The Collapse CXXXII: Sorting

 28 June 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

I awoke to the smell of bacon – dear Lord, actual frying bacon. It smelled heavenly. Crawling of my sleeping bag and freshening up to the best of my ability, I wandered around inside the circle of cars surrounding the combination post office/general store to find the bulk of the party there, watching a someone had a grill frying bacon. Apparently, somewhere, there was at least one tank of propane.

Ox shoved a foam cup into my hand of...what was this? Actual coffee, that now-become rarest of delights of which hoarded the single can remaining to me with a miser’s eye. He then pushed a plate into my hand, with something resembling a pancake like substance with something that smelled vaguely of maple. He went and added on some bacon.

As God is my witness, Lucilius, it was as if I had manna to eat.

The explanation, said Ox as I continued to wolf down this miracle of a meal, were our now dearly departed Looters – and the 40 odd Summer homes that sat right outside the improvised barrier, homes that were likely never reached by their inhabitants. Likely the looters had not only what they brought with them, but the pickings of the end of a modern economic system.

As we all finished up our meals and dabbed our faces and hands with water removing any residual stickiness, the Colonel called us all around.

There had been now signs of any Looters in the night or early in the morning; if they had other parties out in wild they either were still out there or had kept going. A guard would continue to be maintained – not just here in the now named compound, but along the houses at each edge of the development. The rest of us would spend the day sorting through the goods here and organizing them for later retrieval – this was a gold mine, not just for the town we were most closely defending but to all of the towns within the somewhat self proclaimed Garnet Valley association that had come to defend this place.

A voice popped up from the back of the crowd. It was all well and good, it said, to have defeated the Looters and to find this treasure trove. But everyone that was here had put in time and effort and resources and the time here was not the time spent back at their homes, feeding their families and taking care of the property. What was the split to be?

The crowd, seemingly jovial after a fine breakfast, tensed almost at once. It was an uncomfortable question, but a logical one and eminently practical: if the response was “nothing”, likely such a force would not be able to be gathered again so easily. If it was “everything”, we would have become no better than the looters themselves.

The Colonel, it appeared, had already thought of a solution.

One of the things found inside was at least two lock boxes; the Looters had apparently hit at least one precious metal shop on their way here. In it was a hoard of silver, junk and silver dollars. He was prepared to offer the equivalent of one dollar for every two days we had come out: counting our likely return, that would be rounded up to $5. Whatever food we had used would be replaced from what was here; whatever ammunition had been expended, the same. Other items would be on a case by case basis but in no case was there to be more than three items leaving with each person. Someone would check; woe betide the individual that disregarded that rule.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then someone broke out that it even less than the last time he earned minimum wage. Laughter broke out, and the moment was broken.

With that, we were organized into work parties and went to work.

My group – With Ox and Young Xerxes – was assigned to one of the six or seven small sections that the site consisted of. Once inside, it was a mess. Things had just been randomly piled in with any real sense of order or even similarity. Some of it was old and broken, some of it looked as if it had recently come out of the houses that were outside the auto palisade. It was not getting organized any faster by us looking at it, so we started in.

Tools, both sets and the “emergency car kits” one used to find. A Barb-be-cue. A box of what may have been useful dishware at one time but was smashed into a thousand pieces by rough placement on the floor. Sectional rugs. Chairs. Flatscreen TVs – apparently the takings of all the homes around us had made their way into this place.

What was not here? Food. Drugs. Firearms of any kind, although Ox found random shells scattered about.

We made three piles, the first everything that definitively did not have a use in the world we now lived in. In the second, things which possibly had a use. In the third, the things that definitely had value. I am sure you can imagine the way the piles sorted out.

At the lunch break – beef jerky, dried fruit, water, and stale Oreos, the Captain mentioned that based on what they had found, it was likely this group had come from the nearest large city, about 50 miles away. That had a certain sense to it, especially with what we found horded away in our case – likely a group that had survived in the relatively urban environment of a college town, then started making their way out, driven by hunger and perhaps a fear of what was left behind them. When they made it here, they must have thought they had reached the promised land: houses and houses of unplundered goods, isolated ranches for the taking, and a reasonably sized town that they could use as a continual “golden goose” when their own goods ran out.

After lunch, we were assigned to a different area. Here we made out better: at least two first aid kits with unexpired supplies, a complete (and fairly fancy) socket wrench set, and five boxes of 12 gauge ammunition were the best finds. And an actual case of coffee in 16 ounce cans, along with dried packages of rice mixes and ramen.

Sadly and surprisingly, Lucilius, there was not a single book except a Road Atlas.

The “useful now” piles were brought out at the end of the day, everyone suspecting this only represented a partial amount of what was actually there, but likely what we could find in a single day – to the nameless voice’s comment, we were all away from out homes and families and work. Medical supplies, a very small pile of weapons matched with a small pile of ammunition, knives, jewelry in the form of rings and necklaces and bracelets, food such as we had discovered, some tools manual and mechanical, a smattering of Winter coats and boots.

With that, we lined up for pay.

My pay was given to me in the form of 3 Silver dollars, four silver quarters, and two silver half dollars. I always like the Walking Liberty motif; it was nice to see it again. And then, we had our choices. Mine was a can of coffee, a box of 12 gauge ammunition (mine own caliber was not going to be there), and a solid winter coat that would fit Pompeia Paulina.

Dinner that night was mostly a repeat of lunch, with a different round of stale cookies thrown in for good measure. The mood was relatively upbeat, considering the fact that only 24 hours earlier a different group had sat in this camp, a group that was now dead.

Sitting over at the edge of the palisade, watching the sun sink and the stars come out, the monumental nature of the change in society hit me. A year previous I still had access to modern living; I paid for everything with paper or electrons. Things were readily available. Now I was paid in coin from men that I had likely killed, men that had liked to have kill me and take my things if the situation was reversed. There was no shopping expedition, just a few items from a world rapidly vanishing which were in turn likely taken from the homes around us from people that were now long gone and likely never to return.

Was it theft? Was it recovery? Was it the law of the jungle? Is this, this situation – sitting in the stronghold of our enemies having slain them, enjoying the spoils of battle – the place where all civilization crumbles to?

The sunset and stars did not have answers, Lucilius. They never do.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

(Author’s note: I may accused of “creating” the situation described, where a number of homes are just outside of the local post office/general store. In point of fact for the location on which this is based it is absolutely true. A housing development has developed there (long after my first visits there of course, or even my most recent one). The idea that these are largely vacation homes is not supported by any data, but a reasonable guess on my part given the rather severe Winters and overall lack of industry in this region – a slight author’s invention on my part, but not too much of one.) 

Glorious Sunset

 One of the things which are sadly missing to the extent that I could see them at The Ranch are sunsets.  This is no-one's fault really:  for all of the beauty of The Ranch, we are also surrounded by tall trees which does many things.  Blocking the view of the sunset is generally one of them.

(Picture taken this morning of writing, towards where the sunset should be.  One can see the issue.)

Thus, I often miss out on the magnificence of the sunsets here in their full glory.

However, when I am headed down the hill to civilization, it can be a different story:

Sometimes I just get lucky and leave at the right time.  In this case I was so lucky I pressed my luck and drove down a bit to get to pull off to take another picture. I was not disappointed.

I have done nothing to the color of these photos - if anything, they fail to do justice to the full rich range of colors.

The world in all of its glory is there for our viewing, if only we will look.

Antler Fencing

 Yesterday morning when I looked out the back door there was a surprise for me:

And not one, but two:

And then, probably more for their own pleasure than mine, they started fencing:

I think this is first time I have can remember seeing this in such a proximity to the house.

Frozen Wonderland

Driving up to The Ranch after arriving on Saturday, I started to see snow on on the tops of cars.  The Ranch is usually below the average snowline; I was pleasantly surprised to see this when I arrived:

It was much less than an inch and had stopped by my arrival.

The magic happened overnight though, when everything froze:

The snow was gone by the middle of the afternoon, but made for a beautiful arrival gift.

Sunlight breaking over the trees:

 

The views here never get old.

Situation And Selves

 

I know it is fair to say that saying "I cannot change a situation" can be a bit of a cop out - at least for myself, I am too often ready to throw in the towel based on an unwillingness to put in effort, especially when I perceive things are "hard".

And yet, there are situations that reach a point that I no longer have the ability to change.  At that point, I can either continue to be miserable in them (I have, more often than I care to admit) or I can make a decision to change myself in the context of them.

And remind myself, of course, that almost no situation is really "forever".

Hammerfall 3.0: Week Three Report

 It occurs to me that I might as well make some hay out of my current job situation as well as provide an ongoing update to the ongoing ripples of Hammerfall 3.0.  The "hay to made" is, of course, working on a different kind of documentation as well as hopefully providing some kind of historical record to myself at least (if not others) for the next time this happens (as I assume it will at this point).

In general, the report will run from the previous Saturday to Fridays (when I am writing this).

Period:  29 December 2023 to 05 January 2024

Positions applied to:  I applied to 16 positions this week.  Total jobs applied to/opportunities investigated are 31 unique positions.

A note on the number of positions applied to:  "applied to" is not the equivalent of "screened".  At this point I am applying for positions that I think I have a reasonable chance of getting, which are 90% in Quality Assurance, mostly in biopharmaceuticals.  Project Management jobs in this field are not forthcoming at the present time.  At the moment, I am applying for positions that are on-site, remote, or hybrid in Old Home and here in New Home or remote in general as a move is really not in the cards at this point beyond Old Home (as it gets me farther away from where I want to end up, not closer).  Currently I am applying for titles ranging from Site Head/Director to Manager.  My thought is that if at this point I go much below Manager to Supervisor or level of individual contributor, selling myself as staying "in place" without looking for another position will be tough.  It is easier to make that sale if you have been "out of work" for a bit longer.

Rejections:  I was rejected by five companies I had applied to. In three cases the rejections came within two weeks of my CV submission and two came within 24 hours, which is actually pretty quick and somewhat surprising.

I assume with the use of AI and application management platforms (as we used at my company), these will get weeded out a lot more quickly. Also, as was pointed out to me by a friend, likely the HR departments are back from the holiday and catching up on these matters.

Conversations:  I had two phone conversations.

Conversation 1:  My impression was that it was going to be a phone screen for a defined position; it turned out to be an introductory call for a position that is pretty early in the process and was actually a contact point for the recruiting firm.  I suppose the best outcome is that I am "in their system" now.  We will see if it amounts to anything, although I am not terribly hopeful.

Conversation 2:  This was with an actual company employee for an actual company position I applied for (In New Home).  It actually turned into potentially a discussion for another position (if the first one does not work out).  I should know more by next week.

Job losses:  This week in my industry, job loses were announced at Intellia and Aera, (If anyone is interested, dailyjobcuts.com provides a daily list of companies that have announced layoffs or closures.  For biopharmaceuticals, FiercePharma and Fierce Biotech have handy updates on such things).  I mention this because, perhaps self-evidently, these are all now potential competitors (as will be the December college graduates that were just launched into the world, to be followed by the next wave in May/June 2024).

For historical purposes, I will note that Fierce Biotech has an article dated 02 January 2024 noting that 2023 layoffs were up 57% year over year from 2022; per the article of 187 workforce reductions, only 60% of companies reported actual numbers (at 9,150) with the remaining 40% only reporting percentages of total employees or not reporting numbers at all(e.g., we do not really know the final count; I know for Hammerfall 3.0 this was not publicly reported).  

My completely uneducated opinion is that it will be this bad or worse in 2024, due largely to a combination of loss of capital markets and the economy.

Mood:  I will be frank:  this was not a great week.  

I cannot point to any particular item: being that we are coming out of the holiday season, I had already anticipated that responses would very likely be slim to none.  The fact that they were slow, though not surprising, was too easy to dwell on.

I am already running through the "what ifs" in my mind.  Like my friend the Dog Whisperer pointed out, at some point one has to start to go for the positions one is likely to get as well as the ideal ones even if they are less desirable.  Yes, one can (and should) keep looking, but that really goes against one of my beliefs that if I accept a job, I commit to it at least as long as it is feasible (or, apparently, they lay me off).

It is pretty easy to let myself get mired in "no-one is ever going to call".  

I am continuing to work on creating a structure for my day.  Part of that structure is that I have a set aside time every morning to job hunt - honestly, it can be done in about an hour.  After that, I turn my attention to other matters.  I perhaps check in one more time but if one is searching for "positions updated within the last 24 hours", it becomes a pretty quick activity.

As part of this activity, I am working on actively studying/training.  No reason to let the moss grow.

Career Advice

 During the course of the Hammerfall 3.0, a young woman with whom I had worked a bit reached out to me in the aftermath.  Would I be interested in having coffee to talk about careers?  We had a bit of back and forth on the scheduling, but the meeting finally happened this past week.

I interacted with her most directly just before everything fell apart. She was memorable to me at one point because she made the comment about this being her first "grown-up" job.  That comment made me laugh (out loud, as it turned out) as it was exactly the sort of thing I would say.

Since I had a lead up to the meeting, I had some time to think about the nature of the conversation.  Beyond the sorts of questions that I thought I could predict, what could I actually bring to the conversation?  I tried to think back on similar times in my own life when I, in turn, had asked questions of others.

Oddly enough, I do not remember getting any specific advice in those sessions.  So then I took a different tack with myself - given where I was now, what do I wish I would have known or asked back in the day?  This turned out to be an easier question to answer.

For our coffee based meeting (all good career meetings should be coffee based), we exchanged information on what we knew, each from our side of the situation, about our layoff events and who else we knew that was laid off.  We talked about careers a bit - what it was like to work in Quality, how to "break into" Quality (as if any sensible person wants to break into a form of prison), and the industry in general.  I did throw in a couple of question as well that I hoped would generate some thought longer term down the road:

1)  "What do you really want to do?" - In this case, it was her first job in the industry.  But was it really what she desired to do, or was it convenient and was it something she could see herself doing for a longer period of time.  It is one thing to try something and realize that it is not for you; it is another thing to stick with something and then 20+ years in realize that you are trapped without a way out.  Now was as good a time as any to really consider this question as the opportunity to redirect would be much easier than if one is long invested in a career and skill set that needs to be completely changed.

2)  "Are you thinking outside the box?" - It turns out there are a lot of things that involve what we do, but in ways that people do not generally think of.  For example, if one's interest is in process engineering, it is not just chemical and oil companies (or biotechnology) that uses these skills.  Distilleries, breweries, wineries - they all use the same basic principles.  Sometimes looking at our skills in an industry blinds us to looking at the skill set we bring and the industries we could apply it to.

Ultimately, of course, I can do very little to influence the course of another's job search or life journey.  What I can do - what any of us can do, especially those of who are a bit more "senior" - is to gently ask the sorts of things that, 20 or 30 years ago, we might have benefitted in hearing and thinking about.

Because, at least in my case, if I can save one person from being trapped in a career they see no way out of, I will have done a good thing.

The Collapse CXXXI: Aftermath

27 June 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

The post-battle let down did not arrive immediately – even as we had removed the immediate threat, there remained the third group which was assumed to have remained at the building be used as a base, as well as any roving bands. Any chance of surprise was gone at that point, washed away in a hail of gunfire and shouting. It was apparent, even to me, that if the third mission – the commando with the Captain – had failed or even been late, there was still a difficult boil to lance that would be beyond our abilities to do easily.

A group under the Colonel – perhaps twenty or so – continued up the mile or so of road to reach the remains of McAdams. The rest of us at our station, perhaps 5 or so remaining, faced both West and East for a threat we did know would come. Then, from a distance, we heard three short horn blasts, as if from an air-compressed horn.

The Leftenant, who remained with us, slumped a fraction. That was the signal, she said. The mission was successful.

We remained on heightened guard until we saw figures approaching with armbands, the Colonel and that team returning. He and the Leftenant spoke for a minute or two as the walked by, then they carried on.

We received our next set of orders: strip the bodies.

I am assuming (after the fact of course) that those remaining at the decoy had started to process there and, as the saying goes, many hands make light work, even at such a gruesome task at this.

Someone passed around a box of Neoprene gloves, the proverbial “one size fits no-one” – bloodborne pathogens, we were reminded. Then small groups of us assembled around the bodies strewn around and began salvage operations.

I have seen a dead body or two in my time, mostly relatives that had passed away. Their skin was an odd feeling to the touch, their eyes staring wide into the great beyond. This was different: the bodies were holed with bullet wounds, pieces of muscle and organ and bone exposed. The odor of blood and some undefinable scent I can only characterized as “body insides” filled the air.

Moving as quickly as we could, we pulled shoes and boots from bodies – the clothes were almost completely a loss. Pockets were emptied, any jewelry pulled off, weapons and bullets put to the side as next to each body an inventory of goods collected.

The irony of Looters reduced to piles of items that had likely been looted was not lost on me.

I suppose that in some places and times it would be of interest the sorts of individuals that had become Looters: what did they look like, what did they evidence about themselves as we reduced them to their constituent elements? I honestly did not pay attention Lucilius, as it did not matter. Call it exhaustion, call it disgust, call it war weariness. The bodies looked like bodies. Dead bodies. More, I cannot recall.

And then, in one of those moments of immediate understanding, I suddenly grasped the difficulties of post-battles events throughout history. I was exhausted as to some extent was everyone, likely: even with the last year of practicing using our bodies much more than before, none of us likely were soldiers. There were the bodies here; there were likely bodies where the decoy was – even more, by all accounts. The thought of digging holes or even a single hole for them was tiring just to think about, let alone having shovels or even other equipment to do it.

A motorized rumble startled all of us from our stripping – it was the Looters truck, now driven by our side, an Toyota Tacoma that slowly ground up and to a halt.

Into the back the bodies went.

10 bodies is a lot for a truck bed (in case you were wondering), so the truck ended up making two trips. As we waited between the first and second, the items were pulled into bags, the weapons distributed out for carrying.

On the return trip, most of the remaining group came up with the truck, a small rearguard waiting for the decoy to return. I was thrilled – as thrilled as one can be, exhausted – to see Young Xerxes in the group uninjured – in fact, beyond some bandages from what seemed to be flesh wounds, there seemed to be no-one else significantly injured. The surprise apparently, was complete.

The faces looked exhausted as well, with looks of exhaustion or disgust or even the thousand yard stare on them. We were retirees, ranchers, former small business owners and workers, mechanics, graphic artists and technologists.

Now, we were all blooded militia. And it showed. Even Young Xerxes looked haggard and almost did not recognize me for a moment, until he suddenly came to and gave me an uncharacteristic hug.

While this reunion was happening in small groups, the Colonel pulled some men over. Before long the sound of shoveling filled the murmuring air, a slow sound that had a mournful cadence all its own.

The hole was dug to this side of the small bridge at the stream bed where we had made our stand and where Blazer Man had fallen. We gathered around as Blazer Man was carefully placed into his grave, arms folded and eyes closed. The Colonel bent down and from where I could see, placed two silver coins, one over each eye. He got out; someone – I had no idea whom – prayed. Two men remained behind to finish the burial as the rest of us slowly marched back to McAdams, leaving Blazer Man on Eternal Guard at the bridge.

Of the rest of the day up to this entry, I can tell you little enough Lucilius. I was as tired as I had ever been in my life and barely remember entering the palisade of cars or finding a place to cast my sleeping bag. I crashed as soon as I hit the ground, waking only twice: once at the urging of Young Xerxes to eat some soup, and then to wake up to write this in the waning evening light. After this, I will sleep again, the Leftenant having excused me from any guard duty this eve.

My dreams were strange, Lucilius. In them Blazer Man was alive and we sat as we had that day, talking of history as if we were two old friends merely out on a day’s hike.

I would say I slept the sleep of the dead – but having seen the dead that day, I know theirs to be a different kind of sleep.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

In The City

 On New Year's Eve, for the first time in over 25 years, The Ravishing Mrs. TB and I went to a New Year's social event out in the public.

As it turned out, it was a bit of a fluke:  my sister and her family had come to New Home to celebrate an anniversary and gave us tickets to the event as our Christmas gift (they were attending as well).  Not necessarily the sort of thing I attend (regularly or otherwise), but even I am open to a new experience once in a while.

The event, for the record, was pretty much what I expected it to be. On the bright side, it was a 1920's themed event and people definitely dressed up for it, which was pleasant.  Also rather cool to behold were couples in their 60's and 70's out dancing and obviously enjoying themselves (and in love).  The music was loud to start with and got louder.  Our tickets included all the alcohol one could drink (for the record, I had one glass of cabernet and a glass of champagne at midnight) and a rather sad trickle of snacks that was...well, at least they warned us it was "while supplies last".

I may or may not have even danced a bit.

But to go to this event, of course, we had to go downtown.

My images of "downtown" and "The City" were rather blurry growing up. My memories very early on were mostly the song from Petula Clark, "Downtown" (perhaps obviously in its post release days as part of a Reader's Digest music compilation), which included lines like "Listen to the music of the traffic in the city" and "Linger on the sidewalks where the neon lights are pretty".  Old Home was a small town (which had an actual downtown back in the day, sans neon lights and traffic), but sometimes we would go to Capital City.  

Capital City consisted (in my childhood world) mostly of the Capital grounds, where we would go and feed squirrels, and the zoo, and historical sites and very occasionally, a shopping mall.  Every year as well for a number of years growing up we would to to The Big City for a medical appointment (I had a condition where I just walked on the balls of my feet; it is better, but you can now always tell by my wear patterns on my shoes), which would include a visit to A Major Tourist Site or a very cool museum and park.  In those days I was hazy about the environment of the cities themselves; my memories are mostly of the experiences, not the surroundings.  

Except people. I remember a lot of people.

New Home is one of those "up and coming places" which is in a race to destroy itself and its uniqueness in order to be fashionable and relevant to the world around it.  Even in our time here, skyscrapers have soared into downtown, bringing apartment buildings and condos and upscale stores.  Land is actually so valuable that older buildings sell and are torn down, replaced by large squares of apartments with chic upscale restaurants and stores underneath, wedged in between older buildings that somehow manage to cling to their location out of nostalgia or sheer spite.

This started in downtown, but the "improvement" is working its way west to the upscale housing and meeting upscaling working down from the North. Only the eastern half of the city "remains" in its pre-center of the universe status and even there, pockets of "the future" are now emerging.

The Eastern half, of course, is where we stayed.

Human urine is a smell that, much like marijuana, once you know it you never forget it.  And that was the smell that greeted us as we walked from the parking lot to our hotel and then to the restaurant to dinner.

This part of the city is right on the razor's edge between new and old:  on one side - a clear, demarcating invisible line, is "the future".  On the other side are buildings - bars, tattoo parlors, low end restaurants, the occasional unique store - in buildings that for the most part are clearly from early in the previous century.  In some cases the word "crumbling" is as kind characterization.

The homeless are here, wedged in between bars and restaurants:  sleeping in doorways, sitting on corners, rolled up in blankets with carts nearby. Some speak up, asking for change, others just watch you go by.  

Patches of marijuana smell rise up like isolated rain clouds, vendors demonstrating the value of hemp in ways legal and not-so legal.  Music spills over from walls of enclosed patios or from open windows of bars.  We are still early: the roving bands of the younger set, coming for drink or amusement or to be seen will be out long after we have gone to our party.  But the street is even now blocked off and people are moving up and down lanes that saw traffic earlier in the day; luckily if they are weaving, there is far less danger.

It is not that I ever felt unsafe:  the sun was up, the lights were on, and I am aware enough and wary enough that I am at best a troublesome mark if perhaps an underweight easy one.  And certainly given the season, it is unlikely our local politicians or local law enforcement are interested in having high profile issues on New Years; The police were out and in force.

It is always a problem, of course.  Cities and counties bemoan the fact of development that wipes away their unique qualities even as they greedily stick out their hands to gain the income from increase property taxes and higher end taxes that come with increased tourism and sales.  They placate their inner guilt with development projects that in theory are civic minded but never seem to actually preserve the uniqueness of what they had; parks and community centers and monuments to their own glory are pale reflections of what used to be.

Culture, once unmade, can only rarely be recaptured.

It is not often that I go to any city or downtown, and there is a high likelihood that I will not see this downtown - at least at night - for the rest of our time here.  Not just because of the public safety, although that is a legitimate concern.  It is the reality that, hidden behind the rising towners and shining spires and self-congratulatory plaudits of the modern city lies the decay of modern life, pushed off to the sides and quietly tolerated as the cost of relevancy.

I do not remember this in the cities of my childhood; perhaps it was there and I simply missed it.  But I surely cannot see any city - at least any American city - with anything but this lens now.  The rot - but really the smell of old urine, all of the failures of urban life contained - is not something one hurries back to see.

The Forty-Five 2024 Edition: A Primer

 Greetings and welcome to 2024!

As has become a practice, one of the first posts in the New Year (this one, obviously) is intended as a primer to this blog.  I think, or at least perceive, that some level of individuals drift in each year, so this is offered as guide for the people and places that inhabit this world - which is (for the most part) based on the real world, or at least my perception of it.

I am your host, Toirdhealbheach Beucail ("Toridhealbheach" is a version of my name in Old Irish Gaelic; "Beucail" means "booming or roaring", as in the sound of a cannon. If you ever met me in person, you would find I have only two volumes:  silent and "ON").  I have been manning this rampart of the InterWeb, writing about this and that for what will now be my 19th year and am up to over 4900 posts on a variety of topics.

A very brief history: I grew up in a small town, the same town my parents and my mother's parents had grown up in. I went away to college for two degrees that have nothing to do with what I ended up actually doing, then came back home and lived in and around that area (referred to here uncreatively as "Old Home") until 15 years ago, when due to a layoff we had to move (to the also uncreatively named) "New Home".    Due to an unexpected health issue with both of my parents (see here, Moving TB The Elder And Mom), I now spend about one third of the year at Old Home, and the other time working to get back there on a more permanent basis to The Ranch (see below).  As more recent events have occurred (Hammerfalls 2.0 and 3.0), I once again find myself looking for work.

I have a variety of interests.  I am a practitioner of Iaijutsu, a Japanese martial art which is (crudely but correctly) defined as the "quick draw" of sword techniques (my style has existed since the 16th century).  I make cheese and other dairy foods.  I train with weights.   I garden.  I write (perhaps somewhat obviously).  I hike, mostly in the Sierra Nevadas but have also been down into the Grand Canyon.   I study languages, both current as well as the dead ones.  I read voraciously - primarily history and theology, but also philosophy, agricultural books and "old style" (say pre-1985) science fiction and fantasy.  I do some travel, although I am more of a homebody.

Dramatis Personae:

        - The Ravishing Mrs. TB:  To whom I have been married for over 30 years now and who actually makes sure the trains run on time and things get done.

     - Nighean Gheal: Number one daughter, a college graduate with a degree in International Business now living in The Big, Big City.

    - Nighaen Bhan: Number Two daughter, also a college graduate with a degree in Communications and pursuing a Master's level program in Speech Disorders (a.k.a., Speech Therapist).

     - Nighean Dhonn: Number Three daughter, currently studying Anthropology and Archaeology.

     - The Director:  One of my two best friends from High School and still currently one of my best friends.  Lives in Old Home, one of the most intelligent people I know.  Currently working on his Ph.D.  On an unusual note, he is practicing Quaker.

    - Uisdean Ruadh: The other of my two best friends from High School and still currently one of my best friends.  Also lives in Old Home, currently living in The Cabin at The Ranch with his mother  A Mhathair na hUisdean Ruadh, who turned 96 in December.  Deeply Catholic, loves traditional Catholicism, planes, and history.  

  - The Berserker:  My weight training coach.  I have trained with him for 8+ years now.  I live in fear of his weekly training regimes, although they have been very successful.

- The Shield Maiden:  A friend I met throw Highland Games many years ago.  She lives much farther away than she used to (Picture the border of Canada and then move down.  Slightly.).  We chat via the InterWeb every day.  She is a reservoir of wisdom and the much needed lectures I will get from no-one else.

-La Contessa: My very good and old friend (post high school, so not quite as long as The Director and Uisdean Ruadh, but almost as long).  We regularly have dinners once a month when I am in Old Home.

-The Outdoorsman:  My brother-in-law and hiking partner in crime.  What started as lark of an idea (hiking the Grand Canyon) has turned into 3-4 smaller training hikes and a single big hike a year.

- The Cowboy/The Young Cowboy:  A father and son team, they have kept cattle at The Ranch for almost 20 years now.  They are regularly present there and help to keep an eye on the place when I am not present.

- The Brit:  My niece's fiancée who has also become a hiking partner in crime.

- Rainbow:  One of the earliest people involved with this blog, she lives in the larger vicinity of Old Home.  She and I speak more or less weekly about life, mostly disguised as a two person writer self-help group.

- The Dog Whisperer:  Another refugee from Hammerfall 3.0 looking for a new job.  Loves dogs (and animals of all kinds).  

Important Places:

- Old Home:  Where I grew up and lived up to 15 years ago.  Originally a combination of the small town I actually grew up in  as well as the larger areas there which we lived in before moving to New Home, I use it more now to indicate my hometown.

- New Home:  Where I currently live. An urban area located in a state not where I grew up.  One might argue "where I am currently trapped", in some senses of the phrase.

- The Ranch:  The Ranch is the property my parents own and live on in <insert yet another undisclosed location here>.  It is approximately 90 acres of land in the mountains which has been our extended family for over 60 years.  You will see plenty of pictures from here.  This is where I am ultimately trying to get back to.

What do we do here?

(Note:  This is word for word from last year.  But I still believe it.)

Like most budding bloggers, when I started this blog I had great visions of this being a mighty bulwark of discussion and thought that would be a beacon of light (and, coincidentally, would let me write full time). It only took about 10 years to realize that neither of these things were going to happen.  Either because of obstinance or foolishness (I am guilty of both) I persevered.

What I did find - and what I still believe in - is that blogging represents the Social Internet (not a phrase that I came up with, but one I love): the ability of people to read, think, and discuss things on the InterWeb (as opposed to Social Media, which I detest).  What has become critically important to me  s creating a sort of InterWeb agora, a place where we can discuss subjects - some deep, some completely shallow - in a way that hopefully encourages thought and helps to build connections in a society which values neither thought nor connections except of the most shallow kind (otherwise known as Social Media).

What you find here most days is a combination of personal on-line journal, thoughts or concepts that have run through my mind, book reviews, occasional fiction, things that are just "going on" in my life, ruminations, and the occasional meme.  It is a smorgasbord of my existence (there are literally times I sit down to write with no idea what will be written, and no-one is more surprised than I am when it shows up).

Important Pages:

Ichiryo Gusoku Philosophy:  My overall guiding policy on my philosophy is here.

Ichiryo Gusoku Goals:  My overall goals are here (and they literally are aspirational at this point).

The Collapse:  A rather long running fiction series (in a series of letters) about a man watching society slowly collapse is here.  

Moving TB The Elder And Mom:  As mentioned, my parents suffered a series of health reversals in 2021.  This page pulls together the experience in hopes that others that have or will have the same issues will benefit.

What are the rules?

There are only four.

1)  Be kind in your comments:  In all my years of writing here, I have had to not publish only a handful of comments because, frankly, they were mean.  You can certainly poke holes in my theories or my writing or the responses of others.  I just ask you do it kindly.  Everyone you are responding is going through something.

2)  No profanity:  My mother was an elementary school teacher and a lovely Christian woman, so comment as if you were speaking directly to her.  Any profanity will simply not make itself a visible comment, no matter how relevant or good the comment is.

3)  We do not argue current politics:  Politics as it is practiced currently is simply an exercise in "It is your fault!  No, yours!" followed by vulgarity and crudeness.  Political Science (the practice of forming political societies and their functioning) is far more useful to actually reach a solution.

4)  We do not argue religion:  I state up front I am Christian (useful background for some of what I write) and will happily discuss my own trials and travails and thoughts.  What we do not debate is the nature of religion or different religions.  Again, see the previous comments on kindness.

Thanks!

Reading anything is an investment; taking the time to comment is more so.  Thanks so much for taking the time to spend a few moments of your precious time (a commodity which we cannot make more of) with me.

Happy New Year 2024

 

Perhaps not the usual New Year's quote, but given the past year and what the New Year might actually bring, perhaps the most fitting quote for the season.

Happiest of New Year's to all!

A 2023 Thank You

Friends - 

As has become customary at this time of year, I would like to to take the opportunity of the last post of the year to say thank you to you, the readers of this blog.

As someone who at least alleges in theory to be a writer,  my deepest desires is that one's writing is a) read; and b) makes some sort of impact on the lives of others.   Thankfully - and it is due to you - I have some hope that I have done so.

So thank you.

Thanks for taking to the time read.  Thanks especially for taking the time to comment, if it is only occasionally (or for some, the first time).  Thank you for listening to me ramble on about life and my life and the issues in it.

Time is the most valuable of commodities:  it cannot be preserved or stored, only spent.  Too often the value of it is only realized in retrospect.  To the extent that all of you have spent part of your time with me, I am deeply indebted.

2023 has been a challenging year.  Sure, we have had lots of high points:  two of Na Clann graduating (one from high school, one from college), the trip to Greece, the hikes throughout the Summer and to Mt. Goddard (almost).  But there have been a lot of difficult points as well, including the hike to Mt. Goddard (almost) and losing not one but two jobs with (at this writing) an unknown future until the next one appears.

Through all of it, I have always had this blog to fall back on to express (or vent) my feelings.  For that, I am grateful.

I do not know (at all) what 2024 will bring.  Whatever it brings, I will continue to do my best to document it and, hopefully in some small way, to make the world a better place through writing.

Your Most Obedient Servant,

Toirdhealbheach Beucail

December 2023 Odds and Ends

 1)  We had a very nice, very quiet Christmas.  We laughed a bit, because we had completed the bulk of gift buying before Hammerfall 3.0, so it was not necessarily reflective of our current circumstances.  That said, we all had more than enough.

From The Ravishing Mrs. TB I got  two of Diodorus Siculus' Histories, a blown glass mug and beer from Africa, penguin magnets from South Africa, a bottle of red wine, and an alpaca sweater from Peru.  From Nighean Gheal I got a Japanese dual translation book of short stories for practice, CD of koto music, and a Studio Ghibli movie (Pom Poko). From Nighean Bhan I got a new water resistant backpack (badly needed) which includes a place for a battery bank and built in cord for USB charging (which seems like a really good idea; I am curious how well this would combine with a solar charging unit for power on the go).  From Nighean Dhonn I got The Western Art of War by Victor Davis Hanson which was recommended to her by her college professor (Hanson is a favorite of mine and on a personal note, I love how he has combined Classical Studies and agricultural in California's Central Valley.  Goals.).

All the gifts are both useful and enjoyable.

2)  Yesterday I received my first application rejection from a company - about a week turnaround, which is pretty impressive.  I am assuming this will be the first of many, given the economy we are now in.

I also spoke to a possible consulting lead (a friend of a friend who was super kind and recommended me).  She said she might have some part-time batch record review work in January, possibly 10 to 20 hours a week.  She asked me if I had an idea of my per hour rate.  I did not (I never do).  We did both agree that with the current economy and how companies are reacting, business in general had slowed down (I suspect this will come up a lot this coming year).  She committed to getting back to me after the holidays.

I also touched basis with a friend from the company that brought us Hammerfall 2.0.  She was laid off in June and has been looking since then; over 300 job applied for and nothing yet.

I am assuming this situation will either be over quickly or it will be a long haul.  I am planning for and assuming the long haul.

3)  My sister and The Outdoorsman are out in New Home with their family (including The Brit) to celebrate their wedding anniversary and visit.  This is the first time in 15 years - since we moved - that they have come out.  For Christmas, they gave The Ravishing Mrs. TB and myself tickets to a New Years' Party at an upscale local hotel.  I have to wear a tie and everything.  Hilarity may ensue.

Recently The Ravishing Mrs. TB and I were talking about company Christmas parties and realized we had not been to one since 2015, at least for my work (her work usually does a two hour dinner from a local restaurant; as it is a church, frivolity is mostly confined to Secret Santa and trivia games on Christmas knowledge).  Looking at some of the photos of other companies I have seen online, it seems like many places do the equivalent of a "Christmas Lunch".  I wonder if concept of the corporate Christmas Party is another relic of Economies Past that has simply disappeared and will never return.

Which is fine, I suppose.  Younger me enjoyed the free alcohol and feeling fancy; older me simply can no longer handle it or the noise and activity that goes along with it.

4)  To point 2) above, starting 02 January I have to start coming up with some kind of regular schedule for day to day activities.  Part of that is for my own sanity of course (I do better with a schedule), but part of it is also the fact that it could be some time before another job appears.  I do have things I need to do around here, but I also need to start thinking in longer terms of "what I can do in the event a regular full time job is not forthcoming".  Some of it is honing industry knowledge of course, but some of it is looking at other ways of generating income.

We have already done one round of expense reduction following Hammerfall 3.0 and are doing a second sweep.  Whether or not I qualify for unemployment will have an impact on this (I will not know until 02 January 2024).  And we need to continue to identify dates when specific things have to occur - for example, if I do not have a job by 15 March we will need to find alternative health coverage and get that in place by 20 April to allow the COBRA coverage to be canceled prior to 01 May 2024, when it would start to come out of our bank account.

To be clear, I continue to consider ourselves very fortunate.  Many people are in a much worse position.

5)  With this post and tomorrow's post, I will have accomplished a soft goal I set for myself of posting every day of the year.  There is nothing magical about that of course, and frankly writing this much almost guarantees that not everything is at the same level (or as FOTB (Friend Of This Blog) Eaton Rapid Joe says, "Write something every day").    It does entail a certain level of discipline though, which I likely benefit from.  Doing something even when you do not want to do it is a great way to practice keeping one's nose to the grindstone.

I am inherently lazy and need all the help I can get.

Greece 2023: The Last Column

 

Pella

Friends - Thanks so much for your willingness to accompany me to Greece.  Documenting this journey took a lot longer than I anticipated - 51 posts (plus this one, all now located here) for what was a two week trip.  The fun thing for me has been the ability to revisit all of these places once again.

Bust of King George of Greece, assassinated in Thessaloniki Greece in 1913.  The White Tower is behind - Thessaloniki, Greece

This was an odd trip in that it was not one that I had really known I wanted to do, until the opportunity to do it presented itself.  That said, I can hardly imagine not having made the trip now.  So much history, so much philosophy, so much religion - all of the things I love wrapped up into a two week tour.

The Great Meteora - Meteora, Greece

Long time readers know that usually I have a "Rule of Five" that I like to post after I have taken a trip like this, five things I have learned or five things I have pondered.  In point of fact I do not have anything like that this time.  Chalk it up to the nature of the trip, chalk it up to "I was between jobs (the first time) and just enjoying life", chalk it up lack of imagination - but I do not have anything of the kind this time.  Just an abiding thankfulness that I was able to go and see so much of the history I have read about for so many years.

Roadside Memorial Stand - Similar to our roadside crosses

If I had one comment or piece of advice, it would be to go.  Just go.  Go see where the opening salvos of Western Civilization came forth and were nurtured long enough to set roots down to eventually expand to (in some cases) the entire world. Go see the stones and dirt streets, the valleys and monasteries, the empty temples and fortresses, where our understanding of so much of our world really started.

Just go.

The Collapse CXXX: Battle

 26 June 20XX+1

My Dear Lucilius:

This entry is written after the events described, at the end of what seems like the longest day of my life. I am still trying to process them.

Our off-shift sleep was disturbed by the Leftenant: it felt as if I had just closed my eyes. We were to gather our weapons and move down the channel as scouts from McAdams had gone out and returned; it was assumed a larger party would follow shortly.

Bleary eyed (at least we of Team 3), we crouched down to the base of the stream, moving forward to meet the rest of our companions pressed into the dirt and remnants of grass that had come from above. We crouched even lower at the sound of voices and movement over the top and to the side of us – when one has spent a year or more knowing where every noise originates from, to suddenly hear sounds of people and even an engine that is completely unknown to you is jarring. One instinctively tenses in response over sounds once considered ordinary.

They were far enough away and too muffled to make out distinct conversations, then were blotted out entirely by the sound of engine revving very slowly as it moved down the road.

The sounds died off into the distance and the Leftenant gave a hand sign. We continued down the streambed, farther than any guard watch had taken us to the edge of the stream disappearing under the road, carefully avoiding stepping into the mud that would reveal us to observers downstream. Everyone moved up as close as they dared to the lip where the flat earth began its descent to the water.

As long as I remain alive Lucilius, I will remember those moments of lying in the warm June sun, trapped by circumstances, strangely feeling both languid from the heat and tense beyond measure for what was coming, earth crumbling into my face.

And then, to the East down the road, the world erupted in the sound of gunfire.

I flinched down – we all did, I suspect, although there was nothing to flinch at directly. The chattering and crack of gunfire increased.

The Leftenant and Ox rolled up over the edge and sighted their guns. We all did as well. Suddenly my world had collapsed to looking down an iron sight.

From the direction of the gunfire, forms began appearing to get closer, some looking behind them and shooting, some falling, some just running.

Closer and closer they came. Individual details came into view: hair color, types of clothing, even the logos on T-shirts. One came into my view, bearing a some kind of concert T-shirt from a civilization past.

And then with a shout, the Leftenant opened fire. We all joined in.

I have been shooting in the past, Lucilius – more for target practice than for anything else and perhaps once or twice over the years for hunting. I know this gun well; it was my grandfather’s before becoming my own, a iron-sighted repeating relic of an earlier age, when hunting was in vogue and every man on a magazine cover a sportsman. The firearm itself works well enough for my purposes, which were only really to maintain my skill. Never in my life had I anticipated actually using it against another human being.

The world becomes a slow blur at accelerated speed. I pull the trigger, only slightly anticipating the slam into my shoulder from the recoil. In days past I would have stopped, leisurely checked out my target, and then refocused. Not now. Pull the lever action to seat a new bullet as the old casing falls away into the soil and my shoulder reminds me I am no longer young. Sight and fire again as the line booms with the sound of weapons discharging.

The forms start to jerk and fall. Suddenly soil kicks up ahead at the ditch edge with return fire. The instinct is to duck and roll down, pressing into the soil; instead one rolls back over, pulls back the lever and the cartridge falls to the ground, pulled by a gravity made seemingly quicker by the remnants of discharged gunpowder. Roll back over and fire again. And again. And again, then fumbling for shells to reload into the rifle as all around the cacophony of war sounds: booms and cracks of firearms, a blurred shouting of commands down the line that are almost unintelligible, and farther out the cries as the projectiles lodge home. Bullets pressed home, pull the lever action and roll over again.

And then, suddenly, everything stops.

The figures that were running forward are no longer there; still forms on the pavement and on either side of the shoulder are all that remain. Guns remain at the ready and we stand at at hair’s breath of opening fire again until in the distance, whistles start blowing. The Leftenant shouts for us to lower our weapons. We do so, almost reluctantly for a group that came here only a few days ago with only the vaguest idea of what it was to fight, hearts pounding and ears ringing and fingers and emotions set on edge.

As figures bearing armbands come into view continuing to blow whistles, we look at each other with a fragile sense of belief that it may be over. Looking down line, I do the count of 8. I count myself at 9 and turn to my right.

There was at least one lucky shot.

Blazer Man lay staring upward on his back, the wound that had taken his life leaking out over his clothing and down to the stream, where it would flow on eventually to the sea instead returning with him to the library of history past and the grave of his wife.

Your Obedient Servant, Seneca

Greece 2023: Mycenae III

Located not far from the ruins of Mycenae is a spectacular tomb.

The tomb itself is known by one of two names, either the Treasury of Atreus (the father of Agamemnon) or the Tomb of Agamemnon. Both of these are unlikely of course; the association with both characters dates from the the 18th Century A.D. and the 2nd Century A.D. traveler Pausanias believed both kings were buried in the ruins of Mycenae itself.

The tomb type is referred to as at tholos, a particular type of tomb consisting of a circular burial chamber and a corbelled dome (a corbel, I just learned, is a type of construction where the piece bears the weight of the pieces above it).  It is the largest dome structure prior to the Roman period of history, and remains the largest example of a corbelled dome in the world.

When was it built?  Likely between 1400 and 1250 B.C., when Mycenae was still at the height of its power.  From the size of the stones and the amount of labor involved, this was as much as exercise in power projection as it was a tomb. 

This door led to a series of side chambers, possibly for burials.

Who was it built for?  We have not a clue.  That secret the tomb holds within its silences and ascending rock faces.

More information is here.  It is a fascinating journey into the specifics of the tomb and what we know - and do not know.

Greece 2023: Mycenae II

The Citadel of Mycenae (1600 B.C. to 1150 B.C.), looking off over the walls:

A smaller entry gate:

Path down to and sample of a cistern.  The palace would have been dependent on such water sources.

Another view from the walls.  This view has been here for at least 3700 years.

Looking down into the excavated tombs:

Like similar sites, Mycenae had a museum of excavation finds.

The famous Mask of Agamemnon.  A death mask (though not of Agamemnon), dating of which runs from 1600 B.C. to even 2500 B.C.

Replica weapons from tombs:

Jewelry:

A very cool Octopus vase:

Other pottery:

A collection of axeheads: