Not Quite "How Things Work"


When I was a kid, I had a book that describes how things work. It was not the current The Way Things Work, by David Macaulay, that is (rightly) popular these days. It was an oversized book, huge in my small hands; which means that it was likely the 14" x 12" size. It had a hardback cover, wasn't very thick, and was incredibly fascinating. I remember reading it over and over and over again.

I also remember being fascinated by the last entry in the book: "What is a Computer?"

I struggled to pronounce the word computer. I am clearly not a digital native, though I like to believe I'm keeping up well with current technologies. Digital wasn't in my vocabulary at that young age.

What I remember most about the "What is a Computer?" page is the illustration of the computer. It had 4-5 people working on it, it was the size of a small room, with lots of box sections, lights and buttons.

I, perhaps incorrectly, recall the blurb on the page described the computer, explained what it did and why it was great, and had the prediction that future computers would be smaller. Oh, boy, are they smaller!

I've looked for the book, and failed to figure out what the title of the book really is. I recall it only vaguely, I remember reading it in my brothers' bedroom, where, oddly, I recall reading most of my books. I have no idea why that is, why I recall reading books in their room, given I was the one who read the most of the three of us and could probably read just as easily in my bedroom as theirs.

That last page, though, "What is a computer?", just cracks me up. I was mesmerized by the puzzle of it, the one thing in the book I couldn't understand. The one thing in the book that stuck with me.

Suggesting happiness


Gretchen Rubin's site Happiness Project is dedicated to finding happiness in whatever way works. Rubin is writing a book on the ventures of trying for a year every suggestion and scientific method and idea to find happiness. On the way to being published, she publishes various post encouraging others to think about happiness, to start a happiness project of their own, to work on being happy. I follow her posts mainly off her twitter feed, but occasionally find a link or two through other sources.

The most recent post that caught me thinking asks, What image suggests happiness to you?

Without hesitation, my answer was an image of a yellow marigold. My only pause in completing the answer was trying to decide between the sunshine yellow of some marigolds, and the goldenrod yellow of the others.


The yellow of the marigold just screams sunny, summer weather when the flowers were out. The flowers themselves remind me of my mother out in the yard planting them in the front parkway and along the side of the house. The smell of them teleports me back to the days of youth when life was a carefree venture of staying out past 9pm in the summer evenings playing kick-the-can or tag, or watching the fireworks in July, or catching lightning bugs in the back yards after the sun went down and the air finally cooled enough that you could move.

Yes, a yellow marigold.

Without a doubt.

A story no longer told


I have a story that I used to tell. Said story involved me, my brother and a large kitchen knife. The story didn't end happily, but it didn't end badly either. Sometimes just an ending is the best you can hope for.

I've stopped telling that story. My mom asked me to stop telling it, and out of respect for her I have. Not telling the story doesn't mean it didn't happen, nor does it undo the times I had told.

Ben mentioned it last night when he, Lisa and I were sitting around the fire talking. He asked about it, and my parents' divorce, and a number of other questions before coming to the conclusion I had a rough childhood. I can't say it was a piece of cake, but in the grand scheme of things, it wasn't truly a bad childhood. There were no drugs, no hunger, no creepy uncles or physically abuse relatives.

We had a large dose of religion, two young parents trying to find their way, three aimless youths with a complete lack of direction and a small town environment with lots of freedom.

I think we did okay.

Ben eventually agreed, but did point out my childhood had a lot more drama than his did. That, now, I couldn't argue with. Fortunately, I had Guy and Kris to show me that a life without drama can still be a wonderful place to be.