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And then when you finally gain the courage to wear appropriate spandex attire for your yoga class, a co-worker shows up.

Why don’t I own a ukelele?!

At no point in my childhood did I ever answer the question, "What do you want to do when you grow up?" with "Work three jobs to barely make ends meet." I also did not answer, “When I am 49-years old, I hope to be still trying to answer that question."

Step 1: Locate a time machine
Step 2: …

Went mountain biking yesterday at Baker Creek. Messing around on the pump track (you are supposed to be able to go around it completely without pedaling) and pushed too close to the edge going over into the brush. The bike decided this was a bad idea and it didn’t want to go into the brush so it stopped cold and flung me over the handlebars where I tried to stop the ground with my forehead (mostly helmet). As I lay on the slope on my back with my head down and feet elevated skyward, my first thoughts were, “Is the neck broken?” Twenty years ago, I would have sprung back onto the track with a prideful, “Meant to that!” This time I couldn’t help but feel the kudzu, poison ivy, and brambles enveloping me compassionately as if they were going to support me as they dragged me into the underworld. After answering the adults that I was okay, my son rode over and offered his assistance to me. I really have to teach that boy to say, “Sanka, are ya dead mon?” So that I can reply, “Ya mon, I’m dead.”

Now, my son gets home and tells the story. “Dad was going around the track then all of a sudden he just disappeared. Everyone was laughing and finally asked, ‘Are you okay?’ and we barely hear Dad reply, ‘I’m good.’ So I ride over to him and he’s just laying there like a dead body.”

This morning, Cathy and Evan are talking about how his scratches have improved and she says, “Dad somehow looks worse.” To which Evan replies, “Well, that’s what happens when you die.”

Today, I am a little tender particularly in my shoulders. Perhaps half an inch shorter. And range of motion in my neck is reduced. To look 90 degrees to my left or right results in protest from my body.

I am ready to ride again!

Hello, this is a courtesy call to let you know that your new minimum monthly payment will be holy f*&king shit.

I didn’t arise as early as I had planned but I made poached eggs with bagels, mozzarella cheese, and tomato for the family this morning. My daughter left before they were done. My 13 year old son enjoyed his. My wife wasn’t hungry. I decided I would take the three meals to the office and consume them myself. When I arrived at the office, I realized I’d left them on the counter for the cats.

In college, I had the pleasure of being posted as the undergraduate system administrator for the computer science department working with graduate students on 200 or 300 mostly unix computers. We were called wizards. There is a reason. I’ve been working non-stop since Friday 6pm (it is now Sunday at 10:20pm) with a brief break Saturday night to celebrate my wife’s belated birthday. This was after an all-nighter Tuesday evening to Wednesday morning. What have I been doing? Recovering data for a database server that crashed. A business relies upon this data. My wizardry? Firstly, trying to bring the deceased server back to life. Secondly, finding the data, analyzing the data, rebuilding and merging tables in the database, bringing the database back to life on a brand new server.

To the non-technical this is magic. Even to those of us in the know, sometimes what we do involves prayer, miracles, and some lucky but it is all based on a deep, technical knowledge that I think we wizards take for granted. Weekends like this reminder me that I’ve forgotten more about technology than many people will ever learn.

Time to start my weekend chores.