Aged or Jaded?

I have a new teammate. He's recently out of college and reminds me of me at that point in my life. He's secure in what he knows, willing to challenge the established practices, respectful of the "elders" on the team, etc. I miss the times when I didn't worry about the other dynamics of software development, when the code itself was the focus of the effort and the reward for a job well done.

So what is it that changed things for me? Some of it I would classify as maturing, seeing that there is more than code to having a successful product. Good code is easier to maintain and it is still a joy to see. But not everyone has the same definition of good. Good code simply works; both in that it is simple and that it does just what it should. Good code may also be judged for lucidity, elegance, brevity or even against "coding standards" -- someone's idea of a quantifiable measure of good. I've started to add: Good code is maintainable code, well documented and testable. Unfortunately, that starts to become a balancing act with elegance and brevity as not everyone is able to write or understand code at the same level. In this case, the maturing aspect is the inclusion of others in the goal.

But, it's more than that. Much of it is that I'm growing tired of the fight. I'm weary from nearly arguing about quality and costs with management that does not want to hear anything other than what is it going to cost the customer on contract. There's no buy-in to producing good code. It seems that the bean-counter definition that drives decision making is: Good code is shipped code. That's it, nothing else would seem to matter. I've put together justifications about technology upgrades to bring codebases into today's world (much of those are over a decade old!) The cost of being unable to attract or retain good developers doesn't seem to matter. Yet we're expected to be judged on quality, meeting customer expectations and other "Good Code" (and important outcomes) metrics. Apparently we're expected to do this for free or on someone elses' dime.

It would be nice to get back to the simple definitions, to being the happy coder truly enraptured with my job. Where I could have simple pride in the completion of the job, not, "if you qualify it thusly, make this exception, take that into consideration... Yeah, I could be proud if it!" Yet, somehow, I still enjoy the work. It's still a thrill to see the software through the customer's eyes. I really love it when on first demo they pick at little things because it means we've truly impressed them and nailed the big stuff!

So, Is it that I'm Aged or Jaded?


My answer: Yes.

You Know You're a Parent When...

Romantic time starts with, "Are they asleep?"
And ends with. " Yes, so am I. Goodnight."

Ask The Hard Questions

It wasn't all that long ago that I asked, rhetorically of my son, "Who told you that you could grow so big?" A simple enough question I've heard uttered aloud on numerous occasions. I was not prepared to receive an answer, however. My daughter, in a perfectly casual, nearly off-handed way said, "God did, in his heart." Such an amazing answer I couldn't do anything but sit there in awe.

I don't make a habit of posting religious items. For that matter, for the last nearly 6 months I haven't really posted at all. ;) But matters of faith have been in the forefront lately for me and I've started wondering if I'm missing the not-so-subtle nudge to start speaking out more. Tonight provided further fodder.

My daughter's bedtime routine hasn't changed substantially. We put on PJs, brush teeth, read books, snuggle, and finally turn out the light. I tuck her in and then wholeheartedly offer: "Good night, sleep well, God Bless you, I'll see you in the morning." There are nights where we have some discusson on how many books we read, how much snuggle time is allowed, not being ready for bed, etc. Tonight there were no arguments; she was on top of the routine.

We brushed teeth, put on PJs, picked out books, and read books as normal with my daughter keeping track of what we had done and what was next. She had picked out 3 of the Golden Book books from the collection on her shelf: I Love You, Daddy, The Little Tugboat and The Story of Jesus -- arranged into that order. None of them were new or strangers to the bedtime routine.

After finishing the books my daughter chimes in with, "Let's turn out the light and talk about after Jesus died. OK, Daddy?"

Um... woah. Wasn't expecing that one. "Sure. What about when Jesus Died?"

I can't do the conversation justice, nor does my gramatical sense stay out of the way enough to be able to faithfully reproduce it here. What I did come away with was the thought that I need to call a good friend (and Priest) to come have a better conversation with her. We touched on subjects from how Jesus was conceived, born, why he died, where he is now and even a little on Heaven and afterlife. Nothing like asking the easy warm-up questions first.

If there's anything from what happened tonight that I would emphasize it is simply this: I hope that people never stop questioning items of faith, that we can approach the questions, no matter how hard, with an open mind and search for answers even if they remain beyond our reach.

My daugher has started on this path, and for that I am grateful. May I never stand in her way.

Mellow Rib Rub

(originally posted to the wrong blog... my apologies)

Wanted to do something with some pork spareribs that wasn't a heavy Southwestern blend and that would complement smoking with Apple Wood chips:

• 1/4 C Brown Sugar
• 1 tsp ea:
• Kosher Salt
• Fresh Ground Black Pepper
• Sweet Hungary Paprika
• Crushed Marjoram
• Ground Ginger
• Ground Coriander
• Ground Cloves
• Crushed/Ground Fennel

Personally, I'd go on the light side (3/4 or less) with the Cloves and Fennel to help keep the more subtle apple wood flavor come out more.

Who Cut the Cheese?

If you will forgive me the junior-high level joke for a title, this was actually a question with much weight on it as both my wife and I palled at what could be implied by the unknown answer.

The back story:
Sunday mornings are always a bit of a challenge. I like to try to sleep in at least one day on the weekend; something that hasn't happened effectively since my son was born nearly a year ago. My daughter has always insisted on breakfast, ideally pancakes, muffins, or some other home-cooked meal for Sunday breakfast. So, she would come in, join us in bed for a snuggle and snooze, then my wife, feeling much hungrier than me, would take the girl downstairs and prepare something.

(I would guess she's already posed a rant about wanting me to help with this activity. Much as I would try, it's just not something I find I'm able to motivate myself to do consistently and for that I'm sorry.)

Now, with my son deciding to wake up at the usual morning time to eat -- why should he break routine for this weekend thing he doesn't have any concept about just so I can nap? -- that starts the day a little earlier. I do try to be the one to go get him and bring him to my wife in bed for the morning start. I then lie back down, half-snoozing until, inevitably, my daughter comes in. From there, the quiet morning snuggle becomes more like a circus as she and the boy play/fuss/tunnel in the sheets/fuss and otherwise act like their ages.

Back to the story:
Today there was no difference other than we all managed to stay in pretty good moods, even to the point of getting everyone dressed and working in showers after breakfast. My son was the first one done, followed by my wife, then my daughter and finally me -- IIRC. It was at this point where we heard a melodic, "I need a snack," followed by the pitter-patter of my daughter's little shoes going down the stairs and around to the kitchen.

We heard the pantry door open, rustling in the pantry, the door close, drawers open and shut, nothing outside the noises you would expect to hear for the preparation of a snack. So, it was with quite a shock when my daughter came back upstairs and my wife asked, "Where'd you get that?" "That" was a big hunk of cheese from the fridge. We were not upset with the choice of snack, but this is precisely where the question at hand came into play as both my wife and I stared at each other. We decided, in that parental-telepathy kind of way, to wait a few minutes as we were all going to be wrapped-up and headed down anyway.

So, we get downstairs and my wife asked, "How did you get the cheese?"
"I cut a piece."
"With what, honey?"
"A knife."
"From the drawer?"
"Yes."
"Where's the knife now" (it wasn't on the counter as far as we could see)
"I put it back."
"Ok, in this drawer?" asked my wife, pointing at the drawer with our eating utensils.
"No, the other one."
** Panic sets in at this point as I start moving across the kitchen **
"Which one?" my wife asks again.
"That one." my daughter answers, sorta indicating with her head in the direction I feared before returning to another bite of the snack.

Sure enough, I get over to the drawer, open it, and see the tell-tale streak of cheese along the blade of our butcher knife. I think I laughed as I pulled forth the blade to clean it and check the rest of the drawer for escaped cheese, but I was quick to mentally count the fingers toes and other body parts I'd seen in the last few minutes.

We've moved the knives.