He was horrified to see his brethren die on that tragic day when the towers collapsed.  We talked in the days after the events of 9/11 about the job that the men of FDNY were doing.  I could hear the pain in his voice.

As a nation, we rallied around each other.  Many of us reacted in ways that we didn’t fully understand.  In retrospect everything seems different.  Ten years of war and a recession have changed my views.  Becoming a father has changed my views.  Meeting my wife changed my views.

I honestly don’t know how I feel about the death of Osama Bin Laden.  It’s almost meaningless to me.  There is an entire army of new recruits that has been formed over the past ten years.  And now to find out that he’s been “hiding” in a populated area?

I cannot celebrate.   The chest thumping is ugly.

I long for a day when the “threat level” is not orange.  What will a day that is “green” be like?  Will we ever see one?

When will it be safe to move on?

April is a blur.

I’ve been keeping insane hours since the beginning of the month. Each week has been wall to wall busy with different projects, trips, and me bouncing from one meeting to another with barely any downtime to actually do any of the work that I need to do.

I’ve been down to Florida, for a day trip. Out to Virginia for nearly a week, and out to Sunnyvale, CA for a whirlwind trip consisting of two full days of travel for a single day of meetings.

As this week comes to a close, I’m excited about the fact that I have completed my part of a large proposal (save any last minute edits that need to occur over the weekend — I’m hoping for none, but doubt that will work out) and to have knocked off a list of 15 “action items” throughout the day.

I’m actually finishing the week with a clean slate for next week. I’ve got a chance to breath.

And that’s what I’m gonna do. Breathe in the air, the smell of soaked wet ground, and enjoy a few minutes of solitude.

Unplugging won’t do in this age of wireless and 3G, what’s needed is a shutdown, a black out. Maybe a lead suit that will protect me from all forms of communications.

It’s been a long three weeks. Even on this dark and rainy afternoon though, I finally see a bit of light.

I’m headed toward that light.

There is little hierarchy to train travel. While trains may have First Class cars, a ticket for the First Class coach is not a seat reservation, at least this is not the case on most rail routes in the United States. And the First Class coach boards at the same time as the rest of the train.

Where I can afford to sit (in a coach class seat) everyone is equal. Everyone must find a seat on their own, present their ticket upon request, and be responsible for their own trash. Of course, there are folks who are incapable of producing their tickets or keeping up with their trash.

Years ago, I lived with a woman who frequently had to travel to New York City from the Washington suburbs. She insisted on taking the plane for reasons that are still unclear to me. There’s a lot about her that remains unclear come to think of it. Her argument was that it was faster.

The train from Union Station in DC to Penn Station in NYC takes about four and a half hours. A flight takes about one and a half hours. On the surface this appears to be faster. But it never works out that way. First, there is no airport in Manhattan — one must land at either JFK or LaGuardia. In either case one needs to tack on 45 minutes to an hour to get into Manhattan. Second, one needs to arrive at the airport early enough to clear security (which in DC means about an hour and a half), where as with the train one can literally arrive and board. Finally, the flights in and out of JFK and LaGuardia are perpetually delayed. So, an air trip ends up taking as long or longer than a rail trip.

Leaving the time out of the equation, the rail trip to NYC from DC is much more interesting. The Amtrak line runs up the east coast, through Baltimore, Philadelphia, Trenton, Newark and finally New York. There is a lot to see on the way including the seedy sides of Baltimore, the countryside north of Baltimore, a trip over the Susquehanna river, and a very unique view of New York as you approach from the south. Who would have known that there are grasslands and marshes right outside of NYC?

For me, the train is the only way to go from DC to New York.

Train travel in the US has suffered declines ever since the automobile was introduced and subsidized by the federal government. Yes, subsidized — the interstates were a federal project designed to move troops around the country quickly in the case of a national emergency. There’s irony for you — interstates and speed. True in some places interstates are fast, but around major metropolitan areas they, well, crawl.

A few years ago I was in the UK and was struck by how convenient rail travel is in that country. In fact, I’ve never traveled extensively in the UK without using rail. I’ve never even attempted to drive in the UK — why would I? I can get from just about anywhere in the country to any other place in the country without getting behind the wheel. And the trains in the UK are magnificent. Well, some are anyway.

Sure it takes you all day to get from Edinburgh to London but the trip is really beautiful. One morning, we left Edinburgh around 7:30 AM in February. It was damn cold and I was miserable on the platform. All that changed though once the Virgin train pulled in and I was soon warm and cozy.

The seating on the train was arranged such that every four seats had a table between them. You could eat without eating out of you lap. You could write or read without struggling to keep your notepad or book stable as you rolled down the track. It was going to be a full day’s trip, so I was glad to have the luxury of a table.

As we pulled out of Edinburgh, the landscape quickly changed to countryside. Because it had been so cold, there was a very heavy frost (hoarfrost) on the ground. As we rounded a bend, the sun reflected off the ice covering a field of tall grass. It shone golden in the sun. I will never forget the beauty of that field. If I’d been in an airplane, or a car, I’d have never seen that.

Train travel in the US is nowhere near what it is in the UK, but I’d sure like to see it make a resurgence.

Some day I’ll lean how to chop. Then I won’t hack parts of my fingers and thumb off anymore. I have been working on it for several years actually. Somehow, I just can’t ever seem to get it right. It took me months to learn to rock the blade of the French knife across the flesh of the peppers on the board. I would slip up on my angle; the peppers would come out different shapes and sizes instead of all even diamonds.

It’s not that I’m new to cooking or using knives. I’ve been cooking for close to twenty years now and I was playing with knives when I was at least five. But I didn’t ever learn how to handle a knife appropriately until I lived with Chris and he taught me to hold it by the blade, not the handle. It gives you more control. Still I lack the control needed to dice up a mess of peppers.

Peppers seem to be the ones that give me the most trouble. I don’t know why; perhaps it’s their slick skin. The damned grocers always wax them up to make them look unnaturally beautiful in December. Two years ago, shortly after I was given my French knife I was cutting peppers one afternoon in March. The day had been an ordinary day. I had arrived home a little early I recall.

I lived on the corner of Aliceanna and Bethel in Fells Point, Baltimore, Maryland. It was a quaint little place that the landlord could have done better at repairing. He had bought it when the places were selling cheaply and folks were renovating them. It had been part of one of the Mayors’ attempts to make Baltimore a better place. Nevertheless, there wasn’t a straight line in Karos’ place.

Around the corner was everything that a young man in his twenties could need, a liquor store and a city market. I stopped into the market to pickup some things for the meal I was planning to make for myself.

The stands were closing down for the day. I walked hurriedly up to the produce stand to spy out some peppers and an onion. The local supermarket was worthless, even the project people avoided it if they could. Invariably the produce was already rotten by the time it hit the shelves there. I often wondered if the son of a bitch who owned it had just taken one hit on a load of produce would he have caught up and been able to sell vegetables while they were fresh; before they started to rot.

I found a pair of peppers and some onions. I asked the old polish lady how much they were. She looked me over; she’d seen me before I was sure of it but I don’t know if she knew I was local or not. She looked at the scale for a minute. Then she said, “ninety cents,” with out weighing the produce. I was amazed. In the supposed supermarket, I’d have paid three bucks and gotten rotten peppers. On the way home I stopped by the liquor store and got some smokes.

I was busily chopping the peppers not really paying attention when suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my middle finger on my left hand. I looked down and there was blood gushing out of the tip of my finger all over the white cutting board, mixing with the peppers. I grabbed a wet towel from the counter and wrapped up my finger.

Of course there was no first-aid kit in the house. I was a single guy living alone in the city. I had to make a dash up the street to the Rite-Aid for some supplies. The walk was quick. As I struggled to get my wallet out of my pocket, the clerk noticing the blood said, “Are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?” I assured her that there was nothing that the hospital could do for me. And there wasn’t. It was a tip of a finger cut off, not much bigger than the head of a Q-tip, but painful for sure. The nurse at the hospital wouldn’t be able to give me stitches, there was nothing to stitch.

I hurried down the street toward my house, intent on getting things squared away and cleaned up. I was getting really hungry. As I rounded the corner to my house I noticed Mike standing out on his stoop. Before I could even stop him, Mike had me inside and he was cleaning up my finger himself.

We made some small talk and smoked a butt or two. After he had bandaged up my finger, holding up his index finger he said, “Hold on I’ll be right back.” He dashed upstairs. Soon he was back down with a brownie in hand. “There man, almost as good as if mom had fixed it up.”

Here is a poem I wrote over the course of many weeks in 1992.  I’ll be posting several over the next couple of weeks.   I wrote this for a woman who I’ve known since fourth grade.  We’ve largely lost touch, but I think of her every time I see a horse farm.

A Letter to Laura

Remember that Friday night,

In August of nineteen-ninety?

The air was cool and unseasonable,

More like autumn.

I had stopped to see you

The last time before leaving

For college the next day.

The fields around your house

Seemed secluded; but they weren’t.

The first stars appeared

In the eastern sky, while the sun

Dropped below the Blue Ridge range.

Our summer ended,

And lives began once again in mystery.

As the blue-black night settled around us,

The light in the garage

Cast our shadows

On all those little rocks,

In the driveway.

We didn’t have time to spare,

No reminiscing, philosophizing,

Or long goodbye’s that night.

Inside, your family waited;

Packing for the day.

I had to get home myself,

But could not leave you.

I hoped that something more

Than a simple goodbye

Might bring us together that night.

I looked into your eyes as I often had,

Not knowing what to expect.

You smiled, but a tear still formed

In the corner of your eye.

You whispered some phrase

That only God knows now.

But your tight, forced smile

Would not allow fear or sadness,

We had to be strong, again.

Like the sister I never had,

You held me tightly.

And in that moment,

I saw the sparks of an old romance

That never caught fire,

Flicker and fade.

You said leaving was hard

And it was damned hard

As I walked slowly to the car

And began the drive down

The gravel into the dark, night.

After that we went to the Lewes Beach and did a little swimming.  Mr. Grey got tired early so we headed home (1 block) and grabbed some lunch.  I promptly took a nap.

To be honest, I was a little grumpy in the morning because we kinda screwed up on meeting up with some good friends at Cape Henlopen.  Yeah, we royally screwed the pooch on that, but friends are friends and thankfully they will forgive us.

After I woke up from my nap, we chilled for a bit more.  Mr. Grey decided a nap was in order for him, and Mrs. TKD and I snuck out for a trip to the grocery store.  I picked up fixins for a take on cuban inspired pork chops (lime, cilantro, cumin and peaches).

When we got back Mr. Grey was up, and we went to the beach.  I played with him in the sand and the water.  He was really digging the water.  He was in up over his head with the help of his life vest.  He’ll be a sailor like his papa and a fisherman like his dad for sure.

A lot has changed since he was a little dude.  This photo is from 2008.

He was afraid of the water back then.

Main Entry: ³bootstrap

: to promote or develop by initiate and effort with little or no assistance <bootstrapped herself to the top>

Sometimes I feel like I am completely capable of bootstrapping my day.  I get up, get going, and get a lot accomplished.  These days fly by and when they are over, I’m tired but not exhausted.  I’m actually somewhat energized.

Then there are days when it just seems impossible to get things going.  When I’ve got tasks that need to be done, but I just can’t get it together to make them happen.  I can sit for hours in front of the computer and not accomplish a damn thing.  Eight hours can seem like an eternity.  On these days, I’m physically and mentally exhausted at the end even though I’ve not accomplished anything.

Somehow that seems incongruous, but I know it to be true.  And I know why.  When I can’t get started my sense of guilt kicks in.  Nothing good comes from that.

I’ve had two such days this week, and today doesn’t look to be shaping up a whole lot better so far – despite getting out to the gym at 6:00 AM.  Where is my Mojo? Maybe this is a post holiday slump?  Maybe its a sign that 12 years in the same field is enough?  I don’t know.

But I do know I’ve got to break this streak.

My first web browsing experience was with a text based browser called “lynx.”  I was in my early twenties when Netscape 1.1 was released.  I survived “the browser wars” my favorite browser of the time didn’t, but was re-incarnated.

I’ve seen a lot change in the past 12 years.  My first technology job was working in a call center, helping people with dial-up connections on Macs.  We were all excited when 33.6 kbps modems came out and even more so when the v.90 standard was still called 56K.  Dial-up essentially died before v.90 was ratified.  We could only imagine web based video being delivered to the home at those speeds.

I had one of the first generation palm pilots made by US Robotics.  It was highly useful, but had no way to sync-up with content unless it was in a cradle.  WAP became the rage, but it was very limited.  The first Palm VII released in 1999 had wireless service that was highly limited and the device retailed for $600 for a monochrome screen!   Now, I’ve got a device that delivers well formatted content (including video and streaming audio) to my hand.  It synchronizes over the air with my work and personal email and calendars. 

It is stunning. It is useful. It feels like technology nirvana.

It’s taken me a long time to get one (lots of politics associated with it at the office) but I’m truly addicted to the blackberry.

1. Everyone is healthy in the family.
2. Mr. Grey is growing up quickly.  He isn’t even two years old, but it sure feels like it when I look at him and when he talks. (complete sentences!)
3. Mrs. TKD has been home with Mr. Grey now for over a year and they are getting on well with that arrangement.  I know that it is trying at times for her, but it is working.
4. While there has been a lot of turmoil at work, I’m still employed and actually enjoying some of the work that I’ve got on my plate.
5. We are secure financially.
6. I’ve had some free time to go biking and to garden over the past six months.
7. I’ve lost some weight, and believe I’m on track to lose some more.
8. Our families continue to be strong and supportive.
9. We are lucky enough to live where we want to live.
10. We have a close circle of friends who enrich our lives.

What more could I want?