“The water is thick, heavy, and appears almost to be entire waves washing up from the Atlantic Ocean, which is just one block to our left.”

Also, some pictures from the morning after.

Sometime soon I’ll have to give up my home office room and desk where I conduct most of my work, as we prepare that room for our first born child to occupy that space.

The desk currently doesn’t have much on it: a flatbed scanner, some CD spindles, and an old MacBook connected to a larger display.

I’ve had this desk for many years, on which I wrote countless blog posts, crafted software applications, learned to play certain songs on guitar, and felt mostly at my intellectual best.

It’s where I sipped coffee and powered through some enjoyable task that made some part of my life easier.

It’s where I thoughtfully gazed out the window right next to it, deep in some long lost yearning of a person, place, or time.

It’s where I appreciated music or cinema, transfixed by the nuances of the songs or screenplay.

You see, the desk is not defined by what it has on it, but what it provides from a thought-process and introspection level: the ability to think clearly, form logical conclusions, and truly be absorbed in something.

My desk (and the accompanying room surrounding it) is an oasis of peace and harmony – a place where even the most difficult problems can start to make sense and dissolve.

So giving up the desk is not as easy as it sounds. I’m not only giving up the physical space that housed the desk, but the mental clarity that the space + desk provided.

Maybe it can be moved to another room, or stashed for another time and place (when we get a bigger house), so I guess it’s more of a “coming of age” thing than anything.

As I near closer to the birth of our first child, I try to remember what matters more, and I don’t have to think long to come to an answer.

I figured if she cares that much about a stray bird, I could at least help her corral it.

The parakeet was stubborn at first, flailing around and jumping from sidewalk to window sills out of our reach. As we stared up at it from our distant spot in the sidewalk, we weren’t sure if we’d be able to catch it. And even if we did catch it, we weren’t sure what we’d do with it next.

As soon as we were about to take our attention away from it for good, the parakeet (later named Lucky) suddenly swooped down from its high window sill right to where I was standing near my feet.

I had a epiphany – could fate be bringing this creature to me, probably starving and ill, for us to take home and care for? The way it flew right at me from such a far distance made me start to believe that.

Since it landed close to us, we were finally able to corral Lucky and put her into a shoebox to take home (of course, after we stopped to get her a bird cage and some food).

I’ve never seen an animal eat so ravishly and for so long. It was clear this bird had not eaten in a long time, and could possibly have been very close to death, although in the end we never realized how close she actually was.

Her presence

For the few weeks after we found her (my first pet bird), we had the pleasure of seeing Lucky go from a timid, scared, and malnourished creature into a lively, comfortable, and healthier version of herself.

Needing medicine every day, my wife would gently cradle Lucky in one hand to administer the dosage. Over time my wife said Lucky became more receptive to being held.

Lucky’s chirp was a wonderful sound the filled our living room. Our cats also enjoyed exploring Lucky from outside of her cage. Curiousity more than anything, they’d stare at Lucky as she went about her pacing and movement in a free-spirited way.

A void

“She didn’t have to die.”

My wife solemnly said that over tears after finding Lucky off her typical ledge one day after work.

Even though we provided the best care possible (including repeat trips to the vet), Lucky was much closer to death than we thought.

Lucky’s absence leaves a void in our house and hearts.

Although we only knew her for a few weeks, we started to bond with her and saw her improve in health and spirit.

We especially enjoyed remembering that day we saved her from the throes of being a parakeet outside in the wild.

The vet believes the sudden death may have something to do with the shock of being inside (and confined) suddenly. And since we have no better explanation that can possibly make sense, this is what we tell ourselves.

I still miss hearing her joyful chirp.

Remembering

Looking into Lucky’s eyes, I saw not just a bird staring intently back, but a soul. I remember fine details like the patterns on her tiny bird claws, and the way she chewed with her beak.

We named her Lucky because she was considered lucky to be alive after being out in the wild. Now I know that we were both lucky – her for being saved, and us for having known her and been in her presence, even if for just a short time.

We all knew this day was coming but it was still a shock for me to see the CNN news alert pop-up on my iPad. I had to pause and read it about five times.

While most of the U.S. went to sleep Wednesday night, the image of Steve Jobs ran through our heads, and we wondered where he was/is now. “How simple it is,” we thought, “to lie down and go to sleep.” We take for granted our presence in this life. How soon it will be no more.

Steve Jobs conquered almost everything in life, and now he’s conquered death. He now knows.

His legendary status will only grow from this day forward, from that of a real-life physical presence to an ethereal form that shapes industries to come.

As sad as we are that Steve Jobs won’t be able to innovate any longer, the truth is he will inspire for as long as we see light.

Hope heaven is all it’s cracked up to be, Steve. Thanks for being you.

It’s no thought for me to spend weekends, vacations, and otherwise inopportune times and places in front of a computer, churning out something for someone, or myself.

I think back to some of my best work – a programming feature, or reflective blog post, for example – and where I was exactly when I made it happen. I remember places and times more than outcomes. I can still see the sunlight filling the room, morning in full bloom, some coffee in hand, as I created this, or that.

I’ve also had my share of productivity in dingy hotels, crowded airports, and crammed transport. I’ve “worked” wherever I could get a moment and a connection, despite a seemingly inopportune situation.

I live in a codified world, where productivity, growth, and happiness depend on my ability to solve the next problem, in order to adjust the behavior of systematic processes and technical luxuries.

If something takes two steps to complete, that’s always one too many.

To them it’s “work.” To me it’s life.

As we all know, death is never convenient, nor hardly expected. It comes when it has to, and it doesn’t care what our “plans” are – it is, for all intents and purposes, **the final word**.

You can’t argue with death. You can’t debate it. You can’t ask for it’s forgiveness, or perhaps “one more chance.” You are thrust into it, whether you like it or not.

Like a homerun ball being whacked out of the ballpark at the most inopportune time for the opposing team, after a prolonged battle at the plate between the pitcher and batter, and the crowd silently stunned – when death enters the stage, all else stops.

The slate is wiped clean. What happened prior no longer matters. Everything has suddenly and swiftly changed.

On this beautifully sunny, blue-skied October day – we are here to honor the passing of a wonderful woman who has touched us all with her intense compassion, caring, and positive attitude towards life.

But today is not “Mom’s day,” or “Toni’s day,” or “Mrs. Thommes’ day.” Despite the sad culminating reality of all this, and the effervescence of emotion outpouring from everyone in attendance, she is *not* here today watching us mourn her.

In fact, she didn’t really *go* anywhere, compared to where she was months or years ago, while extremely healthy.

Today is not some final, closing observance of a human being, nor is it just “what life comes down to.”

Today is only the beginning, not the end!

As we either witnessed, or received the unpleasant and heart-aching news amisdt our bustling and busy lives, we put aside our own priorities and lives to honor her memory, and to be together with family and close friends. And as we took time to share our own memories and thoughts about her, we try to remind ourselves that our own minimal, earth-bound concerns are nothing compared to the breadth and complexity of sudden death.

But it’s not today (and today only) that we must try to encapsulate what she meant to us. It’s not today that we must try to sum up all of our lifelong memories and moments into some “single goodbye package.”

Today, of course, we must be with her, and family and friends, but it’s *years from now* that her impact will be felt more intensely than ever. It’s moments we haven’t even experienced that will shine her light through to us.

It’s some random, rainy Thursday where life feels pretty dull that her strength and presence will overtake us.

It’s a happy, life-changing event some four/five months from now that we’ll feel her presence more than ever.

It’s those moments that she will be with us the most, and will continue to be as long as we all walk this earth.

It’s the rest of our lives that she will continue to influence, inspire, and teach us.

She will never stop being a mother, wife, friend. It is up to us to allow her to continue being what she’s always been.

Blame it on the increased use of social media, or the lack of innovation, but Bloglines is shutting down soon (per Mashable).

This announcement has caused a bit of nostalgia to come over me (as did Lala), as Bloglines was my first ever feed-reader, dating back to 2004 and 2005. In “internet years,” that’s a long time ago.

The Bloglines of yesteryear

Bloglines sported a fast and responsive interface structured using HTML frames (rarely used these days), and it was perfect for following blogs or news sites:

Remember, these were the days before powerful smartphones, which have all but redefined how sites are developed and rendered.

Bloglines became the most popular web-based feed-reader for quite some time there.

Google Reader

Then along came Google Reader.

Backed by resources, innovation, integration (many already used Gmail), value (free, when many feed-readers started charging), and the momentum of a company taking on the world, Google Reader quickly replaced Bloglines for most.

But the real trouble for Bloglines wasn’t necessarily having to compete with Google. It was that Bloglines was inherently private. Reading feeds was a solo task. As the world shifted to social networks and sharing information, Bloglines sat idle (for the most part).

Google Reader, meanwhile, worked to incorporate social features to the feed-reading process. Many find these features more annoying than useful, but the point remains the same – Google continued to innovate, while Bloglines sat idle.

Software acquisitions

It also did not help that Bloglines was bought out by Ask.com (formerly “Ask Jeeves”) in 2005. Many acquisitions in the software world end up going one of two ways:

1. The software product becomes better and more streamlined.
2. The software sits stagnant and is eventually discontinued.

In my experience, I’ve seen a lot more of #2, than #1.

Today

So here we stand today with Bloglines being shut down. I’ve just logged in (for the first time in years) to backup my old feed subscriptions, and noticed the interface is almost identical to what it was five years ago.

To it’s defense, I actually like the Bloglines interface as it stands – although aged, it’s very responsive, and it has that whole “2004″ feel (See: 10-pixel Verdana font) – a time when I was just getting started in web development/publishing.

Absent is Ajax and nifty browser-based functionality… and although the mobile interface is not very pretty, it gets the job done.

But these days, “getting the job done,” is hardly enough.

Rest in peace, Bloglines – it was fantastic knowing you.

This week has been an exception.

For one, my Mom is having some health issues, and it has caused some unease amongst close friends and family. We still haven’t received an official word on her situation, so we’re all kind of on “pins and needles” until we hear the verdict.

I’m also worried about my own health, as a routine physical has turned up some concerns over my cholesterol type, and I’m needing follow-up tests. I’m sure it’s nothing, but if there’s a way to worry, there’s a will to.

I’ve also taken on some more free-lance work that has required more attention that I can handle – it’s a daily job, on top of my full-time work, and has eaten away every waking hour of my day.

On one hand, I never like to turn down free-lance opportunities – no matter if I have a full-time job or not. The way I look at it – I may not need the extra work now, but some day I might. I feel it’s bad karma to turn down extra work just because I’m “settled” now. Things can change fast, and I could quickly become unsettled. I need contacts and connections for if/when those days come.

It’s about keeping your foot in the door at all times, and not putting all of your eggs in one basket.

No job or career path is guaranteed to last.

I’ve missed writing, as I haven’t had my usual spare time to do it lately. I hope to get back on track soon.

I’m here every weekday, walking these streets, heading somewhere. But this was different. It was not a weekday with lively business crowds and tourists out and about. It was dark and empty out – hardly a passerby or someone in my way. I was also soaked, and angry.

I had no reason to be angry – the afternoon was wonderful, all things considered. Just a few hours earlier, I was standing for the national anthem sung by Wayne Messmer, in our seats that were adjacent to the goal line on the north end of Soldier Field. The afternoon was cool, overcast but not yet rainy, and perfect for a big-time football game.

I was excited like a little kid. The atmosphere was electric. Fans from both teams stood to honor the nation’s tribute, with real red rockets fired off at that point during the anthem. I had consumed a beer already, and had a slight buzz brewing.

I was at my first Bears game in over four years, with my life-long friend Noel who I also hadn’t seen in a while. There was no place I’d rather be in the world than right there, at that moment.

And that’s when the two fighter jets came soaring from the south, turning their bodies in sync as they descended slightly over the field, and blasted by with such speed and force, rendering any description futile. The sound was massive, capped off by fans cheering so loud, I could hardly hear myself think.

“Unbelievable,” I thought.

The players and fans were fired up – it was time to play some football.

The game didn’t let down, and ended up being won by the Bears with a field goal at the very end. We had just beat the Pittsburgh Steelers, at home, and the feeling was great.

But I had to get out of there.

I was intending to catch the 6:40 PM Metra leaving Union, and arriving back home around 7:30. This, I thought, would give me plenty of time to get some dinner with Michelle and her friend Heather, who was spending the night. “I may also have another beer or two at home,” I thought. Why not? It was a great day, all around.

Due to the strict train schedule, I had prepared myself for the inevitablility of having to leave before the game ended. I had to get on the 6:40 train because the next one was not until 8:40, not getting me home until 9:30, or close to 10 PM.

Turns out the game ended with just enough time for me to make it back to the train… or so I thought.

Once I was assured Robbie Gould’s field goal attempt had split the uprights, I made my escape to the exits. I was out before anyone – in the concourse looking for the exit. It was 6:10 PM, and I had exactly 30 minutes to get about three miles, which would be very tricky. I had planned on grabbing the first cab I saw, and I was off to a good start.

Those who have been to Soldier Field know it’s not the easiest place in the world to evacuate. Getting out of the field is one thing. Then there’s the long walk along the lakefront back to Michigan Avenue.

I had to move, and move quick. If nothing got in my way, I’d make it five minutes before the train departed. I was confident and on the move.

A few others had made the immediate exit after the winning field goal, so we were all looking for the same exit. A security guard was standing by, and we asked him how to get out of the place. He motioned to a door right near an “Exit” sign, so we all bolted towards it.

The door opened to a metal stairwell. It seemed legit. Down we all went at a rapid pace, our feet pounding the metal, echoing through the stairwell. “This is great,” I thought. I’d be out of there in no time. “Even if I have to jog back to Michigan Avenue, I should have no crowd in my way.”

Pretty soon we came to the bottom of the stairs. A single door awaited us. Suddenly we didn’t feel so confident. We pushed through the door to a small corridor area, with no indication of a way out. Some other security guards began to inform us that we were in the wrong spot, and we should not be down there.

There were some elevators which we were suggested to take back up. After waiting a few minutes, the elevators had still not arrived. We were then informed that we needed to climb back up the stairs to where we came from, and exit the field another way.

Bummer. Not only did it take a while to climb all the way up the same stairs we just came down, we ended up in the same place we started, only this time we were not the only ones trying to exit.

Anger swelled over me. How could the security guard mislead us out the place? Isn’t he supposed to know where the exits are?

I was back on the same level I most eagerly departed from only ten minutes earlier. But I was jammed between people, and moving forward was only occurring at a snail’s pace.

Looking at the time, I saw that I had only 25 minutes to get from that very spot, in a crammed Soldier Field, all the way to Union Station. I tried pushing and nudging my way around people, but every time I seemed to get ahead, a cluster of people stopped me yet again.

The realization finally hit me – I was going to miss the 6:40 train, meaning I was destined for two more Sunday evening hours wandering aimlessly around the chilly and rainy city. This thought angered me greatly. After all, I was the responsible one. I had left early, and beat the crowd. I was on time, until the security guard mislead me.

I had planned on going home early to maybe watch a movie, and get some dinner with Michelle and her friend. But at this rate, I would not be home until almost 10 PM on a Sunday night. There wasn’t much time for anything, after that.

I finally reached Michigan Avenue at about 6:35 PM. This would not be enough time to get me to Union.

Slowly I started walking towards Union anyway, my sweatshirt soaked from the rain, and upbeat Bears fans cheering everywhere. I wasn’t sharing their sentiments at that moment.

I called Michelle, and she offered to pick me up, even though I felt terrible for ruining her evening with her friend, and making her drive all the way from Roselle into the loop on a Sunday evening.

She ended up doing me the favor, and I am greatly appreciative. But I am still mad that I was mis-directed. If it was my fault, and I had stayed late celebrating the game’s end, then I wouldn’t feel so bad for missing the train – because at least I had fun. But I was responsible, and still got the bad end of the stick.

In the end, though, the one I love came through for me – and made an unbearable evening just a little bit better. Heck, a lot better.

So, thank you, Michelle, for being there for me, as you always are.

My social network habits change, and sometimes I post more often, or talk about stupid things. I understand you may not like that. However, that only reflects my humanness.

But you’re not perfect, either. So, before you leave me, consider your own habits and how others perceive you, and realize that there’s no way right or wrong way to do anything. At least, that’s yet to be seen with social networks, blogs, etc.

So I won’t take offense if you unfollow me. You don’t owe me anything. I’m thankful, and extremely fortunate, for any single person that ever read any of my pointless updates, blog posts, or any type of shared content through social networks or elsewhere. We live in a brave new world where communication boundaries have been shattered. We’re free to talk to anyone, anywhere, and any time.

For those that I’ve friended, or inspired through content, I’ve lost touch with five others.

The cycle continues…