Rest In Peace Mr. Jobs

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I am the proverbial sap, so I will admit to tears when I heard of Steve Jobs death. His inventions have played a major part in my life. As a person with a visual impairment. The Mac was and continues to be the great equalizer. Maybe if the fates had been different, I’d have been a fan of Mr. Gates and his machines, but in 1986 I was a Freshman and Boston College was an Apple campus. My bonus Dad Dennis nominated me for grant from a Philadelphia area charitable foundation. I was given $3,000 to purchase a computer a printer and an external monitor (unheard of at the time, I was a test case).

The computer was cutting edge, an Apple Macintosh 512ke. The e meant it read double-sided floppy disks. They were the NEW disks, the 3.5 inch disks in the hard plastic shells. That computer and all that have followed changed my life for the better. I was the only person on my dorm floor with a computer AND a printer. I traded many a chocolate chip cookie for time at the keyboard. The following summer a job in the university’s IT department dropped in my lap. A Fortuitous occurrence, but only possible because of the skills I had already developed. I was blessed to have an amazing boss. Mary believed we were there to learn as much as work. She would hand me software (Excel, MS File, PageMaker) and tell me to learn how to use it because I’d be assisting in the training classes the next month. When I was staring down the barrel of graduation with no idea what I wanted to do next, Mary pointed out that I was pretty good at my job (training and technical support) and that I could even pursue a Master’s degree. So, I did.

Mac operations and technical support came easy to me. For the first time, I was known for my skills and expertise and not my visual impairment and blonde hair. I worked in Mac tech support for more than ten years. I was briefly dual platform, but Windoze, just never made sense to me.

On the left my Mac LC on the right, my Mac 512ke with external floppy drive.
My Mac LC when it was brand new to me. The 512ke retired. It lead a long life later going to a friend when she web back to school for a B.S. in Nursing and eventually ending up in a kindergarten classroom in Medford.

All these years and careers later and I’m still a diehard Apple user. A Macbook, iPod, iPhone and iPad are all part of my daily routine (yes, I’m spoiled). I use the phone to take pictures of menus at a distance so I can enlarge them and read them. My kids are using the iPad to download books for the visually impaired. With the Read2Go app, they can make the font as big as they need it and change the color of the text and the background for minimum eye strain and maximum contrast.

Could all these things be done on other devices? Sure, but I would argue that Apple did it first and Apple does it better. Their commitment to ease of use and effective interface design has changed everything.

Jobs was a visionary. I hear he could be a challenge to work for, but you really can’t argue with the results he garnered. Rest in Peace Mr. Jobs, you left an indelible mark on this world and I for one am extremely grateful for all you accomplished.

The T-shirt I'm wearing today. The front says "Sorry I don't do Windows" with a rainbow Apple Logo and the back is a picture of Steve Jobs with his Birth and death noted.
I bought this t-shirt at a MacWorld Expo Boston. I modified it to honor Steve Jobs

 

 

The Barracuda Grill Hamilton, Bermuda

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Barracuda Grill SignOur trip to Bermuda was in part, a celebration of our 15th wedding anniversary. We traveled with friends who celebrated 19 years in August and the four of us wanted one night of excellent dining while in Bermuda. We researched this selection almost to death, but with the help of ChowHound and an excellent restaurant website, we decided on The Barracuda Grill in Hamilton.

The dining room at The Barracuda Grill in Hamilton, Bermuda*Sigh* my mouth waters just thinking about it. As much as possible, I wanted to eat local. Which, from a discussion on the ChowHound boards, I learned was hard to do in Bermuda restaurants. As an appetizer, I ordered the fish chowder finished with sherry pepper sauce. This recipe was featured in Bon Appetite and I could taste why. The soup was rich and flavorful, and the sherry pepper sauce complemented it well.

I had the poached wahoo (a fish local to Bermuda) for an entree. It was presented beautifully and the accompaniments didn’t over power the fish, but I wasn’t crazy about wahoo itself. It reminded me of swordfish which I can take or leave. I want to be clear that it was prepared well, this was just a personal preference.

Like the wahoo the loquat is local to Bermuda too (although the tree is native to China and Japan). The flavor is a mix of peach, citrus and mango. I tried the Barracuda martini which features loquat liqueur, with rum and apricot nectar and loquat foam. Yum. Just, YUM!

Dessert. Ah Dessert. On the advice of the manager Kevin, I selected the Peanut Butter Mousse. It was served with salted carmel, raspberry drop spheres and pretzel streusel and burnt marshmallow. Oh my, it was quite possibly one of the most amazing desserts I’ve ever had. It wasn’t super sweet, nor overly peanut flavored or salty. It was light and the accompaniments really enhanced the flavor. The raspberry spheres were a little odd in appearance and texture (o.k. they looked like blood clots), but they melded with the mousse to create a gourmet peanut butter and jelly taste. The marshmallow was homemade and closer to toasted than burnt. When mixed with the mousse, it reminded me of a lighter peanut butter and fluff mixture.

My fellow diners at The Barracuda Grill, Hamilton, BermudaThe service was attentive without being overbearing and Kevin the manager took time to talk with us about life as a Canadian ex-pat in Bermuda. Barracuda was a delightful experience that I would recommend to anyone considering a visit to Bermuda.

My words are my own and I have not been compensated in any way for this post.

Bermuda Briefly

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A week ago at this time, I was in Bermuda. It was sunny and warm and on day three of a six day/five night cruise I had definitely found my happy place.

Like all good things the trip came to an end and we touched down into reality. We came back with a lot of great memories with old friends, some new friends, a bottle of rum (or 3) and a desire to make unplugged vacations a more regular occurrence in our lives going forward.

There is much to blog about but in the mean time, here are a few photos to tide you over.

A mix of eight photos from my cruise to Bermuda, Me in the beautiful Bermuda Ocean, our ship, the two couples at Baracuda In Hamilton, kicking back, a sunrise, my & my pal Char, our table of 8 at dinner.

Glow Sticks

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Four different photos of glow sticks taken without the flash. Last month we went to the lake with friends and I had a bunch of glow sticks from the dollar store.  There were four kids and each easily had 15 glow sticks.  I grabbed the camera a captured some of the fun.

 

 

Harvest

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Grammy & Fish showing of their dirt covered handsGrammy is an amazing gardener. Her green thumb is legendary. About as legendary as my black thumb. At the nursery, plants look at me and die on the spot. Packets of seeds jump out of my hands, eager to avoid the death sentence.

So, when Fish expressed interest in gardening, I sent her next door to the woman who can actually grow things. Grammy set up her with The Grow Box system. Together they planted tomatoes, green beans and watermelons.

The Grow Box gardening system ariel viewMy problem with gardening is that while I love fresh food, I can’t handle one more living thing being dependent on me for its survival. I manage to remember to feed the kids every day, mostly because they squawk if I don’t. Plants? Plants don’t speak up, they just wilt if you forget to water them. Then when I do water them, I never know how much is enough and frequently I drown them. Oops!

Fish adding water to the bottom of the grow boxes.The Grow Box system seems to have eliminated those problems. The dirt bed is situated right above a tank of water. Keep the tank full and the plants will take what they need. Fish did a pretty decent job of remembering to fill the tank everyday and while she was at Girl Scout Camp between my husband and I we kept things wet. (Hat tip to my neighbor Cammy who kept us afloat while we were away for a week in mid-August). Fish was tickled when her labors bore fruit. I was too, because I LOVE fresh tomatoes.

Fish smiling with a small watermelon, green beans, and tomatoes in various stages of ripenessWe’re almost at the end of our harvest and all in all, I’d rule this experiment a success. We learned a few things such as beans and watermelons don’t share space very well and green beans taste best when they are picked when they about as long as an 11 year old’s hand. Any bigger and they are chewy. I’m thinking we’ll try again next year maybe even add a few boxes to the collection.

In the mean time please excuse me while I go finish the tomatoes.

Dory Dog

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Well, she’s been with us a year and two months and she is FINALLY showing signs of calming down.

She was a year old in May, so she still has a lot of puppy left in her, but brief moments of calm are starting to show through. THANK GOODNESS!!

A snap shot of Dory asleep on the front porch, as seen through the window on the door.

Ten years on

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September 11, 2011

Ten years.

It takes less than ten seconds for me to travel back to the fear, uncertainty and sadness that was September 11, 2001. Fish was 17 months old. A week after the attacks I sat down and began a journal entry for her. I wasn’t faithful to journalling at that time. Running a small web-design business and raising a toddler kept me away from my words, but I couldn’t NOT write. I emptied my head and my heart for about 8 pages, piecemeal, over the next month.

Ten years later, Fish is 11, smart and a sponge who loves to suck up knowledge. She craves details. She knows about the journal and I’m debating sharing it with her this year. It took me a while to locate the box with the canvas bound journal in the attic, but I knew I’d never have thrown it away.

The writings are addressed to her specifically.  I talk about where I was when it happened. I walk her through the first few hours of the aftermath. Detailing with whom I spoke, and what I was seeing and hearing on the television.

My journaling about Peter Jennings talking to an "expert" while the South tower collapsed.

 

A scan of the text from my journal where I detail how I screamed at Peter Jennings when he failed to acknowledged the collapse of the South Tower of the World Trade Center.

I tell her about what happened as we knew it at that time. Some of my information is inaccurate, I quote a death toll of over 5,000. It would later be reduced to just over 3,000.

Some things I got right even then.

A scan of the top of the page of my journal where I scratched out a note saying we hadn't even begun to understand the full impact of the attacks.

 

Reading my words, it all comes rushing back to me. The fear, the tears and the overwhelming sense of sadness. The feeling we as a country had been violated and had taken a turn for the worse. I’m not sure she’ll have the same reaction when she reads it. I suspect down the road after she has more life experience she’ll be able to better identify with my emotions.

We’ve discussed the events of 9/11/01  and even visited the Pentagon Memorial. Still, to Fish and Mim, it will always be history. Part of me would like to keep it that way. It was such a horrible experience, let it lie flat on the page of a history book. Making it real for them, to me means an end to their innocence. And yet, much of the state of our economy and foreign policy can be tied back to the events of that day. If they are to be educated citizens of the world, it is our job as parents to help them to understand what happened, why it happened and what the long term effects have been. My words do not equate to an academic analysis, but they are snapshot of the time.

I pray she and her brother NEVER have to experience anything close to 9/11, yet I know for that to happen, we as a country have to be educated and diligent.

September 11, 2011, we will never forget.

 

The First Day of School

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Alternately Titled: How I Lost my Mother Of The Year Award

Fish is not a morning person.  Actually, that’s not true, once awake, she can be bright and cheery, she just wakes VERY slowly.  I joke that it is best to poke the beast and back away.  Left to her own devices, she’d laze around in bed until 10am and stay up reading or educating her American Girl dolls until 10pm.  Sadly for her, the “real world” intervenes.

This year Fish started middle school.  Ours is a regional district (translation: looooooong bus ride to the middle and high school).  A few days before school started, I checked the bus schedule and confirmed that the pick up would be at o’dark hundred.

Fish is very independent and probably could get out the door unassisted, but I remember HAVING to get out the door unassisted as a kid and it was stressful.  I view my role at this age as supportive.  If she needs something done, she asks me to do it, but she takes care of most aspects of the morning routine herself while I enjoy my tea and catch up on email.

The week preceding the beginning of school, I rousted  her earlier and earlier each day. The day before school started, we had our annual Back-to-School Breakfast starting at 7am so we all had to be up and at ’em.  That night, she packed her lunch and asked me for help picking out clothes. Excitement was in the air, but we all made it to bed and even to sleep, at a reasonable hour. We both set our alarms.  The plan was that her alarm would be the initial poke and I would follow with a verbal reminder.

Fish close up, Fish running for the bus

Good plan.  Except her alarm didn’t go off and I some how snoozed mine twice.  I came to at about 6:20, the bus was due at 6:40am.  GAH!!! So much for the nice relaxing start to the first day of school.  Amazingly, we pulled it together and got to the bus with about 30 seconds to spare.

Smiling for the camera, Cool new shoes, obligatory silly face.

Thankfully, Mim’s morning ran a little more smoothly.  He awoke in a good mood, but as the time to depart for the bus grew near, he confessed to feeling nervous.  We  left in plenty of time and on the way down, to the stop, he asked to hold my hand.  I love the feeling of a small smooth hand in mine.  As he held on tight, he chattered about who he’d see and what he was going to do and say.  At the first rumble of the bus, he let go.  Once the red lights flashed, he gave me a “Bye Mama!” and took off without looking back.

His hand in mine

I have four years of this split schedule ahead of me and I can already tell, that I’m going to enjoy the time alone with each child that it provides.