Being In Focus

Time

2012-05-10T04:38:45Z

The combined speed of any object’s motion through space and its motion through time is always precisely equal to the speed of light. ~Brian Greene

I get a little breathy and tingly whenever I think about physics; it’s a nerd thing. Strangely enough this long-exposure shot of a fishing weir in Eastern Canada makes me think about physics. Long-exposure shots like this one create in me a strong appreciation for the passage of time in general and Einstein’s theory of Special Relativity specifically. In 1905 Einstein changed everything when he suggested that the previous giant in the field of physics, Sir Isaac Newton, was not entirely right about time. Newton held that movement through time and movement through space were two entirely unrelated events. Using ingenious thought experiments, Einstein figured out that this couldn’t be true; time and space are linked and what’s more, movement through one affects movement through the other. I mean, this is crazy right? When still, an object is only traveling through time but when it begins to move, some of the travel through time is slowed to compensate for its movement through space; this keeps observations of the speed of light constant ala Brian Greene’s quote above. So that’s what blows my mind–relative to stationary objects, time actually slows a teensy-weensy bit for objects in motion.

This brings me to my favorite experiment in the history of experiments. In 1971 a scientist named Hafele thought of a simple experiment to test Einstein’s theory of Special Relativity. After some hasty calculations he determined that the speed of a jet airplane ferrying an atomic clock would be sufficient to measure the relativistic effects of motion through space. So after meeting up with another scientist named Keating who worked for the Navy as an atomic clock expert, he finally got enough money to by a couple tickets around the world on Pan Am. He placed atomic clocks on the planes and set them off in opposite directions around the globe. In the end, you guessed it, when they checked the time on the atomic clocks that had been in motion and compared them to a stationary atomic clock in the lab, the moving clocks had slowed by exactly the amount that Einstein’s equations predicted. Coolest experiment ever right? Science frigging rocks!

On a related note, I’ve been told that time also slows to a painful degree for those subjected to my prattlings. Sorry about that.

The Force Is Strong With This One

2012-04-26T04:46:49Z

My wife is a Jedi Master. Her ability to manipulate me with her Jedi mind tricks is notorious and frankly, a little annoying. While I have no actual memory of her forced persuasion, I’m told it goes something like this.

Me: ”I’m going to buy a couple of these cool shirts with the airbrushed wolves howling at the moon okay Sweetie?”
Wife: “These aren’t the shirts you’re looking for.” [Waves hand mysteriously in front of me]
Me: “These aren’t the shirts I’m looking for.”
Wife: “Move along.”

Shameful right? Well if you think that’s bad you should see how arguments with her go. No, really, you should see how arguments with her go and when you do please tell me about them; they’re all a blur for me except for the part at the end where I wind up taking her position.

As if all that isn’t bad enough, she’s taken on an apprentice. My daughter is now her official padawan and she’s already causing a great disturbance in the force. If her current ability to befuddle me grows any more, she may wind up being stronger than her Jedi mother. What will I do then? I’m tempted to take it up what I consider to be unethical behavior with the Jedi High Council but I’m a little embarrassed by the argument I’d be forced to make:

“Um, Your Jedinesses, I’d like to file a complaint about my wife and daughter using their Jedi powers on me; it’s not fair because I’m a creature of disorganized mental faculties.”

No, I think I just have to grin stupidly and bear it. Maybe it’s not all bad; we do get a magical number of free appetizers everywhere we go.

Here Before Me

2012-04-18T05:54:28Z

“A very receptive state of mind… not unlike a sheet of film itself – seemingly inert, yet so sensitive that a fraction of a second’s exposure conceives a life in it.” ~Minor White

Last Summer I took a trip to San Francisco and Big Sur. While it was unquestionably beautiful I found it equally stirring. As I strolled San Francisco I thought about what it might have been like in 1945 to be a student at the California School of Fine Arts Department of Photography. How much could a receptive mind learn from the likes of Adams, White, Lange, and Cunningham? As I explored the city I wondered if some of the things that caught my eye might have also caught theirs.

Later in the trip as we worked our way south I stopped at Point Lobos and set off on a solitary hike. I came across a tide pool and was mesmerized by it–shooting pictures as the patterns swirled and transformed. In a sudden rush I pictured Weston perched over that same tidal pool or one just like it shooting the ever-transforming scene; was he equally enraptured when he captured Tide Pool, Point Lobos (1940)?.

For everything that is good in this life, we owe something to those who came before. They are the trailblazers, the brave ones, the visionaries. And while I think they’d be flattered by all the attention, I’m pretty sure after some time they’d tell us to get the hell off of their path and find our own. It isn’t the path after all that’s great, it’s the exploration.

I’ll start tomorrow; today I’m emulating.

Some Merit

2012-04-08T23:32:42Z

Dear Kids,

You’ll have many roads to choose from in the years ahead; if I’ve done my job well you’ll choose the right road most of the time. No matter how much I try, however, you’ll be confronted with course decisions I haven’t prepared you for. About the best I can do is tell you about a general principle I’ve learned along the road and hope that it holds as true for you as it has for me. For most choices in life I’ve done better and been happier when I’ve owned the road chosen. I know, that doesn’t make any sense; let me explain.

When I was in college I took a class in ethics and I have to tell you that I rocked it. I was a superstar in that class; I was unmatched in my engagement, thoughtfulness, and insight. Most importantly, the professor loved me and it was reflected in hard, cold, awesome grades. I felt like I could do no wrong. Eventually, however, I was faced with a choice. At one point in the semester I had a sort of perfect storm of assignments; my ethics professor and various science professors colluded to swamp me with projects. Something had to give. I was talking with a friend and lamenting my situation when he cheerfully proposed a solution. He had taken the same ethics class a few years prior and remembered the specific assignment. He had scored an A on it and suggested I use his paper as a template for mine. This seemed like a perfect idea at the time…yes the fact that this was an ethics class is not lost on me. So with his paper in hand I crafted my own from his. I utilized his main arguments but wrote the paper with my tone and style. Thanks to the assist from my friend, I managed to complete my biology and chemistry assignments on time and get the ethics paper in just before the deadline; everything was hunky dory.

A week later I got the ethics paper back and on the top right corner was a big red B. It was impossible I thought; I had submitted an A paper–I had the historical proof evidenced by my friend’s paper showing a big red A and glowing comments. I leafed through my paper and got to the last page. I will always remember what my professor wrote at the bottom:

“This paper warrants some merit Chris. Do not content yourself with some merit.”

Kids, this isn’t a simple story about cheating…in an ethics class no less. Shoot, that lesson is easy to grasp; don’t do it. It’s about the bigger issue of owning the road you’re on. There are no shortcuts from the road and you certainly won’t get to where you want to be by taking someone else’s road. Everything about the road you’ve chosen says something about you. People will know the kind of person you are by the journey you’ve taken, by the choices you’ve made. In some ways it defines you. When you have made good choices and found a good road, people will come to expect more from you, perhaps even more than they expect from your friends. It’s not unfair for people to expect great things from you; it’s an honor you’ve earned so treat it as such.

Even now I see your roads diverging from mine; while it makes me sad I’m also incredibly proud. I know you’ll own your road and I can’t wait to see where it takes you.

Love always,
Dad

Semper Paratus

2012-03-24T15:11:44Z

For pediatric residents little compares to the anxiety that comes with hearing a call to respond to a code blue for a child in extreme distress. I was no exception. In my hospital the code was announced in stark terms by an overhead page. On hearing that call, every resident on service immediately responded. The first physician to arrive at the patient’s side automatically assumed the role of code leader. That’s really where the anxiety came from. If you were first, every eye in the room looked to you for direction. With every glance you knew they were asking you, “how, exactly, are we going to help this child?” In general I had no idea the answer to that question.

The fear that grips you upon suddenly realizing this fact further cripples you. I knew this all too well. Early in my residency I decided that those first crucial moments in a code were vital for several reasons. First, in the early moments you must make it very clear to everyone in the room that you own the code. It’s yours and no one else’s. Additionally, many codes go poorly for the most avoidable reasons: an oxygen tube inadvertently attached to air instead of oxygen, horribly inefficient chest compressions that result from forgetting to stabilize the child with a backboard, inadequate or excessive medication dosing that occurs with lax documentation. Primarily though, you need time, time to collect your thoughts and take a deep, calming breath. Having figured this out I came up with a list of five or six things that I pledged I would do at the beginning of every code. They were simple things like definitively stating my role as code captain, tasking someone to fetch the aforementioned backboard and having the person most in the know tell me a few things about the child. They were certainly important for the child but mainly they gave everyone in the room a job to do for a few moments; it was just enough time to convince myself that I could actually do the thing that needed to be done.

I hardly ever stray into the territory of photography lessons. I’m a complete dilettante; I have no business telling anyone how to take pictures. I’m not going to start now. I will say this though; I think that preparation plays a huge part in most successful photography. The lessons I learned as a resident apply to a good many of life’s challenges and photography is no exception. In general I’ve moved toward setting out on a specific photographic task rather than just wandering aimlessly looking for purpose…and images. Setting out, for instance, to shoot a bird in flight means I’ll prepare differently than I would for yet another shot of my kids or those ubiquitous lampposts I seem to adore. I focus on the equipment I need and always setup the camera in advance with settings that will maximize the likelihood of capturing a good shot. I got this shot of a snowy egret by being prepared. I set my camera up for 5 fps, switched to a balance of settings that would largely freeze action yet give me some depth of field to play with and converted focus to continuous mode for better motion tracking. It was only then that I got out of the car and set out looking for the shot. Preparation in this case got me a shot I really like.

See, this wasn’t a lesson. It was just a common sense discussion on the importance of preparation in life–handy if you ever find yourself running a pediatric code blue or searching for a decent shot of a snowy egret in flight. Don’t worry, I won’t venture here again any time soon.

Daddy To Dad

2012-03-14T05:58:56Z

It’s happened. Not too long ago my son, all of seven years old, asked me if he could call me “Dad” instead of “Daddy”. He even had the temerity to ask me to refrain from calling myself “Daddy” in public. His shame would be irreversible he assured me. I should have known it was coming; I’d seen signs for some time. Earlier in the year I was walking past his classroom and called out to him and waved. He looked up briefly but dropped his eyes quickly and kept his hands on his desk. The boy sitting next to him happily waved back to me and gave me a huge grin. If that wasn’t enough, some time ago I told him that I loved him and, no kidding, his response was “uh okay, thanks.” Ugh, that smarts.

Yes, I know; all of this is supposed to happen but it doesn’t dull the pain of cold, hard realization. My son is growing up and it’s happening faster than I thought possible. He’s developing a sense of self and independence; he’s taking the first tentative steps into a world without me. It’s normal, it’s undoubtedly healthy but it’s killing me. There was a time when he was such a tender, affectionate boy. Now I get armless hugs and disdainful moans when I hold him a few seconds too long. Still, sometimes I see a glimpse of the boy that was. Tonight he asked me to help him with a Poptropica puzzle. We worked on the solution together and after I prodded he begrudgingly gave me a “thank you”. Then, for a second, he flashed me the smile. It was the real deal–full of love, appreciation and happiness. Nowadays these little moments are fleeting but they confirm that the little boy is still in there somewhere. It’s not a lot but I’ll take every single one of them.

Touch

2012-03-02T05:57:02Z

We’ll call her Hope; she was an adorable two year old with pudgy cheeks, an ear-to-ear grin and bright laughing eyes. When you were around Hope, all you wanted to do was hug her. The thing about Hope though–at the time I met her she hadn’t been touched by another human being in months.

Hope had Severe Combined Immunodeficiency Syndrome or SCIDS and her home was a strict isolation room on the bone marrow transplant unit at the children’s hospital where I trained. To listen to her heart or take her pulse or tickle her feet, doctors and nurses were required to use thick rubber gloves installed in the glass wall separating her from the world of viruses and bacteria. SCIDS is a pretty bad frigging deal. Affected children have virtually no ability to mount an immune response to any infectious invader. While the disease used to be universally fatal, in recent decades hematopoietic stem cell transplant has become the one shot for kids with SCIDS. Hope had her transplant and the wait was on for signs that the transplant had succeeded. She whiled away the hours, days, months in a sterile room alone and untouched.

I met Hope when I was a third year pediatric resident. By that point in training I’d developed a pretty thick skin; a lot of terrible things can happen to kids. But Hope had an unusual effect on me. As the first few nights passed it became harder and harder to bear her solitude. One night I told the nurses that I was going in. It took around thirty minutes just to don my sterile bubble suit. After sweatily finishing with the last few bits of protective covering I took my first step into her very private world. It was as good as it gets. we played a few games and one-by-one she showed me her sterile toys. Then we sat down together and watched the Lion King. We laughed at Timon and Pumbaa and I covered her eyes during the scary bits. Most importantly, I got that hug I had been longing for. Eventually the nurses called me to see another patient so I begrudgingly left little Hope.

I wish I could say that Hope’s story had a happy ending. It didn’t; Hope died a year or so later after toughing out things that would make a grown man crumple. Even today when I think of Hope I get emotional. Every children’s hospital is filled with stories like her’s but Hope’s story and my story became intertwined; she affected me in ways I still feel today. For someone I couldn’t touch she sure did touch me.

Effete

2012-02-24T20:42:20Z

I’m an effete, unimpressive version of what I could have been. I come from a land where the people are real. It’s a place where breath hangs in the icy air, a definitive, visual confirmation of life. No one there needs to pay for rosy cheeks in a jar; blush is a natural and pleasant result of being. The struggle makes these people strong; when you’re near them you can feel their tenacity and before long you’ll revel in their joie de vivre.

A life of modern comfort and endless, warm sunshine has softened me I think. I can’t help but feel that man vs. freeway is not as enriching as man vs. nature. I’m fairly certain that surviving the mall is inherently less valuable than surviving the forest. When I moved to California an elderly member of the family indelicately warned that I’d lose my soul. She was right I suppose. I think it melted away when I wasn’t looking.

Conundrum

2012-02-13T16:40:22Z

Thank you all so much for your words of sympathy on my last post. I really appreciate your kindness.

Posting a daily image at photoDiurnalis has been a very rewarding experience. Don’t get me wrong, at times the hunt for a daily image has made me miserable but for the most part I can’t deny the value of it. I’m thinking more about photography; I pretty much have to given my rule of posting one shot a day, taken that day. I’m also getting a better sense of the the kind of images that float my boat. I’m a lot darker than I thought.

There has been, however, an unintended consequence of posting my favorite shot on photoDiurnalis each day. Being In Focus is pretty much always going to get sloppy seconds. I haven’t figured out how to fix this yet. There are plenty of days when I find that I’ve only got one decent shot worthy of posting anywhere. Today I had a few shots that I liked so rather than dig into the archives or post a shot from my image-rich trip to Canada, I thought I’d post something current. I’m not sure whether this shot is better than the one I posted on Being In Focus’ sister site but I do like it. Here’s the photoDiurnalis pic for comparison.

However it turns out I’ve got to find a way to again give Being In Focus some attention. I feel like a really bad parent.

Addendum: I”m taking a page from my friend Doug Hickok who often shares links to great photography from around the world. Take a moment to check out the 2012 World Press Photo Contest Winners. The images are breathtaking.

Nanny

2012-02-07T06:12:48Z

My beloved grandmother and the great matriarch of our family died a few days ago. About a year and a half ago I said goodbye to my grandfather, Nan’s husband of 71 years. It’s hard for me to imagine the world without my Nan and Gump. Here are my words for the memorial service.

—

About a year and a half ago we comforted Nan and said goodbye to her husband of more than 70 years and my grandfather, Gump. We marveled at the life they shared and the amazing opportunity our family had to be a part of something so timeless and real in an otherwise plastic, disposable world. Now, although we have to say goodbye to Nan she’ll never really be gone from our lives. She lives on for us in a million different ways, timeless impressions she’s left in our hearts and minds.

Some of those impressions at first seem inconsequential but now their significance is magnified. The other day I found myself looking up at the sky with my kids and reciting:

“Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see!”
The skipper, he blew whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.”

A little boy in Eastern Canada in the 1970s might never have found words by Longfellow on his own but I did because Nanny was a poet at heart. Words such as these flowed from her with ease and filled our lives with the pure beauty of verse. Her own poetry could melt the heart of the toughest soul and told the tale of girl who faced much in life but also told of one who lived fully. These words, her words and the love she had for sharing them live on in all of us, as they will for my children and their children.

Some of the impressions Nan left are unmistakably monumental. I don’t think I’ve ever known a kinder soul than my grandmother. In a world full of self-interested people and those only willing to pay lip service to sacred ideals, Nanny was the real thing. Though overused it feels particularly appropriate to say that Nan didn’t just talk the talk, she walked the walk. For those of us that had the great fortune to walk with her on the journey, it was impossible not to be constantly reminded of life’s most important value. In all things be good and kind; give more to others than you ask of them. If you can do this simple thing every day, you’ll change the world.

I love you Nan–thank you for changing my world.