My daughter Alex completed her freshman year of college last week. I am not sure who had the bigger shock at the fact that the year went by so quickly. What resonated loudest was her feeling of "what do I do next?" Now obviously she will return to classes in the fall, but her real question was more of "wow, I finished my first year of college, what are the expectation of me now?"
I have had that same feeling for the past 23 years. Once leaving the safety and security of the university, there has always been an unspoken question of "what do I do now?" "What is my next step?"
Well, today I can tell you I know the answer (at least for the next two years). Because today is my first day of graduate school. Talley-ho!
As I accessed the distance learning Blackboard page, it was almost reminiscent of my freshman year. And although I have been developing distance learning programs and technology-based instruction for over two decades, being on the learning side is still very exciting. Why, you might ask? Simply stated, "someone else is in control."
I am the participant, the learner, the partaker of the experience. And while I know there is much work to be accomplished, I relish the chance to learn something new. Take chances where in the business world I am not always able.
So today I "open the doors" and answer "what do I do next?" with one word: learn!
- Ken
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
In Parallel
Returning from the mailbox at the street, I sorted through a variety of bills, magazines and one particular envelope with three large letters in the return address which caught my attention. Opening the front door, I walked into the family room that Saturday afternoon and held it out, the size and shape reminiscent of letters received by my daughter over a year ago. Unfortunately, we had learned then that simple business size meant bad news. And so it was with excitement ad trepidation that I slid my finger under the lip along the back and tore open the response. “Dear Mr. Hubbell, It is a pleasure to inform you that you have been admitted to pursue the MS in Instructional Technology...”
And so this summer I begin, not a detour, but rather a parallel journey as I plan for the next stage of my career. After twenty three years outside of a formal hall of learning, I am venturing on-line to earn a my graduate degree from East Carolina University. Unlike my undergraduate years, this time I will be working in parallel to my “day job.” It is my hope to share these experiences through this blog and tweets so that others contemplating this path will embrace it with the same passion and excitement as I am experiencing today.
My quest begins May 18th. I am starting my studies with, “Introduction to Instructional Technology” and “Web Teaching: Design and Development.” These were both supposed to be 11-week courses, however, this summer the “Intro” course is only available in a 5-week format. While it will be great to have my first graduate level course under my belt by June, it will mean a much more concentrated effort. Fortunately for me, it is in an area with which I should be quite familiar.
While the graduate program I am pursuing echoes my current position, I look forward to filling in the gaps of my knowledge. Whereas I have 20 plus years of advanced learning design and development behind me reinforced by instructional design theory gleaned from professional seminars and industry publications and periodicals, it will be nice to have a structured program of learning to reinforce this field experience. Having the opportunity to interact regularly with other talented technologists will help me look beyond the boundaries of my roles and responsibilities at work and see the potential of what “can be.”
I hope you will join me on my six semester excursion in advanced learning. If all things go smoothly, I should have a new memento for my wall and academic credibility behind my years of practical experience. My end game is a desire to pursue a Doctorate in the field of Narrative Centered Learning. I have been researching in this area since I first entered learning development over twenty years ago. It is exciting to see it come back to the forefront of advanced learning design. But, first things first; MS today, PhD tomorrow.
- Ken
My quest begins May 18th. I am starting my studies with, “Introduction to Instructional Technology” and “Web Teaching: Design and Development.” These were both supposed to be 11-week courses, however, this summer the “Intro” course is only available in a 5-week format. While it will be great to have my first graduate level course under my belt by June, it will mean a much more concentrated effort. Fortunately for me, it is in an area with which I should be quite familiar.
While the graduate program I am pursuing echoes my current position, I look forward to filling in the gaps of my knowledge. Whereas I have 20 plus years of advanced learning design and development behind me reinforced by instructional design theory gleaned from professional seminars and industry publications and periodicals, it will be nice to have a structured program of learning to reinforce this field experience. Having the opportunity to interact regularly with other talented technologists will help me look beyond the boundaries of my roles and responsibilities at work and see the potential of what “can be.”
I hope you will join me on my six semester excursion in advanced learning. If all things go smoothly, I should have a new memento for my wall and academic credibility behind my years of practical experience. My end game is a desire to pursue a Doctorate in the field of Narrative Centered Learning. I have been researching in this area since I first entered learning development over twenty years ago. It is exciting to see it come back to the forefront of advanced learning design. But, first things first; MS today, PhD tomorrow.
- Ken
Monday, March 14, 2011
He sits like a lion in the sun
We lost a dear friend last week. Homework buddy, foot warmer, tea party guest, string chaser, snake killer, varmint catcher, sometimes nuisance, always friend – he will be missed. The sound of him padding up and down the stairs, calling from the door, purr-motor racing will forever echo in our home; every rustle of the wind reminding where his spirit now watches over us. Mr. Mistoffelees used all nine lives plus two; from dawn to dusk he lived and loved life.
My oldest daughter, Alex, wrote the title words of this chapter in a poem about her four footed friend when she was little. Even then he knew he was different - a majestic animal that graced us with his presence as he allowed us to feed and embrace him. And he was majestic, with his shiny dark black and white coat catching the sunlight streaming through the window; casting long shadows across the hardwood floor as he preened or just sat staring into the blue skies as if he knew something we did not.
He had the heart of a lion in every way. Whether skulking the tunnels of the drainage pipes or lying nestled in the monkey grass waiting for his prey to carelessly wander into range, he loved the pure adventure of it all. Summers were his favorite time to hunt, and there was seldom a week where a trophy did not grace our doorstep.
In his final days he was comforted by his two-legged relations. My son, Izy sacrificed his bed and nursed our fading Mistoffelees, my son relegating himself to the downstairs couch. It was amazing to see the transformation of Izy’s perception of his bedroom guest from general nuisance to one of God’s special creatures. The loving care which poured out was felt by everyone in the family – but most of all by Mr. Mistoffelees.
When the children arrived home from school Friday, I expected the worst for Isaac. He, however, was stolid in his reaction; already having come to terms with the inevitable. It was my youngest daughter, Darby, who surprised me with an overwhelming explosion of tears and angst. More often than not, Mister was to be found in the girls’ room curled up on their quilts or hiding under a bed. As she buried her face in my shoulder with great shuddering cries, I knew she would truly miss him.
In one of life's little twists, Alex was not in town for all of this. She had gone to the beach on her spring break from college. We had to share the news with her by phone, and her sadness streamed across the sky, relayed by the now all too familiar cellular network. Her heart and mind were as mass of mixed feelings as she debated what to do. In the end, she chose to stay at the beach amongst the comfort of friends rather than try to race home. Life is for the living, and I think Mistoffelees would agree she made the right choice.
We gently laid him in the car that afternoon; followed by a short journey to Papa’s. Izy and I set to work with the shovels we brought with us; a three by three by three foot space was soon excavated.The girls had gone to find a suitable marker; a tribute to our friend. They returned as we were completing his resting place and handed us a wreath of green to rest his head upon. Each had a final stroke, a lingering touch upon Mister’s forehead, a rub of an ear, and then Izy gently laid him down. Alex joined us over the airwaves as four handfuls of red clay were cast with emotion and loss; words followed about living life as he did, never holding back, and giving love without reserve. We paid final tribute with a heartfelt gesture of a living marker to always guide us back.
And every year from this time onward, the fiery yellow leaves will blaze bright as the sun, reminding us where he now lays; under the branches of the forsythia, circled by a white ring of stones - joining the menagerie of other friends, long since past.We will miss you Mister Mistoffelees, but we know that we will see you again. Happy hunting!
- Ken
My oldest daughter, Alex, wrote the title words of this chapter in a poem about her four footed friend when she was little. Even then he knew he was different - a majestic animal that graced us with his presence as he allowed us to feed and embrace him. And he was majestic, with his shiny dark black and white coat catching the sunlight streaming through the window; casting long shadows across the hardwood floor as he preened or just sat staring into the blue skies as if he knew something we did not.
He had the heart of a lion in every way. Whether skulking the tunnels of the drainage pipes or lying nestled in the monkey grass waiting for his prey to carelessly wander into range, he loved the pure adventure of it all. Summers were his favorite time to hunt, and there was seldom a week where a trophy did not grace our doorstep.
In his final days he was comforted by his two-legged relations. My son, Izy sacrificed his bed and nursed our fading Mistoffelees, my son relegating himself to the downstairs couch. It was amazing to see the transformation of Izy’s perception of his bedroom guest from general nuisance to one of God’s special creatures. The loving care which poured out was felt by everyone in the family – but most of all by Mr. Mistoffelees.
When the children arrived home from school Friday, I expected the worst for Isaac. He, however, was stolid in his reaction; already having come to terms with the inevitable. It was my youngest daughter, Darby, who surprised me with an overwhelming explosion of tears and angst. More often than not, Mister was to be found in the girls’ room curled up on their quilts or hiding under a bed. As she buried her face in my shoulder with great shuddering cries, I knew she would truly miss him.
In one of life's little twists, Alex was not in town for all of this. She had gone to the beach on her spring break from college. We had to share the news with her by phone, and her sadness streamed across the sky, relayed by the now all too familiar cellular network. Her heart and mind were as mass of mixed feelings as she debated what to do. In the end, she chose to stay at the beach amongst the comfort of friends rather than try to race home. Life is for the living, and I think Mistoffelees would agree she made the right choice.
We gently laid him in the car that afternoon; followed by a short journey to Papa’s. Izy and I set to work with the shovels we brought with us; a three by three by three foot space was soon excavated.The girls had gone to find a suitable marker; a tribute to our friend. They returned as we were completing his resting place and handed us a wreath of green to rest his head upon. Each had a final stroke, a lingering touch upon Mister’s forehead, a rub of an ear, and then Izy gently laid him down. Alex joined us over the airwaves as four handfuls of red clay were cast with emotion and loss; words followed about living life as he did, never holding back, and giving love without reserve. We paid final tribute with a heartfelt gesture of a living marker to always guide us back.
And every year from this time onward, the fiery yellow leaves will blaze bright as the sun, reminding us where he now lays; under the branches of the forsythia, circled by a white ring of stones - joining the menagerie of other friends, long since past.We will miss you Mister Mistoffelees, but we know that we will see you again. Happy hunting!
- Ken
Saturday, March 5, 2011
It's OK to receive!
Her face is bright, yet tensed as she places one foot gingerly in front of the other. The calloused pads on the palms of her hands pushing against the grips of her supports while she forces herself to stand upright, refusing to favor her good side. Electric shots of pain are a continuous reminder of the trauma inflicted on her that night. No one who knows her would ever doubt she would persevere; the tragedy is that she had to experience it at all.
The snow began falling in Raleigh that Christmas day in 2010. It was absolutely beautiful. No mere pebbles of sleet, giant fluffy flakes drifted down minute after minute, hour upon hour. At dawn, the blanket measured seven inches according to my daughter’s pink wooden ruler. There is only one activity deserving of a present like this delivered by God and graced with blue skies and sunshine – sledding.
Unlike my adventures in Troy, Michigan, in which I endured snow for months on end; snow and ice which accumulated into “termite” mounds on parking lots and grayish sludge along the roadside, most winter weather in North Carolina is a blessing – beautiful, but very short lived. It was with this urgency in mind that we all headed out for a day of outdoor fun on the slopes of the Dorothea Dix Hospital grounds. Dix has acres of hills and wooded paths just perfect for a trashcan lid, sheet of plastic, or for the northern transplants, an honest to goodness Radio Flyer sled. There were even a few inner tubes and snow boards.
Our children, their cousins, their friends, their aunt and uncle, and a whole slew of others joined us on the slopes. And for over half a day, we careened and slid and raced and jumped avoiding trees and each other while we enjoyed playing in the snow. And though we had some close calls with a low set fence and a couple of determined tree trunks, no one got hurt or injured that afternoon.
As the light of the day began to wane and hunger forced us in search of food, we thanked God for our gift and headed to my brother’s for pizza and hot chocolate. There is nothing that makes a group of kids hungrier than a day of physical activity, and so we found ourselves gathered around the kitchen enjoying Italian pies; recounting each more dangerous feat and swapping tales of survival in the Raleigh “alps.” The evening came to a close, and we bid all goodnight. It was then that the singular omen of what was to come was overlooked in our continued enthusiasm – while backing out of the drive, my oldest daughter’s friend Nathan’s truck got stuck on the ice and with some effort by all of the adults present, we managed to get it free. It was a sign; not recognized as a portent of what was to come.
I have heard it said that accidents happen closest to home. Whether this is because we let our defenses down under the comforts of a familiar environment or we are merely distracted by its normalcy, the home front is repeatedly fraught with peril. And so it was that snowy night, for as the rays of the sun had warmed us on the slopes, they had also heated the topmost layer of snow on our front yard. And as the sun’s rays retreated, the cold of the night air coated the bed surrounding our willow tree with a thin frozen sheet, its white camouflage masking the exposed roots, creating the trap which would soon accost my wife.
Trudie and I arrived home first. After running inside, we ditched our outer shell of sledding garments and donned some warm winter PJs and sweatshirts. Then the kids pulled up in Nathan’s truck. Nathan is one of Trudie’s favorites, so when they got out, she went running down to see him before he headed home. As she raced across the frozen ground, she fell prey to Mother Nature’s snare; the roots of the willow tree catching her right foot as she slipped, preventing it from following her left and instead pinning it beneath her. Every home in the neighborhood echoed the sound of bones grinding against each other in unnatural formations. And then I heard her scream.
Did I mention we have three children? I have seen my wife in excruciating pain as each child came into this world. Trudie has a threshold beyond most people I know. So when I tell you she screamed, I mean she was in agony. Now, if there is a humorous point in this whole story it can be found here, at this moment. As we are carrying her into the house, my wife says to me, “I think Scott [my brother in-law] has some vicoden [he had just had some dental work]; I’ll just take a couple of those. It’s just a bad sprain.” All the while she is saying this, I am looking at what appears to be a large baseball protruding from the front of her ankle. As I touch it gently, she winces, and I realize it is not swelling, it is the bone of her leg which has become dislocated as a result of the fall.
Thank goodness for responsible, college age children! Alex and Nathan took the younger two to Nathan’s mom’s house to spend the night relieving me of the responsibility of watching over them while tending to my wife. Their sleepover also minimized any stress they might have worrying over the safety of their mother.
Trudie and I spent the next five hours in the emergency room, joining other late night visitors including a Chinese family waiting for the birth of their grandchild and various other individuals suffering from a range of ailments. I must say, for the day after Christmas, it was relatively calm; exactly what my wife needed as her leg throbbed excruciatingly.
The nurses ushered us into the triage wing where we prepared for the worst. Although I suspected that it was going to be bad, Trudie clung to the possibility that she would walk out with just a really, really bad sprain after all was said and done. The doctor assigned to her came in, did a few spot checks, confirmed that the ankle was indeed dislocated (like there was any doubt in my mind) and then ordered a set of X-Rays. Twenty minutes later reality hit my best friend and she faced the hard facts that her ankle was not only dislocated, but also fractured and would require surgery and a pin to repair the damage. Unfortunately, due to the swelling they had to set the whole thing in a temporary cast; the surgery would be delayed for at least a week.
Before the cast could be set we had to deal with the problem of the bone bulging against the front of her leg. My only experience with dislocations up until her fall was what I had seen in the movies. If you have never experienced it first hand, let me explain it to you; it is nothing like the movies. In the movies, when a character has a dislocation, one of the other characters simply grabs the persons limb firmly, gives it a twist and “pop” the bone goes back in place. Then they all go back to whatever they were doing. This is NOT the way it is in real life. Picture this. Trudie lying there, a morphine drip supposedly deadening the pain, the doctor holding her right leg firmly in his left hand and the heal of her foot in his right. At the first pull and twist, her face imploded and her eyes about popped out of her skull. This continued for several minutes until at last the bone snapped back into place. Now if this was on the big screen, everything would have been better. In her case, it required more morphine.
During our entire relationship, I don’t believe I have ever seen Trudie just “take it easy.” Her idea of relaxing is to host an art day for 10 or more children and “heard cats” for the afternoon. A break for her is teaching drama after school to a group of middle school students in the height of their hormonal shifts and personality revelations. So when it was determined that she would for all practical purposes be relegated to the downstairs couch for a week, I thought she would lose her mind. I even took to sleeping on an air mattress with her to make sure she wouldn’t attempt to do anything for herself. If there was an upside to the timing of this whole affair, it was that being a holiday week, I was on vacation and working from home, so I could be there to help manage all of the things that she normally would have. Her job was to rest and keep her foot elevated, and I was going to make sure she did.
I am thankful that in the few times our family has experienced tragedy or medical challenges like this God has truly blessed us with the best doctors and surgeons. This time was no exception. Now, you may think that the best surgeons have the fanciest offices like you see on television. I am convinced this is not the case. As a matter of a fact, if I go into a surgeon’s office and see anything but whitewashed sheets of plywood on reinforced sawhorses, I believe they are spending way too much on the furniture and too little on the equipment and the staff. And so it was with the doctor who would repair her ankle.
She sat on the wooden cot, face still contorted with pain after a week of waiting for the swelling to recede, expectantly hoping for a good prognosis from the doctor. The expression on her surgeon spoke volumes, and as he reviewed her latest X-Rays with us, it became obvious this was not going to be a quick and easy recovery. This was in no small part due to the fact that the initial X-Rays taken in the emergency room had not revealed the true extent of the fracturing that had resulted from the dislocation of her ankle bone. Surgery was scheduled for later that week. Recovery time was now estimated at a minimum of eight weeks before she could even put full weight on it; and since it was her right ankle that meant no driving either.
She was stunned. No walking. No driving. Eight weeks! What was she going to do? First things first, I said “Let’s get through the surgery and then let me worry about the rest.” Three days later, I sat in the lobby of the hospital listening to the surgeon explain that after opening her up it became clear that the damage to the bone structure was much more extensive than the pictures had shown. The x-ray in his hand said it all - ten screws and a three and a half inch metal plate. My wife was officially a walking hardware store.
Medical science is great, and with modern advances extensive hospital stays are no longer required for many operations. A few short hours after having her ankle reconstructed, I was delivering her home to her recovery station, otherwise known as the family room couch. With a rotating schedule of pain killers and sleep, physical healing would now begin. It was at this juncture that reality began to creep into focus and the impact of her accident and how it would affect all of us became clear. It was also at this time that we realized just how many people truly loved her.
When she arrived home, we watched over her diligently. And although relegated to the couch, she was empowered with crutches to move about on her own accord. It was during those moments we found humor for the second time. Any time she moved through the house, you could hear someone making the sound effect from the old TV show, “The Bionic Woman.” Images of Lindsey Wagner running in slow motion with “dunna nunna na…dunna nunna na” in the background kept us all laughing.
The unspoken hope of “paying it forward” is that you will never have to make a withdrawal yourself. Trudie has paid into the accounts of others for as long as I have known her. She freely gives of her time, talent and when possible, her treasure. She gives without measure; never tallying each chit on a mental spreadsheet. And so it was at her hour of need that she learned just how much she had invested in others and how much they desired to return the favor.
I am fortunate that the company I work for encourages work-life balance. They have all been so understanding and flexible in allowing me to work from home during Trudie’s recovery. Combined with her sister and her best friend covering for me every other week so I could put some face time in at the office, and my brother’s wife taking them to school each morning, we have managed to have someone there to help her do all that she normally does for us. And, our extended school family has been absolutely wonderful - preparing meals to send home with the kids and carpooling them to athletic events. She keeps saying she will never be able to thank them enough, and I keep reminding her to accept this as their thanks for all that she has done for each of them and their children.
The third humorous moment of the whole ordeal came when the doctor prescribed that she start exercising the muscles and put partial weight on her ankle. I heard one of the kids comment to a friend that her mom was going to have to go to rehab. We quickly explained that unlike on the news, this type of rehab was to recondition their mom’s ankle, not to break an addiction to pain killers.
69 days and counting – she has passed the first four stages of recovery - denial, acknowledgment, fear, frustration – and now she is headed into stage 5: acceptance. Acceptance that accidents can happen. Acceptance that sometimes it is good to take a break, even if God has to take extreme measures to make it happen. Acceptance that life’s little detours come in many forms and are not only provided for us, but also for those around us to help them find their destinations. Acceptance of the gifts and support of others. Acceptance that she is loved by so many.
The next few months may be the most challenging. She will be entering stage 6: patience. The doctors say rehab may be quite lengthy to regain full use of her ankle. Knowing my Trudie, she will want to jump right back into her many roles with both feet. She will need to have the patience to understand that in some cases she will have to go a little slower to ensure she doesn’t take a step backward. And she needs to remember that she can rely on others to help her along her way to full recovery.
I have always appreciated my wife. We share a real partnership in life. However, this ordeal has helped me understand that the partnership is not always balanced 50/50. Taking on her roles and responsibilities around the house and with the children while maintaining a full time job of my own has been eye-opening, as this is what she does on a regular basis. I will never take what she does for granted again. And, I will never underestimate the value of “doing for others as you would have them do unto you.” For many of us, that Biblical reference is a warning, in her case it was a blessing. A blessing I hope to continue to give throughout my life.
- Ken
~~~
The snow began falling in Raleigh that Christmas day in 2010. It was absolutely beautiful. No mere pebbles of sleet, giant fluffy flakes drifted down minute after minute, hour upon hour. At dawn, the blanket measured seven inches according to my daughter’s pink wooden ruler. There is only one activity deserving of a present like this delivered by God and graced with blue skies and sunshine – sledding.
Unlike my adventures in Troy, Michigan, in which I endured snow for months on end; snow and ice which accumulated into “termite” mounds on parking lots and grayish sludge along the roadside, most winter weather in North Carolina is a blessing – beautiful, but very short lived. It was with this urgency in mind that we all headed out for a day of outdoor fun on the slopes of the Dorothea Dix Hospital grounds. Dix has acres of hills and wooded paths just perfect for a trashcan lid, sheet of plastic, or for the northern transplants, an honest to goodness Radio Flyer sled. There were even a few inner tubes and snow boards.
Our children, their cousins, their friends, their aunt and uncle, and a whole slew of others joined us on the slopes. And for over half a day, we careened and slid and raced and jumped avoiding trees and each other while we enjoyed playing in the snow. And though we had some close calls with a low set fence and a couple of determined tree trunks, no one got hurt or injured that afternoon.
As the light of the day began to wane and hunger forced us in search of food, we thanked God for our gift and headed to my brother’s for pizza and hot chocolate. There is nothing that makes a group of kids hungrier than a day of physical activity, and so we found ourselves gathered around the kitchen enjoying Italian pies; recounting each more dangerous feat and swapping tales of survival in the Raleigh “alps.” The evening came to a close, and we bid all goodnight. It was then that the singular omen of what was to come was overlooked in our continued enthusiasm – while backing out of the drive, my oldest daughter’s friend Nathan’s truck got stuck on the ice and with some effort by all of the adults present, we managed to get it free. It was a sign; not recognized as a portent of what was to come.
I have heard it said that accidents happen closest to home. Whether this is because we let our defenses down under the comforts of a familiar environment or we are merely distracted by its normalcy, the home front is repeatedly fraught with peril. And so it was that snowy night, for as the rays of the sun had warmed us on the slopes, they had also heated the topmost layer of snow on our front yard. And as the sun’s rays retreated, the cold of the night air coated the bed surrounding our willow tree with a thin frozen sheet, its white camouflage masking the exposed roots, creating the trap which would soon accost my wife.
Trudie and I arrived home first. After running inside, we ditched our outer shell of sledding garments and donned some warm winter PJs and sweatshirts. Then the kids pulled up in Nathan’s truck. Nathan is one of Trudie’s favorites, so when they got out, she went running down to see him before he headed home. As she raced across the frozen ground, she fell prey to Mother Nature’s snare; the roots of the willow tree catching her right foot as she slipped, preventing it from following her left and instead pinning it beneath her. Every home in the neighborhood echoed the sound of bones grinding against each other in unnatural formations. And then I heard her scream.
Did I mention we have three children? I have seen my wife in excruciating pain as each child came into this world. Trudie has a threshold beyond most people I know. So when I tell you she screamed, I mean she was in agony. Now, if there is a humorous point in this whole story it can be found here, at this moment. As we are carrying her into the house, my wife says to me, “I think Scott [my brother in-law] has some vicoden [he had just had some dental work]; I’ll just take a couple of those. It’s just a bad sprain.” All the while she is saying this, I am looking at what appears to be a large baseball protruding from the front of her ankle. As I touch it gently, she winces, and I realize it is not swelling, it is the bone of her leg which has become dislocated as a result of the fall.
Thank goodness for responsible, college age children! Alex and Nathan took the younger two to Nathan’s mom’s house to spend the night relieving me of the responsibility of watching over them while tending to my wife. Their sleepover also minimized any stress they might have worrying over the safety of their mother.
Trudie and I spent the next five hours in the emergency room, joining other late night visitors including a Chinese family waiting for the birth of their grandchild and various other individuals suffering from a range of ailments. I must say, for the day after Christmas, it was relatively calm; exactly what my wife needed as her leg throbbed excruciatingly.
The nurses ushered us into the triage wing where we prepared for the worst. Although I suspected that it was going to be bad, Trudie clung to the possibility that she would walk out with just a really, really bad sprain after all was said and done. The doctor assigned to her came in, did a few spot checks, confirmed that the ankle was indeed dislocated (like there was any doubt in my mind) and then ordered a set of X-Rays. Twenty minutes later reality hit my best friend and she faced the hard facts that her ankle was not only dislocated, but also fractured and would require surgery and a pin to repair the damage. Unfortunately, due to the swelling they had to set the whole thing in a temporary cast; the surgery would be delayed for at least a week.
Before the cast could be set we had to deal with the problem of the bone bulging against the front of her leg. My only experience with dislocations up until her fall was what I had seen in the movies. If you have never experienced it first hand, let me explain it to you; it is nothing like the movies. In the movies, when a character has a dislocation, one of the other characters simply grabs the persons limb firmly, gives it a twist and “pop” the bone goes back in place. Then they all go back to whatever they were doing. This is NOT the way it is in real life. Picture this. Trudie lying there, a morphine drip supposedly deadening the pain, the doctor holding her right leg firmly in his left hand and the heal of her foot in his right. At the first pull and twist, her face imploded and her eyes about popped out of her skull. This continued for several minutes until at last the bone snapped back into place. Now if this was on the big screen, everything would have been better. In her case, it required more morphine.
During our entire relationship, I don’t believe I have ever seen Trudie just “take it easy.” Her idea of relaxing is to host an art day for 10 or more children and “heard cats” for the afternoon. A break for her is teaching drama after school to a group of middle school students in the height of their hormonal shifts and personality revelations. So when it was determined that she would for all practical purposes be relegated to the downstairs couch for a week, I thought she would lose her mind. I even took to sleeping on an air mattress with her to make sure she wouldn’t attempt to do anything for herself. If there was an upside to the timing of this whole affair, it was that being a holiday week, I was on vacation and working from home, so I could be there to help manage all of the things that she normally would have. Her job was to rest and keep her foot elevated, and I was going to make sure she did.
I am thankful that in the few times our family has experienced tragedy or medical challenges like this God has truly blessed us with the best doctors and surgeons. This time was no exception. Now, you may think that the best surgeons have the fanciest offices like you see on television. I am convinced this is not the case. As a matter of a fact, if I go into a surgeon’s office and see anything but whitewashed sheets of plywood on reinforced sawhorses, I believe they are spending way too much on the furniture and too little on the equipment and the staff. And so it was with the doctor who would repair her ankle.
She sat on the wooden cot, face still contorted with pain after a week of waiting for the swelling to recede, expectantly hoping for a good prognosis from the doctor. The expression on her surgeon spoke volumes, and as he reviewed her latest X-Rays with us, it became obvious this was not going to be a quick and easy recovery. This was in no small part due to the fact that the initial X-Rays taken in the emergency room had not revealed the true extent of the fracturing that had resulted from the dislocation of her ankle bone. Surgery was scheduled for later that week. Recovery time was now estimated at a minimum of eight weeks before she could even put full weight on it; and since it was her right ankle that meant no driving either.
She was stunned. No walking. No driving. Eight weeks! What was she going to do? First things first, I said “Let’s get through the surgery and then let me worry about the rest.” Three days later, I sat in the lobby of the hospital listening to the surgeon explain that after opening her up it became clear that the damage to the bone structure was much more extensive than the pictures had shown. The x-ray in his hand said it all - ten screws and a three and a half inch metal plate. My wife was officially a walking hardware store.
Medical science is great, and with modern advances extensive hospital stays are no longer required for many operations. A few short hours after having her ankle reconstructed, I was delivering her home to her recovery station, otherwise known as the family room couch. With a rotating schedule of pain killers and sleep, physical healing would now begin. It was at this juncture that reality began to creep into focus and the impact of her accident and how it would affect all of us became clear. It was also at this time that we realized just how many people truly loved her.
When she arrived home, we watched over her diligently. And although relegated to the couch, she was empowered with crutches to move about on her own accord. It was during those moments we found humor for the second time. Any time she moved through the house, you could hear someone making the sound effect from the old TV show, “The Bionic Woman.” Images of Lindsey Wagner running in slow motion with “dunna nunna na…dunna nunna na” in the background kept us all laughing.
The unspoken hope of “paying it forward” is that you will never have to make a withdrawal yourself. Trudie has paid into the accounts of others for as long as I have known her. She freely gives of her time, talent and when possible, her treasure. She gives without measure; never tallying each chit on a mental spreadsheet. And so it was at her hour of need that she learned just how much she had invested in others and how much they desired to return the favor.
I am fortunate that the company I work for encourages work-life balance. They have all been so understanding and flexible in allowing me to work from home during Trudie’s recovery. Combined with her sister and her best friend covering for me every other week so I could put some face time in at the office, and my brother’s wife taking them to school each morning, we have managed to have someone there to help her do all that she normally does for us. And, our extended school family has been absolutely wonderful - preparing meals to send home with the kids and carpooling them to athletic events. She keeps saying she will never be able to thank them enough, and I keep reminding her to accept this as their thanks for all that she has done for each of them and their children.
The third humorous moment of the whole ordeal came when the doctor prescribed that she start exercising the muscles and put partial weight on her ankle. I heard one of the kids comment to a friend that her mom was going to have to go to rehab. We quickly explained that unlike on the news, this type of rehab was to recondition their mom’s ankle, not to break an addiction to pain killers.
69 days and counting – she has passed the first four stages of recovery - denial, acknowledgment, fear, frustration – and now she is headed into stage 5: acceptance. Acceptance that accidents can happen. Acceptance that sometimes it is good to take a break, even if God has to take extreme measures to make it happen. Acceptance that life’s little detours come in many forms and are not only provided for us, but also for those around us to help them find their destinations. Acceptance of the gifts and support of others. Acceptance that she is loved by so many.
The next few months may be the most challenging. She will be entering stage 6: patience. The doctors say rehab may be quite lengthy to regain full use of her ankle. Knowing my Trudie, she will want to jump right back into her many roles with both feet. She will need to have the patience to understand that in some cases she will have to go a little slower to ensure she doesn’t take a step backward. And she needs to remember that she can rely on others to help her along her way to full recovery.
I have always appreciated my wife. We share a real partnership in life. However, this ordeal has helped me understand that the partnership is not always balanced 50/50. Taking on her roles and responsibilities around the house and with the children while maintaining a full time job of my own has been eye-opening, as this is what she does on a regular basis. I will never take what she does for granted again. And, I will never underestimate the value of “doing for others as you would have them do unto you.” For many of us, that Biblical reference is a warning, in her case it was a blessing. A blessing I hope to continue to give throughout my life.
- Ken
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Around and around
My kids listen to AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and Eminem. My girls wear bell bottom jeans, loose flowing blouses and hairbands while texting on smartphones. My son cuts his hair short, mixes rap on his laptop and carries enough music in his pocket to fill a small truck with the vinyl equivalent. Cloud storage is reviving the era of terminal based computing. Youtube has re-birthed the era of live video. And social networking has brought communication back as a revived art form.
I considered recently that the past 60 years encompass one of the longest, if not the longest, periods of multi-generational adoption of cultural norms in the last millennium. We are in a time when four generations (or more depending on who is counting) have listened to basically the same music and worn the same styles of clothing for six decades (with the exception of disco, which some of us wish had never happened in the first place). This same demographic mix has also grown up with live communication technologies like television, telephone, and radio and is now immersed with more of the same deployed through the modern infrastructure we call the Internet.
One of the fundamental differences is that the ability to contribute content to this audience is now open to anyone who has access to the Web. Democratized distribution is the name of the game. And in many cases, the content promoted by this audience is judged in a similar democratic way. The people determine what is good and what is bad; and not just by their vote, but by their own contributions of material that compete for attention by the same audience. This self regulating system drives the standards for quality of content up while simultaneously providing mechanisms for feedback and improvement by those who wish to contribute their guidance and instruction.
There is a movement afoot to take this paradigm and apply it in many areas of personal and professional life. It may be the solution to our failing educational system. Students around the globe may have the opportunity to learn from the best teachers in the world regardless of proximity. Professionals seeking knowledge and information, answers to business problems may use this network to gather information or resources to help them find solutions. And, the two may work together to share youthful perspective and out-of-the-box thinking while gaining experience from real world practice.
As we have seen over the past three score years we are a society that has elected to maintain its youthful outlook by embracing change and assimilating it as a part of our own while persisting those elements of previous generations so they might be embraced by our young. As a part of this process, the transformation of how we generate and exchange knowledge, skills and information may take time to fully understand and accept. For it is not simply an alternative to the systems we have in place today, but rather an evolutionary replacement to support our global transformation into the world of tomorrow.
- Ken
I considered recently that the past 60 years encompass one of the longest, if not the longest, periods of multi-generational adoption of cultural norms in the last millennium. We are in a time when four generations (or more depending on who is counting) have listened to basically the same music and worn the same styles of clothing for six decades (with the exception of disco, which some of us wish had never happened in the first place). This same demographic mix has also grown up with live communication technologies like television, telephone, and radio and is now immersed with more of the same deployed through the modern infrastructure we call the Internet.
One of the fundamental differences is that the ability to contribute content to this audience is now open to anyone who has access to the Web. Democratized distribution is the name of the game. And in many cases, the content promoted by this audience is judged in a similar democratic way. The people determine what is good and what is bad; and not just by their vote, but by their own contributions of material that compete for attention by the same audience. This self regulating system drives the standards for quality of content up while simultaneously providing mechanisms for feedback and improvement by those who wish to contribute their guidance and instruction.
There is a movement afoot to take this paradigm and apply it in many areas of personal and professional life. It may be the solution to our failing educational system. Students around the globe may have the opportunity to learn from the best teachers in the world regardless of proximity. Professionals seeking knowledge and information, answers to business problems may use this network to gather information or resources to help them find solutions. And, the two may work together to share youthful perspective and out-of-the-box thinking while gaining experience from real world practice.
As we have seen over the past three score years we are a society that has elected to maintain its youthful outlook by embracing change and assimilating it as a part of our own while persisting those elements of previous generations so they might be embraced by our young. As a part of this process, the transformation of how we generate and exchange knowledge, skills and information may take time to fully understand and accept. For it is not simply an alternative to the systems we have in place today, but rather an evolutionary replacement to support our global transformation into the world of tomorrow.
- Ken
Friday, February 4, 2011
…in the other guy’s shoes
Well, after 20 years of being the vendor, exhibitor or presenter, this past week I got to be in the other guy’s shoes. Attending the ASTD Tech Conference in San Jose was a nice diversion from my day-to-day activities as Senior Manager of Learning Technology. Granted, I was in the grand mecca of geekdom, home of Adobe, Cisco, Google and many others, but I was still on hiatus from the East Coast.
So how did the shoes fit? I guess it depended on where and what I was doing. I must say I missed the show floor. As far as the vendor gig goes, that was probably my favorite part; meeting potential customers, pitching the latest tool or service. And, during some of the presentations I yearned to be up there contributing and not just consuming. But I did enjoy the consuming. It was awesome learning from my industry peers. I even finally leared how to use hash tags in my tweets and play SCVNGR (thanks @stevier).
Another great part of going to a show like this is to see and hear what other folks are learning. I find that they ask questions I would like answers to that I didn’t know I wanted asked in the first place. The conference covered the gambit from mobile learning to advanced Googling to training on a global scale. Knowledge and information and the skills to both access and apply them are expanding at a geometric rate. It’s kind of like grains on a chess board. Start with one grain on one corner and then double each square. By the end the amount of data is overwhelming; and in the case of learning for business, the entire set of “stuff” may be different at each square. The strategies we received and discussed this week are the tip of the iceberg (to use a cliche) for what we face in the years to come.
What was also wonderful to see at the “geek” learning show, was the number of pairs of high heeled shoes in the mix. Coming from a fairly industrial sector in previous years, it was awesome to see the number of female geeks in the business. Having two daughters who both have a passion for writing and design, it is refreshing to see how progressive the learning field has become.
As I head home to potentially switching from sneakers to snow boots, I am left with fond memories of warm San Jose! Looking forward to seeing everyone again next year.
- Ken
So how did the shoes fit? I guess it depended on where and what I was doing. I must say I missed the show floor. As far as the vendor gig goes, that was probably my favorite part; meeting potential customers, pitching the latest tool or service. And, during some of the presentations I yearned to be up there contributing and not just consuming. But I did enjoy the consuming. It was awesome learning from my industry peers. I even finally leared how to use hash tags in my tweets and play SCVNGR (thanks @stevier).
Another great part of going to a show like this is to see and hear what other folks are learning. I find that they ask questions I would like answers to that I didn’t know I wanted asked in the first place. The conference covered the gambit from mobile learning to advanced Googling to training on a global scale. Knowledge and information and the skills to both access and apply them are expanding at a geometric rate. It’s kind of like grains on a chess board. Start with one grain on one corner and then double each square. By the end the amount of data is overwhelming; and in the case of learning for business, the entire set of “stuff” may be different at each square. The strategies we received and discussed this week are the tip of the iceberg (to use a cliche) for what we face in the years to come.
What was also wonderful to see at the “geek” learning show, was the number of pairs of high heeled shoes in the mix. Coming from a fairly industrial sector in previous years, it was awesome to see the number of female geeks in the business. Having two daughters who both have a passion for writing and design, it is refreshing to see how progressive the learning field has become.
As I head home to potentially switching from sneakers to snow boots, I am left with fond memories of warm San Jose! Looking forward to seeing everyone again next year.
- Ken
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Thanksgiving + Leftover Fireworks + Father and Son = Movie Special Fx
So my son and I found ourselves with some time to kill over the Thanksgiving 2010 weekend. Looking for a diversion, we came across a box of leftover fireworks from the 4th of July and we said, "Hey, let's make a movie." And so we did.
Given the fact that mom was home, we promised to be careful, which in retrospect was probably a good idea. So, instead of lighting the fuses directly, I recommended we take a lesson from my old model rocketry days and observations taken from watching Mythbusters. We created a firing board consisting of some large gauge nails, wire, a portable car battery jump starter and homemade rocket igniters (more on this in a minute). The nails served as contacts for triggering each of the igniters to fire when touched by a lead from the battery. What this enabled us to do was run 8 foot leads to each of the fireworks we wanted to explode and trigger one or more in sequence when we wanted from a "safe" distance.
Key to the success of this operation was the homemade rocket igniters. To create these, simply take about 3" of picture hanging wire, create a small loop in the middle, coat the loop with some lacquer nail polish (see mom for this) and let dry. Running current from the jump starter causes the loop to heat up rapidly igniting the lacquer which in turn will ignite the fuse of the fireworks.
After 32 years of waiting, a day of making mayhem with my son made a childhood dream of my own come true - producing a movie with real explosive special effects, just like those seen on the big screen. The results of our day can be seen in the videos below. Note, the two videos are the same except for the sound tracks. Izy discovered that you get an entirely different experience based on the music playing during the movie. Enjoy!
- Ken
Given the fact that mom was home, we promised to be careful, which in retrospect was probably a good idea. So, instead of lighting the fuses directly, I recommended we take a lesson from my old model rocketry days and observations taken from watching Mythbusters. We created a firing board consisting of some large gauge nails, wire, a portable car battery jump starter and homemade rocket igniters (more on this in a minute). The nails served as contacts for triggering each of the igniters to fire when touched by a lead from the battery. What this enabled us to do was run 8 foot leads to each of the fireworks we wanted to explode and trigger one or more in sequence when we wanted from a "safe" distance.
Key to the success of this operation was the homemade rocket igniters. To create these, simply take about 3" of picture hanging wire, create a small loop in the middle, coat the loop with some lacquer nail polish (see mom for this) and let dry. Running current from the jump starter causes the loop to heat up rapidly igniting the lacquer which in turn will ignite the fuse of the fireworks.
After 32 years of waiting, a day of making mayhem with my son made a childhood dream of my own come true - producing a movie with real explosive special effects, just like those seen on the big screen. The results of our day can be seen in the videos below. Note, the two videos are the same except for the sound tracks. Izy discovered that you get an entirely different experience based on the music playing during the movie. Enjoy!
- Ken
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