I have very dim memories of the Apollo program, but the image that really sticks with me is
Latest in Galleries
As I approach my last few days as a cyber professional, I find myself thinking about a set of criteria for jobs that I developed years ago and that I’ve applied pretty consistently throughout my career. I’m wondering if these criteria still apply in a professional world where visibility and networking seem to be the only things that matter. I’m reflecting on whether or not my decision to retire from tech aligns with my criteria.
Emily Suzanne (Lindell) Wiens, Anne’s younger sister, passed away quite suddenly on 13 October. Anne wrote the following in remembrance of her sister. My sister was… are the hardest words I have ever had to say. But I want to tell you about her and about her life. My sister was a delightful surprise. In a family overflowing with boys she was my ally, my friend and the kid who shared my room. When she was born I ran through
I have very dim memories of the Apollo program, but the image that really sticks with me is of the engineers/technicians that manned positions in Mission Control. This poem is the result of contrasting my impression from 50 years ago with my impression while watching the first SpaceX Falcon Heavy launch last year. Then and Now The dawn of monster rockets All steel plates, bolts, and wings Patches and rivets and ridges Thunder, ice, paint, and flame Shaken off a
In a March 2017 interview in the Italian magazine “Scarp de’ Tenis,” Pope Francis argued that giving money to someone begging on the street is “always right.” What if the recipient of your gift decides to uses the money to buy a glass of wine instead of food? If “a glass of wine is the only happiness he has in life,” the pope replied, “that’s OK. Instead, ask yourself, what do you do on the sly? What ‘happiness’ do you
Written as I looked back on the day I sent a moving van north containing just the things we thought we could store for my mother.
Exploring the boundary between sea and sky…
My reason for traveling cross-country by car in 1996 was that I had 6 cases of wine that I just couldn’t bear to part with. Unfortunately, the only way to transport wine out of Virginia back then was to be a distributor. Nobody would take it, and it probably would have spoiled anyway. So…I decided to bring it with me in the car. As I approached the California border, I had a little fantasy about what I would say at
8th poem in the collection, Road Noise.
7th poem in the collection, Road Noise.
6th poem in the collection, Road Noise.