Time for Sushi ... Again

When you have a big family, there's usually a birthday just around the corner.

Today we celebrated one of those birthdays; and, as we have down for the past several years since James introduced it to us, we are having sushi.

Raw fish.

{Well, it isn't actually raw fish. It's flash-frozen fish that is served immediately after thawing, with fancy spices and sauces. The flash-freezing supposedly kills off any harmful bacteria or parasites. I read it on the Internet so it must be true!}

I was dubious of the claims of my children when they told me how wonderful sushi was. Just the thought of eating raw fish made me queasy. But I'm glad now that I took the chance on it (for the love of my kids) and had some. It was amazing! So much so that we've kept it as a tradition now, for most of the birthdays. And any other celebration in-between.

Of course, we also had cupcakes. What is a birthday without some kind of cake?

Relays

 

Complexity is both the salvation and bane of the car industry.

Modern cars contain somewhere between 30 and 50 'computers' (or 'processing elements') which are responsible for maintaining the operation of the onboard systems. These include systems which constantly monitor the engine to ensure it is operating at peak efficiency (to make sure it isn't wasting gas or polluting the air), systems which constantly monitor the tires and suspension and brake systems (to ensure it has a good grip on the road and is ready to respond to emergency situations should they arise), and systems which control the onboard entertainment (to keep the passengers from getting bored). 

In the case of the 2001 Toyota Corolla, one of those systems controlled the lights (head, tail, running) to make sure they operated according to a strict set of rules: for example, lights would turn themselves off after a certain amount of time if the car was not turned on. This is a fantastic feature which helps avoid that most horrible of circumstances when one discovers that the battery has gone flat because one or more of the lights (internal or external) were inadvertently left on overnight.

In order to facilitate this wonderful feature, and move the car along the path of advancing technology, it was decided to consolidate a host of light-control features into a single module, known as the Relay Assembly / Running Light module, thus replacing a number of mechanical relays with a small plug-in package.

For the better part of its lifetime, at least for the Corolla in our possession, this module has worked flawlessly.

But a recent incident revealed a somewhat dubious design issue.

Somewhere in the bowels of the module, an element failed. As a consequence of this failure, the light controller no longer worked properly; in fact, the module began to operate in direct contradiction to the Prime Directive: even with the car off and the key removed, the lights remained on and they could not be turned off without disconnecting the battery.

In the Aerospace Industry, we have what is known as Failure Modes; and it is imperative that every possible Failure Mode is determined and evaluated and designed such that the Aerospace Prime Directive ("No human shall come to harm") is not violated.

It is obvious that not all the Failure Modes of this module were adequately evaluated to ensure that the Battery Conservation Prime Directive was upheld. The module failed. The lights stayed on.  

 And the battery died.

Living on the Edge

I've been living on the edge these past two years - or is it ten? - never really knowing where I'm going with this 'life' thing. It was so easy back in the day to be just living and breathing and working and doing the things I needed to do, which included participating in all the activities of a busy family of six, attending all the conferences and meetings and campouts and concerts and events and games ad infinitum, the deluge of time-consuming but relatively rewarding things that we as humans do when in society with our mates and offspring and peers and neighbors and occasional acquaintances.

It's difficult to know what 'living' means anymore outside the reference of the biological processes which continue on their maddeningly unstoppable process of turning what is left of my body into the constituent molecules from which it sprang. Every day brings a reminder of the gradual decline of the system in which my soul resides. Eyesight fades, teeth decay, neurons fail to fire, muscles atrophy, joints grind and ache in their attempt to immobilize the body.

That unhappy situation is due not only to the current malaise of a world enveloped in a shroud of pandemic disease, but also to the gnawing realization that we, in the course of this life, have accomplished nothing on the scale to which we once aspired. We have done great deeds, we have delivered product to our customers, we have earned our daily bread by the sweat of our brow, we have borne forth our progeny and sent them along their own path to an end we cannot predict; yet our deeds are neither remarkable nor memorable, our products have been obsoleted with time, our daily bread has kept us alive but unsatisfied, and our progeny have moved on to live in a world beyond our comprehension. When we take a moment to look back on our days, it is as it always was:

“Meaningless! Meaningless!”
    says the Teacher.
“Utterly meaningless!
    Everything is meaningless.”

It was nearly ten years ago when I was awoken from a dream to find that I was, in fact, only dreaming; and that my hours were being wasted doing meaningless tasks which held no particular meaning for me. My work had no purpose that could be ascertained; there was no emotional connection or contentment to the days that were being spent in the office. I craved something more substantial, more meaning.

So I moved on to another job with hope in my heart and anxious anticipation in my head.

Until that job, too, proved meaningless.

And so on, and so on.

Unfortunately, to summarize a long and woeful tale, all those ventures proved to be nearly complete disasters (on multiple fronts). And ever since, my outlook on life has gradually turned from timid hopefulness to that state of mind described by Thoreau in Walden:

"The mass of men lead quiet lives of desperation." 

And it is not only in the area of commerce or industry have our dreams and ambitions been frustrated. In religion, too, our souls have been downcast by the reality that we live in a world of humans who show little regard for us when we do not fit into their mold or clique or tribe or whatever other dividing line is used to mark the boundary between "us" and "everyone else". After many years, we left our little congregation, receiving very little (if any) notice from anyone, not even those delegated to watch over the flock; the absence of any reaction was most disheartening - we thought we mattered to someone. And then the pandemic broke upon the unexpecting world, and we were all forced to live indoors for a time, and throughout that enforced isolation, we received even less attention. When the fog finally began to lift, our hearts were momentarily uplifted in anticipation of a forthcoming Christian camaraderie; but were then cast down again by the disclosure that selfishness and disregard runs deep in the hearts of men, especially when 'freedom' is regarded with higher regard than the safety of others.

And then the surge washed over us all, and our souls were smothered again.

Now we go from day to day in a state of uneasy depression, wondering when and if the world will ever return to a state of normalcy; and when it does, what will our new normal become? How shall we live given the things that have happened to us, the changes in our attitudes and dreams and ambitions and understandings?

We have our little family, the ones we hold close and dear; and we have friends who have doggedly pursued us with a tenacity that is both admirable and unsettling. We have moments of joy, and moments of uncertainty. And we wait for the new dawn.

And pray that its light will dispel the darkness.