The worst part of EECI2010 is that I forgot my camera and had to make do with the iPhone. Fortunately the EECI2010 Flickr Pool is beginning to fill up (go add yours)!

Getting to meet the community and the EllisLab family is easily the best part of my job. I love the human interaction. My official role at EECI2010 was to meet with people one-on-one to discuss whatever they wanted to discuss. My schedule was pretty much filled up from Sunday to Wednesday meeting incredible people, discussing ideas, and brainstorming opportunities.

I want to thank each and every person I met with one-on-one and the numerous people that said hello. In particular it was great to meet a number of folks from the CodeIgniter community. And my apologies to those I missed!

The downside is that I didn’t get to see much of the actual conference or attend the sessions like I did at EECI2009. I caught most of Adii’s (WooThemes) ExpressionEngine: Entrepreneurship and Economics, which really helped me understand some of the challenges people entering the community face from business and social standpoints.

I finally got to talk about a few things that we’ve been working on in 2010. I’m very excited about MojoMotor, our new Community Architect, and the Official Community Partners but those topics are best left to future posts on the actual EE Blog.

Robert and the Whoooz team delivered an outstanding conference despite the learning curve of dealing with American venders! I can’t say enough how impressed I am by Robert and the Whoooz team. Their heart for community and investment in its future success is nothing short of amazing.

What impressed me most about the Whoooz team is something that most attendees did not get to see. On the last day of the conference Robert gave away all the purchased furniture (from Ikea and elsewhere) to the Fort Mason cleaning staff. He also rounded up all the remaining Boudin sandwich boxes and hosted an impromptu picnic for the homeless around the Fort Mason area.

“Its what we’re about” Robert told me in his very understated Dutch way. Then he shrugged his shoulders and smiled. That spirit really personifies the Community we’ve all collectively built. Helping people succeed, its what we’re about. I can’t really explain what an honor it is to be a part of it.

Here’s the to the rest of 2010!

Go read it

The most illuminating discovery is that I write as a creative last resort. If I find a creative outlet elsewhere, my need to write diminishes rapidly. There is a bit of irony in that writing awakens other creative desires and thereby destroys my own need of it. But there is a lot of comfort that at the root of everything I want to create dwells the word.

I enjoy writing. I wasn’t sure I would when I started the project but digging up stories from inside turns out to be a pleasurable experience. As such, I will continue the initial project but shed the time constraints I originally placed on it.

The biggest obstacle to my writing is also, sadly, writing. I write about 1000 words a day as part of my work. Sometimes less, most times more. Of course, this isn’t polished prose or a finely (or even poorly) crafted story. They are hard fought words. They are the words that survive.

When I write an email, a company blog post, a forum response, or anything in an official capacity I typically try to be as brief as possible. Brevity is my watch word. I don’t claim I succeed, its just my goal. As such, I will often rewrite an important email six or seven times to see how much I can eliminate in an effort to clarify my intent. I would say I do this for about 1 in 10 emails. Email is just an example. This is true of just about everything I write professionally.

This is taxing.

I can see in my stories that this style and skill emerges. I don’t have enough experience in creative writing to know whether its good or bad, for me it just is. I’m at peace with it. I just need to internalize and except that this is a taxing way to write.

I have friends and I’ve read in many an essay where people describe the act of writing as therapeutic. This is not true for me. I have no desire to expose my internal monologue in written form. I’m not referring to blogging, but to writing in general. I would much rather work things out as a sketch, in prayer, or in talking to a trusted friend. Most preferable is finding quiet time to open my heart to my wife, who takes such excellent care of me.

In order to write effectively, both on this blog and at work, I need to have already taken care of my demons as it were. The pen does nothing for them.

Writing does turn out to be an effective way to solve a problem. When I’ve clarified an issue internally, writing provides a great platform for exploring solutions. In this case, analog writing awakens a part of my brain that the keyboard does not. This is so true for me that I purchased a Bertha Whiteyboard for my office along with an assortment of colored pens.

My work week typically starts by covering a good 4 or 5 feet of physical wall space with notes, brainstorms, and other important squiggles. I’ve tried this process digitally, with some success, but good ol’ analog is still king for that kind of written problem solving. I analyze Bertha, and put all her important bits into Taskpaper or Omnifocus (TP for immediate, but less complicated projects, OF for longer term projects that also require other digital assets).

I get the greatest joy from writing when it is personal and met to be shared with a small group I know well or a specific individual. The writing I am most pleased with is the writing I do for my wife. I am ashamed to say this does not happen very often. My public writing would improve tenfold if I could figure out how to inject the joy I get from private correspondence into public form.

Part of the issue is fear. I fear that I will be misunderstood or worse yet, misinterpreted. I have a fear that people will come to conclusions about EllisLab, about me personally, and generally succumb to the temptation of an easy conclusion.

Intellectually I know this fear is unfounded. Its been my experience at EllisLab, even before I was an employee, that the web community at large does not do this. Comments on YouTube, Gizmodo, and other such sites may lead one to believe otherwise, but those are the outliers, not the norm. If there is one thing about my job that never ceases to amaze me, it is the authenticity that can be found in online communication. I do not think it rare. It is my experience that it is instead well hidden. It is also uncelebrated, which I find troubling.

Also, I have no love for editing. Bless all of you who do.

If you made it this far, you may thank Kenny Meyers, who posed a question to me via email that prompted the SFD of this post.

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Go read it

In which I say goodbye to my companion of ten years.

Oscar the Mighty Boxer passed away quietly in his sleep early Friday morning, April 16th, 2010. He was nine and half years old. When I returned home from the office Thursday evening he met me at the door, his usual exuberant self, full of life and needing food. Later that evening he took a spill. We thought his somewhat lame leg had tripped him up (sometimes happens, often with hilarious results) but now I’m fairly sure it was a heart attack that led to a blood clot.

After the spill I thought he had sprained his leg again and that was the reason for his sullen demeanor the rest of the evening. But I knew something was wrong and the poor guy was hurting. He kept me company in my office until 12:30am or so. I helped him outside to go do his business, then helped him back in. He stood in the garage looking up at me and I knew there was no way he was going to take his usual hike over Gracie (our Great Dane) to get to his bed. So I got it for him, placed it at his feet, and said good night. I intended to call the vet first thing in the morning to have the leg looked at (again).

I awoke and got into my usual routine. I started my coffee on the stove and headed out to the garage to see my dogs. I stepped through the door, took one look at Oscar, and knew he had passed away. Oscar was stretched out across his blue mat, teeth in his typical “dream boxer smile”. Gracie looked up at me with big eyes, not quite knowing what to do. I let her out.

The rest of the morning was a blur of the necessary phone calls to take care of the body and then introducing the reality of death to my daughter Sophia in a tangible way. It was a sad, but redemptive day. My daily companion of nearly ten years was gone.

Later that morning as I drove to meet my family at the Play Gym, I “saw” my dog one last time. He came bounding up next to my car, tongue hanging out in its wild way, slobber streaming behind him as he sped passed me in full gallop. He dashed passed the car and disappeared into the sky without looking back. Yup. That’s my dog.

I don’t pretend for a moment to explain this experience. Was it spiritual? Was it a trick of the mind to help me deal with things? Some of A, some of B? I just know that it was a tangible experience that gave me a big smile and helped me send Oscar on his way. This is not an invitation for people to explain it. I’m perfectly content with this mystery being what it is.

There are literally hundreds of stories I could tell about Oscar but I only feel the need to tell the first one.

I first met Oscar at a Pet Smart in San Bernardino, California. It was an adoption weekend and I’d been looking for a dog, a boxer specifically, for about two months. I had researched dogs thoroughly. By this I mean I had scoured the net for dog breed information, taken quizzes that supposedly match a person to the best breed, purchased three books along with smattering of magazines, and talked to numerous dog owners. I tend to be thorough.

The research led me to three breeds, the Great Dane, the Mastiff, and the Boxer. All three breeds are known to be loyal, but not overtly aggressive. They are all family friendly and can entertain themselves. I was single, without a steady job, and pretty much making rent by the skin of my teeth every month. But I needed a dog. I decided on the boxer because it was the smallest of three and therefore the breed that was most likely to be allowed in a rental.

Oscar was in a small, beige crate, under the table where the adoption volunteer sat. I almost missed him, but I heard a growl and looked under the table. There he was. I inquired about adopting him and was informed that he wasn’t up for adoption until next week. They were just getting him used to the noise.

Next week I showed up as soon as the doors opened and put in an application to adopt him. The lady was not keen on giving him to me. She told me “single, male guys in their late teens, early twenties make the worst dog owners. We get the most reports of abuse and returns from that. So, I’ll take your application but its unlikely you’ll get him. We prefer that dogs, especially a pure bred, go to families.”

Exchanges like this don’t phase me. Dealing with obstacles is something I’ve done since I was old enough to talk, and therefore negotiate. Instead of challenging Linda (I don’t remember her actual name), I simply asked about the puppy’s story. This caught Linda off guard. She was geared up for an argument and instead got a conversation.

The puppy under the desk, which I already thought of as my dog, had been donated by a vet along with two brothers and a sister. The other pups had already been adopted, only this one remained. The vet had the pups because the original owners had been evicted from their home and instead of taking the pups to the pound, donated them to the vet and the vet donated them to Pet Smart. I thanked Linda for her time, thanked her for accepting the application despite her reservations, and said I’d be back next week.

Six days proved to be enough time to gather three letters of recommendation, a tactic I knew would catch Linda off guard.

Saturday I strode back into Pet Smart, found Linda, smiled big, and handed over recommendation letters vouching for my character and ability to care for my possessions. They were written by a youth paster, an older adult mentor, and my Mom. The boxer was still available, Linda was still skeptical, and I still wasn’t phased. Again I roped Linda into a conversation, this time about herself. How long had she been helping Pet Smart? What pets did she own? What advice did she give to new dog owners? I thanked her for her time and said I’d be back the following week.

Next Saturday Linda said hello to me first. Before I could say anything or potentially hand her more letters, she said that if she didn’t receive any better applications that day, I could adopt the dog. I can still remember trying to contain my excitement.

True to her word Linda called me on Wednesday and by Friday “my dog” had become “Oscar” (named after my Grandfather Torkelson) and we were off to the park for an afternoon of running, wrestling, sleeping, and generally having a splendid first day.

For the next ten years Oscar was with me almost constantly. He helped me survive two hard breakups, three job transitions, finding the woman of my dreams, moving to Nebraska, two daughters, a Great Dane (his biggest challenge), and finally a move to Bend, Oregon. That doesn’t really begin to describe it though.

Oscar saw me become a man. Not only that, he was a significant part of the process. He had a warrior heart, vigilant, gracious, unwavering in the face of evil, and unwilling to settle for anything. If it could be obtained through determination and effort, he obtained it. No fence, chain, collar, harness, yard, dog, or obstacle could hold him when he set his will against it. He always served me faithfully, but I was never his master. Never.

Oscar my old friend, nothing in life could hold you. I have no reason to believe death will either. Thank you for everything. Spending ten years with you changed me and I am the better for it.

Go read it

Go read it

I’m not sure I can do that in this post. I have an appointment in 10 minutes, there is tons going on at work, and of course there is the usual distractions of my everyday life. But I couldn’t let this moment pass without saying something.

Michael was part of my Christian Mentor trinity as it were, one of the three great influencers on my life that reshaped my relationship with Jesus, with God, and with humanity in ways I didn’t think possible. I need to say more but this will have to do for today.

I miss him fiercely.

God speed Brother. I will see you again. But not yet.

“Daddy, Daddy, come on! Sit down. I’m going to do a show for you.” The playwright, director, and actor is my eldest daughter Sophia who at three years and six months of life is busy mastering the art of storytelling.

She stands in front of me looking up. Her smiling, blue-green eyes demand my attention. They are overflowing with joy. Sophia is not asking that I watch her show. It is a command. This is not optional.

“What kind of show are you putting on today?” I ask.

“Oh, it is about Lightening and Vanille going to rescue Hope, that boy, because, he, he’d lost himself in the forest and its full of scary monsters and exciting beasts. I have my Savior outfit on, see? Sit down. I’m going to start.”

I sit down on the bench. This bench was built by Laura’s father Earl. Its solid and sturdy and beautiful in its rough way. Laura grew up sleeping on this bench. It has a family history. I’ve kissed Laura many times here.

The bench is in our small living room. In the center a kid’s trampoline dominates the hardwood floor. Netting rises up from the trampoline forming a see-through castle wall. There is a half-circle door. Sophia expertly unzips it and climbs in.

Sophia’s Savior Outfit consists of a cowgirl vest and skirt, gifts from her Grandma Jill (my mother). Its blue denim, stars, and tassels bring to mind years of childhood games past. She’s wearing her green rubber rain boots, which have dragon faces on them. She is Louis L’Amour meets Tolkien, a glorious clash of myths topped with messy dark blonde hair.

“Ready Daddy?”

“Yes, start the show!”

Sophia jumps and twirls. She executes a full 360 and lands on her bottom, jumps back up, stands on one leg and launches into another half twirl. Her hands power in all directions moved by frenetic arms. Her capacity to move in awkward, yet beautiful ways is amazing.

I notice she’s in incredible shape. I’m fairly sure I could not move with that much energy and movement on a trampoline for 15 minutes, even stopping to catch my breath now and again like she does.

She tells a complete story during the show. Lightening and Vanille are in the forest going after Hope. These, by the way, are characters from Final Fantasy XIII, a video game she loves playing with me. Along the way they meet a dolphin, a giraffe, and a family of squirrels who are worried about being died. So Lightening and Vanille take a detour to save the squirrels from being died.

I lose the plot after this but at the very end there is a joyous reunion between Lightening, who is the mother, Vanille, who is the sister, and Hope who is the brother. They are all very glad to have found each other again and not one of them is died. Being died is a new concept to her, one she is aggressively working through.

Then, dramatically, a dragon swoops in and carries Hope off. Again. We’re always losing Hope and going after it. I swear I’m not making this up. This is not an intentional metaphor.

Its supper time Mommy informs us. Rescuing Hope will need to wait until bath time. Perhaps the Dragon took Hope out to sea? Sophia immediately picks up on the idea and soon she is lost in telling us about what her next show will be about.

Sophia, rescuer of Hope, I’m very much looking forward to it.