Old Friends

Posted Sat Jul 31, 2010 in

Westphal'sSome people never change and some friends are always there — time and distance do not matter. Such is it with my graduate advisor and his wife.

I started graduate school in 1980, dual-enrolled during the last semester of my undergraduate work. One of my classes was open channel hydraulics, taught by Dr. Westphal. As it turned out, Dr. Westphal would be the advisor for both my Master and Ph.D. programs. He also became a close, trusted friend, and a mentor for the rest of my life. Today, 30-years later, I still turn to Dr. Westphal if I am looking for a view on my career and professional life.

He emailed me yesterday to ask Wife and I to breakfast. They were in Reno visiting and passed through town this morning. Of course we met them for a late breakfast and time spent together.

He’s lighter than he was, but as acute as ever. It was fun sitting with my old friend and talking about things transpired since the last time we were together, which must have been 15-years ago. Time has a way of moving quickly and never seems to slow down.

We spent nearly two hours just talking and catching up on things and people we know. Too soon they had to move on south to their next destination. But, the time was good and I am glad to have it.

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Time to Leave

Posted Tue May 4, 2010 in

Maple LeafThere comes a time to leave — to move on someplace else. Life is motion, either in physical or temporal space. It is the way. Stagnation is a little death and the final place is ultimate stillness. So, it is time for us to move on. The image is one I made at the Arby’s store on Colorado Avenue. I think it represents the duality of life and death; of motion and stillness, as seen through the leaf of a tree.

In this case, we’re heading for home, or at least where home is for now. I loved spending the last couple of days with Older Son and DiL. It’s been months since I saw Older Son and I don’t know how long since we spent time with DiL. I would like another day or so, but their lives move too. We had our weekend, now we move.

I have some work waiting for me. A part of that will be a post mortem of the research work accomplished in Texas. Another part is the final bit on a hydrodynamic modeling project which is due next week. The final push-part is to prepare for my seminar next week. I need a day or so to do that. I’ll work some this weekend.

The next couple of days we will drive. I don’t mind time spent in the car. I love the motion — the passing through and visual stimulation of seeing things not in my normal view. There is a feeling of transition in car-travel I don’t get when traveling by air1. The transition does something for my thinking. I read somewhere that we achieve a theta-wave state when doing activities like driving. I don’t know whether that is true or not, but I like it. I have things to think about in the long stretches of the western United States and the region is a good place to spend thinking. I supposed a motorcycle ride is in my future (near-term) in which I’ll spend some time riding in the west and some time thinking in the west.

They only thing about driving is I can’t write. Much of my thinking involves writing. Writing is my form of processing, although I spend time talking about things to Wife as well. She is the best foil I could ask for. She knows how to listen.

We’ll be on the road by the time this posts. We have a long climb west from Denver into the Rockies. I think we dodged the spring storm that snarled traffic over the weekend. I’m thankful to God for that. My expectation is that we will land either in Delta, Utah, or Ely, Nevada tonight. It’s a pretty straight shot along IH-70 to U.S. 50 to Carson City. I think the distance is about 1,100 miles, which is two days on the road.

So, now it comes down to it. It’s time to wrap this up, get packed up, and hit the road.

1 I love the same feeling of traveling by motorcycle — it’s traveling by car with the benefit of being part of the environment.

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Christmas Eve Church 2009

Posted Thu Dec 24, 2009 in

Christmas Eve ChurchI left the office early today — about noon — and drove home. I worked off and on during the afternoon. We headed over to Hilltop Church about 1600 for the early Christmas Eve service. The sun had already fallen behind the Carson Range, although it was still showing pink on the Pine Nut Mountains to the east.

I dropped Wife at the door, then Young Son and I parked the Bimmer and walked to meet her. We went inside to an already crowded facility. We picked a seat near the back, being good back-row-Baptists. <grin> I looked around while we waited for things to get started and thought about all of my church experiences, good and bad. It was interesting to watch folks greet each other. I was reminded of many of those experiences of my own from years past.

The service started and it was a good thing to spend an hour with other Christians remembering the celebration of Christ’s birth. It was fun to sing the old carols and I probably sang too loud. It’s an old habit of mine from all those years as a worship team leader. I still project.

The service was a mix of music, a few short video presentations (very tasteful), and some readings. The alter call was relaxed and understated, as is appropriate. I’ve been in so many churches where the alter-call seemed to go on longer than the teaching and it was always a turn-off.

As the group broke up, I ran into a professional acquaintance. She leaned over and said “Don’t tell me we go to church together and I didn’t know it!”

“Nope,” I answered, grinning.

“Good,” she said, “that would be embarassing!”

She introduced us to her family and chatted a couple of minutes. We made our way outside to the cold Christmas Eve air. Wife waited for Young Son and I to retrieve the Bimmer, then we drove to Chili’s for a bite of supper together. We chatted and laughed over supper, then drove home.

It was a good evening and a good Christmas Eve. I think I’m just about done, so I’m going to listen to a little music then call it a day.

Merry Christmas, all.

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Wife's Birthday 2009

Posted Sun Nov 8, 2009 in

Today is Wife’s birthday. No, I won’t tell how many decades years she owns. :) I hope she has a happy day. She deserves one.

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Anniversary Thirty Six

Posted Mon Jun 1, 2009 in

Carson City SunsetToday is Anniversary 36. Wife and I were married on 1 June 1973 at about 1900, a day after I turned 20-years old. I still tease her about “robbing the cradle.”

I guess that after 3-1/2 decades, it’s going to stick. (Actually, it’s closer to four decades, given that I was serious about her when I was fifteen.)

Happy Anniversary, Wife… and here’s to a few more. I think I have another twenty-years or so left in me.

It’s been a helluva ride over nearly four decades. I suspect the ride isn’t over yet! There are still obstacles to overcome and more places to see.

I laugh a lot about how we’ll be as old people. I suspect we’ll be one of those couple who can’t communicate. For example…

She, “I think we have ants in the kitchen…”

Me, “No, my pants aren’t in the kitchen… I put them in the laundry…”

The image is one I collected the other night on the way home from Reno. We stopped at Little Caesar’s in Carson to pick up a pizza for Young Son. While Wife went into the store, I grabbed this image. The iPhone’s camera is an amazing little device. I use it to grab shots all the time, because I nearly always have it with me.

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Farewell, Sis…

Posted Fri Jan 2, 2009 in

It’s hard to know if it’s my tendency to the dark side of things or if it was premonition. I remarked yesterday that I felt pretty good about the New Year. There are prospects that 2009 will be better than 2008. However, I’m always a little nervous when I feel better, an emotional looking-over-my-shoulder and waiting for the other shoe to drop.

That shoe came about 1900 PST. My brother-in-law called Wife and I could tell from the conversation that it wasn’t good. I had just started a bit of WoW, so I found a place to shut down and did. It’s easy to tell from a call when it isn’t good.

Denise Lee Thompson Kondrla Jones was born 26 December 1959. Her parents were Jerry Lee Thompson and JoAnn McWhorter Thompson, then living in Encino, California. She died 23 September 2008, if the report I received is correct.

We didn’t learn of her death until three months passed. Her wish, as passed on to us, was that we not be burdened with that news until after the holidays. It was her choice.

My sister’s life was one of choices. The earliest part of her life was not easy. Dad’s mom took her for awhile because my mother was not capable of caring for a baby. Denise followed Debbie by damned-near the minimum amount of time possible between two children. Debbie’s birth was premature and mom still suffered from the stress of that on top of her own issues. So, mom wasn’t doing well and a baby needs a lot of care.

From the time I remember my sister she was all about choices. She was the kind of kid who, when she decided that she was going to do something, consequences were not an issue — she would deal with them.

Dad had a way of correcting us for minor things that I think was learned either from his mom or his dad — he would flick us with his middle finger (we called it “thumping”) as a means to get our attention. He was not one to dispense swats. None of us liked the “thumping,” but Denise especially disliked it.

She loved all animals and read about them constantly. But, she especially like horses. Had our family been better off, I suspect she would have had a horse of her own and spent all of her time with it. But, we weren’t well-off, so she made do with plastic models of horses that were common at the time. I particularly remember one of her favorites, a roan appaloosa quarter horse that she carried with her damned-near everywhere she went.

She made a funny sound in the back of her throat — “Un, un, un…” with her hand formed in a shape with the thumb and fingers down except the index finger, which she extended horizontally. She bounced her thumb-and-fingers along the floor or table or chair, making the sound.

“What’s that Denise?” I recall asking.

“That’s my chick’n,” she replied in her low voice. “Un-un-un…” bounce, bounce, bounce…

I recall her reading her books. She had an affectation for “flipping” the corner of the page with the fingers, which resulted in all of her books being dog-eared on the corners. She would look at the pictures and flip the pages, singing to herself the entire time. The plastic horse resided next to her constantly.

Once she came to the house with about a dozen garden snails crawling up her arms. Mom freaked out. I thought it was hilarious.

She went through a picky-eating stage when we lived in Sylmar, California. For awhile, she would eat nothing but hot dogs and Cheerios. No, not together, but the two foods constituted her diet for a couple of years. Then she went through a period when she said she was a dog and ate dry dog food with the shepherds. I remember Mom and Dad trying to figure out how to get her to stop. She finally gave it up herself and went back to hot dogs and Cheerios.

She was also a fine artist. She had no training other than her own eyes, but I have a wood-burning she did of a deer stepping over a log in the woods. The piece is on the back of the attic door from the farmhouse where we lived in Missouri. The back of the piece (front of the door) still holds the sickly-green paint from the house. She drew constantly on anything handy. Her horses and other creatures adorned many pieces of notebook paper. It was the way she was wired.

I remember seeing some of her fantasy artwork much later. Like many young artists, she copied the works of more established artists. I remember seeing her copy of some Boris Vallejo work that was astonishingly accurate. She branched out on her own, but I don’t know what she ever did with the work.

She took up scrimshaw at some point either before or after she became involved with her first husband. The scrimshaw was good and I saw some of that work — it was top-shelf. The relationship, however, was not good. Eventually she ran away, leaving behind two boys. I suspect abuse was a big part of the reason she left, but she never told me and I only heard parts of the story.

She had friends and one of them brought her to visit us in Missouri in the latter half of the 1980s decade. He was a funny guy and seemed to truly care for her. She seemed happy and I thought they would hook-up, but it never happened. It was one of the few times I saw her after I left home.

She would disappear for years, then suddenly pop back into my life. She called me a few times asking for money, but I never felt good about giving her any. I knew that alcohol and drugs were a problem and I didn’t feel that I could contribute to that. So, I was motivated to say no. It was never an easy decision or one made lightly.

When all the drama associated with my other sister began, Denise was out of it, at least at first. But, eventually, Debbie worked her way to Florida, where Denise and Graham lived, and moved in with them. It was a short-lived time, though, because Debbie’s condition was deteriorating rapidly and Denise and Graham forced her to leave. I think I paid for the bus ticket out so Denise and Graham could be released from that obligation.

It didn’t sit well with Denise, however. We talked about it a few times, particularly after Debbie died. Denise carried a lot of guilt after Debbie’s death. I don’t think the guilt was warranted, but it doesn’t really matter what I think, in the end.

In January or February, Graham died suddenly while at work. I think the blow was too much for my sister. I talked to her a couple of times, I think, but then she disappeared from my life again, as was her pattern of behavior. Wife became concerned in November and began trying to contact Denise. As 2008 closed, we wondered where she was. I sent an e-card as a birthday greeting, knowing that I would get a return-receipt when she read it, if she did.

My brother-in-law called last night with the news. The man who cared for Denise as she died called. It was the other shoe I was looking for. I haven’t seen a death certificate, but the caller said she died of liver failure. I was not surprised — neither by her death nor by her choice. I suspect she drank herself to death.

My sister’s life was one governed by her choices, just like all of us. She chose a hard path. But, as was also typical of my sister, she didn’t complain about it. She lived her life the way she wanted to. She chose what she would do and where she would do it and consequences-be-damned. Although we were never close, she was my sister and I cared about what happened to her. She chose to not share much with me and I respected that. I respected her choice to keep distance between us. I still do.

I am the last of my nuclear family. Out of the “Full House — Jerry, JoAnn, David, Debbie, and Denise,” I am the last. I didn’t expect that. Mom died in 1984. Dad died in 1995. Debbie died in 2007 and Denise in 2008. Vaya con Dios, Sis.

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Ruminating on Jack

Posted Wed Dec 3, 2008 in

Saint NicholasWife drove down to Minden at noon and we walked next door to Barone & Reed. It’s one of our favorite places. The food is better than decent. The waitstaff are great folks and fun. The price is a little on the high side, but not bad. We like it.

As we walked in, I noticed Saint Nick holding a pear. I couldn’t resist. So, I retrieved my iPhone and made the image, then uploaded it to my Flickr account.

Lunch with Wife was pleasant, as always. We chatted about the day and I talked about our morning managers’ meeting. There is almost always a little scuttlebutt to share. Too soon lunch was over and I walked Wife back to the car, then returned to my desk.

I’m pushing a few things forward simultaneously right now. I have several letters to write and they are non-trivial. I’m working on two reports, one hot and one not. I have an approximate method flood study to wrap and get the report to the county. I started really early this morning, so I was about out of words by 1400. Still, I soldiered on for another hour or so, then called it quits.

When I got home, I retrieved my iPod and went to the couch. I listened to some music and dozed. I woke when Jack hopped up onto my lap. He’s a funny cat. When he wants affection, he’s right there and there is no denying him. He turned a couple times, then curled up on my lap. I scratched his ears a bit and he turned to creep up on my chest. He lay on my chest, paws slightly curled (and claws slightly marking my skin), purring, and allowed me to rub his cheeks and chin. His eyes went squinty the way he does when he’s content.

Most cats won’t let you rub their cheeks like he will. He’s something else sometimes. Ornery as they come… a pain in the ass a good part of the time… but he’s affectionate and he gives attention as well as gets it. He’s a good cat. He’s also a big cat. I think the last time we weighed him, he was about 18 pounds.

The rest of the evening will be spent winding down. I need to ready myself for another writing day tomorrow. I hope to get through the procedure section tomorrow and then on to results Friday. My co-writer is working on his part now and I hope to assemble a good draft this weekend. Then the team can review the document next week and we can deliver it.

Then I’ll be off on the next report. That’s me — a writing machine.

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