Bonsai
I first met Clark when he interviewed me for the job. He'd been a contractor at the FAA for three years by then and they wanted to add their first PC Specialist. It was one of those rare interviews where, by the end, is was obvious you'd just it off and they wanted to cut to the chase and hire you on the spot. Clark had a charming oddball manner that drew you in. He was clearly intelligent but something wasn't quite right. He was handsome and his dress, like his speech, was a little more formal than necessary.

So I became the sixth member of the contractor team. Those were heady days that took the FAA from 3 PCs to a 320 plus a network in a few years. Clark headed our little team leveraging his leadership skills picked up in the military. He often used words like esprit de corps. After getting to know him, it became clear that his experience in VietNam shaped his personality -- probably not in a good way. Much to everyone's horror, Clark often regaled us with gruesome stories of torture he had supposedly witnessed. I'm not sure if his devotion to Christian Science came later in life but Clark seemed to use every spare minute to read passages from the Bible.

He grew up in Gross Pointe, Michigan, one on the wealthiest towns in the country. He was chauffeured to school every day. His father and brother were both doctors. I got the vague sense that Clark was a bit of a black sheep. His reluctant enlistment in the army was an effort to avoid losing his inheritance.

Over time, the focus at the FAA shifted away from the mainframes and toward the PCs and network. That fact, coupled with Clark's odd personality, eventually demoted him to the rank and file. Shortly thereafter, I became head of the contractor team, which had grown to 11 people. Except for a brief instance, Clark handled this awkward reversal well and for the seven years we worked together we got along well.

When Clark's wife, Ruth, left him for an airline pilot, he tried to make the best of it, making jokes that he was now ruthless. But it was pretty clear that he was hit hard and his quirkiness picked up a notch. He was apparently ill-prepared for taking care of himself and we would hear stories about how he would put the pre-made sandwiches - plastic and all - in the microwave for three minutes. Work was all he had in those days so it was good that he got along well with his peers in the computer room. One day the Bonsai plant he meticulously cared for on his desk disappeared. He was distraught until a mysterious envelope appeared the next day. The Polaroid showed the plant front and center. An arm extending from the border held a pistol at close range. The attached ransom note was assembled from cut up newsprint.

Clark eventually met and married a much younger woman. She was an artist of sorts. He was under no delusions, he often proudly proclaimed he was her sugar daddy. We would all roll our eyes as Clark would tell us how exhausting it is to keep such a young woman satisfied. After a few years, she left him too.

One day, Clark indicated he needed a private meeting with me. In hushed tones he offered a cryptic account of changes in his life. His past was catching up with him. The CIA had people staked out in front of his house. He had to watch his back. I didn't have to worry this would be over soon - one way or the other. He was only telling me just in case he didn't show up for work. A few weeks later I happened to be in the computer room when Clark came in to work. When he opened his briefcase to take out his lunch I saw the pistol inside. We talked about it later that day and I asked him to leave the weaponry at home.

The contract at the FAA was cut back under Reagan in 1994. I was moved to another facility where I quickly crashed and burned. Clark was among the 4 or 5 who stayed on. In another year, he was let go. I got a call sometime after that from Lou. He said look on page 6 of the Globe. The body of a man that washed up on the shore near Cohasset was identified as that of Clark G. Kelley.

There was no funeral or wake. Christian Scientists have strange customs in that area. We assumed that the loss of two wives and his job got the better of Clark. But I'd prefer to think the CIA finally got him. That everything he said is true.

Yesterday was a long and trying day in which I fought hard against Lucifer (aka Bill Gates) and lost. But there was a little high point toward the end. I was driving home and talking to Terry (who was home) on the phone as I approached the house. It was about an hour after sunset and the weather was warm and foggy. Then I saw a doe and a fawn strolling into our yard. I told Terry to bring the kids out to show them. Family units appeared at the front door. Aly and Jack stared at the deer. Then Aly looked over at me. Not realizing that I knew about the deer, she ran over screaming 'Daddy, Daddy, look at the deer!' which, of course, scared the crap out them and they ran away.

This is the way it is with these kids. One minute you're so impressed with their progress, then they do something like this, dropping the clue meter to zero. I guess you have to learn checkers before you play chess.

Attention, um..... oh yeah, Deficit
I'm inspired by George's lengthy, if infrequent, posts to his weblog. He's succeeding at capturing events from life and expounding on them. This is what make's it a true journal and has been my intent from the beginning. My posts tend to be very short and impromptu rather than crafted and well-considered. It's no mystery why this is - it's my life.
There are a lot of balls in the air so that anything I set my mind to will be interrupted within five minutes (for example between this sentence and the last I had to stop and have a five minute conversation with someone).

But it's not just interruption, it's also a state of attention deficit caused by this low-level chaos. I'm trying to manage two projects plus regular work plus find new office space plus lose weight plus launch a new business plus deal with Terry's stress plus be an instant Dad. On top of that I expect to keep a journal?

~~~

My friend Jim's brother is selling his house in Cazenovia, NY (near Syracuse). I Jim put up a web site to help sell the house. It's very similar to the house I live in except that he's asking a half-million dollars less than what I paid. There's this recurring theme: why do we live here and is it worth it? Except for proximity to Terry's parents, I really can't think of a reason not to cash out and buy a house in Vermont or New York State or some place warm. Do these remote locales feel more like life from my childhood where kids just play outside and get home before dark or have they switched over into the paranoia of playdates and incessant supervision?

So much to learn...

Excuse me for this recurring theme but it is absolutely amazing what has happened in our house in just over 4 months. Terry and I have at least one moment a day where we are stunned by the seemingly effortless progress out kids have made. When they landed on American soil on November 4th Aly and Jack spoke no English except for "1,2,3", "hello" and "my name is..." Now check out my daughter's chat with me last night [click here].
The strange part is I don't know how it happened and I've been here all along.

The door left open. It's a perfect symbol for the way a kid thinks. His consciousness encompasses the present and maybe 5 seconds of the future but none on the past. When they go through the door the opening is behind them so it would never occur to them to deal with it. This can be aggravating for a parent but it's at the core of what makes children wonderful creatures. Being in the moment and being playful can't really be separated. Adults, of course, have to move away from this state of mind in order to be responsible. But we always wish we could retrieve that sense of immediacy. Except for a brief and intense mid-life crisis, I've never even some close to it.