June 15, 2019

12.15 am:

My boys had come home, and they’d bought me a plant in advance of Fathers’ Day: a candelabra cactus (although not a cactus, strictly speaking, but, rather, an euphorbia). It thrives on neglect. Ideally suited to my horticultural prowess, therefore. ‘He’ (for obvious reasons) will take pride of place in my studio, where sunlight and warmth can be enjoyed. Family talk and newsy catch-up occupied us until we hit the sack.

8.15 am:

The boys would not emerge for some, not inconsiderable, time yet. When, at their age, I returned to my parents’ home on a weekend, my instinct was to luxuriate too. And Mam and Dad (bless them) were only to willing to indulge an only child. There was something deeply consoling about returning to the bedroom that had been my refuge ever since I could remember. In that bed, I discovered myself, my heart broke (often), my body matured, hopes were fermented, and God moved and ignited my spirit and mind:

9.50 am: I heard other manly voices downstairs. Any excuse for another cup of tea. 10.30 am: I began clearing a space in the studio for the birthday computer build, which would be the day’s centrepiece. The ‘bits’ were unboxed and accounted for. My younger son (who’s the engineer and procurement officer on this project) was a dab-hand at LEGO Technics when younger. The investment in numerous birthday and Christmas presents during his teenage years had paid off:

11.15 am: From two floors below the melody to ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’ drifted up the stairwell. My elder son had rediscovered the piano. Later, he admired a painting in my studio. (This was curious, because he’s not drawn to abstract artworks usually.) An inadvertent connection was made. The glory of the early morning faded as rain clouds gathered and moved westward over the town and sea.

2.00 pm: The build began:

We each abandoned our slippers so as be earthed to the carpet, and grasped a metal rod to discharge static in our bodies, just in case we touched a component and fried it. Our world comprised small screws, lugs, plugs, power supplies, fans and coolants (which are extraordinarily import in a machine this powerful), cables, and alignments. My son was a patient teacher; I followed dutifully. This was all new to me; although years of building pedalboards prepared me for some of the challenges.

Father: ‘With everything being black, it’s hard to know where the screws and plugs go’.
Son: ‘But isn’t black so much more aesthetic?’
Father: ‘That’s my boy!’

Meanwhile, elder son got into the studio to polish and restring his Fender Stratocaster. (‘That’s my boy!’, too.) Good to hear him playing electric guitar once again:

Tests of the build so far were made periodically throughout the afternoon. 4.30 pm: We were closing in on our quarry. By the end of the session, the hardware was in place and operational. So, onto software set-up.

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