tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144042622024-03-19T04:00:33.736-07:00The Forty-FiveToirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.comBlogger4985125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-49152431459753922232024-03-19T04:00:00.000-07:002024-03-19T04:00:00.132-07:00New Job: The First Day<p> First days on new jobs can be overwhelming. This one was no exception.</p><p>The initial part of the job was not even the job itself, but was shuttling The Ravishing Mrs. TB back to the airport, turning in the car, and then renting a new car and heading back in the direction we had been staying. Which meant that I got to experience the joys of morning rush hour traffic, or at least the starting elements of them. Important safety point: Living in the city proper is not an ideal outcome, and my desire for long commutes has pretty much dropped to zero.</p><p>First days on the job are an odd mix of the one time events and things that will become actual activities, but not right away. The one time events - security badges, parking passes, computer issuance - are things that are both the same and ever so slightly different no matter where you go. Without replicating a process, somehow within the first two hours or so you have all of the basics of operation, even though you may lack context to operate those things.</p><p>The context comes in the second bucket of items, the things that will become actual activities.</p><p>These, generally, come in the form of meetings that one is brought into. There is a certain sense of being hurled out of the plane at 10,000 feet: terminology that makes only the vaguest of sense, acronyms that have no basis yet in reality (Ah, acronyms. The bane of every corporation), and ongoing discussions about items for which you have absolutely no idea what background for.</p><p>The worst part, of course, is when your opinion is solicited for something on which you have literally no idea about the overall impact. </p><p>All of that said, it was a good day. My coworkers seem friendly and interested. The problems that are being discussed, at least as much of them as I can understand, are no different than the sorts of problems I have dealt with elsewhere. And I have a ton to learn.</p><p>My evening was mostly checking into my hotel, which will become my temporary home for the next three weeks. Other than not really having a kitchenette to speak of and thus curtailing a bit my food preparation, it seems very serviceable. It has a small gym and laundry facilities, which are my real needs at this point.</p><p>On the longer term front, we did get acknowledgement that our lease application had been received and we were asked to provide a bit more information. If all goes well, we will get things locked in well before the move in date at the end of April, which would be pretty amazing. The next step would be to arrange the move of stuff.</p><p>All in all, a very successful first day.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-74056328337278453122024-03-18T04:00:00.000-07:002024-03-18T04:00:00.141-07:00Rabbits, Easter, Quick Update<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWovhyphenhyphenuN_Qvi5dXh-vWaR0ZeUEbRpo5U3BQMOxmASRt5rJkWgAyFNdNXKnOCv-ivX8TC5ce9Htl4LtgCZpBVofzuMIXP3itWb2D0C65viyS0qYepyEYZcQu1kQyToA5T17DGESE1lc5Cj1YqLrzDEBgepyaNOIXpVOu8Ge47Zm_3SROIJS-DyF/s1399/Bunny%20and%20Easter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1399" data-original-width="1218" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWovhyphenhyphenuN_Qvi5dXh-vWaR0ZeUEbRpo5U3BQMOxmASRt5rJkWgAyFNdNXKnOCv-ivX8TC5ce9Htl4LtgCZpBVofzuMIXP3itWb2D0C65viyS0qYepyEYZcQu1kQyToA5T17DGESE1lc5Cj1YqLrzDEBgepyaNOIXpVOu8Ge47Zm_3SROIJS-DyF/w349-h400/Bunny%20and%20Easter.jpg" width="349" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">In lieu of an actual post, I offer you the above graphic and a short update:</p><p style="text-align: left;">1) The trip to New Home 2.0 was a success after a bit of a rocky start - due to a malfunction at the computer check-in, we ended up being delayed by 5 hours to the arrival of our final destination.</p><p style="text-align: left;">2) That said, apartment hunting was very successful. We found a unit that a) Is only about a 50% reduction in total square footage from our current house; b) Is within our price range; c) Is approximately 10 minutes from the new job; d) Is actually rather close to local transit to the airport, something which will help ever so much with The Ravishing Mrs. TB's trips here (and anyone else that comes).</p><p style="text-align: left;">3) The rest of the weekend was spent seeing the broader local area, with spectacular results.</p><p style="text-align: left;">4) New job starts today, likely as you are reading this.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Tomorrow we return you to our regularly scheduled programming.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-69153750046938652422024-03-17T04:00:00.000-07:002024-03-17T04:00:00.125-07:00It Is Not Your Business<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpf2dMcwNPhuVwjJAfWJzmfmV_NsFdR9A5ebusCqjCmbYThs6aPzEsLFUux6qtnP8I1-peYLyoAcLCmT-zjuPd5KAXlAp3p3OYGNH2TcU1Am6nE7cebkg3rX8fzSchoiqmLIlNZPctdcFsHQAI-dYKgswkodN1HXB2tDYp5zC-C0DKh1NbvlUQ/s1080/IMG_3349.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpf2dMcwNPhuVwjJAfWJzmfmV_NsFdR9A5ebusCqjCmbYThs6aPzEsLFUux6qtnP8I1-peYLyoAcLCmT-zjuPd5KAXlAp3p3OYGNH2TcU1Am6nE7cebkg3rX8fzSchoiqmLIlNZPctdcFsHQAI-dYKgswkodN1HXB2tDYp5zC-C0DKh1NbvlUQ/w400-h400/IMG_3349.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-82525083945441683282024-03-16T02:00:00.000-07:002024-03-16T02:00:00.161-07:00On Long Friendships<p> One of the highlights of my visit home this weekend was dinner with <i>Uisdean Ruadh</i> and The Director.</p><p>The gathering of the three of us, or of any two of us, is the continuation of a conversation that has been going on for over 40 years as, in the Long Ago on a certain day in March (I always think 14 March, but the date is not really important) a curly haired mature teenager that would be The Director introduced to a flaming red head who he met in drama and would become <i>Uisdean Ruadh</i> to the dark haired socially awkward kid he met in band (I will leave you to figure out who that is). Even over 40 years, the personalities still hold true: The Director is mature and thoughtful, <i>Uisdean Ruadh </i>remains as flamboyant and outgoing as what is left of his flaming red hair would suggest, and I remain as socially awkward as ever.</p><p style="text-align: center;">----</p><p>The conversations are always easy, picking up in many cases at the last place they may have left off - whenever the last time we met. We arre able to separate into two groups that whirl and change like a couple at square dance: the Director and I talking on the couch about his advisory trip, <i>Uisdean Ruadh</i> and The Director's Wife talking about life in general. Later, those situations reverse at dessert and The Director and <i>Uisdean Ruadh </i>discuss The Director's ongoing work and I catch up with The Director's Wife. The conversation is never forced, always free flowing and engaging - something that seems remarkably rare to me in the environment (modern business) that I have spent so much time of late, where almost nothing beyond the task at hand is discussed.</p><p>Dinner, with the four mentioned above as well as with The Director's children, focuses almost exclusively on us getting the latest update on the Director's ongoing dissertation work. It is the sort of conversation that seems almost lost to me now on an ongoing basis: The Director explaining, <i>Uisdean Ruadh </i>or myself digging deeper or making suggestions ("Have you thought about this?"), then listening to responses. My hope is that in some way we are sharpening his thought process. My joy is that I get to hear his thought processes as they are happening - or as I tell him later, "I get to live dissertation writing vicariously through you."</p><p style="text-align: center;">----</p><p style="text-align: left;">The fact that we three have remained not only in contact at all but close friends remains something of a mystery to me: so many high school friendships never survive meaningfully beyond the first year or two of college, and we all had different routes that took us away from Old Home. <i>Uisdean Ruadh</i> remained here taking care of his parents, only gone long enough to train and serve in the Reserves. The Director went away to school and then graduate school until he returned. I, too, went away to school and then graduate school and then returned - until work lead me farther and farther afield; the upcoming move to New Home 2.0 will be the closest I have been in 15 years.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And yet, through all of that, we remained connected in a way that others have not.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Through weddings, divorces, the birth of children, the adoption of children, the death of parents, the loss of jobs, health emergencies - we have somehow managed to stay together in a meaningful way that enabled us not only to continue to speak with each other, but get support from each other in a way that I feel few friendships I have known can offer. Not just the well meant "approval" button on social media, but in a way that is truly supportive. If I have a problem, if I have a harebrained idea, if I need guidance - these are the ones I reach out to.</p><p style="text-align: center;">----</p><p style="text-align: left;">One of the oddest things about growing older is not the fact of growing older - that is as it may be - but that friendships like this grow older. More and more I find myself my working with people younger (or much younger than me. Their youth is not nearly as confounding to me as the fact I have a friendship that is older than they are. Explaining that fact is always somewhat revelatory as well: One mentions the age of the friendship and then just steps back as they start doing the math. More often than not, there is this revelatory sense of that a relationship has lasted longer than they have been alive.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Is this unusual? I would say the answer is largely "Yes", at least in my own sphere. I am used to thinking and hearing of marriages lasting this long; I am not used to hearing of friendships enduring this long - especially if they involve people that are geographically separated. Too often it is just easier to readapt to the current "place" than pull those relationships along with you: They take time. They take effort. They take commitment.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It strikes me as I write this that outside of my relationship with my sister and cousins, this friendship is the next longest thing in my life. It has existed longer than my marriage, than blogging, that <i>Iaijutsu</i> - longer than any other thing.</p><p style="text-align: left;">It saddens me - deeply, profoundly - that this is not, or at least no longer, the norm. Like so many other things in our modern culture, we have become a mile wide and an inch deep to our detriment.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And besides - there is nothing better than a running joke which been running for forty years.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-74589427229743161312024-03-15T02:00:00.000-07:002024-03-18T21:08:44.257-07:00New Home 2.0 - Away!<p>Friends, as you read this post The Ravishing Mrs. TB and I are safely in New Home 2.0, where we are beginning a day of apartment hunting. We actually arrived yesterday, but I keeping finding reasons to not post from Seneca on Thursdays and he has begun to suggest I am avoiding him.</p><p>When your own alter ego is pointing things out, it might be time to pay attention.</p><p>As some may recall, we had a home finding tour assigned as part of our relocation package. In a bit of interesting impacts on planning, if we came prior to my start date the entire trip - airfare, lodging, meals, rental car - would be covered. If it was after I started, only airfare and rental car would be covered. Perhaps not surprisingly we chose to come directly before I start the following Monday.</p><p>Today will be a day with our relocation consultant visiting apartments. At the moment we are looking at something with two bedrooms and a single bath, the extra bedroom to accommodate any visitors that we might have (as <i>Na Clann</i> have never been to New Home 2.0 it seems likely they may come, and host of folks that were previously out of range are now within an easy flight). As you can imagine, there is a financial consideration as well as for the better part of a year we will be carrying both a rental contract and a mortgage payment. My hope is that we will walk away with at least one actual apartment we can look forward to moving into in April.</p><p>Saturday and Sunday are now left to visiting locales in the area. We are both in the position of not having been in this area for many, many years - for me, likely over 30. As our dining is covered, The Ravishing Mrs. TB has already selected some restaurants for our enjoyment. I am certain they will be both delicious and something I would never have thought of otherwise.</p><p>The other thing that is on my mind as we do this is at least starting a discussion about the next several years.</p><p>If I am honest with myself, this job potentially represents the "last lap" of my career in this industry. It has the potential to make things happen, perhaps even at a quicker pace than I had anticipated. This year also brings additional changes: if all goes as it seems to, likely we will have one house in New Home with some aspect of income and rental, an apartment, and The Ranch with at least one rental (The Cabin) and other possibilities.</p><p>In other words, like it or not things are changing a great deal. The changes have every possibility to make other things possible - if properly managed and consciously decided on. And I am not always the best at both of those criteria.</p><p>It is only a starter discussion for sure; we do have things to enjoy over the weekend and I am sure that I will immediately be submerged into my work and starting to establish a new routine. But better conscious thinking than unconscious blundering.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-63402331737240335682024-03-14T02:00:00.000-07:002024-03-14T02:00:00.145-07:00The Collapse CXXXVIII: Sorting<p>09 July 20XX +1</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">My
Dear Lucilius:</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Pompeia
Paulina, when a suggestion is made, does not delay – unlike myself,
who can often push things off to when choices have been effectively
eliminated and only one decision is possible: “procrastination”,
I believe is the vulgar term. Within 12 hours of my thought that we
might want <span lang="en-US">to examine</span> everything we <span lang="en-US">owned</span>
in order to organize it for the future, a list had been produced and
a categorization matrix presented.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">I
should watch myself around this wife of mine, Lucilius; a suggestion
can be a very dangerous thing.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">The
categorization presented itself into three buckets:</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">A)
Items which are required for survival (e.g. food, shelter,
protection);</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">B)
Items which are not required for survival but make survival “better”
(better, of course, being a somewhat subjective term);</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">C)
Items which have limited or no intrinsic or extrinsic value in the
current environment.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Category
A is pretty well defined: items for food, shelter, and protection
are rather self evident at this point as we have been in the
situation for almost a year now. And Category C is also pretty well
defined, although in some cases I do not know that getting rid of
things makes sense: for things like lamps, they take up little
enough space and a refrigerator can be used for simple storage. And
DVDs, while useless, have no more use to anyone else than they do to
us – except, I suppose, as potential targets.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Category
B, items not required for survival but which make survival better, is
the sticking point.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Many
things can be considered to fall into this category. Books? Not
every book I have is directly related to survival or survival skills,
but does every book have to be? At some point who knows: I may end
up with the last copy of Dostoevsky this side of the Mississippi.
Decor? It adds nothing to surviving, but it does break the monotony
of walls and even <span lang="en-US">prehistoric man may have
“touched up” their living quarters.</span></p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">I
wrote of things like dehydrators, where the tray may have benefits
while the unit does not, or even my clothes washer, which might have
parts of value while the unit does not. For now, these things have
been parsed out as things to consider; we are in no immediate rush to
get rid of anything.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Even
before everything essentially stopped, I had made a conscious
decision to minimize my needs and wants – that said, it is apparent
that this had not extended to the possibility that things might
drastically change. I had based my thinking on what seemed likely to
happen, although I will be fair to myself: <span lang="en-US">w</span>orst
case scenario thinking sometimes seems beyond the Pale to us in
normal circumstances, except when suddenly it manifests itself in
ways we did not expect.</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your
Obedient Servant, Seneca</p>
<p class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">(Postscript:
Following up from my last letter, my initial discussion with Young
Xerxes went well. He actually discussed it with a couple of other
people. I need to flesh out the idea soon, which gives me a perfect
topic for the next letter.)</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-9886157549798792682024-03-13T02:00:00.000-07:002024-03-13T02:00:00.151-07:00Tuesday Morning 0930<p>I write this from the comfort of a house warmed with fire as the rains drizzles down outside. It has drizzled down since around 0230 as I recall; the forecast calls for the same most of the day.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGcOl8Jzdgq-1eiFh-asMdSK3PgLu_e9zjVIJl7OuYIgx0PUrOw3b4YtNSFHi1KF38plwgJKL26UMAbvSwYEajVcsImD-b6d11smDrr672ZsEPqrP-pN67ZPmbvzVi2-VRDEhim3-IPes9dq9wAuTMx5XFPtac1v_dhv7j3zMdRldZFnfHfbz/s4032/IMG_3388.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvGcOl8Jzdgq-1eiFh-asMdSK3PgLu_e9zjVIJl7OuYIgx0PUrOw3b4YtNSFHi1KF38plwgJKL26UMAbvSwYEajVcsImD-b6d11smDrr672ZsEPqrP-pN67ZPmbvzVi2-VRDEhim3-IPes9dq9wAuTMx5XFPtac1v_dhv7j3zMdRldZFnfHfbz/s320/IMG_3388.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Today is an odd bonus day, the sort of day that only periodically appears: unplanned, unexpected. Back at The Ranch, I find myself with almost nothing on my calendar for the day: some picture selections for the upcoming funeral, a visit with The Director this evening, cleaning for my early morning departure tomorrow.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have consciously made a decision to temporarily halt any packing or additional moving activities, partially because we will return in about two months for the funeral (and more packing for <i>Na Clann </i>to take things home) and partially pending the settlement of the estate: any move to rent the house now will wait pending final settlement. And if we are not going to sell the house, keeping some of the furniture that we might have gotten rid of makes perfectly good sense. </div><div><br /></div><div>It also represents a sort of last moment: after this, all trips here will originate from New Home 2.0, not New Home. The locus of all originations and returns shifts.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1t3QP406LDo6Q9kfsQNPVDLZ1bW8eyJDdWCmThJ_W3DRXyX3gBRCVnMXbgVx5EwuqLg-5dw5AAmAQy1l08Kcbtjn_lNGDwQYyC9Ztp3XiRJoQrYMYCKpCF2lgU6hUCTHz9Fu7C5qedQTSsayYqujZwjcw2ccdqCQgoBx-V3RsLGAq0Ps9LvbF/s4032/IMG_3390.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1t3QP406LDo6Q9kfsQNPVDLZ1bW8eyJDdWCmThJ_W3DRXyX3gBRCVnMXbgVx5EwuqLg-5dw5AAmAQy1l08Kcbtjn_lNGDwQYyC9Ztp3XiRJoQrYMYCKpCF2lgU6hUCTHz9Fu7C5qedQTSsayYqujZwjcw2ccdqCQgoBx-V3RsLGAq0Ps9LvbF/s320/IMG_3390.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>This is now third Spring since my parents left, but life here know nothing of the ultimate arrival and departure of humans. The cattle slowly move through drizzle, eventually ending up under the cover of trees. The turkey flock that was in the Upper Meadow this morning migrated back into the forest, their daily rounds curtailed by the wet. The jack rabbit I surprised in the front of the house this morning fled to the back of the house and down the slope, black tipped ears erect.</div><div><br /></div><div>The plants, too, are in their awakening mode. The daffodils so beloved by my mother have erected their heads and are blooming, weighted down this morning by rain drops; behind them the poppies have begun their climb to glory. The Meadows are themselves turning green as this year's new growth slowly overtops the remaining stems from last year. The irises, remnants from my maternal grandmother's garden, stand with their leaves sword-straight, waiting for their turn to shine in the sun.</div><div><br /></div><div>The mist obscures the mountains beyond but they, too, register little of the mortal lives of humans.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEQ1P9gv9gObh5Zq466w434E_x7TjK42Xkc6WfdvEOzQ5eWyQPecpkuU8DlQFHKHLqG84Jdc9FmV3ZZLKP8pnuz7cUCoE69BkXdGkXecPkCtY84OvGznOVZkcbp-lIc8CIDWNzFQmy6j5e3etZdVT1uDu9E3Cbd1SIlJHj-w0Yt2X16gB8UkdQ/s4032/IMG_3391.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEQ1P9gv9gObh5Zq466w434E_x7TjK42Xkc6WfdvEOzQ5eWyQPecpkuU8DlQFHKHLqG84Jdc9FmV3ZZLKP8pnuz7cUCoE69BkXdGkXecPkCtY84OvGznOVZkcbp-lIc8CIDWNzFQmy6j5e3etZdVT1uDu9E3Cbd1SIlJHj-w0Yt2X16gB8UkdQ/s320/IMG_3391.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>I have written before that one of the things that marks a transition between immaturity and maturity is the realization of <i>kairos</i>, those specific called out moments of time which were originally "the right or critical moment" versus <i>chronos</i>, the simple passing of time. A useful distinction, that: as with many things, Ancient peoples had a way with things that we moderns lack. </div><div><br />When we are young our world seems to be filled with <i>chronos</i> moments, the passage of time that seems to go on and on. At some point - early for some, later for others - we realize that things end and we had not been conscious of that ending. Certainly, we recognize some things: the graduation from our various stages of education, the beginning of a married life (or the end of it), the birth of child, the death of our parents. But these are hardly the sum total of all the <i>chronos</i> moments: they exist far more often than we think, often only caught out of our eye as they pass (if we are lucky) or in the rearview mirror of life as we realized the last time we did <i>X</i> or saw <i>Y</i> was many years ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>This - this day, this time, I suddenly realize - is such a moment.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3cNFmubfJJdCZhO2f20pQSBUpB41m4kLclwf5ixC5klny-bb19q1noyc-KAJXPOYLUOkG37GnOFILxK6OwfC4BXYc-W44_j3IEOQhSi2dV54P0DJeEcT2O_WXXGieh7Cjkxs0iq8v88lEwQajBNYu90kpaRJABGLvCX3UqimoJ6xFvQRDvjCE/s4032/IMG_3375.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3cNFmubfJJdCZhO2f20pQSBUpB41m4kLclwf5ixC5klny-bb19q1noyc-KAJXPOYLUOkG37GnOFILxK6OwfC4BXYc-W44_j3IEOQhSi2dV54P0DJeEcT2O_WXXGieh7Cjkxs0iq8v88lEwQajBNYu90kpaRJABGLvCX3UqimoJ6xFvQRDvjCE/s320/IMG_3375.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It is of course not "a moment"; there are still things that need to be done and events that need to occur. But this time, this day or even series of days and weeks even to the end of the year, represents multiple transition points. It is the beginning of a change for the ownership of this place and this land, of the assuming of responsibilities and active management in a way I have not done before. It is the beginning of a new job (well, in less than a week) and the beginning of a new locus of focus in my own life, as New Home 2.0 becomes "home" and New Home becomes a place I have a house and where some of <i>Na Clann </i>and The Ravishing Mrs. TB dwell (for now). </div><div><br /></div><div>In a way - even though in some ways this has been true for the last three years - this is the beginning of my life with almost of all of my parent's generation gone in my family. In the cycle of life, we have now assumed the position that they, in turn, inherited from their parents. </div><div><br /></div><div>I remember that transition for them. I can scarcely think of a time I realized the burden would fall to us.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVX2V7nq1oANW0NW2F9XKJN5xex8T96QEMshlJNpE3gwhxa14gjtOHdmATIx-oKJWuY_X8XLPsEEJq3oaRZJjwlRHBmfBYe7n6hGkFaFdnW5vhNwWcht0Q4S-Ls58D1bVxRWu3wvUoFkhP6XDMfyriSURoxfRcbXGMqWQ4WOJVbHD2VtTSw-6x/s4032/IMG_3394.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVX2V7nq1oANW0NW2F9XKJN5xex8T96QEMshlJNpE3gwhxa14gjtOHdmATIx-oKJWuY_X8XLPsEEJq3oaRZJjwlRHBmfBYe7n6hGkFaFdnW5vhNwWcht0Q4S-Ls58D1bVxRWu3wvUoFkhP6XDMfyriSURoxfRcbXGMqWQ4WOJVbHD2VtTSw-6x/s320/IMG_3394.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I realize with a start as I write this (12 March), is is birthday of my father. He has been gone almost two years now. That seems like forever and yet no time at all. The moment he left was <i>kairos</i>, the time after has been <i>chronos</i>. The difference has suddenly never been clearer in my mind.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Sighing, I look outside. The rain has slowed to a fine mist, a sort of falling haze seems almost as timeliness as this moment, a continuous motion machine as the drops hit the earth and flow down the sidewalk or stems and into the grasses or streams below. Heaven and Earth seemed joined for a moment in a sheen in which can only detect motion if one closely examines it.</div><p style="text-align: left;">The fire quietly sighs and pops, a reminder of the passing of all things.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-14478259446739069962024-03-12T02:00:00.000-07:002024-03-12T02:00:00.131-07:00On The Estate<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDlVpJj9D3wfDnMRehjT2pqxepCToo5I5_25KkIKUI5l5tAaLbLbA5Q6nFOfbdPyjFUKaBc7C5n9S9kV9L-OVZPAaKn4BoumnI5fctbjhhscJvsEzaXmiF14vF-HglzD1uBf-sGhfziRH4zknjTMidFWmuzg5-42Be2Sj23zPmCNPSAR73zIU/s4032/IMG_3373.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDlVpJj9D3wfDnMRehjT2pqxepCToo5I5_25KkIKUI5l5tAaLbLbA5Q6nFOfbdPyjFUKaBc7C5n9S9kV9L-OVZPAaKn4BoumnI5fctbjhhscJvsEzaXmiF14vF-HglzD1uBf-sGhfziRH4zknjTMidFWmuzg5-42Be2Sj23zPmCNPSAR73zIU/w400-h300/IMG_3373.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>My sister, The Outdoorsman, and I met with a lawyer yesterday about the settlement of my parents' estate.</p><p>For various and sundry reasons, I will (obviously) not be discussing most of the details here publicly - not that there is anything really to hide or secretive, just that with most legal processes I am sure that the less said about them in public, the better.</p><p>In general, it appears to be a rather straightforward process - again, many thanks to my parents' who planned so well against this day. One or two minor paperwork matters and then the settlement of the accounts can begin. </p><p>We will need another appraisal of the property. This was recommended course of action - not that we do not already have one, but having a second one after the death of the second parent would resolve any potential issues about value. Also, it serves as a good faith effort to make sure the estate is being settled equally, which is just as important.</p><p>As before, we have essentially confirmed that my sister is interested in the cash and I am interested in the property.</p><p>I am having mixed feelings about all of this.</p><p>On the one hand, the fact that we are at this point makes the passing of my parents a very real event. It is easy for me to segregate their passing in my mind from the reality of their things. Now, in a very real sense their things are passing - to us - and their memory is what will remain.</p><p>On the other hand, there are my own considerations to be made. There will be an increase of expenses in my own account, as the estate will not cover the ongoing expenses (nor should it after the departure of my parents). It is good that I have a job again; it does meant that there are additional considerations and planning to made. </p><p>The process was never not going to happen; like many things, we cannot predict when it will start - until it actually does.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-34671626552121095622024-03-11T02:00:00.000-07:002024-03-11T02:00:00.122-07:00Requiem For A Band Director<p>Last week, a somewhat cryptic post appeared on the page of a fellow graduate from my high school, some years older than myself. A little digging made the context more clear: my high school band director had passed away.</p><p style="text-align: center;">----</p><p style="text-align: left;">Band directors, like rare other types of teachers, hold an odd place in the high school teacher hierarchy. They are in fact teachers, and in that sense issue grades and provide instruction as any teacher will. At the same time, they are seeking to pull from students a certain level of performance that is not strictly called out merely by the issuance of assignments, quizzes, and question and answer sessions. They have to somehow get into the lives of students in a way that a "hard" scholastic subject teacher of math or science or social studies or English never completely does, at least on such a large scale.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Band directors, like coaches and any other teacher involved leadership role, end up spending a lot more time with their students than normal. In a marching band season, there is Summer Camp before instruction starts, followed by the actual class or classes itself (in my time, Band and Marching Band in Autumn were separate back to back periods), and non-class rehearsals, and actual performances for games and travel and performance for competitions, then the shift as the season turns and concert season starts - less overall afterschool practices perhaps, but still instruction and travel and performances.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Over time, the Band Director inhabits a space where they are neither only a teacher nor really a peer in the sense that they are always with you during the activity. They become a Presence, to be respected yet also included in the banter and life of a high school band in a way that other teachers may not be. Perhaps in one sense, they become that "uncle" that families have, a figure from a previous generation that is involved in your generation's foibles in a way that your parents and others are not and perhaps never can be. They and their students inhabit a world which can only be apprehended by those on the outside, but is understood by anyone that has ever been in a high school band.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Ultimately - for all of the good ones, I suspect - they essentially become a mentor and friend.</p><p style="text-align: center;">----</p><p style="text-align: left;">In retrospect, I realized that I thought my band director was far older than I was in high school. To be fair, that was partially due to encroaching hair loss and a beard (mysterious adults things to a recently minted teenager). It surprised me - years later, of course - to realize that he was much closer in age to us than seemed possible at the time, perhaps a mere 10 or 15 years older instead of the 20 or 30 that I saw in my mind.</p><p style="text-align: left;">He had high expectations of all us, expectations that we probably often failed to live up to as much as we should have. I can still see him in his chair in the center of the band room, quietly waiting with his hands in his lap as we slowly brought ourselves down from the dull roar of teen age interaction and turned to the task of music as hand. And yet seldom, if ever, can I remember him becoming truly angry at us (it happened, upon occasion - and as you might expect, the shame of disappointing such a man overwhelmed the actual event itself).</p><p style="text-align: left;">He was one of the best sorts of band directors in that he truly loved music. Beyond the high school marching band and concert band seasons, he oversaw the Pep Band for basketball - but his true love was jazz, which was an invitation only group and to be honest, was the first time that jazz had even entered my consciousness. And his activities with music did not end there: he was forever involved in the local civic orchestras and music festivals - and himself not unskilled trumpet player who seemed to enjoy playing as much as he did instructing.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Until I had read the obituary, I had forgotten the fact that in the year of my graduation at the Spring Concert he - along with the Chorale teacher - announced their retirement from the musical side of their teaching duties. Leading a music program is hard, and perhaps after 20 to 25 years he simply felt it was time to move on. Timely for my graduating class, of course: one of the most difficult transitions of all is for students to have a new band director, especially one that is previously unknown. More often than not, the program always suffers a drop off as the new ways are never quite like the old ones. The memories and the attachment often remain too strong.</p><p style="text-align: center;">----</p><p style="text-align: left;">For some years after I graduated I continued to see him; myself, The Director, The Director's brother, and a rotating fourth person (we could never keep anyone more than two years) would do a form of instrumental caroling at Christmas, always ending at his house around 11 PM. He and his wife and family would be there waiting for us. We would play our requisite carols, then come in and chat for a while about the previous year and what had occurred. It was nice to be able to have post high school contact with him in a way that transcended the student/teacher relationship, connecting with him as a friend and peer in a way that had never been possible as a student.</p><p style="text-align: center;">----<br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">He, along with - of all people - my Geometry and Trigonometry teacher, remain the two most influential teachers of my high school career - not only the ones I continued to keep in contact with, but the ones that were had the greatest impact on me (perhaps not surprisingly, they themselves were friends outside of work).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">From my band director, I learned the basic practice of...learning to practice. That seems like an under-rated skill, but I assure that for me, who was seldom able to keep with such things up to that point, it was a major achievement. It paved the way for me to learn that practice was the price of learning to do something, at least to do something well.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Something I realized I learned from him even now that I had not realized is his way of dealing with people. He seldom raised his voice, seldom became angry - and yet, things were done, music was learned, and performances happened. He first of all lead and invested his energy and effort in the task in hand and us - and we, of course, reciprocated. He had the authority, but he seldom used it as such, much more focused on getting us to do those things that needed to be done by both leading us and showing us how do them - a useful skill for someone such as myself in roles where I often have minimal power but a need to see things done.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Finally, of course, he gave me a love of music.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I cannot know how many people passed through his music programs over the years. It was likely in the hundreds, given a rather small high school district in a small town. And likely every one of us walked away with some appreciation of music, even if we did not follow it as far or as long as he did. For me, that went through to college marching band and even beyond, to the harp. And while I do not play nearly as much as I should these days, I can still take simple joy in the execution of a marching routine well done or a song well played across any genre.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It is not unfair to say that once a band nerd, always a band nerd.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">----</div><div style="text-align: left;">Even last week, when I posted the news of our relocation to New Home 2.0, he not only "liked" my news but took the time to comment on the upcoming adventure. This, in what turned out to be a week before his passing, well over 35 years after I had been a student of his. Even then, he was still following up on all of us and our lives.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It was not quite a "Mr. Holland's Opus" moment where the entire history of a teacher's life is brought together in a single room, but looking at the number of comments on the notice of his passing - many I had known in high school and many others that either preceded or came after me - one can see the rich tapestry of a life which was dedicated to others through music and ultimately, of service.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It is no bad things, paraphrasing J.R.R. Tolkien through Bilbo Baggins, to be able to celebrate the simple yet impactful life of one's mentor.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-86625975181762888772024-03-10T01:00:00.000-08:002024-03-10T01:00:00.138-08:00Your Life As A Christian<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBoCi0JUUsXdnMKET5Z0TVt-knTrRIWX46kKFqyX2s1tA4GYzlmPZaFtxY8oasvvwLJ1FKFLoLVnQRhhtLZg5bh5qLg2G1d2dearALk4ZLDMSlU-DJBV3Zfqh8vAs0nzYOhyKTKL2hMOmv12NvDONC3N0c0mzioec5UcRSIPd3w4pVQFUTkrzj/s1440/Dietrich%20Bonhoeffer%20Life%20as%20a%20Christian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1236" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBoCi0JUUsXdnMKET5Z0TVt-knTrRIWX46kKFqyX2s1tA4GYzlmPZaFtxY8oasvvwLJ1FKFLoLVnQRhhtLZg5bh5qLg2G1d2dearALk4ZLDMSlU-DJBV3Zfqh8vAs0nzYOhyKTKL2hMOmv12NvDONC3N0c0mzioec5UcRSIPd3w4pVQFUTkrzj/w344-h400/Dietrich%20Bonhoeffer%20Life%20as%20a%20Christian.jpg" width="344" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-84375749241015128092024-03-09T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-09T02:00:00.129-08:00Tales From Product (A)Isle: Aloha<p>(Author's note: All post are now aggregated on a new page, <a href="https://thefortyfive.blogspot.com/p/tales-from-produce-aisle.html">Tales from Produce (A)Isle</a>)</p><p>This past Thursday was my last night on Produce (A)Isle.</p><p>The time itself was not atypical of all the other closes I have had: Do tomatoes and peppers. Do bananas once, or at least twice. Circle around to the other areas at least once. Cull expired material and do the 50% mark downs for tomorrow's expiration. Hum along with the piped in music (currently hits of the 50's and 60's, mostly Motown sound). </p><p>My departure in and of itself will not create a ripple. My boss did let me know he was genuinely sorry to see me go and had nothing but good feedback from me from (A)Isle coworkers, other coworkers, and management. My fellow (A)Islers have wished me good luck and told me they will miss me - in fact, one, told me myself and one other were the only people that "got" closing. I will let whoever checks me out of the department tonight know. But with the number of people that work at the store, my disappearance will likely cause little or no comment. People come and go all the time.</p><p>As a surprise and lucky timing on my part, they handed out a $100 "Cost of Living" gift (Not a bonus; I was corrected by the Store Manager. They do not give bonuses.) so I got to depart with crisp new $100 bill in my wallet.</p><p>This was a good job.</p><p>It was a good job for many reasons. Some of them are very pragmatic - for example, having something of a second income helped both for things like being able to attend training in Japan without worrying about financing as well as having a little income coming in during Hammerfall 3.0. A standing 10% discount on in-house brands, occasionally having a 25% discount on in house brands. The fact that it kept me up and moving for anywhere from 6 to 20 hours a week, covering about 5 miles a night in steps. And in terms of pay, I had nothing to complain about: Starting pay of $15.50 an hour, $0.50 raise after 3 months and - I just figured out - another $0.50 raise sometime in January or February of this year to a departing hourly rate of $16.50. A 6% raise in approximately 9 months. That seldom if ever happens in my "real" career life. And not one, but two $100 "gifts".</p><p>In terms of stress there was almost none, especially once I got my feet under me and realized that the expectation was to do your best, but that was all that you could do. I never had to face an e-mail inbox loaded with questions and required actions. If we were out of something on the floor, I went to the back and looked - if we were out, we were out and there was nothing I could do. The amount of difficult customers I experienced were minimal (2? 3?) compared to the number of people I interacted with. Other than the stress of having to fill and tie balloons as we managed floral in their absence (which was a stress even up to my last night), it was a very even keel sort of position - always busy, seldom too busy. </p><p>My coworkers were always pleasant. My boss was great. They always worked with my schedule without complaint and so I was able to travel (both back to The Ranch as well as to just go) without ever having to beg or cajole my way into another day off.</p><p>However, the biggest reason it was a good job had nothing to do with the conduct of the work itself.</p><p>Oftentimes in my primary field career (Quality), I am often plagued by the sense that I have secured the position through things that had nothing to do with me. I am experienced enough to know that lots of things go into selecting a candidate just besides them being the "best" candidate. Sometimes it is pay, sometimes it is location to the facility in site. Sometimes it is desperation because they have been searching for months and not been able to find anyone everyone agrees on. Many times I have felt I was "the lowest common denominator" for the selection instead of being the best candidate.</p><p>Produce (A)Isle was different.</p><p>I had nothing to offer for the application and interview, nothing other than years of keeping a job. The interview, as I might have related, was scheduled for 30 minutes but took less than 10 minutes and during which we hardly talked about the job at all. He "had a feeling".</p><p>For the first time in a long time, I felt like I got a job because I really was the best person.</p><p>If you have never had that happen, or it has been a long time since it happened, it is hard to describe what that does for your confidence. The idea that you are selected because of your ability and not any "contributing factors" is immense. The thought that "I went out and got that job. I did it" is an amazing confidence boost.</p><p>Did that confidence boost help? We will never know for sure of course, but I like to believe that the interview process for my new job in New Home 2.0 reflected that. No, the fact that I was again applying for a job for which I was likely overqualified did not make me feel less enthusiastic about the job. Yes, I had every reason to believe I could do that job as well as any other job I had done. And no, essentially starting at the higher end of the lower end was not an issue.</p><p>The other thing this job reminded me of was flexibility - more specifically, that I can be flexible. When a challenge presents itself, such as losing one's job, I am able to respond. I can take action instead of sitting at home bemoaning my fate. And I can be successful at it.</p><p>All of this, from a job handling fruits and vegetables.</p><p>I will keep my nametag in the glove box of my car as I have for months now, mostly as a good luck charm - but also as a "just in case". After all, while I have every reason to believe and hope everything goes well in New Home 2.0, it is never a bad thing to keep your options - just in case.</p><p>And besides, where else am I going to gather such valuable knowledge such as being able to identify the readiness of an avocado for guacamole merely by a 10 second touch?</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-80512611705515917032024-03-08T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-08T02:00:00.131-08:00On Conversations<p>This past week I had the good fortune to have coffee with The Dog Whisperer, part of the larger "Grand Farewell Tour" that has been going on since the notification of the new job became confirmed. </p><p>By the time I looked up at the watch, I realized that over three hours had gone by with us just talking about this and that: our former employer, her job search, <i>iaijutsu </i>(when will I never talk about that that), animals, life in general. "This was great" I commented as we were leaving. "I never seem to have these sorts of conversations any more".</p><p style="text-align: center;">-----</p><p style="text-align: left;">This is not the first conversation of late I have had to this extent: recently my standing call with Rainbow ran a full two hours and coffee with another former employee ran 1.5 hours. Conversations with La Contessa when I am in Old Home do not go less than 1.5 hours and often over that. And as I thought on these things, the comment I made to The Dog Whisperer came up again: Why do I not seem to have these kinds of conversations any more?</p><p style="text-align: left;">Or perhaps more appropriately, why do we - I, at least - not make the time to have them?</p><p style="text-align: center;">----<br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">Social media and technology has done a great deal, both good and ill. One of the good things that it has done is that it has allowed people to find other people that share their interests in a way that one could not before: many of those that share my interests live in other states or other countries, and even on this blog I have "found my tribe" thanks to the InterWeb. And it allows us to keep in touch with each other in a way that we would not have been able to before: information (pictures, conversations) can take place in virtually real time from anywhere in the world (not that I often awake to watch the live coverage of the annual <i>Kobudo Kyokai</i> demonstration with a massive time difference, but I could if I wanted to). A large part of the origination of the more frequent writing on this blog, in fact, was to be able to share my life in New Home with my family, primarily TB The Elder, who faithfully read it daily up to the end of 2020 (although, as he often informed me, he did not always "get" everything I wrote about).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">That said, social media and technology bring issues as well. A simple issue is simply that by finding "more people like me", I also tend to focus on communication with those people and less with others, something that - like or not - we had to do in the analog age of society. Another thing is that conversations often are not in "real time", but rather in the time it takes to respond. It is rather like an author writing a book: the author can get up, walk around, get a drink, and then get back to writing. For the characters, it is as if no time has passed. Thus, conversations are often always a sort of hanging conversation, with responses drifting in and out based on availability and interest. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It can be great for keeping in touch. It is less great when one is seeking deep and engaging conversations.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">----</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Along with the fact we seem to talk less to each other, we also seem to set aside less time to talk to each other.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Once upon a time - within my lifetime - we dropped by to "talk to people". I would be tempted to say that this is a preserve of the older generation (as I am almost "in" that generation now), except that habit seems to less prevalent than it used to be even among them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On one hand, I can understand that. In the modern day society in which we live, people are busy. Schedules can be mapped out for days, weeks or even months in advance. Simply "stopping on by" almost smacks of a certain rudeness, a sort of enforced demand to make conversation: "Behold, it is I, descended from the bounds of Mt. Olympus. Stop ye thine activities and converse". Most people will make an attempt, but there is nothing less conducive to conversation than someone constantly checking their watch or phone or the clock, fidgeting as the seconds tick by.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On the other hand, our modern day society can program time to where we simply have none to give: every hour, every minute, every second needs to be "productive". We must do the things and meet the objectives, personal or familial or corporate. Conversation becomes something that happens "in between" other things, snatched at the beginning and end of meetings or mentioned as individuals pass in the home or church or social events on their way to the next thing - or, as noted above, in the quasi-timelessness of electronic space.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Unemployment gives one an odd reprieve on this order, almost a unique one: one has all the time in the world and yet no time at all, flipping between the driving force of needing to find work and the reality that one cannot will a job into existence. Conversations become easier when the currency one has is time itself with no other pressing thing to spend it on.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">----</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In high school, and even into our community college days, <i>Uisdean Ruadh</i> and I would walk the rails and talk.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The walk to the railroad near my house was not more than a quarter mile; from there we would walk the rails into my home town - if one walks far enough, one ends up at the former train station from years gone by. This was long ago, when two young men walking the railroad tracks in small town America was likely to cause no more fuss than a recommendation to "Watch for trains".</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">These walks could take two or more hours, the crunching on the gravel giving way to the slap of our shoes on pavement and sidewalk as we walked the streets until, tired or talked out, we would make our way back to my house. The conversations are not now specific in my mind, except the fact that we talked - about everything: school, plans, wild fantasies of imaginations, girls, religion - in many ways like our conversations now. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">These were never forced, and likely we seldom had a specific goal in mind for for our conversations. We just walked and talked, two young men with no money and no better activity than to banter with words.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">----</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">If one has a conversation - a true conversation, not just the banal sort of exchange that seems to pass for such these days - one forgets the wonder of what a conversation can truly be.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">To talk back and forth, to see point and counterpoint spiral up and above and overtopping one another, to find out things one never knew about the other - "Oh, you enjoyed that too?" -, to spend the time truly talking about a subject without worrying about the time ticking down: this is perhaps in some ways a very faint reflection of Heaven. I can never see myself talking to God in this way - the difference between us is far too large - but I can see having such conversations with The Saved, where time simply has no meaning and conversations can truly go on as long as they need to (as a side note, I suspect prayer is supposed to be like this, but mine never feel this way).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But all of this starts with something. And that something is a conversation, a real conversation. And to have a real conversation, one has to reserve and spend the time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I cannot say that I will suddenly change how I do such things, or even that I can. But these slivers of the real sort of thing make me hunger for such intellectual stimulation and true sharing of the intellect and souls are the more.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Odd that technology allows to connect more than ever, yet seems to deny us the ability to actual converse.</div><p></p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-59099778170777978632024-03-07T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-07T02:00:00.134-08:00The Collapse CXXXVII: Things<p>07 July 20XX+1</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">My Dear Lucilius:</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">It is high Summer here. Not unbearable to be sure, but certainly even
with insulation <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Liberation Serif, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">it
is still a little warmer than I like</span></span></span></span>.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">In my absence, Pompeia Paulina took it upon herself to give the Cabin
a thorough cleaning and reorganization, which I understand happened
at her former house as well (now Young Xerxes and Statiera’s, of
course). As much of a curmudgeon as I can be, even I am forced to
admit that it was both called for and merited: old men bachelors may
be good at a great many things, but internal home organization and
even cleaning is not always one of them.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Beyond just the cleaning and re-organization, there was of course the
inevitable combining of households. As I believe I have mentioned
before, my house is “suddenly” decorated in a Southwestern motif
that was not there before. My armoire and closet have a selection of
clothes that were not there previously. Things have moved – not
enough to be lost, but enough to be inconvenient at the moment when I
look for them.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">And wonder of wonders, my bookshelves have all been dusted.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">The rabbits – always existing in the “now” – look at me with
shock when I ask Pompeia Paulina about the location of something.
“It has always been that way” they seem to say as they look at me
and loaf, clearly enjoying the fact that two people in the home means
more attention for them.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">This re-organization did, however, bring up the rather pertinent
question of what to do with everything else.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Once upon a time, of course, anything that was not used would have
been ended up in a yard sale, local or community, or simply sent away
to a donation for some charitable group. Yard sales are a thing of
the past now, and charitable groups are neither present nor near nor,
likely operational. And so now we have things which, although not
necessarily needed now, are not easily disposed of.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">I say not easily disposed of. It is not just because those yard
sales and those charitable organizations no longer exist. It is
because every thing now represents something of potential value, or
at least something which for all we know will never be produced
again.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Some of this, of course, can still be sold or given away (charity did
not die just because society did). But although I like to believe
that I did a good job of cleaning things out eve<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Liberation Serif, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span lang="en-US">n</span></span></span></span>
before I moved and tried to minimize since then, even I am forced to
admit that there are things that were still held on to for nostalgia
or a purpose which has now disappeared.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Buried in a small wooden chest in my closet are cards, cards that are
nothing but paper and pictures and signatures – but cards that hold
all the significance in the world to me as they represent snippets of
my life: birthdays, anniversaries, significant days, given to me by
people who are no longer there. Sure, I could use the space – but
I cannot bring myself to sacrifice the memories.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Others are more practical in nature: the small food processor or
food dehydrator that once upon a time I used to prepare dried fruit
and beef jerky, all now silenced by an absence of power that seems
likely not to return anytime soon. Yes, parts of such items may
still be useful – trays, for example, can still hold things – but
as a unit, they are little more than paperweights now.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">It is not just an idle discussion: Even if one does not need such
things, where does one put them? Just laying things out and about
has never been my <i>modus operandi</i>; like my father I like a
house that is outwardly and inwardly organized. Yet there is only so
much storage space in the shed to hold extra things, in a space that
already full of items needed for maintenance.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">We cannot just throw things away, but neither can we just keep
everything. At least it makes for an interesting puzzle to think on
as we work out in the garden and yard.</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">Your Obedient Servant, Seneca</p>
<p align="left" class="western" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">A Post-Script of Sorts: While I have not said anything to Pompeia
Paulina yet, the food situation for ourselves and indeed the
community this year is a growing concern in my mind. Unlike last
year, we do not have the tail end remnants of a society to pull from.
I have an idea, albeit a rather ridiculous one that I will field
with Young Xerxes. Better to be shot down by him than continue it up
a chain without walking through it.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-26589331814807632372024-03-06T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-06T04:52:07.533-08:00On Losing Interest In Brands<p>Although I typically do not discuss "modern" or "pop" culture here, it is not something that I am completely unattuned to. I follow a series of posters on The Tube of You that comment on such things - mostly movies, games and comics. It is not that I am specifically into any of those currently, but I am familiar with the intellectual properties and having a passing interest in the direction of the industry.</p><p>Earlier this week I was listening to one such broadcast in which they were discuss the trajectory of a long running intellectual property. Listening to the discussion, I suddenly made the discovery of how little I held any interest in "brands" anymore.</p><p>As I sat and thought about it more, the fact became more apparent to me. I am generally not a watcher of "series", and I have not collected any sort of things - be they series of books, entertainment, or even "things" - in years. Sure, I still hold an interest in 1st Edition Gamma World items and look (<a href="https://thefortyfive.blogspot.com/2022/06/a-collection-of-gamma-world-1st-edition.html">here</a> and <a href="https://thefortyfive.blogspot.com/2022/06/a-collection-of-gamma-world-1st-edition_0516864770.html">here</a>), but seldom if ever do I find something I do not have. Most of my purchases for the past years have either been of specific authors I like or just random things that catch my eye and hold my interest. </p><p>It extends to other things as well: I am far more likely anymore to purchase something from a small or specialty vendor or local chain than I am from a corporate brand. Part of that is just a preference to fund the small rather than the large; part of that is sheer obstinance on my part even if it may cost me a bit more more.</p><p>Which of course, is exactly the wrong sort of opinion to have in the current economy.</p><p>Consumer based economies require people to purchase things - be they actual physical things or non-physical things such as e-books (real books being physical of course), games, movies, or other intangible items. Best of all if you can convince people that they "need" to have all the things in order to be happy.</p><p>What happens when - if by finance, economy, or personal choice - people stop buying things, or more specifically non-specifically, things that they do not need? Maybe even the things that industry has “convinced them they need? What happens if that built in market dies?</p><p>The good news, I suppose, is I think we are getting to witness it in real time - if by "good news", I mean "actual verification of theoretical impacts". </p><p>For many years, many companies have been able to assume that customers would simply be there, because "brands" and engagement and the power of marketing convincing people they need everything, including those things that they do not really need to survive. In the world we seem to be entering, Such things seem to no longer be a given.</p><p>It is one thing to assume and believe that the customer can and will buy your wares because they have always done so. It is another to realize that that customers are not necessarily the captive, built in market you wanted or needed them to be.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-22073378311149249122024-03-05T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-05T02:00:00.137-08:00On The Ending Of Viewing The Job Search Boards<p> On of the things I am looking forward to most about starting a new job is the fact that I will not have to look at job hunting sites anymore (LinkedOut, Maybe, ObscuredDoor).</p><p>To be fair, the actual job search process using these engines has been pretty streamlined (although, as a note, not one of the potential offers I had or the offer I accepted came from these sites). They are all to some extent more or less customizable, so it becomes more of a question of simply creating the search parameters and narrowing them to the dates one wants to look (anywhere from "past 24 hours" to "past 3 days"). </p><p>No, what I will not miss is what the sites are.</p><p>Maybe is the easiest site in that regard: there is no news or posts, just jobs. ObscuredDoor is a little worse in that regard in that there are some discussion areas, but those can be easily clicked away from and the search conducted. No, the real issue is LinkedOut.</p><p>Opening LinkedOut always brings you to the main screen. Here you will find a combination of one of the following:</p><p>- People starting new jobs or being promoted</p><p>- People laid off from jobs and looking for work</p><p>- People self-promoting</p><p>- Companies self promoting</p><p>In other words, it is kind of a big promotion fest stylized as the go-to location for business. And to be frank, days of it get tiring.</p><p>Social media is slightly different in that on The Book of Face or ProlongedGram, you generally see things posted by friends or things that are of interest to you or sometimes both. People actually share their lives in some form or fashion; humor actually makes an appearance occasionally (to be fair, not always good humor, but humor).</p><p>On LinkedOut, not so much. Occasionally someone shares a personal story or an industry appropriate humor comment will appear. But on the whole, it is social media for business: imagine your workplace as a connection sties. That is LinkedOut.</p><p>It is, in a word, boring.</p><p>Do I have a presence there? Sure; I even updated it for my job search. But I almost never post anything there about anything; given the current business environment it is better to be invisible than to be at all visible. And - hopefully - once I start this job, I can simply forget it exists other than to update my history with my new job information.</p><p>It is not that LinkedOut was probably not a good idea at the time it started, a business portal for individuals to connect with other individuals. And it does have its uses: often when I am interviewing with someone or being audited by someone, I will check to see their experience and background. So for reference, it is a great tool.</p><p>For anything else, it has become the equivalent of the town billboard, a host of information posted that has almost nothing to do with anything of actual impact to my life.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-69634760852486986572024-03-04T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-04T02:00:00.146-08:00The Week Of Lasts<p> This has become the Week of Lasts.</p><p>Yesterday was my last formal day at both Church and the Church Coffee Bar and at the Rabbit Shelter. This Thursday will be my last day on Produce (A)Isle. This Saturday will be my last day of <i>Iaijutsu</i> at my current dojo. Sunday, I will be on a plane - first to Old Home to begin the discussion about my parents' estate (and The Ranch), and then the following Thursday on what will become New Home 2.0.</p><p>It is an odd thing, this packing of Lasts into a short time frame. On one hand it makes the pain of separation bard but fast, the ripping of the existential Band-Aid with the brief pain followed by relief - there is little time to drag on the leaving of things. There is a date and then this thing ends, and this thing, and so on and so on.</p><p>On the other hand, it it feels like a series of great losses in my life.</p><p>These activities that are ending are not - with the exception of Produce (A)Isle - recent additions. I have been involved with these places for ten to fifteen years. All of a sudden - essentially in the period of two weeks - they are being put to the wayside. Sure, I may return as a visitor in the coming year and periodically after that - I have been encouraged to do so - but those returns will be different. One is no longer an active week in/week out participant. One is a visitor - a visitor with history, but a visitor from the past, a sort of time-traveler that returns to see how things are going without the ability to really change anything.</p><p>Over time, the memory of me will fade in all of these places. I will become "Hey, do you remember...." If I am exceptionally lucky, I will pass into Institutional Lore, a sort of legendary presence that fewer and fewer actually knew but many know only through the stories told about them. </p><p>Perhaps that is the best of all possible worlds - to live in stories, long after I am gone and the actual events are forgotten. And, of course, new stories cannot start until the old stories finish.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-50247461042956996202024-03-03T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-03T02:00:00.258-08:00One Road Leads Home<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-z2lnAweQJV2-m2QRCUkYu7HO8xuLPekBn8czMowE5S4ATb-rJPdx9EJwDD5zGoCLc4GUpNCGjxni0rG2aAixcWBEMI98RmNJirXpmcz9F5ZWm9tHYCYRS4thfr3zmeRxumJFrOrPQwVQ8ZE1ckCc8gGiJinvpSAJpuOy8_BpHu4hBQZLAXd0/s960/IMG_3343.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-z2lnAweQJV2-m2QRCUkYu7HO8xuLPekBn8czMowE5S4ATb-rJPdx9EJwDD5zGoCLc4GUpNCGjxni0rG2aAixcWBEMI98RmNJirXpmcz9F5ZWm9tHYCYRS4thfr3zmeRxumJFrOrPQwVQ8ZE1ckCc8gGiJinvpSAJpuOy8_BpHu4hBQZLAXd0/w400-h400/IMG_3343.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-17356431276760069972024-03-02T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-02T02:00:00.134-08:00Farming Looks Mighty Easy<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzdoXwu8teCZ5L5Gw1nNDGoRQiyWhmkVKjDX9MhwO05jVNXRyTy4BjHzt7nRplwDp-FT6Kd0rSM3ef1XambuI8NH9BtHm0beMvtlWcUufBIFMfb1aCNgVd9InEwy2NQNgBjJvzdy0Um45u50fy8rvm4w0BWKvUkD0L9y_i9-Ep5nyoyMOCtcKR/s828/Eisenhower%20Farming.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="809" data-original-width="828" height="391" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzdoXwu8teCZ5L5Gw1nNDGoRQiyWhmkVKjDX9MhwO05jVNXRyTy4BjHzt7nRplwDp-FT6Kd0rSM3ef1XambuI8NH9BtHm0beMvtlWcUufBIFMfb1aCNgVd9InEwy2NQNgBjJvzdy0Um45u50fy8rvm4w0BWKvUkD0L9y_i9-Ep5nyoyMOCtcKR/w400-h391/Eisenhower%20Farming.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"> Sadly, this is the opinion of most of the modern world about farming. Yet they depend almost completely on someone - someone else, usually, do the work.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Despise that which you rely on, and eventually it will not longer be there to rely on.</div><p></p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-69049807715522826492024-03-01T02:00:00.000-08:002024-03-01T02:00:00.127-08:00Training 2024: Learnings<p style="text-align: center;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8T-6RbVssnjUYPciVzBeE5UbHhdc4uCYGryHLxc3BR3iyIH2g3XwroO_pNPpD_TixdaGd1vCwQdXtRqvjgW2RBZbA9CR2lNnFpk5NOyEFeUkhjRYpd_HSYavS-WG35gM-N3kuySGowq0pmMZ3rNogZQwGhBEPXbGZS6-MJ1w97QIt8RdA8Mng/s907/Autumn%20Moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="907" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8T-6RbVssnjUYPciVzBeE5UbHhdc4uCYGryHLxc3BR3iyIH2g3XwroO_pNPpD_TixdaGd1vCwQdXtRqvjgW2RBZbA9CR2lNnFpk5NOyEFeUkhjRYpd_HSYavS-WG35gM-N3kuySGowq0pmMZ3rNogZQwGhBEPXbGZS6-MJ1w97QIt8RdA8Mng/w400-h265/Autumn%20Moon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Utagawa Hiroshige, <i>Autumn Moon at Ishiyama</i>, 1834 (<a href="https://www.dailyartmagazine.com/autumn-moon-in-japanese-woodblock-prints/">Source</a>)</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>For my trip to Japan in 2024, we have discussed <a href="https://thefortyfive.blogspot.com/2024/02/training-2024-infrastructure.html">location and facilities</a>, <a href="https://thefortyfive.blogspot.com/2024/02/training-2024-food.html">meals</a>, <a href="https://thefortyfive.blogspot.com/2024/02/training-2024-vending-machines.html">vending machines</a>, and other places I had seen (<a href="https://thefortyfive.blogspot.com/2024/02/training-2024-yasukuni-shrine.html">here</a> and <a href="https://thefortyfive.blogspot.com/2024/02/training-2024-sengaku-ji-and-47-ronin.html">here</a>). What we have yet to discuss is what I actually learned.</p><p>It is not as ethereal a subject as it might sound like. We are required to write a paper every time we train with our headmaster stating what we learned during our time with him. My understanding is that somewhere out on the InterWeb, all of these papers exist (no idea where, of course). My Sensei has always been kind enough to share his drafts with me; what I suspect is that everyone takes away both general things and things specific to their situation.</p><p>More relevant to this discussion, of course, is what did I learn?</p><p>Learnings for these events fall into two parts. The first is that of technique, corrections received that are general to the <i>waza </i>being practiced and applicable to all or specific to the individual and their practice of it. Mine for this category were not, for the most part, surprising to me: Posture. Grip. Height (e.g., I need to be lower). Straight(er) back (something I have been battling for 15 years). Cutting angles (<i>hasuji</i>). Area and direction of my gaze (<i>metsuke</i>). To correct these is practice, feedback, more practice.</p><p>The second part - what did I take away as an individual - is always the more interesting and revealing part. These have differed from year to year, based largely on where I was in my life at the time.</p><p>It all started with stiffness.</p><p>One of the corrections I received multiple times this training was that I was too stiff. My grip on the sword handle (<i>tsuba</i>) was compared to a "death grip"; my completion of any technique was noted as being rigid not just in my grip, but in my whole body. I was strong - very much so - but with flexibility, I would never truly perform the technique.</p><p>"A living hand is pliable; a dead hand is fixed" wrote Miyamoto Musashi, the 17th Century swordsman who knew a thing or two about swordsmanship. It was not a minor thing. </p><p>The encouragement, therefore, was to relax.</p><p>Relaxing in swordsmanship is something that seems to be at odds with the practice itself, at least in my mind - but then, as I considered it, in point of fact it was true of almost all aspects of my life: I am tense. I tense up. This is true in social situations for sure, but really it is true of any situation in which I have to make a decision or sometimes even just the thought of doing anything. I become paralyzed and I become stiff.</p><p>Enter a hot bath and fluorescent lighting.</p><p>One evening in the <i>ofuro</i>, the beloved hot soaking tub that is a staple of Japanese <i>onsen</i> and even our humble training center, I sat looking at the reflection of the fluorescent lights above the tub in the water. The water was stirred up due to the activity of people getting in and out. The fluorescent lights above the tub chipped and shattered into a million light shards in the pool, lighted waves rippling back and forth in endless motion.</p><p>It was only when everything stopped - when no-one had entered or exited the pool, or when we just sat there - that the fluorescent lights reflected clearly in the pool.</p><p>The moon and water is a common motif in Japanese art, a staple of poetry and paintings and woodblocks. Even in our sword art, there is a technique that is literally translated as "Water Moon Sword", the imagery of the two swords reflecting each other like the moon and water. </p><p>Suddenly - in what I would not name "<i>Sator</i>i" (enlightenment) but enlightening - I saw clearly that only when one is at peace and relaxed can one truly see and reflect what is around one. Any stress, any disturbance, and the image is lost in a jumble of moving waves and fractured light. And so if I wanted to improve my technique - to become less stiff and rigid - I needed to practice being at peace and relaxing, even in the midst of practicing forms. It also helps in that only when one is at peace and still that one can see those subtle visual and mental cues that in the life a swordsman determined when to draw and in the life of ordinary people when an action was required.</p><p>The lesson, at least as I understood it, became even more critical upon my return and indeed during the past week: being stirred up and anxious prevents me from seeing things for what the really are. If I can bring my intensity down, manage my internally generated stress, I become free to act in ways that are actually beneficial.</p><p>I cannot say I am implementing this well; like anything it is a learned activity that has 50 plus years of habit and training going against it. But I have at least been able to make myself conscious that such a thing is happening, and if I can realize its occurrence, I can take measures against it.</p><p>The moon will always be there to reflect in the water; likewise, every day is an opportunity to learn afresh that only through stillness and calm can relax enough to see things clearly.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-2616066309883765172024-02-29T03:51:00.000-08:002024-02-29T03:51:44.048-08:00A Collapse, A Passing, And The End of Things<p>(First things first - no post from Seneca (directly) this week. My apologies as the week has taken turns I did not anticipate.)</p><p>One of the surprising things about life to me is that sometimes it imitates art; sometimes, that imitation even seems to precede life itself.</p><p>That is a bit of a ridiculous statement to me of course; the idea that somehow art (in my case, fiction) can somehow precede an actual change in life or events is the sort of thing of mystical fantasy, whereby the combination of unique ingredients and the summoning of An Other from The Outer Planes results in small glimpses into the future.</p><p>And yet, here we are.</p><p>Attentive folks have commented on the fact that Seneca seems to have undergone a change, sometime between setting out for what will go down in whatever annals of history are to be kept as The Battle of McAdams. It is not a hard thing to write, of course; literature and history are replete with the experiences of those that went out to war and what they were like when the return (Note: The 1920's called, and they are looking for their Lost Generation). There are events which change us - and not all bad of course: something as benign as marriage or the birth of a child or graduating with a degree can suddenly set a different course.</p><p>When I had accepted the new job (was it only a week ago), my reasoning was sound at the time: not only did I need a job (big one there), this was a job that had a good package associated with it and the potential for growth and even to end my career there. It also had the benefit of being much closer to The Ranch and my mother. The ability to be able to get down to see her had become a a very motivating factor - so motivating, in fact, that I surrendered another job option for it.</p><p>Ah, the difference of a week.</p><p>Since Monday, I have been re-asking myself the question "Did I really make the right choice?" It is a fair question, perhaps, given that somehow one of the major things underlying that decision has changed and the decision itself has had its own series of impacts.</p><p>It is like this when one moves: the decision to move is rapidly overtaken by a series of tasks that needs to be accomplished. It is also overtaken by the fact that streams start to shut down, like bodily systems slowly closing out their appointed tasks on their way to death.</p><p>That is happening here of course: end dates of things that I do here are counting down like clockwork. The last day of coffee bar at Church is this Sunday, as well as the last formal day at the Rabbit Shelter. The last day of Produce (A)Isle is the following Thursday, followed by the last <i>Iaijutsu </i>training and a departure lunch. I leave the next day to go to The Ranch to do a quick sweep and meet with the lawyer about the estate. </p><p>On Thursday, I leave for what is effectively a new life.</p><p>It is not a new life all at once, of course; these things never are. But the locus of attention will have shifted. "New Home" is a place that I may still go back to and visit more frequently at first, but those visits will likely taper off as things move on. As life, really, moves on.</p><p>On the one hand of course, it is a great End. On the other hand, of course, it is a great Beginning.</p><p>It is a great Beginning because effectively, I get to re-create a life from scratch. Yes, there is a dojo there in my style and I will train. Yes, there are rabbits shelters and I will inevitably find one and volunteer. But both of those likely will be different days and times and probably involve less time overall. </p><p>While certainly it is a not a "Everything burned to the ground and we are starting over", it is somewhat of a "Choose your own adventure" sort of moment.</p><p>Or, having seen a major change, everything downstream now changes.</p><p>Seneca, perhaps, is on to something.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-51471575680330970482024-02-28T02:00:00.000-08:002024-02-28T02:00:00.142-08:00The Passing Of Mom: Odds, Ends, And Plannings<p> The Day After the Day. The surreal sense of things is still present, brought on by things mostly outside of my control.</p><p>The notifications are mostly done. I had to call my oldest and youngest (<i>Nighean Gheal </i>and <i>Nighean Dhonn</i>) as they are both out of town. An awkward thing, especially for someone like myself who is not good at discussing my emotions at the best of times. It is always a hard conversation, some version of "Hi, how are you, I have not the great news....". Not a surprise to them either, but not any easier because of that.</p><p>I have being stalling on The Great Social Media post until we had a funeral date, which we now do - the middle of May if you are in the neighborhood of the continental U.S. (offer not good in Alaska and Hawai'i). For someone that writes as much as I do, you would think this would not create quite an issue. It does, though - both because of the fact that it is (hopefully, and possibly in all likelihood) the last one of these I will have to write for a long time (if ever), and partially because it will be seen by a lot of people that may have a lot of questions I do not have the answer to, like "What did she die from?" or "What happens to The Ranch?" or even just "How are you doing?"</p><p>Unfortunately, I have no idea how I am doing, well meaning person that is asking. You and I both have the same question and concern.</p><p>For better or worse (mostly worse) outside of family, there are not many people left to contact - my parents have the same issue many of their generation has of having outlived most of the their peers and interest groups. One call to their former church, one call to a colleague of my mother's - and that is that. Likely the funeral service will be even smaller than my father's. In 1.5 years, that seems like an ominous reduction of people.</p><p>Although given that I am moving soon anyway I had not initially planned to there again for a bit, but due to this event, I am headed back out the week of 10 March - mostly to go with my sister and meet with the lawyer and see what the next steps are in settling the estate. While I do not have a lot of discomfort about this - we must be on some kind of timetable, but not a "We need to get it down right now" timeframe - it still makes me unsettled. This is yet another change in a year which is already bustling with them, and brings to mind a new round of financial planning and repairs and "well, maybe I do not have to pack <i>everything</i> up" that I find myself suddenly unable to deal with all at once. </p><p>And a funeral speech, of course. I will have to write one of those - again, hopefully, the last one that I will have write in a very long time, perhaps forever. Fortunately I have two months.</p><p>Knowing me, it will likely take that entire time to write.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-46092323980825936022024-02-27T02:00:00.000-08:002024-02-27T02:00:00.133-08:00The Passing Of Mom<p> My mother passed away yesterday. She managed to just slip past her birthday to 84 years.</p><p>Apparently the home she was in called my sister and let her know she had evidenced some problems breathing - and suddenly, she was gone.</p><p>I went to see her when I was home two weeks ago. </p><p>In going, I knew she had been having health issues. On my arrival that week, my sister let me know that she had fallen twice and was essentially unable to walk, even with our assistance - something that was not true 4 months ago. The home had asked my sister to start buying nutritional drinks for her as she was not eating well; recently she would only take her food pureed. </p><p>My visit this time was no different than they had been in the last few months: my mother was awake (although just as often in the last few months she was asleep) and staring off into the distance. She would not make eye contact and may or may not have been aware that I was even there.</p><p>I had become used to this, of course. The first time or two it was disconcerting, but I had simply learned to just talk on. And so this time - as in months past - I said hi and updated her on how the family was doing, where The Ravishing Mrs. TB was off to and what the grandchildren were up to, and what I was up to. I finished with telling her I loved her, and was on my way.</p><p>I was probably there 5 minutes all told. Even then, the gauntness of her frame (96 lbs. from a recent medical visit) suggested that that her passing was a very real potential outcome.</p><p>Now, suddenly, everything is different.</p><p>As <i>Nighean Bhan</i> said about the passing of TB The Elder, it is more of a shock than a surprise - after all, the outcome of Alzheimer's is never in doubt. And my mother is now herself, as I remember her, united now with her parents and sister and all of her Great-Aunts - and TB The Elder, of course.</p><p>In the few months leading up to their moving in 2020 and 2021, every night my mother would offer to rub my father's back on the couch. It remained the one thing that she apparently felt able to do for my father after all the other things she had done over the years had slipped away with Alzheimer's. And so, every night, she would sit on the couch and my father would lay down and she would rub his back. Likely they did so the last night before they moved.</p><p>As awful as it sounds, it is a great relief. My mother can finally get herself back. Her long journey of slowly losing herself is going and, as C.S. Lewis would probably say, she is more herself now than she ever was. But all of a sudden, this year seems a lot less like a musical coda, where one returns to the previous bars of music to repeat, and more like a transition to an entirely different section of the music.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-29002354433092688902024-02-26T02:00:00.000-08:002024-02-26T02:00:00.146-08:00Training 2024: Food<p>Beyond the three square meals a day we had at the training center, we still had to eat prior to our arrival there and after we left. Below is a compendium of other meals we had.</p><p>Unagi Bowl: Grilled eel over rice</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY3zK9gvW9lwnrnHHiop0FcFQMvvpmt4m4GdCLvBpoL5JQ1WEW2Iaf9TnnGySUl4NybNESSPc4WdRS5BHsU9wFjribvD69WRgW0bB-sPpWWYgRtOkI44pNnO6t4I8V5oFiplnL0Z1Ds6JtvTPvJHcOrCk9fqET2DlYX4Totx1BCGkXyiLAzXIi/s4032/IMG_2746.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY3zK9gvW9lwnrnHHiop0FcFQMvvpmt4m4GdCLvBpoL5JQ1WEW2Iaf9TnnGySUl4NybNESSPc4WdRS5BHsU9wFjribvD69WRgW0bB-sPpWWYgRtOkI44pNnO6t4I8V5oFiplnL0Z1Ds6JtvTPvJHcOrCk9fqET2DlYX4Totx1BCGkXyiLAzXIi/w400-h300/IMG_2746.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Breakfast at our first hotel: The bread item on the left hand side of the plate is a curry doughnut. Actually better than it sounds:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fAhm5FgpyzA97lrB273i04bSGKhAPgU2pEwsqJFiEtOKxEE0AisfB2WxdQvk6xjHcQGA_C7cXHJ3P2AlzTeOu4tK-FHBcG8EnOSwThjehHqJXJOtGG1GBhua2bmbcfcdHLCgVFXjGUW9sseYve22Dxgo1pxjYNTz64jyFaxgPQo2MLPvoScn/s4032/IMG_2747.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4fAhm5FgpyzA97lrB273i04bSGKhAPgU2pEwsqJFiEtOKxEE0AisfB2WxdQvk6xjHcQGA_C7cXHJ3P2AlzTeOu4tK-FHBcG8EnOSwThjehHqJXJOtGG1GBhua2bmbcfcdHLCgVFXjGUW9sseYve22Dxgo1pxjYNTz64jyFaxgPQo2MLPvoScn/w400-h300/IMG_2747.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Bento</i>, the ubiquitous boxed lunch of Japanese train stations. There are many varieties, and regions are known for their specialties. This one was fried chicken:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMt7pCC4FfQaUVdSEIvQ1n91xuoD_iofDhmzW7mEt8rNZ84OFBr8muI0YcimicxxHlsfDzRHgd-WFLHOrBmwp_3usSxafdhiZCNYvjd-dLPWdInjPlE0i0-_CDlDpq_VWyUQai-E1F9zvF2jWpUdoufEhszmd6NNAd4liPOE4ZNloC_9idNX0/s4032/IMG_2757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOMt7pCC4FfQaUVdSEIvQ1n91xuoD_iofDhmzW7mEt8rNZ84OFBr8muI0YcimicxxHlsfDzRHgd-WFLHOrBmwp_3usSxafdhiZCNYvjd-dLPWdInjPlE0i0-_CDlDpq_VWyUQai-E1F9zvF2jWpUdoufEhszmd6NNAd4liPOE4ZNloC_9idNX0/w400-h300/IMG_2757.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Traditional <i>soba</i> (buckwheat) noodles. The jar on the left is the dipping sauce, which one pours into small dish then dips the noodles in. Slurping the noodles is considered polite. Of note, one does not use all the sauce but leaves some in the jar. There are containers on the table that contain the water the noodles were boiled in that day. One takes the water and pours it into the jar, making a soup to drink.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhea-sQA5uaulV2ee3yacA-mEflzb_2-4I48zeXkAQPJ3IUQf7IfvjBBb6tA6b4wKoUom9d1XXdnHrf5cHIVcrNLGEoKJyRTs9iY04UIGqsDe9xcZEMPJF2sR26dYZBtJoAmTcgsgqnqmHlnZFZtVmdciuyDhyphenhyphengbCLFiSHtJtKN9eUGeRanvIap/s4032/IMG_3072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhea-sQA5uaulV2ee3yacA-mEflzb_2-4I48zeXkAQPJ3IUQf7IfvjBBb6tA6b4wKoUom9d1XXdnHrf5cHIVcrNLGEoKJyRTs9iY04UIGqsDe9xcZEMPJF2sR26dYZBtJoAmTcgsgqnqmHlnZFZtVmdciuyDhyphenhyphengbCLFiSHtJtKN9eUGeRanvIap/w400-h300/IMG_3072.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Udon</i> (wheat) noodles with tofu:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdnephg3mki9gtX2O8kX03oTUIGzHA2qZ9ZaKUVN7zjRmBMocOlmOIrnUHWuSl0NzphXW_4U9aUY1fdQrfOTvWa8l7HtWyeSgQdj6o4A9HgifHc5vVVNvM_waGWKBPYjNWx3OBDmm6oBocU4cVxuyBGINIL9sCWOgjQD-HbW2UOVR8QOPL05H/s4032/IMG_3079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBdnephg3mki9gtX2O8kX03oTUIGzHA2qZ9ZaKUVN7zjRmBMocOlmOIrnUHWuSl0NzphXW_4U9aUY1fdQrfOTvWa8l7HtWyeSgQdj6o4A9HgifHc5vVVNvM_waGWKBPYjNWx3OBDmm6oBocU4cVxuyBGINIL9sCWOgjQD-HbW2UOVR8QOPL05H/w400-h300/IMG_3079.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Japanese burger meal (with fries) from Mos Burger:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qgboPHfdGf-FofqDApKNiCNVdPPIPNGM98tPQxZpfJMYludnnADBi3bxxbfxMTJnebUAf9AxuCpRQJDruvVX5pzWtV-FW8A-4O00NFUYQx3u1Xc_7F4lYnKs8y-PCgEMY8xnqflUCgtxcLLKwUxLE8ZjeZH-vW36OSNSxxTARPNgE354SB_g/s4032/IMG_3124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-qgboPHfdGf-FofqDApKNiCNVdPPIPNGM98tPQxZpfJMYludnnADBi3bxxbfxMTJnebUAf9AxuCpRQJDruvVX5pzWtV-FW8A-4O00NFUYQx3u1Xc_7F4lYnKs8y-PCgEMY8xnqflUCgtxcLLKwUxLE8ZjeZH-vW36OSNSxxTARPNgE354SB_g/w400-h300/IMG_3124.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Onigiri</i> (rice wrapped in seaweed in a triangle shape, sometimes with fish or vegetables inside) and a <i>mochi</i> (red bean) bun:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIb0VXuV4ZJMV-3tN5yynjqBKEjugSfrmWt6IQR3CLZQ-FFmAYf1cJ6O4BW1dsma5Nhki8FV8GMXyJkdy7e3MaBvjXkgs9K-gueBxZXG0hh_q-uYYoLu2mS7CbUf10RYc_g5rgOPSjoZEk_HGKaZAxVfLog5SmTCaT613MhyphenhyphenuSPfGqTWFDDbL/s4032/IMG_E3135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeIb0VXuV4ZJMV-3tN5yynjqBKEjugSfrmWt6IQR3CLZQ-FFmAYf1cJ6O4BW1dsma5Nhki8FV8GMXyJkdy7e3MaBvjXkgs9K-gueBxZXG0hh_q-uYYoLu2mS7CbUf10RYc_g5rgOPSjoZEk_HGKaZAxVfLog5SmTCaT613MhyphenhyphenuSPfGqTWFDDbL/w400-h300/IMG_E3135.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">After our last night training in Tokyo, we went out to a traditional style ramen shop.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All of the additions, which included ginger, garlic, and various peppers:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsvfSitvBtDUFlCZuizAsUZjslb5wklpeqvqa1jQnevZLfKN-OTelbVrRvXgn9-A2u8f6Xqby1fIjI7yr1IlBSaLbVqAUb-psx3M7dgXVgEMNgRrdOOO1Dgv1Laq_2-9V2juGP1s7hYSIdY0LXb-sf7kuTjegXSTRe2zUs6t6yBIiJDNT1qNe/s4032/IMG_3143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsvfSitvBtDUFlCZuizAsUZjslb5wklpeqvqa1jQnevZLfKN-OTelbVrRvXgn9-A2u8f6Xqby1fIjI7yr1IlBSaLbVqAUb-psx3M7dgXVgEMNgRrdOOO1Dgv1Laq_2-9V2juGP1s7hYSIdY0LXb-sf7kuTjegXSTRe2zUs6t6yBIiJDNT1qNe/w300-h400/IMG_3143.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The order board:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNcOGZAjxUvK8Gl4Yxh_vnVA2_QFzideRSYtzaKIrgwYiXif6hiZvOn3xYXTjhgmARXD7ymKbJ0YLO7gzX69896tfhcC6NemWoelH0IBYGyN2jiAMP8tFpufKyJoaCSoD-ONTF3dGiM_c7d3NQAMPXmgtIUQVyJzSkq7zrBDER3Goa6eGWYkI/s4032/IMG_3144.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvNcOGZAjxUvK8Gl4Yxh_vnVA2_QFzideRSYtzaKIrgwYiXif6hiZvOn3xYXTjhgmARXD7ymKbJ0YLO7gzX69896tfhcC6NemWoelH0IBYGyN2jiAMP8tFpufKyJoaCSoD-ONTF3dGiM_c7d3NQAMPXmgtIUQVyJzSkq7zrBDER3Goa6eGWYkI/w400-h300/IMG_3144.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Our meal, pork ramen and gyoza:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnsmfgTWmtMLza3cN0G5-Xu69dRcQxIFLc2wbRPKv0_j-rKXZQw3jn2LGeaddVbCSoK0vTLSZ0fNaE2_odVA5GXbr24wvVKHhDywUeOF6Vdlz_kyhMo-l1oqrxM1siEoYWEjAAk9xYtye0xeePbxg29FO8opteQ65rYy7yzZ-X-pQdjFMRM60/s4032/IMG_3145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsnsmfgTWmtMLza3cN0G5-Xu69dRcQxIFLc2wbRPKv0_j-rKXZQw3jn2LGeaddVbCSoK0vTLSZ0fNaE2_odVA5GXbr24wvVKHhDywUeOF6Vdlz_kyhMo-l1oqrxM1siEoYWEjAAk9xYtye0xeePbxg29FO8opteQ65rYy7yzZ-X-pQdjFMRM60/w400-h300/IMG_3145.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Instructions for how to prepare and eat the meal:<div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPpmNnF487oGiJAed0rqHPjpwCVrdYgjMCVwwSePXRykQE2z8sTTJRlb8R8m5ax4VXy1gwZLZvqq47E7PDs4LG2Pdu7-UdUQfuHvW15LWydbQcBAOV9vMB2rW7RbFmYUTmYleevYJt9AsldpMBW7kYMFNJJT2HpD56LXBi9bjASYDJICLgpVf1/s4032/IMG_3146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPpmNnF487oGiJAed0rqHPjpwCVrdYgjMCVwwSePXRykQE2z8sTTJRlb8R8m5ax4VXy1gwZLZvqq47E7PDs4LG2Pdu7-UdUQfuHvW15LWydbQcBAOV9vMB2rW7RbFmYUTmYleevYJt9AsldpMBW7kYMFNJJT2HpD56LXBi9bjASYDJICLgpVf1/w300-h400/IMG_3146.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>After ramen, we had dessert later. Gelatinous coffee flavoured dessert with ice cream and <i>mochi</i></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2pWykARJLR_Hrrv8I5pn_lVHJleqJCCeVyirL7eyIywtPjru4YNTTE4rAadMo84zxmKRdcY-PzegIdYIf6UymONoMM3yd-QT50vrOqnDVByQU7wpcmTvVqhLXUEe2q26BOfyK5Pi7YwNb7ub70UBxa1LvIwFSDBIjrKe5FWveDk_EtOhIjCxU/s4032/IMG_3149.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2pWykARJLR_Hrrv8I5pn_lVHJleqJCCeVyirL7eyIywtPjru4YNTTE4rAadMo84zxmKRdcY-PzegIdYIf6UymONoMM3yd-QT50vrOqnDVByQU7wpcmTvVqhLXUEe2q26BOfyK5Pi7YwNb7ub70UBxa1LvIwFSDBIjrKe5FWveDk_EtOhIjCxU/w300-h400/IMG_3149.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0_6RuAdztdtkGnYZ7TGX4W3tSdNoTJ7Vv16EdQKjcQ6kgz3MXGFZJXAmRQJ0eT92UlfOaVFQE8BJryQROkj199SzekQhI5KHGPIp-9gS843t1jcnH6UO_acrivd5KMBbzCY3xfQOanC34RCcN3ZD97uCfRBSa02Sp4fsudjjxJT1VdzHG29r/s4032/IMG_3150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr0_6RuAdztdtkGnYZ7TGX4W3tSdNoTJ7Vv16EdQKjcQ6kgz3MXGFZJXAmRQJ0eT92UlfOaVFQE8BJryQROkj199SzekQhI5KHGPIp-9gS843t1jcnH6UO_acrivd5KMBbzCY3xfQOanC34RCcN3ZD97uCfRBSa02Sp4fsudjjxJT1VdzHG29r/w300-h400/IMG_3150.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Typical hotel breakfast we had during our second stay in Tokyo:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiiyoByKRBdxq7NPjPs4etCsfmxNbHuuSgvCc1cAEl4lazm5Xs4F49bDwuz1PC68WtI_resl3JFrhKkIETaFZ32xVc4JtIVG386K80JUb-wzanqyLjbGrRPbT6_iHfXRaitPHukciK2QSYQZVelu9mOzBzU2EkiOMM_7G2nqfMO3N6J7bYCTg/s4032/IMG_3156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiiyoByKRBdxq7NPjPs4etCsfmxNbHuuSgvCc1cAEl4lazm5Xs4F49bDwuz1PC68WtI_resl3JFrhKkIETaFZ32xVc4JtIVG386K80JUb-wzanqyLjbGrRPbT6_iHfXRaitPHukciK2QSYQZVelu9mOzBzU2EkiOMM_7G2nqfMO3N6J7bYCTg/w400-h300/IMG_3156.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Final meal at Narita Airport, Chinese style noodles with fish cake:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieea5ijBtmghPDwW6WZb1w-bobsNHmT2fI7orE7KaWHjIgnMpwvUpwIrLRsjK49sgiQZ597W5cifvI6AKD4KZBC95l-CX-jmY3iJ9hyphenhyphenSTwvMzrf0PV3ybk79aujuCV0zKHnYFWjfUTm8BvH__qm4dvPRd11wqee5gNR7rnhS3XXtKOcDKzIMOj/s4032/IMG_3195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieea5ijBtmghPDwW6WZb1w-bobsNHmT2fI7orE7KaWHjIgnMpwvUpwIrLRsjK49sgiQZ597W5cifvI6AKD4KZBC95l-CX-jmY3iJ9hyphenhyphenSTwvMzrf0PV3ybk79aujuCV0zKHnYFWjfUTm8BvH__qm4dvPRd11wqee5gNR7rnhS3XXtKOcDKzIMOj/w400-h300/IMG_3195.JPG" width="400" /></a></div></div><br />Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-87295019964822661152024-02-25T02:00:00.000-08:002024-02-25T02:00:00.128-08:00God’s Purposes<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CGALz4PCHKj_qEGcHw-CVp-BxTL65i9H57RI4cilObChstXQs4oZtRaYZVcKF-9-KUkbWk0kbhLYLG7c-sQT07H4uYJduJQZBH3j_YozG3IV0xBRlcHohCWpgnYFCdjU7ZinTvxnEGc6XuE35LeLuC5kTXbji141WsZqEmFS9JNPzLxILgNh/s1179/IMG_3298.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1179" data-original-width="1179" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CGALz4PCHKj_qEGcHw-CVp-BxTL65i9H57RI4cilObChstXQs4oZtRaYZVcKF-9-KUkbWk0kbhLYLG7c-sQT07H4uYJduJQZBH3j_YozG3IV0xBRlcHohCWpgnYFCdjU7ZinTvxnEGc6XuE35LeLuC5kTXbji141WsZqEmFS9JNPzLxILgNh/w400-h400/IMG_3298.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Or as C.S. Lewis said in Mere Christianity, "There are only two kinds of people in the end: Those who say 'Thy will be done' and those who say '<i>Thy</i> will be done'. "<br /> <p></p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14404262.post-42933384237521009062024-02-24T02:00:00.000-08:002024-02-24T02:00:00.130-08:00Hammerfall 3.0: Week 10 Report (Final)<p> <b>Period</b>: 17 February 2024 to 23 February 2024</p><p><b>Positions applied to</b>: I applied to 1 position during this period. Total jobs applied to/opportunities investigated are 86 unique positions.</p><p><b>Rejections</b>: I was rejected for 3 positions (26 rejections total).</p><p><b>Conversations</b>: </p><p>I had one conversation with the other potential job interview process. As it turns out, they had not come to a conclusion the previous week but had this week and asked if I would be interested in advancing to the next round. This was early Tuesday morning; later that morning I had the actual verbal offer. I had to politely decline moving forward for the process.</p><p>And, obviously, I did get a call from the company that issued offer.</p><p><b>Offers: </b> I had (and accepted) one offer (Yay!).</p><p><b>Job losses</b>: Clade Therapeutics (no numbers) and Ring Therapeutics (19 people) both announced layoffs.</p><p><b>Mood:</b></p><p>As noted in my post on Thursday, the offer letter arrived precisely 70 days out from my initial notification of furlough.</p><p>An interesting note is that the position that ended up being the one that I received an offer for was the one that represented the "lowest" level position I had applied for. I did it as something both of a lark and a gamble that for a large company, my chances of being hired in at my current level were low, but my chances of being hired as a lower level employee were greater due to my experience. For better or worse, it appears that the gamble paid off.</p><p>As indicated in the announcement post, I continue to remain grateful to all who prayed and/or had good thoughts. Even though I have job now, a heck of a lot of people still do not. If you have the occasion to offer a similar prayer or good wish once in a while for those folks as well, I am sure it would be appreciated.</p>Toirdhealbheach Beucailhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14872794169534403463noreply@blogger.com5