a few pics from Kat's house
Sunday, September 27
Wednesday, September 23
I am lucky enough to have friends and family that encourage my artistic endeavors, as wacky as they may be sometimes. Thanks to all those that contributed. Maybe this time's not quite so wacky.
This is the first crop of images from my new Canon Rebel XSi digital SLR camera. For the uninitiated, it's a digital camera that gives you all the creative control of an old-school 35mm pro camera. I always have an image in my head before I take a picture. This camera gives me the control to make that image a reality. Click to enlarge.
This is the first crop of images from my new Canon Rebel XSi digital SLR camera. For the uninitiated, it's a digital camera that gives you all the creative control of an old-school 35mm pro camera. I always have an image in my head before I take a picture. This camera gives me the control to make that image a reality. Click to enlarge.
Sunday, September 20
Snapshots of the recent past
Finishing out the construction of the new facility has been hell of a journey. I've been pulling a lot of hours over the last few months and haven't had the energy for long discourses on the blog, but I think we're close to crossing the finish line. We've got the system and the new mill up and running, we've had our grand opening, now we're waiting for someone to make some sales. Far too much has happened for me to recount, so I thought I'd throw out some mental snapshots that have stayed with me.
Brian, Terry and I are standing behind the mill building. When we look down, we experience a concurrent ohno second. There is a perfectly silent second while we all look at the white foam and water creeping out from under the wall from inside. In the silence I hear Brian say "Where's that coming from?" We're all running suddenly for the inside of the mill room with his wods visibly hanging in the air behind us. Skittering into the mill room we find six inches of pretty white foam blanketing the concrete floor across half of the room. The half million dollar mill unit looks quite nice silhoutted against the fluffy white clouds of soap mix, and for one weightless second, we all enjoy the spectacle in silence as our stomachs fall into our boots.
It's five minutes past sunset on Monday night, and I'm still at the site - by choice this time. I'm sitting in a camp chair with a cold beer and the clouds are slowly darkening overhead into evening. Fresh killed dove breasts wrapped in bacon are sizzling on a charcoal grill and the wild hog quarters have just finished almost a full day on the smoker. It's my birthday, and I'm pretty sure it's the best one I've had in years. My wife and my friends are gathered in a field, cooking things locally caught, laughing a great deal and taking a deep breath before the circus starts. I'm thinking that for once, I'm right where I should be.
The next day has come, and it's D-day, the grand opening of the site I've worked months on and was hired to run. The sun is breaking through clouds, spiking the temperature in brutal humidity. I've just led the heads of state from three different companies on a tour of my site that they paid for. They are satisfied, perhaps a little in awe of the site and (I hope) it's captain. As we walk back across the truck scale toward the circus, I look back at the red scoreboard readout for the scale. It's crystal clear at that moment that the numbers on the readout in no way tally the weight that these men carry. And they love me.
At the end of a long day and a longer night, it's 4:30 AM and I'm watching the sun get lighter on the eastern horizon. Standing 30 feet in the air on our load tower and listening to our first real load of product pumping into the semi trailer below, I think that this is a rare view. Not many people get to see this, a job completed after an all night haul, just like not many people see a humpback blow in an Alaskan sound. I'm almost sick to my stomach from lack of sleep, but the product is right, the customer is happy, and we came through in a pinch. I hope I don't have this view again any time soon, but it's one I'll treasure.
Brian, Terry and I are standing behind the mill building. When we look down, we experience a concurrent ohno second. There is a perfectly silent second while we all look at the white foam and water creeping out from under the wall from inside. In the silence I hear Brian say "Where's that coming from?" We're all running suddenly for the inside of the mill room with his wods visibly hanging in the air behind us. Skittering into the mill room we find six inches of pretty white foam blanketing the concrete floor across half of the room. The half million dollar mill unit looks quite nice silhoutted against the fluffy white clouds of soap mix, and for one weightless second, we all enjoy the spectacle in silence as our stomachs fall into our boots.
It's five minutes past sunset on Monday night, and I'm still at the site - by choice this time. I'm sitting in a camp chair with a cold beer and the clouds are slowly darkening overhead into evening. Fresh killed dove breasts wrapped in bacon are sizzling on a charcoal grill and the wild hog quarters have just finished almost a full day on the smoker. It's my birthday, and I'm pretty sure it's the best one I've had in years. My wife and my friends are gathered in a field, cooking things locally caught, laughing a great deal and taking a deep breath before the circus starts. I'm thinking that for once, I'm right where I should be.
The next day has come, and it's D-day, the grand opening of the site I've worked months on and was hired to run. The sun is breaking through clouds, spiking the temperature in brutal humidity. I've just led the heads of state from three different companies on a tour of my site that they paid for. They are satisfied, perhaps a little in awe of the site and (I hope) it's captain. As we walk back across the truck scale toward the circus, I look back at the red scoreboard readout for the scale. It's crystal clear at that moment that the numbers on the readout in no way tally the weight that these men carry. And they love me.
At the end of a long day and a longer night, it's 4:30 AM and I'm watching the sun get lighter on the eastern horizon. Standing 30 feet in the air on our load tower and listening to our first real load of product pumping into the semi trailer below, I think that this is a rare view. Not many people get to see this, a job completed after an all night haul, just like not many people see a humpback blow in an Alaskan sound. I'm almost sick to my stomach from lack of sleep, but the product is right, the customer is happy, and we came through in a pinch. I hope I don't have this view again any time soon, but it's one I'll treasure.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)