Table or Booth

The S on my Shoe

DeAnn attends the University of Washington and was late to a class the other day.  She broke countless eco-religious rules by leaving the concrete path and traversing a grassy area, embarking on the shortest path to her bus stop.

The bus was in sight and had been stopped for several seconds.  Catching the 9:50 am bus would get her to her 10:00 class just as the clock would chime.  She'd knew the bus schedule by heart and couldn't afford to miss this bus since there was a test that day.  She picked up the pace, almost running but not quite, lest she look frantically uncool. 

Then she felt it as her left foot landed.  It planted itself on something not quite grassy.  Her foot slid a little forward and to the left, triggering the slightest awareness that something wasn't quite right.  As she continued her smooth jaunt, she glanced down and saw it in perfect rhythm with her stride.  It was clinging to the bottom of her shoe - "S!" she exclaimed, "S on my shoe!"

It was quite the dilemma.  She could try to swipe it off on the lawn and hope she got enough of it to avoid detection in the close quarters on the bus.  Or, she could just give up making the bus, be late for her test and go find a public restroom to clean up.  But, she was already worried about the test and missing the instructions at the beginning would be a really bad start.  What to do?

It was time for desperate measures.  So, her cool rush to the bus suddenly changed into something looking more like the electric slide.  She still moved quickly, but with only one good leg, appearing strangely to outsiders to be aggressively dragging the other reluctant, dead leg along.  She looked like the wounded but still determined antagonist in bad horror film.  It was all very noticable and uncool looking, but she was actually managing to scrape good amounts of S off her shoe.

When she was nearly to the stop and was noticed by the bus driver, she stopped to check her progress.  Astonishingly, she nearly got it all!  Two more careful scrapes on a thicker patch of grass seemed to get the last remnant.  Alas, she finally did catch the 9:50 bus and settled in, hoping no one would notice.  No one seemed to, or at least they were all very polite about it.  As the bus drove off, she looked out the window and smiled for a second or two, proud of at least one small victory that day.

Awkward Talk

I looked at the clock on the hotel wall which showed 5:12 pm.  The conference that day was winding down and so were we.
    He just stood there as if he were one of us.  He owned the awkwardness and wasn't apologizing for it. 
    The rest of us worked closely together and were about to plan where we would eat for dinner.  But there he was.
    He must've been talking to someone in our group, I thought, almost subconsciously.  This is the place to network and meet people.  But none in my group was talking to him and he just stood there, out of place. 
    Then three of us broke away to form a smaller group, to his left.  Zack and I were cornered on his other side, blocked partially by his position and the fact that he was looking expectantly at us.  It was as if he knew something we didn't.
    What was left of his hair angled raggedly from the side-patches of his balding head.  He slight of build and must've been in his 50s or 60s.  His smile was more like a gaze and his awkward silence put Zack and I at a loss.  Who was this guy and why was he standing here?  His conference name tag said "Brown University" on the first line and "Issaac Capernick" on the second.  It sounded like a good name for a scientist.  I wondered if he was doing research.
    He was an oddity; his belt, a rope, held together by a hastily tied knot.  His shoes, socks-in-sandals, with a toe or two protruding through sock-holes.  Silver chains hung in U-shapes from his rope-belt, chiming softly off of his worn green cargo pants every time he shifted position.  There were noticably more chains than necessary for an average number of keys, a stopwatch, a good-luck rabbit foot, and anything else imaginable.
    He must be a smart dude, I thought.  Smart, but strange.  Computer technology is an ocean of socially handicapped intellectuals.  I jumped in anyway.
    "Soo, you're with Brown - do you teach or are you in research?"  I asked, venturing into the unknown he so unconsentingly projected.
    He nodded, saying nothing, his gaze squarely aimed my way now... pause... still nodding...  Was I missing the hidden message?  The moment stretched into several as I computed gaze + nod.
    "Both??" I finally asked.
    "Yes, I teach," he seemed to conclude.  Did that mean he didn't do research?   I should've phrased the question better.
    "So, you are in research?" I asked, trying to clarify.
    "Yes," he replied with insufficient elaboration.
    His gaze returned and suddenly placed me in a freeze-framed scene, where everything is lifeless and motionless, except you.  It wasn't real.  Zack was frozen too, but in a happy way.  It was as if his ice-state was self initiated and conscious.  Minutes or hours could have passed and it all would've felt same.  The moment seemed an eternity.
    "Have you been teaching for long?" I asked, unfreezing the scene.  I wished Zack would help but I started to suspect Zack, my demented friend, was getting a kick out off the eerie development.
    "27 years...," he said, nodding some more.  It seemed like he wanted acknowledgment, but, for what?  He was a frictionless head nodding machine, and seemed to suggest that acknowledgement was definitely needed.  Must be a Brown thing.  He must be used to people acting weird about his credentials, I thought.  Eternity looped into another frozen scene with head-nodding thrown in.
    "Wow," I said, with psuedo interest, barely breaking away from the timeless spell in which I had nearly become captive.
    Then it occurred to me that I really couldn't have known the difference if he was a Nobel Prize winner or just an eccentric with a professorship.  I recommitted to refocusing and giving the scenario my best.
    "I've been there since I was 18. Computer Science," he said, with surprising conversational generosity.
    "That's a long time," I replied.  Maybe he'd be interested in a recent brainstorm I had.  It occurred to me that it would be interesting to get perspective from someone so rock solid in CS fundamentals.
    It was his turn to ask a question or continue talking so, I waited for him to continue.  Except, he didn't.  After another record breaking pause, I finally relented.
    "I've been thinking about an idea to write a Linux port that..."
    "Like Redhat??" he interrupted, the gaze replaced now by a changed, half-twisted smile that seemed to hint of mocking disdain for my utterance.  I knew why he asked but I hadn't finished my sentence.  He had stopped me in mid-sentence.  How could he know what could come next?  Are all Linux ports, no matter what the reason, a ridiculous notion to him?  I thought as I considered my response and starting doubting the value in trying to continue.
    It seemed to be getting late and I remembered how hungry I was.  The conversation had gone on much longer than I had anticipated and when I spoke, it echoed off of timeless, impenatrable walls.
    I resumed, "...port Linux, for an OS targeted at..."  As I spoke, I realized I first needed to assert a critical assumption in my line of reasoning or my idea wouldn't make it out of the gate.  "I should preface my idea by saying: assume bandwidth isn't a factor..."
    "But it is," he interrupted again, his smile irritating me, now.  The good will I gave him at the outset had just expired.  His expression now seemed more like Brown crust, baked-on by years of eccentricity and disconnectedness from the real world.  He looked haggard and pathetic as he started nodding again, clearly believing he had sufficiently addressed whatever I might have to say.  If it was even possible, another eternity seemed to pass as I considered what to say next.
    "I know, but, for discussion's sake, imagine that bandwidth isn't an issue," I said, increasingly exhasperated.  I didn't wait for another interruption;  "In theor..."
    "Latency is always increasing," he interrupted again.  Come on, man!  Let me finish!
    Then I wondered; is that true?  Is network latency always increasing?  But who really knows?  Not me.  It was an unnecessary obstacle in the path to my proposition.  It was a path I had now lost interest in. 
    Each slow second now became a conscious tick that demanded my exclusive awareness and seemed to resonate in perfect harmony with each irrational nod of his toy-like head.
    "That may be true," I finally returned, giving my best head-nod as I faked thoughtful consideration for his position.  He didn't deserve the lie but I didn't know him, so I dispensed the last drop in the benefit of my doubt.
    It was a good that became conscious Zack's absence.  How could I have missed his escape?  I looked around and saw Zack several feet away, walking towards the exit with rest of the crew.  I found myself one-on-one with Brown crust.
    "You coming, Ben?" John called out as he walked backwards, facing me.   
    "Be right there, " I replied, then turned back to face my nod-versationalist.  I did the only remaining thing possible and extended my hand for a cordial handshake, goodbye.  There was no ignoring the reality of my impending departure.
    "Well, enjoy the rest of the conference," I said.  His hand was disgracefully passionless and weak as it shook mine.  Then I turned and moved in a shuffle to catch up with the crew.  As I was turning, I noticed the clock.  It was only 5:14.

Map Wars

The map war is on.  It is a war of the 21st century, not to be confused with those described in the book Rhumb Lines and Map Wars by Mark Monmonier.  In this new war, MapQuest enters as the undisputed superpower, but is constantly being challenged by Yahoo! Maps.  map24.com is another dog in the fight.  Newcomer Google Maps has pretty good graphics and one of the better location finders.  Not sure if Mappr! is in the same fight but it's a fascinating new map-related tangent worth exploring.

Map wars are great because, if for no other reason, I love a good map.  Somestimes I'll just pick (up) a map for the heck of it.  To each his own, right?  A good friend of mine loves hydraulics.  Anywhere he sees hydraulics in action, he is soothed.  When I was a kid, I was soothed with maps hanging on the wall of my room.  I had one of North America, South America, and even Madagascar.  Really, anything National Geographic would send would eventually end up on my wall.  Seems odd to think of it now.   

Even so, to this day, maps make me feel good.  Perhaps it's as simple as the feeling you get from knowing where you're at, where you're going, and how you might get there from here.  A map gives it all to you in one fell-swoop.

It probably all started when I'd navigate for my Dad on our yearly trek across the country to visit relatives.  I was his map-man, he'd say.  And, at summer camps, I always looked forward to finding my way in the wild, armed only with a compass and a map.  You might call these my own, personal little map wars.  One particular story sticks out in my head because it made me look like such a genius.

Short Story: My First War

In the hill-country, smack in the middle of Texas, about 30 of us sat, splintering our behinds on old wooden chairs.  We were all gathered on a large weathered porch that overlooked about 200 acres where we waited for camp counselors to give instructions for our next event.  We were surrounded by what once was a working cow pasture.  One or two cows lingered on after surviving beef market-row, free to live out their remaining days as landscape decor and tax breaks.
    The scenery was a open and beautiful.  Slow rolling hills of green and gold were crossed occasionally with dried up stream beds and old fences.  Islands of dark green cedar and oak trees gave noon shade for the mule-deer and the lucky cows.
    We got our instructions: Break into four teams of seven or eight people and use the navigational instructions to attempt to walk our preset course.  There were four slightly different courses; one for each team.  One of our favorite camp counselors, Mr. Marty, was ex-Green Beret Vietnam veteran and had personally setup and tested each one.  This was before GPS, so we had to use our precalculated ratio of number of steps per every 20 yards to measure distance.  My number was 25.  We had been taught how to point our compass using azimuth descriptions.  The trick was to find a large landmark that coincided with a particular azimuth and then head straight toward it, instead of stopping every few yards to resight your compass and recheck the bearing.
    There was no time requirement but the counselors estimated it would take us roughly an hour or two to navigate the several miles of the course.  Each team would start at the same point.  The team to end up closest to the magical little dot of earth Marty had picked would win the... ride in a four wheeler, or some trophy.  Maybe it was just a ribbon.  We didn't care what.
    As map-man, naturally, I took control of my little group.  That meant I had the compass.  We all huddled.  Three of us would count our steps in case one guy or, worst case, two guys lost count part way to a landmark.  The other two would recheck each azimuth and verify any landmarks we picked. 
    So, with a compass, a strategy, and a map, we were off.  We read our first bearing and shot an azimuth that happened to head us toward this huge oak tree, about a half a mile away.  Off we marched.  After 473 steps, we stopped and  shot the next azimuth from our list.  Each leg of our course worked the same methodical way.   
    About an hour later our little group had counted out the last step.  We ended up pretty close to the porch which, we thought, was probably what Marty had intended.  The arrival was anticlimactic and left each of us wondering if there wasn't somthing else we were supposed to do.  But there was nothing left but to stick our flag in ground.  So, we did it, publicly declaring our best approximation to "the" magical spot.  Then, we walked over to the shade of the big porch, hot, thirsty and out of breath, where we waited for everyone else to finish.
    After what seemed like hours (one group had to be rescued by Marty after tromping off-course by over a half a mile), all four groups were finally gathered on the porch.  We squirmed and chatted impatiently as the counselors huddled to discuss the big winner.   The Texas sun was getting lower and the evening meal was the next thing on the agenda.  The group that got lost couldn't wait to be released.  At least then they could be victorious over their hunger.
    Marty walked up to front, "This has been fun, hasn't it!"
    "Yeaaahhhh!"  Most of us yelled with unbridled gusto and camp spirit.
    "Well, we'd never done this before, so we weren't quite sure how it would go.  But I must say, I'm very proud of all of your campers today.  You walked several miles, using only what we taught you and each of you came verrry close..."
    Marty paused for a moment and and glanced my way.  It was one of those moments where you feel like you'll be picked out of the crowd but you're not quite sure what for.  It made me nervous, excited, and uneasy all at the same moment.  Then he looked away.  Maybe he wasn't picking me out after all.
    "... but one group shocked all of us counselors,"  Marty continued, "I was in the Army for 22 years and I've never seen a display of land navigation quite like what I saw today."  It looked as if he were trying harder than normal to find the right words to say.  "But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.  Before I point them out, I want to say how proud I am of the third place team.  That prize goes to Jeremy Maybridge's team!"  Everyone cheered as they got up to get their ribbons and then made their way back to their seats.
    "The second place group was a little closer - they did a terrific job.   Sarah, J.R., all of you; get up here!"  Everyone clapped a little louder and longer this time.
    "Finally," Marty paused again.  "Again, I can't quite explain how surprised us counselors were by this group..."
    My team had to be the winner - the only other team left was the one that had gotten lost.  My heart was racing as I braced for the onslaught of public focus.  But Marty was sure making a big deal about it and I wished he would just announce it.
    "We set up this course and, I'm not kidding, we put a rock right...," he paused and walked down the two porch steps to the front and left of all of us.  We all leaned over in our chairs to see where he was pointing.
    "... right here.  I tell the truth, there was a rock right here minutes before you all set off earlier today on your courses."
    As if God had planted it himself, he was pointing directly at our flag!
    "Ben, Amy, Joy, Matt, all of you!  Get up here!!"  We all ran up and basked in the glory of camp fame that day.  I had never been so proud of anything in all the 13 years of my short little life.

The New War

It's no surprise that I excelled at land navigation in the Marine Corps years later.  To this day, my sense of direction is hard to beat.  I get a quiet laugh out of knowing my current work involves the ongoing necessity to provide world-class business mapping software to our customers.

Because of this, I pay close attention to anything related to software and mapping.  XPath, XQuery, XSLT, application-internal mapping, webMethods Developer mapping, Altova, Contiva, whatever.  Along the way, I've learned that business software mapping can definitely learn from the map wars of today.  Take a look at look at map24.com, for instance.  The ability of this map technology to preserve your birds-eye context while zooming in and out is remarkable.  The principle of context-preservation is a critical one if we're going to make our software usable.

The latest in-car nav system installed in the Acura RL is GPS linked, voice activated, and can suggest alternate routes based on traffic conditions.  How cool is that?  It's so practical and doesn't burden you with information and options you don't need.  Yahoo! Maps now also reports traffic conditions.  It's only a matter of time before Google and MapQuest add it as well. 

Google Maps has great "You are Here" graphics.  I'm still trying to realize the value this has compared to the traffic report feature.  Yet, as Graham would say, we should never underestimate the power of doing the simple things extremely well (and make them very  appealing).  Getting me from point A to B is another of those things.  Recently, I used Google Maps to guide me from Northern Virginia to the Whitetail ski area in PA.  They were right on. 

Eventually, as we walk around, I'm sure we'll all have the option to pop-up any map we choose.  They'll appear on screens seen only by us, invisibly manifested in the neurons of our brain.  Until then, I'll keep writing business mapping software and look for the rare excuse to dust off my trusty compass.

The Wedding Pictures

Tom and Kara, newly wed twenty-somethings, had just come back from their honeymoon that day.  Bronson and Jan, neighbors and close friends drifted into reflection on their own marriage.  Life had changed so much since they tied the knot in the summer of 2000.
    "I never could've seen us like we are right now, you know?" Bronson asked rhetorically.   
    "What do you mean?
    "Nothin bad, it just seems we've come a long way.  I think I'm better about being open about things; communication, in general - don't you think?" 
    "Um hum," Jan nodded slightly, conceding just enough to be fair.  'Never give in completely' was another operational principle they both were trying to use less of lately.
    Bronson continued, "I wish we could give them some kind of magic pill to keep them from going through everything we've had to learn... the hard way."
     "I know what you mean," Jan replied, nodding with more acknowledgement this time.   "Like parenthood for instance.  It is such a joy but it's exhausting sometimes."
    "True."
    Jan had developed into a remarkably dedicated and loving mother since their 15-month-old son Matthew was born.  It took no time for her to get involved with other Moms.  It would be good for Matt's 'socialization'.  As a stay-at-home Mom, it was also for her own sanity. 
    Bronson had never met any of her Mom's Club friends but "Susan" and "Georgia" may as well have been old friends.  Their names had become standard household items.
    Jan changed the subject slightly.
    "You know, Georgia told me a freaky story at Matt's playgroup the other day.  She was saying how she would wake up with this nightmare where she would hear whispers in her baby monitor."
    "What were they about?"
    "She said that she heard whispers repeat ‘Georgia, we are going to take your baby...’ It would wake her up in a cold sweat.  Can you imagine that?"
    "Seems odd that they'd announce it, don't you think?"  Bronson replied with gentle sarcasm.  He couldn’t help being the logical analytic.  And it was a nightmare, afterall.  Nightmares weren’t real life, right?
    "Well she was sure freaked out.  It gives me the heeby-jeebies just thinking about it."
    "Yeah, not a fun thing to think about.  Does she still get them?"
    "The nightmares?  She says they happened only right after John was born. Probably hormones."
    “They sure make some noise don't they?"  Jan was back into her TV show now and missed the joke.  "Well, I’m exhausted.  I’m going to hit the sack.  You staying up for awhile?”  Branson asked.
    “Yeah," she started, a little distracted, "...this show is only another 15 minutes or so.”
    “Love you, babe.”  Bronson leaned over the couch, kissed her cheek and then embarked on his tired slog upstairs for the night.
    The recording of this conversation was playing in his mind as he rolled into the driveway late the next evening.  His arrival was methodical.  It never changed and, to him, felt like one nearly mindless act.  He got out of the car, taking roughly twenty three steps to front door.  Then, sliding his thumb over the two largest keys until it caught the one with the square edge, he separated it by sliding his thumb and forefinger apart, grasping only the key to the lower lock.  This was done without breaking the momentum gained in extracting the keys from his pocket.  It concluded when he slid the key, upside down, into the lock, turned the knob to the right, and pushed the door open.
    It was right then that it hit him.  A certain October coldness seemed to be saying quietly, "No one is home…” His casual consciousness was instantly swept with a chill.  In moment he stood motionless, speechless, and searching for a reasonable response.
    Matt is in bed, isn't he? He has to be, it's 8:36, he quizzed then answered hopefully.
    He stopped to listen for proof-of-life somewhere in the house. Not even a rustle. He scanned the main floor - no notes on the counter or the dining room table. Jan's cell phone was still sitting in the charger. For a second the word “abduction” creeped into his consciousness. Nah, that's ridiculous!  He chastised himself under his breath.  However, Jan would always leave notes. This wasn’t like her.  Still, nothing to be alarmed about quite yet, he thought.
    But emotions don't give up so easily.  His pulse quickened a bit.  The front door had been closed and locked when he'd arrived. Let's not think the worst here, he tried again to reassure himself.  Yet, each new breath came a little harder and more quickly than the one before.
    Then, without another thought, he launched himself up the stairs.  He skipped two steps at a time on his way up to Matt's room.  In one controlled rush of motion, he smoothly turned the knob and opened the door. "He's here!" almost burst out of his mouth.  There was Matt, safe and fast asleep.  Thank you, God! Mystery, part one, solved.  But where is Jan and why would she leave the house without calling or leaving even a note?  Questions were still coming faster than the answers.
    The flight up the stairs had his heart pumping even faster.  All senses and mental faculties had become fully engaged.  "Just doesn't make sense," he muttered softly, aloud, as he headed back downstairs.  After stopping for a second, he noticed the kitchen baby monitor, usually on the counter, was gone.  She took it and deliberately left the house! Now we’re getting somewhere, he thought for an instant.  "But she left the house with a sleeping baby?!" he asked, a little louder now, but still not enough to stir Matt.
    At first, this made him a little mad.  Then he remembered that he had actually been the one to suggest he and Jan take the monitor to Will and Becca's, their other neighbors, while Matt slept alone at their house.  It would be locked, the dog would be there,  and it was a townhouse.  In terms of distance, it would be closer than being in their own garage, he had reasoned then.  And, they would have the monitor.  They could respond instantly if anything should happen.  Jan abruptly shot the idea down.  Bronson conceded; always having someone present definitely seemed to be the right thing to do.
    Nevertheless, Jan was gone.  She must have taken the monitor with her; that much seemed obvious.  "How do I get ahold…?" he started to ask aloud before a flash of brilliance overtook him; “I’ve got it!”  He would go back to Matt's room and talk into the baby monitor microphone! If Jan had the monitor and was listening, then she'd realize he had come home from work and she would hurry back.
    More slowly this time, he stepped quietly upstairs, into Matt's room, leaned close to the monitor, and spoke just loud enough to be heard and not wake up Matt.  It came out in a whisper, "Jan, where are you?  I'm home."  Then he wondered, did she hear that?  He repeated it, whispering as loud as he dared being barely one foot away from Matt's crib, “Jan, were are you? I'm home, baby."
    Less than minute or two later the front door swung open.  It was Jan.  But the look in her eyes said all was not well.  It was as if she had just crossed paths with death itself.  She was still breathing heavily.
    "You scared the crap out of me!!"  She exclaimed with a combination of accusation and confession.  "You really scared Tom and Kara too!"
    At that moment, the full realization of what had just transpired hit him.  Jan had jumped half out of her mind when Georgia's ghost had come over the monitor speaker.  It was all too familiar; “Jan, where are you baby?” had sounded a little too much like “Georgia, we are taking your baby.”
    "What, the monitor thing?"  Bronson asked a little sheepishly.  He didn't want to scare her, just get her home and be sure everything was ok.  It had been such a good idea and, it got her home in a flash, didn't it?  Then, he wondered why he was justifying himself.
    "I didn't mean to scare you - it was best way I could think of to get your attention without leaving the house.  You didn't have your cell phone, you know?"
    "I was over at Tom and Kara's.  I had that thing two feet away from my ear, just in case.  We were just looking at the wedding pictures.  I wasn't over there for more than two minutes!" Jan explained, almost pleading.
    He thought this sounded odd coming from her but didn't bother to announce his analysis.  She seemed to be calming down a bit.  Her defense for leaving the house seemed to have the tone of an apology.
    "Yeah, I saw that," Bronson said, as an unconstrained grin broke across his face.
    "Don’t ever do that again!" she said, in a combination of subsiding fear and softening indignation. 
    He watched Jan slowly walk over to kitchen counter and plug in the monitor.  As he looked back at the TV, she flipped off the kitchen light and then made her way to stairs.
    “I’m going upstairs to take a bath.  You staying up for awhile?"
    “Yeah,” he said, his concentration already almost completely shifted, “...but I’ll be up soon; this show is only another 15 minutes or so.”

To Exit Quietly

I tried to exit the house quietly this morning.  It was, afterall, 5:30 am and not even Barley, our ever watchful black lab raised an eyebrow when I stepped out of bed.  In the cold Northern Virginia darkness of our townhome, I used my spatial memory to stealthily slip into the master bathroom, twisting the knob to open and close the door with careful precision, so as to avoid even the  slightest "click".  I slowly shut the bathroom door until it came flush against the door frame, careful not to cause a change in the air pressure - that could be just the thing needed to pop my slumbering wife out of her final subconscious moments of sleeping joy. 

My goal was to hear her tell me later that she never remembered me leaving the house.  Too many times, I thought I had achieved that only to hear how much of a clod and insensitive house-leaver I was.  I've got to get better at this, I thought.

After showering I continued to move with muscular control and precision around the bedroom getting dressed.  The only less than perfect execution of my operation, so far, was being forced to choose a completely random pair of socks to wear.  I had to avoid riskily flicking on the dresser lamp.  So, I picked a thin nylon pair in the hopes they were black.  It was worth the risk.  Even if I was wrong, my exit was still going well at this point.

Moving down the stairs to the main level of our house, still in sleepy darkness, I grabbed a frozen entre for lunch that day, popped the cell phone off the charger, threw on my winter coat, and hefted my work bag over my shoulder.  I paused for a moment.  All set. 

Walking to the front door now, oh wait; forgot the car keys!  So, I moved back to the key rack in the kitchen hallway and slipped the keys of the hook.  About this time it also occured to me that the house alarm was still set.  Sooo glad I remembered that.

With one last hurdle to leaving, I proceeded across the kitchen towards the alarm pad... SLAM, I rammed full force into a half-swung open baby gate!  Freeze now.  The whole house shuddered while the sound rocked off of every wall in the place.  Crap!!  Did that wake her up!??  I wondered and I hoped Matt, our 20 month old, hadn't begun stirring.  I really don't want my wife be forced to wake up at 5:45 to start a day that normally begins around 7:30 or 8, all because I needed to leave early today.  Darn it.  But let's not give up yet; maybe there's still a chance I can do this.   Maybe no one actually heard it.

I had just pressed the alarm code and finished rationalizing the last ounce of hope when I slipped my keys in the my pants pocket and headed for the door for the second time now.  This time I was careful to move the baby gate clearly out of the way.  HONK, HONK, HONK, HONK,... Wha... damn!!  My car's "panic" button was somehow pressed by the position of my keys in my pocket!  I frantically reach for my keys and search for the button to turn it off, pressing every button at least once.  Why can't  General Motors have thought of this when they made keyless remotes that year?  I despaired.

Well, that's it.  Matt is sure to have heard that.  My wife is sure to be cursing my barbaric inconsideration so finally, in defeat, I walk towards the front door.  Pathetically, I try to open it carefully, as if it mattered any more.  It was just about then a smile broke as I realized how stupid I'd been.  It occurred to me that my downstairs catastrophies might just have been avoided if I'd only have turned on a light!  The "turn on a light" metaphors were stampeding horses right then.

At last, I was outside.  I got into my car and pushed in the key, popped the transmission into neutral to slip out of the driveway, as far away from the house as possible, before I started the engine.  I turned the key and, without any engine-saving warmup, I put the transmission into "Drive" and pulled away.  I guess I'll have to find out later how it all went.  All I know now is; I tried to leave my house quietly this morning and all I have to show for it are these conspicuously blue socks.