The contract work I was doing crashed last week, so I've had a genuinely "retired" sort of holiday all last week.
It's been nice.
I've continued to wake early because, well, I like waking early. I make a pot of coffee and hang out at the dinner table, reading the news or just reading, sipping the good brew and watching the day slowly begin.
This week the leaves finally began to fall.
That's not a good thing.
The neighbor's yard features a ginormous bigleaf maple. She gets most of the fallout, but we get enough to make the backyard a mess of sopping maple leaves. The Boy - who has no job outside his gaming - got roped into the collection of these damn things. Since he's nineteen and has never really had to work to standard his leaf-raking is...sketchy. So Drachma Kitty and I had to come out and pitch in.
We've done this twice now. The rains that came in last night look like they've finally knocked the last of the leaves down. So there's another day of this ahead of us.
That's not exactly a thrill to look forward to.
But the alternative is a yard full of bottomless mud.
Oh, there was one "work" sort of thing last week, but it was really just sad.
A project that I'd worked on before I retired went to fieldwork. The PM had wanted me to drill the thing, and without me to sit the rig he'd gotten a cherry staff person from one of the Puget Sound offices. He did get me to review her logs and they were...not great.
Should I come in and look at the soil samples? I asked. I might be able to work out some sort of actual stratigraphy; I know the site and the soils. Sure, he replied, so Tuesday morning early I went into my old lab and looked for them.
Nothing.
I asked around; turns out the staff person had never been in the Portland shop. Maybe the samples were in the Salem office? So off I went in one of the company trucks, down I-5 to the little rental office in downtown Salem where this PM holes up. Went in, looked around.
Nothing.
An hour after I got back to Portland the PM send me an e-mail. Oh, I just got this, he says.
It was a forwarded copy of a message from the staff person saying that she had reviewed the samples and logs and wanted lab assignments. I guess she took the samples back to Tacoma, said the PM.
Yeah, the empty spaces in Portland and Salem kinda clued me in about an hour ago, I replied.
You bet your ass I charged that job every second of my wasted morning.
But that's a big reason I retired when I did. This guy is the chief engineer of the Portland office, and it's perfectly in his "management" style that he had no fucking idea where the samples of the drilling for this sensitive and potentially-hazardous investigation even were and wasted four hours of project time for something he should have never authorized.
Oh, well. His circus, his monkeys now.
Got up Thursday and watched the Macy's Parade. I didn't have the marching mariachi band on my bingo card, but they were pretty goddamn awesome.
And at least the CBS broadcast showed the actual parade. Fuck you, NBC, you worthless gits.
This year I did an actual turkey, as opposed to a breast-only. The Girl has finally developed a liking for the actual tasty parts of the critter (the dark meat...) so I got the smallest one of these monsters I could find and cooked it the way my mother taught me; sealing in the juices with a hot oven and then basting like a madman.
It turned out good as turkey can get.
That, in turn, meant the return of a long-dormant Lawes family tradition; the boiling of the carcass.
My mother, child of the Depression and the Big War that she was, refused to waste a scrap of food go to waste, would use the turkey carcass to make broth and from that some sort of soup, usually a turkey-vegetable-barley sort of thing.
My sister and I, children of the plump Sixties that we were, made merciless mockery of this housewifery. We called the broth and the resulting soup "turkey bone gruel", gruel being the word we thought best symbolized the penny-pinching poverty and misery that the gruel represented
Mind you, it was good soup. Kids, they're just little fuckers sometimes.
Speaking of which...
I went into the Boy's room last night to shut down the gaming and asked about his application to the Portland police cadet program. He replied that he was no longer pursuing that program, but intended to go to college.
......
I'll believe it when I see it. He needs to do the work to find out how much he needs to do, how much it'll cost, and where he needs to go. Will he? I have no fucking idea.
The afternoon of Thanksgiving Day was bright and calm, and I went out into the yard to enjoy the temporarily-leafless vistas.
I sat in the old rope swing, idle since my progeny got too old to swing in it, and just took in the sunny afternoon, quiet and at peace. But also at a place I'd never been before in that familiar backyard.
What lies ahead for me? For us?
I don't know. Perhaps the most fraught part of this whole "retirement" thing is that I don't know how it goes.
I've been a wage slave for thirty years, ever since I left the Army.
I don't know any other life.
But now I'm going to find out.
2 comments:
I got "retired" 5 years ago. In any branch of IT, ageism dominates. I miss the work, but I surely do not miss the work "environment". I got fired from my last gig less than 24 hours after I emailed my boss a pointer to solid evidence that the outfit's "server inventory" was a Potemkin Village.
Wish I could say this surprised me. But in 20 years of work in the field, the only outfit I ever worked for that actually tracked their system builds was a Federal agency who had to undergo once a year audits. Very comprehensive audits. And before they can even get audited, they have to submit a written inventory of systems and networks to the auditors.
Problem with this general attitude is that if you're charged with helping to defend a network, you need to know the landscape. Imagine going into a military operation without maps. Without even knowing what your perimeter is. That's what IT management expects.
That's the gotcha about information security work. You're situated to see the evidence of all of management's little scams. And they implicitly expect you to go along with them. I'm not the first person I know that this happened to.
I wish I could say that I'm shocked, shocked. But my experience over thirty years in private business is that the boss doesn't REALLY want to hear from you. e/She wants you to agree loudly and completely with their latest brilliant idea(s). If you don't you're irking at best and a threat at worst. They will disregard whatever you tell them that contradicts their conclusions.
That's why I laugh hysterically at "conservatives" who insist that the solution is to "run government like a business". While, yes, your weapons and equipment are made by the lowest bidder, those weapons are actually required to meet those comprehensive audit standards. That blender or laptop made by that private business? What's the point of selling a blender once every twenty years? Planned obsolescence! Better yet - ensure it breaks down before the service life ends so you can sell a new one!
Yeah. I'm pretty cynical...
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