One squirrel's trash...

I’ve been doing some clearing out around the house. Clothes that I’m never going to wear again (farewell to the pantihose!), books going to a synagogue’s annual sale, kitchenware I don’t use any more.

I’ve also shredded 40 years’ worth of journals. I’ve schlepped them across continents and oceans, but they served their purpose in providing a forum for me to work through things as they happened. I don’t need them any longer.

Fun fact: back at the turn of the century, I was living in London and going through some challenging things at work. On a vacation to Normandy, I somehow left the current journal in the toilette of a restaurant somewhere around Deauville. Didn’t notice until I got back to London. I pondered for a while—like I said, challenging things and I was pretty forceful in the language I was using to work through them. But I decided that I really wanted it back—for one thing, I was only halfway through the pages, and it was a really good format. So I faxed the restaurant, asking if they’d, uh, found it; if so, if they could mail it to me (at my expense) I’d be grateful.

They had, they did and I was.

Here’s another fun fact: when I went on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela 45 years ago, my journal was one of three books I carried with me in my panniers. (The other two were Henry IV, Part 1 and Montaigne’s Essays.) 

Within about three months of returning to the US, I was already mythologizing what an amazing, wonderful trip it was. A couple of glances at the journal reminded me that it rained a lot during that journey and that I didn’t feel fully clean all the while I was biking and staying in hostels.

Okay, well—40 years of journals results in nearly three large Hefty bin bags of shreds. I’ve put a few gallons into my composter, but decided that my almost completely clay ground might benefit from having some of the bits worked directly into it. So I dumped about half a bag on the ground and did my best to do that.

You’ll see from the video that I was not entirely (or even mostly) successful. Not only is there clay, but a crap ton of roots, which make it really hard to turn the dirt over. So I left it, figuring that eventually the rain and heat will help it decompose and do some of the work of amending the soil.

What I’ve discovered is that this has become a squirrel playground, which makes me literally laugh out loud. I mean, look:

Turns out that clearing out your life has unexpected benefits.

©2024 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: Washing dishes

The world lost the corporeal manifestation of a force for peace last Friday. Thich Nhat Hanh, the founder of “engaged Buddhism”, peace activist and father of mindfulness died, aged 95, at his home monastery in Vietnam.

I chose the phrase “corporeal manifestation” because he of all people taught that the essence, the reality of a being does not begin with birth or end with death, and I truly believe that. Nhat Hanh’s teachings have enriched the world in general and me personally, a gift of immense grace and value and one for which I am deeply grateful.

I am so constituted as to be constantly in motion—if not physically, then mentally. It is very, very hard for me to stop and be. But Nhat Hanh tells us again and again that just being—in the moment—is when we are most connected with the universe. Even with my monkey brain I get that (although it is mortal difficult for me to put it into practice). But every once in a while, I pull back from my frenetic activity and focus on the moment and a simple task—say, washing dishes—I feel that connection and it brings such unexpected joy.

In 2009, when I was retracing the route of my pilgrimage 30 years earlier, I took a small detour to Village des Pruniers, the main monastery and retreat house of Nhat Hanh’s movement about 80km outside of Bordeaux. I walked around, attempted to meditate and took some photos. It was exactly what I needed then, and remembering that peacefulness is exactly what I need now.

Thich Nhat Hanh’s body is dead, but his teachings live. I am so grateful for that.

 

Gratitude Monday: legacy

Today I’m grateful for the next chapter of my life and how I got here; I report to work as senior product manager at a cyber security company. It’s my aspirational job at my aspirational company in my aspirational field, something a year or two ago I’d not have imagined possible.

I’d thought that my last job would be my legacy gig—running innovations for a non-profit. But it didn’t turn out that way. Instead, I think it was a stepping stone to this new position, an opportunity to do strategic work that positively affects lives, industries and nations; a different legacy. Something happened in the last months of the old place that turned me around, energized me and drove me forward in a way I’ve seldom experienced.

Late in the hiring process, when I was waiting for the offer, a friend who’d been supporting and encouraging me throughout said I should write about it, and it occurred to me that going through and sharing this particular round of job search is another legacy as well. This one broke so many constraints that have described my life and my career; perhaps it can show the way for others. (Not least of whom are those of a certain age—another friend has abjured me to “win one for us older ones” who become invisible, especially in the tech world, once we hit 40.)

So, a quick recap.

The day I posted about my D-Day convo with the program leader, when she announced I would be laid off, I knew this was going to be different. For one thing, those clowns pissed me off. For another, I started reaching out to former colleagues, friends and people I kinda knew on social media. And they responded. JB found a product manager job at his company, made an internal referral, chased up the recruiter and gave me good gouge about the job and people involved. They decided to go with someone else, but the experience was positive, professional and encouraging inasmuch as they clearly saw my skills as valuable.

MGB offered to help, and gave me an internal referral to a product marketing position at her company, which I really appreciated. SM gave me leads and did some LRRP work. JD sent my résumé to a few people he knew and spitballed some companies that might be interesting. SA introduced me to a friend who works at Salesforce, and he gave me terrific advice about expanding the job titles in my search, because solutions engineers there don’t have to be super-techie.

Social media was instrumental in my search this time. In addition to the friends who responded to my Facebook post, I also announced my status on Twitter, both publicly and via DMs.

Because I’ve been following various infosec accounts for years, I got on occasional Friday night frivolous discussions about hair bands, horror movies, 80s TV shows and other pop culture “this the hill I’ll die on” topics. That led me to RF, a security old-timer in Boston, who’s helped me for the past year in matching my skills to job requirements, and giving me connections to companies I’m interested in. The instant I told him about my altered circumstance, he kicked into high gear and showered me with job leads and connections for internal referrals.

CT, who leads a regular careers chat on Twitter, not only asked for my résumé to distribute at an HR meetup, but she caught an embarrassing typo on it and enabled me to correct it before I submitted to the company that eventually hired me. What a champ!

My friend CN gave strategic advice as well as leads. She’s responsible for articulating the change in my approach: #playingtowin as opposed to playing not to lose. That gave me the courage to tell the world not only that I was looking, but what I was looking for. As though I had the confidence and the moxie to find it. (Which, as it happens, I did.) AM (who requested this post) gave me further context about this distinction: playing to win means leading with your strengths; playing to lose is all about covering your weaknesses. I’d been doing the latter most of my life, but that ended in June.

Because I’d smashed the stigma of being laid off, when MW (a champion of diversity and inclusion, whom I’ve followed on Twitter for a couple of years) announced that he’s happy to help with job searches and the best way for him to do that is for seekers to book a 30-minute call with him—I jumped up and down, waved my hand and shouted, “Me, me, call on me!” And he did.

And here’s where the stars shifted into alignment. He gave me concise, pragmatic advice on how to present myself, and made this offer: whenever I found a job I’m interested in, if I sent him the listing, the hiring manager and/or the recruiter, he’d see who in his network could help. Like SA’s friend, he also suggested that I rethink the limits on job titles. And he closed by assuring me, “You got this, girl!”

I spent a day or two redoing my matrix of target companies—all infosec—and then went down the list to see what job openings each one had. Blow me if my topmost company didn’t have a product manager listed, and every single bullet point was well within my capabilities. I’d dismissed the notion of being a product manager in cyber security, because they’re universally heavy on tech bona fides. But not this one. RW’s friend DR, who works in the company, not only made an internal referral, but he dug around until he found both the hiring manager and the recruiter. I created my résumé with matrix matching my skills to the job requirements, and sent that with a link to the posting and the names of the hiring manager and recruiter to MW on a Thursday. His response within 30 minutes: “Notes sent!” The next morning, I had an email from the recruiter asking to set up a call, and the hiring manager had viewed my LinkedIn profile.

Then there was a steady stream of phone interviews—in each of which I felt confident and excited by the opportunity I’d have to contribute in a meaningful way to an important solution for an acknowledged industry leader. Then a three-hour onsite interview in which I refused to worry about what they’d think when they saw that my LinkedIn photo is definitely 20 years old. (Tech is still largely a young man’s game, and I am neither.) But it didn’t seem to matter to them; what they focused on were my ideas and my questions.

And I considered the prospect of living a life of joy.

Throughout the process, I enlisted the support of friends; I invited them to share in the journey, instead of trying to do everything on my own and hiding in case it didn’t work out. In addition to CN, AM, MLD (in England) and RF, the Viking Maiden beseeched the gods and crossed everything as I progressed—even on her vacation in Denmark. CB on Twitter also sent most excellent vibes.

It wasn’t over even when I got the offer, which was quite good. But women (including me) tend not to negotiate offers, so #playingtowin meant I had to counter. Again I consulted with MW, and here’s how I did it: I collected screen captures of what senior product managers in Internet/software in this area get paid, which came to a range of X to X+$10K. (Yes, there were some sources that were lower than X; it wasn’t my job to counter my counter, so I didn’t include them.) And I simply asked, “This is what my research tells me is the range. What flexibility is there to raise the base salary to X+$5K?”

It took a few days for them to run through their internal process—during which I was your basic cat on a hot tin roof—but the recruiter and hiring manager came through like champs. Did you hear me doing the happy dance when I hung up on the call? Probably.

One more star in alignment: I can walk to work.

Dear readers—in the approximately three months since my last day at work, it feels as though my life has changed course. I named—to myself and to others—what I really wanted. I invited help. I received all kinds of support. I spoke easily about what I’ve done and what I can do. I inhabited an atmosphere of joy. I negotiated. I won one for the elders. I played to win.

Here’s the thing: if I can do it, so can others. I’m happy to help. That’ll be my legacy, too.

One step forward

Okay, sports fans—the offer has landed. And there are definitely a few points I wish to amend, so this is going to be interesting.

But it’s real, it is not insulting and I am ready to take this on.

Standing my ground

So, when last I spoke with anyone from my old company, the mishegoss was strong with them. The face of the program, SM, wanted me to continue working on it as an “on-call temp”, at “20% of my salary”. Because there’s no one else on the floor who can do what I can. I’d given her my contact details in an email, but didn’t hear anything.

Well, last week, I got an email from JT, the only person on the floor to express appreciation for me, saying that SM had asked for…my contact details, and she wanted to know if it was okay to share them. Well, I said sure—and that I’d given them to her, but prolly got lost. But again, nada.

However, Monday I got an email from SM saying she’d like to chat. I replied suggesting she give me a time yesterday afternoon for a call, and she said, “Great!”

Uh, no—I’m not sticking around between 1200 and 1800 awaiting the ringy-dingy; even Comcast gives you a two-hour window. So I asked her to name a time, and we did have the call.

Well, there was a lot of interesting information, which I will not bore you with. (Although at no point in the conversation did she inquire about me, how I've been in the month since I left, what I've been doing, whether I'm in good health. I'm not at all surprised: a year ago I was out for a week recovering from hand surgery. She never once asked what the surgery was, or how my recovery was going. Likewise, when I took 17 days of vacation in November and December, neither she nor the Clown Car expressed any interest at all in my absence. I do not at all figure in the human tier of their cosmology.)  But the gist of it was she needs me to rework the business plan so the program can show potential corporate donors we have a strategy for sustainability, which of course is generally considered a Good Thing. And I of course can do that.

I let her talk; she was merrily going on about setting up a four-hour meeting with her (interestingly, she made it clear that neither JC nor LW would be involved with this; “we don’t need the operations people for this”*), and reiterating the on-call temp/20% of salary thing. Then I said, “I don’t know how that works, but I get [slightly larger figure than I’m willing to do this for, but still more than she would have imagined] per hour for this work, so we’ll have to figure out how to make it happen.”

*However, when you acknowledge that the program director really doesn’t have any strategic sense, you’re pretty much saying you’re stuffed.

To her credit, she did not drop the phone. And we will have to figure out how to make it happen, because I am not doing it for less than the rate I have in mind. End of.

I was following the advice of a woman on Twitter, who said that, when negotiating salary, you should name the largest figure you can without bursting out laughing.

Because I am #playingtowin.

Gratitude Monday: next steps

Well, well, well. Life’s a funny old thing, innit?

Last Thursday—the 75^th anniversary of D-Day—the head of the program I’m working on came into my office (only the fourth time in the past six months this has occurred) and asked how I was doing. I replied the usual and inquired after herself.

“Not very well,” she said. And the short version is that the program has burned through the several hundred thousand dollars we’ve got in grants, and she’s letting me go.

This is actually not unusual in startup organizations: they’re underfunded and don’t manage what funds they do have, so everything goes to hell and they can’t figure out how to turn it around. We were partly screwed by having a grant proposal in seven figures to the National Science Foundation, which was to have been made late last year, but the government shutdown put it on hold for months. We still haven’t received it. And even if it should show up tomorrow, my manager (whom I’ll call SM) said the best she could do for me was part-time, because she’s “mortgaged” that money, spending it on other things in advance of receiving it, like a wastrel viscount in a Regency novel living riotously on his expectations.

(It’s telling that, while this initiative is truly a worthwhile endeavor, and we are uniquely positioned to make systemic changes in STEM diversity and inclusion, our overall organization has declined to fund it. The few million in startup costs would have been an investment in not only a bold new program that would be self-sustaining in five years, but would also have added immeasurable prestige to the organization. However, this company is nothing if not risk averse, so that’s that.)

I’ve been struggling with my colleagues ever since I was transferred in—while SM specifically asked for me because of my business skills—the two program directors have been nothing but dismissive and disrespectful and uncollegial. (This is not me being super sensitive; others have commented on it as well.) They completely fail to recognize that if this program is not a sustainable business, it will fail. And that I’m the only person who can frame the business strategy, build a revenue model, develop a marketing plan and product manage the complex IT platform that is critical to business operations.

Critical inasmuch as: you cannot launch this program and ask institutions to pay annual subscription fees in five figures without it.

I won’t go into detail, but even on this element—an area in which they have zero expertise and I have more than a decade as a product manager—they hared off to run the buildout themselves. I spoke with SM a couple of times about my concerns in this regard; she nodded and said, “We should have a huddle.” And nothing changed.

So, I just started taking it over. As it stands now, four companies have submitted proposals for the work of documenting the software requirements so we can issue an RFP to build the platform. (I included the colleague I’ll refer to a LW on scoping calls as the programmatic SME. During them he pished endlessly about things that are irrelevant to the discussion, and he waxed expansive on how much money we have in hand—high six figures—to spend on the project. Yes—he told the vendor how much money we have to spend; you heard me hitting my head on my desk at that moment. And he sent the clear message that he was running the show.

Well, I guess he will be…if they ever get the money.

Okay, well, back to D-Day. I asked SM what the timeline was—was I to clear out my desk right then? No, she’d need to work it out with my other colleague, who is (get this) my “acting supervisor”; SM was moved out of managerial responsibilities while I was in Ireland. And the chick who is widely viewed throughout the organization as a loose screw and who actively disrespects my contributions now holds my immediate future in her hands. And she’s currently partly out on some kind of medical leave (which I only knew about because of her out of office email response). SM said she wanted to be “humane”, although I don’t know what her definition of that term is.

For a renowned scientist, SM was remarkably vague, and was clearly more concerned about the program than me. (Fair enough. But without me, they’ll end up having to hire a business strategist, a marketing director and a product manager…if they ever get the money and if my two colleagues haven’t driven the train off the rails by then. They have no pricing strategy and no expertise to build one. Also, without the IT, they have only one of four services to offer, which lowers the retail value considerably. But no longer my problem.) How unconcerned? She didn’t close the door to my office while telling me this.

So why is this sad tale my Gratitude Monday post?

Back in December 2017, when my then-manager announced that the board of directors had decided to defund the innovations program, I’d just got back from my first mini-vacation since I joined the company—a long weekend in Québec City. My first though (before he told me that SM wanted me to work on her program) was, “Oh, no—I’m sorry I spent the money on that trip!” My first feeling was fear.

This time—just having returned from a longer, and more expensive, trip to Ireland—I’m glad I took the trip. I’m not sorry at all that I busted out and invested in my happiness. Because that’s what that journey was: a leap of faith that I can be happy again.

On my Metro ride home Thursday, I thought about all the financial terrors that could lie ahead, and then I remembered I have 401(k) savings. I have a place to live. My car’s locks stopped recognizing the electronic signal on my fob, but the key works fine. I should have made the appointment with the dermatologist, but my insurance will cover me till the end of the month, when COBRA kicks in.

And then I turned my attention to finding my next career stage. A friend I met through infosec Twitter, who’s been helping me all along, kicked into high gear when I told him my situation. I spent Friday sending résumés and skills matrices to connections he gave me in five companies for internal referrals. I’ve set up a meeting for today with a couple of colleagues just to let them know and to ask them to be on the lookout. Even though they aren’t probably connected to the kinds of companies I’m interested in, you never know. I put in for vacation on Thursday and Friday because I’m over the limit of how much I can get paid for when I leave. And I have a video call with a recruiter on Thursday for a product marketing opening.

And I’m reaching out to former colleagues to get the word out, and get introductions. Product marketing and management, preferably infosec, if you're asking.

Look—I have no idea what’s going to happen. And it is scary; not lying to myself or to you about that. But today, oddly, I’m grateful for the opportunity to set out on the pioneer trail again, to find a place that will value me and my contributions. And I’m grateful I took that trip to Ireland and reminded myself of possibilities.

And that’s my Gratitude Monday.

Walking meditation

I went to Christchurch (Anglican) Cathedral yesterday to walk their labyrinth. The concierge at my hotel promised me it wouldn’t rain, so I thought I’d chance it. He was right, yay!

The labyrinth is directly in front of the entrance to the church, and was therefore overrun with what we at William & Mary used to refer to as tourons. But I walked it anyway.

  

(This was at the center.)

The cathedral grounds aren’t very big, but here’s a shout-out to the first performance of Messiah in Dublin, which was held there.

And a nod to homelessness (I assume).

There was a very small bed of flowers:

Wouldn’t you know, someone added to the décor:

In light of that, on my way back to the hotel (which took me through the happening area of Temple Bar), I came across this bit of rage against the man:

Here’s a close-up of the graffiti:

Dubliners, man.

High spirits in Dublin

Today’s post is about whiskey. If you’re teetotal, walk on by.

I’d booked a tour at the Pearse Lyons Distillery in The Liberties essentially on the recommendation of the head concierge at my hotel. The barman here seconded it, and both of them are well known to the PLD folks.

I believe it was a good choice. As it turns out I had a private tour, as no one else seems to have booked for that time slot, so I had Bernard, my guide, and James, the tasting master, to myself.

And it was a good choice because of the history of the enterprise. Pearse Lyons was an Irish biochemist and entrepreneur who built a multi-billion-dollar business in fermentation science and animal nutrition, based in Lexington, Ky. Part of his empire was brewing beer and distilling whiskeys, and he decided to bring his experience to bear on Irish whiskey. He bought a deconsecrated church across from the Guinness brewery and, with his wife, set out to build a distilling business.

The Liberties has a history of making booze; it contains the Golden Triangle of distilleries—more than 40 in a one-mile radius at one time (including the big guns, Powers and Jameson). Lyons (who died last year) viewed PLD as more than a business operation; it’s an investment in Dublin and The Liberties. Bernard told me that the St. James church cost €700K about five years ago, and there’s been several million spent on renovating the dilapidated structure and building out the whiskey business. While Lyons’ first enterprise, Alltech, made a profit in months, his distillery here may not for a long time, but its mission was to revive local history, and not to drive revenues.

Okay, that got my attention.

Not a small portion of that multi-million euro investment is archaeological work in the graveyard, uncovering centuries of burials:

The original church was part of an abbey complex constructed by Henry II as part of his penance for the murder of Thomas à Becket, in 1177. It was a point of origin for pilgrims headed to Santiago de Compostela, and the distillery honors that in some of the stained glass windows they put in. If you have a pilgrim’s passport to Santiago, you can still get a stamp there.

(There’s another St. James church down the road—the PLD one was converted to Church of Ireland in the time of Henry VIII, when its associated abbey was dissolved. That church seems to have taken over the pilgrimage business:)

All that history was before we even walked into the distillery. The instant we walked into the building, I was hit by the odor of the mash fermenting. As it happens, in this vat:

The two pot stills were brought over from Kentucky; the larger one (initial pass) on the left is Mighty Molly, the smaller one (finishing) is Little Lizzie.

Evidently it’s the custom to give stills women’s names. I don’t make this stuff up, I just report it.

Two thousand liters of mash from that vat go into Molly; eventually 190 liters emerge from Lizzie. They go into bourbon barrels (and some on to sherry barrels) from the Lexington distillery (since you can only use a bourbon barrel once for making bourbon but you can re-use them several times for making Irish whiskey), and age.

At that point, Bernard handed me off to James, and I sampled five whiskeys (plus a bit of in-process stuff that the distiller brought over). I liked one of them very much, and another couple okay. Two were not “my profile”, as my whiskey mentor would say.

Turns out they also make gin, and I tried their rhubarb gin, which was surprisingly good. (I’m not a gin drinker.)

Sadly, it didn’t occur to me to take pictures, so you just have to imagine.

However, I really was only partly there for the tasting, as it happens. I mean—trying a new whiskey is attractive, but the history really took over the tour for me and the tasting was just a perk. The most impressive thing about this was that every single PLD employee I spoke with, from the pensioner class to the 20-somethings, was absolutely, joyfully passionate about what they and the company are doing. I don’t know when I’ve come across that.

So I’m going to leave you with shots of the chandeliers, which—in keeping with the history of pilgrims—have the Templars cross on their sides (visible in the third photo), who protected those traveling to holy places.

So here I am...

A few weeks ago I was taking with a friend and the subject of whiskey came up. Somewhere in the conversation I said, “I should go to Ireland and visit a lot of distilleries.” He replied, “That’s a good idea.”

So here I am in Belfast.

I’m not here to drink, I’m here to revisit the two adjoining neighborhoods that personify The Troubles: Shankill Road for the Protestants, Falls Road for the Roman Catholics. The last time I was here was 25 years ago, before the Good Friday Accord, and I wanted to see how the neighborhoods might have changed since that treaty went into effect. And I wanted to see how the prospect of Brexit is affecting this city.

I’m only here for two days; going to Dublin for another five, where I do plan to visit a distillery. Or two. But any more than that would just be ludicrous.

Look—once you’ve seen how one company distills its product, you’ve pretty much got the workings down.

So far, it’s been an…interesting trip. Aer Lingus was more than two hours late taking off; I heard some people talking about how they knew that they’d miss their connections on to elsewhere in Europe. I don’t understand people who book international multi-leg flights with less than two hours of layover. My own plans were to take a bus into Dublin to catch the 0930 train to Belfast, which was about a four hour gap from the original ETA. I’d decided that trying for the 0730 train would be just asking for trouble, and turns out I was right. As it was, I made it to the Connolly Street Station with about 40 minutes to spare.

I have to say I was disappointed in Aer Lingus—not just because of the delay; stuff happens. But their overall effort was just lackadaisical. Their amenity kit consisted of: socks, an eye mask, earplugs and mints. This is the first time I’ve had an overnight international flight where you didn’t get a teeny toothbrush and toothpaste, and maybe some moisturizer. Trust me, when you haul your butt out of your seat after a six-hour flight, you want to brush your teeth.

And then there was the catering. Here’s a picture of the worst champagne I have ever had in my life:

Allegedly “Jean Pernet Tradition Brut NV”, whatever that is. This is how bad it was: I didn’t finish it.

The meal was 1980s-era airplane food: steak tasteless, haricots verts incinerated; “Chocolate Nemesis” cake was more like chocolate pudding; and the croutons in the salad were stale.

Well, but because we were late taking off, I was treated to this sight out my window:

That was nice.

I chose my hotel here in Belfast for its central location. I think it’s supposed to have either four or five stars. I’d booked an “Executive” room, which turns out to be their bog standard, and which does not include a bath tub. For that you need to have at least a “Deluxe” room, and pay £20 extra per night.

Yes, I did. When I’ve been out exploring all day, I want a hot bubble bath. End of.

And looky what was perched on the taps:

Interestingly, there was one of them in the bathroom of the first room I was given; the one without a tub. The sea serpent seems to be a symbol of this hotel, for reasons I do not know. Here he is without his wrapping:

And—also interestingly—when you put him in the water, he keels over on his side. Every single time.

I’m calling him Cecil.

UPDATE: Apparently, this guy is a seahorse, not a sea serpent. I still don't know the connection. And I'm still calling him Cecil.

But another interesting thing: my bathroom here has a sink, a tub and a shower (which includes a rain shower option). I was given two bathrobes, two pairs of slippers, two sets of very nice towels, two shower caps and two "grooming kits". They left a single bar of soap.

Also: four or five stars and the closet has those "anti-theft" clothes hangers with a single pin stem that fits into a ring around the closet rod. The ones you can only hang on the rod and therefore can't hang them over the shower rod to let your clothes that have got a soaking dry out. I didn't even know these are still a thing. 

The only thing I did yesterday was walk the labyrinth at the Cathedral Church of St. Anne. Its design is unlike any I’ve seen before; technically I wouldn’t even call it a labyrinth because you exit by a different way than you entered. But I walked it.

That’ll be the light part of this visit. Today I’ve booked a black taxi tour of Falls and Shankill. We’ll see how light or dark that is.

Gratitude Monday: the year in pix

A friend sent me a link to a 52-week photo challenge hosted (on Facebook) by a photography studio in Durham, N.C. The deal is, each week throughout the year participants are given a theme. You consider how you want to interpret the theme, take your photos and submit one to social media (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Pinterest).

Not only do you learn from the pix others submit, but you also learn from their constructive criticism.

Week 1’s assignment is “Storytelling: Self-portrait”. Take a picture showing who you are without showing your face.

I thought about taking a pic of my incipient 2019 mindmap—the stickies on my patio door, but I didn’t want anyone enlarging the image and seeing what I need to work on. So I went with a photo of books.

It was actually hard to decide what books to focus on, so I went with a mashup, which pretty much describes me. Voilà:

I like the idea of a weekly assignment; it means that I have to get out and shoot to some kind of spec consistently. Some weeks will be crap; some won’t. But it’s exercising those creative muscles, which I need.

And that’s what I’m grateful for today.

Light the way

Yesterday marked the first day of the Hindu festival of Diwali. Although there appear to be several legends associated with the tradition of Diwali, they mostly revolve around the triumph of righteousness over evil, of light over darkness. Thus it’s appropriate that the focus should be on lights—oil lamps, candles and (so I hear) neon lights among the nouveau riche. (Diwali marks the end of a month of prep; I’m told there’s been a lot of dancing at temples, and tonight big family meals with emphasis on Indian sweets.)

I learned about Diwali when I moved to the Valley They Call Silicon. Since I was struggling with driving back the dark, I glommed onto it like limpets on a rock. Last night I again massed candles to drive back all manner of dark things. Not only do I like the soft light that groups of candles give off, the very act of lighting them one at a time and nursing along some of the ones at the end of their life slows me down. It calms me down.

Filling a room with candle light takes time; you can’t flip a switch and move on to the next task on your to-do list. And if you’re lighting those floating jobbers, you have to be very focused on not disturbing the water, because then it dowses the flames and you have to wipe them off and start over again.

It’s like the count-breaths-to-21 methodology of meditation: if you lose count because your monkey mind is distracted, you have to begin again from one.

There are some days I never make it into double digits.

But there’s something about knowing how happy the moving lights will make me that enables me to persevere with candles. I light them, sit back and watch; and for at least a few minutes the world around me is peaceful and full of hope. Light prevails over darkness, love conquers fear, and good triumphs over evil.