Thursday is Kathy’s and my weekly date night. This past week, we had pretty well exhausted our fiscal reserves by the time Thursday came around. I decided, by way of having fun together and keeping our night out affordable, to bring Kathy to the park and take photos of her — a project I’d had on my mental back-burner for a while. We ran around, climbed trees, rolled about in the grass, and eventually leapt into the river to cool off. We had a great time, and I was quite happy with

A few things rattling around in my head:

• The kids have started school. It was immensely bittersweet to see Abigail and Liam run toward the Crockett Elementary gym together after watching Emily board the bus in front of the house for the first time. We’ve hit a new chapter in our parenting, and with it come new heights of ambivalent feelings — proud of the kids, baffled that they could possibly be as far along in their lives already, thinking tentatively ahead to that time when parenting will no longer be one of our main responsibilities in life.

  So far the kids are all doing great in their classes.

• I’ve been doing a lot of music lately: bass for a Saturday night gig with The Grant Mazak Band, cello and singing for Sunday morning at church. It was fun to have the cello out again, though the A string broke at the last minute and I had to make do with only the lower three strings.

  On the Santa Fe trip, Ben pulled out some Rich Mullins and some Bright Eyes, both of which had hammered dulcimer in the mix. I came back eager to work out some of what I’d heard, so have had the dulcimer out several times lately as well.

• David and I have started a workout program. I dropped about 30 pounds last year on a diet and weightlifting program, but have been out of the gym for a while now. Since Texas State lets one take up to 30 minutes a day off for some kind of on-campus fitness activity, I figured it would be criminal not to take advantage of that. I’m sore today, but we were careful not to overdo too much on our first outing, so I’m still functional.
• Continuing the recent run of opera, Kathy saw Madame Butterfly down in San Antonio Friday night with some of her girlfriends. Though the production apparently wasn’t spectacular, she had a great time running around San Antonio and playing Dance Dance Revolution.
• The University Convocation was this morning. It was really interesting to attend and to hear the new President speak. Having been in the private sector now for well on a decade, it was great to see the sense of community evident there — another item for my mental “why I like working in Academia without actually being an academic” list.

Dad called around 6:00 this evening to let me know he’d been to the opthamologist today, and the doctor’s tests revealed that the majority of Dad’s vision has returned. He’s going to be able to drive again (with someone else at first), and is having an easier time managing the various things that have been hard for him since the stroke occurred. We are, again, very grateful, as being able to get around will certainly make life easier and more pleasant for him.

I got back Monday from Stupid Guy Trip 2004. This year, Chris, Ben, Ross, Mike, Adam, Daniel, and I went to Santa Fe for the weekend. We had a great time going to see Don Giovanni at the spectacular Santa Fe Opera House, hiking Bandalier National Monument, eating far too much wonderful food, visiting several churches and several bars, swiping and replacing garden gnomes, playing Texas Holdem, driving 13 hours each way, listening to great music, enjoying superb conversation, and continuing to build great friendships. The full photographic record is available (probably temporarily) on my .Mac site.

This afternoon, Kathy was down in San Antonio to pick up Emily, who has been in New York for the past three weeks, visiting Kathy’s family. They were stopped at a red light when a bulldozer at an adjacent construction site pushed over a lamp post, which fell onto the van, inches from Abigail’s head. It sent glass flying, completely destroying the rear window of the van and showering even Kathy in the front seat with shards.

Fortunately, nobody was injured, and they’re all on their way home in a rental car the construction company provided. I’m once again thanking God for keeping my family safe.

UPDATE: I’d misunderstood Kathy when she was describing the accident to me originally. She wasn’t stopped at a stoplight, but driving at about 30mph. Even scarier to realize that if she’d been driving just a bit slower, the lamp post would have landed on the roof or possibly gone through the winshield.

Though I’m generally very happy with the new job, the sheer volume of information I’m having to cram into my rapidly overheating brain is becoming a bit daunting. My first two weeks were spent in what was, effectively, Vignette boot camp. We learned about their Content Management System, writing delivery applications that work against the CMS data store, writing PortalBean and JSR-168 portlets, and customizing the UI for all of these pieces. After a month or two, we’ve got a reasonably good grasp on these things. So what happens? We get a whole new pile of things to learn.

With the latest release, Vignette added Dynamic Site and Dynamic Portlet, which replaces much of what we learned about writing content management applications. It’s admittedly a far better way to do things, but is a whole new pile of poorly-documented stuff to learn. (Cynical aside: having your documentation riddled with errors is a great way to sell training courses.) I’m also working through the Vignette Business Integration Studio training materials and getting up to speed on the Open Source Portfolio Initiative, which it looks like we’ll be customizing and implementing here.

This past Sunday was Abigail’s eighth birthday. We had a party to celebrate that milestone, as well as to give friends an opportunity to visit with Chris, who was in town with his English lady friend Becky. (She was a great hit with everyone, and I kept asking her questions just to get to hear her speak.) I still haven’t gotten a complete rundown of the gifts Abigail received, but a few that stood out were a Playmobile Valkyrie from Chris (presumably because of how much she enjoyed Siegfried), a bound copy of Abigail and the Seamonster from Daniel, and a handmade stuffed Seamonster, based on the one in the story, from Christina, Daniel’s sister. A tattoo maker, the origins of which are unclear to me, has also made its presence evident in the form of outbreaks of heart-shaped pox across the bodies of the youngsters.

The party was great fun, as these things inevitably are, thanks to our great assortment of relatives and friends who lend us their presence. We did in a butterfly piñata, which bore a startling resemblance to Mothra. (Chris’ friend Bruce suggested that we should get a Godzilla piñata and let them go at it.) We ate heartily, enjoyed the fine weather, and I did battle with the assembled hell-bent-for-dunking swimming pool youth.

Kathy sang a solo this morning in church. This is noteworthy not only because she has never done so before, but also because she’s not had any formal vocal training outside of church choir. I thought it remarkably bold of her to volunteer when our choir director asked for someone to sing during the offering, and was very impressed with how well she did. She worked really hard during the course of the week to master the song and the juggling act that is good singing technique, and did a great job pulling it all together. I was very proud. (Now to see if I can convince her to sing with the band once in a while!)

Way on over at his weblog, Daniel has, at long last, wrapped up the first draft of Abigail and the Seamonster, a children’s story he’s been working on sporadically for the last year and a half. I think it’s a very fine read, and not solely (or even primarily) because the eponymous Abigail is based loosely on our own. Go have a look, and then read it to your kids. If you don’t have any kids, borrow someone else’s.

When we were young, my brother and I were mortal enemies. Our antagonism wasn’t the vague, namby-pamby, “my brother is such a dork” variety, but a screaming hurricane of verbal and physical attack, red in tooth and claw. One particularly memorable exchange started with me throwing a stick at Chris. He raised the stakes by hitting me with a padlock. I upped the ante and went after him with a telephone — not a current era-phone, but a hefty pre-deregulation one that we’d rented from the phone company and which was made to last. The battle culminated in him picking up a big spring-loaded, 15 pound pogo stick and taking swings at me with it. High comedy, if you happen not to be on the receiving end of our attacks.

We lived through this time largely by deciding to be interested in very different things. Chris spent a lot of his time in athletics, while I lost myself in books and computers. Because by this point our parents were divorced, and I was still too young to be left at home by myself (which Kathy might assert still hasn’t changed), we’d all end up spending many a fine Saturday morning at the football field while Chris did gridiron battle with some other elementary school kids from around San Antonio. I loathed these times. My fraternal antagonism, catalyzed by the fact that I had no interest in football whatsoever, made these three hours the longest of my entire week, and I resented them thoroughly.

During one of these games, as I was sulking around behind the bleachers, kicking dropped gum wrappers and lamenting missing cartoons again, I noticed that there was a public library adjacent to the playing fields. My mom, who was likely sick to death of my whining and complaining at this point, readily agreed that I could go over to the library and explore it. I strolled over, cracked the doors, felt the cool, conditioned air flow over me, and fell in love over the next two hours.

Initially, I scampered around looking for The Hardy Boys and Danny Dunn, the McDonalds of my literary diet at the time – predictable, and easy to digest. Then I started indulging my curiosity: Wow, a book on volcanoes. Sweet, Star Trek books! Holy cow, they’ve got records you can borrow? A sex ed book – are they allowed to have that in here? (Yeah, I looked for it. I was 11.) Here’s one about…sheesh, I can’t even read it. It sure looks interesting though. A book on Thomas Edison! Wow!

I finally settled down with a novel that featured time travel, altered history, and an era-spanning romance. Five pages into the book, the library had dropped away, and I’d been lost in an extraordinary tale, thoughts of football, resentment, and cartoons far away, until Mom’s hand on my shoulder recalled me to reality, fifty pages and an hour and a half later. It was time to go, so I put the book back, expecting to pick it up where I left off the next time we had a football game there.

When I returned to the library a few weeks later, I couldn’t remember the name of the book. I scoured the shelf where I remembered it being, searched the piles of books on nearby tables, and spent a long time casting about the library, trying to relocate it, to no avail. For the next several years, I would quixotically scan card catalogs as I visited various libraries, hoping to finish the story that had delivered me from football, but was never able to finish what I remembered as one of the best things I’d ever read.

Though my time with that particular book ended sadly, the experience engendered in me a love for libraries that has continued unabated since. The smell of old paper, the weight of knowledge embodied in the stacks, the church-like quiet, and the proliferation of stories combine to make them one of my favorite places: a catacomb of knowledge, rife with tunnels down which one can disappear for hours, discovering untold treasures along the way, never exhausting the beautiful, interesting, mysterious things to be seen. A library allowed me to escape from one of the most trying times of my young life, and has always seemed a wonderful place since.

Now I’m working in a 313,000 square foot library set on a hill, with giant views of the Texas Hill Country all around. There are millions of books, a photography gallery, periodicals, media, computer labs, an impressive children’s section with many of the oversize storybooks librarians use at storytime, books on tape, and great music. If you take a left out of my office, the first thing you see is the canvas-wrapped remains of Gus McRae, boots sticking out the bottom. (It’s a prop from the mini-series Lonesome Dove.) I’ve walked through each of the building’s seven floors, have spent hours exploring, and still have only the barest grasp of the treasures in this place.

So, if you find me upstairs during lunch with a book in my hand, a distant look on my face, and I don’t respond when you say “Hello”, don’t feel slighted – I’m off treasure-hunting, traveling through time, visiting old friends, making new ones, or somewhere deep in the catacombs. I’ll be back soon, and if you wait for me, I’ll tell you the things I’ve seen along the way.