First Week With iPad

I wish it would charge over USB.

One week into iPad ownership and that’s the only negative I can come up with. It only charges when plugged into an outlet using the provided USB cable and power adapter.

And our computers running Windows slide further into oblivion. It’s easy to see why Microsoft stock has been comatose for over 10 years while Apple has been on a tear, releasing hit after hit.

Products like the iPhone, Android and now the iPad have made Windows feel old and cumbersome. Move your computing to one of these devices and you begin looking for web services that don’t require updates, patches and configuration. Services like Google Docs, Rdio, and Gmail have each replaced Microsoft products that required babysitting.

The apps on the iPad are a joy to use. Flipboard is a work of art that makes browsing news enjoyable and natural. No doubt, the iPad shines at consuming content through apps or the slick web browser experience. Creating content takes patience, but typing a few paragraphs into Gmail is a cinch.

I’m still figuring out how the iPad fits into our family. The kids love playing games like Dungeon Hunter 2 or challenging each other at Boggle. Kim is able to access her email from anywhere in the house and jump on the web to read the latest gossip or search for new recipes. That it boots up immediately makes it a better choice to take on client calls compared to the netbook I’ve been using.

It’s like having a simple but elegant computer screen in every room of our home. I picture a day where we have one desktop computer in the home, and each person has an iPad. Data is backed up to the cloud, and the notion of having a room dedicated to the family computers goes away.

Microsoft should be worried. We are spending less time sitting in front of our desktop PCs. But that’s just one part of the equation. Last year we spent less than $100 on Microsoft software. We’ve spend several times that on apps for the iPhone/iPad, and the divide will continue to grow.

And I just read that the iPad does charge over USB. The only catch? The machine must be a newer model from Apple.

It won’t be long before that problem is solved.

You Must Have Your Hands Full

The comments don’t bother me anymore. Those that don’t immediately roll off my back provide laughter on the ride home from Target or Taco Time or whatever public place we’ve brought our kids to.

It’s easy to look back and laugh at the Target checker who asked, “Were you trying to have this many?” as she loaded bags of diapers, wipes, and Gerber jars into our cart.

I doubt any answer I could give her would suffice so I smiled. Of course, the person who asks such a personal and unsolicited question like that one, isn’t looking for an answer as much as she’s providing commentary on the size of our family.

Come to think of it, that remark was made before our fourth child arrived. We’d blow her mind today.

Kim and I give people the benefit of the doubt when we encounter awkward comments about the size of our family. It’s easy to laugh off comments such as, “I could never handle that many kids” because I still feel that way at times.

Our youngest daughter turned seven yesterday. To celebrate, we went to the movies. The young son of friends joined us while his family was out of town giving us one inquisitive five year old to watch.

I kept the kids off to the side of the line while Kim purchased tickets. “Two adults and five children”, she said this through the glass divider. And then a women behind us let out a loud sigh and said, “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.” as she glanced over our children. Maybe she was also planning to see Rio and was concerned our children wouldn’t behave.

But when Kim pulled out her wallet and paid with cash, it was too much for her. “Oh, come on!” she said, loud enough for everyone in line to hear. She panned her head back and forth, glancing again at all five of them. They were excited to see the movie but not out of control by any means.

We made our way inside the theater where our children sat in their seats for the 96 minute movie. Kai managed to sandwich himself between the folding seats one time. Otherwise, they all behaved well.

And I know this will embarrass Kim but I’m going to write it anyway.

Halfway through the movie, a women had a seizure just outside the entrance our theater. While her frantic husband kneeled next to her, guess who sat on the floor calming their four children and keeping them entertained while medical personnel worked on their mother?

Kim made it back to us to catch the last five minutes of the movie. Not once did I have lean over and quiet any of the children. I expect a certain amount of noise when I watch a movie marketed to children. The two women who sat behind us were by far the loudest distractions in the theater. And when they weren’t chatting they texted like teens until the manager told them to stop.

That night we took our family to dinner at Red Robin. All seven of us.

If the kids were going to get away with anything, this would have been the time. Kim and I were tired, but we decide to sit across from each other instead of corralling them with one of us at each end of the table. The kids downed pizza and macaroni and cheese while Kim and I wondered what happened to the mother of those four children.

Our server brought the check. The kids grabbed their jackets. I retrieve a handful of crayons off the ground that contributed to the pre-meal artwork.

As I reached for my jacket, I felt a hand pat my shoulder and looked up to see a man and a woman looking at me. My first instinct was, “Oh no, were we too loud?” Or maybe Kai threw a french fry that landed in their food.

Before I could say anything, the man said, “I’ve been watching your family, and I want to tell you how impressed am with your children. They are well disciplined and I wanted to tell you that before we leave.”

He had no idea what we’d heard earlier that day. Or that our plans to see a movie together took an unexpected turn. Kim and I sat at the table for a few more minutes. We were stunned.

I don’t know what this man saw in our children that encouraged him to approach our table.

He couldn’t have known his kind words were what we needed to hear after a challenging day.

The Race

The snow was so deep I could leap off our carport and into it without breaking a leg. Nights were the best. I’d stand with my head towards the sky which was so dark, I couldn’t follow the snowflakes until one landed on my eye, and I felt that cold tingle run through my body and into my moon boots and idiot mittens.

Makes my eyes water just thinking about it.

Snowstorms at night have a way of silencing the surroundings. If I listened closely, I could hear the snowflakes dropping from the sky. At least I thought I could when I was in fourth grade. But I was certain I could hear my heartbeat. I was alone, but I felt so alive.

Last night, I had the same feeling as I watched my son participate in the pinewood derby.

As a parent, I hope my children will overlook my many weaknesses. They are on display each day although I try to keep them hidden. Like last week when I dropped two cups full of Diet Coke in the van. Or when I stubbed my toe on a hand weight.

Conversely, I pray my children will acquire enough good traits to neutralize the bad ones. Some days, I know the negative traits are outpacing the positive.

One trait I recognized in my son last night was humility which he got from his mother. After a few races it was clear his car was doing very well. He raced against his close friend five or six times. And when he won one race by several feet, a few kids made fun of his car’s simple design.

At his age, I would have lashed out at those boys. At the very least, I would have danced around the gym after collecting my trophy.

But Lincoln just smiled.

I was proud of the work he put into the car. We spent hours working together to prepare it for the race. He sanded and painted the block of pinewood. He also asked a lot of questions. We discussed topics such as aerodynamics, balance, and friction.

Last night he acted with grace that belies his age. As the night came to a close and he placed his “Red Blaze” back in the shoebox, I thought back to those snowy nights when I was his age. When I felt so alive.

And I realized that I’d won before the race even began.

At Our Home, Windows Is On Life Support

The line to purchase Windows 95 was fifty deep outside the Software Etc. Microsoft was introducing their latest operating system to the masses and the masses couldn’t wait begin clicking around a desktop instead of typing cryptic DOS commands into a black screen.

With a hundred bucks in hand I was ready to retire Windows 3.1 and the icons which all looked the same. Windows 95 was such a massive upgrade from 3.1, maybe it was created by another company? Getting a PC on the interview before Windows 95 was a pain in the butt. But 95 made it painless, TCP/IP stack and all.

Windows 95 wasn’t without problems. But it was the first OS that didn’t require hours of daily babysitting just to keep it running. Instead, I spent my time working and gaming and watching Flying Toasters zoom across the screen.

The excitement of running Windows would never be this high again.

As I installed Windows 7 on my father’s new system last week, I realized the days of Windows in our home are numbered. Over the past two years, we replaced our Windows Mobile phones with iPhones. And older laptop that was unusable running Windows XP or Windows 7, was brought back to life by Ubuntu. My kids have moved most of their games off the PC and onto their iPod Touches. And in two weeks, our first iPad arrives.

Games like The Sims and Half Life kept me on Windows along with the choice of hardware. I enjoyed building my own systems and selecting the exact brand and model of every component that went into my Lian-Li case. But over the years, my time playing games has decreased, and what’s left, has migrated to consoles.

My computing needs no longer require the latest video card or CPU. A few years ago, I stopped using Microsoft Office in favor of Google Docs because of its collaboration features. After one too many corrupt .PST files, I migrated my family to Gmail and off Microsoft Outlook. I convinced my father to do the same.

The less software I install on my system, the faster and more stable it runs. Installing Windows isn’t a big deal. Windows 7 installs in less than 20 minutes on a modern system. But set aside two hours for updates, and that’s if everything goes smoothly. I wasted hours trying to install SP1 on my new system. This was frustrating, yet bearable in 1995. But it’s not acceptable in 2011.

The underlying operating system isn’t as important today as it was five or ten years ago. Most of my time is spent in my browser, Google Chrome. I don’t want to schedule updates, install drivers, defrag my drive or check for malware anymore. I just want my computer to work when I turn it on.

That’s how my iPhone works. I go weeks without rebooting it. That’s how I suspect the iPad will work. I don’t know if my next system will be a Mac. But I know it won’t be Windows. I can’t think of the last Windows program I purchased. But my family has purchased dozens of apps and music from iTunes. There’s where our money goes today. Because those products and services just work.

Somewhere along the line Microsoft realized the bulk of profits came from business contracts. Ballmer took over for Gates and pushed that notion further. I didn’t help when Ballmer admitted he doesn’t allow his children to use Apple products and went on the record saying the iPhone would never gain significant market share. This sounds like a man who is disconnected from how regular people use technology. I’m not convinced a company, no matter the size of its bank account, can focus on the enterprise while creating great consumer products. When is the last time you’ve seen anyone waiting in line to purchase a Microsoft product? Ballmer has morphed the company into another IBM.

One exception is the Xbox which had to break off from the main Microsoft campus to find success.

But, with the exception of a few pockets around campus, the excitement and wonder is gone. It’s no longer that scrappy, laser-focused company lead by the world’s most famous geek. It’s a corporate behemoth lead by a career sales guy. Gates loved software. You could hear it in his voice. Ballmer sounds like a guy who hasn’t installed a piece of software since Office 97, let alone have any idea what’s happening in social media, music or gaming. When Ballmer speaks, he does so from a defensive position. Maybe he’s speaking to the IT manager or the CEO. He’s certainly not speaking to me the way Steve Jobs does.

When I worked as a Microsoft employee over 10 years ago, I interviewed a recent graduate from a top MBA program. He told me that selling software was like selling laundry detergent. I recall wondering if he was confused and thought he was interviewing for Proctor and Gamble. He was smart but had zero passion for software. To him, it was a commodity. I was disappointed when he was hired and promoted through the division. Over the years, I’ve seen Microsoft hire this same profile over and over. The passionate software geek is now the rarity. And it makes sense. Would you rather work on a massive and predictable product like Windows, Office, or SQL Server or create something exciting at Google, Facebook or Twitter? Better yet, why not roll the dice and start something on your own?

I recall thinking that Microsoft will eventually lose it’s edge if passionless MBA’s like this man were being hired and eventually moved into management position throughout the company.

Ten years later, the edge is gone. Vista, Zune and products like the Kin have been tossed overboard into the sea of failures while Apple can’t make iPads and iPhones fast enough. Facebook and Twitter are where people spend their time today. I’ll probably keep a Windows 7 machine around if only for the Windows Media features that work with my Xbox.

But the days of babysitting Windows are over. The three computers in our home will be replaced with something else.

It’s time to move on.

Recalibration

It’s easy to focus on what I don’t have when I’m out of a job. But it has more to do with the constant reminders than anything else.

“Hey, heard your company crashed and burned”

“Sorry to hear about the job”

“Let me know if I can do anything”

When I mention that Ox Consulting and a few consulting gigs are keeping me out of the cheese lines, the comments take another slant.

“Medical insurance with four kids must be a killer”

“Must be stressful trying to create something on your own”

And my favorite, “You know, 80% of companies go out of business in their first year”

Change is difficult. Not only for me, but for those who know me if only peripherally. If I were a recent college grad in my 20’s, I bet most people would shrug their shoulders. That’s the agreed upon age to take risks, dive into new adventures, and follow your wildest dreams.

Once children arrive, my thoughts are supposed to turn to career stability, 30 year mortgage, 401k, health insurance, and the size of my office. I still chuckle when friends who have worked at Microsoft over 10 years tell me they moved to an office with windows. That’s how longevity, and success to some extent, is measured in our culture.

This past week, I visited my parents in North Ogden. They recently built a home after living in the same small brick house across from Weber State University for nearly 40 years. My father’s computer was acting up, and we spent a couple of days selecting parts and getting his music, pictures and documents moved over to a new i7 system.

Maybe I should have stayed home and continued my job search.

But I have no regrets because I got to spend hours with my father. We took a trip to the University of Utah bookstore and purchased matching “Ute” hats. We had lunch together, and I told him how much I appreciate his friendship. I don’t believe I’ve ever told that him that face to face. It’s not hard to thank him for the kindness he expresses towards my children. I’ve thanked him numerous times. But I’ve never sat across the table from him and told him how much he means to me.

I was able to sit next to my mother on her bright red leather sofa and listen to her explain how she’s dealing with her latest stroke. Her body has deteriorated, but her mind and wit is as sharp as ever. We had breakfast together each morning. She prepared for my arrival by purchasing a box of Captain Crunch Berries, my favorite cereal.

Visiting my parents forces me to slow down, and that’s exactly what I needed this week. I have a number of decisions to make about my career and my family over the next few months. I didn’t realize it at the time, but on the drive home I felt as though I’d recalibrated my life.

Close relationships have a way of doing that.

What I Will Miss

A tree straddles the property line between our driveway and my neighbor’s yard. This tree belongs to my neighbor, but a significant portion of its branches hang over our yard.

Each year about this time, I begin to notice thousands of tiny pink petals blowing around the neighborhood. Dozens of them land on my black car where they remain until a high powered spray nozzle can remove them.

For the past five years we’ve lived in this home I’ve considered this sign of spring little more than an annoyance. On more than one occasion I’ve thought about retrieving my gas blower and aiming it towards the branches to hasten the job the Seattle breeze normally takes care of.

Since my position at work ended, I’ve spent my days working on projects from home. For the past five years, I’ve spend at least two hours of my day commuting to and from work. Tomorrow morning I’ll roll out of bed, see my children off to school before I settle in at my computer and begin working. No recurring meetings. No co-workers stopping by to chat about the Mariners. No manager rubbing his back against the frame of my door like this bear.

I get more done in two hours at home than I do in eight at the office.

The best part about working from home has been the extra time I’ve spent with my kids. Getting the kids ready and off to school has always fallen to Kim, and she enjoys that time with them. I’ve zipped backpacks, toasted bagels, and helped steer one daughter away from outfits that might lead her teacher to believe she’s auditioning for the Jersey Shore.

This past week, I tossed the football with my son and kicked the soccer ball around the neighborhood with my daughters. The kids aren’t used to having me around when they return from school, and it took a few days for them to invite me into that part of their day.

I know it won’t be long before I’m back at a traditional job. I won’t be waiting when my youngest son steps off the bus from pre-school, points to his backpack and tells me he has homework. I won’t feel the house shake as my three oldest dash up the stairs to share what happened at school, but not before complaining how they are going to die if they don’t get a snack.

I’ll miss the noise, chatter and overall chaos of it all.

On Friday, as my son tossed, kicked and yelled at the football, I noticed those pink petals floating around us. I swatted a few away but not before a couple landed on my shoulder. But this time I felt more peace than annoyed.

I may even look forward to them next year as a reminder of the Spring I was able to peek into a slice of my children’s lives I’m not normally part of.

And for that I feel blessed.

Variations on the Canon

Buried deep in a Sunday morning Deseret News was the announcement I’d been waiting for. On the back of the Art and Music section was an ad for an evening with George Winston at Symphony Hall.

The first person I told was my mother who allowed me to flood our home with his music since returning from Germany. Both our favorite songs were off the same album, December. She loves Variations on the Canon by Pachelbel while Joy is my favorite.

It didn’t take much to convince my mother she should be there.

Neither of us had been to Symphony Hall before. In hindsight, I should have researched which seats would give us the best vantage point from which to watch his hands dance across the keys. (10 to 15 rows back to the left side of the stage is ideal) But this was before such details were easily found on the internet, so we ended up sitting right next to the stage on the first row. We must have looked like the man in the Maxell ad, slouched in our seats trying to see the piano over the stage.

It didn’t matter because the music Winston coaxed out of that glorious black Steinway made us forget how sore our necks would be the next day. The crowd was older than I expected. Polite applause followed each song the shoeless Winston played until he announced Thanksgiving which brought loud cheers to the Hall.

Have you attended a concert, and with each passing song, crossed your fingers that the next would be your favorite? That’s how my mom and I were that night. When Winston came out for his second and last encore, she turned to me and said, “Oh, I wish he’d play Variations on the Canon.”

Unfortunately, the curtains closed before he played either song. If we were disappointed as we left the Hall, neither of us showed it because we’d had a magnificent time together.

I’ve thought back to that evening that took place nearly 20 years ago. The opportunity to spend an evening listening to one of our favorite musicians together happened at a time when my mother’s health allowed for such activities.

So tonight we did the next best thing: we brought the music to my mother when she called to check in with us. As Kim held the phone near our modest Yamaha piano, Luca played Variations on the Canon for my mother. The music made the 900 miles that separate us disappear for a moment.

Sure, it lacked the acoustic splendor of Symphony Hall, but I know it meant more to my mother than any song we heard on that evening, many years ago.

Sacrificing a Few Squares

Hard to believe my mom allowed me to take a Rubik’s Cube to school. This was before kids were expelled for bringing tweezers to class. But every 7th grade boy had a Rubik’s Cube, and what better place to practice than during biology.

After a few months, my cousin learned how to solve the cube. Over the next couple of weeks he taught me the dozen moves required to solve it. I practiced for many hours until I could solve it in about three minutes. Occasionally the corners would line up properly, and I could finish it in just over two minutes. I was obsessed with my cube to the point where I’d take it apart, dust each piece with graphite in order to gain the slightest speed advantage.

Last year I picked up a Rubik’s cube and was surprised I could still solve it. I’d forgotten a few shortcuts I’d learned back in middle school, but I could solve it in four minutes. Maybe learning to solve the Rubik’s cube is similar to riding a bike: once you learn you never forget.

Last month I found a Rubik’s cube at work and brought it home. My oldest son was the first to approach me with questions. I showed him two simple moves that allowed him to solve one side. Then I showed him a couple more moves. He practiced after school and in bed. It wasn’t long before he could solve one side plus one layer. The next layer takes some work because you must be willing to mess up the solved side in order to move closer to completion.

Life is similar.

At times, I’ve worked to improve a part of my life. I’ll put forth the effort to get that area exactly how I want it. And once I’m there it’s easier to stay put than to risk messing it up by arranging the next area that needs fixing.

Initially, my son had a difficult time understanding the need to sacrifice a few squares in order to move forward. He made a number of mistakes. When he’d ask for assistance, I’d help him understand how he got to where he was. He seldom made the same mistake twice. Over time, he learned that making mistakes wasn’t the end of the world. He began to understand how sacrificing a few colors in one area allowed him to move closer to solving the entire cube.

Yesterday afternoon, he walked up beside me while I sat at my computer. He was getting close to to solving all six sides. I showed him the last two moves just as my older cousin showed me over 30 years ago. They are the two most difficult moves because they require one to estimate where a couple of corners will land. Neither move feels intuitive. And if you miss even a single turn, your cube becomes a jumbled mess.

I showed my son the two moves. He gave me that “I hope I don’t screw this up” look and began turning. I watched in amazement as the colors separated and then blended back together. Was he really going to solve it? A few more turns and he realized he had it. He’d solved the Rubik’s Cube for the first time.

I raised my hand, and he gave me a casual high five.

Given how soundly he beats me at Halo, I’ll be keeping a few shortcuts to myself.

—Photo by Toni Blay

Just Make The Phone Number Bigger

A few years back when business owners decided to jump on the blogging bandwagon, I was asked to come up with ideas for starting a company blog. When our CEO got wind that he’d be expected to occasionally post his thoughts online, that plan was nixed.

The company I worked for at the time created technical training courses, and it made sense that our customers would expect to learn about, sample and purchase our products online. I decided if I couldn’t talk the executives into getting behind a company blog, I’d convince them to allow me to update the website.

Sales through the website were considered a necessary nuisance. Most sales came over the phone and were easily tracked to an employee earning a commission. But sales through the website weren’t easily tracked back to an individual. No whipping boy. Sales would increase for a few months and then stagnate over a holiday weekend. Someone needed to be held responsible for the poor sales and yelling at a website isn’t as enjoyable or effective as yelling at sales reps.

Once I gained approval to update the site, I recruited a designer from another division to help me. Over the next few weeks, we updated the branding, layout and product descriptions. Basically, we gave the site a more modern look while simplifying the navigation.

The new site went live and sales soared.

I was excited. My manager was excited. At the next company meeting, our CEO gushed over the sales totals for the month, and I expected everyone would be happy for us. And most were. Near the end of the meeting, anyone could chime in with suggestions such as which products to spotlight on the homepage. I often collected customer testimonials at this time, and would later add them to the site.

After a short discussion, the sales manager said, “Just make the phone number bigger”.

Clearly, she viewed the website as a billboard. Customers would come to the site to locate our phone number and then call one of our sales reps. She did not view the site as a tool to drive more sales.

A few years after this experience, I found myself working at another technology company that did not have a website. That’s hard to imagine, but in 2008, we did not have a website open to the public. I worked with the same designer to create a website that provided information about the services we provided. It was a very simple site but served our needs.

At the final review with my manager, before we took the site live, I asked for his input. All features had been locked so what I was looking for were bugs and/or obvious mistakes. That’s when my boss said, “Can you add a scrolling stock ticker to the top of the homepage?”

It was difficult not to burst out laughing. But he was serious. He viewed the site as a portal such as My Yahoo or iGoogle and wanted a site that employees would set as their default homepage. I viewed the site as a way to inform and interact with our customers.

The lesson I learned was that company execs often view the power of the web much differently than those of us who grew up immersed in technology. While we view the web as a tool to improve sales or market our services, others shun the impersonal nature of it. We have no problem posting our opinions on Twitter or blogs. But not everyone is comfortable with that level of sharing or promotion.

The sales manager who asked me to make the phone number bigger was afraid how her crew would react if the phones stopped ringing. Once we worked together to figure out a way to compensate them for sales that came through the site, they got on board with us. We updated the site to focus on the quick sale while encouraging those interested in our more expensive products to call us for discounted pricing.

Next time I’m asked to assist in the creation of a company website, I’ll build in time to educate those who don’t know Flash from Silverlight.

Cotton Candy and Electric Lime

It’s not uncommon for my children to pull out a pile of paper and box of crayons and begin coloring on the floor next to my computer while I work. Each of them enjoy thumbing through coloring books searching for the perfect picture to bring to life with colors such as cotton candy and electric lime.

But my youngest daughter isn’t as interested in coloring books. She likes to create her own pictures. Oh sure, she’ll color in a picture of a turtle but she’ll make it bright purple. Then she’ll draw a house and family on the turtle’s back and think up a story to tell me.

I’ve been considering my daughter’s willingness to draw outside the lines and create something on her own as my job winds down over the next few weeks.

Having been brought up in a Mormon family, I’ve often felt like my life’s roadmap has much in common with a coloring book. I’m free to select the crayon’s color as long as I color within the lines.

As a young boy, I was taught the proper progression into manhood: High school followed by serving a mission and then college. And make sure you find your eternal companion during the latter half of that span or risk having my records sent to a single’s ward. Eventually settle into a safe and stable job and have a few kids along the way. Just don’t get too crazy.

Of course, nobody from the church followed me around with a checklist to ensure I didn’t stray outside the lines, like the time I took a year off college so my spouse could finish her degree. Or the time I had my ear pierced or decided to leave Utah.

Few question the path of least resistance. Tell friends you’re thinking of going back to school to become a teacher and they praise the decision. But tell them you’ve started a company and their first question is, “What will you do for health insurance?”

It’s much safer to follow the plan created by someone else (and followed by many) than it is to create my own. My career so far has set expectations that are not easy to change. The lines are painted thick. Probably three or four coats worth.

Yet I find inspiration in my daughter. I want to do everything I can to keep her spirit free from all the borders the world tries to impose on her.

Because I know the next time she draws me a picture of an evil snowman, it will be an original. One not found in any coloring book.