Switches

I recently learned something about myself. It annoys me, ever so slightly, to flip a switch down to turn a light on or up to turn one off. In my mind, up is on and down is off - it's even labeled that way on many switches. I guess I must have grown up in a place with mostly single-switch lights. Up equals on was engrained in me long ago.

As I mentioned, I only recently became aware that I cared about this. I think, in the past, I simply didn't use many switches that violated my Up=On code. My exposure to multi-switch lights was apparently mild enough that I never correlated it with any degree of annoyance or discomfort. I coped.

We remodeled our home about three years ago. I love many things about the new space. Our kitchen is bigger, we have a new family room and a nicer upstairs. We also have a multitude of multi-switch lights. I don't know if it's part of some insane building code or if our contractor or electrician was just really into them, but almost every new overhead light is controllable by more than one switch. The kitchen lights can be switched on and off from one of three locations. The door to our garage is near the door to the backyard. Each door has a switch next to it for controlling the light over the common entryway. The two switches are about four steps apart. The light in the entryway by our side door is also wired to two switches - if I stand midway between the switches I can reach both of them easily. It just feels like a little overkill. Our electricians were a father-son team and I sometimes wonder if all of this was just done to give junior some training. He needed it. It took us less than a day after they proclaimed their work done to find that the switch at the top of the basement stairs only worked if the one at the bottom of the stairs was in the up position.

Anyway, suffice to say I am often flipping switches the 'wrong' direction. This increased frequency has finally made me realize that I don't like it. I find myself trying to manipulate the switches such that the one I'm most likely to see (yes, I don't even like seeing them flipped the wrong way) will be in the correct orientation. I try my best to cope; I have a mantra that I try to focus on: "Switches do not have a state; they are neither on nor off. Only the light has a state. The switch is merely a toggle for the light's state. Look to the light for the true state. The switch tells you nothing." Believe it or not, this has actually helped ease my annoyance. I recognize that I was incorrectly equating the switch position with the state of the light. While this is true for the single switch case, it isn't necessarily so when there are multiple switches.

I say it helps, but it's still something I'm working on. I just can't help but try to discern the state of the light by looking at the switches. For some reason, I feel like I might need this information if the bulb burns out or something. For most of the two-switch lights in my house the light is only on if the two switches are in opposite directions; one up, one down. Unfortunately, this isn't true for the whole house.

Like I said, junior needed some training.

The Lesson

Last night, I took my youngest son, N, to his piano lesson. His teacher has a real gift for understanding the personalities of her students. When she points out a mistake, she is careful to always preface it with all things that he'd done correctly. N tends to be pretty hard on himself so it's important to remind him that one little mistake does not mean it was horrible. Sadly, she's not around when he's practicing during the week - without her helpful affirmations each misplayed note often reduces him to tears.

The lesson is 45 minutes long. At the midway point they typically take a break and do something "non-piano" for a few minutes. Sometimes, she has him clap rhythms or identify notes from flash cards or just jump up and down for awhile. She's taught long enough to know when a kid needs to change gears. Last night, she proposed they do some singing for their break. In the past, N had told her that he didn't like to sing. She asked him to try it anyway, just this once. N agreed - she can truly work magic.

For the next few minutes, she sang various combinations of "do-re-me" and N then echoed them back to her. N's pitch was spot-on and she praised his "lovely tone". He soaked up the compliment and was obviously enjoying himself. The "break" went longer than usual as she switched to playing notes on the piano to which N would then identify and sing the proper "do-re-me" etc.. It was enjoyable to see his confidence grow.

We left the lesson feeling good.  He's always in a good mood after his piano lesson - 45 minutes of affirmation will do that for you, better than any therapist. As I drove home, I was treated to him singing about the car, the lesson, the streets. When we got home, he sat down to work on a pile of homework. He sang about math, he sang about reading, he sang about everything.

That piano lesson was worth every penny.

Office Move

My office recently relocated from the dinkytown neighborhood of Minneapolis to a nearby suburb.  Whereas I used to be able to walk across the street for a good cup of coffee or lunch, now nothing is that close.  Our old site was a suite in an old high school that had been converted for office use.  The place was dripping with character and reminders of its past.  The owners hadn't tried to hard to hide the building's previous use - our manufacturing floor was part of the old gym, the free throw and boundary lines still visible.  Old blackboards still hung in some of the other rooms.  It was an interesting place to work, filled with nooks and crannies.

Part of what made the old office building interesting was some of the other tenants.  The space adjacent to ours housed a small shop where a couple of guys spent their time building (or perhaps repairing) violins and other stringed instruments.  I have to admit, I kind of envied those guys.  They always seemed relaxed, even laid-back.  The door to their suite had a big window and it never seemed like they were rushing or pressed for time.  Either they were much better at managing schedules than me or perhaps the type of work they were doing was of a nature that couldn't be hurried.  Whatever the case, they seemed less harried than I often felt. 

The lower floor of the building contained a number of small offices - apparently perfect for your typical grass-roots movement.  I remember there was a pro-environment one and an anti-war one and a get-out-the-vote one and a bunch of others.  These places were the source of the incessant, clipboard toting pollsters that accosted me on the street corners.  I got the sense that these groups shared members - the anti-war guy on the corner on Tuesday looked suspiciously like the clean-water guy out there on Thursday.  The clipboard folks seem passionate, which makes them interesting and sometimes a little frightening.

My new office is a suite in a standard office park.  The walls are beige; the carpet is mauve - same color scheme as a place I worked about five years ago.  When I step out the door I enter a sea of parking lots and other, almost identical, office buildings.  Our suite is isolated from the one next to us so I have no idea what sort of business my neighbor does.  This is a familiar world for me - I've spent most of my career working in places exactly like this.  My four years in dinkytown was an anomaly which, sadly, came to an end.  But I don't mind the new location that much.  After all, it is very familiar and that lends a certain degree of comfort.  The commute is easier and about the same distance, although I don’t know if I'll be able to find a suitable bike route. 

My biggest regret over leaving the old place is that it was such a good source of blog material.

Movie Dream

I usually don't remember my dreams, but for a couple of mornings now, I have been able to recall bits and pieces of what my subconscious was busy with overnight.  Initially, I thought my dream was taking place in America's wild west of the past.  There were cowboys, soldiers fighting Indians, horses and lots of dust.  It sure seemed like a western.

As I thought about the dream, I realized that it was, indeed, like a cowboy movie.  Like making a cowboy movie, to be more precise.  In my dream, I am charged with writing (and rewriting) the script.  Yesterday, I awoke with a sense of accomplishment.  The movie has an intricate plot and I had deftly navigated the characters through an incredible journey without sacrificing believe-ability.  Everyone was pleased with the clever dialogue and unexpected plot twists.  Even though I couldn't remember the specifics, I awoke feeling almost like I'd accomplished something.

This morning I awoke with a far different feeling.  From all accounts, I am still working on the same movie.  This time, however, one of the early, crucial scenes just isn't working.  No matter what I try, I can't get it right.  One rendition is too dark.  Another isn't believable.  There is indecision as to whether the movie should be a dark, serious drama or more of a light comedy.  No one will confirm which path to take and I can't finish the first scene until I know.  I awoke feeling frustrated.

Strange that I could have such different experiences dreaming about essentially the same thing on consecutive nights.  Today was my first day back at work after over a week off.  No doubt that fact had some influence on things.