August 11, 2006
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A confession: my wife bought some watermelon-flavored toothpaste for our daughter. She didn’t like it particularly, but I did. It’s a very strange translucent green, and it’s quite sweet; I suspect it’s the sweetness, not the strange color that I like.
When I was thinking about moving to San Francisco to work for the startup, I began to suspect that the toothpaste would run out about the same time as when I might come to the Bay Area. And so I made up this rhyme:
When the toothpaste stops its flow,
To California you must go.
And this one:
When the toothpaste tube runs dry,
To California you will fly.
And several other improvisations. And you know what happened, right? The day I left for California, the toothpaste tube did run dry, and to California I I fly, leaving my family behind. Things have been, for the most part, quite wonderful out here–good colleagues, good friends and companions at the Church of the Sojourners where I have been staying, deepening friendships with the Sacred Harp singers here, especially those from the weekly Berkeley group. But, of course, I’ve missed my family, and some recent changes have made it important for me to be back in Kalamazoo, at least most of the time. The kind management at Powerset have been especially considerate, and are allowing me to try telecommuting from Michigan most of the time, with a week or so in California every month (this is more or less the same arrangement I had when working for NASA, and that worked very well for me and for the team). Tomorrow morning, assuming the planes are flying, etc., I’ll be leaving for Michigan to start this.
And I don’t have to worry about packing the tube of watermelon toothpaste I bought when I first arrived here in April: there’s one more squeeze, and it’s finished.