For several days weather forecasters have been saying we would get a significant winter storm beginning on Thursday, today, and lasting into most of the day Friday. They've been fine-tuning exactly what kind of precipitation we would get, and how much of it. At one point they thought it would be mainly an ice event, then a combination of all types (ice, sleet, freezing rain, and snow), and finally beginning as sleet/freezing rain and shifting to mostly snow. The latest winter storm warning suggests we'll get up to 7 inches of snow.
This forecast has come long before any sign of a storm showed up on the radar, or even in the clouds. This feels eerily the same as in early 2012, I think it was, when a week ahead of time they forecast a blizzard, long before anything showed in the sky. Darned if they weren't exactly correct. We got 16 inches of snow at our place in that storm, and the temperature and wind were exactly what the forecasters predicted.
This storm they forecast would hit our area about 11 a.m. to noon today, and last through Friday afternoon. But they were wrong. The first frozen precipitation began falling around 10 a.m. Imagine that. A prediction three or four days ahead was off only by an hour. Not as to the type of storm, or how it started, but only to the exact timing of the start. As of right now it is playing out exactly as forecast. The show should start around 4 p.m.
So how do I turn this into a metaphor of life? Or of my writing life? Deciding to write added a layer of busyness to my life. And a degree of separation. While certain writing tasks I can do while with others or with background noise, such as the TV, other writing tasks require quit for concentration. This includes the research for non-fiction. It includes most original composition for fiction. Plotting, proofreading, editing, correcting, these can all be done anywhere anytime. At other times separation and silence is necessary.
I won't be coming in to work tomorrow. Every way I could go has hills to navigate, and my truck doesn't handle well in snow. So I'll stay home, and write to my heart's content. I'll shoot for at least 3000 original words on Headshots. Typing edits on 20-30 pages in the Carlyle encyclopedia book. Maybe completing the first draft of the first chapter of The Gutter Chronicles Vol. 2. I might even see about the short story I've started, the next in the Danny Tompkins series.
How much of this will I actually get done? Will the storm cause us to lose power? Will I have to shovel snow and chop ice, or in other ways burn valuable time? I certainly have much non-writing work to do at home, include filing three or four months of accumulated financial papers, as well as get caught up on financial calculations on the stock trading business.
Yes, my life is a storm, a self-caused storm. Very predictable. Known tasks recurring at known frequency, put-off-able, but eventually piling up to the point where shoveling and chopping is necessary.
So let the snow come, as much as it wants to. A few days of isolation will be a welcome break in the routine.
Showing posts with label metaphors of life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label metaphors of life. Show all posts
Thursday, December 5, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Pouring Rain
Last night I was very tired. I had walked over three miles that day, with my noon and evening walks combined. I came to the computer in The Dungeon yesterday evening, intending to write a blog post here, but couldn't get my mind to focus so ended up reading blogs and playing mindless computer games.
Back upstairs I couldn't concentrate any better. About 11:15 p.m. I called it quits. As I did so, however, I heard thunder. Checking radar I found a small thunderstorm just developing around us. Some storms were further west and north, but not close enough to be concerned about. I believe I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
In the night I woke up, and saw that the light was on next to Lynda's side of the bed, though she was asleep. This light is connected to one of those devices that allows you to tap the light to turn it on and off. I could hear thunder over the noise of the box fan we had going, and heard rain on the skylight in the bathroom. I turned the light off and immediately went back to sleep.
At 5 a.m. that repeated. And at 6 a.m. the alarm woke me. This is the third day in a row that I haven't woken before the alarm went off. I suppose that's an indication of tiredness.
The drive to work included many slow downs for water on the road. It was too dark and too dangerous to be looking at most of the creeks off to the sides. By the time I reached Bentonville streets it was lighter. The rain was heavier, but I could see the various drainage ditches and man-made features, and could see how the water was. When I passed over Tributary 2 to Little Osage Creek, the creek was out of its banks downstream, but not even close to being over the road. This is a creek I have done much study on for its flooding. It was behaving exactly as my models predicted.
The storms are slowly moving out. It looks like we will be over with the rain by 9:00 a.m. and have sunshine by 10. The day's activities beckon me. Somehow I have to concentrate on a paper I'm supposed to deliver in Nashville February 2014, and finish writing it. I've been working on it off and on for over a week, with only minimal progress. I have most of the elements in the paper, but can't seem to pull them together to make my case on how erosion control fines should be assessed. I can finish it today if I can just get some concentration.
We have actually been in a fairly rainy period, unusual for our summers. Or maybe that's just because we've had several consecutive dry summers, so this seems unusual. For about the last week, every morning we have had rain. Not a lot of rain on any given day. The sky will be cloudy; at some point some rain falls, enough to make everything wet and to make people pull out umbrellas; then the clouds depart in the early afternoon and we have 85-95 degrees and humidity the rest of the day. As I say, this is unusual.
Somehow I have to get to a point in my life where all the activities I must do come as the rain has this summer, not as the overnight storm. A little time spent here, a little time spent there, lots of balance, nothing falling behind, nothing reaching the point of being critical. Let's see if I can begin that today.
Back upstairs I couldn't concentrate any better. About 11:15 p.m. I called it quits. As I did so, however, I heard thunder. Checking radar I found a small thunderstorm just developing around us. Some storms were further west and north, but not close enough to be concerned about. I believe I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
In the night I woke up, and saw that the light was on next to Lynda's side of the bed, though she was asleep. This light is connected to one of those devices that allows you to tap the light to turn it on and off. I could hear thunder over the noise of the box fan we had going, and heard rain on the skylight in the bathroom. I turned the light off and immediately went back to sleep.
At 5 a.m. that repeated. And at 6 a.m. the alarm woke me. This is the third day in a row that I haven't woken before the alarm went off. I suppose that's an indication of tiredness.
The drive to work included many slow downs for water on the road. It was too dark and too dangerous to be looking at most of the creeks off to the sides. By the time I reached Bentonville streets it was lighter. The rain was heavier, but I could see the various drainage ditches and man-made features, and could see how the water was. When I passed over Tributary 2 to Little Osage Creek, the creek was out of its banks downstream, but not even close to being over the road. This is a creek I have done much study on for its flooding. It was behaving exactly as my models predicted.
The storms are slowly moving out. It looks like we will be over with the rain by 9:00 a.m. and have sunshine by 10. The day's activities beckon me. Somehow I have to concentrate on a paper I'm supposed to deliver in Nashville February 2014, and finish writing it. I've been working on it off and on for over a week, with only minimal progress. I have most of the elements in the paper, but can't seem to pull them together to make my case on how erosion control fines should be assessed. I can finish it today if I can just get some concentration.
We have actually been in a fairly rainy period, unusual for our summers. Or maybe that's just because we've had several consecutive dry summers, so this seems unusual. For about the last week, every morning we have had rain. Not a lot of rain on any given day. The sky will be cloudy; at some point some rain falls, enough to make everything wet and to make people pull out umbrellas; then the clouds depart in the early afternoon and we have 85-95 degrees and humidity the rest of the day. As I say, this is unusual.
Somehow I have to get to a point in my life where all the activities I must do come as the rain has this summer, not as the overnight storm. A little time spent here, a little time spent there, lots of balance, nothing falling behind, nothing reaching the point of being critical. Let's see if I can begin that today.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Images of Bubble wrap and Corrugated Cardboard
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
4 years, 9 months, and 26 days
Such a blustery day today! And exactly as forecast. The weather people said it would be 15-20 degrees cooler than yesterday, and very windy. I considered not taking my noon walk, as I had only a light jacket to protect against the wind. But I want to get 50 minutes of walking in this week during the work week, so I walked. By the end of the lap (one "lap" in the commercial subdivision takes me about 10 minutes) I was frozen, so didn't try to add any extra minutes. I suspect the wind chill was around 30 degrees, and I definitely needed a hat or hood or even earmuffs.
At the end of the lap two items blew by that stuck with me. First was a cardboard box, flattened and probably from the recycling hopper next to the dumpster. I blew by slowly, in front of the first building downwind of ours, barely leaving the ground. I considered diverting the thirty feet necessary to pick it up and put it back in the recycling area, which I would walk by. But as cold as I felt I decided to just head to the building as quickly as I could.
The second was a piece of bubble wrap, maybe 2x3 feet. I was actually inside the building and walking past the door nearest my office when I saw it through that glass door. It momentarily hung up on the outside door handle. Possibly, had I been quicker, I might have been able to open the door and grab the wrap before the wind carried it off to the south. Alas, in that second where my embedded cache was slow process the bubble wrap freed itself, as if it had hands to push off the grabby handle, and off it went, four feet off the ground and climbing in the last view I had of it.
Today I critiqued a poem over at AbsoluteWrite.com, I think the first poem I've critiqued in more than a year. It's a poem by a man from Wales that I've interacted with on the site from time to time. I'd consider him a friend, though not a correspondent. His poem was rich in images, but so obscure as to meaning that I couldn't sense any meaning from it at all. He made good use of poetic structure, ending words, variety of line conclusion types. But I couldn't understand the poem. And what I don't understand I don't generally like. That was the gist of my critique. I posted this in the evening here, probably after he had retired on the English isle, so it will be tomorrow before I see his reply.
So what do these things have in common? A flattened box scooting before the wind, a piece of plastic beginning to soar, and a Welsh poem too obscure for me to understand? I suppose they are linked by my writing desires. While imagery and metaphor are needed most in poetry, they are still needed in prose. And this is a weakness of my writing. I can't figure out how to best work images into my prose, and I can't figure out how to make my poetry consistently metaphorical.
Consequently my writing doesn't soar like bubble wrap. It rather scoots along the ground like flattened cardboard, moved by the wind but not going places in a hurry. I need to do more to achieve the bubble wrap effect, to soar, and to give the reader places to press harder and pop open some hidden meaning.
Obviously I'll keep working on it. I'd like to think I was already there, however,
4 years, 9 months, and 26 days
Such a blustery day today! And exactly as forecast. The weather people said it would be 15-20 degrees cooler than yesterday, and very windy. I considered not taking my noon walk, as I had only a light jacket to protect against the wind. But I want to get 50 minutes of walking in this week during the work week, so I walked. By the end of the lap (one "lap" in the commercial subdivision takes me about 10 minutes) I was frozen, so didn't try to add any extra minutes. I suspect the wind chill was around 30 degrees, and I definitely needed a hat or hood or even earmuffs.
At the end of the lap two items blew by that stuck with me. First was a cardboard box, flattened and probably from the recycling hopper next to the dumpster. I blew by slowly, in front of the first building downwind of ours, barely leaving the ground. I considered diverting the thirty feet necessary to pick it up and put it back in the recycling area, which I would walk by. But as cold as I felt I decided to just head to the building as quickly as I could.
The second was a piece of bubble wrap, maybe 2x3 feet. I was actually inside the building and walking past the door nearest my office when I saw it through that glass door. It momentarily hung up on the outside door handle. Possibly, had I been quicker, I might have been able to open the door and grab the wrap before the wind carried it off to the south. Alas, in that second where my embedded cache was slow process the bubble wrap freed itself, as if it had hands to push off the grabby handle, and off it went, four feet off the ground and climbing in the last view I had of it.
Today I critiqued a poem over at AbsoluteWrite.com, I think the first poem I've critiqued in more than a year. It's a poem by a man from Wales that I've interacted with on the site from time to time. I'd consider him a friend, though not a correspondent. His poem was rich in images, but so obscure as to meaning that I couldn't sense any meaning from it at all. He made good use of poetic structure, ending words, variety of line conclusion types. But I couldn't understand the poem. And what I don't understand I don't generally like. That was the gist of my critique. I posted this in the evening here, probably after he had retired on the English isle, so it will be tomorrow before I see his reply.
So what do these things have in common? A flattened box scooting before the wind, a piece of plastic beginning to soar, and a Welsh poem too obscure for me to understand? I suppose they are linked by my writing desires. While imagery and metaphor are needed most in poetry, they are still needed in prose. And this is a weakness of my writing. I can't figure out how to best work images into my prose, and I can't figure out how to make my poetry consistently metaphorical.
Consequently my writing doesn't soar like bubble wrap. It rather scoots along the ground like flattened cardboard, moved by the wind but not going places in a hurry. I need to do more to achieve the bubble wrap effect, to soar, and to give the reader places to press harder and pop open some hidden meaning.
Obviously I'll keep working on it. I'd like to think I was already there, however,
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Life is Two and a Half Hours with a Dell Rep
Two or three weeks ago our new laptop (Dec 2011) experienced a problem. I was looking at websites, either as research for The Candy Store Generation or looking into places to try to promote Documenting America. Suddenly all sorts of things popped up on the screen. A whole bunch of error messages about being unable to read-write data. A box saying we had some major errors, including boot sector stuff and various 0x000... addresses. And a box saying our protection software was a trial version.
Needless to say I didn't click on either the offer to clean the computer or the offer to purchase some software. I figured it was either a virus or something seriously wrong with hardware or the operating system. I rebooted the computer and the same thing happened on the restart. This time I clicked off all the error message screens, about 50 of them, rebooted, and everything appeared again.
I then set it aside, and put on my mental to-do list that I needed to call Dell and see what happened, and what to do about it.
Tuesday night this week, thinking I might do that, I pulled the computer out of hibernation. The error messages and the other pop-ups were still there. I wrote some of the error messages, both in one repeated in the 50 message boxes and the one in the pop-up, preparatory to calling Dell. As I was doing that, they all suddenly disappeared. The computer looked normal. However, I tried to open a program, and saw that all the programs had disappeared.
Alas, I had not mojo to call Dell that night. But last night Lynda did. With the second number we got to the right place, were transferred once, and wound up talking with Fraser. No telling where he was based, but his accent made his English almost undecipherable. Even though I lived among non-English speakers for a number of years, I had to ask him to repeat himself many times.
Also alas, we learned it was a software problem, a virus that is fairly new and for which most virus protection programs had no definitions. And, we didn't have a software warranty on this computer. Naturally, since we bought it from QVC (I won't say why we did that, except to say I have always hated QVC and it's competitors and never watch them), we didn't have that warranty.
So some out of pocket money later, we had the warranty, and Fraser fixed the problem. I think it was 7:30 p.m. when we first called, and it was all over at 10:00 p.m. All systems appeared to be go, everything working.
Last night seems to be a microcosm of my life, maybe of life itself. Decisions we make have consequences way down the road. We have a Dell account; why buy a computer from QVC? Was it really any cheaper? It appears not. What website did I visit—an apparently safe site—that resulted in the virus attacking our new machine?
It makes me gun-shy about visiting any other websites, about purchasing anything electronic from a third-party vendor.
Needless to say I didn't click on either the offer to clean the computer or the offer to purchase some software. I figured it was either a virus or something seriously wrong with hardware or the operating system. I rebooted the computer and the same thing happened on the restart. This time I clicked off all the error message screens, about 50 of them, rebooted, and everything appeared again.
I then set it aside, and put on my mental to-do list that I needed to call Dell and see what happened, and what to do about it.
Tuesday night this week, thinking I might do that, I pulled the computer out of hibernation. The error messages and the other pop-ups were still there. I wrote some of the error messages, both in one repeated in the 50 message boxes and the one in the pop-up, preparatory to calling Dell. As I was doing that, they all suddenly disappeared. The computer looked normal. However, I tried to open a program, and saw that all the programs had disappeared.
Alas, I had not mojo to call Dell that night. But last night Lynda did. With the second number we got to the right place, were transferred once, and wound up talking with Fraser. No telling where he was based, but his accent made his English almost undecipherable. Even though I lived among non-English speakers for a number of years, I had to ask him to repeat himself many times.
Also alas, we learned it was a software problem, a virus that is fairly new and for which most virus protection programs had no definitions. And, we didn't have a software warranty on this computer. Naturally, since we bought it from QVC (I won't say why we did that, except to say I have always hated QVC and it's competitors and never watch them), we didn't have that warranty.
So some out of pocket money later, we had the warranty, and Fraser fixed the problem. I think it was 7:30 p.m. when we first called, and it was all over at 10:00 p.m. All systems appeared to be go, everything working.
Last night seems to be a microcosm of my life, maybe of life itself. Decisions we make have consequences way down the road. We have a Dell account; why buy a computer from QVC? Was it really any cheaper? It appears not. What website did I visit—an apparently safe site—that resulted in the virus attacking our new machine?
It makes me gun-shy about visiting any other websites, about purchasing anything electronic from a third-party vendor.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Life is a Nine-Day Tune-Up
So I took my pick-up in for a tune-up last Tuesday, April 10, 2012. The tune-up had been recommended a few months ago at the time of my regular servicing, and I had to wait to get a little money ahead. I received a much larger speaker fee than I expected for the Las Vegas conference, so I scheduled the servicing.
I made the appointment for 7 a.m. on Tuesday. The Ford dealership is less than half a mile from the office. I would walk to the office from there except I have to cross a busy 5 lane urban highway to do so. Some day I might do that, but the dealership provides a courtesy van, so I took the ride to the office.
I made the appointment for 7 a.m. to give them plenty of time to get the job done on Tuesday. I had no outside appointments, I normally arrive at the office at quarter to 7, so my routine and schedule fit well with that time, the earliest appointment available. Also, I thought if I made the appointment early enough, they will surely get the work done on Tuesday and I wouldn't have to arrange for alternative transportation home, or walk the 15.5 miles.
3 p.m. came by with no call from the shop. I called them. They said they were working on it, had already changed the plugs and determined all wires were good, and were about to test drive it. By 5 p.m. they hadn't called me to say it was ready. I called them again. The test drive showed it was still running rough, so they thought the distributor cap and rotor (or whatever is in a modern distributor) were bad. I authorized the work, but they wouldn't have it done until the next day. I called the wife, and could tell she wasn't thrilled about driving into town to get me, so I arranged with my mother-in-law to borrow her car, and was able to get home. I hated to ask an 87 year old person to drive the three miles in rush hour, so I delayed having her come till after 6 p.m.
By this point I realized what the shop had done. The delayed working on the vehicles of the people who didn't stay to wait on the work, and regardless of appointment time worked on the vehicles of the people who stayed at the shop and waited on the work to be done. That wasn't doing right by their customers, though I understood it.
The same scenario played out on Wednesday. No call, so I called them mid-afternoon. The distributor work didn't fully solve the problem. They were bore-scoping the cylinders to see if a fuel injector was bad. I told them I needed to know ASAP if they would have it done or not, as I had to arrange for transportation. At 5 p.m. he called me to say they weren't done with their evaluation. I drove home again in the m-i-l's car.
The same scenario played out on Thursday. I was very busy and didn't call them. By late afternoon they called me, said it was the #6 fuel injector that was bad, but it was too late in the day to order it in for tomorrow, Friday. They could button everything up and let me have it over the weekend and bring it in again on Monday. Thinking about the shuttle and breaking my Monday morning routine, I told them to keep it.
I don't want to bore you with the Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday scenarios, about leaking manifold gaskets, delays in getting parts in, work being done in the afternoon that should have been done in the morning. They called me Thursday at 9:35 a.m. to say it was ready and running like a new engine. I picked it up Thursday after work, and it is indeed running well.
On the first Tuesday I was mildly angry about the truck not being ready, although I was actually sort of expecting that. On the first Wednesday I was quite angry with the dealership over their delays in working on the truck and for not calling me. On the first Thursday I was irate, and almost blasted them on Facebook. On Friday I was livid, and considered firebombing their building. On Saturday-Sunday I forgot about it as best I could, though I worked through my anger a little. On Monday I was numb. On the second Tuesday I figured they had absconded with the truck and I would be getting an insurance settlement, and was almost happy. On the second Wednesday I was mellow, and decided I would hear when I would hear. On the second Thursday I was back to numb. When I picked up the truck I was very nice, but told them what I didn't like about their business practices.
It seems this is a microcosm of life. People will let you down. Mechanical things won't work, and will seem impossible to fix. Disappointments will abound. Yet always room can be found for joy and contentment. No need to firebomb buildings. Just work through the anger till mellowness sets in.
I must have eaten something at lunch that is making me really, really sleepy. Signing off for a power nap.
I made the appointment for 7 a.m. on Tuesday. The Ford dealership is less than half a mile from the office. I would walk to the office from there except I have to cross a busy 5 lane urban highway to do so. Some day I might do that, but the dealership provides a courtesy van, so I took the ride to the office.
I made the appointment for 7 a.m. to give them plenty of time to get the job done on Tuesday. I had no outside appointments, I normally arrive at the office at quarter to 7, so my routine and schedule fit well with that time, the earliest appointment available. Also, I thought if I made the appointment early enough, they will surely get the work done on Tuesday and I wouldn't have to arrange for alternative transportation home, or walk the 15.5 miles.
3 p.m. came by with no call from the shop. I called them. They said they were working on it, had already changed the plugs and determined all wires were good, and were about to test drive it. By 5 p.m. they hadn't called me to say it was ready. I called them again. The test drive showed it was still running rough, so they thought the distributor cap and rotor (or whatever is in a modern distributor) were bad. I authorized the work, but they wouldn't have it done until the next day. I called the wife, and could tell she wasn't thrilled about driving into town to get me, so I arranged with my mother-in-law to borrow her car, and was able to get home. I hated to ask an 87 year old person to drive the three miles in rush hour, so I delayed having her come till after 6 p.m.
By this point I realized what the shop had done. The delayed working on the vehicles of the people who didn't stay to wait on the work, and regardless of appointment time worked on the vehicles of the people who stayed at the shop and waited on the work to be done. That wasn't doing right by their customers, though I understood it.
The same scenario played out on Wednesday. No call, so I called them mid-afternoon. The distributor work didn't fully solve the problem. They were bore-scoping the cylinders to see if a fuel injector was bad. I told them I needed to know ASAP if they would have it done or not, as I had to arrange for transportation. At 5 p.m. he called me to say they weren't done with their evaluation. I drove home again in the m-i-l's car.
The same scenario played out on Thursday. I was very busy and didn't call them. By late afternoon they called me, said it was the #6 fuel injector that was bad, but it was too late in the day to order it in for tomorrow, Friday. They could button everything up and let me have it over the weekend and bring it in again on Monday. Thinking about the shuttle and breaking my Monday morning routine, I told them to keep it.
I don't want to bore you with the Monday-Tuesday-Wednesday scenarios, about leaking manifold gaskets, delays in getting parts in, work being done in the afternoon that should have been done in the morning. They called me Thursday at 9:35 a.m. to say it was ready and running like a new engine. I picked it up Thursday after work, and it is indeed running well.
On the first Tuesday I was mildly angry about the truck not being ready, although I was actually sort of expecting that. On the first Wednesday I was quite angry with the dealership over their delays in working on the truck and for not calling me. On the first Thursday I was irate, and almost blasted them on Facebook. On Friday I was livid, and considered firebombing their building. On Saturday-Sunday I forgot about it as best I could, though I worked through my anger a little. On Monday I was numb. On the second Tuesday I figured they had absconded with the truck and I would be getting an insurance settlement, and was almost happy. On the second Wednesday I was mellow, and decided I would hear when I would hear. On the second Thursday I was back to numb. When I picked up the truck I was very nice, but told them what I didn't like about their business practices.
It seems this is a microcosm of life. People will let you down. Mechanical things won't work, and will seem impossible to fix. Disappointments will abound. Yet always room can be found for joy and contentment. No need to firebomb buildings. Just work through the anger till mellowness sets in.
I must have eaten something at lunch that is making me really, really sleepy. Signing off for a power nap.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Life is a Spreadsheet Lost
Last night I decided it was time to prepare my Arkansas state income tax return. I finished the Federal taxes a couple of weeks ago, and decided to take a break from it. But April 17 is fast approaching, so I knew I had to get back at it.
Rather than purchasing a tax preparation program, I just do it myself. Several years ago I laid my calculator aside in favor of spreadsheets. From my work as an engineer I've learned how to put a spreadsheet together, even add some bells and whistles. Each year I add a little more to it, such as linking a cell to another point on the spreadsheet where the number in that cell was needed. This year I even added the line descriptions to the Federal forms. Every form and schedule I needed for the FedTax is included as a tab on the spreadsheet.
Last night I decided to add tabs for my state taxes, something I haven't done before. One thing I did was to learn how to use the Excel =round(num,num) function to round off all numbers to even dollars. The Feds let you carry cents everywhere; Arkansas doesn't let you. That actually turned out to be easy. So I built my tab for AR1000F, the basic form for full year residents. I added a formula for line numbers, added descriptions, grayed-out cells I wouldn't be using, changed the background color on cells where I would enter a number and cells where I had to put a link.
Each time I copied a second cell this annoying sidebar came up, displaying the last umpteen items added to the clipboard. I don't know why that comes up. It doesn't on my Excel at work, but it does at home. I assume there's a way to turn that off, but I haven't investigated it yet. When it popped up, I clicked it off. Two more pastes and it popped up again and I clicked it off again.
On and on it went, this popping up and clicking off. Through from AR1000ADJ and AR3, and back to form AR1000F again. I should just learn to let the sidebar stay up there, as it's off to the right, and shouldn't bother me. But it does bother me. I want to control the look of the screen, and that pop-up has to go.
I finished the spreadsheet and had my calculated taxes and refund, all using formulas in the right place. I saw, however, that I would probably save money by calculating income and taxes according to an allowable alternative for married couples. So I added a column for the alternate calculations, entered formulas or copied them as appropriate. The sidebar popped up and I clicked it off.
I was down to the next to the last cell. I copied the needed formula into the cell, and up popped sidebar. I clicked her down (it has to be feminine; how else can you explain all the trouble it caused), but instead of clicking on the little x for Sidebar I clicked on the little x for closing the spreadsheet. When the window popped up about saving or losing your work, I guess I didn't read it. I clicked "ok" or something, and poof, the spreadsheet was gone. And with it 75 minutes of work, because I hadn't once saved during this time.
I was crushed. I went upstairs, fixed a cup of coffee, then returned to The Dungeon. I couldn't face the spreadsheet, so did some other things for a while. Finally I went back to it and started over. I got about 1/4 done, then quit for the night. Tonight, perhaps after the movies, I'll finish it.
Life seems to me like that spreadsheet. We learn. We grow. We try new things. We append them to old things. It all works like clockwork—or a flawless spreadsheet—and you have a slightly different life. Until it all gets wrecked, often a result of something we did. The rebuilding of whatever it was you were working on might take less time than the first time, but will never result in the same satisfaction. It isn't better the second time around.
Rather than purchasing a tax preparation program, I just do it myself. Several years ago I laid my calculator aside in favor of spreadsheets. From my work as an engineer I've learned how to put a spreadsheet together, even add some bells and whistles. Each year I add a little more to it, such as linking a cell to another point on the spreadsheet where the number in that cell was needed. This year I even added the line descriptions to the Federal forms. Every form and schedule I needed for the FedTax is included as a tab on the spreadsheet.
Last night I decided to add tabs for my state taxes, something I haven't done before. One thing I did was to learn how to use the Excel =round(num,num) function to round off all numbers to even dollars. The Feds let you carry cents everywhere; Arkansas doesn't let you. That actually turned out to be easy. So I built my tab for AR1000F, the basic form for full year residents. I added a formula for line numbers, added descriptions, grayed-out cells I wouldn't be using, changed the background color on cells where I would enter a number and cells where I had to put a link.
Each time I copied a second cell this annoying sidebar came up, displaying the last umpteen items added to the clipboard. I don't know why that comes up. It doesn't on my Excel at work, but it does at home. I assume there's a way to turn that off, but I haven't investigated it yet. When it popped up, I clicked it off. Two more pastes and it popped up again and I clicked it off again.
On and on it went, this popping up and clicking off. Through from AR1000ADJ and AR3, and back to form AR1000F again. I should just learn to let the sidebar stay up there, as it's off to the right, and shouldn't bother me. But it does bother me. I want to control the look of the screen, and that pop-up has to go.
I finished the spreadsheet and had my calculated taxes and refund, all using formulas in the right place. I saw, however, that I would probably save money by calculating income and taxes according to an allowable alternative for married couples. So I added a column for the alternate calculations, entered formulas or copied them as appropriate. The sidebar popped up and I clicked it off.
I was down to the next to the last cell. I copied the needed formula into the cell, and up popped sidebar. I clicked her down (it has to be feminine; how else can you explain all the trouble it caused), but instead of clicking on the little x for Sidebar I clicked on the little x for closing the spreadsheet. When the window popped up about saving or losing your work, I guess I didn't read it. I clicked "ok" or something, and poof, the spreadsheet was gone. And with it 75 minutes of work, because I hadn't once saved during this time.
I was crushed. I went upstairs, fixed a cup of coffee, then returned to The Dungeon. I couldn't face the spreadsheet, so did some other things for a while. Finally I went back to it and started over. I got about 1/4 done, then quit for the night. Tonight, perhaps after the movies, I'll finish it.
Life seems to me like that spreadsheet. We learn. We grow. We try new things. We append them to old things. It all works like clockwork—or a flawless spreadsheet—and you have a slightly different life. Until it all gets wrecked, often a result of something we did. The rebuilding of whatever it was you were working on might take less time than the first time, but will never result in the same satisfaction. It isn't better the second time around.
Monday, March 19, 2012
The Storm Approaches
I continue to be impressed with the ability of weather forecasters to tell what's coming long before any conditions actually appear. Back in late January 2011 they forecast that we would get a tremendous snowfall and cold temperatures. They did this about 7 days before it actually happened. Seven days is far enough out that nothing on the radar or satellite map appears such that they can see what's moving from west to east. Thus the prediction was that a yet-unseen storm was going to develop, not that it was already there and moving.
Each day they altered the prediction, keeping the arrival day the same. Then, right on schedule the storm started forming southwest of us. Almost to the hour the snow started. We got over 14 inches, and some areas near us got 20 inches or more. Chalk one up to the forecasters.
Now, for the last four or five days they have been predicting a large rainfall for us. Three days ago they shifted the day for it to come from Sunday to Monday. Two days ago they added a flood watch to it. Yesterday they said it might be over 6 inches of rain. Yet, through about 8 PM last night, there was nothing on the radar. When I woke this morning and turned on the Weather Channel first thing, and there was the front, strong and widespread, somewhere west of Oklahoma City. The forecast was that our thunderstorms would begin around noon.
I just checked the radar again. The leading edge of the front is between Oklahoma City and Tulsa. Some advanced pop-up showers have developed even closer. We will likely have rain before noon, but the main storm will arrive right as predicted. Radar also shows that after the front hits we will have a period of heavy showers lasting perhaps two days. Somewhere someone has predicted up to 12 inches of rain for us.
The storms in my life seem to be somewhat predictable as well. At the first of the calendar year I'll have to close out my budget for the year ending and open a budget for the new year. That takes time away from everything else I'd really rather be doing. As April 15 approaches I start to do income tax stuff, with all the problems that results in. When spring comes, as it did early this year, yard work starts, as it did this past Saturday. Later in the year are concerns about vacations and guests and cleaning the house and....
I could go on. All these storms take time away from the thing I want to do most these days, which is write. This year I closed out my 2011 budget right on schedule, but have not yet prepared my 2012 budget. Receipts are piling up, and the storm will soon break. I have barely started on my income taxes, though at least I did a good job of keeping together in 2011 and early 2012 all the information I need to do the taxes. Having completed Schedule C for my writing income, and having all the information at hand for the rest of the taxes, I'd say I'm close to 30% done with the Federal.
Last week I closed out the hail damage repair project, having written checks to the two contractors after the insurance proceeds check cleared. That file is all together, sitting on the banister, waiting to be taken downstairs to the four-draw file. I'm now hoping that this storm doesn't become a third hailstorm in less than 12 months. I don't have the energy to do this with a brand new 30-year roof.
I have one more major financial project I'd like to get done: to see if it makes any sense to re-finance my mortgage. I have just a little over seven years left on it. However, it seems as if I could shave 2 percentage points off my interest rate, based on current rates, and maybe knock the payment down or keep the payment the same and shave a year off. I may make a call on that today. Possibly this is not a storm I have to go through, and a simple call will tell me that. I think, however, a refinance might be in the cards for the next two weeks.
Yet, despite these storms, I'm finding time to write. Yesterday I wrote over 2,500 words in The Candy Store Generation. I discovered the book may end up shorter (in words) than I figured. I'm now at about 21,500 words. I had been thinking of a 40,000 word book, but I don't think I it will be even as long as 35,000. Tonight I hope to work on a new chapter. The number of words that takes will tell me a lot about how long it will be.
While working hot and heavy on this book, I have had to blow off other tasks, such as getting Doctor Luke's Assistant published via Kindle and Smashwords, and doing the next (and hopefully last) round of edits, and uploading my first article to Decoded Science. The article is written; I just need to add my short and long bios to the site and take 30 minutes to learn the uploading software. I'll work on those as the storms allow.
Then there's my two blogs, which provide lots of enjoyment, but which take some time. I'm still struggling with subject matter and increasing readership. That will probably be a subject for a post later this week.
Time to get back to work, then hunker down for the storm.
Each day they altered the prediction, keeping the arrival day the same. Then, right on schedule the storm started forming southwest of us. Almost to the hour the snow started. We got over 14 inches, and some areas near us got 20 inches or more. Chalk one up to the forecasters.
Now, for the last four or five days they have been predicting a large rainfall for us. Three days ago they shifted the day for it to come from Sunday to Monday. Two days ago they added a flood watch to it. Yesterday they said it might be over 6 inches of rain. Yet, through about 8 PM last night, there was nothing on the radar. When I woke this morning and turned on the Weather Channel first thing, and there was the front, strong and widespread, somewhere west of Oklahoma City. The forecast was that our thunderstorms would begin around noon.
I just checked the radar again. The leading edge of the front is between Oklahoma City and Tulsa. Some advanced pop-up showers have developed even closer. We will likely have rain before noon, but the main storm will arrive right as predicted. Radar also shows that after the front hits we will have a period of heavy showers lasting perhaps two days. Somewhere someone has predicted up to 12 inches of rain for us.
The storms in my life seem to be somewhat predictable as well. At the first of the calendar year I'll have to close out my budget for the year ending and open a budget for the new year. That takes time away from everything else I'd really rather be doing. As April 15 approaches I start to do income tax stuff, with all the problems that results in. When spring comes, as it did early this year, yard work starts, as it did this past Saturday. Later in the year are concerns about vacations and guests and cleaning the house and....
I could go on. All these storms take time away from the thing I want to do most these days, which is write. This year I closed out my 2011 budget right on schedule, but have not yet prepared my 2012 budget. Receipts are piling up, and the storm will soon break. I have barely started on my income taxes, though at least I did a good job of keeping together in 2011 and early 2012 all the information I need to do the taxes. Having completed Schedule C for my writing income, and having all the information at hand for the rest of the taxes, I'd say I'm close to 30% done with the Federal.
Last week I closed out the hail damage repair project, having written checks to the two contractors after the insurance proceeds check cleared. That file is all together, sitting on the banister, waiting to be taken downstairs to the four-draw file. I'm now hoping that this storm doesn't become a third hailstorm in less than 12 months. I don't have the energy to do this with a brand new 30-year roof.
I have one more major financial project I'd like to get done: to see if it makes any sense to re-finance my mortgage. I have just a little over seven years left on it. However, it seems as if I could shave 2 percentage points off my interest rate, based on current rates, and maybe knock the payment down or keep the payment the same and shave a year off. I may make a call on that today. Possibly this is not a storm I have to go through, and a simple call will tell me that. I think, however, a refinance might be in the cards for the next two weeks.
Yet, despite these storms, I'm finding time to write. Yesterday I wrote over 2,500 words in The Candy Store Generation. I discovered the book may end up shorter (in words) than I figured. I'm now at about 21,500 words. I had been thinking of a 40,000 word book, but I don't think I it will be even as long as 35,000. Tonight I hope to work on a new chapter. The number of words that takes will tell me a lot about how long it will be.
While working hot and heavy on this book, I have had to blow off other tasks, such as getting Doctor Luke's Assistant published via Kindle and Smashwords, and doing the next (and hopefully last) round of edits, and uploading my first article to Decoded Science. The article is written; I just need to add my short and long bios to the site and take 30 minutes to learn the uploading software. I'll work on those as the storms allow.
Then there's my two blogs, which provide lots of enjoyment, but which take some time. I'm still struggling with subject matter and increasing readership. That will probably be a subject for a post later this week.
Time to get back to work, then hunker down for the storm.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Life is a Road Trip, Part 3
Those three days across half of America, by car in June 1974, taught me quite a bit about our nation. You don't see a lot when you stay on Interstate highways, but then again you do see a lot. The mountains in Pennsylvania, the tire plants in Akron, the frontage roads in Missouri. All these were new to me, and seemed in some way symbolic of the diversity in America.
And they weren't all. The huge truck stops I saw along the road, especially in Ohio, amazed me. Also in Ohio were the many high tension power lines. I had never seen so many. Little did I dream that in 13 months I would be designing those structures. Since we bypassed St. Louis to the north, I didn't see the arch on that trip. But in those three days I gained a greater respect for my native land. I had a great respect before that trip, but it grew even more during those days.
In life you encounter new things daily. We've seen new technology, new places, new people, new work circumstances, and too many other new things to list. Most of these have enriched my life. A few haven't. I say that meaning I don't know that my life would have been better had those few bad things not come my way.
So that road trip and the journey of life are similar. New experiences, enhanced appreciation, growth in knowledge and spirit. In case I ever write my memoirs (assuming the world will want my memoirs), I've already chosen the title: The Journey Was a Joy.
The road trip of life.
And they weren't all. The huge truck stops I saw along the road, especially in Ohio, amazed me. Also in Ohio were the many high tension power lines. I had never seen so many. Little did I dream that in 13 months I would be designing those structures. Since we bypassed St. Louis to the north, I didn't see the arch on that trip. But in those three days I gained a greater respect for my native land. I had a great respect before that trip, but it grew even more during those days.
In life you encounter new things daily. We've seen new technology, new places, new people, new work circumstances, and too many other new things to list. Most of these have enriched my life. A few haven't. I say that meaning I don't know that my life would have been better had those few bad things not come my way.
So that road trip and the journey of life are similar. New experiences, enhanced appreciation, growth in knowledge and spirit. In case I ever write my memoirs (assuming the world will want my memoirs), I've already chosen the title: The Journey Was a Joy.
The road trip of life.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Life is a Road Trip, Part 2
So how exactly is life a road trip?
On that 1974 trip, on the second day, I made it all the way to Evansville, Indiana, where my sister had been living for a year. She was to join me for the last leg of the trip, to Kansas City. But she didn't expect me to reach it in a mere two days, and she wasn't home. She was in Chicago (I think) at a store manager's meeting for her chain. She pulled in late in the day, I spent the night with her, and the next day we went to final 500 or so miles to Kansas City.
So again I ask, how is life a road trip? On that three day drive so many years ago, three things struck me as being awe inspiring. That is, three things other than just the realization that long distance driving, something I'd never done before, agreed with me. The first of those three things was the mountains of Pennsylvania. Range upon range, for mile after mile. Up one mountain and down another. A village or town here and there, plus some barns with hex signs, but the view from I-80 was fantastic.
Now, in Rhode Island you don't see many mountains. The few trips I made during the years of my conscious memory included some mountainous places, but nothing like the concentrated peaks and valleys of Pennsylvania. In the coming years I would see more mountains of greater height, and I've driven that same I-80 route maybe 25 more times, but I think none has given me the awe that the first view of them gave me.
The second was driving through Akron, Ohio, past all the rubber plants. They faced either side of the interstate, I think it was I-74 by this time. Bricked-plant after bricked-plant, on both sides, spewing their industrial smoke and odor. I was familiar with the odor from the one rubber plant in Providence, RI, the one we drove by whenever we went to Roger Williams Hospital to visit Mom during one of her many stays there. But the size of Akron was something to behold.
I had visited the industrial areas on the north shore of Boston (Lynn and Saugus), and driven through other industrial areas. But something about the Akron tire-monger row impressed me. It showed me something I had studied in school, but hadn't really grasped: America was different in its different regions, yet at the same time inter-dependent. If you drove a car, no matter where you lived or bought it, you depended on Akron for your tires, not that pitiful little smeller in Providence. And it made me wonder: What else was out there in that great country that I as yet knew nothing about?
The third thing was the frontage roads in Missouri. This may seem pretty minor, but that was the first place I saw them. Once you left the St. Louis suburbs, along I-70, each side of the Interstate had frontage roads. We topped a hill, and could see three miles ahead to the top of the next hill (which, in itself, was kind of amazing, to be on a road and be able to see three miles ahead; nowhere in RI), and there were the frontage roads. It was unnerving to have a car coming at you on the right, even though the right-of-way fence and 20 feet of grass and ditch separated you. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why they had those extra roads.
Since then I've driven many other Interstates, and seen miles and miles of frontage roads, many more impressive than the Missouri ones. But that first view of them, on June 13, 1974, showed me that different parts of the country did things differently. How much there was to learn.
So why is life like a road trip? Unfortunately, I'm out of time and must close. Come back to read part three.
On that 1974 trip, on the second day, I made it all the way to Evansville, Indiana, where my sister had been living for a year. She was to join me for the last leg of the trip, to Kansas City. But she didn't expect me to reach it in a mere two days, and she wasn't home. She was in Chicago (I think) at a store manager's meeting for her chain. She pulled in late in the day, I spent the night with her, and the next day we went to final 500 or so miles to Kansas City.
So again I ask, how is life a road trip? On that three day drive so many years ago, three things struck me as being awe inspiring. That is, three things other than just the realization that long distance driving, something I'd never done before, agreed with me. The first of those three things was the mountains of Pennsylvania. Range upon range, for mile after mile. Up one mountain and down another. A village or town here and there, plus some barns with hex signs, but the view from I-80 was fantastic.
Now, in Rhode Island you don't see many mountains. The few trips I made during the years of my conscious memory included some mountainous places, but nothing like the concentrated peaks and valleys of Pennsylvania. In the coming years I would see more mountains of greater height, and I've driven that same I-80 route maybe 25 more times, but I think none has given me the awe that the first view of them gave me.
The second was driving through Akron, Ohio, past all the rubber plants. They faced either side of the interstate, I think it was I-74 by this time. Bricked-plant after bricked-plant, on both sides, spewing their industrial smoke and odor. I was familiar with the odor from the one rubber plant in Providence, RI, the one we drove by whenever we went to Roger Williams Hospital to visit Mom during one of her many stays there. But the size of Akron was something to behold.
I had visited the industrial areas on the north shore of Boston (Lynn and Saugus), and driven through other industrial areas. But something about the Akron tire-monger row impressed me. It showed me something I had studied in school, but hadn't really grasped: America was different in its different regions, yet at the same time inter-dependent. If you drove a car, no matter where you lived or bought it, you depended on Akron for your tires, not that pitiful little smeller in Providence. And it made me wonder: What else was out there in that great country that I as yet knew nothing about?
The third thing was the frontage roads in Missouri. This may seem pretty minor, but that was the first place I saw them. Once you left the St. Louis suburbs, along I-70, each side of the Interstate had frontage roads. We topped a hill, and could see three miles ahead to the top of the next hill (which, in itself, was kind of amazing, to be on a road and be able to see three miles ahead; nowhere in RI), and there were the frontage roads. It was unnerving to have a car coming at you on the right, even though the right-of-way fence and 20 feet of grass and ditch separated you. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why they had those extra roads.
Since then I've driven many other Interstates, and seen miles and miles of frontage roads, many more impressive than the Missouri ones. But that first view of them, on June 13, 1974, showed me that different parts of the country did things differently. How much there was to learn.
So why is life like a road trip? Unfortunately, I'm out of time and must close. Come back to read part three.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Life is a Road Trip
The first road trip I remember was 1972, the fall of my junior year in college. I drove from Kingston RI to the Hartford CN area to visit my neighbor, Bobby, who was playing in a varsity football game. I went up Saturday morning and went back Sunday afternoon, an hour and a half each way. Hmmm, can a trip that short really be called a road trip?
The next year I drove my grandparents to Framingham MA and back to Snug Harbor RI. Again, that was 90 minutes each way. Just doesn't seem long enough. In grade school we took frequent bus rides for field trips: to Plymouth Plantations, to Mystic Village, to Sturbridge Village, to the Boston area for the Science Museum and other sites. Somehow, those just don't seem like road trips when you're riding on the bus. Even the longer ones in high school, such as to the Stratford Shakespeare theatre, or band concerts in Marblehead MA, Stony Brook NY, and even Montreal in Canada. I suppose they were road trips, but not being in a car, and being surrounded by fellow students, they didn't feel so.
Those few family vacations before Mom got real sick probably qualify. There was New Hampshire in 1960, and New Jersey a couple of times in the 1950s. But I was too young to remember most of those very well. Someday, however, I'll put the few memories about them on paper.
No, my first road trip was in 1974, specifically beginning June 10. Everything was loaded into my 1966 Plymouth Valient, with it's slant six engine. Well, everything except two boxes of books, which I couldn't fit. At 7:00 AM I said goodbye to Dad and headed west. Destination: Kansas City. Since I didn't know how long I could drive in a day, I gave myself a week to make the trip. Could I drive four hours a day? Or maybe five? Eight would be wonderful. That would put me in KC in perhaps just four days (55 mph national speed limit back then).
Once I passed New Haven I was in new territory, since the only previous times I'd been that far west I was too young to remember or was on a bus and not paying that much attention. I stopped for gas somewhere east of New York City, then veered off to the north and took the Tappen Zee Bridge bypass, my radio tuned to 880 AM to listen for traffic reports. My tank full, my eyes fliting between the road and the wonders I was driving through, my ears listening to what was happening on the West Side Drive and the Major Degan Expressway, I kept going.
The Garden State Parkway gave way to I-80. Two hours across the Garden State took me to the Delaware Water Gap and I passed into Pennsylvania. It was around noon, or maybe a little later. I was as wide awake as I could be. Trying to keep it around 60 mph, the engine temerature gauge on the Valient kept telling me that was a little too fast. It liked it much better when I kept it at 55. So I bumped back and forth between those two, and kept heading west.
At some point I stopped for lunch at a Howard Johnson restaurant. I don't remember where this was, but I might be able to find out. I had a bunch of postcards (the blank ones, not the picture kind) pre-addressed to my dad. I think I filled one out and dropped it in the mail. Dad kept those postcards, and I now have them in a box somewhere. This was in central Pennsylvannia, probably east of the north-south centroid. The scenery was wonderful. Mountains everywhere. Broad rivers to cross with expensive bridges. Trees everywhere—none of the urban clutter that marked New England. I had a leisurely lunch, and headed west.
Around 6 PM I was at Youngstown OH. A Ramada Inn beckoned at a convenient exit. I figured I'd better stop for the night, but I wasn't tired. I was still excited by all the stimuli around me. I went in to the Ramada and learned they had another one in Mansfield OH, a couple of hours down the road. So I hopped back in the Valient and continued toward the sinking sun. Sunset was still a couple of hours away.
The next year I drove my grandparents to Framingham MA and back to Snug Harbor RI. Again, that was 90 minutes each way. Just doesn't seem long enough. In grade school we took frequent bus rides for field trips: to Plymouth Plantations, to Mystic Village, to Sturbridge Village, to the Boston area for the Science Museum and other sites. Somehow, those just don't seem like road trips when you're riding on the bus. Even the longer ones in high school, such as to the Stratford Shakespeare theatre, or band concerts in Marblehead MA, Stony Brook NY, and even Montreal in Canada. I suppose they were road trips, but not being in a car, and being surrounded by fellow students, they didn't feel so.
Those few family vacations before Mom got real sick probably qualify. There was New Hampshire in 1960, and New Jersey a couple of times in the 1950s. But I was too young to remember most of those very well. Someday, however, I'll put the few memories about them on paper.
No, my first road trip was in 1974, specifically beginning June 10. Everything was loaded into my 1966 Plymouth Valient, with it's slant six engine. Well, everything except two boxes of books, which I couldn't fit. At 7:00 AM I said goodbye to Dad and headed west. Destination: Kansas City. Since I didn't know how long I could drive in a day, I gave myself a week to make the trip. Could I drive four hours a day? Or maybe five? Eight would be wonderful. That would put me in KC in perhaps just four days (55 mph national speed limit back then).
Once I passed New Haven I was in new territory, since the only previous times I'd been that far west I was too young to remember or was on a bus and not paying that much attention. I stopped for gas somewhere east of New York City, then veered off to the north and took the Tappen Zee Bridge bypass, my radio tuned to 880 AM to listen for traffic reports. My tank full, my eyes fliting between the road and the wonders I was driving through, my ears listening to what was happening on the West Side Drive and the Major Degan Expressway, I kept going.
The Garden State Parkway gave way to I-80. Two hours across the Garden State took me to the Delaware Water Gap and I passed into Pennsylvania. It was around noon, or maybe a little later. I was as wide awake as I could be. Trying to keep it around 60 mph, the engine temerature gauge on the Valient kept telling me that was a little too fast. It liked it much better when I kept it at 55. So I bumped back and forth between those two, and kept heading west.
At some point I stopped for lunch at a Howard Johnson restaurant. I don't remember where this was, but I might be able to find out. I had a bunch of postcards (the blank ones, not the picture kind) pre-addressed to my dad. I think I filled one out and dropped it in the mail. Dad kept those postcards, and I now have them in a box somewhere. This was in central Pennsylvannia, probably east of the north-south centroid. The scenery was wonderful. Mountains everywhere. Broad rivers to cross with expensive bridges. Trees everywhere—none of the urban clutter that marked New England. I had a leisurely lunch, and headed west.
Around 6 PM I was at Youngstown OH. A Ramada Inn beckoned at a convenient exit. I figured I'd better stop for the night, but I wasn't tired. I was still excited by all the stimuli around me. I went in to the Ramada and learned they had another one in Mansfield OH, a couple of hours down the road. So I hopped back in the Valient and continued toward the sinking sun. Sunset was still a couple of hours away.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Life is a Whirlwind
This is one of my favorite metaphors to describe life: a whirlwind. Every day is packed with activity, some days almost to the breaking point. The whirlwind isn't a tornado, with its damage. Perhaps it's more of a waterspout, a whirlwind over water. It throws up a lot of spray, but in the absence of a man made object it doesn't cause damage.
Of course, the whirlwind is to some extent our own making. We crowd life with all kinds of non-essential activities. Young parents make sure their kids are involved with team sports and gymnastics and dancing and church activities and...whatever else you can think of. Teens continue the practice, adding dating to it. Club sports become school sports. Naturally when they become adults they continue the cycle of endless activity.
I have done the same thing. I don't remember my childhood years being a whirlwind. We came home from school every night. The only evening activity was boy scouts, which began in 5th grade. I didn't start school sports until sophomore year in high school. Didn't even try out in junior high. In college the busyness began, mainly due to working to pay the college bill. Even the early adult years weren't all that bad. Lots of church activities, and raising kids, but not really a whirlwind. Even the overseas years, in retrospect, seem leisurely. Maybe not right at vacation time, the planning, packing and going, but the day to day life was a breeze.
Now the kids are out of the nest, and the last way I should describe life is as a whirlwind. But that's exactly what life has become. It's all my own doing. Wanting to be a published author has added complexity to life that is most easily described as a whirlwind, two orders of magnitude added to what could otherwise be a leisurely life. The writing isn't too bad. It's more the promotion that adds to the to do list. I'm not handling it very well.
Of course, many other things dare to tread on the path I've established for myself, such as funerals in southwestern Kansas one Saturday and in Rhode Island the next. Kind of hard to get any real writing work done in the car, or on a plane. Concentration at those times is rather difficult.
So I think that is an apt metaphor. Not a simile. Life is not like a whirlwind, it is a whirlwind. Possibly this poem somewhat describes it.
Conflicted
I long to live that day when I will rest,
and cease to tax my brain. Then I will die
and stand before my Maker. Yet, I'm blessed.
I long to live! The day that I will rest
is somewhere out there, far beyond the quest
that now demands I try, and fail, and try.
I long to live that day when I will rest
and cease to tax my brain. Then I will die.
Of course, the whirlwind is to some extent our own making. We crowd life with all kinds of non-essential activities. Young parents make sure their kids are involved with team sports and gymnastics and dancing and church activities and...whatever else you can think of. Teens continue the practice, adding dating to it. Club sports become school sports. Naturally when they become adults they continue the cycle of endless activity.
I have done the same thing. I don't remember my childhood years being a whirlwind. We came home from school every night. The only evening activity was boy scouts, which began in 5th grade. I didn't start school sports until sophomore year in high school. Didn't even try out in junior high. In college the busyness began, mainly due to working to pay the college bill. Even the early adult years weren't all that bad. Lots of church activities, and raising kids, but not really a whirlwind. Even the overseas years, in retrospect, seem leisurely. Maybe not right at vacation time, the planning, packing and going, but the day to day life was a breeze.
Now the kids are out of the nest, and the last way I should describe life is as a whirlwind. But that's exactly what life has become. It's all my own doing. Wanting to be a published author has added complexity to life that is most easily described as a whirlwind, two orders of magnitude added to what could otherwise be a leisurely life. The writing isn't too bad. It's more the promotion that adds to the to do list. I'm not handling it very well.
Of course, many other things dare to tread on the path I've established for myself, such as funerals in southwestern Kansas one Saturday and in Rhode Island the next. Kind of hard to get any real writing work done in the car, or on a plane. Concentration at those times is rather difficult.
So I think that is an apt metaphor. Not a simile. Life is not like a whirlwind, it is a whirlwind. Possibly this poem somewhat describes it.
Conflicted
I long to live that day when I will rest,
and cease to tax my brain. Then I will die
and stand before my Maker. Yet, I'm blessed.
I long to live! The day that I will rest
is somewhere out there, far beyond the quest
that now demands I try, and fail, and try.
I long to live that day when I will rest
and cease to tax my brain. Then I will die.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Life is Like...A FEMA Floodplain Project
These always start out slowly. You begin by gathering data. Survey the landscape. Understand the rainfall and run-off patterns. Learn the design criteria and how to apply it. Get your act together, access FEMA's application, fill it out, get a higher authority to sign it, and send it off with a steep check for the fee.
Then, you wait to see if your application for whatever it is you want to do to will be accepted by FEMA. Most of the time it won't. After waiting what seems an inordinate amount of time, more often than not your application will be denied until you have given more information, or changed something to match how FEMA wants it matched. So, in order to pursue your goals, you change what was needed to satisfy that higher authority and FEMA, submit it again, and wait. This will go on until you have a submittal acceptable to FEMA. They will then approve your application.
Now you can pursue your real work, the work for which you have to do something in the floodplain. Maybe it's build an $80 million museum of American art with two buildings spanning and three buildings hugging the creek. Maybe it's make improvements to four roads, all of which cross the same creek. Maybe it's improve another road that crosses two creeks, except you find that the floodplain was incorrectly mapped by others of lesser ability, and you will have to fix all their mistakes along with gaining approval for your own changes.
At last, sometime out there, far beyond when you thought it would end, your project will end. You will assemble your files and archive them. You will send your last billing out and receive payment in full for all that you have done.
Yes, life is much like a FEMA floodplain project.
Then, you wait to see if your application for whatever it is you want to do to will be accepted by FEMA. Most of the time it won't. After waiting what seems an inordinate amount of time, more often than not your application will be denied until you have given more information, or changed something to match how FEMA wants it matched. So, in order to pursue your goals, you change what was needed to satisfy that higher authority and FEMA, submit it again, and wait. This will go on until you have a submittal acceptable to FEMA. They will then approve your application.
Now you can pursue your real work, the work for which you have to do something in the floodplain. Maybe it's build an $80 million museum of American art with two buildings spanning and three buildings hugging the creek. Maybe it's make improvements to four roads, all of which cross the same creek. Maybe it's improve another road that crosses two creeks, except you find that the floodplain was incorrectly mapped by others of lesser ability, and you will have to fix all their mistakes along with gaining approval for your own changes.
At last, sometime out there, far beyond when you thought it would end, your project will end. You will assemble your files and archive them. You will send your last billing out and receive payment in full for all that you have done.
Yes, life is much like a FEMA floodplain project.
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