Since the arrival of Facebook and Twitter, my blog is getting less and less attention. Somewhat like our dog Mohican when he woke 7 years ago to the sound of Fynn wailing in a pool in the living room (he had just arrived into the world) and again 4 years ago when Harper arrived.
What to do? Quit my job and just write on BlogTwitterBook? But no job somewhat kills off the content. I do semi-cheat: whatever I blog gets posted automatically on my personal Twitter account. The challenge is not only are there three different platforms but on Twitter there is a gDiapers account and my own account. Similarly there is a gDiapers account on Facebook and my own personal Facebook page. And I do like to tailor the content with the reader in mind so I think one post blasted to all accounts is a bit cheap.
I am however reinvigorated to blog. This weekend with the wife and kids in Canada, I am in the middle of a personal film festival. Kids really prevent a consistent trip to the cinema unless of course it is to see anything from Pixar / Disney et al. After watching Hangover (rubbish) , The Invention of Lying (rubbish), Capitalism: A Love Story (very good - more to come) I have just watched Julie & Julia. In the film, Julie Powell cooks all 524 recipes from Julia Child's best-selling cook book in 365 days. She blogs about her experience and the result as well as the book and now the movie are very good. So blog, I'm back.
Today is my Dad's Birthday. He passed 4 years ago and we miss him dearly. He was always a big supporter of all the things his kids did including gDiapers. He would have been 82. He is pictured below in his last year at School playing for The Kings School 1st XI vs Grammar at Weigall.
Inc. Magazine perfectly captures why Kim & I are loving the early-to-work routine...and yes team, I'll be more consistent making the first pot of coffee...!
The Office: In Praise of Morning
Dedicated entrepreneurs often burn the midnight oil. But
how many miss out on the refreshing solitude of watching the office
wake up?
By Leigh Buchanan | Jul 24, 2009
For risibly unscientific reasons, I've concluded more
CEOs are owls than larks. Over the years I've heard countless business
leaders describe their 80-hour workweeks in last-car-out-of-the-parking
lot terms. It's an existence of flickering fluorescents; take-out
dinners, and the clatter of cleaning staff emptying trash. As these
leaders sit nodding over their stacks of reports, the day's stresses,
frustrations, and failures hang in the air around them like stale smoke.
If I owned a company I would work long hours too, but I'd burn my
candle at the front end. That's because I love offices at dawn. I want
to be there as pale light washes slowly over the utilitarian landscape
of desks and computers. I enjoy the hush that plays prelude to the
soundtrack of workaday activity.
Every place I have worked has had at least one great reading chair.
It is soft and deep and broad; but it is often in the preferred spot
for small-team meetings, so I'm lucky to steal ten minutes there. At 6
a.m. I can usurp that chair for a full hour and churn through the
newspaper in comfort and quiet. Sometimes I take off my shoes or drape
my legs over the arms without fear of being discovered in professional
flagrante delicto. Night breeds similar solitude, of course. But by
then my newspaper is reduced to relic, and all I want is to go home.
I like to make the first pot of coffee. I like to drink the first
pot of coffee; then pretend I didn't and start another. Night coffee is
queasy making: that burnt smell lingers no matter how thoroughly you
rinse the pot. By morning—miraculously—it is gone.
The very early morning is the best time to go desk-browsing. During
the day no one spares more than a glance for their colleagues'
workspaces. Yet many cubicles are made over into miniature museums of
collectibles, galleries of beloved images, scrapbooks of rich family
lives. Such exhibits powerfully evoke their curators. As you peruse the
idiosyncratic display on a desk, you find yourself looking forward to
its occupant walking through the door.
If you walk by an office where a colleague or employee labors after
hours, it seems natural to poke in your head and commiserate. But often
commiseration devolves into passing the time; and after 6 P.M.
another's time is not yours to pass. In the early morning, by contrast,
no one is yet late for anything and so conversation is relaxed. During
work hours I have argued and gossiped and traded stiff pleasantries
with office mates. But my best true "chats" have been with fellow early
risers, who usually start to trickle in before 8.
When I gaze out the window at night I see my face floating in dark
pool. In the morning I see the world. And I am reminded that everything
I do that day will contribute to it.
I'm sure that you know your company better than anyone, that you
love it more. Still, try going in some day at dawn and wandering around
in the silence. To watch the office wake up is to see it fresh.
