This year marked the beginning of a change in Christmases for us. For one--and do not underestimate the significance of this shift--the teenager and prototeen in the house slept in until 7:45, allowing Mary and me at least an extra 90 minutes of sleep as compared with previous years.
Second, the pile of presents under the tree was a bit smaller than before. This cuts two ways. It's nice that there's no longer any temptation to have to swallow the tree in gifts, to make such a splash on Christmas morning. On the other hand, the things they want now (Vera Bradley, anyone?) are smaller and more expensive than some previous years' requests.
Third, Grandma had a smaller role than in her previous times with us. With her inability to climb stairs well, we did not have Mom sleep over with us Christmas Eve (well, that, and the fact that the guest room is still wrapping-and-shipping-central and not suitable for habitat). Instead, after the initial flurry of opening stockings and Santa gifts and presents from others, I went to pick up Mom around 10:30 and brought her back to the house, and we did all the presents from and to her at that time.
I don't know what next year's Christmas will bring (although there's some talk of a Christmastime Disney Cruise...), or what other changes next year will feature. I only know I felt a change in the Christmas winds this year.
Click on the link at right or here to see pictures from the morning. And Merry Christmas one and all!
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
Farewell 2011
As 2011 closes, we have to share the annual JibJab rememberance of the year gone by. I love these guys!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Sarah: Performing Girl
The fifth grade chorus concert at Silverbrook Elementary was this week, and Sarah and several of her friends were taking part in chorus this year. They sang three songs, then the sixth graders sang three, then the combined choruses finished with two songs, including "Seasons of Love" from Rent. In the video, she's the girl with the glasses standing next to her BFF Giselle, and you can tell they put a lot of effort into it.
By means of remembering the year, also see Sarah and Giselle in the countywide SACC dance recital/contest from this past winter. Do we have a budding stage presence among us?
By means of remembering the year, also see Sarah and Giselle in the countywide SACC dance recital/contest from this past winter. Do we have a budding stage presence among us?
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
And On She Runs...
Sunday morning (why are these always Sunday mornings at ungodly times?), Sarah participated in her fourth Girls On The Run 5K race. To the organizers' credit, the course was flatter, and by doing it in mid-November, the weather was nicer--it was 54 degrees at race time, or a good 25 degrees warmer than last year's Reindeer Romp in December.
First, the important stuff: once again, Sarah completed the entire race without walking (although given the crowds one could be forgiven for thinking we had slowed to a walk once or twice). She finished in a time of 37:23, which was good for 813th place out of the 2,800 girls who ran, putting her in the top 30% of finishers. She was also in the top third of finishers from Silverbrook--which managed to have a girl finish fifth overall, too!
To be open about it, though, this was not one of her best races. Of the three we have times for, this was her slowest time, a good five minutes off her spring time. In terms of percentiles, she finished better than her first race ever, but not as good as this spring. I think part of it had to do with the course design and race-day management, which seemed to bunch up people in key places (there were two turnarounds, one in a narrow alleyway--who thinks to put 5,600 runners through that and expect seamless movement?). The middle of the race, she did slow to a powerwalk kind of pace, immediately after cresting the high-point hill on the race, and she did have two equipment failures--twice having to stop for shoelaces.
I can also go into an extended rant, if you like, about the (lack of) wisdom in holding this event at Jiffy Lube Live, a venue already famous for its inability to manage traffic well; on departing, it took us 90 minutes to get out of the parking lot, with the first 45 minutes not. Moving. An. Inch.
But this is about Sarah, and celebrating her tremendous stamina and stick-to-it-iveness that has seen her through four 5Ks now (plus the warmup races...so she's run 40km now!) since third grade. She wore her "Daddy's Girl" bracelet in the race, and as has become her tradition, once she saw the finish line up ahead, she dashed off in a sprint, leaving Daddy puffing behind and shouting encouragement at her, that fantastic, flying Running Girl of mine.
But this year's time had another reason to be slow: a daughter's love. She got within ten feet of the finish line, and stopped, turned around, and waited a few seconds for her old man to catch up, so she could hold my hand as we crossed the finish line together. Would she have set a personal best but for that? Nah. But in that moment, neither of us cared for the seconds ticking by, but rather for the eternity of that memory and a shared race together.
First, the important stuff: once again, Sarah completed the entire race without walking (although given the crowds one could be forgiven for thinking we had slowed to a walk once or twice). She finished in a time of 37:23, which was good for 813th place out of the 2,800 girls who ran, putting her in the top 30% of finishers. She was also in the top third of finishers from Silverbrook--which managed to have a girl finish fifth overall, too!
To be open about it, though, this was not one of her best races. Of the three we have times for, this was her slowest time, a good five minutes off her spring time. In terms of percentiles, she finished better than her first race ever, but not as good as this spring. I think part of it had to do with the course design and race-day management, which seemed to bunch up people in key places (there were two turnarounds, one in a narrow alleyway--who thinks to put 5,600 runners through that and expect seamless movement?). The middle of the race, she did slow to a powerwalk kind of pace, immediately after cresting the high-point hill on the race, and she did have two equipment failures--twice having to stop for shoelaces.
I can also go into an extended rant, if you like, about the (lack of) wisdom in holding this event at Jiffy Lube Live, a venue already famous for its inability to manage traffic well; on departing, it took us 90 minutes to get out of the parking lot, with the first 45 minutes not. Moving. An. Inch.
But this is about Sarah, and celebrating her tremendous stamina and stick-to-it-iveness that has seen her through four 5Ks now (plus the warmup races...so she's run 40km now!) since third grade. She wore her "Daddy's Girl" bracelet in the race, and as has become her tradition, once she saw the finish line up ahead, she dashed off in a sprint, leaving Daddy puffing behind and shouting encouragement at her, that fantastic, flying Running Girl of mine.
But this year's time had another reason to be slow: a daughter's love. She got within ten feet of the finish line, and stopped, turned around, and waited a few seconds for her old man to catch up, so she could hold my hand as we crossed the finish line together. Would she have set a personal best but for that? Nah. But in that moment, neither of us cared for the seconds ticking by, but rather for the eternity of that memory and a shared race together.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
It May Smell Like Teen Spirit But It Looks Like Vermont
For the first time this winter we're enjoying both a fire in the fireplace and snow outside: and yes, it's only October in Northern Virginia!
We slept in this morning (10:30! Amazing!) and got a bite to eat at Ruby Tuesday's ahead of going to Top Golf for a round (yes, even Mary played). arriving in Kingstowne in a cold rain and 36 degrees. By the time we were done lunch, it was sleeting, and as we played our round, some of the raindrops and sleet seemed to be drifting, as if they were (could it be?) snowflakes.
By the time we finished shopping at Wal Mart and Costco, it was very definitely snowing, but since the ground is still well above freezing, nothing was sticking. But still, with the flakes flying and the windshield wipers wiping, it felt much more like December than October: we should be seeing Christmas trees, not pumpkins!
It hasn't lasted; even by dinnertime the flakes had turned into huge puffy ones and then stopped, turning back to rain. This won't last; it's to be sunny and back in the mid-to-upper 50s by midweek (around 50 for trick-or-treating Monday night). But for a brief moment, we had a taste of winter in NoVa, and I confess, I enjoyed it.
We slept in this morning (10:30! Amazing!) and got a bite to eat at Ruby Tuesday's ahead of going to Top Golf for a round (yes, even Mary played). arriving in Kingstowne in a cold rain and 36 degrees. By the time we were done lunch, it was sleeting, and as we played our round, some of the raindrops and sleet seemed to be drifting, as if they were (could it be?) snowflakes.
By the time we finished shopping at Wal Mart and Costco, it was very definitely snowing, but since the ground is still well above freezing, nothing was sticking. But still, with the flakes flying and the windshield wipers wiping, it felt much more like December than October: we should be seeing Christmas trees, not pumpkins!
It hasn't lasted; even by dinnertime the flakes had turned into huge puffy ones and then stopped, turning back to rain. This won't last; it's to be sunny and back in the mid-to-upper 50s by midweek (around 50 for trick-or-treating Monday night). But for a brief moment, we had a taste of winter in NoVa, and I confess, I enjoyed it.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Disney Cruise: Photos Available!
Our Disney Cruise this summer, aboard the Disney Dream, was an absolutely wonderful getaway and we savored every moment aboard. Thanks to Mary, and her quick thinking, we got out of town ahead of Hurricane Irene, and had four wonderful nights aboard ship. Click here or in the links at right to see all the pictures!
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Ahhh, Home(bodys)
A measure of how our summer and early fall have gone is the fact that I've not posted here for about three months. It's not just that we've been busy--and with enjoying Courtney's visit over the summer, and the Disney cruise, and school starting, and the end of the fiscal year, we certainly have--but also I feel more a sense of pulling in, and less a sense of reaching out: in a word, we've become more "homebodies" these last few months than before.
Sarah has gotten very comfortable in front of the TV or in her room or reading; she doesn't ask to go to the mall or over to friends' houses as much as last year. David has rediscovered the joy of the media room downstairs, and, after saving his money for several months, the Xbox360 he purchased has seduced him down there as well. Mary has always preferred the comforts of home, and as tired as she's been lately, too, has had a pronounced favor of staying home.
Perhaps my own change makes it seem more noticeable--sort of a Heisenberg principle of domesticity. I can't tell you the last Fairfax County GOP meeting I've attended. I bought a ticket to Dave Albo's annual Albopalooza fundraiser and rock concert tonight; now I don't feel very much like attending, just sitting at home watching a movie or plowing more through my reading.
Usually this sentiment strikes me much more around wintertime--when there's less motivation to get outside, and more to sit around a crackling fire. Its presence in autumn, though, and even in late summer is unusual. I'm not entirely sure what to make of it--passing whim, or changing tack with a new wind? But until I figure it out, at least I'm comfortable, and there's plenty of Shiner.
Sarah has gotten very comfortable in front of the TV or in her room or reading; she doesn't ask to go to the mall or over to friends' houses as much as last year. David has rediscovered the joy of the media room downstairs, and, after saving his money for several months, the Xbox360 he purchased has seduced him down there as well. Mary has always preferred the comforts of home, and as tired as she's been lately, too, has had a pronounced favor of staying home.
Perhaps my own change makes it seem more noticeable--sort of a Heisenberg principle of domesticity. I can't tell you the last Fairfax County GOP meeting I've attended. I bought a ticket to Dave Albo's annual Albopalooza fundraiser and rock concert tonight; now I don't feel very much like attending, just sitting at home watching a movie or plowing more through my reading.
Usually this sentiment strikes me much more around wintertime--when there's less motivation to get outside, and more to sit around a crackling fire. Its presence in autumn, though, and even in late summer is unusual. I'm not entirely sure what to make of it--passing whim, or changing tack with a new wind? But until I figure it out, at least I'm comfortable, and there's plenty of Shiner.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Touching Third
David's time at home this weekend is like an Astros player on second base trying to score on a long single: third base is touched, but only briefly, then it's off again to someplace else.
He returned this afternoon at 2:15 from his week in Winchester, VA, as part of Jeremiah Project with a hoarse voice and stories to tell. The hoarse voice he can't explain; he says he's not feeling badly, although I hear he laughed so hard during the week he needed his asthma inhaler--now *that's* a camping story!
He says he met some great people, and his team of kids did some good work while they were there for people who needed help. One say they put in a handrail for someone who needed help getting up and down the stairs. Two days were given over to building a wheelchair ramp on a house that now needed one; another was the "Tunnel of Fire" project (building a deck between two sun-radiant white trailers) and another was washing and sealing a deck--without power tools.
It's terrific that he had a chance to go and make a difference in the lives of people who need a little more help. I told him I was proud that he had a chance to be His hands and feet for a week. He unpacked and we saw all the mail he received from people at the church as well as us, and the very kind words of affirmation he received from the people there. One other thing tumbled out of his bag: a pure white, gleaming tile, like from a bathroom wall. He says he had a chance to write down all of the things the keep him from God, and then he received his tile: it shows the clean slate he has with God, he told me. I can't help feeling joy--tearful joy--at hearing him tell that story.
And so he's here for all of 16 hours or so--tomorrow morning at 8 he leaves for Scout camp and another week gone. Most of it will be spent asleep, recuperating from a busy week and in anticipation of another to come. And I suspect I'll be looking in on him, in his bed late tonight, feeling pride in the kind of young man my son is becoming.
He returned this afternoon at 2:15 from his week in Winchester, VA, as part of Jeremiah Project with a hoarse voice and stories to tell. The hoarse voice he can't explain; he says he's not feeling badly, although I hear he laughed so hard during the week he needed his asthma inhaler--now *that's* a camping story!
He says he met some great people, and his team of kids did some good work while they were there for people who needed help. One say they put in a handrail for someone who needed help getting up and down the stairs. Two days were given over to building a wheelchair ramp on a house that now needed one; another was the "Tunnel of Fire" project (building a deck between two sun-radiant white trailers) and another was washing and sealing a deck--without power tools.
It's terrific that he had a chance to go and make a difference in the lives of people who need a little more help. I told him I was proud that he had a chance to be His hands and feet for a week. He unpacked and we saw all the mail he received from people at the church as well as us, and the very kind words of affirmation he received from the people there. One other thing tumbled out of his bag: a pure white, gleaming tile, like from a bathroom wall. He says he had a chance to write down all of the things the keep him from God, and then he received his tile: it shows the clean slate he has with God, he told me. I can't help feeling joy--tearful joy--at hearing him tell that story.
And so he's here for all of 16 hours or so--tomorrow morning at 8 he leaves for Scout camp and another week gone. Most of it will be spent asleep, recuperating from a busy week and in anticipation of another to come. And I suspect I'll be looking in on him, in his bed late tonight, feeling pride in the kind of young man my son is becoming.
Friday, July 15, 2011
New Photos
We've posted up new pictures from our late spring and early summer adventures: check out David's long lacrosse hair at Easter time, and his attempt to be a sullen teenager (that dissolved into smiles) at his 13th birthday.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
David and Dave
Friday, June 17th, was the quasi-annual visit of Dave Alvin to the Birchmere, and for the second year running, David wanted to go. So after taking Mom and me to the optometrist, I picked him up and we headed for Del Ray in the rain, listening to the iPod on the way.
The opening act this time was Los Straitjackets, which was a far sight better than the truly forgettable lady who opened last year. David seemed to enjoy them, especially their Mexican wrestling masks, and their surf-rocker sounds. They put on a great show, especially Teen Beat, their drummer, who holds his sticks in a truly unorthodox manner but who got tremendous sound out of the skins.
Then came Dave Alvin and the Guilty Ones, opening with "Fourth of July" and a set with Dave entirely on electric guitar--so you knew it was going to be a rocking show. And it did not disappoint, with some material from his new album (irony alert: our preordered copy of Eleven Eleven arrived in the mail that very day but I hadn't opened the mail to see it). From the new album David was so-so on "Harlan County Line" but we both loved "Run Conejo Run." We brought them back onstage for an encore, and as part of the encore Dave was asking for requests. David, a trained student, immediately shot his hand into the air, and then after realizing it wasn't an occasion that required hands, started shouting for "Haley's Comet"--and the band obliged, playing David's favorite song with David smiling and singing along.
We walked out and wandered through the gift shop to kill time, in hopes that Dave Alvin would come out; I had brought a Sharpie in hopes of him signing our tickets. We then walked over to the ticket-taker and asked if he was coming out. "Oh no," was the reply. Thinking fast, I produced the Sharpie and a ticket and asked if there was any way that Dave Alvin would be able to sign David's ticket for him. THe manager looked at us, took the pen and ticket, and said "Wait here," before disappearing into the kitchen. Excitedly, we hung around, anticipating that he would return with a signed ticket for David.
Instead, in five minutes, the showroom door opened and the manager beckoned us to follow. David's getting his first backstage experience! I thought. We walked into the green room, just off the floor, and there he was, the King of California, with a few friends in the green room.
David walked over and shook hands with Dave Alvin, and said he had enjoyed the show. Dave asked what his name was, and on hearing "David," spread his arms slightly in a "how cool a name is that?" gesture. However, David, on seeing a friendly adult there with his arms wide, did what came naturally: he took the next step forward and gave the King of California a hug.
Everyone thought it was the cutest thing ("Awww!") and they talked a little more. David said his favorite song was "Haley's Comet" and Dave said "I heard you singing along out there!" (Yeah.) Dave asked if David played an instrument, and David had to admit that no, he didn't, but Dave encouraged him anyway. After Dave signed David's ticket ("To David, Mi amigo, Dave Alvin"), in a moment of sheer opportunism I asked if I could get one too. He asked if I was a David too, and I had to say no, although David *is* my middle name. So I got an autograph too: "To Eric, with David in the middle, Dave Alvin." We thanked him, and floated out of there.
On arriving home we found the CD and that it had come with a tour poster of Dave and Los Straitjackets. We're going to have the signed tickets framed with the poster as a memento of the night David and Dave met, and our shared moment of a brush with fame. And no, we can't wait until his next visit. (David pointed out to Dave that his bands had been the Guilty Men, the Guilty Women, and now the Guilty Ones; he asked if the next one was the Guilty Things.)
The opening act this time was Los Straitjackets, which was a far sight better than the truly forgettable lady who opened last year. David seemed to enjoy them, especially their Mexican wrestling masks, and their surf-rocker sounds. They put on a great show, especially Teen Beat, their drummer, who holds his sticks in a truly unorthodox manner but who got tremendous sound out of the skins.
Then came Dave Alvin and the Guilty Ones, opening with "Fourth of July" and a set with Dave entirely on electric guitar--so you knew it was going to be a rocking show. And it did not disappoint, with some material from his new album (irony alert: our preordered copy of Eleven Eleven arrived in the mail that very day but I hadn't opened the mail to see it). From the new album David was so-so on "Harlan County Line" but we both loved "Run Conejo Run." We brought them back onstage for an encore, and as part of the encore Dave was asking for requests. David, a trained student, immediately shot his hand into the air, and then after realizing it wasn't an occasion that required hands, started shouting for "Haley's Comet"--and the band obliged, playing David's favorite song with David smiling and singing along.
We walked out and wandered through the gift shop to kill time, in hopes that Dave Alvin would come out; I had brought a Sharpie in hopes of him signing our tickets. We then walked over to the ticket-taker and asked if he was coming out. "Oh no," was the reply. Thinking fast, I produced the Sharpie and a ticket and asked if there was any way that Dave Alvin would be able to sign David's ticket for him. THe manager looked at us, took the pen and ticket, and said "Wait here," before disappearing into the kitchen. Excitedly, we hung around, anticipating that he would return with a signed ticket for David.
Instead, in five minutes, the showroom door opened and the manager beckoned us to follow. David's getting his first backstage experience! I thought. We walked into the green room, just off the floor, and there he was, the King of California, with a few friends in the green room.
David walked over and shook hands with Dave Alvin, and said he had enjoyed the show. Dave asked what his name was, and on hearing "David," spread his arms slightly in a "how cool a name is that?" gesture. However, David, on seeing a friendly adult there with his arms wide, did what came naturally: he took the next step forward and gave the King of California a hug.
Everyone thought it was the cutest thing ("Awww!") and they talked a little more. David said his favorite song was "Haley's Comet" and Dave said "I heard you singing along out there!" (Yeah.) Dave asked if David played an instrument, and David had to admit that no, he didn't, but Dave encouraged him anyway. After Dave signed David's ticket ("To David, Mi amigo, Dave Alvin"), in a moment of sheer opportunism I asked if I could get one too. He asked if I was a David too, and I had to say no, although David *is* my middle name. So I got an autograph too: "To Eric, with David in the middle, Dave Alvin." We thanked him, and floated out of there.
On arriving home we found the CD and that it had come with a tour poster of Dave and Los Straitjackets. We're going to have the signed tickets framed with the poster as a memento of the night David and Dave met, and our shared moment of a brush with fame. And no, we can't wait until his next visit. (David pointed out to Dave that his bands had been the Guilty Men, the Guilty Women, and now the Guilty Ones; he asked if the next one was the Guilty Things.)
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
What's That Again?
Sometimes the things we see every day aren't really what we think they are.
It's the rule in Metro cars that if you bring on a bike, you can't use the middle doors of the car--you have to use the ends. So most cars have a little sticker with a pictogram of a bike, with the international-No symbol (red circle and slash) superimposed, and the words "Center door" underneath.
So on the ride home this morning to care for a "sick" Sarah (don't ask), I happened to look at the sticker on the door of my car, and found this:
I am *so* relieved to know that in the event of invasion by Imperial stormtroopers, I won't have to worry about them rushing the car through the center door.
It's the rule in Metro cars that if you bring on a bike, you can't use the middle doors of the car--you have to use the ends. So most cars have a little sticker with a pictogram of a bike, with the international-No symbol (red circle and slash) superimposed, and the words "Center door" underneath.
So on the ride home this morning to care for a "sick" Sarah (don't ask), I happened to look at the sticker on the door of my car, and found this:
I am *so* relieved to know that in the event of invasion by Imperial stormtroopers, I won't have to worry about them rushing the car through the center door.
Monday, May 16, 2011
The Spring Of The Running Girl, Part II
Yesterday, Sarah completed her third 5K race in the New Balance Girls On The Run 5K at George Mason University. The thunderstorms the previous night had abated, and while everything was soggy, it wasn't raining (for the first time)--and in fact, as the national anthem was sung, the sun even came out from behind the clouds for the start!
Sarah did a terrific job, again. She had one piece of equipment failure (right shoelace came untied about 1/2 mile into it) and had to stop for that, but otherwise, never so much as slowed to a walk the rest of the time. This year's course was a little more difficult, I believe: instead of one long slow hill to climb then a slow descent, like last year, we had the long hill, then a series of up-and-down hills for much of the rest of the race. But she never stopped, no siree!
At the very end, after chugging up that last hill, she turned the corner, saw the finish line ahead--and just bolted. Flat-out sprinted to the end, leaving her old man puffing and trying to keep up. (I didn't; I was a good 30 feet behind her at the finish.) It helped her, though, to her best time of all three races she's run: she completed her 5K in 32:04! That was good enough to finish #821 overall (out of over 3200 finishers--putting her in the top 25%), and fourth overall among Silverbrook's 19 girls who ran. For reference, last year she ran it in 35:50 and finished in the top 37%...so she's definitely improving!
We're all very proud of her accomplishment in finishing the Girls On The Run program for her third time, and for improving as she went. I've asked her if she would be interested in doing any of the other 5Ks that happen around town, and she allowed as how she might be...so who knows, maybe this will become a habit.
Sarah did a terrific job, again. She had one piece of equipment failure (right shoelace came untied about 1/2 mile into it) and had to stop for that, but otherwise, never so much as slowed to a walk the rest of the time. This year's course was a little more difficult, I believe: instead of one long slow hill to climb then a slow descent, like last year, we had the long hill, then a series of up-and-down hills for much of the rest of the race. But she never stopped, no siree!
At the very end, after chugging up that last hill, she turned the corner, saw the finish line ahead--and just bolted. Flat-out sprinted to the end, leaving her old man puffing and trying to keep up. (I didn't; I was a good 30 feet behind her at the finish.) It helped her, though, to her best time of all three races she's run: she completed her 5K in 32:04! That was good enough to finish #821 overall (out of over 3200 finishers--putting her in the top 25%), and fourth overall among Silverbrook's 19 girls who ran. For reference, last year she ran it in 35:50 and finished in the top 37%...so she's definitely improving!
We're all very proud of her accomplishment in finishing the Girls On The Run program for her third time, and for improving as she went. I've asked her if she would be interested in doing any of the other 5Ks that happen around town, and she allowed as how she might be...so who knows, maybe this will become a habit.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
I Have Nothing To Say Today
I recently re-happened upon Stanley Bing's blog and enjoyed reading some of his material. It had been awhile since I had read Bing, and so the return of that joy was tempered by my own realization that I had not bothered to enter a single thing on our own blog for over a month. It's not as if we haven't had much going on; we've been just as busy as ever. I just haven't felt much like anything I have to offer is of value. And so I'm sorely tempted to just have a moment of stream-of-consciousness writing.
Why do they call it "stream" of consciousness? It's more like a trickle, really, like that little bead of water slowly making its way down a windowpane after it rains. Heads in one general direction (down) but, oops, just now veered right, then left, obeying its own impulses. Well, if beads of water had impulses. Or warp drives, for that matter. Although could you imagine the carnage if raindrops fell at the speed of light, or greater? A tiny chunk of ice destroyed a space shuttle; the momentum of a raindrop at c would be just ridiculous. Tiny mass, immense velocity. All speed, no vector, at least that's how it feels sometimes around the office. Not "The Office," mind you, but the one I work in, or try to, weekdays. And lately a couple of weeknights, and if Dave's right, a weekend day may be in my future this weekend. I do appreciate what Secretary Baldridge did for America, but this writeup for the Baldridge Award is not going as well as it needs to. It doesn't yet "sing," and unfortunately it's my job to make it sing. Which is what I'm pondering doing for Redeemer's Song; they need another male vocalist (desperately; there are five women at the moment) probably moreso than they need a fourth-string drummer. But if I can't keep the beat, maybe I can keep to the right key. Unless that key's the one to the Sable, which will be handed over to Debi and Courtney this summer when at least Courtney arrives for summer duty. Until she gets used to NoVA traffic, I expect there'll be a lot of time spent at the pool--which is fine, and better than just going down to the stream behind the house. Hey, maybe I should write something in "stream-of-consciousness" sometime.
Like how I came full circle with that?
Why do they call it "stream" of consciousness? It's more like a trickle, really, like that little bead of water slowly making its way down a windowpane after it rains. Heads in one general direction (down) but, oops, just now veered right, then left, obeying its own impulses. Well, if beads of water had impulses. Or warp drives, for that matter. Although could you imagine the carnage if raindrops fell at the speed of light, or greater? A tiny chunk of ice destroyed a space shuttle; the momentum of a raindrop at c would be just ridiculous. Tiny mass, immense velocity. All speed, no vector, at least that's how it feels sometimes around the office. Not "The Office," mind you, but the one I work in, or try to, weekdays. And lately a couple of weeknights, and if Dave's right, a weekend day may be in my future this weekend. I do appreciate what Secretary Baldridge did for America, but this writeup for the Baldridge Award is not going as well as it needs to. It doesn't yet "sing," and unfortunately it's my job to make it sing. Which is what I'm pondering doing for Redeemer's Song; they need another male vocalist (desperately; there are five women at the moment) probably moreso than they need a fourth-string drummer. But if I can't keep the beat, maybe I can keep to the right key. Unless that key's the one to the Sable, which will be handed over to Debi and Courtney this summer when at least Courtney arrives for summer duty. Until she gets used to NoVA traffic, I expect there'll be a lot of time spent at the pool--which is fine, and better than just going down to the stream behind the house. Hey, maybe I should write something in "stream-of-consciousness" sometime.
Like how I came full circle with that?
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Transitions
Tony Bladen retires tomorrow. And my mom's new assisted-living apartment is ready for her to move in.
On the face of it, these two facts have little in common. Tony rose from a GS-3 clerk to become an Assistant Director of the FBI in his 29 years. I came to know him about five years ago, when I moved to the admin section in DI and Chris took me around to meet some key people. He was always a great go-to guy, expected a lot out of you but was willing to give even more of himself. He took the chance on bringing me into his RPO nearly three years ago and I've appreciated all that that opportunity meant. Today was his retirement ceremony and the stream of the most senior leaders in the organization who stood up to testify to his incredible accomplishments, to his sacrifice, and to the loyalty he inspired in others, was outstanding as a testament to the kind of man he is.
Monday we took possession of my mom's new apartment, and Adam and I took the day to put two coats of paint on the walls (and only one on ourselves, which is a pretty decent ratio). The painting wrapped up at the end of the day, in late afternoon shadows, so I returned Tuesday for touchup work and to ready other aspects of the space--the phone, the TV, assembling a couple of pieces of furniture, that sort of thing. Oh, sure, there's a small punchlist of items they need to finish in there before Mom arrives, but they have nearly two weeks to accomplish those. But we load the truck in Vermont next Wednesday, and unload it in Virginia next Friday, and then Mom and the cat arrive Monday the 11th, for keeps.
And so I find myself in a place of transitions, of people moving on to the next stages in their lives around me. Transitions are often a place where one can pause, and take stock. And in the one instance, I hear the voices saying, "Your retirement won't be anything like that. People won't say anything about how wonderful you were, how much you accomplished, because let's face it, you're just an average bureaucrat." (The voices often aren't kind.) And at the same time, in the other instance, I am doing what little I am (as compared to my sister who, let's see, packed a house, oversaw a home remodel, and then sold a house within 96 hours), in the hopes that it will be sufficient to ease my mother into her next chapter in life. The one has a tinge of selfishness to it, the other a tinge of selflessness; the one a sense of paling in comparison and the other a sense of paling before What It All Means. And yet both are bound in the realm of transitions, which seems to be much on my mind as March comes to a close.
Will I engender the kind of respect and love that wove through Tony's retirement celebration, or will mine be "Oh, was he still here? I thought he left years ago"? Will we successfully manage the move of my mom into an entirely new phase in her life, or will this be something she regrets for the rest of her days? That's the thing about transitions: it's not really possible to tell which way the fork in the road is taking the traveler. Yet they're inevitable, there are often no manuals to follow, and how we muddle through tells us a lot about the kind of person we are. So here's to the next set of transitions I'm managing; let's raise a glass to Tony and to my mom, who, after all, really do have the much more difficult transitions to be making than I am. And then back to work.
On the face of it, these two facts have little in common. Tony rose from a GS-3 clerk to become an Assistant Director of the FBI in his 29 years. I came to know him about five years ago, when I moved to the admin section in DI and Chris took me around to meet some key people. He was always a great go-to guy, expected a lot out of you but was willing to give even more of himself. He took the chance on bringing me into his RPO nearly three years ago and I've appreciated all that that opportunity meant. Today was his retirement ceremony and the stream of the most senior leaders in the organization who stood up to testify to his incredible accomplishments, to his sacrifice, and to the loyalty he inspired in others, was outstanding as a testament to the kind of man he is.
Monday we took possession of my mom's new apartment, and Adam and I took the day to put two coats of paint on the walls (and only one on ourselves, which is a pretty decent ratio). The painting wrapped up at the end of the day, in late afternoon shadows, so I returned Tuesday for touchup work and to ready other aspects of the space--the phone, the TV, assembling a couple of pieces of furniture, that sort of thing. Oh, sure, there's a small punchlist of items they need to finish in there before Mom arrives, but they have nearly two weeks to accomplish those. But we load the truck in Vermont next Wednesday, and unload it in Virginia next Friday, and then Mom and the cat arrive Monday the 11th, for keeps.
And so I find myself in a place of transitions, of people moving on to the next stages in their lives around me. Transitions are often a place where one can pause, and take stock. And in the one instance, I hear the voices saying, "Your retirement won't be anything like that. People won't say anything about how wonderful you were, how much you accomplished, because let's face it, you're just an average bureaucrat." (The voices often aren't kind.) And at the same time, in the other instance, I am doing what little I am (as compared to my sister who, let's see, packed a house, oversaw a home remodel, and then sold a house within 96 hours), in the hopes that it will be sufficient to ease my mother into her next chapter in life. The one has a tinge of selfishness to it, the other a tinge of selflessness; the one a sense of paling in comparison and the other a sense of paling before What It All Means. And yet both are bound in the realm of transitions, which seems to be much on my mind as March comes to a close.
Will I engender the kind of respect and love that wove through Tony's retirement celebration, or will mine be "Oh, was he still here? I thought he left years ago"? Will we successfully manage the move of my mom into an entirely new phase in her life, or will this be something she regrets for the rest of her days? That's the thing about transitions: it's not really possible to tell which way the fork in the road is taking the traveler. Yet they're inevitable, there are often no manuals to follow, and how we muddle through tells us a lot about the kind of person we are. So here's to the next set of transitions I'm managing; let's raise a glass to Tony and to my mom, who, after all, really do have the much more difficult transitions to be making than I am. And then back to work.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Daddy's New Toy...er, Car: The Midlife-Mobile!
I've got a great wife, I really do.
When it came time to start thinking of a successor to the 2002 Sable, Mary told me to go ahead and get something fun, get something I really wanted, and so I started looking at four-seat convertibles. I've driven a couple--recall the Mustang we rented for David's birthday on the Cape last summer--and when all was said and done, I had a tossup choice between the Lexus IS350C and the Infiniti G37 convertibles. (Yeah, I drove the BMW 3-series one...it really didn't impress, and seemed more work than fun to drive.)
I went back and forth on it awhile; there for a bit it was really an even race. The Infiniti had better rear visibility, slightly better mileage, and would probably be a touch cheaper. The Lexus just *felt* better, and to be honest, it had more toys on it (paddle shifters!), and when the car is itself supposed to be "something fun," well...
I'd always been so practical in the cars I'd bought myself--a Mazda 323, a Sable--and received as hand-me-downs (the Sundance, once Mary bought the Mystique) that the ability to make a choice based on "fun" was so unusual it took me a couple of days to pull the trigger. But when I did, we got it!
I'm now enjoying tooling around Northern VA as the weather begins to warm and the sun shines. Sarah, who expressed such aversion to a convertible at the beginning of this process (see "Getting What We Want" in the archive), now allows that riding home from school with the top down is a fun thing to do on a bright spring day. And David certainly enjoys the cool-by-association factor of pulling up to the bus stop in the morning in it. ("Your car is really cool, Dad"--I finally made it to the "cool" side of the proto-teen!)
Is it practical? Meh. I can get the kids to and fro, and yes, the d-pole for lacrosse does barely fit in the cabin. I can get a couple of bags in the trunk with the top down, but this is no long-distance cruiser. It's great that the kids are old enough to not need carseats, I can certainly say that. But with the Sienna rolling fine (just paid off the loan on it one day before we bought the Lexus!), we have the family-hauler as well as the haul-@$$-er. And cliche though it may be for a 43-year-old guy to get a convertible, tough: I've got one and I'm lovin' it. And if you don't give me too hard a time about it, you might get to come for a ride some April day.
When it came time to start thinking of a successor to the 2002 Sable, Mary told me to go ahead and get something fun, get something I really wanted, and so I started looking at four-seat convertibles. I've driven a couple--recall the Mustang we rented for David's birthday on the Cape last summer--and when all was said and done, I had a tossup choice between the Lexus IS350C and the Infiniti G37 convertibles. (Yeah, I drove the BMW 3-series one...it really didn't impress, and seemed more work than fun to drive.)
I went back and forth on it awhile; there for a bit it was really an even race. The Infiniti had better rear visibility, slightly better mileage, and would probably be a touch cheaper. The Lexus just *felt* better, and to be honest, it had more toys on it (paddle shifters!), and when the car is itself supposed to be "something fun," well...
I'd always been so practical in the cars I'd bought myself--a Mazda 323, a Sable--and received as hand-me-downs (the Sundance, once Mary bought the Mystique) that the ability to make a choice based on "fun" was so unusual it took me a couple of days to pull the trigger. But when I did, we got it!
I'm now enjoying tooling around Northern VA as the weather begins to warm and the sun shines. Sarah, who expressed such aversion to a convertible at the beginning of this process (see "Getting What We Want" in the archive), now allows that riding home from school with the top down is a fun thing to do on a bright spring day. And David certainly enjoys the cool-by-association factor of pulling up to the bus stop in the morning in it. ("Your car is really cool, Dad"--I finally made it to the "cool" side of the proto-teen!)
Is it practical? Meh. I can get the kids to and fro, and yes, the d-pole for lacrosse does barely fit in the cabin. I can get a couple of bags in the trunk with the top down, but this is no long-distance cruiser. It's great that the kids are old enough to not need carseats, I can certainly say that. But with the Sienna rolling fine (just paid off the loan on it one day before we bought the Lexus!), we have the family-hauler as well as the haul-@$$-er. And cliche though it may be for a 43-year-old guy to get a convertible, tough: I've got one and I'm lovin' it. And if you don't give me too hard a time about it, you might get to come for a ride some April day.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Words Fail?
If I were better-educated, or at least better able to pull off the upper-crust affect that would work in this sentence, I'm sure there's some fancy (probably German) word for how these last few days have felt. It's not schadenfreude, it's not angst, it's not ennui (wait, that's French)...but I'm not sure how exactly to describe it.
The examples at work go like this: On returning to the office this morning after a weekend in Vermont, I began making the list of the various projects and due-outs that I need to be on top of. Some of them were pretty darn immediate, like letting Procurement know whether we had any mission-essential contracts before noon. And as I look down the list, there's already a number of tickmarks that I've crossed off.
But the principal ones I'm stuck waiting on someone else before I can do anything. Whether it's data quality validation for a project for the ADD, or data collection for a GAO audit, or the go-ahead for publishing the first-quarter business metrics reports, or the "OK" to use the new briefing materials I produced for outbound SACs, or the "looks fine" on our statement of top Division accomplishments since 2001, I'm left waiting on others inside or outside my Division before I can get anything done. Consequently, I'm left vaguely bored, and having to chew on lower-level projects that frankly I don't wanna do right now, just to kill the rest of the day.
There's a similar something like that happening around the house. I know in four weeks I'll be taking the day off to begin painting my Mom's new assisted-living apartment, and that between now and then there's some work that needs to be done, and certainly from that day out there will be tasks. But right now, it's waiting...it's far too soon to buy paint (it'll separate back out again in a month), we can't arrange phone service until we know her room number. So in anticipation of what will likely be a busy end of March and early April, I can get started on...well, nothing.
So how *do* we describe this feeling? It's not really "boredom," although there's probably an element of it, because there's certainly things that *can* be done, just not the A-level priorities right now. It's not just the cliched "calm before the storm"--there's something a little deeper than that at work. It's not "burnout," because I'm actually looking forward to doing the business metrics and having the outreach paper back to work on it again, and so on.
If only I'd studied German more. I'm sure there's some Freudian word out there for this.
The examples at work go like this: On returning to the office this morning after a weekend in Vermont, I began making the list of the various projects and due-outs that I need to be on top of. Some of them were pretty darn immediate, like letting Procurement know whether we had any mission-essential contracts before noon. And as I look down the list, there's already a number of tickmarks that I've crossed off.
But the principal ones I'm stuck waiting on someone else before I can do anything. Whether it's data quality validation for a project for the ADD, or data collection for a GAO audit, or the go-ahead for publishing the first-quarter business metrics reports, or the "OK" to use the new briefing materials I produced for outbound SACs, or the "looks fine" on our statement of top Division accomplishments since 2001, I'm left waiting on others inside or outside my Division before I can get anything done. Consequently, I'm left vaguely bored, and having to chew on lower-level projects that frankly I don't wanna do right now, just to kill the rest of the day.
There's a similar something like that happening around the house. I know in four weeks I'll be taking the day off to begin painting my Mom's new assisted-living apartment, and that between now and then there's some work that needs to be done, and certainly from that day out there will be tasks. But right now, it's waiting...it's far too soon to buy paint (it'll separate back out again in a month), we can't arrange phone service until we know her room number. So in anticipation of what will likely be a busy end of March and early April, I can get started on...well, nothing.
So how *do* we describe this feeling? It's not really "boredom," although there's probably an element of it, because there's certainly things that *can* be done, just not the A-level priorities right now. It's not just the cliched "calm before the storm"--there's something a little deeper than that at work. It's not "burnout," because I'm actually looking forward to doing the business metrics and having the outreach paper back to work on it again, and so on.
If only I'd studied German more. I'm sure there's some Freudian word out there for this.
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