Field Day was fun. While we (W6CX) didn't shatter any records as far as contacts go, we did have the best turn-out that anyone could remember, had many people walk up to find out what was going on and how to get involved, and had at least two people join the club. Not bad compared to the fact that we didn't have a single person come through our site last year!
The local Salvation Army canteen set up for the weekend and provided our meals, representatives from a couple local agencies made appearances, and we had a little 1:00 a.m. excitement when we discovered that we hadn't covered quite all the sprinkler heads. Breakdown and clean-up posed a challenge as we were all pretty tired by noon on Sunday and we were unexpectedly short a person, but everyone pitched in and worked together so it actually went very smooth and was done in no time.
Our location at Heather Farms park forced us into a smaller area than last year, but I honestly think that it made things better. There was a lot more interaction between stations which lent to a stronger sense of belonging to a common interest group instead of the sense of separation that I had last year.
To top it off, the City of Walnut Creek department of Parks and Recreation has invited us to come back next year and has offered to reserve a spot for us already, even though they don't start taking reservations until February.
Overall, I'd have to say that for the Mount Diablo Amateur Radio Club, Field Day was a huge success!
Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Friday morning excitement
Today was already going to be an interesting and exciting day. Tomorrow noon marks the beginning of Field Day. Today noon marks the beginning of setup for field day.
Although I'm already at 50 hours this week, I had to come in for the sole purpose of meeting a shipping company to get equipment shipped out that is coming off lease. Everything's ready to go and as soon as the carrier signs the bill of lading, I'm out the door.
The list of "to-dos" for today include finish (start!) gatering my radio gear, clothes, tent and jetboil (for coffee!), get a vehicle from Rod (somehow) get over to Heather Farms park in Walnut Creek to meet my buddy John, shuttle him over to OES to get one of the department vans and light tower/generator, get back to the park and set up. Unfortunately, I have no idea as of yet what time the shipper will arrive. In the past, they've been here around 10. That would suit me just fine.
Now to add to the excitement of it all: After my train left the station this morning, the driver got on the intercom and informed me that my station was closed "due to police activity" and that there was no estimated time of reopening. (Police activity isn't a big surprise in Oakland. Police inactivity would shake the foundations of the city. Let's just say that this is no Mayberry. Andy and Barney wouldn't last long around here.) No big deal. I exited at 19th street and walked the last seven blocks. I may do that more often, it was kind of nice to get a little walk in before coming into the office.
As I'm walking up the street, I see a couple of news vans parked around one of the entrances to the BART station. I decide to hit the internet and see what's happening. From the kcbs.com website:
Although I'm already at 50 hours this week, I had to come in for the sole purpose of meeting a shipping company to get equipment shipped out that is coming off lease. Everything's ready to go and as soon as the carrier signs the bill of lading, I'm out the door.
The list of "to-dos" for today include finish (start!) gatering my radio gear, clothes, tent and jetboil (for coffee!), get a vehicle from Rod (somehow) get over to Heather Farms park in Walnut Creek to meet my buddy John, shuttle him over to OES to get one of the department vans and light tower/generator, get back to the park and set up. Unfortunately, I have no idea as of yet what time the shipper will arrive. In the past, they've been here around 10. That would suit me just fine.
Now to add to the excitement of it all: After my train left the station this morning, the driver got on the intercom and informed me that my station was closed "due to police activity" and that there was no estimated time of reopening. (Police activity isn't a big surprise in Oakland. Police inactivity would shake the foundations of the city. Let's just say that this is no Mayberry. Andy and Barney wouldn't last long around here.) No big deal. I exited at 19th street and walked the last seven blocks. I may do that more often, it was kind of nice to get a little walk in before coming into the office.
As I'm walking up the street, I see a couple of news vans parked around one of the entrances to the BART station. I decide to hit the internet and see what's happening. From the kcbs.com website:
Posted: Friday, 27 June 2008 8:14AM
Suspicious Backpack Closes BART at 12th in Oakland
OAKLAND, Calif. (KCBS) -- BART Police, along with bomb
dogs walked all of the entrances to Oakland's 12th Street BART station this
morning, after a passenger reported an unattended backpack and reported it
to a
station manager, who opened the bag.
There was a cylinder, which
was wrapped
in some sort of paper, according to the station agent who saw
this. There was
nothing much else in the bag,” said BART Spokesman Linton
Johnson.
Two
different bomb dogs then indicated that there was something
suspicious about the
bag, so now the U.C. Berkeley bomb squad, and the
Alameda County Sheriff’s bomb
squad are on scene to remove the
bag.
Trains continue to run through the station because the backpack has
been moved to another level, but the trains are not stopping.
BART
riders are asked to enter the system at the 19th Street station to
avoidthe
closure, which may last until 9:30 a.m.
Fun. I may have a bomb sitting on the foundation of my 18 story building.
I take my cue from the authorities. I figure that if they're still running trains through the station, it's more precaution than anything that has caused them to close the station. If they were really worried about a bomb, they would have stopped all the trains and evacuated my building and the ones around the area. I keep checking out the windows to see what's going on down there, but continue about my morning. After all, I need coffee and I've not gotten any yet.
A couple phone calls from people that need help, a couple problems solved and the next look out the window reviels... nothing. No column of smoke, no flashy lights, no police line tape across the sairs and escalators down to the station.
A check back to the KCBS website and what was an hour ago the top headline has already moved to the bottom of the page, right above a link to a story about the parking garages in San Jose suffering lack of customers due to high gas prices.
Authorities reopened the station at around 9 a.m., when they determined that the backpack only contained hair care products.
Honestly, couldn't we come up with a more exciting ending than that? Where's the hero, clutching the ticking package as his partner races them to the edge of a pier so they could throw the bomb into the water mere seconds before it explodes, showering them in a brillaint display of water? Where's the cutting of the red (no blue!) wire as the timer steadily counts down to zero?
Please don't think I'm discrediting the work that the bomb sqad members do. Not by any means. These guys SIGN UP to do what they do. They volunteer to get between a bomb and others and make the situation safe. My hat is off to those guys. They have my deepest appreciation.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
math
Last night after dinner as Beth was reading and I was finishing my dinner, Nick decided that he wanted some grapes. He went to the fridge and got some, then wandered over to me.
"I've got grapes Daddy. Do you want one?"
"Sure," I answered.
"Here you go," he said as he dropped a grape on my plate.
"Thanks!"
"You're welcome. Do you want a grape Mommy?" Not waiting for an answer, he dropped one onto the book she was reading and it rolled down between the pages and into her lap.
"Thanks Nicky," said Mommy.
Back to the kitchen and the fridge door opens and closes, then back out to me.
"Here Daddy, now you get two. One, two," he counts them as he drops them onto my plate. "Two for Mommy," again, they roll down the pages and into her lap, "and two for Nicky. We all get two."
That's when it hit me. He had gone to the fridge to get two grapes for each of us. It wasn't that he only had six and ran out. I could tell it was intentional by the way he said it, so matter-of-factly. My three year old is doing math. That's freaking insane. I'll agree, it's not rocket science, but I couldn't have been more proud if t was.
Is there no end to how much he will amaze and surprise us?
Another high point of last night was when he earned his sixth gold star for staying dry. Mommy was getting him ready for bed, had pulled off his dry pull-up and we told him that we were proud that he had kept it dry all day.
"Go potty before I put your pull-up on for bed," she said. "You've been dry all day. If you go potty, you can get a gold star," she told him and he ran into the bathroom, got his stool and went potty all by himself. No fussing, no whining, no fit. It was so nice.
They came back and put his sixth gold star on the chart. Every sixth one covers a picture of a car. "You know what that means?"
"I get a car!"
Needless to say, it went to bed with him last night.
"I've got grapes Daddy. Do you want one?"
"Sure," I answered.
"Here you go," he said as he dropped a grape on my plate.
"Thanks!"
"You're welcome. Do you want a grape Mommy?" Not waiting for an answer, he dropped one onto the book she was reading and it rolled down between the pages and into her lap.
"Thanks Nicky," said Mommy.
Back to the kitchen and the fridge door opens and closes, then back out to me.
"Here Daddy, now you get two. One, two," he counts them as he drops them onto my plate. "Two for Mommy," again, they roll down the pages and into her lap, "and two for Nicky. We all get two."
That's when it hit me. He had gone to the fridge to get two grapes for each of us. It wasn't that he only had six and ran out. I could tell it was intentional by the way he said it, so matter-of-factly. My three year old is doing math. That's freaking insane. I'll agree, it's not rocket science, but I couldn't have been more proud if t was.
Is there no end to how much he will amaze and surprise us?
Another high point of last night was when he earned his sixth gold star for staying dry. Mommy was getting him ready for bed, had pulled off his dry pull-up and we told him that we were proud that he had kept it dry all day.
"Go potty before I put your pull-up on for bed," she said. "You've been dry all day. If you go potty, you can get a gold star," she told him and he ran into the bathroom, got his stool and went potty all by himself. No fussing, no whining, no fit. It was so nice.
They came back and put his sixth gold star on the chart. Every sixth one covers a picture of a car. "You know what that means?"
"I get a car!"
Needless to say, it went to bed with him last night.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
camping pix ...at last!
Away at last! After about a year of being stuck in the day to day grind that we call life, we were able to once again break free of the bonds of civilization and escape into the woods. Kind of. Being fresh from work, basking in the aftermath of a half-day long network outage, one of the first things on my agenda was to fire up the laptop and see what kind of reception the wireless internet card was getting so I could check my work email to make sure things were still up and running. Ah, the penance of leaving work early on a Friday.
Nonetheless, here we were. The rest of the family (minus my sister) was already a day into their camping trip, having left on Thursday. I honestly didn't really do much other than relax and catch up on some sleep.
After working in Oakland for the last year, plus a short stint in San Francisco, I was surprised at how quiet it could be. You get used to the constant hustle and bustle, the blowing of horns, the wail of sirens, the people all around you. Here, all of that was gone. Things were slow and peaceful. You could hear the breeze blowing through the trees, smell the dirt and the plants. The people who passed the campsite all went out of their way to wave and greet you. Not a one of them even asked for loose change. Everyone was smiling.
As we settled down for bed on Saturday night, I could almost imagine the sounds of the Native Americans, their drums throbbing softly under their chanting as they danced around the campfires... Only I wasn't imaging them. I was really hearing them.
I remembered seeing a couple of signs on my way into the park that simply read "Elders" with an arrow pointing the way ahead. "The Mormons must be having some kind of retreat," I'd though to myself and put it out of my mind. Those weren't Mormons camped further up the mountain. I'm pretty sure of it.
Laying there I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander as I listened to the chanting. I was intrigued. What were they saying? What did it mean? Suddenly I was able to imagine being with the early pioneers, making our way across the uncharted country, risking it all in hopes of a better future. Hearing those drums and that chanting coming down the valley, over the plains. No wonder why they were intimidated by these new, unknown people. It was an ominous sound.
Pictures: My plans for the weekend were simple. Do as little as possible, relax and enjoy just hanging out with the family. Mission accomplished. The pictures, the few that I took, prove it. There aren't many and there's not much action in them.
Hanging out, eating snacks in my new chair that Aunt Jami got for me.
Playing with Grandpa's jeep.
Look how tall I am Daddy! (Now get me down, I'm stuck up here!)
Campfires at night. The perfect way to relax.
I was so warm and snuggly in my sleeping bag with Mommy next to me.
I was warm and snuggly in Aunt Jami's sleeping bag too. She wasn't too willing to share. Neither was I.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Ghetto, redefined
"Ghetto" has been abused for the last few years, to the point that it's lost it's value. Today, it reared its head and made a valiant attempt to live again.
Sitting across the aisle from me on the train tonight on my way home was the person responsible for this gasp for air from a dying word. Let me share.
I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around me. I came down with a cold today and by the end of the day, I had nothing left in me. The doors close and the train starts to move. I notice someone sitting across the aisle in the seat facing me. She's doing her hair. No big deal.
She starts talking, but nobody is sitting next to her. Not uncommon in Oakland, I witness several one sided converations, debates and arguments every time I step out of my office doors.
"Someone tried sitting next to me. 'Can I sit here?' 'Must you?'" She laughs.
Laughter and a "That's funny," comes from two rows back on my side of the car. Great, she has a friend and they're going to talk over everybody the whole ride home. It's already obvious who her world revolves around.
That's when I notice the pile of hair on her lap. "What the...?"
I slowly realize that she's unbraiding her weave and gathering the hair in her lap. Nasty.
Now I don't know if it's real hair. I know that some people use real hair in their weaves and that just grosses me out. Somebody decided that they didn't want their hair any more and had it cut off. Somebody else decided that they just can't wait for their own hair to grow out so they buy hair from someone else's head and have another person braid it into their own hair.
Maybe it's because I'm a guy. Maybe it's because my own hair grows so fast that I can't ever seem to keep it looking nice for more than a week after I get it cut. Maybe it's just because I can't imaging being able to thoroughly wash tightly braided hair. Maybe it's just because it's nasty. Whatever the case, it's gross.
"So, how's this redefining 'ghetto' " you ask?
As we pull into the Concord station, she decides that it's time to pack up since she and her friend are getting off in Pittsburg, two stops away. She reaches down for her mirror to check her work. To make sure that she's removed an equal amount from both sides and is even, I guess. Out from under her bag, she pulls.... the sun visor from a car. She flips the mirror cover open, holds it at arm's length to check her handiwork, decides that all is well, flips the mirror closed and shoves it back into her plastic grocery bag.
Yes, you read right. She had the visor from a car for a mirror. The kind that is bolted above the windshield of your car that you flip down to keep the sun out of your eyes while you're driving. She's actually carrying the whole thing around with her so she can do her hair. Or undo her hair. Whatever.
I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to wrap up this post. What kind of insight can I give, what life lesson can be learned?
None.
The only thing that comes to mind was my thought at the time:
"What the...?"
Sitting across the aisle from me on the train tonight on my way home was the person responsible for this gasp for air from a dying word. Let me share.
I wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around me. I came down with a cold today and by the end of the day, I had nothing left in me. The doors close and the train starts to move. I notice someone sitting across the aisle in the seat facing me. She's doing her hair. No big deal.
She starts talking, but nobody is sitting next to her. Not uncommon in Oakland, I witness several one sided converations, debates and arguments every time I step out of my office doors.
"Someone tried sitting next to me. 'Can I sit here?' 'Must you?'" She laughs.
Laughter and a "That's funny," comes from two rows back on my side of the car. Great, she has a friend and they're going to talk over everybody the whole ride home. It's already obvious who her world revolves around.
That's when I notice the pile of hair on her lap. "What the...?"
I slowly realize that she's unbraiding her weave and gathering the hair in her lap. Nasty.
Now I don't know if it's real hair. I know that some people use real hair in their weaves and that just grosses me out. Somebody decided that they didn't want their hair any more and had it cut off. Somebody else decided that they just can't wait for their own hair to grow out so they buy hair from someone else's head and have another person braid it into their own hair.
Maybe it's because I'm a guy. Maybe it's because my own hair grows so fast that I can't ever seem to keep it looking nice for more than a week after I get it cut. Maybe it's just because I can't imaging being able to thoroughly wash tightly braided hair. Maybe it's just because it's nasty. Whatever the case, it's gross.
"So, how's this redefining 'ghetto' " you ask?
As we pull into the Concord station, she decides that it's time to pack up since she and her friend are getting off in Pittsburg, two stops away. She reaches down for her mirror to check her work. To make sure that she's removed an equal amount from both sides and is even, I guess. Out from under her bag, she pulls.... the sun visor from a car. She flips the mirror cover open, holds it at arm's length to check her handiwork, decides that all is well, flips the mirror closed and shoves it back into her plastic grocery bag.
Yes, you read right. She had the visor from a car for a mirror. The kind that is bolted above the windshield of your car that you flip down to keep the sun out of your eyes while you're driving. She's actually carrying the whole thing around with her so she can do her hair. Or undo her hair. Whatever.
I'm sitting here trying to figure out how to wrap up this post. What kind of insight can I give, what life lesson can be learned?
None.
The only thing that comes to mind was my thought at the time:
"What the...?"
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