

42°12′32.6″N 71°06′8.3″W
#aerialphotography #commuters #outdoors #exitramp #dusk #orangesky #road #seashore #architecture #nature #daylight #landscape #scenic #hill #vehicle #interstate #highway #twilightscapes #dronephotography #bluehillsreservation #recreationalarea #snowcovered #statepark #conservationland #dronestagram #aerialview #dji #dronephotooftheday #aerialaesthetics

Santa Gives me the Head Spins

<note reads>

Feb 13th

Mrs. Callahan,

Do you know this little boy? While standing in the line to have a picture taken with Santa, this little boy’s mom asked me to take his picture. But, I don’t know her! I forgot I had the picture until coming across it yesterday.

I believe he is new here and very shy. It seems like every time I see him, he is wearing that colorful sweater!

If you don’t know him, could you kindly give it to the office secretary? If I give it to Caitlyn (sp?) to hold, I’m afraid it will end up in Russia!

Thank You –

Noreen Floyd


I have zero recollection of any of this little Santa Clause setup, but I can tell you one thing.

I do recall that my mother “ghosted” that ugly yellow sweater from my laundry a few months after this photo was taken.

This was a practice wherein my mother would sneakily discard (steal) certain items of clothing because I would continually wear them, sometimes day after day.

One day it would be – wa-la! Joe has two brand new (more earth-toney) sweaters – magically hanging in the closet – or a new blue pair of tennis shorts to replace the purple that I originally favored – or whatever other articles of clothing needed replacing.

Since I craved predictability as a child, incidents like this might botheredme for a bit, but I eventually got over it and realized that yes – sometimes things need to be discarded instead of over-used, for the sake of public appearances.

One of those “pride” things I had no interest in, or time for since I just wanted to be comfortable and left alone to think about something.

Dogs are Boys, Cats are Girls

Dogs are Boys, Cats are Girls

More than a fuzzy childhood memory.

Boys are dogs and cats are girls or musings from an idiot child.

No, im not going to check with anybody, why? How would I bring that up to someone, normally. Hi boy next to me who never speaks either. What do you think about boy dogs and girl cats. Nope.

I’m not going to ask another silly question about another silly thing. I will figure this out myself.

I believe I was 6, hopefully, no older. I hope I wasn’t 7.

My memory of childhood is a bit fuzzy.

But I do remember this as my first solid and fundamental animal truth (its a thing) —only later to be spoiled by my mother’s inconvenient truth (convenient timing for the complete truth Deb, or should I say “Little Debbie” — more on that later)

Her hopes for a future Mensa member were unfortunately shattered too. And most likely, I think that forced her to be extremely patient with me. Which turned out to be an anchor, in more ways than imaginable.

I probably spent more time thinking about how goddamned dogs are boys and cats are girls then you spent thinking about geometry in high school.

And remember, that all happened by 6, 7 at the latest. It was exhaustive.

“How do these children have time to play and socialize — I’ve got to figure how those huge dog babies got out of my last cat”.

And where did those babies go? Is that why she really died? Why would they tell me she was run over by Dad. Did he murder her on purpose? Confused. More Confused. Sad and confused.

In my younger years, I was what you may call a spitfire? A “unique” combination of treasure seeking astronaut with the sensitivities to the outside world of a T-mobile hot spot at a busy airport.

No wonder I would sometimes experience unbelievable headaches and mysterious sad spells for no apparent reason — sometimes right after the happiest of occasions. It hurt to think that much — all the time, even some nap times.

Time to tune into another episode of Unsolved Mysteries!

Me and my sister’s favorite show. She is “team murder reenactment”, and I’m tuning in for the

super creepy kidnapper suspect fan art

Creepy drawings that could have been done at my last family hog roast.

Our brother is doing something normal like shooting hoops in the driveway.

Finally, after about 8 or 10 super nonproductive Q and A sessions around the “private married life of cats with dogs” my friends Heather and Rebecca were frustrated as well. Or thoroughly confused. Maybe both.

And it was killing our concentration on the field and at the plate too. We lost hard to the Greyson Gators in yesterday’s game, 49 to 1. Just bad. And I’m pretty sure I’m batting under a thousand so….

The truth came out on the way home from our last slaughter of the last season of my T ball career. Two deaths in one day you could say?

I’m not going to lie and pretend I remember every word, but my mother is my second most understood subject “after me” so I can practically guarantee the conversation went something like this.

Me: Mom, when cats have babies how do they know beforehand how many they’re going to have and how much of how many?

Mom: Um, honey what do you mean by how much?

Me: Like how many of each type, dog, and cat. Do they know how many will be which?

Mom: No honey, cats only have other cats.

Me: What about boys?

Mom: Cats can have boys.

Me: But boys are dogs!

Mom: What?! Who told you that? Cats and dogs are different animals — both cats and dogs can be boy or girls. It’s ok, let’s go to U- Roll it and get an ICEE.

Then we’ll say hi and check out grandma Ivy’s garden.

Apparently, the thought of a more awkward, confused child feeding me this information provided a sort of comfort for my poor Mother.

But this was my truth. Or it was. I wasn’t sad that I was wrong. I was sad that I was so blind in the first place.

And I probably said it was Rebecca anyway. She was the queen of tarts to my king of tarts. I’m not sure that means anything to you. But it will.

Another mystery is around the corner. It was waiting for me.

A Restless Lullaby


A Lullaby for the Restless

Most likely because I am awful

at misunderstandings in general,

self-promotion in particular.

On my own schedule to a fault.

Your circadian rhythm –

My cirCANT-ian rhythm

The body resists even the most primitive form of authority.

I need a process for my days, hours, minute bursts of focus.

And yes, some conformity is necessary — that much I now know.

(connections are a consequence of deep focused thought. The connections are made carefully, to the degrees most probable. But I must better express my line of thinking to others — as they will be more likely to see.

I often even forget to put (the) in front of sentences that need them.)

Yes iteration,

a bridge for me

to the other side of self-exploration, I desperately need.

This is a tribal calling card –

your collaboration is wanted, now more than ever.

Please forgive all the errors,

they will soon be rewarded.


Fall Near The Great Blue Hill (Part 5)

October 25th

Dave enjoys decorating the house for Halloween as it reminds him of his childhood and I enjoy the festive mood and his happiness.

He also loves shopping (for anything) and went to the grocery store to buy some candy and small toys for the kids that live in the house directly behind us.

An extra bucket remains, a product of his supermarket sweep prowess. It will get eaten by me if it stays here — I’m fairly certain of this.

Suddenly an idea — Marlena! An excuse to drop over and visit her and Buddy. Not that she probably has much use for M&M’s and orange fidget spinners, but I think she will appreciate the gesture. It’s the thought that counts, right?

I’ve also stolen some of our dog Chase’s treats for Buddy. The reduced-fat version of processed meat jerky for dogs, “skinny beggin strips”, only have the fat of the regular version. Hopefully, he won’t mind — Chase apparently does.

I am fairly restless today. A few calls for work and taking care of some loose ends — thankfully it’s slow. It’s getting harder to focus and concentrate on some things lately, especially with work. I’m typically fairly skilled at pushing my way through, but lately, it is different — a blockage.

Those things are getting harder and harder for me to dedicate any real resources to. Being productive is very important to me but lately, that is becoming harder, and the most mundane of tasks become frustrating chores — like moderating usability testing sessions or prioritizing bugs.

The passion has faded, and I need it more than ever now. But how?

I make a mental note to ask my doctor about maybe adjusting my medications again — it helped with concentration and focus last time.

Quite a few mornings I awake and my first sensation is stomach pain. A dull, aching pain. And even after using the bathroom, it still lingers, sometimes well into the day.

Typically the discomfort always resides by 2 or 3 at the latest. And in those days, I relate my brain to an older engine in need of repair — inconsistent.

Some days, it just won’t start right away. And those are often the days the fatigue sets in — and my entire body just wants to shut down and rest — or hibernate.


Fall Near The Great Blue Hill (Part 4)

October 22nd

She is Marlena, widow of James. Born in Germany. Former biology researcher.

In my stealthy way, I stole her name from the mailbox and draw it out like a 5-year-old learning to spell. Phonetically. Doing this makes me realize how beautiful I find the name. A few google searches supplied the additional bio.


Why does this sound familiar? This is a name I can remember — usually the hard part. I’m still the only person I know who gets excited about meeting someone for the sake of their name. Still- something makes me more curious about her than I am typical of strangers. I cannot pinpoint it. But she is a neighbor just mere seconds away. Maybe an interesting new person to get to know?

When I feel better — my curiosity tends to get the best of me. Which might explain the google searches as well. So far — I am intrigued enough to keep digging. I’ve learned some basic background information thus far.

She slowly strolls back and forth on our circular street, allowing her small dog to lead the way.

Her bust appears “German” to me, angular and sort of cropped, very neat. She looks extremely competent and very sad — also tall. She must be 6′,0″ with a straight body, like an arrow. I’d estimate she’s in her late 60’s or early 70’s.


A simple sophistication exudes her and interests me. I’ve seen her through the downstairs window, and have been “engineering” an opportunity to cross her path.

A very foreign type of behavior for me. I have also got to meet that little dog.

He reminds me of a mix between Alf from the late 80’s tv show and the Downy Snuggle Bear. There is a new dog and I am 6 years old all over again.

By “happenchance”, I approach the mailbox as she nears one late morning. The dog leads her to me in excitement and he’s as friendly in person as he appears from inside. He is Buddy — Marlena’s loyal and sole companion, now that Jim has passed.

She is also warm, but painfully shy. I see and understand the nuance immediately.

We exchange a few words and have a pleasant if albeit short exchange. I feel relieved to have made the extra effort and return to the house with a yearning to learn more.

Should I invite her over for coffee or tea? Is that still an actual thing or will that set off alarm bells? Honestly, I do not know — these types of things dumbfound me occasionally. To display interest in others, I have become accustomed to using the “like” feature on apps such as Instagram and Twitter. Coffee would be a big step forward and luckily, my Keurig takes care of the mechanics of coffee brewing.

I never take actions like this, as my hesitant nature typically gets the best of me, especially with newness. That nagging doubt — that cannot be rationalized or pushed away. I can fight it but it still remains, lingering — always.

I need to understand it better. I must.

Our paths cross a few more times over the next few weeks in a similar fashion — always pleasant yet brief.


Fall Near The Great Blue Hill (Part 3)

October 13th

A slow fall Saturday provides a good enough excuse to perform some yard cleanup. Workers from the highway transportation office recently cut back a sizeable portion of the brush that borders our property — an ongoing effort to curb roadside accidents involving the growing whitetail population.

Now, besides the sizeable leaf accumulation — many branches and other debris remain from their recent work.


Our neighbor from across the street, Janet (Nathaniel Farrington’s eldest daughter, now into her 70’s and living directly across the street) notices us and drops by for a brief visit.

After our casual goodbyes, as an almost afterthought, she informs us that our other neighbor Jim recently passed after a third and fatal stroke. Apparently, his wife will now occupy the large yellow house diagonal to ours — alone I assume.

The fact that I met someone only weeks from their death strikes me as oddly fascinating and sad.

This wife is a complete mystery to me. Not that I spend much time investigating the neighbors. The earth here tends to take most of my spotlight these days.

This oasis of flora and fauna holds a very natural New England beauty and sends me daydreaming inside a Walt Whitman poem.

And the animal population — especially the whitetail deer and turkeys, make frequent appearances in our backyard searching for food and shelter.

Perhaps they visit to escape the sanctioned bow-hunts in the larger reserve area; a periodic attempt to thin a burdensome whitetail population. I welcome them and enjoy the chance to view them up close, as they forage nearby — preferably not in our already cursed garden.

Fall Near the Great Blue Hill – A Visual Story


The Great Blue Hill at Dusk


September 1956

Day breaks over the Great Blue Hill of Massachusetts as the low and heavy rumble of large excavating equipment fills the surrounding air.

The equipment is clearing the path for the first section of interstate 93 — the newest planned addition to the national highway system. Once complete it will be the first located entirely within the borders of New England.

The interstate will intersect the large and open base area of the hill, the largest in a range encompassing the Blue Hills reservation — and straddles the towns of Canton, Milton, Quincy, Randolph and Braintree among others.

Here in Canton (population 7,000) will sit the first on/off ramp “exit” and will connect with Interstate 95 snaking up the east coast through Providence. Then on to Boston Harbor (11 miles from here as the hawk flies) and winding points north in New Hampshire, Maine, and eventually ending 190 miles to the east and north in St. Johnsbury, Vermont.

A group of 6 small family owned farms now dot the landscape, all to be demolished in preparation for the construction — just 3 of the family farmhouses are deemed lucky enough (and structurally sound) to be relocated.

Currently, the final remaining farmhouse is being placed on a tractor-trailer rig after being separated from its foundation. The simple white farmhouse constructed in 1921 sat upon a 10-acre parcel and nicely sheltered a small family of 3.

The Farrington Family of Canton.

Some forethought was given to their plight via the creation of the Blue Hills nature reserve and an underground passageway allowing for safer animal passage from the hill into its relatively flat outer base —especially vital to the rather large population of whitetail deer, who often forage the greater area for food and shelter.

In approximately 10 minutes, it will begin hovering 216 yards due east to a slightly elevated resting position.

This area and the greater Neponset River Valley is rich in natural beauty and home to a diverse wildlife population. As with any infrastructure project of this scale, the natural inhabitants of this area will also be displaced.


The 6 Dimensions of Personality

The 6 Major Dimensions of Personality as outlined in the Hexaco Personality Inventory – revised (2010)

The HEXACO model of personality structure is a six-dimensional model of human personality that was created by Ashton and Lee and explained in their book, The H Factor of Personality[1] based on findings from a series of lexical studies involving several European and Asian languages. The six factors, or dimensions, include Honesty-Humility (H), Emotionality (E), Extraversion (X), Agreeableness (A), Conscientiousness (C), and Openness to Experience (O).

Each factor is composed of traits with characteristics indicating high and low levels of the factor. The HEXACO model was developed through similar methods as other trait taxonomies and builds on the work of Costa and McCrae[2] and Goldberg.[3] The model, therefore, shares several common elements with other trait models.

However, the HEXACO model is unique mainly due to the addition of the Honesty-Humility dimension.

Continue reading →