Of The Prodigal Son and Toilet Tanks

 Post-hike days are an interesting miasma of impressions, built up from a collection of things that I was thinking of or read prior to leaving, three days on the trail, and the post day events which bring me back to reality like a meteor plunging to Earth.

This is complicated a bit this time by the fact that my "reality" is much different than it has been in past returns:  there are no work related issues to return (instead, things to actively be avoided).  So it leaves a great more time for other things to fill the space.

Two things have filled today's space:  Henri Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son and toilet tanks.

I have completed reading The Return of the Prodigal Son, and to commenter Bob's thoughts, it is every bit as powerful as he described.  That said, I want to give it its full due as a stand alone review.  What I will say - relevant to my thoughts now - is that Nouwen has a very thought provoking (dare I say confrontational, presented in so gentle manner) about taking our place in the world as Jesus to others - the reflection of God in the father of the Prodigal Son's story.  It was a thought that left me thinking of my own role in the world.

Which was, strangely enough, interrupted by cleaning toilet tanks.

I first noticed a small black spot behind the main bathroom at the my parents' house.  That was odd, I thought, and then opened the tank top.  A coated inky blackness greeted me.  Mold, apparently.

When it arrived, I do not know.  To be fair, I want to say I had only opened the toilet tanks - at least this one - last month.  None the less, I checked all of them - and they were all the same.  Which necessitated a trip to town to get bleach, lots of white vinegar, sponges, and a new toilet brush.

Labor was, of course, provided by yours truly.

As I sat there, moving from tank to tank scrubbing away, spraying, rinsing, spraying again, letting things soak, I had a fair amount of time to think, this time specifically about my presence here and the future.

This has been the third near miss we have had here in terms of the house.  The first, last November, was the small leak in the roof that created a damp spot in the ceiling that I fixed and repainted.  The second was the same leak, now manifested to much more of the ceiling and water on the floor - no real floor damage, but that was only a fluke of the fact that I came right after it had happened (at least I was able to get the roof leak that time).  The third time is now this issue with the toilets - and, by the way, the toilet in the master bathroom is now leaking when it is flushed on the floor, so that will need to be attended to.

Yes, I know that it can be controlled: drain the tanks when I leave, put something in for the residual water.  But it points to a larger issue:  in reality, someone really needs to be here full time.

To be completely fair, this house represents not just my own sentimentality:  it represents value in an estate which is not mine, an estate that needs to be managed on behalf of someone else (my mother) with some level of fiduciary responsibility - said a different way, the house should not be worth less just because someone is not here to keep a pulse on the state of the house.  In each of the cases above, had someone been here these problems would have been dealt with much more quickly.

Which is where The Return of The Prodigal Son comes back in.

Without stealing too much thunder from an actual book review, part of item that Nouwen deals with is the idea of accepting our role in being a conduit of God's love - by growing up and into such a role.  Society, politics, culture - all seek to pull us into a mode of dependence on others to make decisions for us.  We need to see life clearly, even as work to see life through God's eyes in being conduits of His unconditional love.

The question is if my inability to move here is creating a situation where the house and thus the estate is suffering.  Because that would represent me being selfish to the point of putting my own dreams or desires - not even needs - first.

No decisions have been made at all, but I am definitely re-examining where I am in the course of life. On the one hand, I would deeply like to be here.  On the other hand, my life is in a transition where - frankly - even being here one week a month may not be possible.  Is it right to impede the estate for that?  Or better to ensure that at some level the value is being preserved and perhaps even income being added to the estate?  My mother has insurance, but there is always the risk that it will not be paid past her need for it.

If that is the case, does it mean never?  Of course not.  One thing has become painfully clear to me: that when it is time to move back, there will be no question about it.  It could be next week.  It could be years from now.  Either way, does it matter?

I do not have answers of course, just new thoughts in search of a method to consider them.  But if I am being honest - truly honest - I am acting in a way that in one light, I have no right to:  I am making ownership decisions as if I had them, which I do not.   And my selfishness should never be the grounds for the destruction of anything.

2023 Kick Off Hike

 A short note only, friends:  this is literally the last thing I do before I crawl off to bed.

I survived the first hike of 2023:  3 days, 16 hours hiking, 38 miles total, elevation gain 12,000 some odd feet. Top distance day: Day 2, 19.85 miles.   Pack weight:  ~ 25 lbs.  I have a great many pictures to sort through (I feel this is all I do on hikes, almost to the exclusion of actually keep up with the hike).  Here are few to whet your appetite.

Heedless

Heedless of all things,

Spring roars forth in green glory

and full majesty.

Hammerfall 2.0: Down And Up

 As it has been something like 14 years since my last layoff, I had imagined that I had matured to the point that I would be able to manage the emotional ups and downs.

Apparently, I have overestimated myself.  Again.

To be fair, it is not as pronounced as last time.  The occasional outbursts of bitterness I feel towards those who brought this on all of us have managed themselves to a dull roar (though even now new things continue to reveal themselves, indicating things are just as messed up as some of us thought they were).  I am starting already to see the panicky outbreak of "I did not hear anything for 24 hours" attacks, which I attempt to tamp down with "We have a plan.  Work the plan."   The counter argument (I am forever counterarguing with myself) is "What if the plan does not work?"

I have to remind myself "We will then come up with a new plan".

I had mentioned lists before.  Lists help me to focus on those plans.  I have not always been the best list maker, but it is a way for me to direct my angst into action.  Even if it is something a week off, at least it is there.

What I had not anticipated was the wistful depression.

It hit me yesterday as I was flying back to the Ranch.  As we flew over the state which The Ranch was in, it was clearly Spring.  The grounds below me were green with Spring growth and the mountains still covered with snow.  It struck me as sad, because the future of coming out here as regularly is unknown at this point - certainly, tickets are already booked through the end of the year, but who knows what my schedule can or will be.  

Likely I experience this 14 years ago, when the revelation that we had to move made itself abundantly clear.  I just do not specifically recall it - or recall how I dealt with it at the time.  I suspect, like the "panicky" mode, I will simply need to remind myself that there is a plan, and continue to work it.

---

On a related but different note, I have a part-time job (pending my background check).

It is at our regional grocery store chain, one where Nighean Bhan and Nighean Dhonn work and where in fact we do our weekly shopping.  Assuming all goes well, I will be a part time employee in the produce department (per New Home State's unemployment laws, I can earn up to 25% of my weekly benefit without impacting it).  

My hope in doing so is threefold:

1) It actually is a very good employer and, if nothing else comes up, could end up being a full time position in time (with benefits and 401k and a stock plan).

2) They have an employee discount on in-house brands - which matters in a time of economic crisis.

3)  I have always maintained that if one can work, one should work.  That should apply to me as much as to anyone else.

Initially I have requested 8-12 hours (to supplement unemployment as above) to start.  My schedule is limited now (I cannot impede my current position) but could open up after June, which would be helpful.

And besides, learning about fruits and vegetables can be a wonderful thing!

Hammerfall 2.0: Direct Communication

As long time readers of this blog may now, I am rather horribly a person of symbols and portents.  I somehow manage to spend a great deal of my time "looking for a sign" of what to do. Part of this is just my life-long inability to make a decision; part of this is due to the fact that some of the key decisions I have made in the past have been...less than perfect. 

And so, I look for signs or guidance - sometimes to the point that it is fortunate I am was not born into Roman Republican times, as I would be checking every cloud and flock of birds for an augury or sign of a decision to be made.  As we have a bird feeder in our backyard now, I can only imagine my angst:  "Wait!  I should...no, they just turned the corner!  I should do....no, wait, a new group landed..."

Occasionally though, God speaks with something that cannot be ignored.

For the Easter service on Sunday, our pastor finished out a sermon series he had been doing with a somewhat loose tie in to Easter (to be clear: even as a non-denominational church, we celebrate Easter [of the non-Orthodox variety:  a very Happy Good Friday and Easter to my Orthodox friends] as much as anyone else). That is okay, of course:  over the course of a lifetime I have heard a great many permutations on Resurrection Sunday that all come down to essentially the same thing:  Jesus is Risen, Death has lost its sting, and Life Eternal is now available to all who believe.  

This Sunday, the sermon was on The Prodigal Son, a parable so well known that it has even entered into the secular lexicon. 

At one point in the sermon, our pastor referenced a quote from the book The Return of the Prodigal Son by Henri Nouwen.  Nouwen's name was slightly known to me:  A Dutch priest, he gave up a career in teaching at some pretty prestigious universities to work with those with developmental disabilities.  In terms of writing, I only know him through the introduction written by him of my copy of Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection's work The Practice of The Presence of God.  It was a good quote, a thought provoking quote, that I filed away in the "That was sort of interesting" file.

The next day, I had a large number of books to take to my local used book store to sell - not that I get a lot of money for them of course; mainly it is to move them on to get them out (and secondarily of course, to make more space).  During the time they were assessing the books, I wandered about the store (a clever marketing tactic on their part, no?). I have various sections I check for books - in the Religious section, I mostly look for specific works like Luther's writings or works on the Orthodox Church.  This day, as I was going through the alphabetized sections, I came across this:

 It is seldom in my life that I get a direct communication from God and, presumably, some sort of answer to a prayer I have knowingly or unknowingly prayed (or someone else prayed on my behalf).

There was another book of his next to it on Christian Leadership; of course I grabbed that one as well.

I know nothing about the book (and by all means, assume there is a book review coming) - but it is readily apparent to me that there is something in this book that I need to read and ponder.

Be careful, as they say, of asking God for guidance.  Sometimes, He answers.

---

Administrative Note:  As you are reading this, I am likely on my way to meet up with The Outdoorsman for the first of our training hikes for the year (yes, it is already that time). Responses will be delayed as I am more than reasonably sure my phone will not work out in The Wilds - or if does, it will mysteriously malfunction.

The Collapse LXXXXVIII: Market Day

10 May 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

Preparations for Market Day had begun well before today.

The road through our small town, as you might recall, literally bisects it. If one faces West (which is more or less how the road runs, the ex-post office lies to one side with the offshoot of what was the main street of the community once upon a time to the left side and the former bar/RV park to the other with housing divided equally between the two sides. The day before (really after I had sent my letter to you), people had started slowly making their way in from what I can only assume were some outlying settlements and the farther towns. Some walked, some rode horses, a number rode bicycles.

The road through town apparently became – perhaps by default – the agreed upon marketplace as individuals started to stalk about spaces along it. Some had brought tents, others had brought tarps, and some even apparently just intended to spend the night out in the open. Judging from my brief observation on my way to Pompeia Paulina’s house with honey to aliquot, things seemed relatively calm and good natured, individuals in small groups talking together and even laughter.

Laughter in public. How long, Lucilius, since we have heard such a thing?

Of note, everyone was armed. That was not that unusual here even in the time before The Collapse, but seemed far more relevant now. I mention it because certainly where we grew up, such a thing would be wildly inappropriate (if not illegal). Here, it just seems to mark the new world.

Young Xerxes came by as I was re-distributing honey. We chatted a bit about agreement and set up – apparently there was no “charge” to sell. Security had been worked out between the three groups of towns that were enabling the market, with the agreement that each would provide an equal amount for what was an ad-hoc security force.

And so, the next morning, pistol on belt and honey in a cloth bag, I set out for the market.

Someone had taken the trouble to post a piece of plywood with the rules written on it. They were likely not a surprise to anyone, let alone myself: Weapons to remain holstered. Deals were between buyer and seller only. Exhibitions of violence or out of control behavior would get the individual summarily cast from the market.

Theft, it almost goes without saying, would be dealt with swiftly

The day was the sort of Spring day that makes life really worth living here: blue skies, the green grass all along the road and winding back up into the hills around us, the water gurgling in several streams that run through and by the town. Perfect weather for a market day, one might say – especially after a long and cold Winter that probably represented the best one we would see for a while.

The sellers were lined both sides of the road for 100 yards or so. If it reminded me of anything as I wandered up, it would have been that of a flea market of years past: tables and boxes and even blankets on the ground being used to display items, the hopeful look of sellers as someone wandered up and looked – and then the look of disappointment as they turned away.

The people themselves were a mix: on the whole, everyone seemed relatively cleaned up although it was pretty easy to note there was hardly an overweight soul to be seen. There was conversation in the air and several reunions of old friends on the street. There was also more than one breakdown as (I suppose) someone learned of a death they had not expected. In this cases the third wall was never breached: people carried on around them as if nothing else had happened.

Of the items for sale? Most of what you might expect. In a lot of cases, the leavings of a society which no longer had use of the items but the sellers had hopes someone either felt some level of nostalgia or desire. Clothes of course (easy to transport and easy to abandon if they become too heavy). Some tools, although on the whole in such poor condition that they would have easily broken. A few knives, most of them dull or chipped at the end. The occasional store of reading material (We have not, apparently, come completely to the stage of burning books, for which I am grateful).

There were a few more desirable items as well. Few – a very few – medical supplies of the most basic kind. Ammunition, but largely of unusual calibers. Some food in the form of preserved or even dehydrated. Some actually good tools, few in number. I believe there was a little livestock in the form of pullets – I am told; they had gone long before I got there.

And services. That was the truly interesting thing to me. A great deal of innovation there. Someone was selling charges off a battery for electronic devices and smaller batteries. Someone else had a small farrier’s anvil and forge and was making small repairs. A knife and axe sharpener. A gunsmith. At least two people cutting hair. And even a massage booth (Pompeia Paulina and Staeira plying their trade).

Medium of exchange, you ask? It varied: barter was the primary mode that I saw, although small silver coinage seemed to exchange hands as well. The sales were a hundred percent bargaining, the way of any market place: the buyer would walk up and pay attention, the seller would engage them, and the haggling would commence. Just from my wandering around, there was some spirited discussions.

The mood? It was somewhere between gaiety and concern. This was the first time (likely) in a year that so many people had come together for an event, which itself was a matter for rejoicing. The circumstances under which they came together was, sadly, less enjoyable.

At one point I walked into the ex-post office. Playing my “I watch the road into town” card along with dropping Young Xerxes’ name, I wandered into the command center. It was a variety of men and women coming in and out. I might have gotten shooed back out by Young Xerxes made eye contact and waved me over. Somewhat miraculously, I was now “in”, as they say.

The conversation here was on different subjects – partially on what was going on outside (no disturbances, thankfully), but partially about what was going on in the wider world. Someone had found a topographical map of the region and put in on one of the walls; someone else had gone to the trouble of outlining the towns that made up the association that was represented here. From what was said, no-one had a truly clear idea of what was happening out in the “real world”. There were some troubling rumors slightly to the North – nothing definitive, just outlying farms suffering depredations and roving bands moving by night – never quite seen, but heard.

As they say, wars and rumors of wars.

After listening for a bit, I walked back out – and bumped into Pompeia Paulina, who had been loitering by the door waiting for me (she claims it was purely an accidental timing issue; I choose to believe otherwise). Business was slow, it seemed, and so arm in arm we walked the street.

Was there anything I needed? No. My biggest needs are the same as everyone else’s biggest needs: food, medicine, defense (Yes, I know I have these things; I also know they will not last out ten years). These, no-one had at any price I could afford.

There was one stall in particular, which had nothing remarkable, but the young man manning the stall looked as broken as some of the items he had on display. He looked up with dim hope as we approached his blanket. There was nothing there that was remarkable: a few bits and pieces of things that had no value, one or two rusty tools, and a smattering of printed materials.

It was at this moment that Pompeia Paulina suddenly decided that she needed one of the tools – a hatchet which, although the head seemed good if a little rusty, the handle had seen better days – and a copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility with a creased cover. “I need a new hatchet and I have misplaced my copy of Sense and Sensibility. We should buy them”.

By “we”, she meant me, and by “buy”, she meant I should over-barter for them – which I did, willingly enough, giving up four of my small bottles of honey for these two items. The look on the young man’s face – and on his wife’s, when she came over – made up for any apparent loss I might have had.

The market itself ran for 5 or so hours; then people started packing up to head back home – the farther outlying ones would reach it slightly before dark. One underestimates the time it takes to travel when the only mechanism for transport are feet, beasts of burden, or bicycles. An ill-defined “next market day” was mentioned off sometime in the future, but really without any details.

That early evening (I was invited to dinner with Pompeia Paulina and Stateira and Young Xerxes), the general conversation ran about the day. From Young Xerxes’ point of view it was a great success: no violence, contact was made between different areas, and some intelligence was gained. From Pompeia Paulina and Stateira’s point of view, it was a great success – I had not know this, but they were offering their masseuse services for free. They had collected a few small tips of silver coinage, but felt that they had achieved far more than just the money.

Myself? I had a hatchet I needed to repair

On the way out the door, I looked over to a bookcase in the living room. There, filed away, was a very nice copy of Sense and Sensibility. I pointed over to the bookcase. “I though you said you had misplaced your copy?”

Pompeia Paulina shrugged, the shrug women throughout time have given when confronted with a seeming contradiction. “Heavens” she replied, “there it is. I completely forgot”.

It now seems I have a hatchet and a second copy of Sense and Sensibility. Perhaps the nature of why I have both and over-bartered for them may be known to Miss Austen.

It is not, apparently, well known to me.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

Old English, A Historical Background: Æthelred Unræd and Vikings III.0

 Of all the the Anglo-Saxon Kings of England, a few may have heard of Alfred the Great, perhaps even a few might remember King Harald, who lost to William of Normandy.  But perhaps the most "famous" is the one with the unfortunate sobriquet Ethelred the Unready (Æthelred Unræd)

"Unready" is a misunderstanding of the actual term "Unræd", which means not "unready" but rather "ill-advised - his name Æthelred meaning "well advised".

Æthelred's story actually begins with the death of his father, Edgar, in 975 A.D.  Edgar had two sons, Edward and Æthelred.  Edward, Æthelred's half brother  was elevated to the kingship in a contested succession (Æthelred  being only 7 years old at the time of his father's death).  We do not know a great deal of his reign:  there was an anti-clerical reaction and only a few charters issued.  In fact, the thing we know most about the Edward is his murder.

Like all really good historical murders, we do not know a great deal.  We know it near Corfe Castle on the evening of 18 March 978 A.D.  We know that he was buried without ceremony - and it is written that when his body was exhumed a year later, it was noted to be uncorrupted and Edward became Saint Edward the Martyr (a saint, although never formally canonized).  What we do not know is who performed the act or why it was performed.

Blame, for better or worse, fell up on the remaining son of Edgar, Æthelred, who was now 10 years old.  Whether done at his instigation or on his behalf or perhaps just a beneficiary of events, his reign started on an unfortunate note.

What made it more unfortunate was the return of the Vikings.

In 980 A.D., the Danes were back - first a small series of raids from 980 to 982 A.D., then larger ones in 988 and 991 A.D.  The raids themselves were not devastating in the way the Great Heathen Army of the last century had been, but they did introduce one interesting and previously unknown relationship:  It was said that the Vikings sheltered in Normandy upon their return from England - perhaps not surprising, as this was still within 100 years of the Normans having gone a-viking themselves.  It created enough of an issue that the current pope of the time, John XV, engineered a peace treaty between England and Normandy (Treaty of Rouen, 991 A.D.).

Normandy.  That might be a name that comes up later....

After the raid of 994 A.D., Æthelred came up with a familiar (to us) policy:  The Danegeld, or payment for peace.  22,000 pounds of gold and silver were paid to relieve England from the attacks. That worked...until three years later, when the raids began again: 997, 998, 999 A.D. - the Danes returned, then left in 1000 A.D. (leaving time for Æthelred to attack Scotland) before returning in 1001 A.D and receiving 24,000 pounds of gold and silver in 1002 A.D. to depart.  

Æthelred's solution to the issue?  Call for a massacre of all men of Danish descent on the Day of St. Brice (13 November 1002 A.D.).  Obviously not everywhere was strong enough to kill Danish-descended men (or wanted too), but some locations did.  One location, as it so happened, executed Gunhilde, the sister of King Sweyn Forkbeard of Denmark (son of Harald Bluetooth, whom he revolted against, and for whom the runic letters of his name are used in the Bluetooth symbol).

Sweyn did not take this well.

Sweyn invaded in 1004 and left in 1005 A.D. after a tactical defeat, but the Danes returned in 1007 A.D. and were bought off with 36,000 pounds of gold and silver.  They returned again in 1009 A.D. under Thorkell the Tall and harried England until 1012 A.D, when they were bought off with 48,000 pounds of gold and silver.

The next year, Sweyn Forkbeard invaded England with the intent to conquer it - which he did in 1013 A.D.  Æthelred and his family were forced into exile in Normandy - but then in 1014 A.D. Sweyn Forkbeard died, and Æthelred returned to England, where - with exception of parts of Lincolnshire - he successful reconquered the country.  Swein's son, Canute, now whose older brother was now King of Denmark retreated - but then returned in 1015 A.D. to find the country at war with itself:  Æthelred's son, Edmund "Ironside", had revolted against his father and claimed power in the Midlands and North, who remembered Æthelred's re-invasion following his return.  Canute rolled in and then began the Danish reconquest of England all over again, undoubtedly assisted by a memory of the Anglo-Danish nobility and commoners of the St. Brice Day Massacre.

Æthelred died in April of 1016; his son Edmund began king and continued to battle against the Danes until the Battle of Assandun in October of 1016 A.D.  It was a strong victory for Canute but, apparently in respect of Edmund's reputation as warrior, he split the country: Canute would hold all of the country beyond the Thames, Edmund would hold Wessex.  The agreement barely lasted a month:  Edmund died on 30 November 1016 A.D. and the whole of the country passed to Canute.

England, in the first time in her history since the retreat of Rome, had become a part of a larger empire.

One final note on Æthelred:  in 1002 A.D. his first wife Ælgifu died.  The king remarried - to Emma of Normandy.  Her brother was Richard the II of Normandy, whose grandson  William of Normandy we will meet soon enough.

(Old English Posting Page)

Works cited:

Brooke, Christopher:  From Alfred to Henry III 871-1272.  Norton Library:  USA,  1961.

Trevelyan, G.M.:  History of England Volume 1:  From the Earliest Times to the Reformation.  Anchor Books:  USA, 1953

Hollister, C. Warren:  The Making of England 55 B.C. to 1399.  D.C. Heath and Company:  United States,  1976.

Wikipedia:  Edward the Martyr, Athelred the Unready, Sweyn Forkbeard, Harald Bluetooth

Hammerfall 2.0: On Job Searches

 (As a side note, it appears that this is going to become more of a topic than I had originally anticipated.  Apologies if I am overdoing it  - it seems to be the major thing going on my life at the moment).

The past week has been a series of getting ready for job hunting and job hunting.  Hopefully none of my readers have had to do this recently; I thought if helpful I might share what the process is like now.

Once upon a time - in my memory - the process was quite different.  One found addresses (at least on-line even then), carefully crafted a Curriculum Vitae, painstakingly wrote an individual letter to go for the job, selected a good weight paper for printing, and then shipped the whole thing off to the potential employer or, in some cases even just walked in.  That changed a bit in 2005 when I was looking:  job aggregator sites had become a thing as well as company websites, but one e-mailed the letter and CV instead of presenting physical copies.

Things have come more than a long way since then.

Even aggregator sites, while still in existence, are likely on their way to the historic heap of history as Linked Out will do exactly the same sort of thing for you and quite likely has the bulk of your potential job seekers there already.  You can search by region, industry, job type and time of posting.  Push the button, and there is the list.

Scanning through the listings, I usually tend to look (in order) at location, required experience, and required education (one of the things that The Plague did for work is that companies could suddenly extend their reach of potential personnel; that said, there are far more likely to be people with the desired experience and education than I).  For those that appear to be possible matches in those areas, I then look at the descriptions.  After looking at all of that, if something appears a match, I hit apply.

Applying these days is a roulette wheel in terms of how it is done.  Some jobs simply upload the CV from Linked Out for you.  Some will take you to the company site and others to a third party site, where one first uploads the CV and then has to go through and correct the CV for the ways it does not transfer correctly (thanks, AI) - it is probably worth looking into creating a second sort of CV specifically for uploading to cut down on the time I am spending on this.  This is where the time (and aggravation) comes in; redoing the same sort of thing time and time again is nothing but annoying. 

Another "addition" these days is the voluntary completion of personal identification information,  disability, and veteran status. These are all "opt out" questions and I used to do; I now do each and every one as I assume that anything that is not complete gets a "mark" in the system.

Then you hit "Apply".  And then you wait.

This is the most discouraging part.  With the advent of the InterWeb, there is usually no simple way to find out the status of your CV in the system.  I assume at this point most things are scanned by some sort of software that looks for key words and, if they are not present, pushes them out of the system.  For those that include the key words, these may make it to a HR representative, who also has the option to push it out of the system.  If it passes that bar, it then goes to the hiring manager, who then also has the option to push it out of the system.

By my count, that is three different opportunities to have something rejected.  And almost completely anymore, it is done in silence. 

I remember from the last time in 2009 the sense of distress that came when not hearing anything on a weekly basis.  One can only check one's e-mail so many times for any update.  Then, the endless waiting.

I have managed this in the past by 1) Keeping a spreadsheet of each and every submission with the status (such as I know it; this also helps with not applying for the same job twice); and 2) Having a set amount of work I will do on it.  In my case, it is a minimum of looking and applying for two a day.  If I have done that, I have "done my job" (I will note that after the initial bolus, it actually drops to about this amount as new listings are less frequent coupled with above requirements scrubbing out a number of the positions).  

It is a marathon, I keep reminding myself, not a race.  

Follow up note: Thanks to Ed, Resident Optimist of this blogspace, I went and looked up my state's unemployment website.  By their calculations (if I have done them correctly), the amount I would qualify for during the amount of time I can claim unemployment (26 weeks) appears that it would actually cover the gap for the period based on The Ravishing Mrs. TB's revised budget.  Also (apparently), one can earn up to 25% of one's unemployment benefit without a reduction in the benefit.  That means I could pick up a little more work (somewhere between 10 and 12 hours) to help extend things farther.  Now, on to health care...

Hammerfall 2.0: A Slight Speedbump

So a slight speedbump in the road to Hammerfall 2.0. 

On Friday, it was confirmed to me that in fact our Personal Time Off (PTO) would not be paid out to us at our departure.  Currently, between what I have accrued to date and what I will accrue, I will have 126.7 hours plus 8 hours of a single floating holiday.  

These, to paraphrase a very famous scene and meme - were not the PTO updates I was looking for.

Apparently embedded within the notification act in New Home is the comment that vacation earned by employees is generally considered to travel with employees, but can be tempered by employer discretion (underlines mine).  In this case, our employer has apparently discressed (Discreted?  Not sure what the past verb tense is here) that everyone's PTO is better used by the company than by the individual employee to do something like, say cushion the blow in the event there was no severance package...which there was not.

To say this was a bit of an unexpected setback on Friday is the understatement of a week that had a fair amount of them.

I had been planning on using that money to buffer June in the event that nothing had changed - which it likely would not.  Now I have to plan to spend that time before I leave - Like Hades am I going to offer them anything that I am rightly owed.

So now begins the great assessment of time slots.  The company will now get 3.5 of my last 7 weeks.

I suppose that I did not need any sort of indicator up to this point that there had suddenly become a vast gulf between what management had been proclaiming and what they were actually implementing.  But this is the straw that has broken even my back.

What incentive could possibly induce myself or anyone else to look at the company as something that we are deeply concerned about anymore?  Literally, I need this company to last 7 weeks.  There is nothing else to invest in for the future there - because there is not a future there.  There is literally only a number of people that remain that I actually care about.  Even the project I spent the last 2.5 years is no more of interest to me.  In the event it is successful I will have no vested interest in it; it was simply a product I used to work upon once upon a time.

It is not often that I state I will be watching with an active interest for a failure, but I think even slowly-riled me has finally hit a wall.

Happy Easter 2023

Now after the Sabbath, as the first day of the week began to dawn, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to see the tomb. And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat on it. His countenance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow. And the guards shook for fear of him, and became like dead men.

But the angel answered and said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. And go quickly and tell His disciples that He is risen from the dead, and indeed He is going before you into Galilee; there you will see Him. Behold, I have told you.”

So they went out quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to bring His disciples word.

And as they went to tell His disciples, behold, Jesus met them, saying, “Rejoice!” So they came and held Him by the feet and worshiped Him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell My brethren to go to Galilee, and there they will see Me.”

- Matthew 28: 1-10, NKJV

The Saturday of Silence

 The fact that it is Holy Week has almost become an afterthought in the rush that become The Week That A Lot of Things changed.  I was mindful of it in a sort of half baked way - knew it was coming, knew I had volunteered to serve on Sunday - but was not really aware of it in my conscious until Beans of Chant de Depart put out a meditation on Good Friday that was really much more of a pity sermon (Thanks, Beans, for keeping a fellow honest).

And so we find ourselves on the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter.  It is referred to as Holy Saturday by a number of Christian traditions and practices; it was never a day that I recalled being named anything that I can recall growing up.  It was just the Saturday before Easter.  It could just as easily be called Silent Saturday.

It represents that day of waiting, the day after Christ was placed in the tomb but before He rose again the following day.  It represents a time of  sadness and unknowing for the apostles and the women that followed Him:  He had said that He would rise again, but they had no context for that in their shattered believes.  To them, He was simply gone.

They all sat in varying forms of silence.  Mary Magdalene and "the other" Mary sat, sorrowful and at the same time planning how they would try to prepare the body the next day.  The apostles likely were scattered, hiding alone or in small groups, grieving the loss of their Master:  Peter especially alone, likely damning himself over and over for doing the very thing he claimed he would not, deny Christ three times, even as his Master had predicted.  And Mary the Mother of Christ?  She was likely not alone in presence - surely John honored his Master's last command from the beginning) - but certainly alone in spirit, perhaps recalling the words of Simeon in the Temple, "and a sword will pierce your own side too".

It was a Saturday of Silence.  All that were there, perhaps even the Universe itself, sat in silence.

---

I find myself stuck in my own sort of Saturday of Silence, stranded between what was and what I think the outcome appears to be.

It is the height of foolishness, of course, to compare anything that is going on my life at the moment with that first Saturday of Silence.  And yet, the principle seems to me to be the same:  I am waiting, waiting for something that I do not see from here and likely cannot imagine.

How timely, and how gracious of God, to conveniently arrange my own smaller issues with The Great Issue, that He might remind me that even in this, I am not alone.

What Is The Plan?

"So, Toirdhealbheach Beucail, what is your plan?"

This question has come up (perhaps unsurprisingly) more than once.  And I am sure everyone means it in the best of ways - not "Get off your duff and plan" but "Do you know what is next?"

The simple answer, of course is no.  But simple answers do not make for actual decision.  

"What you need is a plan" - Sun Tzu, "Inspirational Quotes of The Spring- Autumn Period" (Probably)

There are two sides to it.

The first, of course, is my formerly current employer.  I am going through and declining all meetings that I do not have any responsibility in and am not 100% responsible for (except those meetings that function as overall updates; I remain curious up to the end how this whole thing will play out).  I am organizing my e-mail for convenient archiving purposes (to be fair, it is already largely organized - I am just putting the final touches on it).  And I am blocking out any and all time that is not directly related to any meetings I must be at (no, you do not get to add things to my agenda at this point).

The second, of course, is the more critical "And Then What?" discussion.

As it turns out, for all of the wonderful electronic planning tools out there (some I really do need to learn to use), I plan best in a simple spreadsheet table.  Rows and columns work for me and the fact I can have multiple sheets within a single notebook make it easy to toggle back and forth on the same overall project.

I have organized my notebook (and high level actions) into four areas:

1) Closeout Money - This relates to anything involving money between now and the end of my employment - in other words, no cash left on the table.  This includes things like filing our 2022 taxes (done), make sure all our receipts are submitted for our medical reimbursement (and indirectly, that anything else that we will need in terms of doctor/ dentist visits and reimbursements gets done before 29 May), 401(k) transfer out, budget review, and a revised cash run rate estimate.  Although these activities may cover the full time, they should not extend beyond 30 June 2023 (with the single hope that those tens of thousands of currently worthless stock options do something that might generate a little money -a vain hope, but I have until 27 August 2023 for that to happen: who knows?)

2) Job Search - Sadly, I am neither independently wealthy nor of a sufficient age to engage Social Security, so I will need some kind of other job.  This is the category for things like CV updates, social networking updates, and the mechanisms for a job search. There is no end date on this activity of course, until some kind of job is secured.  I would be wrong to say I am necessarily doing it with a high level of confidence, but I fear if I wait too long things will get difficult or even impossible - the market in my industry is shedding jobs at a terrific rate.  The other part of this is planning for some sort of short term part time job.  Anything to extend the cash runway.

3)  Find Money - Frankly, I have to assume that things will not go swimmingly and there will not be an immediate opening (even if there is: Plan for success and failure).  Which means that I need to see what else I have lying about that, frankly, can be converted into cash.  This is not digging into any of our savings or emergency sorts of things, but rather the things that might have some importance in a "employed" scenario, but none at all in "unemployed one".  As above, there is no end date on this activity:  Frankly, it is something I should just be doing.  

4)  Explore Writing - One of my long-time friends (long time as in "almost here from the start of the blog" friends) Rainbow, has suggested to me for years that I should be a technical writer for Biopharmaceuticals.  She believes - to be fair, perhaps more strongly than myself - that I really have the experience and background to provide a service.  She has suggested this for at least four years, and my response has always been "Well, I do not think I have the experience".  But then, she let me know her mentor was having a five day boot camp for the very reasonable price of $50.  

Why not, I thought?  I signed up - before I got laid off, as it turned out, and so ended last week not only without a job, but with a series of suggestions, slides, templates and the admonition "there really is a market for this (Website is here).

Do I think I can do it?   I have no idea.  Soliciting work is so far outside of my wheel house that the thought astounds me - and, frankly terrifies me.  I am not good with rejection.  I do not think I have the experience people "want".  On the other hand and at this point, what do I have to lose?

So I am starting out slowly.  I have the classes and slides and will finish those out first (sadly, I missed "Marketing Day" because we were preparing to get laid off).  I can find a way to build a website and generate an LOI from a template.  And go from there.  End date?  Who knows - until I either fail, succeed, or give up.  

So this is the plan for now, anyway.  I am modifying as I go - for example, if my last major job search was any indicator, after an initial bolus the ability to find positions that are feasible become fewer and farther between, and thus take up less time, which will mean I need to have some other things to do to fill the time.  

Which is fine, of course.  This is one great adventure, with the added bonus that the off ramp is coming up although I do not now know where it is.

2023 Gardening: A's Garden

(Apologies.  This would usually be a Collapse segment; my heart has just not been into writing it this week.  Seneca will return next Thursday)

The first small space for a garden I wanted to start with this year is the space right outside of our main living room window:

As perhaps can be gleaned from the pictures, originally this had more brush cover but much of it died over the last two years due to our cold snaps.  But my real reason for doing this is that the window makes this a ground level view, both for me from where I work and on the table, from where A the Cat often sits. I was suddenly struck as I was looking at it one day that, due to the hidden nature of the outer brush line, it would make a wonderful sort of "Secret Garden" for A the Cat to spend his time looking out the window at.

The rules that I have are simple:  I need to do something that will be as drought resistant as possible and will require minimal care.  Secondarily, something that will attract birds and insects for A to watch.

The first part was the removal of the dead bushes.  You can see them more clearly in the first picture. One - completely dead - was very easy to remove. The second, not quite dead was not nearly so easy.

After that, it was time for top soil.  I had originally only gone with two bags and raked it...

And then I went back and got another two bags as the first two were not really enough:

For seeds, I had made a purchase from Native American Seeds for the "Pocket Prairie" mix, a mixtures of grasses and wildflowers:

I scattered the seeds:

One thing that I wanted to try was a bird bath.  They are a bit much to buy, but I saw a great suggestion: use the base of a clay pot for one.

I laid down leftover hay from the rabbits to give the seeds a little cover:

That was about two weeks ago this.  This was taken yesterday:  seedlings are starting to pop up.

Old English, A Historical Background: Conquest of York And Peace

Upon the death of Æthelstan (ruled 929 - 939 A.D.), power passed first to his brother Edmund (ruled 939-945 A.D.) and then to his other brother Eadred (ruled 945-955 A.D.).  Their time was spent largely working both to consolidate their control of the Dane law as well as trying to conquer - or reconquer - the Norse Kingdom of York (Old Norse:  Jarvik). Twice during the reign of Eadred it was briefly reconquered and twice it was retaken by the Norse ( by the renowned former King of Norway Eirik Haraldsson, more charmingly known as Eirik Bloodaxe) until in 954 A.D., Eirik was expelled (read "killed") and the kingdom of York incorporated into Anglo-Saxon England.  Eadred himself died a year later, king of "all England".

(Britain 900 - 950 A.D.  Source)

Rule of Anglo-Saxon England then passed to the son's of Eadred's brother Edmund's sons, who were both minors at his death.  The first Eadwig, was likely 15 years old at the time of his accession and reigned only four years (ruled 955 - 959 A.D.) in total, two of those having to split the kingdom with his brother Edgar along the line of the Thames.  The verdict on Eadwig as a king remains a matter of discussion: the records of his reign are not conclusive and a likely quarrel with the church hierarchy may have giving him the proverbial "bad press".   Upon Eadwig's death, his brother Edgar became sole ruler.

Edgar (ruled 959 - 975 A.D.) has come down to us in history as "Edgar the Peaceable".  Edgar himself is a bit of a mystery to us, as we have so very little information about him:  there are only 10 entries related to him during his reign in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

Why was he the Peaceable?  Part of it was an accident of history:  the Viking raids and interventions that had been a part of the preceding 100 years did not occur during reign (although quite likely having little enough to do with Edgar himself).  He promulgated two revisions of the law codes, focused more on execution of the law than administrative and recognizing the different legal practices of the former kingdom of York (keep in mind the Danelaw had its own recognition as well).  He reformed coinage.  But his largest contribution to Anglo-Saxon England was supporting church reform, moving the Anglo-Saxon church from a secular clergy to that of a monastic clergy, largely that of the Rule of St. Benedict (The Benedictines).  The movement also sought to vigorously reform the existing monasteries.  He also continued the work of Alfred the Great in terms of supporting writing and literature; in some ways his reign is considered the height of Anglo-Saxon literature, art, and culture. And while there were no Viking invasions and only a few conflicts with neighbors to the North and West, the fleet started by Alfred the Great had grown into what was referred to as a powerful navy under Edgar.

(One historical note of interest:  It is recorded in 973 A.D. that 8 "kings" of Britain submitted to Edgar at Chester.  One of these was the King of Scotland.  In return for the submission, Edgar granted to Scotland district we now know as Lothian, too far to the north of England to be readily governable in those times.  By this, Edgar essentially established what became the border between Scotland and England)

By the time of his death in 975 A.D., the Anglo-Saxon kingdom rested on a relatively even keel of peace, learning, religious reform, and prosperity - at least one historian has called Edgar's reign the apogee of Anglo-Saxon culture.  Sadly, this was all about to come crashing down.

(Old English Posting Page)

Sources:

Keynes, Simon and Lapidge, Michael:  Alfred The Great:  Asser's life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources.  Penguin:  Great Britain, 1983.

Brooke, Christopher:  From Alfred to Henry III 871-1272.  Norton Library:  USA,  1961.

Trevelyan, G.M.:  History of England Volume 1:  From the Earliest Times to the Reformation.  Anchor Books:  USA, 1953

Hollister, C. Warren:  The Making of England 55 B.C. to 1399.  D.C. Heath and Company:  United States,  1976.

Nicolle, David:  Arthur And The Anglo-Saxon Wars.  Osprey Publishing:  Hong Kong, 1984

Heath, Ian:  The Vikings.  Osprey Publishing:  Hong Kong, 1985

Harrison, Mark:  Viking Hersir 793 - 1066 AD.  Osprey Publishing:  Hong Kong, 1993.

Wikipedia: Eric Bloodaxe, Eadwig, Edgar

"And The Holy Spirit Descended In The Form Of A Cat"

Sunday night I have my first "Wake up at 0300 in a panic because of my job" event.

I was in a muddle of dreams involving rock climbing (from a conversation the night before - never in my life have I rock climbed and likely I never will) and towers on the tops of mountains and looking down into canyons and suddenly I woke up and thought "This is the start of my 60 day countdown".

Thanks, brain, for being on top of it.

I know, I know - it is not as if I had not known this was the case and had already started constructing a plan, nor that I had not even started doing some of the things on that plan (I had).  Intellectually I know all of this.  And yet there it was at 0300: my brain awake, my heart apparently on full adrenalin, informing me that I was on a countdown.

I quietly sat there in bed for a period of time until, as usual, I acknowledged the fact that I was not going back to sleep and rather than doing the early morning Thrash and Roll that generally tends to wake up one's wife, I retreated to the living room couch.  My attempts at getting "rest" were as unsuccessful as I had thought they would be - they never work:  if I am up, I will be up for at least 2 hours - so I finally lumbered over to the chair.

My daily routine of reading material was present, and so, by the light of a full brightness cell phone screen (money savings and all), I started reading.

And then A The Cat showed up.

If one is out in the morning before 0600 or so, A will show up - the fact he did not show up originally was due to our cooler morning weather and him being out on the Catio.  Yet here he was, delightfully tickled to have someone up and out with him in the early morning (as he always is).  

After the introductory head butts and rubs, he proceeded to immediately curl himself into a ball and present himself for his post 0300 nap (which is an important part of any cat's napping schedule).  He promptly fell asleep in an orange ball, leaving me to awkwardly finish out the rest of my reading and journaling - yes, you can journal by the light of a cell phone and with a cat on your lap, just not terribly legibly.

And suddenly, I was done with everything.  In a dark room with really nothing else to do and a cat in my lap.

On the one hand of course, it is ridiculous to think that a grown man of 12 Stone is imprisoned by a cat of 4 lbs. Yet here I was, sometime around 0500 or so, with a cat happily dreaming of chasing squirrels and birds and no intent of going anywhere in my lap and me without even a cup of coffee, just sitting.

Did I have some sort of great revelation sitting there with a cat in my lap?  Not really.  I fidgeted.  I looked at blogs I follow (which, naturally, were not updated because it was way too early, and sensible bloggers do not update until 0600 when the reading public should actually be rising, not the crazies like me).  Thought a bit about what I needed to do that day.  Briefly became irritated that "Here I am again".

And I suppose, in a way, generally calmed down.

I am not sure that "the Holy Spirit descended in the form of a cat" has any actually justification in Scripture - that I am aware of, cats never really figure into Scripture and I am pretty sure from the Holy Spirit's point of view, dogs are overall just much easier to work with and much less opinionated.  Still, I suppose, if a cat is what is available, a cat is what will do.

After all, He has used a donkey that talked in the past.  Which, I suppose, makes me grateful that at least A did not talk.  I just suspect that, like most cats, there is a cynical sort of dark humor there that would manifest itself.  

Better, I suppose, that he just slept.

Prayer request:

Many of you that are regulars may remember Friend of This Blog Linda G's husband was going through a tough patch last month (Original post here; see bottom). She posted on Sunday that he had passed away after 48 years of marriage.  With his health, a tornado that took out their home and the difficult time they had getting insurance to rebuild, and the general insanity that was three years of The Plague disrupting everyone's lives, she and her family have had a pretty tough go.  I am sure she would be appreciative of any good thoughts or prayers you might be able to offer.

College Report

 We could use a little good news for a Monday and what was a pretty unexpected week, could we not?

Nighean Bhan and Nighean Dhonn  have decided on what their next college steps will be.

Nighean Bhan, who graduated from the University of Texas at Austin with a BA in Communications, has enrolled in the Texas State University Master's Program:

She will graduate after 1.5 years with a Master's Degree in Speech Pathology.  Perhaps equally as important, she (and we) have saved enough that, with a grant from Texas State, she will graduate debt free.

Nighean Dhonn will be enrolling this fall at The University Of Evansville (Evansville, Indiana, in case you did not know.  I sure did not before last year).

She will be majoring in Archaeology (Yes, I know what you are thinking:  Archaeology?  Really?  Turns out it is a bit more of a field than, say, Political Science.  And if you read here for any time, you know I am into old civilizations).  She was fortunate enough (and worked hard enough) to get a Presidential Scholarship. Her education at the moment is not fully covered, but it is substantially so without any more money at the moment.

The mascot of The University of Evansville is The Purple Ace.  I have no idea why that is, but I do like the character and have procured a shirt to that effect (or rather, The Ravishing Mrs. TB procured said shirt).

Rather dashing looking fellow.

We are super proud of all our daughters and how well they have done.

(I would be remiss in representing Nighean Gheal as well, who graduated in 2021.  Fight On.)

Hammerfall 2.0: The Kitchen Drawer

 One difference that I realized with this event - different from literally any other event in my life - is that this is the first one that TB The Elder is not present for.  I realized this today as I was randomly thinking about something associated with talking to people - "What would Dad have said?" suddenly popped into my mind.  

I am pretty sure I know, of course:  Sorry to hear it, you will be fine, your mother and I are here if you need anything.  It was just strange that literally, for the first time, he was not one of the first people I reached out to with such news.

---

The casualties slowly continue to mount on Linked Out.  Everyone is getting the same recommendations from one or more of the same people:  The initially phrasing of the posts (or the supportive posts) is pretty much a carbon copy.  The cross linking for others is thoughtful.

It does still make me sad though.  Every posting has a face (and possibly faces) behind it.  Certainly we are not talking end of the world devastation, but we are are meaningfully talking some element of life devastation.  I know the work these people put in, the long nights, the weekends, the supreme efforts in hope of achieving a better end - after all, we were making medications to help people - all to come suddenly to an end one Thursday afternoon.  All that efforts - lost sleep, lost time with family and friends, high levels of stress - gone as if it never mattered.

Dear Industry:  If you are looking for a reason people become loathe to give you more than minimal effort, start here.

---

One of the activities I performed to help me get perspective on all of this is to make a list of the good things that this job helped me to do:

- Allowed two of three children to finish their school at a Christian school.

- Allowed all three children to start and finish high school at the same place.

- Allowed us to fully help the two older ones complete their college education and put the third one in a strong cash position for her school.

- Allowed us to travel to Iceland, Costa Rica, and the upcoming vacation in June.

- Allowed us to largely pay cash/completely pay off two cars.

- Allowed me to travel to Japan 3 times to train (would have been more, but The Plague) and supported the same number of training sessions with the head of our school traveling here.

- Allowed me to take up hiking, going to the Grand Canyon and Mt. Whitney and other smaller hikes.

- Allowed me to get the equipment I needed for Iaijutsu, including two more formal sets of gi/hakama, a 3 shaku iaito, and fitting out my 3.2 shaku shinken.

- Allowed me to get training programs and use a gym for weight training.

- Allowed me to change careers and keep my then current company.

- Allowed me to get a certification for my new job role.

- Allowed me, as part of that job change, to be able to go back to Old Home to see my parents once a month and then, once both of them had to go into retirement homes, continue to travel back and see them once a month.

- Allowed me to support my family better than likely I deserved.

Any two of those things would be amazing.  The fact that all of them happened is even more amazing.  Even if things are a little harder from here on out, there are memories embedded there that will well outlast my life time.

It is okay to be bitter about how things ended, but I should not let that remove all the good things that happened for 6.5 years until that last moment.

Hammerfall 2.0: Aftermath

 I have made an agreement with myself.  I will allow myself to write (and maunder) about being terminated for three days.  After that, time to move on.

The damage at my now former employer continues to spill over as word of who is leaving and who is staying spread.  Entire departments were cut by 80 or 90 percent (or 100 percent, in our case).  The Linked Out notices started to appear - both the ones with employees let people know they were now looking as well (somewhat surprisingly) as former employees reaching out to let people know to reach out to them if there was anything they could do. 

The Social Internet, at work again.

I touched bases with several now "in the process of becoming" former coworkers.  In every case, the tales that I heard were the same:  departments laid low, a sense of sadness as long time coworkers were suddenly cast adrift - I say long time; we had a surprising amount of people that had been in place for 2-3 years or more, which is rare in this industry (or at least was rare, at least once upon a time).  New Home is no Mecca for biopharmaceutical work; likely some or most of these people will have to find jobs somewhere else and uproot themselves.  A very few (like me) may be able to find remote due to the nature of what we do.

How am I feeling?  Rather distressingly, I find myself somewhat in the throes of a certain anger and bitterness.

Why?  The more I dwell on it, the more patently ridiculous this whole thing seems.  The signs that something needed to change were there 9 months ago.  Yet nothing was done.  Hard decisions were not made and no-one acted as if we were in the fight of our lives.  The assumption, I believe, was that additional monies were out there to be raised.  That narrative had really not been true for most of 2022, but was definitely crushed by the Silicon Valley Bank fiasco - if you have not been tracking the IPO and early stage financing market, let me assure you that it is considerably constrained and getting worse.  As a poster yesterday noted, the era of easy money is gone.

And we were counting on easy money.

The whole thing has been mishandled from there.  There is no master listing of who went and who stayed, putting individuals in the position of having to have difficult personal conversations.  There is an impact to this of course:  in 60 days (or less) people will suddenly disappear and no-one will have ready access to their files or things they did to make things work.  Those departing are more interested in finding their next job (no surprise there); those remaining are faced with the daunting task of both managing ongoing activities as well as planning for work that they will have to accomplish with far less personnel.

Many of these peoples were friends, both the departing and the remaining.  This hurts.  

And it could have been mitigated long before.

Part of what I need to do - both in this writing and in general - is to expunge my soul of all of this.  As of Thursday, this all is now in the past.  The future. is what I need to be paying attention to now. a future that has more possibilities than I had anticipated.

But still, it stings.