I had a sort of epiphany a few weeks ago. It was the perfect time to start a garden. I was tempted to start one of my own, but I knew it would be folly. I looked forward to the summer and could see I would have no time to care for a garden. I had a sense of loss.
I looked at all the things getting in the way of having a garden and realized most of them are not of my choosing, and are not reflections of my will. They are things imposed on me, either by other people or (mostly) by my own foolishness. I resolved to not let this happen again. I will have a garden next summer. A large and luscious garden. I will spend the next several months resolving the issues that prevented a garden this year, and building the discipline to reject new impositions that will thwart my will to have a garden.
So mote it be.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Nothing like a good horse
Nearly 20 years ago, Kat and I went to the local Schwinn shop and purchased bicycles. Since then, she has barely ridden hers while I have put countless miles on mine. I got a Woodlands, in medium blue. Last summer the bike was stolen from the porch. Since then I have been doing two things. I have been looking for a bike to replace it, either new or used, and I have been looking for my bike (on the chance that it is still in the neighborhood). My search for a new bike has been frustrating, because I seem to have two choices. Something that is quality, but with suspension and whistles and bells, none of which I want, or a basic frame that also happens to be cheap shit. Nothing I look at is what the old bike was – a solid non-suspended bike with good running gear and a reasonable price.
About two weeks ago, I spotted “my” bike a few blocks away. I was sort of planning to sneak over and see if it was really my bike and if I could get the serial number from it. But yesterday I saw a yard sale at the bike’s residence, and the bike offered for sale. I stopped and checked it out. It wasn’t really my bike. But it was the same make, model, color, and running gear. I gave it a test ride to see if it responded as my old bike did. It was like coming home. They wanted 30 bucks for it, and I paid up. The woman sort of sniffed about being sad to see her old friend of a bike go. But it will be going to a good home. I plan to keep it for years to come. I also plan, starting today, to keep it locked up.
About two weeks ago, I spotted “my” bike a few blocks away. I was sort of planning to sneak over and see if it was really my bike and if I could get the serial number from it. But yesterday I saw a yard sale at the bike’s residence, and the bike offered for sale. I stopped and checked it out. It wasn’t really my bike. But it was the same make, model, color, and running gear. I gave it a test ride to see if it responded as my old bike did. It was like coming home. They wanted 30 bucks for it, and I paid up. The woman sort of sniffed about being sad to see her old friend of a bike go. But it will be going to a good home. I plan to keep it for years to come. I also plan, starting today, to keep it locked up.
Work Sucks
It seems as if management at work has embarked on a program of protracted and constant demoralization. Three rounds of layoffs are at the core of it. For me, moving between jobs is a part of this, along with having work thrown at me with no training or instruction on how the hell to do it. In some cases, being free to make up your own job is a blessing. This is not one of those cases. Then – obviously disappointed that they weren’t important enough to be laid off - a small number of people quit. There are no signs they will be replaced.
On top of all this, a further blow is being administered. By the end of June – so the rumors say – development will have moved back to the main building. Our current arrangement is pretty sweet. We are in space that offers plenty of elbow room and some amenities. Being across the street from the mother ship, we are close enough to communicate with the rest of the company when we need to, but far enough away to be buffered from constant interruption. (When development was previously in the main building, interruptions became bad enough that they finally had to lock the door during business hours and appoint one person as a gatekeeper to handle communications with sales, support and training.) I am already conjuring up visions of the extreme measures we may have to make to buffer ourselves.
Another factor is just the physical space. We will be losing the elbow room, our own lunch room, the conference rooms, etc. We will be pressed together cheek and jowl. And – worse still – there is a rumor that my team, the NXT developers and QA, will actually be sharing space with four trainers. I am not looking forward to this at all.
On top of all this, a further blow is being administered. By the end of June – so the rumors say – development will have moved back to the main building. Our current arrangement is pretty sweet. We are in space that offers plenty of elbow room and some amenities. Being across the street from the mother ship, we are close enough to communicate with the rest of the company when we need to, but far enough away to be buffered from constant interruption. (When development was previously in the main building, interruptions became bad enough that they finally had to lock the door during business hours and appoint one person as a gatekeeper to handle communications with sales, support and training.) I am already conjuring up visions of the extreme measures we may have to make to buffer ourselves.
Another factor is just the physical space. We will be losing the elbow room, our own lunch room, the conference rooms, etc. We will be pressed together cheek and jowl. And – worse still – there is a rumor that my team, the NXT developers and QA, will actually be sharing space with four trainers. I am not looking forward to this at all.
Visitors, Coffee and getting back on track
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Saturday, May 02, 2009
Smokin'
When my father was a young man, he and a brother stole a pack of cigarettes. They took them into the yard, hid behind a bush, and lit up. Their mother caught them. She asked, "You want to smoke?" The question hung in the air for a second, then she said, "Well then, you'll smoke." She then supervised as they finished off the entire pack.
Needless to say, these two young men never became smokers.
(They later asked their mother how she had found them out. Her answer: "There was only one bush in the yard with a cloud of smoke over it....")
When I was about twelve years old, I found a pack of Marlboro light 100's. I kept it for a few days, contemplating my options. Finally, I took them to my father. I told him I wanted to try them and see what it was like. (Realize - this all happened in a faithful Mormon family.) He found me a pack of matches and directed me to the back yard.
A few minutes later, green faced and convinced of the evil of cigarettes, my father told me his story. He knew enough to tell me to "Go For It" knowing what the result would be.
Not a smoker. Never will be.
Needless to say, these two young men never became smokers.
(They later asked their mother how she had found them out. Her answer: "There was only one bush in the yard with a cloud of smoke over it....")
When I was about twelve years old, I found a pack of Marlboro light 100's. I kept it for a few days, contemplating my options. Finally, I took them to my father. I told him I wanted to try them and see what it was like. (Realize - this all happened in a faithful Mormon family.) He found me a pack of matches and directed me to the back yard.
A few minutes later, green faced and convinced of the evil of cigarettes, my father told me his story. He knew enough to tell me to "Go For It" knowing what the result would be.
Not a smoker. Never will be.
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