A couple of months with a couple: the monks (poem)

Friar Chris, the provincial traveler, an ascetic by nature, evangelic unraveler. While on his first pilgrimage, barefoot in the winter, he viewed her visage, and had to win her. It must have been god that stumbled him in as he thought, "I need a drink, caffeine... "hot... 'Koffee?' is the name of this spot? He opened the door, dripping all over the place. As the puddle seeped to the floor, he caught the lass's face. In that gaze, his skin melted, but time froze.

Sister Shaina, ever the woman of chastity, charity, vitality, and vigilance. Was spending this winter day, and her paycheck, to give free drugs away. "They need it!" She nobly thought, "Heart warming caffeine, something hot!" And so it came to pass, a miracle from the love in this lass. She turned water into coffee with style and grace, holding the pot she noticed a new frigid face. In that gaze, her skin melted, but time froze.

--

Then time started. Each moment their eyes met retold each time they parted. A moment of a page of a story, each moment compounded cerebral glory. Shaina brought more guests to a lovely home, see it all reflect on his shiny dome. Heaping helpings of hilarity: Swarley's cuteness and sprinkling charity... A pot luck for this, and friends-giving that: wave that turkey-call in your fist... while wearing Santa's hat!

The Monks married and merry, cheeks and cheeks: rosy and cherry. Parties for guests, characters galore: beer makers, cheese cooks, engineers and more. I stumbled on senses of humor with holes and balls. Golf. And got to show off telephone pole charged fireballs!

What joy it's been these friendly few months, I look forward to more with this couple:
The Monks!

Talking to engineers (thought)

Internet, I have a request for you:

Take a look at this imbibing device, the drinking tool, a hollow transparent cylinder with one impermeable side.

Gee, it's a glass.

Imagine trying to explain concepts like this to people all day of varying degrees of technical prowess.

Pratt and Whitney doesn't have names for the multiple million different parts on different engines, but has to use coded identifiers.

General practice in different departments are well accepted, but there are few to no standards bridging the departments. As a process engineer, my job was that bridge. Communication and clarification to create jet engine instructions.

This sentiment is shared across the technical realm. Engineers need to guess how much information you actually want when you ask them a question. We need to guess if you want us to tell you why to fix your computer, how to fix your computer, and if we come off as terribly rude when we assert way more help than you wanted.

So please be vocal with us, there's lag while we think of a response and some of us might miss a key facial expression.

He*~*art (poem)

Ebbing pain...ebbing?
It's still so clear.
______  is my memory stain.
I now get lectured from my brain,
my heart once blossomed just feels... plain.
That person's out there in this plane...
and maybe that person must feel the same.
But how? Why? and Who cares for my trust now?
And am I insane?
It feel right to cast blame in spells of violence,
with all my mustered might, I can't quell the thunder of this silence.
Those explosions hammer and resonate to a beat, a beat,
a pumping heartbeat.