Going Home

What are you doing for Easter?’ asked a friend today.

‘Going home,’ I said.

But what does ‘going home’ mean? It seems a phrase full of  possible meanings.

‘We’re going home’, was what the hero would declare at the end of films in boyhood days, before the credits began to roll on the black and white television screen.

There would be a shot of weary but victorious men heading back to wives and families.

‘You’re going home’, is a word of reassurance, a statement that all will be well, that there is no need to worry, that others will now deal with whatever must be done.

The thought of going home brings thoughts of security, of rest, of problems resolved, of petty annoyances being set aside. Going home is a thought to bring a moment of peace.

But where is home? Is it perhaps the place in which we spent our childhood years? But what if everyone we knew has long since gone? Is it the place where we have lived for most of our life?

What if we have moved house frequently, with long distances between each place? Is it the place where we find our family?

What if our loved ones are scattered across various locations, perhaps even in different countries?

‘Home is where the heart is’ was often heard growing up in Finglas. What did it mean? Your heart might be in many places, or in no place at all, did that mean you had many homes, or no home at all? It did not really make sense, even in those times. 

Short of making the final journey, what does ‘going home’ mean when there is no place we might call home? 

Is ‘home’ an aspiration? Is it hoping for the sort of place where people might gather in Christmas movies?

Is it a collection of images that includes barbecues on summer evenings, and well- kept gardens, and kindly neighbours, and close knit communities, and family members coming back on surprise visits? One can hardly conjure such a home from nothing.

Perhaps, for those of us who have lived far away fron their first home, ‘home’ is like retirement, something that will only be recognized when we arrive there.

Agile in kürzform

Ich verstehe heute besser, was Agilität in der Programmierung

bedeutet, und zwar mache ich das seit Beginn meiner Programmierkarriere. Bring etwas zum Laufen, probier es aus, lern' etwas daraus, geh' vielleicht in eine andere Richtung, aber prüf' ständig wie es beim Benutzer ankommt und ändere entsprechend. "Listen to your users".

Prof. Anton Frick, von dem ich Anfang der 80er Jahre bei Hengstler Gleitzeit viel gelernt habe, hat auf diese Weise gearbeitet. Ich habe PersInfo DOS nach diesen Prinzipien erstellt. Alles, was perbit in den Jahren 1983-1996 entwickelt hat, wurde auf diese Weise entwickelt. Jetzt, da ich besser verstehe was Agilität eigentlich ist, könnte ich alle Bücher und die gesamten Artikel die es darüber gibt, in ein paar Worte fassen, die den Unterschied erklären.

Ich habe in Dublin auf eine Anti-Agile-Entwicklung in einem Unternehmen gestoßen, in dem die Software mithilfe von schriftliche Spezifikationen entwickelt wurde. Die Philosophie war, das Ganze von vornherein zu entwerfen und Teile des Projekts an verschiedene Gruppen von Programmierern weiterzugeben, die nie die vollständige Spezifikation sahen, sodass niemand wusste richtig, woran sie arbeiteten. Das Unternehmen ging sehr schnell Pleite. Die Programmierer bildete den Kern eines anderen Unternehmens, das ebenfalls seine Geschäftstätigkeit aufgab, jedes Mal, weil das Produkt die Kundenerwartungen weit verfehlt hat.

Father and Daughter

June 2005

"I've never really understood my father, but he always let me do whatever I wanted—he let me go." (Well not really, not yet anyway!)

Wherever I go ...

For Joyce basically, now approaching 14 and growing up too fast.

The final words from A.A. Milne’s stories of Winnie the Pooh. The anguish of Christopher Robin as he tries to explain his going away and the incomprehension of poor Pooh are beautifully human.

Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was still looking at the world with his chin in his hands, called out “Pooh!”

“Yes?” said Pooh.
“When I’m – when – Pooh!”
“Yes, Christopher Robin?”
“I’m not going to do Nothing any more.”
“Never again?”
“Well, not so much. They don’t let you.”

Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again.
“Yes, Christopher Robin?” said Pooh helpfully.
“Pooh, when I’m – you know – when I’m not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?”
“Just Me?”
“Yes, Pooh.”
“Will you be here too?”
“Yes, Pooh, I will be really. I promise I will be, Pooh.”
“That’s good,” said Pooh.
“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.”
Pooh thought for a little.
“How old shall I be then?”
“Ninety-nine.”

Pooh nodded.
“I promise,” he said.

Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh’s paw.
“Pooh,” said Christopher Robin earnestly, “if I – if I’m not quite” he stopped and tried again – “. Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won’t you?”
“Understand what?”

“Oh, nothing.” He laughed and jumped to his feet. “Come on!”

“Where?” said Pooh.

“Anywhere,” said Christopher Robin.

* * * * *
So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest a little boy and his Bear will always be playing. The anguish of Christopher Robin as he tries to explain his going away and the incomprehension of poor Pooh are beautifully human 

Hermann Hesse’s 100-Year-Old Love Letter to Trees

Memories of years of running in the woods.



A Virtual Walk Through Kew Gardens.

72 this year

72 two weeks ago—and glad of it. Why regret getting older? I remember being young, ha! There are lessons to be taken from living so many years. Let me mention a few here:

• The cost of youth is ignorance; you know less than you think you do.
• The cost of wisdom is pain; there comes a point where you know more than you want to.
• Nothing is ever as simple as it first appears to be.
• Certainty is one of the great sins.

I could add a few, but what I might add (for example, things like God exists and cynicism is cowardice) are not so much lessons learned as personal convictions founded in faith. I remember Rev. Robin Armstrong in St. Canices, Finglas very well.

Thinking back on those days brought back a surprise memory of the Monkees, one of the most underrated groups of the sixties and a Youtube search revealed:

It was perhaps one of the best lyrics (Barry Mann/Cynthia Weil) 60's pop music produced. When the world (and I) were young, things were simple. The older I got, the more I realised that there were no simple answers to any difficult question, and sometimes no answers at all. Now there are only shades of gray. Nothing is simple, and nothing is certain. If you can't accept this, maybe you're still too young. Give it time. It worked for me.

One of the greatest mistakes....

of all time!

Bill Gates' biggest failure in his own words is that Microsoft didn't make Android. Hat's off to him. Most great men when looking back on their careers tend to be less specific in their regrets.

But perhaps he's thinking too small. I think his biggest failure was to miss that at the point Windows became the default platform, the role of Microsoft fundamentally changed, and he fought that and that crippled his company and the market. He couldn't make Android at Microsoft any more than GM could make a Tesla.

So perhaps his biggest mistake was not buying a big stake in Google when they were in the garage. And anything else that looked promising. One of his strengths as a leader in the PC business was that he engaged with criticism, and learned from it. Most people in his position failed at that, and that's why he won so big.

Thanks again to Dave Winer.

Destiny is all

A video by Matt Mahurin.



“You start at the end. You start with emptiness. You start with nothing. You start with the void… I lost my mother when I was 14. I learned so much from her vanishing. I wish it had never happened. I wish that I had been older. But as a young teenager staring hard into that void, this is where a certain life-force gathered pace in me. Where a certain defiance began. To defy the odds. To defy people’s expectation. To defy death itself. To rob it of it’s power over me or anyone else…
-Bono.

It all started in the sixties

and I was there. Nicely done Sir Paul, the soundtrack to my life too.

At 27 minutes somswhat longer than the videos I usually show here but well worthwhile for all "older" Beatles fans. Thanks to Steve for the link.

perbit cloud

Stufe 1, Zukunftsvision Dezember 2009 und noch aktuell möchte ich behaupten. 

35 Jahre perbit

und 70 Jahre Richard Manuel.

Nachträglich vielen Dank an alle perbit'ler für die Geburtstagsgrüße und Geschenke letzten Januar.

Mein Leben als Rentner mit 70 und was mache ich jetzt?

Ich wurde oft in Trossingen während den letzten 6 Jahre gefragt, was machst Du jetzt? Seit 2013 bin ich Rentner. Das bin ich heute noch. Allerdings damit ich meine gewöhnten Lebens- Standard beibehalten kann, gehe ich arbeiten. Es ist eine Art irische Pensionierung. 

"Ich bin sehr damit beschäftigt, nichts zu tun
Den ganzen Tag arbeite ich hart daran
Dinge zu finden, die ich nicht tun muss.
Ich bin täglich damit beschäftigt, nirgendwohin zu gehen
Ist das nicht fast ein Vergehen?

Ich wäre gern darüber unglücklich, aber
Ich habe nie die Zeit dazu!"

Nach Bismarcks Einschätzung wäre ich vor fünf Jahren gestorben, also sind die Tage, Wochen und Monate die noch kommen eine Zugabe. Die traditionelle Grenze zum alten Kerl liegt jetzt hinter mir und ich stelle fest, ich bin ganz zufrieden mit dem allgemeinen Zustand des  „Rentner-Seins“; Das weil….

• Ich bin gesund. Das hat vielleicht mehr mit Glück als Verstand zu tun aber ich habe auch einiges dafür getan
• Ich weiß wer ich bin und was ich gut kann
• Ich bin ein freier Mann, in ein freies Land
• Ich bin nicht allein. Ich gehe durch’s Leben mit meiner Familie und Freunde neben mir
• Ich kenne meine Grenzen und habe mich damit abgefunden
• Ich habe mein Alltag so arrangiert, dass ich nur das tun muss was ich tun möchte. 

Dies ist mehr als Zufriedenstellend. Ich könnte mehrere Bücher darüber schreiben, wie es zustande kam, mache ich aber wahrscheinlich nicht.

Meine Großmutter wurde 90 Jahre alt.
Das ist auch mein Ziel, und abgesehen von möglichen nicht vorhersehbarer Ereignisse ist das im 21. Jahrhundert gut machbar. Dies bedeutet, dass ich womöglich zwanzig Jahre Zeit noch habe. Das ist eine lange Zeit und eine kurze Zeit; vor zwanzig Jahren habe ich mit Microsoft Basic Programme geschrieben, es kommt mir vor wie gestern.  

Aber meine Zukunftsstrategie steht schon fest:

• Ich werde weiterhin wie seit 1968 programmieren
• Ich werde meine Geschichten erzählen;
• Ich werde Geist und Körper trainieren;
• Ich werde die Gesellschaft meiner Familie und Freunde weiterhin genießen;

Und das, insbesondere heute Abend in Nussdorf bei Theo. Danke fürs kommen und viel Spaß. 

You were right all along!

There's a hierarchy in the adoption of new techniques and approaches, particularly in the area of cloud software:

1. You were right all along: The thing you were waiting for is here.
2. All of the cool kids are using it now: Take a look at the companies who are already offering solutions. That strategy you didn't care about so much -you need to care about it now.
3. I know you said that this would never work, but it's working.

It's almost impossible to get someone to try something new today if they also have to admit that they were wrong yesterday.

Billy Graham and Bono

With the passing of the Rev. Billy Graham today at the age of 99, it seems appropriate to share Bono’s poem. He wrote it about Graham when he visited him and his family on March 11, 2002. (The poem and photographs are on display at The Billy Graham Library)

May you rest in peace, Billy Graham.

U2, the psalms, Billy Graham, words worth following.

What shall I do today?

“I began to appreciate time. There is nothing more wonderful to have in one’s life, than time. I don’t believe people get enough of it nowadays.

I was excessively fortunate in my childhood and youth, just because I had so much time. You wake up in the morning, and even before you are properly awake you are saying to yourself: ‘Now, what shall I do with today?’ You have the choice, it is there, in front of you, and you can plan as you please.

I don’t mean that there were not a lot of things (duties, we called them) I had to do–of course there were. There were jobs to be done in the house: days when you cleaned silver photograph frames, days when you darned your stockings, days when you learnt a chapter of Great Events in History, a day when you had to go down the town and pay all the tradesmen’s bills. Letters and notes to write, scales and exercises, embroidery–but they were all things that lay in my choice, to arrange as I pleased. I could plan my day, I could say,

‘I think I’ll leave my stockings until this afternoon; I will go down town in the morning and I will come back by the other road and see whether that tree had come into blossom yet.’

Always when I woke up, I had the feeling which I am sure must be natural to all of us, a joy in being alive. I don’t say you feel it consciously–you don’t–but there you are, you are alive, and you open your eyes, and here is another day; another step, as it were, on your journey to an unknown place.

That very exciting journey which is your life.

Not that it is necessarily going to be exciting as a life, but it will be exciting to you because it is your life. That is one of the great secrets of existence, enjoying the gift of life that has been given to you.”

-Agatha Christie, autobiography.

It's all about the song

It's nearly time for the Christmas parties once again and what would be the point of parties without music and songs. Thinking about my favourites on the walk home yesterday one of the best ever suddenly popped into my mind again. Everybody's Talkin', the Nilsson tune, the theme for Midnight Cowboy, the Oscar winner for best picture in 1969. My, my, that was some time ago. 

It's a very short but powerful song.

"Everybody's talking at me! I don't hear a word they're saying. Only the echoes of my mind. People stopping, staring. I can't see their faces. Only the shadows of their eyes."

What a beautiful song! Makes me smile everytime. 

"He's going where the sun keeps shining, thru the pouring rain. He's going where the weather suits his clothes. Backing off the northeast wind, sailing on a summer breeze, and skipping over the ocean like a stone."



And what a unique talent Harry Nilsson was.

If I only had words

After nearly sixty years with words, a competence has developed in providing appropriate sentences, and even paragraphs for birthdays, anniversaries and other occasions. Words for public occasions can be provided in an adequate, if not expert manner.

The most difficult words are those needed for personal moments. Walking to work this morning I remembered a heated conversation with Silke in January and then later on the car radio they played an old Madness song, “My girl’s mad at me:”

My girl’s mad at me

Been on the telephone for an hour

We hardly said a word

I tried and tried but I could not be heard

Why can’t I explain?

Why do I feel this pain?

‘Cause everything I say

She doesn’t understand

She doesn’t realise

She takes it all the wrong way.

From 1980. The passage of nearly four decades has not lessened the sense of being inarticulate in important moments, the sense of not having words that properly express the feelings inside. Sometimes, the words serve only to cause pain. Sometimes, the wrong words are used in the wrong way with the wrong results. Sometimes the words just won’t do.

There is a sense of knowing that this is not how it should be; knowing that it could be done better, knowing that it should be done better. Sorry Silke.

Not writing

Last Friday it was twenty-eight degrees in the shade, or thirty degrees, if one was to believe the car thermometer, but it always exaggerates. Rewe was an attractive place around which to meander for an hour or so, not to buy much, but to enjoy the air conditioning. Browsing DVD's and car cleaning kits, neither of which would normally be of much interest, passed some minutes. Then I saw the large book selection.

It is over forty years since I developed an aspiration to become a writer, not a famous writer, not a wealthy writer, it would be enough to be able to write bad novels, making just enough to get by. A regular money flow that would enable the purchase of a small cottage somewhere, a place within walking distance of a village which had a bread shop and a cafe. 

The flaw in the plan was the inability to write in any way that might earn an income; writing commercially is an extraordinary skill, to be able to write the sort of fiction that people might buy really is a rare talent. Of course, there have been ideas for plots and characters, some storylines that might have been developed, it’s just that when the words are typed, they fall apart, sentences become badly formed, paragraphs have to be forced into shape, there has never been a complete page. Bad novels required considerably more ability than anticipated by someone who would have casually dismissed such literary efforts.

Perhaps the attractions would quickly have paled, perhaps one winter would have been enough. Anyway, without the freedom a writer’s life might have offered, a life in the countryside never became a possibility, though one can still dream.

Keeping in touch

A revolution in human society has taken place with barely a word of comment. Older people might complain about young people inseparable from their smartphones, but the complaints are unheard, ineffectual. In ten years time, it will be hard to imagine what life was like before the smartphone revolution. Even now, there are moments when it is an effort for me to remember what life was like before the world became accessible from a device in my pocket.

It would demand a shift back fifty years for me to be sixteen or seventeen again, how did we stay in touch? It was difficult. Regular contact was with those from your own village or those you met at school; it was face to face conversation. Telephone calls were made from boxes and demanded penny and shilling coins. Many people did not have telephones, so they could only be called if they went to a public phonebox themselves, which meant the call had to be pre-arranged, and if pre-arrangement was necessary, it was much easier to say whatever needed to be said when you met someone, rather than trying to arrange a call, which, anyway, was expensive when you had only a few coins in your pocket. The other way of communicating was writing letters, but a letter posted on a Friday would probably receive no answer until Tuesday, it did not make for lively conversation.

To be honest, I would have loved to have grown up in the age of smartphones, in an age when the world’s information is only a google search away, in an age when conversations with friends need never end, in an age when no-one is cut off, when no-one has to be isolated.

In forty years time, Joyce will probably laugh remembering the primitive devices we had in 2016. We can no more imagine the world in 2056 than teenage boys with long hair and flared trousers could have imagined the smartphones we have now.

When we were "fab"

David Frost makes the introduction, Paul looks soulfully into the camera. You think, what a ham. Then he opens his mouth and out comes Hey Jude. A beautiful memory, for this old child of the sixties at least.

Bowie and Buckley

This interview with William F. Buckley, which I saw in the movie Best of Enemies, about his adversarial relationship with Gore Vidal, really made an impression on me. That it is possible to reach a point in life where you're so tired, so out of ideas, that you wouldn't go back and do it again. 

Here's the beginning of the interview.

Rose: Do you wish you were 20?

Buckley: No. Absolutely not. No. If I had a pill that would reduce my age by 25 years I wouldn't take it. 

Rose: Why not?

Buckley: Because I'm tired of life.

It's such a contrast to David Bowie's last statement about his life. He says better hurry up to express what you have to say because you'll find time runs out before you're finished. 

I go back and forth on this. There are still a lot of things I'd like to do that I'm pretty sure I won't get to do. I am disappointed in the way some things have turned out. I also am at times somewhat tired of life but I have many more moments when I'm not. 

I think as you get older you have a bit of Bowie and a bit of Buckley. You go back and forth. I think eventually, if you live long enough you do get tired of life, the repetition, the roles we're expected to play, whether they fit or not. The endless arguments that never get resolved. The pointless will of human beings. 

PS: If someone offered me a pill that would make me 20, I'd take it!

(Many thanks to Dave Winer for finding the words.)