Well. I've started my little summer consulting gig. For now, I'm an editor of the Rational Edge, an e-zine for which I wrote a few articles during my tenure at Rational.
http://www.ibm.com/developerworks/rational/rationaledge/
I work with Mike and Marlene, two very enjoyable people, except that I'll be substituting for them while they're on vacation. So I'll work with first one, then the other, then on my own when they both go on vacation and leave me in charge. (yeeps!)
As my first act, I... rejected an article that I think needs more work. I wrote a page and a half explaining why, and I hope the author reworks and resubmits. I think he has something valuable to say, but he's so familiar with the material that he forgets to say it.
So how does it feel? Fine. I pretty much know the routine -- know the people, know the issues, know the e-zine, know the environment. So I'm not needing to come up to speed particularly. It's kind of fun to read and edit, and so far, Mike, the main editor, seems genuinely interested in my ideas and is encouraging me to run with them.
Not bad. Not bad.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Monday, July 19, 2004
Animal stories
Encounters with and thoughts about animals from the last few days:
- Raccoons. When I dropped off Ms. Juliet at Kitty Klub Med (aka the Cat Cottage), her caretaker for the weekend told me that she moonlights at a wildlife animal refuge. Apparently the raccoons are very intelligent and make an assortment of noises. Her "when I'm a rich lady" fantasy is to crack their code -- to study their language closely enough to understand it and document it.
- Llamas. This weekend, we stayed at a B&B (lovely) where the owner keeps (or perhaps just lives with) llamas. http://www.bcn.net/llamahike/ Yesterday, he didn't quite have time to take us on a hike himself but he allowed us to take three llamas on a walk through meadows and woodland trails. They're smaller than I remember, and very docile. For the most part, they walk on their leashes like well-trained dogs, giving occasional little shoulder-butts (Richard, their human, says they're "bug rubs"). They made surprisingly pleasant companions on our stroll. They're social with each other, also make interesting noises, and when at rest, groom and scratch themselves as a cat would.
- Wild turkeys. On our hike, we surprised, and in turn were ourselves surprised, by a family of wild turkeys resting in tall grass near the forest edge. They appeared to be two adults and an adolescent, which I at first mistook for hawks or eagles because of their size. They rose directly up and took off into the woods, magnificent animals.
snippets that delight
As part of an ongoing series, here's a snippet that delighted me, available on tee shirts and bumper stickers:
Perhaps even better was the source: a web site hawking the book (sure to be a best-seller): "Lesbian Buddha in Hollywood," and yes, it's at http://www.lesbianbuddhainhollywood.com.
No heterosexuals were harmed in the making of these marriages
Perhaps even better was the source: a web site hawking the book (sure to be a best-seller): "Lesbian Buddha in Hollywood," and yes, it's at http://www.lesbianbuddhainhollywood.com.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Much better
Paint's on the walls, carpet's on the floor, and, thanks to Robert, the major pieces of furniture are back in place. The cat's calmer, I feel much better, and now I just need to start unpacking the piles of boxes I've hidden in my garage. But that's all manageable, if slow. Meanwhile, I'm trying to maintain my humility and compassion.
On household changes and another opportunity to experience humility
Not only am I undergoing changes (to what I'm not sure) but the house is also. In anticipation of Robert moving in with me, we've added to the house and while we were at it, have touched every existing space. You can see pictures up until mid-April here, accessible with an ofoto username and password. Eventually, I'll post some "after" pictures too.
Most of the project has been easy. But there have been some tough periods where I've felt like I'm just slogging through and have needed a pep talk. But of course I've always known those feelings were temporary and that there'd be something much better on the other side. This is in comparison to most other types of changes where you just plunge in and have no clue what's on the other side.
This week, we're undergoing one of the toughest change periods since the project began back in late December. Under the theory that we might as well do a level-set so we don't have to disrupt ourselves in just a few years, we're painting and recarpeting the existing space. The painters were here earlier this week, painting upstairs and down. Today, thanks to a last-minute cancellation, the rug guys are here, replacing any carpet they haven't already laid in their first two trips.
This work has necessitated moving everything out of the living room and dining room -- pictures, furniture, all the little comfortable things I live with. At this point in the project, I've moved all my possessions, save some of the items in the upper kitchen cabinets, at least once, and some multiple times.
Yes I'm grateful to live in a time and place when I can pay someone else -- experts, no less -- to do the renovations. And I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining. So what's hard? Just the psychological realization of how much stuff and how much dirt I live with. I'm happy to let the dirt go -- despite fairly regular cleanings, I'm sure we'll see it again before too long. Or maybe we won't. The bad dirt was behind things. But I let myself think that I live fairly lightly. And the plain truth is that I don't. So this is a week of confronting that demon.
I'm trying hard to set things aside for a mythical yard sale. Robert will have a few items to get rid of too. I'm thinking of some bookcases he'll no longer need after storing most of his books in a built-in bookcase we had made for him. And of course, it's always hard to let go of stuff. I've held onto it for a reason. Now, by letting it go, it can feel like I'm letting go of the connection -- perhaps to the person who gave the item to me or the memory of the event at which I acquired the item.
I'm also feeling humbled by the psychological pulls of moving. It's hard physical work, which I don't mind, but it's hard on my head too. Robert and I both moved a lot when we were kids. I moved a lot as my family decided how to configure itself, a polite way of saying that as a youngster, the adults in my life couldn't decide how they wanted to live or whom they wanted to live with, or where they wanted to do all of the above. Robert moved because his father's job demanded it. (Robert did get to attend the last two years of high school in the same school because even his dad had had enough by that time.)
One might think that our experiences have made us more flexible, ready to pull up stakes at a moment's notice. Instead, we've become settled as adults, reluctant to move at all. I've lived in the same place for 14 years, Robert for about 10.
I think of myself as a fairly compassionate person. I hope that without moving a stick of furniture, I would have been cheerful and supportive as Robert moved. Now that I've gone through most of a household move recently, however, I'm hoping that I will be even more compassionate and supportive when it's Robert's turn.
So now I look forward to moving everything back into the place it came from, perhaps after giving it a good cleaning. Actually, I look forward to having most everything back in its comfortable and familiar spot, to settling into my favorite chair to read the paper, to having the cat question less at having her routine disrupted. Let the settling in begin.
Most of the project has been easy. But there have been some tough periods where I've felt like I'm just slogging through and have needed a pep talk. But of course I've always known those feelings were temporary and that there'd be something much better on the other side. This is in comparison to most other types of changes where you just plunge in and have no clue what's on the other side.
This week, we're undergoing one of the toughest change periods since the project began back in late December. Under the theory that we might as well do a level-set so we don't have to disrupt ourselves in just a few years, we're painting and recarpeting the existing space. The painters were here earlier this week, painting upstairs and down. Today, thanks to a last-minute cancellation, the rug guys are here, replacing any carpet they haven't already laid in their first two trips.
This work has necessitated moving everything out of the living room and dining room -- pictures, furniture, all the little comfortable things I live with. At this point in the project, I've moved all my possessions, save some of the items in the upper kitchen cabinets, at least once, and some multiple times.
Yes I'm grateful to live in a time and place when I can pay someone else -- experts, no less -- to do the renovations. And I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining. So what's hard? Just the psychological realization of how much stuff and how much dirt I live with. I'm happy to let the dirt go -- despite fairly regular cleanings, I'm sure we'll see it again before too long. Or maybe we won't. The bad dirt was behind things. But I let myself think that I live fairly lightly. And the plain truth is that I don't. So this is a week of confronting that demon.
I'm trying hard to set things aside for a mythical yard sale. Robert will have a few items to get rid of too. I'm thinking of some bookcases he'll no longer need after storing most of his books in a built-in bookcase we had made for him. And of course, it's always hard to let go of stuff. I've held onto it for a reason. Now, by letting it go, it can feel like I'm letting go of the connection -- perhaps to the person who gave the item to me or the memory of the event at which I acquired the item.
I'm also feeling humbled by the psychological pulls of moving. It's hard physical work, which I don't mind, but it's hard on my head too. Robert and I both moved a lot when we were kids. I moved a lot as my family decided how to configure itself, a polite way of saying that as a youngster, the adults in my life couldn't decide how they wanted to live or whom they wanted to live with, or where they wanted to do all of the above. Robert moved because his father's job demanded it. (Robert did get to attend the last two years of high school in the same school because even his dad had had enough by that time.)
One might think that our experiences have made us more flexible, ready to pull up stakes at a moment's notice. Instead, we've become settled as adults, reluctant to move at all. I've lived in the same place for 14 years, Robert for about 10.
I think of myself as a fairly compassionate person. I hope that without moving a stick of furniture, I would have been cheerful and supportive as Robert moved. Now that I've gone through most of a household move recently, however, I'm hoping that I will be even more compassionate and supportive when it's Robert's turn.
So now I look forward to moving everything back into the place it came from, perhaps after giving it a good cleaning. Actually, I look forward to having most everything back in its comfortable and familiar spot, to settling into my favorite chair to read the paper, to having the cat question less at having her routine disrupted. Let the settling in begin.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
A pattern language for living
We spent an incredibly relaxing weekend filled with visits to friends in lovely places. It was made great by the absence of pressure to maintain the lawn, run errands, do, do, do, and go, go, go. These are all things I can do during the week now, so that the weekend truly can feel more like a tiny vacation.
I'm sitting in my new study, light and air coming in on both sides, the cat sleeping at my feet in a special nest I've made her.
A friend who was out of work for more than two years, not a situation of her choosing, recently got a job. It's a "permanent job" as opposed to a contract job, but not permanent in the sense that it supports her in the style to which she's become accustomed or that as the current description runs, she will derive long-term satisfaction from it.
I wrote to her just now about seeing her current job in architectural terms. It's as if she's started to climb a staircase and she's arrived at a "resting spot." From that vantage point, she can get a much better view of the landscape around her and plot her next move.
This was all in reference to "A Pattern Language," a book of architectural concepts that I first browsed through in 1978. Its metaphor has since been adopted by the computer industry. It's now common to start programming tasks by working with patterns or "templates."
This morning, I found excerpts of the book online and started browsing (of course, it and some of the author's later books instantly went on my amazon list.) I'd forgotten how funny, wise, and well-written it is. (For snippets, see: http://downlode.org/etext/patterns/)
I'd also forgotten that each pattern is set up as an explication of Conflict and Resolution. And that many of the Conflicts apply more generally to life than one might realize on first reading. Or perhaps that shouldn't be a surprise -- "A Pattern Language" talks a lot about how to integrate architecture into our lives so that we can live effectively as individuals and community members.
Some marvelous examples:
> Conflict: There is no substitute for fire.
Yes, fire in the house is important. We (humans and animals) are naturally drawn to it -- Robert and I call it "kitty tv." But what about fire in the belly? The juice that keeps me going, that engages me, is passion about my life, my work, my relationships.
> Conflict: A staircase is not just a way of getting from one floor to another. The stair is itself a space, a volume, a part of the building; and unless this space is made to live, it will be a dead spot, and work to disconnect the building and to tear its processes apart.
Or, it's not the destination but the path that you take. Each step is important. My friend in the "temporary permanent" job can consider using this interim time to her own advantage. The steps on the staircase and in the interim parts of our lives are as much a part of the experience as are the experiences that we yearn for. Or, perhaps, they're all stepping stones. One day we're not breathing, we're born and start breathing, and during that hopefully long time of breathe-in, breathe-out, we enter a transition, and then one day we stop breathing again. And we can create and mold that transition to be boring, frustrating, exciting, fulfilling. It's up to us.
> Conflict: The layout of paths will seem right and comfortable only when it is compatible with the process of walking. And the process of walking is far more subtle than one might imagine.
Designing life goals and the means of reaching them can work only when you consider the experience of living. And the process of living can be more subtle and more complex than you might imagine.
OK, so maybe these are a stretch, but it does make me think about creating "A Pattern Language for Life" by starting with Alexander's Conflicts and writing my own Resolutions. But really, my PLfL will be different from anyone else's.
BTW, the web site I referred to is structured to encourage delightful meandering. (As I remember, I think the navigation is based on the book itself, which would have been a natural fit for a web site had the web been invented at the time of writing.)
I'm sitting in my new study, light and air coming in on both sides, the cat sleeping at my feet in a special nest I've made her.
A friend who was out of work for more than two years, not a situation of her choosing, recently got a job. It's a "permanent job" as opposed to a contract job, but not permanent in the sense that it supports her in the style to which she's become accustomed or that as the current description runs, she will derive long-term satisfaction from it.
I wrote to her just now about seeing her current job in architectural terms. It's as if she's started to climb a staircase and she's arrived at a "resting spot." From that vantage point, she can get a much better view of the landscape around her and plot her next move.
This was all in reference to "A Pattern Language," a book of architectural concepts that I first browsed through in 1978. Its metaphor has since been adopted by the computer industry. It's now common to start programming tasks by working with patterns or "templates."
This morning, I found excerpts of the book online and started browsing (of course, it and some of the author's later books instantly went on my amazon list.) I'd forgotten how funny, wise, and well-written it is. (For snippets, see: http://downlode.org/etext/patterns/)
I'd also forgotten that each pattern is set up as an explication of Conflict and Resolution. And that many of the Conflicts apply more generally to life than one might realize on first reading. Or perhaps that shouldn't be a surprise -- "A Pattern Language" talks a lot about how to integrate architecture into our lives so that we can live effectively as individuals and community members.
Some marvelous examples:
> Conflict: There is no substitute for fire.
Yes, fire in the house is important. We (humans and animals) are naturally drawn to it -- Robert and I call it "kitty tv." But what about fire in the belly? The juice that keeps me going, that engages me, is passion about my life, my work, my relationships.
> Conflict: A staircase is not just a way of getting from one floor to another. The stair is itself a space, a volume, a part of the building; and unless this space is made to live, it will be a dead spot, and work to disconnect the building and to tear its processes apart.
Or, it's not the destination but the path that you take. Each step is important. My friend in the "temporary permanent" job can consider using this interim time to her own advantage. The steps on the staircase and in the interim parts of our lives are as much a part of the experience as are the experiences that we yearn for. Or, perhaps, they're all stepping stones. One day we're not breathing, we're born and start breathing, and during that hopefully long time of breathe-in, breathe-out, we enter a transition, and then one day we stop breathing again. And we can create and mold that transition to be boring, frustrating, exciting, fulfilling. It's up to us.
> Conflict: The layout of paths will seem right and comfortable only when it is compatible with the process of walking. And the process of walking is far more subtle than one might imagine.
Designing life goals and the means of reaching them can work only when you consider the experience of living. And the process of living can be more subtle and more complex than you might imagine.
OK, so maybe these are a stretch, but it does make me think about creating "A Pattern Language for Life" by starting with Alexander's Conflicts and writing my own Resolutions. But really, my PLfL will be different from anyone else's.
BTW, the web site I referred to is structured to encourage delightful meandering. (As I remember, I think the navigation is based on the book itself, which would have been a natural fit for a web site had the web been invented at the time of writing.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)