Monday, October 27, 2014

Go Go, Scurry Scurry

I work in an IT shop that has always been a bit chaotic in its approach to creating software.  This is slowly changing, but I deal in an environment of legacy applications, written over the last three decades. Applications written for mainframes.  For PCs.  For the Internet.  Written using a dozen different programming languages and even more philosophies, in dozens of semi-independent locations worldwide. Data is stored in several different kinds of databases, from a half-dozen vendors, and often, it's variations on the same data.  Which version is the master data, the version that the company can count on to always be right, to always be representative of its relationships to its suppliers and customers, linking manufacturing and logistics?  There are always gaps between what data one application needs and what another one can provide.  Every programmer has his or her own style of writing program code.

Did I say chaotic?  Schizophrenic might be a better, if colloquial, description.

In truth, this is not unusual.  Companies merge, form strategic alliances, break apart.  People come and go, change jobs, learn to work differently.  New technologies catch on, then fall out of fashion. And always, artifacts remain, encoded knowledge of the ways things used to work, resistant to change but evolving nonetheless, while cutthroat politics wax and wane.

Contractors are another kind of artifact.  They are often highly experienced, and their encoded knowledge tends to be arcane and specialized.  You would not be terribly off base to think of them as grizzled survivors of the IT wars, quirky veterans who have found their lucrative niches.

Arthur was such a contractor when my company brought him in to work with the maintenance group in 2005.  He looked distinguished and patriarchal with his dark horn-rim glasses, salt-and-pepper hair, and black eyebrows.  He had around 25-30 years of IT experience behind him.  He fit the quirky image:  he used Outlook to organize not only his time and email, but his notes about everything, the way people now use OneNote or EverNote.

And his niche?  The ETL tool in Sql Server 2000.

Don't let my use of a three letter acronym throw you.  ETL means Extract, Transform, and Load. Such tools are typically used in what used to be called Decision Support and is now usually called Business Intelligence.  The Sql Server ETL tool was called Data Transformation Services, DTS for short.

A typical use for DTS is to read data from a database, summarize it, and write it to a spreadsheet. And how do we do this?
  • Sign on to Sql Server Enterprise Manager.  
  • Find the database you're working with, select it, and right click to open a context menu, then click on Data Transformation Services.  
  • In the window that opens in response to this request, you have a blank work area to the right, a column of icons to the left, and a menu bar at the top.  The icons are divided into two sections: Connections and Tasks.  
  • Find the Database Connection icon and drag it to the work space; when you drop it, a properties window opens. 
  • Enter the database details, server, name, login id and password.  Click Ok.
  • Find the Excel -- this is, of course, the usual suspect -- Connection icon and drag it to the work space.
  • Enter the path to the spreadsheet, including file name, into the properties window that opens when you drop the icon in the work space, then click Ok.  Be aware that the blank spreadsheet must exist before you do this.
  • Select the Database connection (data source), then the Excel connection (data target), and click Workflow in the menu bar.  This opens a dropdown menu; click on Completion.  This adds an arrow between the connection icons, pointing from the database to the spreadsheet to show the direction of data flow.
  • Right click on the arrow and select Properties from the context menu.
  • The resulting pop-up window presents a radio button list of options.  Select Copy from database.
  • The next window has five tabs; we are concerned with the first three -- Source, Destination, and Transformations.
  • On the Source tab, select the database table to read and specify the desired data columns.
  • On the Destination tab, select the spreadsheet columns to write to.
  • On the Transformations tab, select each pair of corresponding source and destination columns, one at a time.  There is a dropdown that gives a list of choices in how to process the data, ranging from a simple copy to a custom program; this time, select Copy.
  • Once all the desired data has been specified, click Package on the menu bar, then Save As from the dropdown menu.  Give the package a meaningful name and save it in the database.
  • Run the package by once again clicking Package on the menu bar, then Execute.
  • Debug if necessary.  
  • Repeat the previous two steps until there are no runtime errors.
  • Confirm that the data in the spreadsheet is correct.  If it is, we're done!  If it isn't...
  • This is a simple usage of DTS.

Arcane and specialized knowledge, indeed.

During the first half of 2005, Arthur and I were part of a team upgrading a corporate product costing website.  We were adding a new company location, which was significant because data for our different brands was segregated by location.  Along with adding the new location, we were redefining our database keys; this required changes to almost every query in every one of the roughly thirty pages in the site, which was my role, and equivalent changes to the each of the seven DTS packages, which was Arthur's role.  

I was also charged with keeping Arthur on task, which was a challenge on more than one level.  I was not a supervisor, and I had no experience, at that time, with the technology Arthur was using.   

It wasn't long before Arthur started asking to add data to each spreadsheet and database extracted with DTS.  That was not his task, as I understood it, so I told him not to.  He went around me, to the software architect who designed the costing web site and got him to okay the changes.  Certainly not the smoothest example of teamwork, no?

We kept working like this until the project reached fruition:  Implementation Day!  I did my documentation, I moved my program changes from the testing environment to production, and I coordinated the database changes with the database administrators.  Just before 5:00, Arthur dropped by my cubicle and leaned against the wall with one of those grins on his face, a grin that makes you suspect that the person wearing it isn't quite all there mentally.  

I realized then that there was probably a gap between what was and what should be, so I asked, "Arthur, have you coordinated moving your changes to production with the DBAs?"  "No."

You expect certain things from the professionals you work with:  competence, punctuality, responsibility.  And if those expectations aren't met...

After telling me that he had not fulfilled his responsibility as a project team member on this day, Arthur kept standing there, leaning against my cubicle wall, grinning that stupid grin.  I looked at him and said, "Go go, scurry scurry." 

He did go, he did scurry, and better late than never, he completed his part of the project.  

This was not the first time that Arthur had been rather cavalier in his duties, and his contract was terminated a couple of days later.  He asked me if I would be a reference for him in his job search, and I told him I would.  It is fortunate for us both that no one ever inquired into my experience working with him, as I would have told the unvarnished truth.

It's amusing, what I said to Arthur that day, but I'm not proud of it.  I wouldn't have spoken to a child in such condescending tones.  I've learned to handle both myself and other people better, as I've gone gone, scurried scurried.

Friday, September 12, 2014

Her Bright Shining Star

I lost a friend a couple of weeks ago.  Her name was Rhonda, and she took her own life.

Rhonda Sellers Elkins and I were high school classmates, and while I certainly remember her name from those days, I cannot say I really remember her.  That's a shame, because when we connected through Facebook, I found her to be a truly engaging person with whom I shared a curiosity in a few esoteric subjects.  We had several conversations on Facebook that I thoroughly enjoyed, and then it seemed that she simply drifted offline, as people will do when their lives become busy.

She reappeared on Facebook on April 13, 2013, and told the world that her brilliant medical student daughter Kaitlyn had committed suicide two days before.  I cannot say with any surety how the rest of her family handled Kaitlyn's death, but Rhonda grieved long and hard and publicly.  And in that grief, she told those of us who cared to listen of not only her daughter's long hidden and severe depression, but her own as well.

Rhonda actively used her grief, becoming a prolific blogger and an author to not only deal with her loss but to raise awareness about depression, especially among gifted young people.

Rhonda's agony touched me in a way I don't quite know how to explain.  I have been aware , in my own deepest moments of grief, of the edges of a vast pit of unrelenting darkness, a place that it seemed there could be no return from if I fell in.  No light.  No hope.

And I wondered, momentarily, about simply not being.

And I wonder now, how was I able to turn away from that siren call, when so many like Rhonda and Kaitlyn cannot?

We lionize those who sacrifice themselves that others may live, saying that they gave their lives.

We sympathize with those suffering from cancer and like diseases, whose physical pain is seen, is witnessed, and we do not begrudge them the choice to end their suffering.

We demonize the suicidal, whose anguish is not understood, is not witnessed, saying that they took their lives.  We accuse them of being weak, of having a defect of the will, yet how do we know what we would do in their places?

Rhonda called her book what she called her daughter, My Bright Shining Star.  Perhaps it should've been My Bright Shining Sun, for it seems that Rhonda was left with only that unrelenting darkness, until she could no longer bear it.

To her husband Allyn and daughter Stephanie, you have my profoundest sympathies.  I wish that in the times I talked to Rhonda, I had been able to be of more help.

I miss my friend.  I hope that she found her surcease from pain.






Thursday, August 21, 2014

Blazer

No day that begins with a pet...a companion...dying in your arms is going to be a good day.

He was 17 years old, and his name was Blazer.  Don't laugh, he was named by a six year-old boy.

Blazer belonged to my children from the time they got him and his sister Stripes in the summer of 1997 until they moved to Indiana with their mother in 2003.  They asked me if I'd keep him when their landlord said the dogs would be okay but the cat would have to be declawed.

Blazer moved in with me that July.

Lisa and I were still dating long distance then.  She fell in love with Blazer very quickly, and he returned her devotion.  We were already a family before Lisa and I married; we even had a catchphrase -- "Oops, he fell."  Ask me privately about this, and I may even tell you the truth.

Blazer once made his name literal.  Lisa and I had been married about 6 months, and I was sent off for a week's training for work.  I was on my way home, from Boston if memory serves, and Lisa was going through our mail.  She had one of those huge three wick candles lit on the once-upon-a-time dining room table that we used as my computer desk, and Blazer kept jumping up on the table, sticking his head between her and the pile of mail.  Lisa put him down on the floor, and Blazer jumped back up.  After several repetitions, Lisa smelled something.  Blazer's tail was smack dab in one of the candle flames, on fire. Apparently cats, or at least this one, have no feeling in their tails, because he just kept sitting there.  Lisa shrieked, which panicked Blazer, and he took off down the hall.  Lisa was able to douse Blazer's tail quickly, but we did smell singed cat fur for several days.

As Blazer got older, we worried about him being alone so much when we were both at work.  That lead to Tempe joining our family.  Tempe wasn't completely as we were told, but Blazer soon established himself as top cat.

This held true, even with the addition of Ollie and her kittens -- Sheldon, Leonard, and Penny; we're fans of The Big Bang Theory -- to the family.

As happens to us all, Blazer slowed down in the following four years.  He spent more time lying in the sun and less cuffing impudent youngsters testing the pecking order.  He no longer jumped as high, but he yowled louder than ever when he'd come downstairs from raiding the laundry hamper, trailing a sock for us to play with.

I won't go into detail concerning Blazer's decline over the last month.  I'll just celebrate the memory of the connection he gave me to my children over the last 11 years, and of the deep affection he and Lisa shared.  I'll imagine that he is now somewhere lazing in a warm patch of sunlight, saving his energy for a hunt.  And I'll feel a small cat-shaped hole in my soul for a while.

Friday, June 27, 2014

Georgia, On My Mind

Yesterday, for the second time in eleven years, you left your home in North Carolina for a new one in the Midwest.

It was harder the first time, because you were still a kid.  Through your high school and college years, Chesterton, Indiana shaped you into the wonderful young woman you are.  It did not, however, give you your professional start.  The Guilford County and Winston-Salem/Forsyth County school systems did.

This time...teaching taught you that education isn't the career for you.  There's certainly no shame in trying something, finding it doesn't work, and then starting over.  Going back to school is the right choice for you.  I just wish Northern Illinois University wasn't so far away.

So, my daughter, my Georgia Gifford...my Gigi...I'm going to take a fatherly prerogative and offer you some unsolicited advice:

  • Always try to be kinder today than you were yesterday.
  • Borrowing a line from a song I particularly like, only the curious have something to find, so be curious.
  • Love deeply and have faith in other people.  You won't, unfortunately, always get faith back, but you're more likely to if you offer it.
  • A sane worldview has room for both rationality and spirituality.
  • Sing some, dance some, and laugh a lot every day.

I could keep going, but brevity seems a wise choice.

I am going to miss having you nearby, I am proud of you, and I love you.  Be happy, be focused, and be here when you can.



Tuesday, June 3, 2014

My Left Knee

The second time I went to South Bend, it ended much better than it began, but not before it got worse.  You should know, here at the beginning, that the entirety of this story is not mine to tell, but what you're getting is true.  I promise.

Let's do a thought experiment. Each of us has a clock; I'm going to stand right here, and you're going to accelerate until you're moving at an appreciable fraction of the speed of light. Now, let's look at each other's clocks...what's this, less time has passed on yours? And, both clocks are right? Welcome to special relativity.

Let's do another one. We still have the clocks, but this time, I'm in a place where local gravity is greater than where you are. This time, my clock is slower than yours, but yours has accurately measured the passage of time. Welcome to general relativity.

Both of these are examples of time dilation.

I have a theory that there is an emotional gravity to events, far more malleable than physical gravity and infinitely responsive to the intensity of events. This is why time seems to slow down when something raw happens, only to whip back to its normal passage afterward, leaving you dazed, disoriented, and discomfited.


It was this past February 4th, a Monday morning. I was in Indiana because my son had an emergency and needed me. It was my fourth day there, and with other family coming in from Mississippi later in the day, I needed cash. I looked up the location of the nearest Wells Fargo branch and got in my car.

Keep February and Indiana in mind for the next few minutes.

I'd never in my life experienced quite as much snow as in the previous three days, but on that Monday, it was no hindrance to driving. I got to the Wells Fargo branch around 10:00 am, and within five minutes, I had the cash I wanted and left the building. I was on the sidewalk in between the bank and the street, ready to cross the parking lot to my car.

I fell as confidently as I had been walking. I can only figure that there must have been ice under the snow I stepped on. My left food slid forward, and I couldn't stop it. I expected only to be a bit embarrassed, but just before I hit the ground, I felt a *pop* in my left knee...



Déjà vu is a French phrase which translates literally as "already seen". It's a complex psychological phenomenon where one is extremely familiar with a situation never encountered before. It has been associated with temporal-lobe epilepsy, but there is hardly a 100% correlation.

George Carlin described the obverse, which he called vu jàdé, as "the feeling that you've never, ever been there before".

Your mileage may vary.


It was August, 2003. I don't recall the exact date. Lisa and I had been dating for 18 months, and we were taking our first vacation together, in Wilmington. We stayed at a KOA, in a cabin instead of a campsite, planning to do a bunch of touristy things over a couple of days. Then, I was going to take her to meet my parents for the first time.

On the day we traveled from Greensboro, we took in the battleship USS North Carolina museum and ate dinner at Flaming Amy's Burrito Barn. On our second day of the trip, we wanted to take in the sea turtle sanctuary at Topsail Island, after going for a swim in the pool.

We never made it to Topsail Island.

Sometimes, things seem familiar because they are.

We finished our swim, and as we climbed out of the pool, I stepped on a small puddle on the decking. My weight was going to the right, I was twisting my left leg to the left, and I slipped. I recall neither falling nor landing; I was overwhelmed by the pain. I do vividly recall two details from the next few minutes: my screaming, and the sight of my knee pointing 90 degrees sideways. Just...my...knee.

The knee popped back into place on its own. My pain lingered.

Is it unusual to feel estranged from a part of your own body?



...a *pop* in my left knee. I knew this pain, intimately. I was again away from home, but not on vacation. No, I had responsibilities, people counting on me. By God, I was going to ignore the pain, just will it away.

There was no willing away the fact that my knee had dislocated about 45 degrees and stayed. A couple of guys who saw me fall helped me up and held me up as I hopped across the parking lot to my car. That's when I found out I could not put any weight on my leg and I could not bend it. Not the best signs, given all on my plate that day.

One of the guys who helped me went inside the bank and brought the manager, who offered to call an ambulance for me. At first, I said no, because I wanted my will to overcome my injury. Once I really understood the damage, I capitulated.

The EMTs seemed to think I was handling things pretty well. So did the folks in the ER, although I ended up pretty out of sorts when the doctor popped my knee back into place. I was more outraged when, even though I was fitted with a "knee" brace that went from just above my ankle to halfway up my thigh, the doctor refused me a pair of crutches. I was given a prescription for pain medication, taken to the ER entrance in a wheelchair, comped the cost of a taxi ride back to my car, managed to lurch from the wheelchair -- remember the "knee" brace -- to the taxi when it arrived, and finally got to my car, a bit more than a couple of hours after arriving at the bank.

I called Lisa and several other family members to let them know why I'd been out of touch most of the morning. Then, I drove back to my son's apartment complex. I was terrified of finding more ice under the snow, but I successfully lurched across the sidewalk and up the stairs to the apartment. Once the Mississippi family arrived, we went to CVS to get my pain meds. We also bought me a cane. Stupid ER doctor.

Once my son's emergency was under control, I drove the nearly 800 miles from South Bend back to High Point in one day. From a pain management perspective, I would have been better off taking two days to make the drive, but after an unexpected and unplanned eight days away, I wanted to be home. I was hurt, and I knew Lisa would take care of me.

Almost seven months have passed. I have been through physical therapy and have started going to the employee gym, but I don't have quite the full range of motion back. I sometimes have to take the stairs one step at a time, and when I mow the steep slope in my front yard, I always fully plant my left foot before shifting my weight.

In spite of the care I take and the effort I put into strengthening the muscles around my knee, I still feel a small pop or two in it every week. It is often swollen and sore. I know that the best thing I can do, not only for my knee but for my general health, is to continue losing weight. I am down 13 pounds from my first check up with my doctor in Greensboro after the injury.

I know beyond any doubt I can handle this.



It was October 13, 2003, a Monday evening. Lisa and I had just been seated in a private alcove at our favorite restaurant, the much-missed Bianca's. It was Lisa's birthday.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the diamond ring; we had discussed getting engaged, but I had set expectations so that Lisa had no idea this was the day. I stood up and knelt to pop the question.

On my left knee.

Originally Published September 2, 2013

For Rhonda, On Kaitlyn's Passing

I was scrolling through my Facebook newsfeed last Saturday, and I saw the picture of you and Kaitlyn you posted. It was the first time in quite a while I'd seen you show up, and since I thought it was a very nice picture of the two of you, I clicked the Like button. Then, I scrolled down a little bit farther, and I saw the post you put up just prior to that picture.

It was the one where you told the world that your daughter had taken her own life.

It was a gutpunch, and for a moment I felt I'd done something a little off by "Liking" that picture. But, that was only for a moment; then, I went back and re-read your words more carefully. As I did, I was struck by two things. The first was my respect for your act of putting your grief out in public. The second was the anguish you showed in asking "How could I not have known?"

I have a brief story for you. It does have relevance, I think, to your here-and-now, but I'm really offering it for the long run.

In mid-1995, I was, though I didn't yet know it, approaching the end of my first marriage. I had a house, a good job that was one of the solid stops in my career, kids...and a very unhappy wife. She started her journey towards the life she wanted to, and now does, lead. How did she do that? By coming out.
After 15 years as a couple, 12 years of marriage, and three children, she not only no longer wanted me, she no longer wanted my gender.

My world imploded in grief and confusion. "How could I not have known?"

As I began to deal with my new reality, I made some hard decisions. I believed that my children's day-to-day care was best left with their mother, and I believed that I needed to do everything in my power to keep them out of the middle of any nastiness between their mother and me. Those decisions still resonate in my life today, and they always will.

It was one other decision I made in those days that I want to share with you. You see, while of course I told my parents when my ex-wife and I split, I didn't tell them why. I didn't believe that I was strong enough to deal with demands they would make on me in light of the reason my marriage ended.

As their son, I deprived them of the chance to more deeply help me through the worst time of my life.
Rhonda, how could you not have known what your daughter was going through? Kaitlyn chose not to tell you. It's just that simple.

I don't know that I was depressed when I made my choices back in the 90s. I don't know that I wasn't. I do know that the stress I was under kept me from making my best decisions, at the time.
I really can't imagine what Kaitlyn went through, nor what you're going through now.
I can tell you, cliched though it may be, that Life Is A Gamble, and that you and I took the biggest gamble of all. We chose to have children.

It's our job as parents to feed, shelter, and love our children. It's also our tasks, if we're doing it right, to recognize our limits and let go, bit by bit, so that our children can test theirs.

You did it right, Rhonda. You did it right.

Originally published April 18, 2013