The same thing happens every year.

Awaken, to the sound of water softly lapping against the hull, or perhaps a far-off fishing boat speeding toward a favorite spot. Momentarily wonder what time it is, realize that it doesn't matter. Dave's already long gone, up on a ridge, taking pictures. Check the wind to see if the coffee pot's already percolated; if it is, then she's already up on the top deck, and you can take her a refill. Grab your book and a cup, maybe a piece of chocolate, and head up there to read for a while, maybe even take a nap - it's decaf.
Later on, after breakfast, read some more or put your headphones in and listen. It's time to let go of the junk that clouds your soul for a little while. Talk about stuff - it doesn't matter what the subject is, it's called enjoying each other's company, in their company. Being with them without something to have to do, so rare, anymore. Jump in the lake - usually good for a cool jolt before lunchtime. Dry off, grab a snack. Read some more. Doze off. Look for burro droppings nearby, maybe we'll get some visitors as the sun recedes. We stare, they stare, they drink, we drink, they leave.
Afternoons are for floating, napping (naturally), and getting dinner ready. The music heats up, more junk food is consumed, and the energy level reaches a peak of activity that, while not lathargic, is better described as unhurried. The sun goes down, we pause and admire the serenity of it all, the uncomplicated desert landscape, and get back to the big dinner. Dinner takes a while, like it should when good friends are together. At last, we clean up most of the mess and head up to the deck and the stars.
Even with the 'light pollution' of Las Vegas to the West, the sky is magnificent to us city folk. The "Milky Way" is, really. We can see (even with our aging eyes) shooting stars, planes, satellites, some claim to have seen a UFO, one year. Years ago, we would sit and talk and gaze up for what seemed to be hours on end. Nowadays, it usually doesn't take long before the sound of snoring begins. Too bad, but it's who we are. One by one, we either say our goodnights to the remaining sentinels and head down to bed, or make our bed upstairs, if the weather's right. By then, the lake is like glass, and the stars shimmer back up at you as you take a last look before you tuck in.
The time seems to pass more quickly, each year. Idle time, but by no means wasted. Time to breathe. Time to listen, to see. To gaze. To share both memories and expectations. It's hard to believe that we've done this 19 times. I can't wait to go, tomorrow.

Workin' on the Night Moves. . .

My life has been turned upside-down, these last two weeks. Not figuratively, literally. I've been working what's known as the "graveyard" shift, 2300 - 0730, while a co-worker is on vacation. I've been rather skillful in avoiding this sort of thing over the last 20+ years, and never have had to do more than one shift at a time. There was no escape.
I'm a real circadian-rythm kind of guy. I'm regular in just about every sense of the word, my waistline notwithstanding (more on that in an upcoming post). I am a light switch. For me, it means that my eyelids usually slam shut at about 9 p.m., nearly always opening at about 5:24 a.m. - 6 minutes before the alarm goes off. Emma sees to it that this rythm is unbroken on weekends. The prospect, then, of regularly leaving for work an hour or so after my bedtime was somewhat frightening. How does one prepare? The answer is that you really can't, you just have to do it. So, I did it. Took a thermos of freshly brewed coffee, and set off into the night.
There is a rythm to this shift. The first requirement is that you're available to respond to whatever might come up at our nearly million-square-foot facility. Second, you have to take the 'vital signs' of the building - chiller readings, compressed air, vacuum, medical air, boilers, water softeners, verify that the emergency generators' switches are in the 'auto' position, fueled, batteries charging, and warmers warming (in the event of power loss, these big diesel engines have to come to life and take the load within 10 seconds), make sure that the water heaters are working, that the fire pumps have pressure, check the Liquid Oxygen and Nitrous Oxide tanks (no sampling). You have to travel to each 'negative pressure' room, close the door, and emit a small puff of chalk at the bottom of the door to verify that it is indeed providing negative pressure - keeping the nastiness that could be inside, inside. There are operating suites and intensive care sections that have to be tested for temperature and humidity, all of this logged meticulously in notebooks and clipboards. In between, there can be calls for everything from plumbing concerns (it's a 50 year old, 12 story building) to the nurse call system and everything in-between. A good night, of course is when nothing untoward happens. I've been pretty lucky, it's been quiet.
It's pretty solitary; there are only two of us on. The other position is in my beloved BOC, where one basically tries to keep occupied and answer the calls that come in for engineering, housekeeping, and security. Making the rounds takes one outside the building; it's odd to be out in dark places at the outer edges of this property. Gazing across the canyon to the apartment buildings hugging the opposing hillside, windows glow from televisions. We're 'uptown'; there seem to be a lot of people awake at 2 in the morning, or asleep in front of those TV's. I am reminded, each night that I do this, of the two nights I stepped out of this building after both Sam and Emma were born - both entered the world shortly after midnight. The first night, gazing at the stars, feeling the center of my universe shift. The second night, looking to the stars from a world completely changed. Going into the OR where I watched Emma enter the atmosphere, pulled out by one leg; the smell made by the cauterizing scalpel. I've worked here long enough to accumulate a lot of memories; they're closer to me now in the quiet, empty halls.
Eating something at 0300, alone on the 12th floor. Looking out over the empty bay and the lights of the city. Marking time. It takes time, a long time when you're just waiting to leave, this is universal no matter what you're waiting on.
Finally, it's time to go home. The rythm has to change, because it's better to get some sleep in the morning, before the kids get home from school, so it's straight to bed at 0830. Earplugs help. I've been moderately successful at getting about 4-6 hours of sleep; yesterday I got a full 7 plus, not waking up until 4 p.m. Stumbling out of bed into what is the middle of everyone else's day has been very disconcerting. The upheaval of the inversion (most people get up, then go to work, then do the rest of their lives before sleeping again) has made it hard for me to focus or concentrate on much else, so my major accomplishments have been taking out the trash, cleaning up after dinner, and trying not to sigh every 3 minutes between 8 and 10 p.m., when it's time to do it again.
Traffic is great. Elevators arrive within seconds. You're not bothered by the nonsensical chatter of those who really don't have anything to say in the first place. Management is non-existent.
Other than the reminder (and an appreciation) that there's a whole world of people doing this, all of the time, some of them here by choice, I really haven't learned much. One more shift to go, and my existence will return to what passes for normal, again. I'm very much looking forward to it.

What it's like, continued. . .

A good article.

Topical Thunder

I am a fierce proponent of the privacy of the ballot. I have rarely shared my selections with anyone, for a myriad of reasons, but the primary one has been that it's extremely personal. Combined with the fact that I've never voted along any party's lines; I suspect that it's a guilty pleasure that I relish voting differently than people think I have, sometimes.I'm going to break with that tradition, today, and I'm going to try and explain why. I think I've come to a logical conclusion, for some very personal reasons, and only God knows why I'm prompted to reveal it.
One of the songs that formed my social consciousness is "Reader's Digest", by Larry Norman. The pertinent lyric for this post:
"It's 1973, I wonder who we're gonna see
Who's in power now? Think I'll turn on my TV,
The man on the news said China's gonna beat us,
We shot all our dreamers, and there's no one left to lead us . . ."
I was young, but I remember reading about the transformation of Robert Kennedy from priveleged poster boy to social catalyst, only to be cut down on the verge of making this country very different than the one we're living in now. He was not allowed to fully create a legacy the way that Martin Luther King did; he now has the benefit of the memory of lost potential over actual history, of course, but I think that he would have made a tremendous difference had he been elected. The net effect of these two assassinations on our society is still being felt, 40 years later. You should be able to agree with me on that.
It is personally sickening to me to watch the conservative and christian (yes, small 'c') media embrace Sarah Palin and her daughter's situation, proving themselves hypocrites because they've done 180 degree spins on what they've said publicly for years about other people in public life for years in the same circumstances. Their moral stands, then, were dogmatic and taken primarily for shock value and self-promotion over compassion and caring. What they don't seem to realize is that their past pontifications are more accessible for review and regurgitation now than ever before. Their morality appears to be for sale, or at least for rent, in exchange for the promise of policies that would please their canonical maniacalism. Their slobbering endorsements and apparent willingness to turn their blind eyes to all of the other issues facing this nation, I suppose, confirm her selection to the ticket. I don't think she's the most talented, qualified person for the job. I am disappointed that the party needs these people to win. It has become a character issue for me.
I wish John McCain had been the party's choice 8 years ago. I think that things would be different - if not uantitatively, then qualitatively. That's all I'll say about that.
I have a cynical head, and an optimist's heart. I've been thinking of Barack Obama in the context of Jimmy Carter's administration, a bit. I don't think that the President of the United States can make radical change - to me it's like steering an oil tanker or trying to stop a train - it takes a lot of energy, time, and distance. Those who have, have had the courage to rally both the American people and the Congress solidly behind them. This is as it should be. Gerald Ford and Whip Inflation Now. Jimmy Carter in a sweater appealing to America to turn down their thermostats come to mind - unable to capture the 'hearts and minds' of the citezenry.
There is a dreamer running for President, this year. So far, he's saying the right things, focusing on those things that are important as I see them. If he's able to follow through, I think he has more potential to be what George W. claimed to be - "A uniter, not a divider." I think bold moves are needed.
This election season, for a lot of reasons, has put me (and I suspect many others) farther out of my 'comfort zone' than any Presidential election in recent memory. I think the last election was a chilling reminder that each of our votes count. I very nearly did not vote then; I was completely non-plussed with the choices.
I think, this time, I'm going to try to dream, a little. I'll let you know if I change my mind.

"It's A Better Mouse Trap"

That's a quote from the CEO of Sequenom, developer of this test.

ABC News: New Down Syndrome Test Hailed as Promising

I'm not telling, I'm asking.

Going "Full Re-pub"

Yes, that title is terrible. I just couldn't help myself. Should I copyright it?

I detest politics. I detest what it does to me, emotionally. I'm admitting to you all that I am immature in the respect that I can't reconcile the heated debate about ideas and concepts that ultimately becomes personal, divisive, mean-spirited, and cruel. I saw an interview program, a couple of years ago, where Bob Dole and Bill Clinton, post election and post-presidency, gushed on and on all over each other with admiration and praise, joking like old war buddies. I was flabbergasted. I so wish that they'd shown one iota of respect for each other during their incumbencies. That was disgusting to me. I'm also, then, admitting that I'm naive in the ways of the politico, growing up in a household where people were pretty transparent. I have been the victim of this naiveté a couple of times in my career; I have also held steadfastly through those events to the principle that I'd rather be me than 'them'.

So, independent, naive, immature citizen that I am, I find myself seemingly in the midst of a dilemma.

I asked Sam to watch Barack Obama's acceptance speech, last night. I told him that it was a historic occasion, and that he could tell his Grandchildren that he'd witnessed it. He shrugged and complied with all of the enthusiasm one would expect of a nearly 12-year old for a speech from any adult. The best news for me was that it was no big deal to him, an African-American earning the candidacy of a major party for the Presidency of the United States of America. He hasn't really grasped what it means to me, to us as a society. With any luck, the event won't ever have to bear the weight for him that it does for me.

Emma has changed just about every aspect of my existence, my personal political views, too. Here's a bit of it, in a nutshell - and I do mean nut. I've already told you that I'm immature and naive, so either keep reading or dismiss yourself.

I've always seen the Republican view as one of both personal responsibility and public compassion. The current party's representation to me has been merely selfishness and greed. While the Bill and Melinda Gates bunch are being generous with their more-than-we-could-ever-spend fortunes, I'm pretty sure that the bulk of those between those like me and those like them are keeping the money to themselves. The Bush administration (small a) has been myopic with its policies, unwilling to even participate in a reasonable dialogue with the electorate in a dogmatic march that poorly represents both their supposed faith as well as what it means to be citizens of this republic. "Corporate Responsibility" is a sham. When HMO CEO's have million-dollar golden parachutes while denying ten-thousand dollar claims, our society is severely awry.

You see, to me, leadership is about servanthood.

I've not been a huge fan of increasing government assistance or expensive social programs. Well, guess what? I need them, now. One lower-middle class income is not going to provide well for either of my children's futures. My bootstraps are busted. So, does that make me a Democrat, now? Perhaps. Should I be practical, or philosophical? Can I be both, or none, or something in-between?

Yesterday, John McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate. Gov. Palin has a four month old son, Trig, who has Down Syndrome. She has been an inspiration to many of us, confidently revealing that she knew about the Trisomy 21, did not abort him, and describes him as "perfect." I am, frankly, saddened by how many parents in my little community have just unabashedly thrown their support to this ticket based upon that one reality. Perhaps, true Republicans, they just needed this perk to justify their own dilemmas. I don't think that it's enough; that this should be the deciding factor about how I cast my vote. No more than voting for Barack Obama due to the color of his skin. To finish the thought, yes, it's about the content of their character.

I'm convinced that our government is sick. It wallows in the throes of it's own bureaucracy, rules, and party machinery. To morph what Benjamin Franklin said at the signing of the Declaration of Independence, we are all now hanging separately. Necessary change idles while resolution after non-binding resolution are passed like gas and the bad checks that they're writing against the future. Will freedom become "just another word for, nothing left to lose?" It's beyond my scope, but I feel a need to influence it, if only by my one vote. That's my responsibility.

So, just by stating my thought processes, have I set myself against you? Have I convinced you of anything? I hope the answer to both questions is "No."

I sometimes envy those who have a clear grasp of the world, how it should work, and passionately drive themselves and others toward that vision. Problem is, it usually means that someone else gets trampled or left behind. I think that's the ultimate American (US) dilemma - Freedom vs. Responsibility.

I'll let it go, at that. I just hate politics, that's all.

Tubular Bells (& Whistles)

In another life, I was a data-driven TQM, TQI number crunchin' fool. I don't particularly like statistics as a discipline (it requires discipline), but I do like goofing numbers around when the data suits me.

I took the raw logs from my beloved tube system for the month of July, and learned some interesting things. O.K., not interesting like guaranteed winning lottery numbers, interesting like "hey, look at that! Let's eat."

This post is dedicated to Nick, and his, er, seemingly indefatigable interest in this subject. I still don't know why.

I have to say that the repair that made all of the difference occurred on July 15, the middle of the month, so the data reflects both an ailing and a healthy system. I'm going to run these numbers again, for August, but I'll probably only share them with Nick. But let's not delay the suspense, any longer. . .

Total Number of Transactions: 18,070 (31 days)
Average # of transactions per hour: 24
(a transaction about every 2.5 minutes, if it were a constant)

118 Returns (0.65%) - a little more than 1/2 of 1% were sent back due to some system problem. Nearly always just resent, then they go. For a mechanical system run by a PC running Windows NT 4.0, I'd say that that's pretty good.

51% of transactions took less than 2 minutes
95% of transactions took less than 3 minutes
(this improved dramatically after 7/15, when the pressure/vacuum tripled).

63% of transactions were either to or from the Lab.
28% of transactions were either to or from the Pharmacy.
That makes 91%. That's a lot. See?

The hastily drawn chart, below, shows the volume of traffic by time of day!

I think it's interesting that, with only a couple of spikes, the traffic is rather constant. Lots of body fluid samples, lab results, drug orders and drugs whizzing back and forth, all day, all night, Mary Ann.

Well, those are the highlights, Nick old man. I don't think anybody's really realized just how busy this thing is, and how it's really serving these two departments so well. Kinda like one's sewer system (Kelly!) - you take if for granted right up to the moment when it stops working. I'm hoping it will spur the powers that be to up the ante on the stuff that needs to be upgraded on this thing before it 'craps out' , someday.

Let's Eat.

Another Horrible, Divisive Debate

"Elbog, how could you defile your Mac with Vista?

That’s like eating Chinese food with a fork."

Diversity. It's appalling to me that, even those in our community could project such a jaundiced and callous view such as this. Can you believe that someone would say something so spiteful, when we're all trying so hard to support each other?

Well, TOM, I'm going to tell you why. I eat Chinese food with a fork, too. I'm not Chinese. I've learned to cook Chinese food, and using a fork is the most economical way that I've learned to shovel it into my mouth (and after all of that chopping and wok-ing over a large flame, I'm pretty stinkin' hungry). I feel that I have gained an appropriate appreciation of Chinese culture by this means, and I certainly have and can use chopsticks, and certainly would if I were a guest in a Chinese home, but I gain no sense of world-citizenessness or edumacation dining at home with them. It's a tool. That's answer #1.

#2> It runs GREAT. There's nothing wrong with Vista, they just pooped in their own messkit by not being clear about what hardware it would run on. I've read that it runs better on an iMac than just about anything else. I'll testify to that.

#3> I do because I can. I earned free, legitimate copies of Vista and Office 2007 at about the same time that my old PC, cobbled together/upgraded/etc. since 2000 was showing some strain. I was frustrated by the fact that PC pieces don't always fit together so well, anymore, and the cost of a new machine with the specs I wanted faced me with some complicated choices. Mac, of course, solves that by controlling the process and also more than doubling the price. My way, the highway, and thanks very much. It's very much like many other religions I've seen. The iMac was a generous Christmas gift this year; the timing was right, and the Boot Camp software made it easy. I took the road less-traveled.

#4> I'm a guy who's known DOS, Novell, Arcnet, token-ring, the command-line. I saw the original Mac, it was cute, but I like taking the back off stuff and making it better, you know, the smell of burning silica. My only complaint about my current Mac is that I can't upgrade the video card. That's whining, and I won't do it again. I currently have 3 drives, 2 keyboards, an extra monitor plugged into it and enough wires strung around to keep me happy and busy. It's workin' out o.k.

#5> There's always been a Mac in the house, and I've gained an appreciation for it's ease of use, sometime's obtuse but simple-minded interface, and plain reliability. I have OSX installed on this baby, too, so I get the advantages of both platforms - goofing off in Garage Band and IMovie, although, due to my lack of constant practice with Mac commands, they often prove to be just as frustrating as any other software I've ever used. No faster.

I think that the competition has really brought these software giants to a point where there's not a whole lot of difference in how the average user interacts with it to do stuff. That leaves the specialties to divvy up the rest, depending upon certain preferences, features and hardware/industry history. I spent a couple of weekends with Ubuntu, last year, too. I found it to be just as challenging to set up and use as Windows, albeit for free. I somehow would rather pay for that pleasure, kinda like you eating Chinese food with chopsticks, Tom. Sorry, that was a cheap shot.

I'd add that, for example, neither platform has provided an easy way (read free/cheap/tweakable) to integrate the home network to my television set. They both approach this from annoying, proprietary angles that, well, annoy me.

In summary, I'm a PC. And I'm a Mac. And I'm proud to be both. I'm not here to judge any of you inferior, I'm just asking that you please re-consider your old ways, fueled by multibillion-dollar corporations and perhaps your own pride. If you can't, that's o.k. I admire your French-film watching, knees-bent, running around maneuvers and such; if you require a sense of superiority, then so be it. I'll still be your friend.

*******
And that's how I like satire. If you're not laughing, then I've gone horribly wrong.

I think this about does it, for me.

Patricia Bauer is a professional writer. There's been so much written about Tropic Thunder - although I'm curious as to how much those of you not living in my world have actually seen of it.

Ms. Bauer wraps it up, very well, with this piece. I'd rather you read it than for me to tackle it, poorly.

If you've got the intestinal fortitude to read it all, note the sections that she finds terrifying. These are the things that keep me up at night, not the name-calling by wealthy dilettantes. Margaret's amazing to me, do I dare dream the same things for Emma? I turn 50 next year, she will be 10.

I've posted some mighty wicked replies to about 15 blog and forum posts over the last 10 days or so. Diverse community that we are, there have even been several discussions reminiscent (perhaps only to me) of the Sermon on the Mount scene from "The Life of Brian." Cheesemakers, indeed. The right of free speech, the limits of same. Responsibilities and where they ultimately lie. My online friends have argued with each other, with radio and TV wonks; some have argued with themselves. They've picketed and protested, and fractured and frittered - it's all part of any 'movement'.

I'm utterly convinced that those responsible for this film had absolutely no intention to cause this eruption. As Ms. Bauer points out, that alone is at the crux of the problem. I've railed at one friend already about the state of the industry. Read this book, "Vulgarians at the Gate" by Steve Allen - wow, a celebrated comedian - if you want more. The treatment of the disabled is only one signpost on the slippery slope we're on. Did I mention that I'm almost 50? Get off my lawn.

Anyway, Patricia hits all of the highlights, with skill and heart. My sincerest thanks to those of you willing to engage yourselves for the betterment of my Emma's world. That is what the blather's all about.

Not quite the team player

So, I've been 'tagged' by my very good online friend, Kelly at Where there's a Will. It's called a meme although, having just looked it up, I'm tempted to quote Inigo Montoya in "The Princess Bride" - "that word you keep using, I don' think it means what you think it means."
So, ever the one to please, here's the deal:
Reveal 6 unspectacular quirks of yours:
1. I avoid cracks and seams when walking on concrete.
2. I prefer to eat peas mixed with mashed potatos.
3. I will eat Prime Rib with ketchup, if given the opportunity.
4. I despise dog spit even more than I despise dog breath.
5. I like orange cake with orange frosting.
6. I will turn all of my socks right-side-out before putting them away.
***Bonus***
7. I don't play tag, anymore.

Now I must tag some more participants and explain the RULES:
1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules on your blog.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 fellow bloggers by linking to them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers blogs letting them know they have been tagged.

Truth is, I don't know if I could come up with 6 people to tag, Kelly'd have to be one of them. And that would be copying, or shall we say, meme-ographing, as it were.
And yes, I realize that half of my quirks are about food. Yep, they are.
Cheers!

A Favor, Por Favor.

I don't ask for a lot, at least I don't think I do.
Please don't spend any money on the movie "Tropical Thunder".
Read some facts, if you want to.
Then don't go. If you're of a mind to, ask your friends not to go, either.
Thanks.

Emma's 9th Birthday

We had a great time at Emma's party, yesterday. Did the presents, did the cake, had fun out of the sun in the Family Room. Emma got lots of good stuff, including her bi-annual replacement Elmo and Zoe puppets.

Once again, the cameras were rolling. Commence with the Amateur Auteur Hour:

Emma's 9th Birthday Video from Jeff Goble on Vimeo.

 

 

 

 

Happy Birthday, Girl!

My Great Aunt Willo May

The service for Willo May was yesterday. I waited until today to write about her because I needed to. I wanted to reverberate the thoughts of her family, friends, and co-workers with my own, in an effort to be not quite so selfish in my thinking about her. For you see, it's one of the words that describes Willo May. Unselfish.

Willo May was, as her son said, part of "The Greatest Generation." She was a professor of music - piano, organ, theory - for some 39 years. She taught piano to thousands of people, including me. She began playing piano, then organ, in church services at the age of 12, nearly every Sunday, until 17 days before her death - a span of 79 years. She was one of those individuals who befriended nearly everyone, cooked for nearly everyone, taught us all much more than just music, and prayed and cared for everyone. She has played piano and organ for multiple generations of families' weddings (yes, mine and my parents') and funerals - she's accompanied thousands of rehearsals, recitals, choirs. . . A life of service.

She has always been a part of my consciousness, my wider family circle. As a young boy, we would travel to Aunt Willo May's for Thanksgiving and New Year's Day - they lived in Pasadena, and, back then, on New Year's Day, the floats from the Rose Parade would be parked about three blocks from their home, where we could see them up close. I know that it was more about the food and the fellowship, though, than flowers. In my memory, I have been remembering the sights and smells of that house, these past weeks. Her husband, Dan, was a football fan of epic proportions, particularly college football. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself following players just to try and impress Uncle Dan, or at least keep up, when we were there. Thanksgiving usually included at least one guest from the college, or a serviceman from church - their hospitality nearly always extended outward to someone not home for the holidays. To put it bluntly, they set standards for us all, not by display, but by practice, of how to serve and love each other.

Then there were the piano lessons. Learning to play the piano, unfortunately, became the skirmish line in the battle between my Mother and I for control. I hated it. I was learning to play the cello, then the bass, rock and roll was in full swing, all I saw were guitars and basses - and I really didn't want to be a church pianist at all. It is a testament to both of them that they persevered with me as long as they did, and I did learn many valuable things about theory and life and love from Willo May. You see, we lived in Long Beach, about 30 -40 miles apart. Mom used to drive me, every other weekend, for at least two years, to Willo May's for piano lessons. I have a musical gift that is in fact a two-headed monster - I have a real 'ear' for music. It makes it easy for casual music, to learn by listening. It doesn't work so well for the orchestra or, let's say, playing the piano, where you're really supposed to play the notes exactly as written. Most piano teachers, when giving me new music, would play the piece for me as an example. I would then go home and, when not stubbornly not practicing, I would learn to play the song from memory, not disciplining myself to translate the notation. Willo May figured this out, and started handing me music to learn sans demonstration. It was tough love. What small skills I now possess in the realm of reading music are attributable to her - as much for the realization that there was more to be gained by this than by not learning it, that discipline brought long-term rewards over short term satisfaction. She set a new standard for me. I didn't meet it, and I don't think it was too long after that that Mom surrendered to the battle of wills. Over the years, I had a few opportunities to play alongside her, as a bass player, and she was always very complimentary. She didn't know it, but I cherished those times, as I did her approval. I know that she wasn't pleased that I hadn't pursued the piano, but she never spoke a word to me to that effect. Willo May was a self-determined accompanist, and I understood this, and have shared and tried to emulate that aspect in my own playing.

I'd always felt that Willo May 'got' me, that she knew me pretty well, and loved me in spite of all that. I came to the realization, many years ago, however, that that was the way just about everyone else felt about her. The loss of that feeling of exclusivity, eventually, made me just love her more. Whether this trait was a gift, or the result of great effort, I do not know, but she applied it generously.

She died from what turned out to be a rapidly growing brain tumor. The diagnosis was that she'd have 3-4 months to live. I lazily assumed that she'd be around, this next weekend, for Emma's birthday party. I didn't speak with her. Fortunately, a large number of those that she'd 'gotten' did. She teaches, again, by example. Don't hesitate to tell those you love that you love them.

Yesterday was beautiful. I cried, not from sorrow, but from gratitude. Many people never know someone like Willo May. Others are influenced. I was privileged to gain part of her heritage; to claim her as my own, if only in small part. The outpouring of music, most of it selected by her, was testament to both her talent and heart for her savior. Her legacy is substantial, albeit mostly played out in churches around the world on Sunday mornings, not in great concert halls.
A life lived with excellence, through service to others. It is the life that Christ calls us all to.
Well Done, Aunt Willo May. Thank you. Thank you.

Tube System Tales - Epilogue

Sunday night, one of the four APU's (blower) motor bearings went to pieces. The decision was made to tear the motor down to see how much damage had been done. My 'mentor' joined me, and helped me disconnect it and unbolt it from the floor.

The APU lineup.
The black boxes are air shifters. Air goes into the motor on the left tube, out of the motor on the right, the air shifter's like a paddle that moves in a circular housing to direct the flow.

Here's the APU off the floor.
Notice the screens at the bottom. The inlet side is about 70% PLUGGED. The outlet side, about 40% PLUGGED.

My 'mentor" - the guy that I'd inherited the system from, was flabbergasted. He had no idea that these screens were there, let alone that they needed to be cleaned. The preventive maintenance work order procedure (quarterly) says to clean the blower motor screens, but he thought that meant another set of screens that are on the air shifters. Upon further discussion, and questioning, there were other employees that knew of this need, and had in fact performed this maintenance - it was a situation where the proper information had not been passed along from knowledgeable people to those that needed to know. These screens had not been inspected or cleaned for at least THREE YEARS.

I left the motor tear down to the real mechanics, and returned to the tube room. One at a time, I cleared and cleaned blocked screens. Four hours later, I had a rockin' tube system. To express it numerically, tube stations where my meter had shown vacuum of 5 inches of water now showed 15. The BOC guy got a complaint call from one floor secretary that her tube station was making too much noise - no, baby, that's the sucking sound of success!

That nagging feeling that something wasn't the way it was supposed to be was gone. The need to primp and preen each opening and orifice to keep minimum functionality was gone. The pressure, now on full blast, was off me. I was observed, smiling, at work - a phenomenon rarely seen since the turn of the century. Like the motors, I was relieved. It is now 10 degrees cooler in the tube room than it usually is. Transactions - tracked by the computer - are taking 2/3 of the time they used to take to get there. Faster. Better. More reliable. Me happy.
I can deal with this.

Emma Eats Cake Video

It's only a week away!

Emma Eats Cake Birthdays 3-8 from Jeff Goble on Vimeo.

Sucker, Part IV, or Existing in a Vacuum

In frustration, I turned to the healthier parts of the system. I learned that:

• There are several different ways to construct a diverter - it seemed that each one was put together in a manner different from the last 3 I had looked at. I am going to assume that it's because diverters are set up differently - horizontal tubes, vertical tubes, etc - and not that we were just the victim of using whatever happened to be on the truck, that day. It didn't really matter now, except that each solution would be different.
• In my well-working zones, there wasn't a whole lot of difference in pressure/suction between the stations closest to the APU's (Air Power Units - blowers) and those at the farthest end. This meant that it was possible to realistically expect this - not to assume that the end stations were just going to be weak.
• The two zones I had problems with, those stations had the largest number of diverters between them and the APU's. More opportunities for leakage. Sure, it makes sense now, but I was learning this on my own.
• Suction was the first indicator of a problem, because of inertia. When pressure is applied to the tube, it's only about 20 feet from the APU. Gets the kick in the pants and off it goes. If the pressure's weakening as it gets to the outer limits of the system, gravity and inertia tend to carry it along. With suction, it's the opposite. The closest analogy I've thought of is holding a rubber band between your two hands. The farther you pull your hands apart, the more force it takes. That, of course is kinetic energy pulling your hands back together, but the point is that that energy has to be transmitted the entire length of the tube to have an effect on that carrier sitting out in the open atmosphere in an arm to be pulled into the tube in the first place. The reverse effect. Did I mention that I have a degree in psychology? Thank you.

Fascinated? I know I am. Let's continue.

One example, then we'll move on. Here's one end of one diverter. The white plastic ring is what would slide on the metal wall of the box from one path to the other. The other end would be connected to a section of metal tube with a rubber sleeve, flexible enough to accommodate the movement. At the other end, another sleeve to the one opening at the other end. Now, let's take a closer look, shall we?

I would draw your attention to the brown thing between the white ring and the metal. That's a rubber ring, yes it is. It's actually tubing that's wedged in there, with the ends glued together to make a ring. Now, this is one of the things that I really didn't see until someone pointed it out to me - remember that these boxes are wedged up in the ceiling between conduits, steam lines, gas lines of various persuasions, etc. - and this is only one configuration. Some of these details, one can only find by feel or shutting it down and dismantling them. It was time, though.

There was no huge leak. They were all over. It became a matter of methodically working through the diverters, and the suction increased gradually until we were peggin' the meter everywhere.

The lessons learned were these:

• The system was more complex (and better designed) than I originally thought it was.
• Because of this, my expectations of what it could do needed to change.
• Once my predecessor finally started to get more detailed, this included admitting to a certain lack of maintenance and, shall we say, follow-through on his and others' parts. Aye, there's the rub! Now the college boy was making him look bad. Guess what, the system was doing that, not me.

So, I'm smarter, it's better, and I've gained a certain confidence in an area I never wanted to know better. I'm proud of the work ethic that's been instilled in me by those who chose to invest, as well as my own stubbornness and ability to work through really being pissed off. Sad to say, I'm surrounded by a working atmosphere where, when the work's not obvious, people take shortcuts and would rather put some tape on something that really needs to be replaced. Most of this system is hidden; I have literally pulled 3-4 layers of tape off certain places. It is also sad that our current working environment does not lend itself readily to mentoring, apprenticeship, the passing down of the values behind the processes, the true nature of quality that starts with the person holding the tools, doing the right thing, making those pieces shine that no one else would ever see. It was this realization that turned my anger into action, and then into pride of accomplishment. I learned what it would take to make this work like it should, and then did it. It's why I've gone on so long about it. Nobody else really cares, beyond it's working or not, but I know better. I'm not proud about a lot of things; you won't hear me talk like this, very often (at least I hope not). It has been something of a journey for me, this tube system.

Sucker, Part III

Pardon the blurry cellphone pics, please.

Ok, so I was angry. The guy before me was really too busy to help me, cleaning out a boiler. I was left to my own devices. I soon learned that there were no devices - you just kinda looked around for leaks, fixed what you found, and tried it again. I had a couple of problems with this, in that I didn't know what I was looking at, listening for, or feeling around at. After about a week, crawling around in ceilings - oh yes, it's all in the ceilings, obscured by ductwork, insulation, and conduits - I decided that I needed a device. Something to measure the movement of air, specifically suction. Following the layout of the zone, I still really couldn't tell where my vacuum was dropping off, at least not by sticking my hand into the open maw of each tube station to get a sense. I needed numbers.

Air pressure/vacuum is measured in "inches of water" - no, I really still don't know what that means, my degree is in psychology. At any rate, I found a Magnehelic gauge with a working range for what I wanted to do, and set to drilling, running a tube through a carrier to said gauge. My co-workers gazed at me with disdain, the college boy's wasting more time. I fitted it with a rubber collar, I didn't want this thing taking off and embarrassing me further.

   

I soon learned that a properly working station would peg the scale, providing at least 5 inches of water. The non-working stations were only 'pulling' 3 or more. Receiving, at the end of the line, barely made 2.

I enlisted the aid of my co-workers. Some gave me good advice, some told me long, anecdotal stories with no real point, and still others sent me on complete wild-goose chases. One of the things that ultimately turned me from psychology as a career, as a young man, was that it's practical application depended upon one's philosophy/philosophies, there were no concrete answers. I was beginning to feel that way about this tentacled beast that seemed to defy common sense. Everyone had their theories, but none were proven. I was wrong, of course, it was just a matter of getting the right information, this is physics, not the inner workings of the human mind.

I was on my way. There was at least one big leak, and I was going to find it. Now, if it had been water, the problem would be evident. How to find it? Couldn't use smoke. . . although it was tempting. Thought of using some sort of odor, but I let that pass, too. I knew from my exploration that there were no gaping holes, no cracked open section due to some contractor's mucking about on some other mission. It had to be the diverters. Specifically, it had to be either diverter C12, C07, C11 or C06. I'd been told (and shown!) by one co-worker that they were all fine. Little did I know that he knew as little as I did.

Next time: Diversions and Elbog's rubber-band theory of space and time.

Hey, Ain't This Great!

Headline:
Woman has breast cancer-free baby!

Hope they can soon screen for the "won't grow up to hate her parents and join the Druids" gene or "economic success - will definitely end up on the dole" gene.
I'm just saying. We're on the precipice. How good is your vision?

Sucker, Part II

So, to review:

The Five Stages of Grief are:

Denial
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance

Looking at them now, I'm chagrined to admit that it's not an appropriate descriptor in this case. Denial was momentary, went straight to Anger. Not much in the way of bargaining to be done, no one to trade with. Anger (direct, not the residual) lasted a good couple of weeks. Fortunately, when one has been even angrier, for longer, one learns to channel this energy. We'll come back to this. Depression was good for another 3-4 weeks. Acceptance came with some success. This concludes our overview.

When we last left our hero, Food Service had virtually no suction. Central Service, provider of all things sterile and clinical, was not much better. Receiving had given up on using their tube station, some months ago. The EAU and 8th floors were complaining of intermittent service and lost tubes. The two major zones weren't sinking, but they were listing hard to port, as it were.

Now, the technical description. This system is a one-tube system - the same tube is used for sending and receiving. There are 42 stations, segmented into 4 zones - 4 main routes that branch off to each station by means of diverters - think railway switch. They converge in the basement at the "Dazzler" - a conflagration of bent, rotating tubes that makes the exchange from station C12(Lab) to B11(11th fl.) possible.
Nurse Nancy puts her lab sample into bubble wrap, then puts it in the tube. She puts the tube into an arm-like holder, and enters the destination's address on a keypad. The station accepts this (usually), and moves the arm over to the gate - the closed-off opening. In the BOC (Pit of Despair, see earlier posts), A PC takes the request and lines up that zone to the station. One of the 4 large blowers in the basement fires up, vacuum is created, and the tube is pulled into the basement, into the "Dazzler". The PC then directs the "Dazzler" to line up a path to the destination station. The blower shifts from suction to pressure, and the sample winds it's way to the lab. That's it. Usually takes less than 2 minutes. There are communication links, optical sensors that track the trajectory, and log the results. We hardly ever lose a tube - it has to go somewhere, and it does. When it goes, of course. These weren't leaving the station.

As you may have experienced, pneumatic tube systems can move small items very quickly and efficiently. This beneficial service is multiplied in an institution such as ours. It is one of those things that is easily taken for granted, which, like fresh tomato on a "California Burger", can lead to outright rage when it's taken away. Food Service had had to find a different way to get patient menu selections from the floors, and the affected floors were really missing the quick and efficient transfer of minutia, like medicines from the pharmacy. My boss had set me firmly in the midst of a large steaming pasture, whether he knew it or not.

Next: Anger is an ener-gee, or Troubleshooting Things You Don't Understand.

There's a Sucker Born Every Minute, Part I

Alright, I mentioned it, and some of you have been needling me about it, so here's my essay on the tube system. Pneumatic. Ecstatic. Acrobatic, tube system.

In the world according to Dilbert, I have done my best to transform myself from Dilbert into Wally. Wally - the little bald-headed guy whose raison-de-etre' is to do as little as possible, while maintaining the illusion of work. For me, this has been by focusing my efforts on those systems that are least likely to result in a telephone call in the middle of the night from our latest hire, naturally working the graveyard shift with no experience and a million square feet to take care of. The actual fact is that I am so good at maintaining the things that I'm responsible for (as my friend says, "It ain't rocket surgery"), that I end up looking for things to do. So, into my semi-secure world drops the tube system, as I guess someone noticed that I'd actually been happy at work for 3-4 weeks or so.

I was very angry at the manner in which it came to me. My current supervisor/Manager/Team Leader/I-really-don't-care-what-his-title-is, is a nice-enough guy who was working his way up the ranks while I had crested and fallen. He's actually asked me for some occasional advice, and I've seen him make some real progress, management-wise. His job (which is actually the job I had, reconstituted into something I'd never want to do, again) keeps him up at night at least 2-3 times a week, and his hair is going greyer even faster than mine did. Every morning, we carry on a fine naval tradition called the POD, or Plan of the Day. Sharing info, doling out assignments, finding out where the floods were the night before (It's a 540 bed hospital that's 43 years old, you do the plumbing math). This particular morning, the meeting breaks up, he motions me over, and tells me - in the presence of my co-worker that's being relieved of this burden - that it's now my responsibility. No warm-up, no warning, no smoke signals of any kind. I then get about 90 minutes of "this is where everything is"- "here's the main parts of the tube station" - and I'm left alone, seething with a handful of work orders and a third of the system not working.

Flash back to 1990. I am a "Management Specialist", working for the Director of Engineering. We've just replaced our 25 year-old pneumatic tube system, and the new system's performance is not quite what the brochures and sales pitches told us that it would be, primarily in the form of the amount of daily attention it requires from our service techs. The boss calls about 5 of us into his office, where he places a conference call to the president of the company. He informs him that we're not satisfied at all, and we're going to inform all of the trade publications and medical device newsletters of how incompetent this system is. He wants the president and anyone else he wants to bring to be in our offices tomorrow, for a meeting about how they're going to fix it - or else. It is the age of Total Quality Management. I actually "Facilitated" that meeting - my first one, handed to me, incidentally, three minutes before it started, without warning or preparation (yes, history repeating itself). We came up with an action plan, and basically made them sweat until the warranty was up, or they went out of business - I don't remember which happened first.

Yes, this all went through my mind before that day was over. You bet your sweet bippy, I was mad.

Next: The Five Stages.