Folk Wisdom

LONG ago, I sang folk songs.  A lot of them.  I used to be able to play guitar and actually make some accompaniment to my singing.  They weren't the popular songs on the radio, I got them because they were easy pieces to learn for folk guitar, and my dad encouraged me to come along with him and learn folk guitar.  Looking back on it, it was some of the best times I spent with him.  It was just us, though there were the others in the class and the instructor.  I had dad mostly to myself and we were doing something that we both enjoyed a great deal, singing.  Neither of us were ever virtuosos with the guitar, but we were better than average singers. (It's my blog, I can take credit like that. mkay?)  At the moment, all I have is my dad's guitar sitting in my closet where it's been for a decade or so.  I have, apparently, no interest in playing guitar.  I still sing a lot though.

Sometimes I just sing a little song to myself while I'm working on something.  I knew lots of songs but the one that comes back most often is Tom Dooley.  Now Tom was a fellow that wound up on the wrong end of the law in 1866, or so the song goes.  Let's see if my memory is any good on this.

Hang down your head Tom Dooley
Hang down your head and cry
Hang down your head Tom Dooley
Poor boy you're bound to die

This time tomorrow
Reckon where I'll be
Down in the Lonesome Valley
Hangin' from a white oak tree

Now, that's a sad song if I EVER heard one, Tom facing impending death on the gallows and all, but I really like that tune and the way that the chorus and verses are sung from two perspectives.

Of course, there is a Wikipedia article on the song.

I like another song a great deal.  It isn't nearly as famous but it is very dear to me and I sing it often.  My grandfather wrote it and had it recorded in the 40's.  It's called, You Never Can Tell The Depth Of A Well.

[intro]
Everybody wants to write a love song
All about the moon and stars above
I just have a thought for you to pass along
Before you build that dream house for the one you love...

You never can tell
The depth of a well
By the handle on the pump
You never can see the height of a tree
By the bark upon the stump
You go to town
To shop around
You walk into a store
You never can say the price you will pay
By the sign upon the door

[chorus]
You fellows in a hurry
To call some girl your own
You shouldn't oughta hurry
Cause you never can win when trouble begins
Take my advice
Consider twice
Before you take that jump
You never can tell
The depth of a well
By the handle on the pump

[Accordion solo]
[chorus]

Now that little song packs in a lot of stuff.  Let's just see...
Don't get all moony.
Don't make your judgments about a mate on superficial qualities.
Ditto
Don't rush into marriage
Accordion!

I really like that song.  I agree with it.  I like the word play.  It rhymes like songs don't anymore.  It is a crooner sort of song and I'm a crooner at heart.

Bob, so what?

Well my point (Hey, stop laughing. I make points sometimes.) is that those songs made, in a big way, an impression on me when I was a teenager.  They became a part of me that I incorporated, that is to say they literally became part of me.  They carry me through the day sometimes, much more than many of the songs I listened to a lot more in that time.  My father and grandfather brought me those songs, and they are a small part of what makes me, me.

I am the sum of all of my thoughts up til the present moment.  Over the years I've summed a lot of thoughts.  I grow richer every day.

Got wood?

493 posts, just seven more to go till the magic 500.  Who knows what'll happen then!!

So, a close friend of mine lost her father to cancer a couple of weeks ago.  His death wasn't unexpected, but he went out with a bang.  Literally.  Instead of waiting for the cancer to kill him, he shot himself in the chest.  He, apparently, had plenty of guns from which to choose from.  He chose one that a friend had given him.

So after I heard this story in person from my friend, I was - like you probably are - shocked.  But my friend, was oddly not that surprised that pop had done this.  She knew him a whole lot better than I.  To her, his choice wasn't that out of line.

So this man I never knew had raised my friend.  And she is a very thoughtful person, someone that I associate with art, and depth of character.  And I have never once known her to be shallow or superficial.  Yeah, she has human faults too, but really now, she's damn good people. 

She asked me over to her father's house to help her sort through his tools.  He had told her that he wanted them to go to another craftsman.  It was humbling.  In honor of her father's wishes, she wanted me to have what I thought I could put to use.  His workshop was neat and full of interesting bits of stuff.  All the shelves and the workbench top were routed smooth.  He had very old tools and new ones too.

Here were the well-used and cherished tools of another man.  The workbench he built himself for his own tastes and whims.  All the little bits of things he had saved and his partially built projects.  Supplies in little tins.  Boxes of screws.  All of it left behind. My first thought was, I wish I'd known him.

I think I may have met the man once, and that would have been in passing at an event.  So I didn't know him.

Now that I finally got a chance to meet her father through his tools, I think I like the fellow.  Rest in peace.

We all feel like that sometimes

The best part of humanity is that, for all of our differences, we share a lot in common.  We all feel the same emotions, our lives follow very similar paths of childhood, adulthood, and old age.  We gain wisdom as we experience the world, and we come to realize our own mortality more clearly the closer it gets.

We all get a cold now and then, that's why it's called "common".  I have one now, it seems.  We all (mostly) like babies.  We all dislike pain and suffering and death.  We all like delicious food, and cool clear water.  Sunshine is quite popular, as is warmth in general.

We all want control of our own lives, the best for our children, and fair and honest treatment from our fellow man. We all do good and bad things, we are all imperfect and mortal.

People are people the world over.  Sometimes they would rather you forget that and focus on their special difference. 

My unsolicited advice is, don't.  Treat them all the same.  I think it works better that way.

You can't handle the truth

Don't you just love it?

I mean, your work.  Is it exciting?  Do you get a charge out of what you do and how goddamn good you are at it?  Do other people's eyes just glaze over when you start into the details--about every little thing that just makes you jump for joy?  Do people tell you you are "the Dennis Miller of Manufacturing" or of whatever it is you do?  Do you get so wrapped up in the minutiae of the work and all of the intricacies of it that sometimes you get a little annoying about it.

Yeah.  Me too.

If the wise and benevolent Squirrel (praise be his name) could fix that, I'd appreciate it.  (I stole this last line from a comment on Reason.com.)

Well, it IS Friday after all

What a work week.

Saturday, one fellow and I came in to do some final assembly to ensure that we had a particular machine ready to ship, even though we all but certain there was no pending order for it.  However, this needed to be done for appearances.  I was supportive, though I did not agree that this was smart.

Monday, I learned that my best friend at work, Charles aka Six-Pack, is taking an exciting position at a large pharmaceutical company and relocating to the East coast.  Bummer.  Now I don't have somebody who I can actually confide in.  WW, please come work with me!  We don't have a job for you but I need you anyway.

Tuesday, my boss that I have great respect for and thoroughly enjoyed working for lets me in on the news that the following day would be her last one there, and not by her choice.  So, no going away celebration for her retirement.  No opportunity for everyone who liked and respected her to thank her for everything she had done for all of us, like about 25 of us who are directly affected by her departure.  At least it brought an end to her difficult relationship with her boss and especially with the fellow who is now, that's right, my boss.

Except on Wednesday, it was her last day, and there was an awkward and difficult air in the place as, on the last day of the quarter, with sales off of plan (thanks, worldwide economic mess), and her packing up her office mid-day, we (about 18 of us) received a meeting notice to discuss the changes.  Except it was for 3 PM the following day, and at that point I wasn't allowed to know to whom I would be reporting, even though I asked directly.  I found that pretty annoying.

Wednesday evening I entertained my departing friend here at Casa De Collier with a Bobtini and a few laughs.  We also had a few handfuls of cashew pieces as I recall.

So Thursday we had a big ole going away lunch for Six-Pack (unlike the non-celebration for my boss) and I had until 3 PM to speculate on my eventual reporting structure.  Good times. 

At the appointed hour we all gathered to hear the CEO explain why he had taken such a painful action.  He had several reasons, which mostly made sense but only diminished the sense of loss a little.  I have to give him credit for acknowledging how difficult and unhappy the situation was.  He had a room full of pretty unhappy people.  I didn't agree with everything said but I certainly didn't envy him.  Nobody had anything to ask him at the end of his talk.  It was painfully silent.  He left.

Then my new boss had a talk with all of us, acknowledged how difficult it was to be in this situation, and asked us all to work together to craft a more effective company.  It went better than I had hoped, and though I miss my old boss greatly I can't take a pass on the continued opportunity.

Today was a whirlwind of activity as I am trying to provide some leadership and encouragement to everyone after my boss's sudden departure, and help fill in for my colleague who has a half dozen people reporting to him and is out for ten days. (right after his boss was shown the door)

So I had lunch with Charles one last time, said goodbye, and worked on some important stuff til about 5:32:04 PM.

Post 489 and counting

When your babies get to a certain age you tell them to bathe more often, think about teaching them to drive, and you buy them a razor so they do not resemble their hairy father (as much).  Today, the last round of all of this has finally come to pass for me.

I'm (almost 100% positively) not having any more children.  As 'they' say, "My work here is done."  Well, mostly.  Since the whole point of being a parent is to silently and elegantly make yourself redundant, while at the same time teaching 'the issue of your marriage' to be pleasant productive citizens who think for themselves.  I think, for the most part, that I (we actually, since it is a team sport) have done rather well.

I am--prepare to be shocked--really rather proud of my children.  They are thoughtful.  They are polite.  They are respectful.  Now, I don't mean that they are always that way to me or the missus, just to other people.

I don't actually need them to be all that to me.  I expect them to use me as a sounding board for growing up and becoming an adult.  I'll tell them where I think they went wrong.  If they fail to be polite to me, I am more than willing to forgive them.  Parents are, in my opinion, like a sparring partner.  You can hit them (figuratively) and they'll tell you when you blow it; no hard feelings.

Is it fun to be a parent?  Yeah.  Is it hard to be a parent?  It is (usually) easy to start, and hard to stick with the program 'til the end.  Is it worth it?  Considering that you are making several shiny adults out of stuff you have laying around anyway, it certainly is.  Even with all the elbow grease.

Royal Flush II

Only 12 more posts after this to make it to 500.  Maybe I'll make it by Xmas.

So, there was a time long ago when I never thought about sewer lines.  This was like, 1970 or so.  After that, we had A Problem at the family home there and we (well, Dad) had to dig up the sewer line and replace it.  I think he had some help, maybe from Grandpa, but it was a really hard job.  And to top that off, the back porch and the lawn were never really the same after that.  It pretty much left a scar.

You never forget that smell of a sewer.  It isn't exactly the smell you expect, my gentle reader, but it is distinct.

Fast forward to just about 1:10 AM a week ago.  We were now back from getting everything set up at Ardenwood for the Renaissance Faire, and busily getting all of our personal stuff ready to go.  For hours.  It always seems to take way too long.  We had hot tubbed, and packed up and repaired a chair and, and, and.

And then I needed to go.  So I went.  Then came an, "Uh oh." from the other bathroom.  It seems the convenience wasn't draining; in a somewhat inconvenient manner.  'No worries', I think.  Out with the handy plunger.  This does the trick 99 out of 100 times.

This was That One Time.  So, the next step is to get one of those water jet do-hickeys that goes on the garden hose.  That goes down the clean-out and into the main drain line and forces the clog downstream under pressure.  Works like a charm.

Except for this time.  Speaking of time, it was now about 1:45.  AM.  And we were getting up at 6:30 (HA!) to head out for the faire.  Not so fast, buddy.

So I break down and Call A Professional.  Actually about three of them.  "We can be there at 8 AM".  "We can be there at 7 or 8."  "We can send a technician now." (Rescue Rooter)  They also insisted that they COULD NOT TELL ME THE (big state secret) PRICE until the technician was there.  What a load of crap.  Of course this is possible - give me the minimum charge for the estimated hour of service.  The tech did within five minutes, after asking me about three questions that I had already explained on the phone.

So the tech called us back in a few minutes after we got off the phone.  He could be there in an hour.  That would be about 3 AM. :-)  So I took out my contact lenses and tried to get some sleep since I was gonna be on my feet all day.  Sharon and I joked that it could be worse, it could be raining.

3 AM comes with a knock at the door.  The technician and I get familiar with the situation around the clean-out.  He gives me the estimate.  $354.  It could be worse.

It starts to rain.

I get a garden umbrella and a flood light.  The tech gets his rain coat and a very substantial power snake unit out of the van.  It is heavy enough that the van has a power lift to get it in and out.

The lightning and thunder starts.

The cable is prepared and fed into the watery abyss.  The tech says the only thing that could go wrong is if the cable goes the wrong way, up into the house plumbing - which could be "bad".  Since the clean-out pipe is full of "water", we can't really see which way the cable is headed.

LOTS of cable goes into the pipe.  Like 80 feet or so.  Much farther than it is from the clean-out to the city sewer under the street.  The tech asks me ominous questions about how far it is to the bathrooms inside the house (about 5 feet), and how the house is plumbed...

"Honey, there is a weird growling noise in the kitchen!"

Cue more lightning and rain.

On investigation, the cable has in fact traveled the wrong way and followed the drain line that comes from the opposite end of the house (90 feet) and the 2-1/2 inch flexible cutter head is scraping clean the inside of the 2" drain line.  The dog is confused by this weird noise and only comes out from under the desk to bark at the thunder.  The wayward cable is reeled in.  The grumbling technician gets a shop vac out.

"I have an idea." he says.  A few minutes later he has the "water" out of the clean-out line, THEN asks me where he should dump it.  It start to rain a little harder and more often for greater poignancy.

So NOW (3:40 AM) we can see the bottom of the clean-out and which way the cable is headed.  Finally, it looks like we might succeed.

The cable goes about a foot before it tangles on "something" the tech explains.  Out comes the cable.  The 2-1/2 inch cutter is exchanged for the smaller one... Victory is ours!

The cable jams about one foot in.

The tech patiently tells me how the best way to fix this is to (simply) dig up the tee connection at the end of the clean-out pipe and put in a proper "sanitary tee" which has a sweeping bend from one pipe into the next, and then cable the line again.  It's pretty clear this isn't in the scope of work he can do at 3:50 AM.  He packs up his gear and gives me a receipt.  And leaves.  At 4 AM.

So, in a last desperate act, I try the water jet thing again.  It is very hard to get round the corner in the pipe but eventually I am able to make it seal.  And then I flush out the line for a minute or so.  Either I have burst the line and irrigated around it or it is clear.  Out comes the hose.

Toilets are flushed as I watch the "water" rush on by at the bottom of the pipe.  It worked!  Sharon jokes that, "The blog post almost writes itself."  Sorry.  No pictures.  You'll thank me.

I hit the pillow at 4:20 or so.  The dog continues to bark at the occasional thunder for another half hour.  6:45 came WAY too soon.