Author: anthony Page 10 of 72

Last Friday, Jim and I loaded up his car for a trip to West Virginia.  There was a surprise birthday party planned for his aunt on Saturday and we planned to spend the night at a hotel beforehand.

We got a little later start than we wanted and were doing okay until we came upon the exit that we would have normally taken to go to his mom’s house.  It was too much and too soon and we pulled over to take a minute – and I took over driving. We debated on just calling it and canceling the trip, but stuck it out and eventually stopped for dinner at Cracker Barrel.  

Jim took over driving again and decided to take “the back roads” the rest of the way.  Now, the back road in WV are not like the back roads elsewhere. There were hairpin turns in the dark, washed out roads, and dozens of deer.  Along with a fox, an opossum, a fox, several feral cats – and Jim thinks he saw a bear.

We made it to the hotel, got checked in, and crashed.  

The next morning was a crowded breakfast and more back roads to finally locate the party location.  And somehow, in the age of phones and Facebook, they managed to surprise Jim’s aunt. Once she realized what was going on – and who we all were – she started crying in joy and surprise.  She spent the rest of the party on Cloud 9 and I think everyone had a good time. I made her some origami earrings and Jim painted some paper butterflies for her – which she loved.

It was a good party and I spent the clean-up time afterwards entertaining the kids with some high-speed paper folding.  We all have our roles.

Then it was time for the 4 hour drive back.  And while I’m glad we went and we had a good time, it was still rough on Jim.  His mom should have been there too and she would have loved it.  

We got home safely and later that evening I went on Facebook for a minute  – and saw a post from Jeff’s brother the day before. Just a small note about how it would have been Jeff’s birthday.

And I had…forgotten.  I’ve never been good at remembering birthdays – even sometimes my own – and when Jeff was alive, I would remember the general time period and have to carefully figure out the date from clues every year. 

But I’d forgotten entirely this time.  The date of his death? That I remember. But not his birthday.

I felt terrible about that for a while and tried to figure out some way to respond to the post without sounding like an asshole or idiot – and couldn’t come up with anything.  So, I let that post go past – as I’d let his birthday go past.

There’s nothing to be done about that.  No way to undo any of that – time is closed off behind us. And I have a package of regrets – comfortable in their own persistence  – that will linger.

Nothing to be done, but… I had forgotten. 

Last Friday was my boss’s last day on the job – he retired after 30+ years of service at the University.  We’ve known about this for a while and I’d already started taking over his responsibilities – and so on Monday, my promotion to Director of Web Services went into effect. 

There’s lots that’s good: bit more money, already familiar with the work, good rapport with my colleagues, new challenges.

There’s some not-great as well.  I’ll still be in charge of the switchboard and they aren’t going to back fill my current position.  So, I need to figure out how to do my old job and my new job in the same amount of hours.

What’s weird is that, more than once, I’ve gotten the thought in my head that I can’t possibly be in charge  – of anything, really. I’m still just a kid!

And then I remind myself that I’m actually a 46 year old adult and I’ve been working for the University of Akron for over 20 years.  So, I think I’ll be okay.

I’m aware, though, that just because I’m getting the nameplate on my door doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly the expert.  I’m taking a Supervision 101 course in the Fall and the changes I’m making are small to start off. We are getting rid of the Weekly Wednesday Webteam meetings for the time being, though.  Those were…not my favorite part of the week.

So, July 1, 2019 started a new era for our team.  And then on July 3rd, I inadvertently rerouted the entire UA website to an online archival collection of bags. For about 1 minute and 25 seconds.

It’s a long story and I got it fixed before anyone picked up the phone.  Still, not the greatest confidence booster.

Law of Identity

“Everything that exists has a specific nature. Each entity exists as something in particular and it has characteristics that are a part of what it is.’

Aristotle

A dog is a dog.  A dog is not a cat. A tree is not a plane.  A red car is a red car and is not a blue car.  The shorthand for this is: A=A

http://www.importanceofphilosophy.com/Metaphysics_Identity.html

I think I’ve written about this before and I bring this up again because I normally find it comforting – things are things.  But, I recently encountered a situation where this utterly fell apart.

The former owners of my house had installed an air cleaner on the furnace/AC – this is essentially a filter, but more efficient.

I had only ever found these replacement filters at Home Depot and only rarely in the correct size:      20 x 24 x 4

It comes in a box and has a series of pleats that are installed on a wire grid.  Expensive, frustrating to find, and difficult to install – but it lasts a year. And it had to be that size – the 20 x 24 x 6 simply would not fit.  As I learned when I accidentally bought that size and had to return it. From then on, I had a picture on my phone of the box.

I had bought a couple at once and then I suddenly couldn’t ever find them anymore.  I would check every time I went into Home Depot, but they only had the 20 x 24 x 6 – never the 20 x 24 x 4.

Enough time had passed that I had to replace it – no more delays.  I checked online at the Home Depot site and when I put in the part number – right off the 20 x 24 x 4  box – it came up with 20 x 24 x 6 in the description.

Though when I zoomed in on the box picture on the site – it clearly said it was 20 x 24 x 4.

Something was wrong.

I made another trip to the store and a sea of 20 x 24 x 6 filters faced me.  I went to customer service and asked they send someone to that section to help – hoping they had some hidden stash in a backroom.

When the guy showed up I explained my problem to him and he nodded sagely.  The 20 x 24 x 6 was, now, the right size. They had changed the label on the box and this was now the one I needed.

Wait, what?

He went on to say that he had that kind of air cleaner and that lots of people had that same question.

I picked up one of the 20 x 24 x 6 with as about as much skepticism as I’ve ever had in a home improvement store.   I thanked him, went to the checkout, and took my purchase home.

I didn’t put it in right away – knowing that whatever the outcome, I was going to be pissed off.

If it didn’t fit, then the guy was full of crap and gave me terrible advice.  If it did fit, then the filter company was full of crap.

When I finally got around to installing it, the filter fit perfectly.

Now, we’re not talking part numbers – 20 x 24 x 4 are dimensions in inches.  There are matching dimensions on the inside of my air cleaner. It was 20 x 24 x 4  and now it’s 20 x 24 x 6.

It’s like buying an 11 inch ruler and someone telling you – “oh, now that’s 12 inches”

No, No, NO!  That is not how things work!  A second lasts a second. An inch is an inch. The red car is a red car.   THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS!

I was livid – and also oddly relieved that I wasn’t crazy.  Literally, the world was crazy.

And, on whatever bright-side there is when the physical dimensions of reality have completely broken down, at least they have them in stock.

The wrong sized ones.  That are now the right size.  And fit in a space smaller than they used to.

Sigh.    A=A

Except when it’s sometimes B.

Jim and I took an impromptu road trip on Memorial Day weekend and on our way back, we stopped at an Ikea.  We spent part of the morning wandering through the maze of treasures with unpronounceable names and ended up with an armful of things we desperately needed – or so it seemed.

Jim checked his phone and got a panicked look on his face – an urgent request to call his brother.  He found an exit to take a call and I started to try and find the checkout – then backtracked when I realized he wouldn’t be able to find me.  When we did meet up again, he was shattered. His brother had gone to visit their mom that morning and found her on the floor of her home.

Janice was gone.

Jim melted down, as one would expect, somewhere in office supplies of the Ikea.  I held him for a few moments, then we decided that he needed to go to the car. I still had all the things in hand that we’d picked out and I decided – because I’m American and hardwired as a consumer – that I would check out and meet him soon.  He headed for the door and I found the checkout again – but the line was 20 people deep and I came to my senses. I left everything on a table with an unpronounceable name and left the store.

I got to the car and Jim was sobbing uncontrollably.  I tried to console him – knowing full well there was nothing I could really do – and then got behind the wheel.  The next and only thing to do was get home.

We didn’t talk much on the way and didn’t listen to any music as we normally would.  He was still in shock, but tried to notify people before it finally became too much. Janice had been into the hospital in early April for heart problems, but she had seemed to be on the mend and her sudden death was unimaginable.

Back in Akron, I dropped him off at his house and went home to quickly eat.  When I was done, I picked him up and drove him to his mom’s house – his childhood home – to meet with his brothers.

There was nothing to be done there except speculate as to what had happened, try (and fail) to make sense of it all, and be there for each other.  His sister in law brought food and we ate and talked quietly, the brothers taking turns stepping outside to make the dreaded calls.

They made plans to meet up with the funeral home the next day and so we drove back to Akron again.

Monday, Memorial day, the brothers met and made the arrangements.  Jim and I met up later that day and I tried, and failed, to help.

A couple days later I made a craft store run and got some paper for flowers and a vase. It’s my small way to contribute and sometimes bring a little joy to the most terrible of times.

On Friday morning, the immediate family met at the graveside for a small service.  It was… a beautiful day. Terrible, heart wrenching… but beautiful, none the less. There was a time before and after the service where we all just stood quietly and listened to the wind and birds.

The minister did a fine job not having known Janice and I think everyone found some comfort there.  I drove Jim back to Akron and then went on into work for a few hours before the service. The timing was such that I ended up meeting the family at the funeral home and though her physical body wasn’t there, the sadness was just as palpable.

Jim wanted me in the receiving line with him and I stood with him, but a little back.  Made it easier to step forward for introductions and to slide back when my presence would just be confusing to some of his more distant – and perhaps less understanding – relatives.

When not talking to people, I wandered about as I quietly made paper butterflies – one of Janice’s favorites.  She and I were both a bit a reserved with each other and it took us a while to warm up – but we had gotten closer and I regretted that we hadn’t had more time. She had treated me as Jim’s partner and that meant lot to both he and I.

There was some familiar faces at the calling hours and a few surprises, but everyone was well behaved and the evening passed by.

After a meal together it was back to Akron to prepare for the luncheon on Saturday.

We got to the church’s hall early the next day, got set up, and waited.  The crowd turned out to be a good one and I think having the family all together was the best thing.  We cleaned up afterwards and once more back to Akron.

Sunday, there was nothing for Jim to do.  The planning and arrangements and meetups were done.  The phone calls completed, the flowers delivered – the only thing left to do was think.

He’d be nearly okay for a bit, then his gaze would turn inward and it would overwhelm him again.

And I kept wracking my brain to try and find something useful to say, something that could make things better or at least more bearable.  And I kept failing – though I guess just being there helped.

I can’t imagine what he and his brothers are going through, but I’m hopeful that time will resolve what my words and good intentions cannot.

My heart breaks for him.

My foot had been getting worse and the hobbling around was getting pretty old, so I made an appointment with a podiatrist.

I was almost back to normal before my appointment rolled around, but an aggressive swim put me back to “okay, this is bad” and I kept my appointment.

The nurse had me fill out the stupid and pointless paperwork, then collected my co-pay, and from there it was to the exam room where I took off my shoes and socks.

She collected my symptoms, then checked in with the doctor who wanted an x-ray.  I had to stand on a platform and get irradiated, then it was back to the exam room to fold some paper (naturally) and wait for the doctor.

When he arrived he had good news for me – no fracture.  Once he started to manipulate my foot, the diagnosis came pretty quickly:

Capsulitis of the Second Toe

Which means that the ligaments and tendons around my toe are inflamed.  It gets a little better when I don’t bend my foot – and much worse when I do.  Apparently, not that uncommon for this particular toe since it’s the longest one and moves the most.

He taught me how to wrap the toe in a particular way and called in a prescription.  In about a month or so – if it’s not much better – then it’s a cortisone shot and a boot.  I hobbled my way out of the office, hurting worse with the manipulation and the tape, and I was on my way.

I looked it up today and okay, wow, this could get much worse.  If left untreated, the tissues could degrade and permanently dislocate my toe unless I get surgery.

https://www.acfas.org/Content.aspx?id=1482

Also, I might have stolen some tape from the doctor.  As he was getting ready to leave I think he said I could keep the roll of tape and left it on the counter.  I finished putting my shoes on and pocketed the tape – but since he didn’t hand it to me, now I’m wondering if I heard him right.

It’s good tape, incidentally.  And I’m going to use all of it.

So, we’ll see how this goes.

I had a really good swim the other day and my last 50 meters (the long length of the pool) I did in 51.5 seconds.  Which is pretty awesome.

Pumped up from that, I hit the pool today and while I wasn’t going to break any records – I was looking forward to my swim.

There was a woman already swimming in the lane and since she was alone in the lane, she was swimming down the middle.  Once I was sure she saw me and moved over to one side, I hopped in and got started. And as we went along, we naturally split the lane and were completely out of each other’s way.

Enter then, the Dirtbags.  DB1 (the leader), DB2, and DB3.    All were much faster swimmers than we were and at least two of them were getting direction from one of the swim coaches.

So, there’s strike one.  They had the rest of the pool for training, but had to take over the one Open Swim Lane.

There were 5 of us for a bit, but the woman that was there stopped swimming almost as soon as these guys got in.  

So, strike two.  Lane hogging and driving people out is not right.

And then, DB1 went full DB.  On nearly every lap, he would stop and rest at the shallow end and then wait until just after I’d turned around.  Then he’d take off and pass me – flailing around enough to swamp water in my face as he went past and then cutting me off as he got in front of me.  See, he wasn’t quite fast enough to pull that mauvere off since there were two other guys in the pool. So, I’d have to stop so I didn’t get kicked in the head and wait for him to go on ahead.

Over and over again.  

And I got angrier and angrier each time he did it.  I finished my laps and got out of the pool, almost frothing in fury.

I got dressed angrily, went out to my car angrily,  and had to work to keep my anger in check on the drive home – and then cooked dinner angrily.

Once I had some food in my belly and some perspective, I realized it was pointless – as most anger is.

None of these guys were doing anything intentionally malicious – if anything, they were probably mad at me for being so slow.  Though, I was there first.

Instead, it was more likely that they just didn’t give a shit.  I just utterly didn’t matter and they gave no thought to me at all.    Which is no better, but whatever.

Incidentally, DB1 was doing it wrong.  If you need to pass someone, you’re supposed to tap them on the foot and then they’ll stop at the end of the lane and let you pass.  Those are the rules. And I did stop to let them pass – it just didn’t work since they would stop too.

So, they didn’t run me out, but they did put a damper on me.  It feels good to power through the water and feel like laps melt away – but less fun to get passed and swamped and nearly kicked in the head.

Over – and did I mention? Over again.

I’m hoping that when the summer session hits we won’t see them as much.  I don’t mind sharing a lane with someone courteous – but if these guys stick around I’m going to get a membership at the rec center just to avoid the fight.

So, I don’t think they were really trying to be dirtbags, but they were and I’m still cranky about it.

Spring has taken a long time to really get going and it’s been pretty rainy.  I’ve had to drive in some intense rainstorms and I seem to do this during the worst lighting.  Day heading into night, night heading into day, and just plain night.

My vision is not great in the dark and when the visibility plummets with the rain, well, so much the worse.

I realized that I have specific set of behaviors for adapting to these conditions:

• Headlights on when the wipers come on.
• Wipers from Occasional to Regular to Frantic.
• Radio off. I dunno why, but I always turn it off. I guess it’s a “minimize distractions” thing
• If there’s someone else in the car, conversation stops. Same deal, I guess.
• Firm grip on the steering wheel at 10 and 2
• And if I can manage it, I tilt my seat all the way upright.

Everything set to gather as much sensory data as I can.  Like the Terminator, right? From there, it’s “find and constantly re-find the lines”, stay between the lines, and keep track of every other car on the road.  And then try to find a balance of speed between being safe and getting away from the bad weather.

Wears me down, but I always get to my destinations safely.  It’s weird how a little rain can completely change a casual drive with moderate concentration to a second-by-second sensory glut.  Never occurs to me to stop and wait out it.

The way out is the way forward.

——————————

I’ve been swimming more and have noticed a change in my shoulders and chest – and a little in my arms too.  I like how that feels and so I’m trying to hit the pool every day. And do a mile every time.

But lately, the lanes have been set to the long distance  – 50 meters one way. And the Open Swim lanes are singular – we get one, the rest of the pool is taken up by high school swim teams. Sigh.

If there are just two of us in the lane, we usually opt to split the lane.  We each take half and easily stay out of each other’s way. If there are three or more people in the lane, we switch to a “circle swim” – everyone stays to the right, comes straight in at the end of the lane, and launches back out at an angle to switch sides.

I’m not great at this because I’m not that fast, but I usually hold my own and I try to stay out of the faster swimmers’ way.

And when it works, it’s fine.  When it doesn’t…

Last week, there was a day when I got to the pool and the one open lane.  At the shallow end was a guy trying to teach his girlfriend how to swim. (Wrong pool for that, buddy.) At the deep end, a coach at the edge of the pool giving surface diving lessons to a swimmer on his team. (Not enough to take up the rest of the pool, is it?)  I got in and started out – and did a pretty fair job of keeping track of everyone. I tried to circle swim so as not to surprise anyone and that worked up until two more people got in the pool – and decided to swim side by side in the same direction.  

What the hell, people?  We had six people in one lane and I was the only one doing it right.  I thought about giving up in disgust, but decided I was going to make this work – though still disgusted.  I dodged and wove as the swim lesson switched sides or drifted to the middle. Sped up to get out of the way of the diver. And zoomed between the side-by-side swimmers – sometimes diving to the bottom of the pool to avoid getting kicked in the head.

I got my laps in and found it’s possible to mutter under my breath while underwater.  Not sure if that’s a special talent I’ve nurtured or if anyone can do it, but I’ve mastered it.

Today, we had 5 people in the lane and I was the slow one.  Everyone kept passing me and I would check at the end of each lap to see if I needed to wait so that I wasn’t slowing anyone down.  I tried to be courteous, but it kinda got me down that I was so slow. Thought about cutting it short, but then I realized that the other, faster swimmers were having to rest more than I did.  One guy would zoom past me, then have to rest at each end of the lane.

Okay, I see how it is.  You may be faster, but I can out-distance you any day of the week.  

And today, bitches, is Wednesday.

I poured it on at the end, not stopping or giving way for anyone that had paused.  If they wanted to pass me, they were going to have to work for it. And the last few laps, no one did/could.

Grab your surfboard, kids, and enjoy the wake I leave behind me.  Even if I am old enough to be your dad…

…this old man can move.

It’s my own fault, really.

Our e-commerce system got attacked recently and the company that runs this decided to implement a CAPTCHA on all the sites.  This is one of those where you see some characters and lines and have to type the characters in to get past it.

It’s annoying, but it can help if done well.   This one wasn’t. I didn’t see this in action until I was getting ready to launch a new and complicated e-commerce site.  I had put a lot of work into this and when I clicked the link, it went first to the CAPTCHA.

Imagine if you went to Amazon.com and had to decipher and type in some characters before you could even see a logo.  Not good.

I sent a note to our cashier’s office since they manage our local instance.  The subject was: CAPTCHA implementation = terrible

I gave an example, railed against having this as the starting page, expressed outrage at the lack of accessibility, and grumbled at how our users will think this is a mistake and lack confidence in the links.  

I wrapped up this gem of an email by asking if I could have the contact information for our rep so that I could scold them.

I have a good rapport with the folks in the cashier’s office and we appreciate the work that goes into these systems and interacting with the users.  I figured I’d get a quick note back and I could take it from there.

INSTEAD…

The cashier’s office forwarded the note to the rep directly with all my text intact – who then forwarded it to some regional rep. With my request to “scold” right there above my signature.

Uh-oh.

In a few minutes, my phone was ringing with an unknown number.  I was already on a call and I dreaded the voice-mail that was left.  And it was the regional guy looking to set up a conference call with us.

He followed up with an email, admitting this was a rushed implementation, and would like to talk to us about the situation.   The guy from the cashier’s office replied with, “Anthony is the primary on this one and can take the call, he’ll update me if needed,”

So, instead of UA vs. the e-commerce company – it’s the e-commerce company vs. well…me.

I didn’t really expect it to be quite this dark under the bus where I’ve been tossed.

And yet…

Though my language could have been more professional  – and would have been if my flippant note hadn’t been forwarded – I’m not wrong.  The CAPTCHA should have been on the payment page to do the most good and the version they are using is old tech and not accessible. I’ve got users that literally get confused if there’s more than one item to choose from – a CAPTCHA on the homepage is going to blow their minds.   

So, on Monday, someone is going to get scolded.  Might be me, might be them. My plan is to be reasonable, but firm, and express my concerns in a professional and user-advocating manner.  

And the cashier’s office?  

They are off my Christmas cookie list.

O-F-F.

A few weeks ago, I laced up a not-quite-new pair of shoes and set about my day.  By the time I could take them off, I could barely walk. I had a huge pain across the top of my right foot and the foot itself was swollen.

I blamed the shoes, swore not to wear them again, and I recovered in a couple of days of wearing other shoes.

On Monday, I had a good swim and felt all over pretty good when I went to bed.  I woke up in the middle of the night with my toes hurting a bit, but managed to ignore it and get back to sleep.

Tuesday morning, though, I was hurting.  I wore a pair of crocs and hobbled around through the day.  When it was time to go home I skipped my swim and went and bought a cane.  I didn’t think it was going to really get to a point where I wouldn’t be able to move without one, but I wanted to be ready. Fun note, the clerk at the drugstore offered to put the cane in a bag. Really.

Jim came over that evening and with a little help from the internet and some careful prodding, we deduced that one toe in particular might be broken.  He had a similar thing happen to him a while ago – a stress fracture that felt better for a while and then would hurt again. Seemingly randomly.

I think mine might have flared up from an overly forceful kick off from the wall in the pool – or sleepwalking around my house and running something.

Jim ended up going to a podiatrist who couldn’t really do anything for him except put him in a boot while it healed.  I instead elevated my foot, put some ice on it, and tried to rest it.

And I was feeling down.  Slowing down, while certainly good for me, is not a thing I do lightly.  I’m not meant to mosey.

But, mosey I did through the rest of the evening – even going so far as to use my dishwasher since Jim didn’t want me standing for that long.

Note: Yeah, I have a dishwasher.  I don’t use it – though I’ve run it empty a few times since I moved in so the seals don’t dry out.   Hand washing the dishes doesn’t seem like much of a chore to me. Anyway, the dishwasher did work and did a pretty good job.

When I went to bed last night, I elevated my foot and hoped for the best.   And when I woke up, it hardly hurt at all! Until, that is, I put weight on it.  Just about dropped to the floor.

I recovered, adjusted my gait, and took my cane with me to work just in case.   I got better through the day and while it still hurt a bit, it wasn’t nearly as bad.  

And after work, I taped a couple of toes together and hit the pool for a short swim.

It still hurts a bit and I’m not 100%, but I think I’m on the mend.  At least until I exacerbate it again.

I should, of course, go to the doctor – and I will if it doesn’t continue to get better.  Though I kinda wish medical science had advanced beyond the “Here, wear this boot for 100 days,”

So there’s my really boring injury report.  Much like a Monday, it’s been more annoying than painful.

I had a not-great day.  It wasn’t hugely bad – I didn’t get fired, arrested, or struck by a meteor (though that would have made a great story if I’d survived it) – but it wasn’t great either.  Just the usual stuff that wore me down.

I hit the pool after work and of course it was crowded.  One of the recreational swimmers offered to share his lane and I did – but he insisted on doing the backstroke and was “swimming wide”.  I scraped my knuckles on the lane divider more than once, but eventually he was done and got out. Leaving the lane to just me.

I kicked it up a notch now that I could stretch out and made some progress towards my goal for the day  – 42 laps.

At around lap 34, I saw that the woman in the lane next to me – who I could tell was a phenomenal swimmer – come to a halt mid-lane and clutched her leg.

I stopped too and swam back a bit so that I was even with her.

“You okay?” I asked, and she said she was, but was still struggling with a painful leg cramp.  Since the lifeguards were – for some reason – all the way down at the other end of the pool watching over the swim team… I decided I’d watch over her.  

I tread water and waited to see if she would recover or get need a rescue.  When she fought her way past the leg cramp and resumed her swim, I did as well.

As much as I like being focused on my swim and getting away from literally everyone else, it was important that I stop and – just for a moment – pay attention.