10 July 2008
 
A Matter of Time


Suburban composting

I had to be in the office early, since it was a question of timing, and was hasty leaving Big Pink. 
 
I am one of the few who can unlock a safe that has a few pieces of proprietary paper in it, and a fellow from our office out in the County wanted them double-wrapped and delivered to him at his office.
 
I demurred, saying I did not have enough time to do that and all the other things down here in Arlington. The compromise to my driving out there was his driving in here, which given the cost of fuel and the hassle involved in claiming the mileage seemed to be a great deal. 
 
There is a meeting at Bolling AFB at ten and then back across to the good side of the river to Crystal City for the "book check," which is what they call the last run-through on the classified proposal submission that I have to hand-carry to Clarendon tomorrow.
 
Then back to Ballston, or Big Pink, as the case may be- for a phone conversation on the "best athlete" for a proposal on twenty-odd jobs that is due to the government next Friday. Of course it does not look likely that I will have actually read the resumes we have been talking about in any detail, so I am not sure how much value-added I will be.
 
Finally, an old Service Buddy is coming to dinner. He is on the brink of his second retirement, though given the economic times h e might defer that decision. He was the first one who mentioned that I might actually qualify for a partial payment on the new GI Bill.
 
The say the measure provides for vocational training, and that got me thinking. I wonder if they have Doctorates in  Welding? Could I get a law degree and spend my twilight years filing frivolous suits against the Ex’s evil attorney?
 
Which had me thinking about the nature of time. I fell asleep in the Brown Chair last night before dinner was even done-=2 0thankfully on low-heat- since the exercise in the pool both refreshed and knocked me out.
 
Working all Sunday made this a long week already. Having the dog at Camp Dad during the week was great, and I was able to stop in between appointments elsewhere, arcing across town and get him his mid-day constitutional, so he was never in extremis. Now, the place seems so empty and silent.
 
As I rushed toward the shower , I got a note from a pal who said they were having a tastey barley-mushroom soup with crisp baguettes. The 'shrooms came from the ones growing on the compost heap, and I think the bread was home-baked, even if the wheat was not grown in the backyard. Who has time for the grains, anyway?

My friend is not growing barley, at least to my knowledge- but it is a lot closer to the "eating local" mantra than I am shopping at the Fort Myer Commissary.
 
It would be nice to have the time to think about all this stuff.

 
I have found that I have stumbled into a new calendar. Things in the government contracting world have their own rhythm, apparently tied to the fiscal year of execution which ends at the end of September. The money must be spent, or go away, and all the dithering and indecision during the rest of the year is coming down to frantic activity in the last few precious weeks of Summer.
 
I was used to dealing with The Program, which we built across the future years, and which became part of the President's budget, due to Congress each February.
 
I understand the Bush folks are not doing one this year, and will just let things roll along with the assumption that there will be big changes anyway, so why bother?
 
Being a programmer  means you live two years in the future, since the Comptroller owns this year, and the Congress is debating next year, which you can’t change, and the first opportunity to do anything new is two years out.
 
People out to think about that when they listen to the candidates talk about all the great stuff they are going to do.
 
They are not living in current time. A friend has a parent in the nursing home now, and they tried to get out of bed and collapsed, forgetting they were old and frail. Thankfully, there was no memory of the event, since they were living in the indeterminate past.
 
I do that, too. I forgot my glasses on my last morning walk with the dog before he went home. I had defaulted to a standard value of youth in which I needed no assistance to see things crystal clear.
 
When I lived two years in the future, what with the printing and mundane packaging functions that go along with creating the big budget books, Christmas was usually trashed. This is different. Maybe all the frantic activity will end in September. I don't know, since I have not lived through the cycle yet. 
 
This one spoils the summer, while our old one slew some of the joy in the holidays. C'est la vie. 
 
I am certainly not enamored of the present. I don't know what to make of the great slide, except to note that it seems the increased demand for commodities by the developing world seems to be sweeping the old New World Order aside and establishing its own.
 
Eat locally. It is the least we can do.
 
I wonder what the Condo Board would think of a compost heap on the balcony?

Copyright 2008 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com