For whatever set of reasons I did not sleep well last night. Sometimes when the kids stay over, as they did last night, I have trouble sleeping because I am worrying about them being out late, or they make a lot of noise through the wall separating my bedroom and the living room, where our new TV is still quite the object of attention.
But last night no one was out too late, and they didn't make very much noise, so my insomnia was a bit more mystifying.
Then again, some nights are just like that.
This morning I got up, prepared for work, and drove Dylan to his job -- camp counselor for "tech camp" at Synergy School.
Then I grabbed Aidan's car keys and moved his car in front of our house. That began the familiar cat-and-mouse game we play withe the parking cops. They come by every hour, chalk the car tires, come back an hour later, and we've moved the car (hopefully).
If we get it wrong, that's a $76 ticket.
It's expensive to live in this city!
As I tried to walk to work, I realized that losing a night's sleep had sapped me and I returned home and called in sick. It's called a PTO day at KQED. I have worked lightly at home all day and also helped get Aidan's financial aid information up to date. Actually, I just talked -- Connie and Aidan did the work.
We owed U-Montana three forms and I believe they now are all on the way.
The bureaucratic details surrounding college finances and financial aid are bewildering. I used to be able to navigate this kind of thing seamlessly, but there days I find I have little energy and less confidence I can do so. For those reasons it is good the others can learn how to step in and help. The days are past when I need to feel the responsibility to do all of this stuff, right?
Julia and Aidan have spent most of today watching some sort of British crime series on TV -- it is nice to see how the two of them have built a closeness despite the age difference. But, after all, they are the two headed off away from home this fall -- him back to Missoula, her on to Napa.
Dylan appears to be set on staying here for a gap year.
Now it is late in the afternoon, I am still not feeling very well and I am glad I made the PTO decision. Aidan will eventually go off to see his GF; Julia will take Lyft home to her Mom's. I'm hoping for a better sleep tonight, so I can return to my job tomorrow.
***
For the first time in years, I seem to be feeling a need to once again blog on a regular basis. I'm getting back to the little insights, day in and day out, that enrich my own understanding of the world around me.
Details matter. A butterfly lifting off from Milkweed, a child riding a new bike, and old woman seeking cans for recycling. Whatever my eyes can see my fingers can type.
-30-
Monday, July 06, 2015
Sunday, July 05, 2015
Our Shared Fates
The fireworks went on around here late into last night; I think I fell asleep a bit before midnight when they stopped. Just now, on a walk around the neighborhood, a little girl of Middle Eastern descent, probably 8, asked me "Did you a have a nice Fourth of July?"
She is the oldest of three kids in the family that operates my nearest corner store. One of the really nice things about San Francisco is our many corner stores. Mom & Pop operations, every one of them.
Years ago, when this girl was much younger, I took a family photo for them and printed it out. They did not have a camera of their own back then. They were so thrilled to have a photo of themselves.
It often strikes me how much like my own (immigrant) life their lives are. We are all first-generation Americans.
Both of my marriages were to long-time American families, blue-bloods I think they are called. My ex-wives had history in this country, not all of it pretty.
But all of us, whoever we are, want to be seen in this life. Maybe that is what makes cameras such powerful tools. They capture us, or at least a likeness of us. That brings me back to yesterday's post about my ex-GF. She loved to be photographed, here, there, anywhere.
That is another story.
-30-
She is the oldest of three kids in the family that operates my nearest corner store. One of the really nice things about San Francisco is our many corner stores. Mom & Pop operations, every one of them.
Years ago, when this girl was much younger, I took a family photo for them and printed it out. They did not have a camera of their own back then. They were so thrilled to have a photo of themselves.
It often strikes me how much like my own (immigrant) life their lives are. We are all first-generation Americans.
Both of my marriages were to long-time American families, blue-bloods I think they are called. My ex-wives had history in this country, not all of it pretty.
But all of us, whoever we are, want to be seen in this life. Maybe that is what makes cameras such powerful tools. They capture us, or at least a likeness of us. That brings me back to yesterday's post about my ex-GF. She loved to be photographed, here, there, anywhere.
That is another story.
-30-
Saturday, July 04, 2015
National Day
Got up and cooked my 20-year-old's standard breakfast -- six egg yolks and two whole eggs. He also made himself a bowl of cereal and fruit. He works a full shift today, starting soon. He drove my 16-year-old back to her Mom's on his way to work. My 19-year-old is camping with friends at Donner Lake.
Dylan knows his history so he probably is fully aware of what happened to the Donner Party that brutal winter in the Sierra Nevada.
Me, I plan to relax while keeping aware of any potential breaking news, since I am the "Weekend Editor." We don't have enough resources at KQED News to actually staff weekends, so on on a revolving basis, one of us assumes that role.
Should a big story break, such as a wildfire nearby, a terrorist act, or an earthquake, I would start contacting colleagues to see who could cover it. Let's hope that isn't necessary this weekend. But it is very hot Northern California; that plus fireworks means the fire threat is high.
The main event I was looking forward to today already happened, but the Giants played poorly and lost their fifth game in a row. It is mid-season now. Still a lot of baseball to go. I will probably watch other games on my (still) new TV, plus some of the patriotic movies that will no doubt be playing as the day moves along.
I can already hear occasional fireworks now and again. By tonight this neighborhood will be filled with smoke from their booms. No need to leave the Mission District to see fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Although I'll spend the day alone, I do not feel lonely. This is a change from times past. When I started this blog, I was recovering from a breakup, a painful (for me) breakup. I was 59. Several relationships later, I finally retired from dating four years ago.
I love all of my exes, each in her own way. I've been thinking of one particular former GF today because this is her birthday. Or maybe it was yesterday. Her parents were never really sure because she came into the world sometime over the night of the 3rd/4th of July in China and I guess they did not have ready access to a clock when she was born.
Twelve years ago we spent the summer together, here and on the road. I was not yet blogging. We went up to Nevada City and the South Fork of the Yuba River. We went out to Pt. Reyes and Ocean Beach. She loved the water, loved to hike and swim and to eat fish. She often also went with me to dinner with friends.
When she ate in American restaurants she often ordered a child's portion, because that's all she could handle at one seating. She was a lovely, tiny, brilliant, kind Chinese woman with long black hair and a wicked sense of humor. She always is the life of any party -- a jokester in both Mandarin and (back in those days) very poor English. Everyone was charmed when they met her.
When she last visited me a few years back, her English had improved to almost fluent. I think she works for the UN in Beijing. She is a graceful spirit on this planet who devoted herself way back then to the idea of "taking care" of me that summer of my second divorce. We shopped for food all over the city and she showed me how to cook, Chinese style. She kept me distracted. By the time she returned to her homeland, I felt strong enough to be on my own.
I also knew how to cook some pretty wicked spicy Chinese soups and to sp[eak a few words of Mandarin, which is a lovely language.
It was an amazing, brief chapter of my life, and today I am celebrating that summer and my memory of her.
I miss you. Happy Birthday, W!
-30-
Dylan knows his history so he probably is fully aware of what happened to the Donner Party that brutal winter in the Sierra Nevada.
Me, I plan to relax while keeping aware of any potential breaking news, since I am the "Weekend Editor." We don't have enough resources at KQED News to actually staff weekends, so on on a revolving basis, one of us assumes that role.
Should a big story break, such as a wildfire nearby, a terrorist act, or an earthquake, I would start contacting colleagues to see who could cover it. Let's hope that isn't necessary this weekend. But it is very hot Northern California; that plus fireworks means the fire threat is high.
The main event I was looking forward to today already happened, but the Giants played poorly and lost their fifth game in a row. It is mid-season now. Still a lot of baseball to go. I will probably watch other games on my (still) new TV, plus some of the patriotic movies that will no doubt be playing as the day moves along.
I can already hear occasional fireworks now and again. By tonight this neighborhood will be filled with smoke from their booms. No need to leave the Mission District to see fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Although I'll spend the day alone, I do not feel lonely. This is a change from times past. When I started this blog, I was recovering from a breakup, a painful (for me) breakup. I was 59. Several relationships later, I finally retired from dating four years ago.
I love all of my exes, each in her own way. I've been thinking of one particular former GF today because this is her birthday. Or maybe it was yesterday. Her parents were never really sure because she came into the world sometime over the night of the 3rd/4th of July in China and I guess they did not have ready access to a clock when she was born.
Twelve years ago we spent the summer together, here and on the road. I was not yet blogging. We went up to Nevada City and the South Fork of the Yuba River. We went out to Pt. Reyes and Ocean Beach. She loved the water, loved to hike and swim and to eat fish. She often also went with me to dinner with friends.
When she ate in American restaurants she often ordered a child's portion, because that's all she could handle at one seating. She was a lovely, tiny, brilliant, kind Chinese woman with long black hair and a wicked sense of humor. She always is the life of any party -- a jokester in both Mandarin and (back in those days) very poor English. Everyone was charmed when they met her.
When she last visited me a few years back, her English had improved to almost fluent. I think she works for the UN in Beijing. She is a graceful spirit on this planet who devoted herself way back then to the idea of "taking care" of me that summer of my second divorce. We shopped for food all over the city and she showed me how to cook, Chinese style. She kept me distracted. By the time she returned to her homeland, I felt strong enough to be on my own.
I also knew how to cook some pretty wicked spicy Chinese soups and to sp[eak a few words of Mandarin, which is a lovely language.
It was an amazing, brief chapter of my life, and today I am celebrating that summer and my memory of her.
I miss you. Happy Birthday, W!
-30-
Friday, July 03, 2015
Friday Musings
This blog has evolved from a public space where I attempted to connect with many people into a private blog that only a few close friends visit. That is largely a stage of life thing. Being older, with far less energy than even a few years ago, I do not go out much beyond my job, which is pretty consuming on its own.
We have a new arts editor; she's British and charming. We've gone out of the office a few times; yesterday for lunch, to chat. She's one of the many nice friends I've made at KQED. Her boss is another. I first met him years ago at Edutopia, George Lucas's project that was briefly one of my clients.
The core of my team is made up of online producers -- people familiar with blogging, social media, online video, interactive graphics, database journalism, and more. I've got three and a half positions reporting to me at present, soon to be four.
The people in these jobs are all young, in their twenties and thirties, and I love the time I get to spend with them. They are all extremely committed to public journalism but also so talented they could easily be earning twice as much at a startup in the private sector.
They just choose not to. My role is to protect them, allow them to expand and grow, and to challenge them. We've worked that out over the past two years into a mutually satisfying relationship. Every working day we have conversations that help my aging brain to stay engaged and not wander off on its own, as it is want to do...
I also have an extremely cantankerous older blogger, a guy I have known for a quarter century in three different companies. He's brilliant, rebellious, and given to providing us rants at our daily "standup" meeting. Rants on things like salmon, gun violence in Oakland, and various historical topics.
Within the company he is considered a management challenge. I enjoy my time with him and have arranged for next week to be a chance for him to explore the origin of the mysterious East Bay walls high in the hills -- so far nobody seems to know who built them or why.
Then I have the "fill-in" staff. These involve many more people, let me try to count. At least eight or nine. These are also mostly young people who work now and then when my main staffers are absent. Two are older, experienced journalists -- peers I deeply respect.
The younger ones are folks I am trying to help. One has been a temp worker at KQED for seven years but never got a raise. I took his case up to HR and after a laborious research process, they agreed that he should have been paid more for at least the past three years.
He was going to be given an offer yesterday but on Monday, tragically, his father fell ill, had emergency surgery and died. He made it to his side, in Arizona, and was able to help his mother make the decision to pull his dad from life support.
I worked with HR to get this week paid for (since he had been scheduled to fill-in for one of my staff) and then found out what the company has decided to do about the wage disparity issue.
Next Monday he is to find out: a check, a bonus, of $11,000 and a permanent raise of 20 percent.
This kind of work is how I spend my days. It makes me proud to be a manager.
The rest of my work is guiding young reporters on investigative projects. We've been breaking stories now and then -- I'd love us to be doing more of this. In effect I have created a tiny CIR inside KQED.
-30-
We have a new arts editor; she's British and charming. We've gone out of the office a few times; yesterday for lunch, to chat. She's one of the many nice friends I've made at KQED. Her boss is another. I first met him years ago at Edutopia, George Lucas's project that was briefly one of my clients.
The core of my team is made up of online producers -- people familiar with blogging, social media, online video, interactive graphics, database journalism, and more. I've got three and a half positions reporting to me at present, soon to be four.
The people in these jobs are all young, in their twenties and thirties, and I love the time I get to spend with them. They are all extremely committed to public journalism but also so talented they could easily be earning twice as much at a startup in the private sector.
They just choose not to. My role is to protect them, allow them to expand and grow, and to challenge them. We've worked that out over the past two years into a mutually satisfying relationship. Every working day we have conversations that help my aging brain to stay engaged and not wander off on its own, as it is want to do...
I also have an extremely cantankerous older blogger, a guy I have known for a quarter century in three different companies. He's brilliant, rebellious, and given to providing us rants at our daily "standup" meeting. Rants on things like salmon, gun violence in Oakland, and various historical topics.
Within the company he is considered a management challenge. I enjoy my time with him and have arranged for next week to be a chance for him to explore the origin of the mysterious East Bay walls high in the hills -- so far nobody seems to know who built them or why.
Then I have the "fill-in" staff. These involve many more people, let me try to count. At least eight or nine. These are also mostly young people who work now and then when my main staffers are absent. Two are older, experienced journalists -- peers I deeply respect.
The younger ones are folks I am trying to help. One has been a temp worker at KQED for seven years but never got a raise. I took his case up to HR and after a laborious research process, they agreed that he should have been paid more for at least the past three years.
He was going to be given an offer yesterday but on Monday, tragically, his father fell ill, had emergency surgery and died. He made it to his side, in Arizona, and was able to help his mother make the decision to pull his dad from life support.
I worked with HR to get this week paid for (since he had been scheduled to fill-in for one of my staff) and then found out what the company has decided to do about the wage disparity issue.
Next Monday he is to find out: a check, a bonus, of $11,000 and a permanent raise of 20 percent.
This kind of work is how I spend my days. It makes me proud to be a manager.
The rest of my work is guiding young reporters on investigative projects. We've been breaking stories now and then -- I'd love us to be doing more of this. In effect I have created a tiny CIR inside KQED.
-30-
Wednesday, July 01, 2015
Happy Holiday Everyone
Well, the second half of the year has arrived. Yesterday, my youngest walked to my office after her day working as a volunteer counselor at the SPCA, which is about four blocks from my office. I reintroduced her to many staff members, no doubt embarrassing her in the process.
I wonder whether our children understand why we are so proud of them? I hope they do not think it is about us, their parents.
Speaking for myself, as the father of six children and six grandchildren, what has always amazed me is the genetic diversity in our family. All 12 of them are unique human beings, with different appearances, proclivities and interests.
Since I love math, that tells me that the random human outcomes of reproduction are vast. Every person is unique and special -- a true individual.
If that is a validation of the American cultural ideal so be it!
Happy Birthday, country!
-30-
I wonder whether our children understand why we are so proud of them? I hope they do not think it is about us, their parents.
Speaking for myself, as the father of six children and six grandchildren, what has always amazed me is the genetic diversity in our family. All 12 of them are unique human beings, with different appearances, proclivities and interests.
Since I love math, that tells me that the random human outcomes of reproduction are vast. Every person is unique and special -- a true individual.
If that is a validation of the American cultural ideal so be it!
Happy Birthday, country!
-30-
Saturday, June 27, 2015
Domestic Saturday
Woke up and realized we did not have the right food here for Aidan (20) to make his three meals for his work shift (12:45-9:15) today. So off to Safeway I went, where I secured ground turkey, broccoli, dried mango, eggs, egg whites, frozen rice, and other essentials.
Checked in with Dylan (19) about his plans for today, which are to party with the Pride crowd. This is his favorite weekend of the year, he recently told me. He just sent a joyful text to me "Pride is awesome today!"
Julia (16) and I saw lots of half-naked people, obviously headed for Pride, as she and I went out to a mall for her to get her third set of ear piercings. "They are basically wearing bikinis but not at the beach," was her observation. She got her new earrings, and I am happy it was with me there with her.
I've been taking my kids to Claire's for piercings for years and to tattoo shops as well. Today I noticed Julia didn't even flinch as her ears were pierced. She is a young woman now, and also an athlete, an artist and an urban kid.
The African American woman who pierced her ears told me about when she got her own third set of piercings (15) when she learned Julia's age.
I do not really understand the things they want to do, to be honest, because I am an old man, without much context, a partner, or anyone to talk it over with. But then again that doesn't really matter. I just love them the way they are.
Plus all the other people who talk to me along the way.
-30-
Checked in with Dylan (19) about his plans for today, which are to party with the Pride crowd. This is his favorite weekend of the year, he recently told me. He just sent a joyful text to me "Pride is awesome today!"
Julia (16) and I saw lots of half-naked people, obviously headed for Pride, as she and I went out to a mall for her to get her third set of ear piercings. "They are basically wearing bikinis but not at the beach," was her observation. She got her new earrings, and I am happy it was with me there with her.
I've been taking my kids to Claire's for piercings for years and to tattoo shops as well. Today I noticed Julia didn't even flinch as her ears were pierced. She is a young woman now, and also an athlete, an artist and an urban kid.
The African American woman who pierced her ears told me about when she got her own third set of piercings (15) when she learned Julia's age.
I do not really understand the things they want to do, to be honest, because I am an old man, without much context, a partner, or anyone to talk it over with. But then again that doesn't really matter. I just love them the way they are.
Plus all the other people who talk to me along the way.
-30-
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Little Moments
Yesterday I came home at lunchtime and picked up my 16-year-old to go to the Verizon store. Her phone has been acting up and it was time for an upgrade.
It took 2 and 1/2 hours. While there, we found out we qualified for a discount, based on my employer. But I had no official ID with me that Verizon would accept. (After the salesperson checked with his supervisor, they gave us the discount anyway.)
As we were enduring one of the many long waiting periods, I brought up my KQED Author ID page, which has my photo and the list of (39) articles I supposedly have published on kqed.org. (I think the number is greater than that, but whatever, technology is never perfect.)
"Wow, you are famous, Dad!" she said.
It turned out she was Googling me and found the Wikipedia entry about me ("David Weir, Journalist).
As she read that entry, she said, "is this true?" She was referring to one line.
"Nope that used to be true," I replied.
"Let's fix it."
She then edited the entry and corrected the outdated information.
There we were in a Verizon store on Mission Street, on an iPad chained to its display case, correcting some information about my half-century career on the biggest crowd-sourced encyclopedia in the world. And my daughter was discovering that I have an Internet footprint for the very first time.
Her biggest disappointment?
"Why didn't they talk about your kids?"
-30-
It took 2 and 1/2 hours. While there, we found out we qualified for a discount, based on my employer. But I had no official ID with me that Verizon would accept. (After the salesperson checked with his supervisor, they gave us the discount anyway.)
As we were enduring one of the many long waiting periods, I brought up my KQED Author ID page, which has my photo and the list of (39) articles I supposedly have published on kqed.org. (I think the number is greater than that, but whatever, technology is never perfect.)
"Wow, you are famous, Dad!" she said.
It turned out she was Googling me and found the Wikipedia entry about me ("David Weir, Journalist).
As she read that entry, she said, "is this true?" She was referring to one line.
"Nope that used to be true," I replied.
"Let's fix it."
She then edited the entry and corrected the outdated information.
There we were in a Verizon store on Mission Street, on an iPad chained to its display case, correcting some information about my half-century career on the biggest crowd-sourced encyclopedia in the world. And my daughter was discovering that I have an Internet footprint for the very first time.
Her biggest disappointment?
"Why didn't they talk about your kids?"
-30-
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