October 1 In Las Vegas

My heart does go out to the victims and loved ones of the tragedy in Las Vegas on October 1.  These destruction crazy lunatics just keep on breaking our hearts. I somehow think of the quote 'Bury my heart at Wounded Knee', another tragedy from another time.  That I have authored or participated on other blogs on this very subject speaks about these times in which I now journal. Whatever unfathomable notions that drive these hurtful actions to be contemplated by human beings stumps my brain beyond belief.

Republicans and the NRA have just recently both come out supportive about putting restrictions on 'bump fire stocks'.  As I mentioned in a previous blog, I think there needs to be more conversations about what controls can be added without upsetting the die-hard 2 Amendment supporters.  I can't help feeling that more can be done if we all really put our thinking caps on.

I read an article recently about Caleb Keeter of the Josh Abbott Band. His band performed at the tragic  Route 91 Harvest festival in Las Vegas on 10/01/2017, so he was a witness to the senseless violence.  Quoting Mr. Keeter, "“I’ve been a proponent of the 2nd amendment my entire life...Until the events of last night. I cannot express how wrong I was.” Several articles go on to discuss the NRA and it's supporting role in Country Music. 

A danger of course, is the NRA has very powerful influence across America.  The NRA speaks for a large number of Americans who are highly guarded against limiting any vestige of firearm limitations.  Conservative leadership is very careful to avoid crossing the NRA and the gun lobby, and that is understandable.  The freedom to bear arms is woven into our culture along with our other inalienable rights. I understand that. The fact that the NRA took a stand against bump fire stocks tells me that intelligent discussions can be had; this is a very positive sign for me.  But I do think much more can be done if we put our minds to it.

I have mentioned before that I have had some training on firearms, I even have a fondness for these items. But I have chosen to not have any firearms in my house to this date.  I raised my daughters and protected my family without the benefit of lethal weapons. I pray daily for the safety of my loved ones, and I feel that my prayers have been heard. For now, that has been enough protection for me. My thoughts about owning firearms for protection are tempered by a small voice that tells me that I don't want to ever use a weapon against another human, and that I know I could not live with one of my loved ones accidentally using my weapon to hurt another of my loved ones.  That would be beyond any pain that I could possibly endure. I hear people say 'if I raise my children to respect guns, they would never use it inappropriately', and I just don't buy into that particular notion. I was a boy, I think a very typical boy, and I know that s*** happens.  The temptation is just too big for some children that I would not want to bet their precious lives on 'teaching them to respect' a weapon that can do such heart-breaking damage.

It is interesting to me that one family member of mine has had two weapons stolen out of his vehicles. That is two lethal weapons out on the street available to inflict even more pain.  And he is probably one of the most responsible of my family members when it comes to firearms. Even his diligence and training has not prevented odd items of  unforeseeable consequence from occurring. The randomness of that alone tells me that our world needs a few more controls to protect us from our own foibles. And our world needs quite a bit more common sense advocated.

I guess I am asking each of you, dear readers, to have an open mind when it comes to discussing sensible, doable, gun control rules.  Do considerable contemplation on what controls can be achievable and make sense.  Think about locking up your guns, keeping ammunition separated as much as you can and still provide you the safety you feel that you need.  And, remember that prayers are very much stronger than bullets. I truly believe that.

Let's use this example of the 'bump fire stocks' to stoke more conversations about controls that do make sense. Limitations of magazine size? Limitations on various extremely lethal ammunition or weapon types? Locking down gun sales at gun shows?  I am not an expert on this discussion, but I know some of you are, I just know that more can be done if we put our minds (and prayers) toward a common goal...seeking sensible ways to reduce the damage these insane and destructive ne'er-do-wells can inflict upon those people we love.

Cheers---nca

How Firm A Foundation II

I remember a dear colleague of mine, many years back describing herself as a 'Recovering Catholic'. I remember laughing with her and agreeing that I too, was a 'Recovering Catholic'.  It was an easy concept to laugh at.  There were definitive aspects of our shared upbringing as Parochial School Catholics that we could instantly relate to.

Originally I was  amazed at the number of Catholics in my chosen profession. I have long since stopped being surprised when I am introduced to a new 'Cobol' Developer that had roots in Catholicism, there is something about the structure, logic, and precision of Cobol working with Relational Databases that attracts the Parochial trained mind.  Someday I may write a blog studying this more.

Regardless of the cause, my Parochial upbringing was a very powerful and direct influence upon me, lifelong. Though, it has been decades since I have considered myself Catholic, the aspects of Catholicism that continue to effect my life are countless.

What I learned about Mathematics and Algebra, I learned in Elementary School, St. Thomas the Apostle Catholic School in Phoenix Arizona provided me a firm foundation in those two key tools. Mathematics and being a Cobol developer go hand in hand. My mind is geared toward pretty and precise If-Then logic. For my mind, there is an algorithmic solution for every technical or business problem. That I try to instill this formula for problem solving in my personal life may not always be as successful, but I never fail to try to apply it.  I know that my Parochial upbringing was a big part of me being able to support myself and my family for all these years. And from the number of Catholics in my profession, I don't think this was unique for me.

There is more Catholic in my makeup than just the logic I use in my occupation.  'Catholic Guilt' courses through my veins as one of my chief moral drivers. I am a living breathing example of 'Catholic Guilt'.  I am loyal to my Children and wife, I am loyal to my siblings, any personal challenge to that loyalty triggers the 'Guilt' gene in my like an ignition switch. My 'Recovering' friend would laugh at this part of me if she were to read this now, like this 'guilt' is some type of curse.  I guess I have learned to come to grips with this part of myself.  At this later stage in my life, I start to look back at the precept of  'Catholic Guilt' as a productive guiding part of me. I am proud to be dedicated to the institution of family, the preservation of that institution to me is a noble endeavor. When I look at some of the countries where Catholicism is prevalent, like south of our border, or Italy...I see that institution of family has been put on a pedestal. Grandparents, the elderly, are treated with respect and kindness. Children are protected and cherished. Large, close knit families are not mocked and abused, rather they are admired and cherished.   I fail to see this as a negative outcome of 'Catholic' Guilt. That my moral compass is influenced from the Catholic upbringing can not be denied, and I would not want it to be denied.

I believe my parents raised me as best they could. They chose to raise me within the boundaries of their faith. My father was raised a Catholic, and my Mom adopted Catholicism as a married adult.  At times when I choose to view my parents through my 20/20 hindsight, all their mistakes and blemishes are so very clear and obvious. It becomes so easy for me to itemize all their faults.  But they did not have the luxury of 20/20 hindsight as they were fostering us through out our lives, putting their parenthood skills to the test.  That they turned to the Catholic Church for help in building my moral character means that they did have faith in the family unit, enough faith to entrust me and my siblings to the teachings that they understood to be the best for us as a family. It also meant they had faith in Our Father in Heaven, and in his begotten Son,  such faith that they chose to add those helping hands into our lives. This is no small thing. It took a great deal of sacrifice of their time, their Sundays, and their budget to educate and indoctrinate my siblings and myself.  If I look at my seven living brothers and sisters, I see that miracles did happen. That each of us were able to raise ourselves up out of poverty and to build our own families with moral character and with faith. This is no small accomplishment from such humble beginnings.

Occasionally I hear a judgment  passed upon organized Religion concerning raising children within the loving arms of faith.  The judgement is some variation of 'I prefer to let my children learn religion at their own pace, as they are ready for it, and without my guidance or leanings'.  I believe I understand that concept, and I see some value in it.  But, as I look at how I was raised, and how I raised my daughters, and how my grandchildren are being raised, I am not sure that is the only way to raise children. Yes, it may be fine for others, it is not for me to judge. But for me, and mine, I feel that a parent wishing to add faith to the mix when raising children is perfectly within his rights as a parent.  I believe that faith is a virtue, and that sharing faith can be an act of love passed parent to child.  I believe Children may choose to reject that Faith, move on to other Faiths, or perhaps even adopt that Faith in their lives as they move to their own adulthood. But the foundation of Faith provided and taught by the parents, when it is done with respect and love for the child, is also of great value.

For my parents, for their choices and for all the work they did in raising my siblings and myself...I have the greatest love and am gaining greater understanding, day by day. Thanks Mom and Dan. :)

Cheers, nca

Our Cowardly King

President Trump 

Visited Arizona This Week

08/22/2017

Generous Reward

My Mom often walked on paths less warn than my own. Because of this, through much of my life and to this day I lack significant understanding of her.  Not for her lack of trying. Bequeathed to me at her passing I have several of her attempts at novels and her 'life story'.  As of this post I have not sampled her life story, but I have read various passages from her novels.  At some point in my life I may draw from those wells, but at this point I am not quite ready. From our conversations those last few years I am still wary and not trusting enough.

But I am aware of many areas where my Mother lives on in me and my siblings. Her blood courses through me, her peculiar brand of nurturing is in my nature. I find particular phrases of hers in my vocabulary. I see moments where particular mannerisms of hers cross my brows or wrinkle my face. 

This blog itself likely owes some allegiance to my Mother. She was a reader, I am a reader. She was a writer, I attempt to write too. 

My chosen occupation has roots with my Mother too. Certainly not by her design, or mine. But her insistence in us kids attending a Catholic parochial school particularly weighs heavy in what I do for a living.  The emphasis on math and logic I received in school has kept food on my family's tables for 35 years. The summers where she enforced me to do work-sheets when I would rather be swimming or playing ball did have an impact. She even encouraged me to take up typing as an elective in High School, a skill that serves me as a developer and serves me here on this keyboard.

Mom was an artist. Not a classical artist in any way.  She reminds me more of folksy artists like Maud Lewis or Grandma Moses than a more classical artist. She mastered bead work, crotchet, knitting, sewing. She dabbled in wood-burning, painting, writing, dancing, and performance art.  She created scripts, and short plays. She tried her hand at the piano and organ. She had a beautiful soprano singing voice.

How that passed to me was mostly in the writing arts. Though I have made videos, podcasts, and more. I fancied myself a poet at one time, and still dabble at that.  I received a fraction of her creative skills, and am grateful for that.  I get great joy from being able to create something different.

I have strong compassion for equality and fairness. My Mom installed those things in my from a young age. Sadly, late in life she may have lost some of that from her conversation and makeup, but not until it was passed on to me. I hope that as time carries on for me that I don't lose sight of that, it is important to me and worthy of retaining.  I fear that age may wither passion from the vine....perhaps it did for her.

In some ways, Mom's failings have shaped me too.  For better and for worse.  I have strong feelings about 'no kid should ever feel neglected by their parent'. No one should feel unwanted. That every child deserves an attentive parent or Grandparent. This is not to judge my Mother on her motherhood, rather to judge me on allowing those feelings to foster in my youth. It pains me now to think of another youth to have to sample from that bitter well.

To me, as a youth...Mom seemed distant and aloof. Not fully engaged. I share this trait too, which serves me no great service. I apologize to those who may have experienced this from me. My wife particularly. That this one trait from my Mother has continued on in me is no great blessing. Yet, folks....it too is part of me.

All these parts that make a whole. Parts from my Dad, Grandparents, and just from my own life experiences all combine to make me who I am.

When judging our parents and holding them accountable for perceived weakness and failures, are we not in some ways judging ourselves? We do not walk step by step in their every footstep. We only walk part of their journey through life, and they only walk part of our journey.  By judging our parents, we serve judgement on their journey, and we discredit the shared path we have walked. I hope to someday have better understanding of my Mom and her journey.

Mother, thanks.  Thanks for taking the time to raise me in your fashion, the best way you knew how. Thanks for taking me to the Dentist and the Doctor, and for bandaging my cuts and scrapes. Thanks for my yearly birthday movie night. Thanks for working so hard to provide me a great education, and for keeping food on the table when times were tough. Thanks for all the dishes washed, clothes washed, and for taking me to buy school clothes. Thanks for signing me up for little league and boy scouts. Thanks for summer vacations at Mingus Mountain and Indiana. Thanks particularly for my terrific siblings who I love so dearly. And thanks for doing the very best you knew how to do, with what you had, and in your own fashion.

I know that there will be a time when my spirit is reunited with my parents. That is part of my faith. I hope then I will have a better understanding of Mom's journey when we meet again. We will have so much to talk about.

Cheers, nca

Puzzled II

Some very helpful instructions from the manual of our brand new Refrigerator. Ice. It can be used to cool warm water.  I will make a note of that, in case the question comes up again...

Cheers, nca 

A Shout Out To Neville Jacob

My good buddy, Neville Jacob...has finally gotten his new blog up and running.  I say check it out. And not because I have cameos in it here and there, but it is quite cool. It is titled theamericanbeagle.com.

Included in the Blog...we have the 'It's Nick and It's Neville Podcasts'.  We had quite a bit of fun with those, hopefully we can do more someday. But I must say my favorite is Neville's Sounds of America recordings.  It is such a treat to hear what an outsider hears in our great country.

I confess, Neville's blog is quite a bit brighter and more thought out than mine. Sort of puts the crush on me to spiff mine up a bit. Challenge accepted.  Please be sure to check it out. I'd be interested to hear what you think.

Cheers, nca

P.S. Happy Easter All!

Centerfolds, Alleys, and Mischief

A recipe for youthful mischief

1.  A shelf full of Playboy Magazines.

Our next door neighbor kept a beautiful house and garden. Picture worthy. He had high redwood walls surrounding his plot providing a high level of privacy for his family.  My guess is he had to build the redwood fences due to his living next to our chaotic home. I am pretty sure this was the case.

Within his redwood walls he had a lush garden which he kept excellent care of. I knew the garden area well because when he would go on vacation, he employed me to tend the vegetation. This was mostly watering the roses and other plants during the scorching Arizona summer.

I did my job well. He often commented on his return how flowery and green I had kept the garden. But there was more than roses to interest me in that backyard. On his patio, in the redwood shelving he had back there, was a generous supply of back-issue Playboy magazines.  In an era with no WWW to tempt young teens like me, his stack of Playboys were a rich playground of enticements. I have nothing but praise for the rich lure of the female anatomy that I was able to view indiscriminately.

2. The businesses across the alley.

Behind our house on Amelia street there was an alley for the garbage trucks to negotiate. And across the alley from our house was a row of small businesses that fronted Indian School Road. Our favorite was an Indian trinket store. But there were also some apartments, a paint store, a bike shop, and medical supplies business, among others.  The only one that had a private parking lot was the medical supplies business. The parking lot was right across from the back gate to our house.

The businesses were one story. My brothers and I had long discovered the various ways from the alley we could gain access to the roofs of the businesses. From there it was easy to lob water balloons down upon cars passing on Indian School.

3. Teenage boys.

To this day, whenever I hear someone wondering why a teenage boy does some act of mischief I am amazed.  To me, the why is obvious. If there is something mischievous that can be done. it will probably be done.  There are very few shackles on the strange urges that a teenage mind might come up with.  Not only was I capable of coming up with strange plots, I had little natural resistance to actually acting them out.

That teenage boys survive to adulthood is an amazing thing. That more are not incarcerated is even more amazing.

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And so it was. The mischievous urge came one day when the neighbor was on vacation. Looking at one glorious centerfold and the seed was quickly planted within my small little mind.  The thought or urge came from that deep dark place that all teenage urges come from, the source still a mystery.

So, I ripped the October centerfold out, found some strong, lasting glue in my Stepfather's supplies, and the adventure was on.

Climbing to the roof of the Medical Supplies place, I pasted the centerfold high on the wall overlooking the parking lot behind our house. From below, she looked good enough to command all the asphalt that her eyes partook.

It was several weeks that went by before someone even tried to remove her from the cement brick wall. But when they did, they were only partially successful. And by some miracle of glue science, the best parts of Ms. October proved the most difficult to remove. Some of the choicest parts of her hung there for many many years after.

That no one suspected any of the four teenage boys that lived across the alley was somewhat strange.  But no one was ever fingered for the caper, until now the culprit was never identified.

Teenage friends and my brothers never dreamed it had been me.  They flocked to view the results of the mischief, but I kept silent and no one ever asked.  If my closet voyeur neighbor recognized his endowed art hanging from the wall, he too never mentioned it.

1 year later, as I could not resist the similar 'call'....I added a second awesome centerfold to the explicit gallery. By the same miracle as the first, the workers at the medical supply company could only remove some of the picture, again leaving most of the very best parts from a teenage boy point of view. There were now two amazing examples of airbrushed female anatomy resident upon the crude  walls of the parking lot.

I never did add to this endowed collection.  And only now do I admit to this inexplicable act of teenage defiance.  I am thinking that the limitations of the long arm of the law do not reach out 40 years. But if they do, no doubt I deserve the consequences.

Cheers, nca


p.s. I checked and the centerfolds are no longer there, some 40 + years later.  I half expected them to be.  The picture above is the actual wall where they posted. Now, there is a 6 ft cement wall to keep modern riffraff out.

The Hindengurg

It has been 32 years since I made one very key choice between to full time jobs. My wife and I were just married and we had one daughter, with one on the way. I needed a full time job with benefits to take the reigns on my growing little family. With my wife pregnant, health benefits was my primary goal, along with some type of decent regular salary.

Up to that time in my life, I had been a carefree nomad, working various part time jobs month to month, barely getting by, with no aim or objective. But my new family status had made that type of life impractical, irresponsible. Yet, I had not adequately positioned myself for the alternative.

I had not completed my degree, nor did I have any formal training to speak of.  My nomadic life had moved me from one college major to another, from one college to another...and therefore a proper education was out of my grasp.  I needed a steady salary and insurance....and I needed something immediate.

After applying and interviewing for countless jobs, within one week of each offer I received two offers that met the immediate needs.

One offer was working at a document imagining company that would take business documents and copy them to microfiche. This was the first job offerered, I had interviewed well and the offer was immediate. I accepted it right off the bat, no questions asked.

The second offer was working at the local University for the IT department. My initial job would be as a courier for the Computer Services Department. This job would entail driving a Cushman cart around campus delivering computer printouts to the remote sites. This offer came several days later.

I had accepted the first offer, yet the second had much more appeal to me. There were several reasons for this.  First, my family had a history of working for various State and Federal agencies. My Dad had worked for the V.A. My brother, mom, and sister, had worked for the State of Arizona. The State offerered more stability, a steady income, and the requisite insurance my family would need. But, even more interesting to me was the possibility to learn young computer industry from the ground floor.

I had not had a great deal of computer experience in my past. At the Library were my wife and I met, they had an old TI 99/4 in the basement that I played on. I had actually read through the BASIC manual and taught myself some rudimentary BASIC. And Lori's uncle had a APPLE II in his house I played with on occasion. But my skills were very amateur. It was 1983 and Computers were not yet a household appliance.

Yet, in my heart, the choice was too simple. I never showed up for the microfiche job. Yes, very rude of me. They later called me and told me how rude it was. But I had decided on the job at the University, and thus the next 33 years of my life was put into motion.

From courier I learned the job of remote computer operator, then tape librarian, and eventually becoming a mainframe computer operator.

 From there, I became a Production Support Analyst. With that job I left the University (twice), eventually finding myself working Production Support for a small Airline.  I eventually moved into Application Development, and now I am a Senior Manager for Application Development at one of the largest Airlines in the world.

I say that term, Senior Manager...fully knowing that my roots are very humble and rest on one lucky, fortunate decision I made primarily to meet the needs of my young family.  My job has since become an obsession for me, the need to succeed and to demonstrate my long honed skills. My poor spouse has received the brunt of this obsession as I have been beeped while she was in labor, during baptisms and funerals. She has been alone while I have been working long nights, away out of town, and over install weekends.  She has been punished by my beeper going off at all time so the night and over weekends.

That I know and understand my humble beginnings is an understatement.  I think about it often. There but for a Cushman cart and a rude non-call to the microfiche company I would not have gotten to where I am today.  But even more importantly, but for  my young daughters needing a roof over their head and good insurance, I may still be the living the nomad existence of my youth.

My career is my career, for better or worse. Had I been better prepared when my spouse first became pregnant, much of what I have done since may have been very different. Who knows how different, or what different paths the five of us may have taken.  Often, I feel defined by my career, when in truth I am more defined by the very basic need to be supportive of my wife and young daughters during a very trying time. Yet, the career is hovering large out there, like the Hindenburg ready to explode and bring my whole life crashing down.  What lifted my career to the current lofty altitude in the first place was the needs of my family, but now...looking back...I may have given that career too much dangerous gas.

Observations. A life "lived".









Cheers, nca