For reasons of obscuring/obfuscating the contents of my personal laptop from customs officials of various nations, which includes certain tools like Metasploit and other "cyber-forensics" software, I chose to make Ubuntu Linux the primary (and only visible) boot choice. As a result, I've been using it as my OS while on vacation. Although I use Linux on a daily basis for work, that usage revolves around servers and "fun" applications like directory and web services. I haven't been using it much as a workstation OS for several years. I tend to try out each new release of both the Ubuntu and Fedora distributions as well as several less popular variants, but not so much in a daily usage sense. I have to say I've been very pleased with the experience.
Why? Some examples:
Upon reaching the condo at Villa Bahia, I booted up the laptop and was able to immediately connect to the net.
I connected my camera in the morning. It was correctly detected, the F-Spot photo management application was launched, thumbnail previews were downloaded and displayed for selection to transfer to local storage. A seamless experience, especially considering the lack of pre-configuration.
I wanted to upload a bunch of pictures to facebook and resizing them before upload seemed wise given the four to five megabyte size of the originals. F-Spot doesn't seem to have a batch resize option, or not one which is obvious. Google quickly told me that I could add integrated resize to the Nautilus file browser - Nautilus is the default for the Gnome desktop - by installing the "nautilus-image-converter" module. About thirty seconds later I had the module installed and was resizing my images for upload. On a related note, facebook's image import conversion process really sucks the life out of pictures.
Uncle Barry told me that when he woke this morning, before sunrise, that the stars were brilliant and that the Moon/Venus conjunction was particularly lovely. He wasn't positive that it was Venus, but though it was. I launched Stellarium, set our geographical location to Guaymas, Mexico and rolled the clock back to 0600. There it was - Venus and the Moon.
The kids wanted to watch a movie on the first night so I pulled an HDMI cable out of my laptop bag, hooked it up to the television, brought up the display configuration and was able to add the second display and direct the sound output to the HDMI port. A restart of the display manager was required, but the utility did tell me that. That done, all of the rips from our DVDs at home were available for high-def viewing on the television. If I haven't mentioned it yet, I should note that VLC is the only way to fly when it comes to video.
All of these functions and several of these applications are not unique to Linux. I use application counterparts compiled for Windows all the time, specifically VLC and Stellarium. The fact that they have all been flawless and painless is the point and entirely with Gnu/Linux and free/libre software.
In conclusion, I love open source.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
Remembering Lillian Knapik
In an appropriate coincidence, I happened upon the eulogy for Lillian Knapik today as the girls and I were going through papers deciding what to keep and what to recycle. The eulogy was written by Lisa with input from other family members who were present at the time. I read the eulogy at the funeral, almost twenty years ago. The papers themselves are in poor condition and are in my handwriting. I believe I copied it out to make it easier for me to read. I will preserve it here and dispose of the paper copy.
Lillian Knapik
Lillian Knapik was born on September 17, 1924 in Cereal, Alberta. She was the baby sister to Leo, Percy, Isabel, Rita and Doris. Her Dad had been a police constable in Edmonton before moving to southern Alberta to farm in the Cappon area. Lillian attended school in Cappon and later worked at the Drumheller hospital. She also worked for a time at Lou Niwa's farm, where she met a handsome young man named Stan, from the farm down the road.
Lillian and Stan married in 1946 and lived at the Knapik homestead. While there, her mother-in-law made sure that the new Irish bride could cook all the Polish specialties -- perogies, bread, donuts and all of Stan's favorites. Soon after, Stan and Lillian moved to Acadia Valley and began their own family.
In 1947 a son, Leonard, was born to Stan and Lillian. Jerry followed in 1950 and their family was complete. Though Lillian was busy with a husband and two little boys to care for, she remained active in the Acadia Valley community. She was a member of the CWL, the community club, and she was an avid curler. She also enjoyed going fishing, playing cards, and tending her garden. Everyone will remember her beautiful flower beds which she kept even when water was scarce and had to be hauled for miles.
Stan and Lillian farmed land outside of Acadia Valley and Lillian participated in many of the farming duties. Hot meals were always ready on time and often delivered to Stan and the hired man in the fields. Lillian was a great cook and loved to prepare meals for large groups of people. She was always ready to try new recipes, and then share them with her friends. She kept an immaculate house and loved to decorate it with beautiful things.
In 1977, Stan and Lillian retired and moved to Medicine Hat. They remained active travelling and Lillian thoroughly enjoyed decorating their home. While in The Hat, Lillian decided to take a position at D'Allairds Dress Shop in Medicine Hat Mall. With her love of clothing and her special knack of finding the perfect outfit for any occasion she was very successful at her work. She made many friends and, of course, acquired many additions to her own wardrobe.
People were the most important thing in Lillian's life. She had the special quality of finding the good in everyone. She knew she could relate to both the young and the old, and carried with her a love of life that was contagious. For these reasons she kept numerous long-lasting friendships and there are many, many people who hold her dear to their hearts.
Stan passed away in 1985 after a long illness. With the support of her family and friends, Lillian was able to slowly adjust to a more independent way of life. She came to accept her loss and, in time, her vitality and love of life allowed her to continue with the activities she had always enjoyed. Special friendships encouraged her to live life to the fullest, and to carry on.
Lillian's family were very important to her. She always took special pride in her sons, their wives and her grandchildren. It was a particular joy for her when the family would come home for the holidays, or when her grandchildren would spend a week or two at Grandma's. Grandma always took time to talk and play, and she especially enjoyed spoiling the youngsters. Never did a day go by when her children and grandchildren didn't realize how much she loved them.
In February of 1991 Lillian was diagnosed as terminally ill. After a brief period of time she passed away at the Calgary Foothills Hospital on May 23. Her positive outlook and vitality of spirit will continue to live in everyone she knew. She will be dearly missed by all of us.
Lisa Anderson
May 27, 1991
Lillian Knapik
Remembered
Lillian Knapik was born on September 17, 1924 in Cereal, Alberta. She was the baby sister to Leo, Percy, Isabel, Rita and Doris. Her Dad had been a police constable in Edmonton before moving to southern Alberta to farm in the Cappon area. Lillian attended school in Cappon and later worked at the Drumheller hospital. She also worked for a time at Lou Niwa's farm, where she met a handsome young man named Stan, from the farm down the road.
Lillian and Stan married in 1946 and lived at the Knapik homestead. While there, her mother-in-law made sure that the new Irish bride could cook all the Polish specialties -- perogies, bread, donuts and all of Stan's favorites. Soon after, Stan and Lillian moved to Acadia Valley and began their own family.
In 1947 a son, Leonard, was born to Stan and Lillian. Jerry followed in 1950 and their family was complete. Though Lillian was busy with a husband and two little boys to care for, she remained active in the Acadia Valley community. She was a member of the CWL, the community club, and she was an avid curler. She also enjoyed going fishing, playing cards, and tending her garden. Everyone will remember her beautiful flower beds which she kept even when water was scarce and had to be hauled for miles.
Stan and Lillian farmed land outside of Acadia Valley and Lillian participated in many of the farming duties. Hot meals were always ready on time and often delivered to Stan and the hired man in the fields. Lillian was a great cook and loved to prepare meals for large groups of people. She was always ready to try new recipes, and then share them with her friends. She kept an immaculate house and loved to decorate it with beautiful things.
In 1977, Stan and Lillian retired and moved to Medicine Hat. They remained active travelling and Lillian thoroughly enjoyed decorating their home. While in The Hat, Lillian decided to take a position at D'Allairds Dress Shop in Medicine Hat Mall. With her love of clothing and her special knack of finding the perfect outfit for any occasion she was very successful at her work. She made many friends and, of course, acquired many additions to her own wardrobe.
People were the most important thing in Lillian's life. She had the special quality of finding the good in everyone. She knew she could relate to both the young and the old, and carried with her a love of life that was contagious. For these reasons she kept numerous long-lasting friendships and there are many, many people who hold her dear to their hearts.
Stan passed away in 1985 after a long illness. With the support of her family and friends, Lillian was able to slowly adjust to a more independent way of life. She came to accept her loss and, in time, her vitality and love of life allowed her to continue with the activities she had always enjoyed. Special friendships encouraged her to live life to the fullest, and to carry on.
Lillian's family were very important to her. She always took special pride in her sons, their wives and her grandchildren. It was a particular joy for her when the family would come home for the holidays, or when her grandchildren would spend a week or two at Grandma's. Grandma always took time to talk and play, and she especially enjoyed spoiling the youngsters. Never did a day go by when her children and grandchildren didn't realize how much she loved them.
In February of 1991 Lillian was diagnosed as terminally ill. After a brief period of time she passed away at the Calgary Foothills Hospital on May 23. Her positive outlook and vitality of spirit will continue to live in everyone she knew. She will be dearly missed by all of us.
Lisa Anderson
May 27, 1991
Considering the Last Grandparent
While I was out with the girls on Saturday morning, getting supplies for Kiran's brithday party, I received a call from an unknown number. I decided to answer it. It was the doctor in charge of the care of my Grandma Hofforth. He told me that she has pneumonia, that she is not responding to medication and that his expectation was that she would die within a day or two. I spoke with the doctor briefly but I confess that I was not thinking too clearly right at that moment. I didn't even get his name. Mom is in Peru and most of Grandma's children are not located in the immediate area.
Once I returned home and told Kumarie the news I began thinking about who I should be contacting, and in what order. I soon realized that I don't have contact information for all of my aunts and uncles and also for many of my cousins. I phoned several for whom I have correct contact info and asked that they begin spreading the news. Then we had to go for Kiran's party. I considered not going to the party at all, but Kiran was so excited to be with her friends and have the party. Kumarie would have had a lot to manage on her own. She could certainly have handled it, but my being there would help make the party go more smoothly. I believe a good time was had by all the kids and I know Kiran enjoyed it. I took several calls from relatives during the party, including one with Mom. She has to make the difficult decision whether to interrupt their trip or not. In the event of Grandma's death, there's no question that she will come home as quickly as possible (which may not be quickly at all at this time of year)
On the way home after the birthday party, Roshini rode with me and I told her about Great Grandma's condition. That conversation was not as difficult as I expected it to be. After everyone had something to eat and was ready to go, I told both Kiran and Kavita about Grandma. Kiran was stoic in the manner that young children can sometimes be. Kavita was sadder, but I believe they all understand that Grandma has had a good life and is ready to go if it's her time. Kiran insisted on making a craft rose before we left so that she would have it to give Grandma. She wrote "I LOVE YOU FROM KIRAN" in block letters down the stem.
The drive to see Grandma was uncharacteristically quiet. We arrived between six-thirty and seven and stayed for approximately two hours. Grandma was in good spirits and was delighted to see the girls especially. They all spoke with her. Kiran insisted that we sing Grandma some Christmas songs, so we did. Kavita read to Grandma from a book of poetry that Mom had given her. Grandma seemed taken with the paper rose that Kiran made, telling her "That rose will never wilt."
I spoke with the nurse on duty as well as the staff. In their opinion, Grandma's condition was not as dire as it had seemed over the last night and in the morning. My cousin Steve arrived as we were preparing to leave for the night and he told me that she was looking stronger and breathing better than she had been when he was there in the morning. I honestly don't know what to hope for at this point. I don't want to see her life artificially prolonged if she is suffering. She has been telling me, and others, that she has been ready to die for some time now. Years, in fact. It truly doesn't matter, but the Christmas season is a terribly inconvenient time to die. That sounds cold as I write it, but I can't help thinking it. Funeral arrangements will be more difficult. Travel is both harder to arrange and more expensive because of the higher demand. We are planning to travel immediately after Christmas for a big family trip and I really don't want that interrupted or cancelled. It's not in my control, so I will try not to dwell on what might be.
I will be going to visit her daily for the time being and hoping for the best outcome. Whatever that may be.
Once I returned home and told Kumarie the news I began thinking about who I should be contacting, and in what order. I soon realized that I don't have contact information for all of my aunts and uncles and also for many of my cousins. I phoned several for whom I have correct contact info and asked that they begin spreading the news. Then we had to go for Kiran's party. I considered not going to the party at all, but Kiran was so excited to be with her friends and have the party. Kumarie would have had a lot to manage on her own. She could certainly have handled it, but my being there would help make the party go more smoothly. I believe a good time was had by all the kids and I know Kiran enjoyed it. I took several calls from relatives during the party, including one with Mom. She has to make the difficult decision whether to interrupt their trip or not. In the event of Grandma's death, there's no question that she will come home as quickly as possible (which may not be quickly at all at this time of year)
On the way home after the birthday party, Roshini rode with me and I told her about Great Grandma's condition. That conversation was not as difficult as I expected it to be. After everyone had something to eat and was ready to go, I told both Kiran and Kavita about Grandma. Kiran was stoic in the manner that young children can sometimes be. Kavita was sadder, but I believe they all understand that Grandma has had a good life and is ready to go if it's her time. Kiran insisted on making a craft rose before we left so that she would have it to give Grandma. She wrote "I LOVE YOU FROM KIRAN" in block letters down the stem.
The drive to see Grandma was uncharacteristically quiet. We arrived between six-thirty and seven and stayed for approximately two hours. Grandma was in good spirits and was delighted to see the girls especially. They all spoke with her. Kiran insisted that we sing Grandma some Christmas songs, so we did. Kavita read to Grandma from a book of poetry that Mom had given her. Grandma seemed taken with the paper rose that Kiran made, telling her "That rose will never wilt."
I spoke with the nurse on duty as well as the staff. In their opinion, Grandma's condition was not as dire as it had seemed over the last night and in the morning. My cousin Steve arrived as we were preparing to leave for the night and he told me that she was looking stronger and breathing better than she had been when he was there in the morning. I honestly don't know what to hope for at this point. I don't want to see her life artificially prolonged if she is suffering. She has been telling me, and others, that she has been ready to die for some time now. Years, in fact. It truly doesn't matter, but the Christmas season is a terribly inconvenient time to die. That sounds cold as I write it, but I can't help thinking it. Funeral arrangements will be more difficult. Travel is both harder to arrange and more expensive because of the higher demand. We are planning to travel immediately after Christmas for a big family trip and I really don't want that interrupted or cancelled. It's not in my control, so I will try not to dwell on what might be.
I will be going to visit her daily for the time being and hoping for the best outcome. Whatever that may be.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Helpful Friends on the iPod issue.
Because I'm not comfortable with relying on facebook to retain the thoughtful feedback from friends and family so I'm going to to a cut and paste the discussion here.
John N says:
Amber E D says:
Kamini L says:
I responded to the lot with this:
I appreciate your thoughtful words John, Amber and Bubs. A key point here is that she has not actually told me about the incident yet. She told her mother, but not me - the apparently fearsome ogre of the family. I haven't exchanged a word with her on the subject.
The money is not really the core of the issue, the cost of the ipod and the potential repair do add to the annoyance and anger level.
I will talk with her soon (probably not this evening, as I have a performance with my choir). Now that I'm reasonably calm about it, I plan to tell her that I do understand it was an accident, but that she needs to understand the amount of work a costly item like that represents. For someone slinging burgers or pumping gas that represents thirty-six hours of pre-tax income. Add in the price of repairs, and that becomes fifty-five hours. Figuring in taxes, we're talking about two weeks of work. I'm not sure how to convey that to her in a meaningful non-hurtful way. Calmly and honestly, I suppose.
I'm glad she told her mom, but disappointed that she hasn't approached me. Maybe I need a list of index cards and bullet points. ;-) Maybe not. I'll try for a quiet talk in on the couch, if I can get her two sisters to keep their noses out of the room for ten minutes.
John N says:
I'm not a parent, but I've lived long enough to learn a few things.
Based on the words of your daughter, all the lessons that needed to be learned, have now been learned. Nothing more needs to be said about this, however, a strong, simple (and somewhat expensive) gesture of understanding and forgiveness is required from you: have the iPod fixed, as soon as possible, and present it to her quietly, without ceremony, questions, or conditions.
It may cost you some cash you didn't budget for in the short term, but you will gain much more over the long term. There's nothing more expensive than a damaged relationship, and even more so when it's in your own family.
Stuff happens. This is very minor in the grand scheme of things.
Amber E D says:
I agree. She will learn something important about the value of forgiveness, and of telling the truth. She could have lied about what happened or hid it from you, but she didn't. This will be very important in the years to come. She has very likely felt all the emotions that could come from punishment, and there is not much further to be gained. It won't make you feel much better either, I would guess.
Kamini L says:
I also agree... at least your relationship is strong enough for her to tell you the truth and that my fellow parent is worth all the ipods in the world! ♥
I responded to the lot with this:
I appreciate your thoughtful words John, Amber and Bubs. A key point here is that she has not actually told me about the incident yet. She told her mother, but not me - the apparently fearsome ogre of the family. I haven't exchanged a word with her on the subject.
The money is not really the core of the issue, the cost of the ipod and the potential repair do add to the annoyance and anger level.
I will talk with her soon (probably not this evening, as I have a performance with my choir). Now that I'm reasonably calm about it, I plan to tell her that I do understand it was an accident, but that she needs to understand the amount of work a costly item like that represents. For someone slinging burgers or pumping gas that represents thirty-six hours of pre-tax income. Add in the price of repairs, and that becomes fifty-five hours. Figuring in taxes, we're talking about two weeks of work. I'm not sure how to convey that to her in a meaningful non-hurtful way. Calmly and honestly, I suppose.
I'm glad she told her mom, but disappointed that she hasn't approached me. Maybe I need a list of index cards and bullet points. ;-) Maybe not. I'll try for a quiet talk in on the couch, if I can get her two sisters to keep their noses out of the room for ten minutes.
A Day of Anger - Broken iPod Touch and More
I can't count this as a day of win. I failed in a confrontation with a petty teacher who feels that people with herniated discs in their back, such as myself, should take off their boots on the mat at the door rather than climbing the eight steps to the landing where there is a bench to sit on and another big mat to absorb snow melt and dirt. The point of contention is the resulting small amount of water and dirt on the steps. The fact of the matter is that I cannot take off my boots without sitting down. The pettiness was that when presented with the fact that I was not choosing to go to the bench simply to be ignorant and inconsiderate, the teacher was not willing to back down and admit that the excruciating back pain might trump a small amount of water and dirt. I have, in the past couple of weeks, spoken to the school custodian about my going up the steps to the bench as well as the school principal. In fact, they both gave me the okay. The option I presented to all three of these individuals was putting a chair at the door. I know. That's crazy talk. It would solve everybody's problem. The custodian and principal said, "No, that's okay, use the bench." The petty teacher ignored my suggestion and proceeded to equate her "sore back" with my herniation as she trotted up and down the stairs. Yeah, that's exactly the same, so you are totally justified in dismissing my almost certainly imaginary problem. I feel compelled to note that my usage of the word "petty" is a result of my hesitation to use nastier words in this medium and an avoidance of derogatory terms that start with a b which might result in the scratching of an itch. The fail in all of this was, and is, my anger. The fail continues because every time this has come into my mind today the anger returns; including now, during the supposed cathartic process of getting it all out. I don't know how to let stuff like this go. That can't be healthy. I'm trying.
Next up is the broken iPod Touch (4g). My oldest daughter, who just turned twelve, really really wanted an iPod for her birthday, so my wife and I decided to order her one. We didn't actually get it ordered until a couple of days past the birthday day, so it didn't arrive until about a week ago. She's been playing with it a lot and that's fine. The rule is that she can't take it to bed. Same rule for cell phones and other sorts of video games. No real problems there so far. I suggested that she not take it to school because of the real possibilities of theft and damage. The not taking it to school didn't last very long.
I haven't spoken with her about it yet. When I got home late this evening after choir practice, I noticed the iPod sitting under some papers on the counter. I wouldn't normally take note, but I saw some cellophane tape wrapped around the back, so I picked it up. That's when the badly cracked screen became obvious. With my exclamation of, "What the hell?" my patient wife told me the story of how our beloved eldest child had dropped the device, apparently while taking it out of her bag coming up the steps from the train station. Well, shit.* Leaving aside the issue of how foolish it is to be digging around in a bag and playing with electronics while climbing stairs, which I will have to make part of the discussion, I have to decide how I am going to handle the events and my own emotions about them. I've calmed down about it considerably now, but the initial flush of anger was hot. I'm told there were a great many tears, rationalizations and self-recriminations before I got home. I don't know whether she heard any of my reaction and discussion with Kumarie, but the tears started up again before she finally went to sleep. I stayed clear because an hour past bedtime on a school night is not the time to begin the discussion of consequences for actions.
I will check whether there is any coverage of accidental breakage in the purchase. I strongly doubt there will be, but I will check.
So why did she take it to school at all? Kumarie feels that she simply wanted the "cool kids" to see that she too has something that's is cool. I understand that feeling. Really I do. My painfully awkward early teen years are not so far gone that I cannot recall the rawness of the emotions and the overwhelming desire to be accepted and to fit in. Still the point needs to be made that coolness and lack of caution has led to a broken iPod. An expensive broken iPod.
After soothing some of the tears and helping our daughter to get to sleep, Kumarie came and told me what some of the fears are about. Among other things, she is afraid that I will be "really angry with her for being careless", afraid that I will "never trust her with anything valuable ever again", and that I will "never look her in the eye again." She's right on the money with most of that, except for the extremes of "never" and the looking her in the eye thing. I'm not sure where that came from. Perhaps equating looking somebody in the eyes with respecting them. I understand her feelings and fears, but truthfully, that doesn't do much to preventing me from feeling most of what she's afraid I will be feeling.**
She needs to begin to learn several things from this and my reaction to her and discussion about it needs to address these learnings. There are consequences for your actions. That was an expensive device to hand over to a twelve-year-old and it didn't last very damn long. It does still function, but not perfectly, and with the integrity of the glass plate compromised I wouldn't lay long odds that it will continue to function for very long. If she want's to have it repaired, she's going to have to earn the money to pay for it herself. This conflicts with my own frustration over broken electronics and my desire to just have the damn things fixed, but I'll have to suppress that urge in this case and stand firm.
I looked into the construction of the 4th gen iPod touch and it turns out that the LCD and the digitizer are fused together and cannot be replaced individually. This means that in order to repair damage to one of those components you must replace the assembly, which drastically increased the cost of the repair. Parts alone will be in the neighborhood of $100 USD, and then there's the labour unless I want to tackle it myself. I don't really want to do that. I don't have the specialized tools for disassembling these sorts of finicky items, and I don't have the motivation to take the time to learn how to do it properly. Total repair cost is likely to be somewhere between $160 and $180. That's a lot for a twelve year old kid.
Finally there is the issue of my own anger and the management thereof. I don't want to damage my relationship with my daughter. I also cannot just let this pass unremarked. I must find a way to impart the necessary lessons and control myself in the process.
* I can't say that I consider the word "shit" to be a swear. It's a mild expletive at best. Even the moderate amount of being around cows and horses that I have done informs my perspective that shit is just shit.
** I'm not sure that sentence makes grammatical sense, but I think the point is clear enough.
Next up is the broken iPod Touch (4g). My oldest daughter, who just turned twelve, really really wanted an iPod for her birthday, so my wife and I decided to order her one. We didn't actually get it ordered until a couple of days past the birthday day, so it didn't arrive until about a week ago. She's been playing with it a lot and that's fine. The rule is that she can't take it to bed. Same rule for cell phones and other sorts of video games. No real problems there so far. I suggested that she not take it to school because of the real possibilities of theft and damage. The not taking it to school didn't last very long.
I haven't spoken with her about it yet. When I got home late this evening after choir practice, I noticed the iPod sitting under some papers on the counter. I wouldn't normally take note, but I saw some cellophane tape wrapped around the back, so I picked it up. That's when the badly cracked screen became obvious. With my exclamation of, "What the hell?" my patient wife told me the story of how our beloved eldest child had dropped the device, apparently while taking it out of her bag coming up the steps from the train station. Well, shit.* Leaving aside the issue of how foolish it is to be digging around in a bag and playing with electronics while climbing stairs, which I will have to make part of the discussion, I have to decide how I am going to handle the events and my own emotions about them. I've calmed down about it considerably now, but the initial flush of anger was hot. I'm told there were a great many tears, rationalizations and self-recriminations before I got home. I don't know whether she heard any of my reaction and discussion with Kumarie, but the tears started up again before she finally went to sleep. I stayed clear because an hour past bedtime on a school night is not the time to begin the discussion of consequences for actions.
I will check whether there is any coverage of accidental breakage in the purchase. I strongly doubt there will be, but I will check.
So why did she take it to school at all? Kumarie feels that she simply wanted the "cool kids" to see that she too has something that's is cool. I understand that feeling. Really I do. My painfully awkward early teen years are not so far gone that I cannot recall the rawness of the emotions and the overwhelming desire to be accepted and to fit in. Still the point needs to be made that coolness and lack of caution has led to a broken iPod. An expensive broken iPod.
After soothing some of the tears and helping our daughter to get to sleep, Kumarie came and told me what some of the fears are about. Among other things, she is afraid that I will be "really angry with her for being careless", afraid that I will "never trust her with anything valuable ever again", and that I will "never look her in the eye again." She's right on the money with most of that, except for the extremes of "never" and the looking her in the eye thing. I'm not sure where that came from. Perhaps equating looking somebody in the eyes with respecting them. I understand her feelings and fears, but truthfully, that doesn't do much to preventing me from feeling most of what she's afraid I will be feeling.**
She needs to begin to learn several things from this and my reaction to her and discussion about it needs to address these learnings. There are consequences for your actions. That was an expensive device to hand over to a twelve-year-old and it didn't last very damn long. It does still function, but not perfectly, and with the integrity of the glass plate compromised I wouldn't lay long odds that it will continue to function for very long. If she want's to have it repaired, she's going to have to earn the money to pay for it herself. This conflicts with my own frustration over broken electronics and my desire to just have the damn things fixed, but I'll have to suppress that urge in this case and stand firm.
I looked into the construction of the 4th gen iPod touch and it turns out that the LCD and the digitizer are fused together and cannot be replaced individually. This means that in order to repair damage to one of those components you must replace the assembly, which drastically increased the cost of the repair. Parts alone will be in the neighborhood of $100 USD, and then there's the labour unless I want to tackle it myself. I don't really want to do that. I don't have the specialized tools for disassembling these sorts of finicky items, and I don't have the motivation to take the time to learn how to do it properly. Total repair cost is likely to be somewhere between $160 and $180. That's a lot for a twelve year old kid.
Finally there is the issue of my own anger and the management thereof. I don't want to damage my relationship with my daughter. I also cannot just let this pass unremarked. I must find a way to impart the necessary lessons and control myself in the process.
* I can't say that I consider the word "shit" to be a swear. It's a mild expletive at best. Even the moderate amount of being around cows and horses that I have done informs my perspective that shit is just shit.
** I'm not sure that sentence makes grammatical sense, but I think the point is clear enough.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Hit and Run
A couple of days ago I witnessed an accident just down the street from my youngest daughter's school right after I dropped her off. It started as a strange situation that got worse. I was driving slowly down the street because I could see that there was a quarter-ton truck stopped in the middle of the road blocking the street, facing the same way I was driving, with it's flashers on. It was parked next to a small car and there was a man extracting a child-seat, complete with strapped-in child, from the car. I was just behind another vehicle, a mini-van, offset a metre or so to the left as the driver of the van was going to turn right at the intersection and I was going to drive straight through. I should mention here that at the intersection there was a stop-sign facing the all of us who were travelling east-west along the avenue, and no stop sign for the drivers heading north-south along the street.
Dude driving the pickup finished strapping the seat and child into his truck and then ran around to the driver's side and jumped in. The car had left right after he took out the child. The guy immediately gunned it straight through the intersection, without stopping or even pausing at the stop sign. He was T-boned by a white car coming north, which had time to brake for a split second before the impact. Truck-guy continued through, swerving, and hit the first tree across the intersection on the boulevard. It was a large tree and was essentially unscathed - I stopped by later and took a look at it.
The driver of the truck and the driver of the car both got out of their vehicles and were approaching each other. Both I and the driver of the mini-van pulled over. I pulled out a business card and was writing my name and a couple of details I observed (such as the fact that the driver of the truck was completely at fault) on it. Glancing up I saw the pickup back away from the tree and tear off down the avenue. They spoke to each other for thirty second, max. I jumped out, walked up to the distraught woman and asked, "Did he just take off?"
"He was just yelling and swearing at me! He told me that it was my effing fault and that he wasn't going to give me any effing insurance information, and then he just left."
I assured her that it was completely his fault and that I would back her up on that. I asked if she had gotten his license plate number. She said that she thought so and wrote it down. She also told me that she had an eighty-six year old woman in the passenger seat. Nobody appeared to be hurt - the velocities were relatively low, probably not more than thirty kilometres an hour. I asked her if she knew where the nearest police station was. When she said that she didn't, I told her how to get there. We spoke briefly with the driver of the mini-van who gave the woman contact information and agreed that the driver of the truck was at fault.
I resumed my drive to the office, but was bothered by the state of the woman and the fact that the pickup driver had taken off. I decided to go to the police station and make a statement so that the woman had immediate corroboration of her story. The station was only about five blocks away, so it wasn't much of a detour for me. When I walked in to the reception area, I was stunned to see the driver of the truck standing there, with a small child next to him, talking loudly to someone on the courtesy phone about how he had just been hit by some idiot woman and was filing a report so she wouldn't get away with it. The officer at the front counter looked at me and asked if he could help me. I didn't respond immediately and sidled over to the other side of the room away from loud-talking pickup-truck-guy. The officer was looking at me strangely and asked again what he could do for me. When he approached me I nodded my head toward the idiot and said, "Yes, actually it's about this guy over here."
He raised his eyebrows and said, "Oh? Did you see what happened?"
"I sure did, and it was entirely his fault."
"Would you be willing to write out a statement?" he asked.
"I will."
"Just write down exactly what you saw," he told me.
I took the statement form and began to fill it in. Meanwhile, idiot-man was done on the phone and loudly ranting about how this was "exactly what I need right before Christmas." I don't think he connected me with the situation. I was in my car for the brief time he was on the scene after the collision.
A few minutes later, the woman came in and spoke with the officer. Then she began filling out her statement. Moron-boy was only able to hold his tongue for a few minutes before he began to speak loudly to the air about how Christmas was probably ruined for him and his grandson and about how the kid could have been killed. I finished my statement and began drawing a sketch of the intersection and the collision. The officer scanned through my statement and asked that I sign and date it. I did the same with the sketch.
The officer gave some paperwork to the truck driver and told him, "You've got your damage sticker and can go...and I'm giving you a ticket for failing to stop at a stop sign."
He lost it. He completely lost it. "What!? I stopped at that stop sign! She hit me! It's her word against mine!"
"She has two witnesses that say you didn't stop."
"What!? They're just taking her side! They can't prove anything!" He was yelling all of this to the officer, to the woman and to the room in general, and then screaming directly at the woman, "You've ruined Christmas. I might as well kill myself, there's no way in hell I can pay this ticket! You hit me! Next time I'm going to just take off and cancel my insurance and disappear! You'll never get a cent out of me!"
She started to cry.
Another officer, who had come out from the back when the commotion started, stepped out from behind the counter, stopped about three inched from the nose of the ranting man and forcefully said, "Sir, it was your driving that caused your problem. You failed to stop at a stop sign and you left the scene of the accident. We could be charging you with a hit-and-run. It would be in your best interest to leave now."
The fool had the sense to mostly stop the threats and the raving, but he threw a couple more equally well thought-out epithets over his shoulder on the way out.
The first officer was comforting the woman. I went over to her and told her that the guy was an idiot, to try not to let it bother her too much, and that I would be there for her if it went to court. The officer expressed the opinion that it probably would end up in court. I'm not sure. If the insurance companies are sensible about it they'll take the fact that two independent witnesses agree that the truck driver was at fault as conclusive proof and settle it fairly. If it does go to court, I'll be there. That level of complete buffoonery is not something that I see every day. It's sure as hell not something that he should get away with.
I hindsight, I'm glad I decided to go to the station. Without witnesses, and with both parties contradicting each other, there would be no way to tell what had really happened. The evidence at the scene was essentially non-existent, especially once both parties had gone. I wish I had thought to pull out my phone and take some pictures or film the initial exchange between the drivers.
Dude driving the pickup finished strapping the seat and child into his truck and then ran around to the driver's side and jumped in. The car had left right after he took out the child. The guy immediately gunned it straight through the intersection, without stopping or even pausing at the stop sign. He was T-boned by a white car coming north, which had time to brake for a split second before the impact. Truck-guy continued through, swerving, and hit the first tree across the intersection on the boulevard. It was a large tree and was essentially unscathed - I stopped by later and took a look at it.
The driver of the truck and the driver of the car both got out of their vehicles and were approaching each other. Both I and the driver of the mini-van pulled over. I pulled out a business card and was writing my name and a couple of details I observed (such as the fact that the driver of the truck was completely at fault) on it. Glancing up I saw the pickup back away from the tree and tear off down the avenue. They spoke to each other for thirty second, max. I jumped out, walked up to the distraught woman and asked, "Did he just take off?"
"He was just yelling and swearing at me! He told me that it was my effing fault and that he wasn't going to give me any effing insurance information, and then he just left."
I assured her that it was completely his fault and that I would back her up on that. I asked if she had gotten his license plate number. She said that she thought so and wrote it down. She also told me that she had an eighty-six year old woman in the passenger seat. Nobody appeared to be hurt - the velocities were relatively low, probably not more than thirty kilometres an hour. I asked her if she knew where the nearest police station was. When she said that she didn't, I told her how to get there. We spoke briefly with the driver of the mini-van who gave the woman contact information and agreed that the driver of the truck was at fault.
I resumed my drive to the office, but was bothered by the state of the woman and the fact that the pickup driver had taken off. I decided to go to the police station and make a statement so that the woman had immediate corroboration of her story. The station was only about five blocks away, so it wasn't much of a detour for me. When I walked in to the reception area, I was stunned to see the driver of the truck standing there, with a small child next to him, talking loudly to someone on the courtesy phone about how he had just been hit by some idiot woman and was filing a report so she wouldn't get away with it. The officer at the front counter looked at me and asked if he could help me. I didn't respond immediately and sidled over to the other side of the room away from loud-talking pickup-truck-guy. The officer was looking at me strangely and asked again what he could do for me. When he approached me I nodded my head toward the idiot and said, "Yes, actually it's about this guy over here."
He raised his eyebrows and said, "Oh? Did you see what happened?"
"I sure did, and it was entirely his fault."
"Would you be willing to write out a statement?" he asked.
"I will."
"Just write down exactly what you saw," he told me.
I took the statement form and began to fill it in. Meanwhile, idiot-man was done on the phone and loudly ranting about how this was "exactly what I need right before Christmas." I don't think he connected me with the situation. I was in my car for the brief time he was on the scene after the collision.
A few minutes later, the woman came in and spoke with the officer. Then she began filling out her statement. Moron-boy was only able to hold his tongue for a few minutes before he began to speak loudly to the air about how Christmas was probably ruined for him and his grandson and about how the kid could have been killed. I finished my statement and began drawing a sketch of the intersection and the collision. The officer scanned through my statement and asked that I sign and date it. I did the same with the sketch.
The officer gave some paperwork to the truck driver and told him, "You've got your damage sticker and can go...and I'm giving you a ticket for failing to stop at a stop sign."
He lost it. He completely lost it. "What!? I stopped at that stop sign! She hit me! It's her word against mine!"
"She has two witnesses that say you didn't stop."
"What!? They're just taking her side! They can't prove anything!" He was yelling all of this to the officer, to the woman and to the room in general, and then screaming directly at the woman, "You've ruined Christmas. I might as well kill myself, there's no way in hell I can pay this ticket! You hit me! Next time I'm going to just take off and cancel my insurance and disappear! You'll never get a cent out of me!"
She started to cry.
Another officer, who had come out from the back when the commotion started, stepped out from behind the counter, stopped about three inched from the nose of the ranting man and forcefully said, "Sir, it was your driving that caused your problem. You failed to stop at a stop sign and you left the scene of the accident. We could be charging you with a hit-and-run. It would be in your best interest to leave now."
The fool had the sense to mostly stop the threats and the raving, but he threw a couple more equally well thought-out epithets over his shoulder on the way out.
The first officer was comforting the woman. I went over to her and told her that the guy was an idiot, to try not to let it bother her too much, and that I would be there for her if it went to court. The officer expressed the opinion that it probably would end up in court. I'm not sure. If the insurance companies are sensible about it they'll take the fact that two independent witnesses agree that the truck driver was at fault as conclusive proof and settle it fairly. If it does go to court, I'll be there. That level of complete buffoonery is not something that I see every day. It's sure as hell not something that he should get away with.
I hindsight, I'm glad I decided to go to the station. Without witnesses, and with both parties contradicting each other, there would be no way to tell what had really happened. The evidence at the scene was essentially non-existent, especially once both parties had gone. I wish I had thought to pull out my phone and take some pictures or film the initial exchange between the drivers.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Diarizing
For a number of years I kept a diary virtually every day. I'd go back and fill in days that I had missed. I believe I referred to it as a journal at the time, after all, diaries are for sissies. I don't worry much about being a sissy any more. I'll have to dig those out sometime and browse through them. Those were some of the most tumultuous years of my life and there are a lot of unhappy memories but I believe there was also giddy happiness from time to time. I have thought about resuming the practice for many years now and this is a step in the right direction. Although this is only my second "blog entry" so it's premature to consider it much of a diary or a blog.
The main time I get where I could sit down and write is late at night, after the kids, and spouse, are safely in bed and all of the preparations for the next day are complete. Of course it would be possible to make other times to write, but there's all of that life stuff in the way. I try to make it my habit to exercise in the middle of the day, so that's basically out. Early mornings would be another possibility, but because I have the habit of being up late that would be tough. I could squeeze in ten minute writing sessions during breaks at work a few times a day. That might happen if this becomes a habit, but I think that holding a train of thought through intermittent writing sessions would be difficult. Maybe blog posts don't need to take longer than ten minutes. Maybe. But what about the telling of things that require longer tellings? What then?
There is much to ponder. For instance, "Why, on the first paragraph of a blog post, does the blogger post-writing text-entry-box-widget-thing not throw the cursor to the next line when I press enter?" I seem to need to use the down arrow to get to the next line, and then after that the behavious is as I would expect. Strange.
You know what else would be cool? A live updated-as-you-type word count. But...that would probably be distracting after the novelty wore off. Then there would be the obsessive-compulsive habits that would develop about not stopping until a certain number of words had been written.
There are a couple things I should write about. For example the car smash and at-fault driver fleeing the scene that I witnessed yesterday. Also my mother-in-law has arrived to stay with us for awhile and there's no end of things I could ruminate upon around that situation.
Here it is, seven minutes before midnight and I'm running out of gas. Adieu.
Perhaps better to say, "au revoir". Considerably more optimistic anyway.
The main time I get where I could sit down and write is late at night, after the kids, and spouse, are safely in bed and all of the preparations for the next day are complete. Of course it would be possible to make other times to write, but there's all of that life stuff in the way. I try to make it my habit to exercise in the middle of the day, so that's basically out. Early mornings would be another possibility, but because I have the habit of being up late that would be tough. I could squeeze in ten minute writing sessions during breaks at work a few times a day. That might happen if this becomes a habit, but I think that holding a train of thought through intermittent writing sessions would be difficult. Maybe blog posts don't need to take longer than ten minutes. Maybe. But what about the telling of things that require longer tellings? What then?
There is much to ponder. For instance, "Why, on the first paragraph of a blog post, does the blogger post-writing text-entry-box-widget-thing not throw the cursor to the next line when I press enter?" I seem to need to use the down arrow to get to the next line, and then after that the behavious is as I would expect. Strange.
You know what else would be cool? A live updated-as-you-type word count. But...that would probably be distracting after the novelty wore off. Then there would be the obsessive-compulsive habits that would develop about not stopping until a certain number of words had been written.
There are a couple things I should write about. For example the car smash and at-fault driver fleeing the scene that I witnessed yesterday. Also my mother-in-law has arrived to stay with us for awhile and there's no end of things I could ruminate upon around that situation.
Here it is, seven minutes before midnight and I'm running out of gas. Adieu.
Perhaps better to say, "au revoir". Considerably more optimistic anyway.
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