Mistress of all she surveys…

This time next week, Reid will be in London to begin his first international work venture.  He’s landed a short term assignment to oversee a digital something-or-other project.   His skills will indeed span an ocean.  Sure, he missed the queen’s 60th jubilee by a couple of weeks but in his spare moments he can wander over toward the Olympic venues.  I suppose there’s no bad time to be in Britain but this would seem a particularly great time.  The wheels are turning toward a short visit to the kid.  The letter written today will be the last he receives on paper for a while.  He’ll get his by email attachment while he’s across the pond.

I’m bored. Tend to my needs or feed me, one of the two.

Then there’s Emma.  The 24 hour all-Emma-all-the-time channel is still in the works, but the little wonder continues to elbow her way to the top of Ellen-Tim society.  She’s gaining weight, cementing her position as the mistress of all she surveys, and becoming accustomed to ruling the roost.  Gramps is all for that.  It didn’t take long for her photos to be displayed prominently throughout the house.

Fittingly, Reid and his niece highlight last week’s letter:

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June 4, 2012

Ellen/Reid: The work week got off to a rocky start (as if starting at 6:15 Eastern every morning isn’t rocky enough) although things have smoothed out since the early pandemonium.  Still a few hours to go but the placid waters could change if someone else’s heartbeat quickens and their problem becomes my problem.  Actually, I do work with a capable bunch of good people.

I figured out why the little blue birds died.  They got drenched in cold water.  They adjusted the lawn sprinkler system, and two of the strong streams of water take a direct pass right over the hole in the bird house.  I didn’t notice that until this morning and that rankles me.  Water was literally running out the bottom of the box.  Blue birds were re-nesting, and they’ve gone away because the (^&%$@# sprinkler comes on twice a day.  I’ll take birds over a green lawn any day.

Man, Reid, you will be in London near the peak of Olympic festivities.  What an absolute madhouse that place is going to be for nearly your entire time there.  But I suppose that is half the fun, rubbing shoulders with the rest of the world.  I’ll send a note to Mike Hill to see if he’ll have time to have a cold one with you.  Not certain of my travel plans there but it would be a great short trip to take if you have a floor available for sleeping.  A couch with a pillow would be what I’m used to.  Still unclear is what the heck you will be doing over there by day.  I didn’t have my wits about me to ask you about that.  My bad to leave England off the list of countries you’ve visited.  No doubt it won’t be the last.

The photos of Emma should arrive any day now, and already I’m ruing the dull-headed lapse of no wallet size shots to foist on my friends who ask to see her.  What a dang oversight that was.  A lot of good 5×7 shots will do sitting in the house.  I’ll send the photographer a new order to ship some down this way.  That is certain to double the thickness of my wallet.  Nothing wrong with ample supplies of granddaughter photos.  According to informed sources (Felicia and others) it isn’t uncommon for babies to be cranky in the 5 – 8 p.m. timeframe.  She will get over that soon enough.  It’s just heartening to see she is gaining some weight and putting a little beef on herself.  This past weekend, one of the people who asked to see Emma’s photos said her daughter is expecting, but to break the news of the baby’s sex, the expectant couple will host a cake-type of unveiling party.  Their doctor gives the parents a sealed envelope containing the baby’s sex which the parents take to a bakery.  The baker makes a cake that is either pink or blue on the inside and covers it with white frosting.  The ‘sex’ is unveiled when the cake is cut.  Is there nothing that escapes the clutches of the wedding industry in its pursuit of making a fast buck?  It’s total insanity but I wish that was my idea.

The lettuce garden that has faithfully furnished lettuce every day for weeks is on its last legs.  That’s the way it goes.  It goes to bolt (seed) and that’s the end of it.  But the patio tomato plant is beginning to come on like gangbusters.  The fruit are about the size of a racquetball but that is a serious upgrade from the total, utter and abject failure of tomatoes in years gone by.  It provides a little bit of hope that for once there will be delicious BLTs at some point this summer.  In a tip of the hat to my doctor, the bacon will be of the turkey variety.

Okay, the call of work is still loud and clear.  It must be answered.  I’ll be in touch again in short order.  Emma and London aren’t such bad topics to talk about.

Fatherly advice…

Those with school age children who presume that once their kids reach the age of majority that their parenting is finished may not want to read beyond this sentence unless they like having their bubble burst.

It won’t happen.  Parenting never stops and besides some of the most fun you have as a parent is when the kids are on their own.  At least they feign listening to you.

Last week’s letter allowed me to dispense a little fatherly advice. It is a preoggative that builds in value with every successive tuition payment.

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January 24, 2011

Ellen/Reid: Since I’m not entirely sure of how things went down in Tahoe you’ll have to fill in the empty blanks of which there are many.  Hope you had fun, and no doubt there was no dearth of snow so you likely had your fill of snowboarding and skiing or snow shoeing.

I am back in the saddle this morning after last week’s trip to Greensboro.  I have to admit that there is something likeable about the new situation.  A new freedom to speak out and speak up, and it is quite refreshing.  Of course a person can’t just blurt things out (as I am wont to do) but it’s nice to have a seat at the intellectual table and flex the brain muscles for a change on things I know something about.  The change of guard (to say nothing of the change in venue) has been good in that regard.  There comes a certain authority to help affect change even if it does inch its way along.

Reid, I’ve been thinking a lot about your quest for grad school vs. your entrepreneurial spirit.  Both are good.  But let me toss in an 11^th hour opinion which your mom agrees with (I think).  There is something to be said for an MBA degree.  This has come to light for several different reasons.  If you’re strictly in a digital or communications environment, you will be very narrow even though digital and online communications rule the business roost.  There is nothing wrong with that.  An MBA, however, would still let you continue your communication quest but it might round your rough business edges in the event you do want to go forward with Erik.  You would also be around people who aren’t as well versed in your deep approach to digital and media, and that might be a good thing for them and for you.  Plus, there are scads more MBA programs for you to choose from.  You can still zero in on digital media as part of your studies; i.e. your main focus of class work, your papers and thesis for example.  I cannot imagine business schools turning a blind eye to the very things you’ve told us about.  They know their graduates must survive in the digital world you know very well.  I know this comes at you at the 11^th hour but I hope you will consider it especially if the New School does not pan out for whatever reason.  This in no way is meant to keep you in your agency situation but just to expand the grad school boundaries a little bit.  I don’t know how you go about exploring what other MBA opportunities there are that have a heavy digital footprint, but there must be a way to find them.

There was a study published last week (The Hechinger Report) that show today’s college grads have abysmal skills at discerning problems, critical thinking and even greater abysmal-ness at writing or communicating concepts and ideas.  I suppose that is a little bit more ammunition or fuel for the fire of grad school.  I think it’s depressing because I see a lot of that in play right now in my world.  Not that I am a poster child for such deep thinking but if almost half of college grads show negligible improvement in those skills in their four years, then something is really amiss in the academic world.  Less than one-fifth of their time each week is on academic pursuits.  I was probably in that ball park, if not worse, in college.  But I paid attention at the right time.

Mike and Mort may come down in mid-February, which by that time will mean I have transcended another birthday.  I need to stop counting.  I think Mike’s film is doing okay at the box office but the reviews could be better.  No Oscar nominations for him this time around.  I suppose we’ll play golf and tip back a few cold ones.  I may take them to some eateries out in the boonies to see how the other half of the Carolinas lives.

Time to go.  Work to do.  Fill me in on the West coast, and although you went back to colder temps, February should be somewhat warmer.  I know it will be, at least around here.