Thunder of Wade

Last weekend was Mother’s day and on the following Monday I headed out to visit the Ladies of New York. The younger and her son (my former room-mater) are “intermittently estranged” and I didn’t want Mother’s day to pass her by without a card. I stopped over after work had cards for both of them. We talked for a bit, I bragged on my nieces, and they both commented on how gray I was getting.

Sigh. At least they didn’t call me fat like last time. They really have no filters.

On the bright side, they both appreciated the visit and the cards.  So, good deed done.

—————-

I’m proceeding with the decrapification of my house and got some old electronics cleared out. Most went to the Akron Computer Recycling Center – which involved multiple phone calls, two trips to Barberton, and a shop that looked like a Radio Shack had exploded. But, they wouldn’t take the TV.

I had heard that Best Buy had a recycling program – but with a catch. They would only take TV’s off your hands if you paid a recycling fee of $25.

Sigh. So, I took it in and then went to the service desk and paid the fee. Something about EPA regulations, I guess. It was annoying, but worth it to make a little more progress.

Today, I’ve been cleaning out closets and getting a few more bags ready to recycle.

——————-

And I’ve needed the mental clearing as well. The past week of work was kinda rough. Felt like a losing battle – everything was more difficult than it needed to be and more complicated than it should have been. By Wednesday, I had reached a ‘weapons-grade irritability”

And then things… got a little better. Thursday morning, a few things went right and got less complicated. Friday was a quiet day and I got a lot done. I had to stay and close up the switchboard, but even that – while kind of annoying – wasn’t that bad.

The weekend has been quiet as well – lots of reading, movies, and video games. This afternoon, got a birthday party to go to that should be fun.

Still, I need to take some time off. Maybe find a few days here and there and just chill out. And later in the summer, I need to find a beach.

My parents are now living in a small community just outside of town and as such, they are allowed to have chickens.  Much to the delight of my nieces.

I got into work this morning to an email that one of the operators had called off. Hmm… okay, well, we can get through this. I checked my voice-mail and found that another had also called off.

So, we had one on the schedule for 2 hours in the morning and 1.5 hours in the afternoon. My co-worker who is usually my back-up was also off today.

I also had a meeting at 11, an off campus appointment for lunch, and a sore throat.

At 10:30 I had a hot pocket and a pop-tart and settled in to save the. FREAKING. DAY.

My 11:00 appointment was for a training session on our survey software. My colleague was patient with me and instead of being annoyed by the frequent/constant pauses to answer the switchboard, she was intrigued at the whole process.

Thank you, Susan, for being understanding.

We got through that and she headed out – and shortly there-after the headset I was using started to do the “the battery is dying” beep. Right around the time the program crashed. I switched stations and kept on going.

Call after call after call. It was a pretty steady stream all day. Lunchtime came and went.  Around 2:30 I finally decided to just let the damn phone ring and go to the bathroom. It was either that or I was going to literally wet my pants. I dropped the headset on the desk, ran down the hall to visit the urinal, then ran back to the switchboard – with a brief detour to get some hand-sanitizer.

Hey, I’m not a barbarian.

The operator on the schedule came in at 3:15 to take over and I went home to get “lunch”.

Trying to answer all those calls – and still keep up with my emails and regular work – really took it out of me. The cold didn’t help, but the sore throat did make my voice sound pretty amazing. It was heading towards Barry White at one point.

And it wouldn’t be a day on the switchboard without some weird calls. The worst was a woman who was calling in for her daughter. Her side of the conversation amounted to:

1. Her daughter sent an email to someone at UA.
2. Someone at a computer near the recipient took a photo of the screen with their phone.
3. That person then texted the daughter the picture and said that it was good that the email didn’t come to them because they would have done… something with it.
4. The daughter then reported this to HR for some reason.
5. A guy named Mike may have been involved. In some department. Maybe.

The woman wanted to know why no one at UA had gotten back to her daughter and what I was going to do about it.

The expression on my face – and the words that I mouthed – are primary reasons why I do not belong on Skype or Facetime.

What. The. %#@$

I mean, really? What in the multi-verse was this woman thinking? Based on that information – and she couldn’t come up with any more details than that – how was I going to provide any guidance for her at all?

For just the smallest moments, I was speechless. I literally could not come up with anything at all to say. And that’s rare.

And, yes, I’ve used the word “literally” twice in this post and I absolutely mean both of them.

I recovered, made some educated guesses and said some polite things, and then transferred her along with a hope and prayer.

Susan was impressed.

I took another moment to get that bit of crazy out of my system, then answered the next call with a soothing voice and a helpful attitude.

I was faking the attitude, but the caller didn’t hear it.

I actually took a sort of a nap when I got home, then got some dinner with Jim, and then home for another nap. And in a few minutes from now, shower and bed.

Yep – living the dream.

Or a simulation.

Wait…  That would actually explain a lot.

Jim and I went to IHOP tonight for dinner. It was a slow night and we were the only ones in our server’s section. He and I talked about our respective days and the server was chatty when she came around as well.

We finished our meals and the server came back over. She talked about how she’d dropped something in the lettuce bin and spilled a bunch of ice and made a mess.

Then she said, “Mind if I ask how old you guys are?”

Not really sure where this was going, I replied,

“43”

“Oh,” she said, “Well, I’m not even going to ask you,” she said to Jim and was off again to get us the check.

It took me a minute to process what had happened. She wasn’t just making conversation. She was trying to find out – in the bluntest way possible – if either of us qualified for the senior discount. Since the “obviously older” of the two of us was 43, she figured that was it and did not give us any percentage off.

Jim, who is a bit older than I am, could barely contain his mirth. I glowered.

When the she came back over I told her, “For the record, he’s older than me”.  Because I was feeling petty – you got a problem with that?

She asked how old he was and Jim didn’t want to say. She then joked about not feeling old herself, but her 34 year old daughter made her feel old.

We paid the check and went to the car where, at my urging, Jim looked up when a senior discount kicks in at IHOP. The answer?

55.

She thought I looked at least 55.

Are you shitting me? I do not look 55. A little gray hair and suddenly I’m pushing around a walker.

55, my ass. Which, speaking of, could pass for a 20 year old’s.

I was in a bit of snit the rest of the evening and we called it an early night. I mean, yes, she meant well and was trying to save us a little money, but 55?

You can’t see it from there, but I’m scowling.

Senior discount… grumble, grumble.

I got my first gray hair at 18, started losing my hair in my early thirties, and got a “welcome to AARP” card in my mid 30’s.  Yeah, thank you.

And if anyone makes a “golden buckeye” joke, prepare to be kicked in the nuts. Yeah, it’s like that.  And yeah, it’s gotta be like that.

Now I’m going to go play some Minecraft and listen to some dubstep while I do it.

55.

I read an article online last night about more cuts at the university. In this case, it took the form of faculty members that did not get their contacts renewed. Not because they weren’t excellent teachers. Just… because. It sounds like they are being offered adjunct positions – with fewer benefits and a cut in salary so extreme as to be insulting.

Also heard that the dining services has taken another hit – but since those folks were ones that had been transitioned to an outside company, it doesn’t ‘quite’ count.

Cutting faculty – or however this is being spun – is pretty dangerous for a university. If you are fighting a drop in enrollment, getting rid of faculty looks – and is – bad for the students.

I’m sad and disappointed. And, once again, I’m afraid for my job.

——————————

I was in a hurry today and went to Wendy’s for lunch.

And I got carded.

I had paid with my debit card and the cashier needed to see my ID. Apparently, this location has had a lot of problems with fraudulent cards and this was the remedy.

I handed her my ID and she scrutienized it, then handed it back. My food came out shortly there-after and I checked it to see if the sandwich was right – it was – and I was on my way.

Feeling a bit like a criminal.

This is like paying with a $20 and having the clerk check it with special anti-counterfeit marker.

Or having to remove your shoes at the airport. Or sit through that Anti-priacy FBI message on every FREAKING DVD EVER.

The most law abiding of us are being treated like criminals left and right. Not by other people – exactly – but by systems that are then run by people. There may have been some good idea behind these things at one time, but now they are so ingrained that the idea of getting rid of them causes some kind of collective panic.

Instead of making things safer, we just end up with more clever criminals. And everyone else is just a little bit guilty all the time by association.

——————-

My de-clutter and de-crapification is continuing. I’ve been doing some yard work when it’s light out and then working on boxes and crates of “stuff” in the evening.

Progress is slow, but adding just a bit of order to the day has been good for me. My place is kind of a mess while I go through things, but I’m creating an underlying order that is strangely reassuring.

It’s also a lot of personal honesty. Will I wear that again? No. Can I use that bit of junk for something else? No. Do I really need 2 back-up keyboards. Seriously, no.

One back-up is enough.

It’s an exercise in concentrating on what matters. And I think that’s important. So easy to get distracted by so much all the time… a little mindfulness and attention can made a difference.

Or at least it does for me. I’m not really de-stressed or suddenly giddy at work, but I’m maybe finding a little perspective.

The other day, Jim needed a particular tool for his ceramics class project. It’s a wooden tool with metal loops at each end for craving clay. I have one and went to look for it.

And couldn’t find it.

I’ve got a room with my crafting supplies in it and I tore that room apart looking for this one tool. Then I looked through the rest of my house.

Nothing.

I know I have this and it bothered me that I couldn’t find it. I mean, a lot. There’s a line in Fight Club that talks about “the things we own, end up owning us”.

And apparently, I’m owned by a lot of crap. It’s cool crap, for the most part. Parts of projects to be or supplies that I used some of and still have left. And a lot of “wouldn’t that be nice to use for…”

So, I’ve started to de-crapify my house. Clear out the things that I don’t need or don’t hold strong memories. It will be a slow process, but something I want to do. Having a thing just to have a thing – with no practical or useful purpose or strong meaning/memory – has really started to bother me.

I’ll be digitizing some things. Recycling and donating where I can. And trashing – over a period of time – the rest. Keeping what I really need and really want to have.

All this is also a reaction to work – which has been intensely stressful and chaotic of late. Getting a little bit of order back, even just clearing out a junk drawer, is doing good things for my head.

And my head was not doing well today. I had a moment, towards the end of the day, where I just got overwhelmed. It just felt so… futile.

The fix for this is to keep organizing to balance out the chaos. Get some more outdoor exercise and work on my yard.

And maybe, just maybe, take a day off.

I had a rough day at work on Monday. It was raining and I was cranky and I just wanted to get rid of some of my stress. And for me, the pool is the best way to do it. So, gear bag across my back, I headed over to the pool after work. I got changed, went out to the pool deck, and scowled.

The pool was busy. Every lane had multiple people in it. I asked the lifeguard what was open for swimming and they said lanes 1-3 – though I should use 2 or 3 since there was a swim lesson going on in lane one.

Lanes 2 and 3 both had at least 4 people in them each – overflow from the swim team practice. I can’t keep up with them and would only be in the way. Fortunately, the woman doing the swim lesson offered up half the lane – Prefect.

I hit the water, swam to the far end, and would have skidded to a halt if I’d been on dry lane. The swim team had moved over to my lane and were now – three abreast – swimming back towards me on kick boards. I did the sensible thing by swearing and then getting out of the pool.

I stalked back down towards the other end and the locker room – and noted that lanes 2 and 3 were now open. I didn’t know why, but Perfect!

I hit the water again, powered down to the end and back. And when I got back to the shallow end I was met by a lifeguard.

Who, apologetically, told me that these lanes were closed as well since a second swim team was coming in. But I could use lane one, if I wanted.

And that lane – where the swim class was still going on – now had 5 people trying to share half the lane.

I shook my head, hauled my ass and the rest of me out of the pool, and headed for the locker room. I got changed, went home, and went running in the rain to settle myself down.

On Tuesday, I tried again and this time – while there was still only one lane open – it was early enough that no one else doing lap swimming. I hit the water and swam like crazy – really enjoying the exertion. When the lifeguard asked if a woman could share the lane, I agreed wholeheartedly. We split the lane and I got in a good workout. And though she was initially wary of the deep end, she did make it down there and back – and I congratulated her.

Same pool, same water, same odd thing on the bottom of the pool that I hoped was a band-aid. But clearly, a different me.

Monday, I got pushed aside. Shunted around because I wasn’t important enough to warrant consideration. I wasn’t on the team so my use of the pool was secondary. I could go into the crowded lane with the rest of the casual swimmers because I clearly wasn’t serious enough about it. Or so it seemed.

Tuesday, I had a chance to share. I got to encourage a fellow swimmer and got in my laps as an equal in the pool. And I got out of the pool feeling good about what I had accomplished and better about my day.

What’s the take-away here? I guess that I don’t like being made to feel less than someone else. It makes me angry and resentful. And I flourish when I have the chance to share and encourage. Which, I dunno, sounds pretty much okay by me. Nobody likes being made to feel unimportant and we should all try to share more often. Hell, those are pre-school lessons.

I’m going to continue to work on my attitude and keep swimming. And maybe get fast enough again to keep up with the college kids.

Last Sunday and again today, Jim asked for my help with his photography project. The project is sort of a skewed version of Americana – or at least a view of it between Akron and Navarre.

We had been out to dinner with his Mom and I spotted a Thump sign in someone’s yard on the way back to her house. It was still early enough when we left that we were able to find the yard again and Jim had his camera with him. I parked off to the side and kept the engine running while he got out, set up the tripod, and lined up the shot.

A passing car turned around and then parked down another side street. I kept an eye on them while they – apparently – kept an eye on Jim. He finished up, pretending to take some pictures of geese to throw them off – then hopped in the car and we headed out.

Today, we were out again and when he took a picture of the mailboxes near a trailer park a guy came out and talked to him. I sat in the car and kept watch. Jim explained what he was doing and the guy was okay, but it was a little tense. Next, over to one of those small churches with a hand-lettered sign. While Jim was setting up, a woman came out to talk to him.

The talked for quite a while and Jim told me later she was the pastor and invited us both to church. He got the photos, promised to send her a copy, and we were on our way.

I’m not sure what I would have done if there had been any trouble, but I guess I was ready to hop out of the car and charge into the fray.  Hmmm… maybe I should bring my sword next time.  Nothing says, “I’m prepared to try to out-crazy you” like a guy with a sword.

——————–

This afternoon, I spent several hours working on a metal model of a Ferris wheel. It was a Christmas present from one of my friends and it was tiny. Super tin.  The gondolas were made up of three pieces – and sides were small enough to fit on my pinkie fingernail. I carefully removed the pieces from the framework, sorted and bent the metal according to the instructions, and reached the final step of putting the gondolas on the Ferris wheel when disaster struck.

One of the gondolas broke. I figured I could find another way to attach it, but as I added the other gondolas to the wheel the ones that were already in place fell out of the shape.

Tedium, I can handle. Tiny pieces, I can handle. Not great instructions, I can handle.

Poor design – nope.

I’d get one added and two more would fall out. The only way to fit the gondolas in place was to slightly pull the wheels apart – which would lead to the rest slipping loose.

In the end, with broken parts and frustrating design, I trashed it. It was an interesting project, but it stopped being remotely fun.  And if I’d finished it, I’m not sure what I would have done with it.

I’ve got a wooden puzzle of a skeleton that I’d like to try next – the metal one just wasn’t working for me.

————————–

So, frustrated with that model, I headed to my computer to play a little minecraft. I opened a portal to the Nether, traveled across the lava fields, and then opened another portal to the overworld. I ended up in a cave and started to tunnel my way up.

And then my tunnel flooded. I saw a light above me and tried to swim up to it, but I was apparently at the bottom of the ocean and drown before making it to the surface.

Frustrated, I turned the game off to go read a book.

It got me thinking, though, at how much I empathized with the character in the game.

I recently read an article about an experiment to see if the universe – our universe – is a simulation.

The idea comes from the uncertainty at the quantum level of reality. Things are… fuzzy down there and some scientists liken that to resolution/rending errors. Plus, things aren’t set until they are observed and that seems kinda funny too.

So, there’s an experiment to split a high power laser, slam the light through a bunch of prisms, and then put it back together. If the end result isn’t precise anymore, that means – according to the scientists – that space itself is distorted.

That the “pixels” of reality aren’t rending properly at that level and causing the distortion.

Huh.

So far, the results are inconclusive. I’m not sure what we’d do with that knowledge if it turned out that reality is a simulation.

My character in Minecaft isn’t aware that he isn’t real. He’s not aware of anything – as far as I can tell – but even if he was, how would he know he’s not real? The rules of his universe are consistent and would – for him – make sense. He wouldn’t have a way to know otherwise. And the actions that I control could very well be chalked up to his own thinking. How could know that his consciousness is made up of my keyboard and mouse?

So, I sit here at my computer.  Wondering.

I’ve had a thought sitting quietly in the back of my head for a while. Every so often, he looks up from the book he’s reading and asks if I’ve gone to see John Brown yet. I always had an excuse – bad weather, not enough time, already had plans, etc.     He nods and goes back to his book – not insisting, but not leaving either.

This morning, he looked up at me from his book and over his glasses. “Any excuses today?” he asked and I didn’t have any.

So, I got in my car and headed out. It had been a very long time since I’d been to the cemetery where John is buried and of the two routes I thought would take me there, I picked the wrong one first. I found a cemetery – but not the right cemetery.

Back on track and more driving. I found it, pulled in, parked my car, and tried to pull back that memory of where his grave was. It had been a very long time and it wasn’t where I thought.

I spent an hour methodically going through the Stow Cemetary and found:

7 people with the last name of Brown buried there.
4 fresh graves – which seemed sadder for some reason.
1 headstone that had been knocked over – but too heavy for me to right.

I was cold. The wind had picked up and the sky was overcast when I finally found his grave in section G.

I sat down and with a burst of tears that surprised me, I remembered.

—

I was in a fraternity when I was in college and John was one of the senior members. He was… well… kind of amazing. Tall, smart, good-hearted, and with a presence. And for all my efforts to be someone – anyone – I seemed to default to the background.

John had fought and beaten cancer when he was younger. People listened when he spoke and he had an easy smile.

I was intimidated by him. He seemed too good to be true, but he was somehow my friend and accepting of the astonishingly awkward person I was.

I was still involved with the fraternity after I graduated college and we were both alumni in the winter of 1996. On equal footing, perhaps, but I was still in awe of him.

I was visiting my family around the holidays when I got a call from one of my friends.  John had been killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. He, his girlfriend, and his nephew Max were killed instantly. He was buried next to his nephew – they had been close despite the age difference.

I got back in time for the funeral and tried to write something meaningful to say to the rest of our friends. I made a hack of it, but I tried.

John was the first person close to my age that I had known to pass away. I had lost grandparents and knew of other older people to have passed – but this was the first that wasn’t a long illness or after a full life.

He was my friend and he was suddenly gone.

—

I sat there for a moment – knowing that we wasn’t really there and that this was just a place – and spoke to him.

I apologized for not visiting in so long. I told him I’d been thinking about him and what he had meant to me all those years ago. And I thought, but couldn’t say, that I hoped he would have been happy with the person I turned out to be. A little more brave, a little more sure of myself, kind, and good-hearted.

I got back in my car and my Alana Davis CD started playing. By co-incidence, the next song was her cover of “The Reaper“.

I smiled.

I don’t really know what to believe about what happens to us when we die, but I can’t believe that the spark that makes us who we are can ever really go out. So, I hope that where-ever he is, that John is happy.

And that little voice in my head finally put down his book, nodded, and wandered off to where-ever our thoughts go when we don’t need them.

John Paul Brown 1968-1996