Tech Writer Haiku

I found Leslie’s Haiku Buckaroo Contest! via Jen. I wrote these a while back, but you know, there just isn’t a market for tech writer haiku. I can’t imagine why.

 

Technical Writer Haiku

 

 Code cutoff, rejoice
But wait! It will not install
Tears drench your keyboard

 * * * 

There will be changes
Content, timeframe, uncertain
Revisions endless 

* * * 

New program feature
Two Subject Matter Experts
The delay is long 

* * * 

Release tomorrow
“We forgot to tell you . . .”
Endless night of words 

* * * 

Documentation
Seven hundred pages
A tech writer weeps

When friends think of you

I was going to do Booking through Thursday today, but I’m in a somber mood. I’m sure most of you have heard of the bridge collapse already. In fact, I know you have. I received so many emails asking how we were doing. I was startled and touched. I know I’m sometimes geographically challenged, so I don’t expect everyone I know “cyberly” to remember where I live.

 

I do drive across the Mississippi everyday, but I take a different highway. And yeah, I drove across that bridge this morning and it was a little weird. We can’t determine if Andrew’s bus for yesterday’s fieldtrip went over the 35W bridge. Uh, no one was talking at the Y this morning, but it’s another sobering thought.

 

I’d like to give blood, but I’m deferred (there’s no way to screen for Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease and I spent the late 80s and early 90s on a military base in Europe). In fact, I just heard back from an RN at the Red Cross. I used their “customer service” email. I didn’t want to tie up anything locally. She confirmed what I already knew.

But I’m making a donation today to the disaster relief fund. If you’d like to help out, you can find more information here: Twin Cities Red Cross.

The what on the bus?

I’ve written before how much I like taking my kids to swim lessons, how just being around the water and the whole pool chemical cocktail smell (this pool doesn’t use chlorine but other … stuff) relaxes me. Sort of a Pavlovian dog paddle response.

Anyway, Andrew was in the pool. His lessons are longer, more rigorous. I use the fifteen minutes between start times to braid Kyra’s hair into pigtails. And sometimes it does take me the full fifteen minutes. We watch the babies in the Mommy & Me swim class, although more accurately, it’s the Grandma/Grandpa/Daddy/Mommy-with-tattoo & Me swim class.

They always end the class by singing The Wheels on the Bus. My fingers were in a tangle, trying to get Miss B’s slippery hair to behave. I may have misheard them. But. I could have sworn they sang:

The wankers on the bus go …

The what?

I believe they sang wipers. As in windshield. Really. But it didn’t sound like it at all.

Kyra and I also sing our own songs while we wait for her lesson to start. I’ll sing the ones I remember from Girl Scout camp, such as:

Oh, a duck can’t sit on a limb
Cuz he doesn’t have thumbs on his feet.
And a bird can’t swim in the sea like a fish …
Cuz he hasn’t got a waterproof, hasn’t got a waterproof, hasn’t got a waterproof seat.

Because singing about a bird’s butt? Always appropriate. Hey, at least I’m not singing to my child about wankers, thank you very much. Later that evening, Kyra was singing softly to herself while she played: hasn’t got a waterproof seat. Over and over again

As for the wankers, I don’t want to know why they were on the bus, but I’m thinking they can stay there.

The mighty return

Andrew returned from camp on Saturday. On the drive back from “up north,” Bob put him on the phone. For the first time, Andrew didn’t sound younger than he is. In fact, for a second, I thought maybe his voice changed during that week he was away.

He had an incredible week. He earned two merit badges and a bunch of activity patches. He tried everything and was one of the few boys to wake up early for the polar bear swim.

He made everyone a present. Mine’s below:

Pen holder Andrew made
A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Plus, it holds my pens.

He did so well on his own. Instead of feeling sad that my “little” boy doesn’t need me anymore, I’m both pleased and proud. He even kicked me out of the kitchen (sort of) yesterday and finished making the pancakes. Hey, he wants to take over the cooking, I’m all for it. Bring it on.

True, he neglected to brush his teeth for the entire week. And he did suffer an intense, but brief bout of homesickness over a drawing Kyra sent him (the two of them holding hands–she knows how to tug on heartstrings).

It’s good to have him home again. But it’s good to know he can go out and conquer the world (at least with his breath).

Where have all the envelopes gone?

Andrew is at camp and I’ve been writing him a letter every day. I end by pasting in a picture I hope he’ll like: our dog, Sparky, Naruto, Pokemon. So, last night, after finding a nifty picture of Naruto and Saske (if you have to ask, you don’t need to know, trust me on this), I reached for an envelope.

 

There were none.

 

Zero, nada, nothing. I couldn’t even find the loathsome lick-it-yourself-to-seal variety.

This is tragic because at the end of May (that would be this May) I bought three boxes of 45 each. 3 x 45 = 135.

I used 135 envelopes between May and July? For real? I mean, I know the super secret double probation hotdish project took a lot, but still.

135?

Unless, of course, envelopes are in collusion with socks, especially kid socks. That would explain a lot.

Singing, and dancing, in the rain

Andrew is away at camp, so Kyra and I have planned a certain amount of “girls together” time. This means I’m constantly in search of movies-you-can-show-your-four-year-old that I can stand to watch.

For two nights, we’ve been watching Singin’ in the Rain. I’m afraid this wasn’t as successful as Much Ado About Nothing, although Kyra really liked it when anyone danced. Her favorite was the Donald O’Connor Make ‘Em Laugh number.

Then there’s this:

dance.jpg
Your hat, I believe.

I’m not one to bemoan the “good old days.” Some were good, some not so good. But damn, doesn’t Cyd Charisse put today’s bobble-headed, tanorexic starlets to shame? She doesn’t just shame them, she kicks their scrawny, tanorexic butts.  I want to hand people their hats this way.

She bulldozers Gene Kelly in this number, and he’s no slouch, let me tell you. Maybe it’s an age thing, but watching the movie this time around, I’m thinking good old Gene puts the “awe” in hawt. And I promise to stop spelling it that way, too.

Someday.

Weekend Boler Update

More Boler lust for those of you following along  at home:

The bunk

The couch by day/bunk by night side of the Boler

The wood behind Kyra will eventually have a foam cushion. Scamp is coming out with new designs next month, so we’ve decided to wait on getting new covers for the cushions.

Boler table

The opposite side, table by day, beds by night. Note Kyra has already made herself at home.

Here you can see the new table that Bob built and part of the kitchen vanity, also that Bob built. And look, we now have windows! Even more privacy.

Boler with window

The outside with its installed window.