Happy Birthday, BASIC

Well, since lots of other nerds are wishing BASIC a happy 50th birthday, let me chime in as well.

It was the summer of 1973. My mother, a high-school math teacher, had signed up for summer school as part of her work on obtaining a Master's degree. She was taking "Boolean Algebra" and "Introduction to Programming with BASIC" at Emory University, in Atlanta, Georgia. But she ended up in the hospital with kidney stones and was unable to attend the classes she had already paid for.

I was the proud owner of a driver's license. Yes, you got your license at 16 in Georgia, learner's permit at 15 at that time and I remember to this day my first drive alone, the day after my birthday, in our red Duster with the windows rolled down and Rod Stewart's  "Maggie May" blasting out the radio.

Since I had no plans other than reading a large pile of Gothic novels over the summer, I offered to take the courses as a proxy, and my mother readily agreed. I drove to the university in the mornings and took notes on the lectures, copying down the hieroglyphics on the board. I then drove to the hospital (luckily, she was at the Emory University Hospital) and brought her the notes and the exercises. She solved the programming ones first, writing out what I was to program for her.

I drove back to campus and went down to the computer cellar. We were able to use the keypunch machines there all afternoon. My math teacher, Mr. Barber, was also taking the course. He showed me how to use the punch, and how to (literally!) bootstrap the machine with the BASIC interpreter before feeding my own little punch tape into the machine. A teletype would then rattle away and print out something. I would tear it off, and then drive back to the hospital to show my mom the results, picking up the Boolean Algebra exercises to hand in at the end of the day.

WOW! I could make the machine go! My mom didn't want me playing around (I might break something), I was only allowed to type in her programs for her. So when we moved to California shortly after the school year started and Crawford High School had a course in computing, I signed right up! Mr. Juell, our teacher, would take punched cards with FORTRAN programs to a computer center twice a week and pick up the results of the last batch. Boy, you sure learned to check your syntax that way!

We also had a teletype, hooked up via modem to some computer. I can still whistle the connection melody. Here we programmed in BASIC, and oh my, you got immediate response from the computer! What fun we had, a small group of nerds, playing with these toys that also included a programmable calculator that had to have commands punched in octal on cards. I wish I still had copies of the programs we wrote that would be so funny to see how badly we programmed back then.

I went on to study computing, learning all sorts of other programming languages and hearing about the GOTO being considered harmful. I never had a home computer until I bought a Computer Schneider system for writing my dissertation. It had BASIC on it, but I didn't have time for games.

As a proper theoretical computer scientist I, of course, should not admit to ever having used the language. But the immediacy of the results we got as teenagers fueled my enthusiasm for learning more about computers. So many thanks to BASIC for getting me started on my career -- and happy birthday!

Grandmas

I went to an in-school training session on examination law (on account of being the chair of our program's examination board) on Friday. It was at the other school campus, the one I used to have my office at. I was quite pleased to meet some colleagues I haven't seen for a while, in particular one of the few other women in the computing departments.

After greetings and handball chat (she likes handball, too) we got down to business: She's a new grandmother, you see, first grandchild last month. Oh, I said, I'm a grandma now too, since July. She looked at me, shocked. "How old is your son?" "21".

And it turned out, we are both the same age, she had her first son at 21, and he is a dad now at 35. WiseKid was born when I was 35 and is a dad at 21. So I've caught up with her!

Both of us flunked the first Grandma Test: neither of us had a picture of our grandkids in our wallets. I guess I'd better get some pics sent to my phone.

And now for something completely different...

I was speaking with a brother about a funny Monty Python sketch and we dug around on the fancy TV with an Internet connection and found it on YouTube. We played it, dissolved in laughter, and the princesses laughed with us. At the end they asked for more. We showed them more. They asked for even more, and their dad purchased a whole season worth of Monty Python's Flying Circus.

They spent all weekend watching. It was gorgeous weather outside, I finally managed to convince 2 out of the 3 to take a walk with me. And how did they walk? Silly walks, just like Monty Python, repeating bits and pieces of the sketches.

I'm afraid we got them infected. I suppose my brother will have to buy the other three seasons as well. There are worse things on the tube.

The Memorial Service

I first thought I had landed in the wrong place. After a very agreeable transatlantic flight with Air Berlin (including good-tasting meals!) we landed early at JFK, despite leaving about half an hour late. JFK - oh my, I have traumatic memories of long waits here and surly inspectors. We were greeted by smiling (!), courteous people showing us which line to get in. The inspectors were also welcoming, friendly, and efficient, actually joking with people in line before me. When my inspector tried a joke with me and I noted I was here for a funeral, he immediately became solemn and offered his condolences. I proceeded to Customs and again there was just a short line and an efficient inspector.

I was outside the door at the time that was scheduled for landing.

Wow! My brother was waiting and we sat in the snarled New York rush hour while chatting about work, on our way to pick up our other sibling. Expensive, gas-guzzling SUVs, limos, and functioning junk heaps, all honking and cutting lanes along a decrepit highway, accompanied us. But luck was with us, and we made it back home in time for the first concert of a niece who is learning to play the viola.

This morning we had a memorial service at my brother's church. We were sitting around the gas fire relaxing when the rector came in, sat down and asked: When are the ashes to be coming? It was 20 minutes before the service was to begin, and since we had already had one service without ashes we didn't really want to have another one. My brother sat up in his chair with a start. "I telephoned with the funeral home on Monday and they asked if I wanted the ashes delivered to the church right away and I said yes!".

Okay, at least the ashes are in town and not in the clutches of the US Postal Office. The rector tells us to be calm and goes to call. He returns, saying that he's glad it's not his fault, and that the ashes will be here promptly. And indeed, we were able to start the memorial service only a few minutes after the appointed time.

We had traditional readings, and then we began the family remembrances. We read a letter from her sister and then I spoke about her life. She had a master's in mathematics and taught math, computer science, and physical education. She was fascinated with tesselations. She was born in Canada, living in many states as she followed my engineer father around. She loved to sew, to make things, to shop, to do jigsaw puzzles, and to swim. Alzheimer's started eating at her brain in 2000, she had to be admitted to a memory care unit in 2007.

My middle brother played one of Bach's Goldberg Variations and then improvised. It was fascinating following him down the emotional strands he was weaving. It was somehow quite fitting, and very special to hear this music played only once, for this special occasion.  My younger brother then spoke, as did two of his children, before we continued will all three of the girls participating in the prayers.

After the ceremony the ashes were stored in a special niche under the altar. My younger brother will drive them out to Pennsylvania this summer to bury them next to our father's ashes.

It was good to have come together as a family to celebrate our mother's life, no matter what issues we might still have had with her. It is time to move on.

Say Hi to Daddy, Mom

Mom has suffered from Alzheimer's for many, many years. I last visited with her three years ago when I was helping Daddy move into smaller quarters. He died last December, having still visited her daily until he was confined to bed. She didn't know him even, but had enjoyed his company. She seemed to miss him, and was constantly on the move, looking for him perhaps.

She had been doing poorly, had infections and fell a few times. About a week ago she came down with pneumonia, it was clear that it was only a matter of time until she passed away as well.

This afternoon, just before class, I saw a slew of emails in my inbox - with condolences for my middle brother. He had just posted her death on Facebook, I seem to get all comments every now and then for things he posts (he had mentioned me in the post). Even though her death was immanent, it was quite a shock to read it there. I took a deep breath, went into the classroom, and started to teach. My phone rang, and I did something I seldom do - I left the classroom to take the call. It was my other brother with the news.

What a strange feeling, even though one has been expecting it.

My mother was a mathematician, taught algebra and geometry and computer science and sports in high school. She tutored students on the side for extra money. She loved to sew, making many frilly dresses for me that I did not want to wear, as I wanted pants. We didn't see eye to eye on many issues, but all that is past now.

She was born in Canada to immigrant parents who moved on to the States. She went to the University of Pittsburgh and met Daddy while he was tutoring her in math. She passed, he failed and had to repeat the course ;) She followed him across the country, moving every few years for a new transportation job for him and starting over as a teacher.

I moved to Europe at 19, and she came over with Daddy a few times to visit. What a strange place Europe was: they didn't take credit cards, stores were closed on Sundays, they had strange food and some places like the GDR were threatening. But she was brave, even taking off one day and getting on a train to Poland, just to say she had been there. And oh, my, the BARGAINS they had at the market just across the boarder!

She loved a bargain - getting something for less than someone else had paid was one of the things that made her happiest. So I hope they have some good shopping in heaven, Mom, may you find a bargain a day! And say Hi to Daddy, he'll be happy you're back with him.

Rest in Peace, Part II

We buried Daddy the day after his funeral when the ashes finally turned up. We had chosen a spot on the land that still belonged to him - or rather, that we thought belonged to him. We had even checked at the courthouse that the current owner was him.

A week later we got an unsettling letter. The property had been sold at a tax sale in September. For payment of the $200 outstanding and 10% of the market value of the property, sold to the greedy neighbor that my father did NOT want to have the property. There had been a notice in the paper (which we don't read) and there had been a sign tacked up on a telephone pole on the property. That counts as proper notice in those parts.

I dug through records, found the bill, we had it in the list of paid bills, but in the digital world, only the last 6 months were online. We had to pay to have the back statements printed, and mysteriously all other payments on our records were done, but this one was not. Shit. We consulted a lawyer, it would be costly to sue, not sure to win, and then we would have to sell the property to pay for Mom's care. So we decided to be practical and just move Dad.

My brothers did the deed yesterday. We had been planning on planting a dogwood - his favorite tree - on the spot. Instead, they dug him up (luckily, we had marked the spot with some stones), drove to the cemetery where his father had purchased 9 lots because they were on a special deal, and buried him next to his parents and his sister. The view is not so nice from here, we can't plant anything, and it is in the county seat and not in the village he was born and grew up in.

But we do have high hopes that he can now, indeed, rest in peace.

Bye-Bye Car

Uff. We invested a good bit of money into the car at the beginning of the year (new tires, rebuilding the motor) so that it would run until the inspection ran out the end of August. We were planning on getting a new car then, and have been lazily visiting the showrooms.

I had WiseYoungMan drive me to the airport on Tuesday. I was nagging him from the get-go: no starts like that young man, watch where you are going, DON'T TEXT IN TRAFFIC! He dropped me off and I left instructions as to when he was to pick me up the next day when I got back.

I was picked up by WiseMan - for a bus ride. WiseYoungMan totaled the car Tuesday evening. He's okay (glad for that), but he insists he's not at fault. The car just broke out to the left, luckily no cars were coming the other way, and he smashed the car into a wall. Luckily he wasn't going fast, he somehow managed to get the car driven home. So we had the junk man come and look at it, I got a few hundred Euros for it (making me suspect that I could have gotten more if I had shopped around). WiseYoungMan got all my stuff out of the car, and it was hauled off.

I was so sad to see the car go - after all, it's been a member of the family for about 8 years! Driven all over the place, it's kind of my mobile office. Sure, it's usually dirty (although I just sprung for a deluxe car wash on Monday!), but it was my mobility tool. Lots of adventures we had with the car, I was really sad to see it get towed from the parking place.

Today, I had to bike to work. And then biked out to an auto showroom - they don't tend to be easily reachable by public transport and/or bikes. I'm not sure what I want. And I'm not sure how I'm going to sort out getting to Sweden for Pentecost. Maybe I don't need a car?

You have mail!

We were to be heading back home after breakfast this morning, when the telephone rang. It was the Butler post office calling - Daddy had arrived and was on the delivery truck! But we couldn't get it, as it was addressed to the funeral home. Should be delivered by noon.

A short discussion later we delayed the return trip in order to complete the burial. We headed for Starbucks, one brother taking back breakfast for the princesses and my sister-in-law, the other riding out with me to dig a hole. We had breakfast in the car, while driving. I had a cinnamon bun about the size of 8 Swedish kanelbuller, that should be enough calories for a day or two.

There was a light snow, and these Pennsylvania curves are treacherous. My cousin remarked yesterday that they just let loose a snake in Pennsylvania and the paving machine follows right behind. And the hills - oh my, my stomach recalls exactly the rhythm of the hills leading down to the farm. We passed the old Brownsdale store, long out of business, and drove past the old farm house. We pulled into the driveway of the neighbors - they seem to be thankfully not at home.

We chose a spot up at the top of the lot with a good view both of the house he built himself and the house his mother and sister had built when they sold off the rest of the farm. Looking back one can see the woods behind the cornfields. The top of the ground was frozen, but the shovel quickly bit through that, the rest was not frozen. We took turns digging. There was just a bit of topsoil, then lots of clay and stones that were not easy to get out. While I dug, my brother looked for stones; while he dug, I made a cross out of sticks and some ribbon that was among the flotsam on the floor of the car.

We got a nice deep hole dug and headed back to the hotel. The princesses were enjoying the swimming pool, we had them get out and get packed. We packed up the car and headed back to Butler. We know the way by now without the GPS system. At the funeral home they had us sit down and wait, while they looked. Yes, the mail had come. Yes, there was a box for us there. The postal worker had forgotten to ring the bell, the registered mail thingy was still attached to the box, unsigned. The box was postmarked December 21, the cremation was December 13. Where did he spend that week? How on earth an registered mail that was supposed to be sent overnight took more than a week to get from Florida to Pennsylvania remains a mystery.

We signed the forms, declined to buy an urn, and headed back to the lot. I rode with the box on my lap, a very strange feeling. This, then, is all that remains of a person: about 2 kilograms of ashes, in a box. As we came down towards the village I had my brother take a short drive up and down Main Street, a sort of farewell to the church, the school, and the train tracks. Then we made it up the hill and parked.

I had prepared a short ceremony that we followed, lowering the box into the hole, pouring a bottle of good red wine in on top, and then everyone taking a turn at putting the dirt back into the hole. We tamped it down, lay the cross and the stone down so we can find it to plant a dogwood tree there in the spring, and we found that it was now good. The spot was just perfect for him, and we all felt a sense of relief, a feeling of closure, that we had completed the mission.

Rest in peace, Daddy!

A Proxy Funeral

"I've been in the business 29 years," the funeral director said, "and I have never had this happen before."

Daddy didn't make it to his own funeral. He died over 3 weeks ago in Florida and was cremated 2 weeks ago there. He was to be sent certified mail with the grand and glorious United States Postal Service to the funeral home in Butler, PA, where the funeral was held today. Apparently, the funeral home in Florida didn't put him in the mail right away, but there is proof that he was handed over. But the USPS has no idea where the ashes currently are. They are not in Butler. They are not in Pittsburgh. They are not in Jacksonville. They just don't know. Call again tomorrow. As they have been saying for days.

This would have irritated Daddy no end, as he liked to be on time. Luckily, we had a poster board with a lot of pictures so that we at least had something. And the obituary had been printed in the local newspaper as planned, although we did rather think it would be a waste of money. Imagine our surprise, when in addition to the children, grandchildren and cousins two neighbors of my grandmother came, a good friend of my aunt with her husband, and two guys who knew Daddy in grade school and high school.

So we held a memorial service, with music, even though no one sang much except "Amazing Grace" at the end. I gave the eulogy, one brother read the poem "Flare" by Mary Oliver, the other told some good stories, and two of the granddaughters also stood up to say something, which pretty much had everyone in tears.

And then we were at a loss. We had planned on taking the ashes in the car to the little village where he was born and scattering the ashes on the acre he still owned there. But there were no ashes. We decided to drive out anyway. We parked at a neighbors and walked around the wet and snowy field. We reminisced about the place, and then drove on in search of lunch.

The first place was closed, but the municipal airport hat a little eatery. We all had typical local food (I had a Rueben sandwich with some really good coleslaw) and a good visit with the cousins. After lunch they headed home, and we drove around a bit more. We drove slowly past the farm, and the house I grew up in. We toured the village down by the creek, me hopping out to make pictures. Then we climbed the hill on Meridian road and headed out to look for our grandparents' graves. We found the cemetery, and there was even someone there to give us the exact coordinates. The graves were covered with snow, but we found them.

I was struck at how much this part of the world resonated with something deep inside me. This is the place I come from, my home country. There is something here that is me, even though much has changed since I lived here. I even find myself slipping into the local dialect: "yinz", "root-8" (for Route 8, although I of course say "rout 66"), "spigot", "sahrkraht". Oh my, there's even a Wikipedia entry on the dialect! And a page dedicated to Myron Cope, the sportscaster I loved to listen to, on Pittsburghese.

So if Daddy ever gets found by the post office, I'll be back home for burying the ashes.

New York, New York

It is a tradition in my brother's family to spend Christmas Eve in the best city in the world - New York. So we did an early run to get fish for dinner, I stood in a long line at the French Bakery to get croissants and baguettes, and my brother got coffee at Starbucks. We gulped down breakfast and got into the car with the princesses and drove down to New York.

At that hour of the morning you can make good time, we pulled into the parking garage of the Museum of Natural History just after it opened. And the first order of business was to open the trunk for inspection. I asked why, apparently they are looking for "bombs". I said, that's crazy, if I'm bringing a bomb in, it's under the seat, not in the trunk. Why do they put up with that? Oh, it's only 30 seconds, and it makes them feel good. Before you approach the cash register you have to go through "security". There was a long list of things not allowed, like my Swiss Army Knife. Luckily, the guard was pretty much asleep, and we distracted her with questions about the lost and found (we found a sweater on the parking lot), so I got to take my knife in with me.

We spent about 2 hours in the museum, seeing the Origami Christmas tree with dinosaurs folded out of paper.  Then we went to see the real dinosaurs. Of course, the dinos in Berlin are much better and bigger than the ones in New York, but they kind of like them. And there is a little rotunda in the dinosaur department that has a nice view of New York, looking out over Central Park. Yes, that's me and my camera reflecting in the window. My picture taking skills need polish.

We went to Virgil's Real Barbecue for lunch - a heavy lunch, although we only had sandwiches. It was full southern BBQ furnishing, and the menu was calorie-laden. Salads? You have to be joking. I had a mixed BBQ sandwich and burped it all afternoon. Not my favorite kind of food. Then we walked to the Rockefeller Center in the bright sunlight.  The streets are full of yellow cabs ferrying people to and fro, but the walk was very nice, even if we did have to keep the princesses locked into an adult hand apiece so as not to lose them in the crowds. There was a tree at the Rockefeller Center - I've seen worse in Berlin. All tinseled up and with a big crowd pushing through to see it.

There was a tiny ice skating rink in the middle of the plaza that was crowded with people, and a Santa Clause lazily skating around. All around the plaza there were flags hanging from the buildings. This is something that still unsettles me, the sheer amount of patriotic flag-waving that goes on in the US.





On the way back to the car we passed the New York headquarters of the IRS, the tax collectors of the US. They have a sign out front with the current national debt on it:

Bill Clinton balanced, the budget, remember? And Mr. Bush, Jr. pushed that up to 15 trillion (!) with his war in Iraq. We got into the car (parking in New York is exorbitant, I think my brother paid over 70$ in parking fees alone!) and headed back to Connecticut. There we got ourselves prettied up and made it to the family church service at 5 pm. It was a 2-hour service, there's a lot to get in and the place was packed.

Then home for a Seven Fish Dinner (we gave up after six, there was just no way that anyone was going to be able to eat another bite): Braised tuna with sesame and poppy seeds, clams, mussels, grilled salmon, scallops in butter and parsley sauce, shrimp in garlic sauce. Add champagne and French bread, and it was just marvelous!

We managed to get the princesses to bed after reading the "Night before Christmas" and "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". I have tried to talk the princesses until waiting until 7.30 am to wake us. Fat chance that will work, but I tried.

Merry Christmas!

The Elf Party

For the last appearance of Elf on the Shelf we decided he needed a pool party:

Yes, that's the Mermaid Barbie I gave to one of the princesses for her birthday. That elf looks pretty wasted. I wonder where Ken has been all month?

Merry Christmas!

Elf on the Shelf

I've been hearing about the trials of having an "Elf on the Shelf" from my sister-in-law's Facebook page, but I really didn't understand what this was about. It seems, however, that this is all the rage here this year. The princesses were telling me excitedly about all the other kids they know with their own elves.

It is a doll, dressed up like an elf. Apparently, he listens to the kids in the house, trying to find out what they want. The kids can talk to him, but not touch him. He flies to Santa's place every night, to tell him what the kids want, and he's in another place the next morning when the kids get up.

A spa day for Rudolph and Barbie

That's the challenge, finding good places to put him. My sister-in-law has been setting up "dates" between their elf, named Rudolph, and some of the assorted Barbie dolls found around the house. The princesses find this scandalous, although as I pointed out, Rudolph didn't actually marry any of them, so he is free to go on a date with a different Barbie every night, if he is so inclined.

Last night Rudolph apparently returned from Santa pretty wasted, so he treated himself to a spa treatment with the Barbie of the night, including real cucumber pieces on their eyes. Everyone had a good laugh about them.

While we were shopping in the morning, the dogs managed to jump up and eat the cucumbers, luckily Rudolph survived. We look forward to seeing what he will be up to tomorrow, when he gets back from Santa again.

No more midnight calls

There's a strange feeling about this evening. It's Sunday night, time to connect with the family night.

For years, my mother wrote a letter to her parents every Sunday evening while watching TV after dinner. When I moved to Germany, I got a Sunday letter every time the German post office was so moved to deliver the letter. Sometimes I got them 3 days later, sometimes 8 days, sometimes 2 weeks later. I tried to get into the habit of writing as well, and rescued a big pile of my letters when we were cleaning out their house in 2004.

As telephones from Germany to the US got cheaper, I couldn't be bothered writing anymore, and would just call. After putting the folks in the home in 2004 I made sure to call every Sunday at midnight (6 pm their time, just after supper). Daddy would pounce on the phone at the first ring.

Every now and then I would forget (being busy with something or other), and he would be so sad that he had missed me. So I tried to call from where ever I was in the world. Skype was wonderful, I got the call out so I only needed Internet to be able to reach him.

I'm glad I tracked him down last week. It had gotten difficult because you had to find out in what hospital he was in that week, and talk a nurse into holding the phone in his room to his ear. But we got it to work last week, and so I had a last, short conversation with him.

This week - deafening silence. I feel the need to talk to someone, manage to find my brother for a short chat. I'll miss the calls, terribly.

Sad Nikolaus

Strange - when I got dressed this morning I somehow couldn't bear to have color on, although it was our grand foundation laying ceremony. Black was the only thing I felt comfortable wearing, with a grey and black coat. Someone remarked that I was all in black and I noted that at least the top button was in the school color.

It was a rough day, for other reasons. I got home, wanted to just sit down and listen to the music, but the phone noted that there was a call on the answering machine. It was my brother. Calling back, I knew what he was going to say before he said it.

Daddy died today. He had a good breakfast, then had trouble breathing. They called the hospice worker, she came and gave him morphine. He fell asleep, and died in his sleep. He didn't get to see Mommy again - that will have to wait.

We're going to bury his ashes on that piece of the farm he refused to sell, to keep the buyer from putting in a street to his housing development. It's next to the house Daddy built with his own hands. I'll fly over and we'll do a service in the village church and the burial between Christmas and New Year's. Let's hope the snow stays away.

Thanks Daddy, despite everything, thanks. And say "Hi" to Grandma, Grandpa, and Aunt Jean.

Daddy's dying

My brother flew down to see what was up with the parents, the rehab clinic had insisted that he come, and come soon. I've been having trouble reaching him, he's been whisked off to this hospital or that rehab, but in general I've been able to track him down for our weekly call.

He's dying. We've known that for years, no, decades. He spent the longest time trying to drink himself to death, but when we put them in a home in 2004 he perked up, actually got his drinking under control, and enjoyed life! The hardest thing he had to do was put Mommy in the memory care unit. I was in Iceland, and we spoke by mobile phone, it cost me a fortune, but it was important to be speaking with him that night.

I left home at 19, put an ocean between me and my folks, that was the proper distance. I wrote letters every week, and called when I could. I have always been an expert on how to organize cheap transatlantic calls, and have tried out many schemes over the decades. Once it got cheap enough, I would call every Sunday evening. The midnight call (6 pm for them) got to be a very regular habit that I have continued over all the years. The past few years he would pounce on the phone, pick up at the first ring, so I tried to be punctual about calling.

He was always a busy man. When I was very young he was working as an engineer, working on a Master's degree in industrial engineering, and building a house for us with his own muscle power. He was just like his mother and dad, farmers who were in constant motion from the moment they hit the floor in the morning until they said their evening prayers. We moved around from job to job. He used to joke that he had to move when he got a house perfect so there was nothing else for him to do. My best childhood memories are of going to the hardware store with Daddy on a Saturday, and helping him with the weekend project. I still love hardware stores.

He was often away on some building project or other, he built or managed railroad systems. Westinghouse; Union Railroad; P & LE; Washington, D.C. Metro; some strange desk job in Atlanta managing the American Institute of Industrial Engineers where he drank heavily with the heavy-drinking top manager; the "Tijuana Trolly" in San Diego; The San Francisco BART system; car production for subway systems; a number of other jobs after I left, the last for Matra, designing systems for Kuala Lumpur and the driverless people mover in Jacksonville. His heart broke when Jacksonville decided not to continue building the people mover. He made a proposal for Pittsburgh, that didn't get accepted either, and he retired to a life of hard drinking.

They made it over to Europe a few times, especially after there was a grandchild. We were in Berlin in August 89, ventured over the wall into "Commie-Land", visited Sweden. They loved Sweden, you could buy milk with a credit card and no one batted an eye, not like that horrible Germany where they rolled up the sidewalks Saturdays at 1pm and you could starve by Monday morning if you hadn't managed to lay in food for the weekend.

In his younger years he was, like his sister, a lay preacher in the Methodist church. In older years he served in other capacities, often as an usher. He was so proud when I got my lay preacher's license, I taped my sermons on my iPod and sent CDs over to him to listen on his CD player.

He was horribly right-wing, politics was not a topic we could discuss in civil tones, although time and again I would raise an issue and we would fight it out. I remember their first visit to Kiel where we were fighting about the issue of handicapped-accessible public transport. He felt that was a waste of money, I felt that handicapped have the right to be able to use public transport as well. I'll never forget the look on his face when he was faced with a train station in Berlin pushing a baby carriage. "How the hell am I supposed to get down here?" he hollered. "It's not handicapped-accessible, Daddy you put it under your arm and carry it down, or you ask for help!". You could see the wheels whirring in his mind. He finally understood. His next station, in Princeton Junction, New Jersey, was a skater's dream - not a step in the place, only ramps.

He would listen to that horrible Rush Limbaugh every day. On my last visit I would get so angry at the nonsense that Limbaugh would be spouting. But Daddy was adamant - although he now needed Medicare, he was 100% against "socialized medicine". So I talked a lot about the weather as I waded through the piles of bills.

After he had Mommy put in the Memory Care Unit, as they euphemistically call the Alzheimer's ward, he would visit her every day, even after he was confined to a wheelchair. That was something to do! Now he himself lies unmoving, unable to carry on a conversation, unaware of people around him, waiting to die.

WiseMan already lost both his parents - his father in 2006 (Blogposts:  1 - 2 - 3 - 4 ) his mother in 2009 (Blogposts: 1 - 2). Things change when they are gone. You are now the oldest generation. And there is now no one around who played a part in your childhood memories. I find it hard to work today, my mind is flooded with memories, pictures, voices, smells.

Daddy - I hope you find your peace with the world.

An Advantage of the Cloud

Putting files and data online is all the rage today. Often, people speak of having stuff "in the cloud".

Well, I was very happy to have many important things in the cloud today. WiseKid's apartment door needed to be fixed (for reasons best left to personal discussions). A guy came by Friday, measured, sent an offer by fax, I accepted, and he said: fine, I'll be there on Monday at 8. But I need you to pay me in cash 'cause I have to purchase the door.

Okay, I don't have to be at work until this afternoon, so getting up early to be at WiseKid's place at 8am is not high on my list of fun things to do. But what we don't do for our kids.

I show up just before 8 and see a guy carrying a door across the courtyard. "Hi!" I said, "will you come back up so we can settle the bill?". "I'll be back in about 3 hours, he says, I gotta get this adjusted in my workshop." And he was gone.

I came upstairs to find WiseKid and his girlfriend in a state of shock. The guy had taken their apartment door - and they both had appointments. WiseKid at the job center, the girlfriend is getting her school-leaving certificate at school today (I think she's the wise one, but that's another blog).

At least her laptop was connected to the Internet, so I offered to stay the three hours. They blew off with sighs of relief, and we agreed that when the door was back in I would take the new key and put it in their mailbox.

So what can I do when I am unexpectedly not in my home office for working?

• My business calendar is on Google so that my secretary can see my business appointments. Me, too, today.
• The exercises I needed to grade are all on the learning management system at the school. It takes 3 tries, but I remember the password.
• We have a web-based interface to email. I don't have a IMAP, so I don't have access to my files, but I can see incoming email and respond.
• It takes 4 tries (2 different emails, 2 different password possibilities) to get into Facebook. Nice.
• I remember the password for my RSS feed reader, so I can at least catch up on all the reading I missed by being off the grid for a day.
• I remember the password for this blog, so I can blog about what I am doing.

I can actually get some work done moderately well, Not having a mouse and having to deal with Vista is causing some grief (took me ages to figure out how to make the screen lighter, and it wanted to reboot in order to offer me some larger type).

I called the guy after 3 hours. "I just got the new doorknob, I didn't know the doorknob was missing!". I thought that was the point of someone coming by last Friday to assess the damage. So here I sit, in the heat, with a sheet nailed up over the doorway so that I am at least spared the curious glances of the neighbors. And wondering what I will do if there is still no door at 2, the absolute latest I have in order to get home, get my computer, and race to work.

Well, what do I tell my students? Don't panic!

Kids these days

It's a three-day holiday weekend, and I am traveling with WiseKid and WiseKidGirlfriend to meet WiseMan in the city where he grew up, we have to sort out his parent's home. He's driven ahead by car, we are taking the train, as there is this wonderful thing called a "Happy Weekend Ticket" that lets up to 5 people travel for the price of one if they take only local regional trains. It is actually only 30 minutes longer than the high-speed train, as you have to take quite a detour.

Of course, the German Bahn is completely surprised that so many people want to take the train today - and even take their bikes. There are crowds of people on the platforms, and it takes forever to get on and off the train. We luckily got on at a smaller station just before the main train station, so we have good seats for the first leg.

Of course, the train is so delayed that we have to wait an hour in beautiful Bad Kleinen. WiseKid pipes up - hey, that's cool, we can go to McDonald's. I try and explain that even though the wall came down before he was born, nothing much has happened here in the way of modernization. I enclose a picture of what at one time was a place for the stationmaster to wait.

Anyway, just before Bad Kleinen a bunch of 14- and 15-year-old boys join the car. One bangs into WiseKid with his bag, and they start talking with each other in the way that WiseKid himself used to speak just a few years ago. He gets seriously angry at these stupid kids, calling them wannabes. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black ;)

Anyway, the train for the second leg is on time, but no place to sit together, so they are in the row behind me. And they are playing "Stadt, Land, Fluß". I vaguely remember us having something similar when I was a kid, but I've forgotten the name. They choose categories and letters and have to find an item for each category for each letter. WiseKid chose the category "Car" for her. She got mad, so that had to be changed. She chose "Body of water" for him, and I expected him to reject it.

But no, he has it in, and is coming up with the most amazing bodies of waters, regions, animals, and jobs: Küstengewässer (costal waterways); Lake Caucausus; Lake Génève; Andalusia; Westerland; Kolibri; Bundespräsident (German head of state) - WiseKidGirlfriend protests: That's not a job! Sure it is, he rejoins. He gets paid, doesn't he? This is a guy who quit school after the 9th grade! I'm really rather enjoying sitting in front of them and hearing the words they choose - and fight over whether they exist. "Chemnitzsee" - there is probably a Lake X for all city names X. And without the Internet we can't check it out.

I'm glad WiseKidGirlFriend is along - otherwise I would probably have had to listen to "are we there yet?" about a hundred times.

Update: Chemnitz is not a member of the set of all cities for which there exist a "Lake"+city. WiseKid got a point he shouldn't have.

Another Funeral

Today was the funeral of my mother-in-law. A wonderful, almost spring-like, sunny day in November. The church was full and there were lots of flowers - how great to have so many people thinking of her. I picked three apples from her garden an placed them next to the casket, when they carried everything out they put the apples on my father-in-law's grave.

We invited everyone for lunch to the restaurant in the village where they lived and have celebrated pretty much every family celebration there is to celebrate. We were unsure how many would come, so we had more places set than we needed. One table remained empty - the one where Oma and Opa always sat during the parties they gave. The candle was lit, and gently burned down during the afternoon.

I can still hear her voice "Segg bloss!", "Wat hest du aufm Herzen, Deern?", the house still seems eerily lived in, as things are still where she left them the day she had the stroke. Neighbors tell of seeing her in the garden that morning, of her being at the church coffee the week before she died.

The pastor read from Revelation 21: "Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, 'Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.'"

Update: A friend sent this link of a wonderful choral piece (And I saw a New Heaven by Edgar Bainton) on this reading. And then two evenings later I attend a choir concert, and they sing this same song. It is really beautiful, listen to it!

I should have stopped for coffee

I was on my way from Sweden to Hanover on Sunday, as I was giving a workshop there Monday morning. I had calculated the time needed as 6 1/2 hours using Google Maps (advice: don't. They seem to take a speed of 120 km/h, even in 80 km/h zones or through town) and was now with an estimated time of trip around 8 1/2 hours.

I drove past the exit where we get off to go visit my mother-in-law. I debated turning off and getting her to make me a cup of coffee. But I would like to call first, and she never hears the phone, and she'll be irritated that I didn't call so she could make a cake, and anyway, we're visiting next weekend. So I drove by.

Monday evening we got a call - the neighbor had found her passed out in her bedroom that morning. They took her to the hospital, where it was determined that she had suffered a massive stroke Sunday evening. She died without regaining consciousness this afternoon, three years and three months after her husband.

I wish now that I had stopped for coffee.

She celebrated her 80th birthday this spring - I'm so happy her friends and family came for that. We'll soon be meeting again in the village pub, this time to remember her, and to give thanks for her life.

The Salesman

I used to wonder what horrible things WiseKid would do to demonstrate his distance from me. Like I was a Democrat just because my Dad was Republican.

We're academics, so he hates books and school. We like healthy food, he could live on white bread and Nutella for years (he thinks). We tend to the left when thinking politically, so I was expecting him to be more to the right. Actually, my nightmare was him in a suit, head of the Junge Union.

Anyway, he dropped by this evening, we've been on vacation without him, as he has a Real Job. One that will pay him oodles of cash (dare I say that none has, as of yet, materialized?). He works as one of these door-to-door salesmen. And loves it.

I have nothing against honest salesmen, people selling proper products to people wishing to purchase this particular type of goods. But WiseKid is now one of those people canvassing the neighborhoods, promising you the best buy in town (if it's so good, why do they have to sell it door to door?), and getting you to sign on the dotted line.

He laughed this evening - he gets called names, gets doors slammed in his face. He enjoys the power that he is discovering in himself to not kick in their door, but to go outside, have a smoke, and try the next door. And he got 30 signatures today.

The way he describes it, I feel it is like one of these brainwashing sects. It is, of course, a pyramid scheme. I tried to explain the mechanics and mathematics of these schemes. Mooooooom! What a party pooper.

So we'll see if he ever gets any real money out of this. He has, however, gotten himself up every morning at 6 am to get to work on time. This is the kid who was always late to school that is 4 minutes walk from our house. If you take your time.