I just realized the depth of Kris' love for me.

For whatever reason that I haven't quite determined yet, when I play ulitmate hard, I lose my toenails. They fall off, I can play pain free for a while. They grow back, get jammed, and fall off again. It's been the cycle for several years now. Annoying, but I deal with it.

Usually when they start to fall off, I'll trim them as close as I can, because they rarely come off cleanly.

This last time, however, the toenail from the big toe was fully jammed, and after a couple weeks, came cleanly off my toe. I was in Kris' bathroom when I pulled it off, and left it on the counter. Yeah, yeah, yeah, normally I throw them away, but the trashcan in Kris' bathroom is in an awkward place, and I, no doubt, was distracted by the topside of my new toe.

When looking for something this morning, I looked on Kris' shelves. Much to my surprise, I found that last toenail, all shrivelled, yellow and icky.

Kris had moved it from the counter to some place safer in case I wanted that toenail. He had saved it for me, in the midst of cleaning.

Clearly, I haven't begun to probe the depths of that man's love for me.

Heather found out today that her last day at work will be in two weeks. Her boss realized that she's heading off to school in five months, and decided to pre-empt her leaving by hiring a new girl now and giving Heather the boot today. Given how well Heather runs the office, we're all a bit shocked.

In an effort to cheer her up, we gathered to listen to her story, make dinner, toast her new found freedom and make sure she's okay with the transistion. It was amazing to watch eight friends descend in one place to help a friend. Makes me all warm and squishy inside.

Before everyone came over, I dashed home to feed the dogs, go for a run, and generally clean up a little bit before everyone came over. Because Heather was heading over soon, I hurriedly leashed Annie and rushed out the door. As I was futzing with the iPod and earphones, I looked up to see a car slowly drive up. Usually when cars drive by slowly, the driver is looking for a house, slowing to ask for directions, or casing the neighborhood. When the driver opened the door to speak, I assumed she was going to ask for directions.

Instead, she asked, "Could we have some of your lemons?"

Pardon?

"Could we have some of your lemons?"

Now, the two lemon trees in front of my house are overflowing with lemons. I have enough lemons to make a lemon dish every meal, every day for several months, and barely make a dent. If I had lemonade for every meal for a month I might make a dent. Might.

My immediate answer? "Sure!"

I then turned around, walked into the house, through the door, grabbed a trash bag and the door key, and walked back out of the house, locking the door behind me. I offered the bag to the two girls climbing out of the back seat of the car. I eventually convinced them to take it, and explained the darker lemons were the sweeter ones. Annie and I took off for our run as the two of the girls were pulling lemons from the tree.

As I ran down the street, every fiber in my body screamed turn around, watch them, don't let them on your property without watching them! My paranoid self cried out to turn around, wait in the house until they left, talk to them, write down the license plate number I had from the car, but don't leave the house with them there. They could be casing out the joint. I could return and my computer could be gone. My phone! My dog! What if they harm my other dog? Or take her? Turn around.

I kept running.

The thoughts stayed with me, but I kept running. Believe people tell the truth. Yes, I could be robbed blind as I ran, but I didn't think so. I didn't want to believe so. The lemon story, great cover! Ha ha ha, the joke's on me.

I kept running.

The worst that could happen? Something bad to Bella. Barring that? Most everything in the house could be replaced. I'd hate to lose my computer, my phone, my camera, but all of them could be replaced. The items that are aren't replaceable are the ones that are nominally worthless to everyone but me. Keep running, I'll be home in twenty minutes anyway. Keep running.

Twenty minutes later, I'm home. The house is fine. Nothing but a good number of lemons is missing. I successfully fought the irrational, stupid paranoia. All is good.

Twenty minutes later, I was surrounded by those friends gathering for another.

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"There is the lulling of anxiety through repeated success, or the loss of respect (or fear) for past experience."

Sitting at O'Hare, waiting for my plane to board, I read these words in an article describing the calendaric coincidence of the triple space tragedies of Apollo, Challenger and Columbia of January 27, January 28 and Feb 3 of different years.

Seems a common theme throughout pretty much the evolution of man. Things are hard, difficult, new. They're done a few times. They get easier, and easier. Soon, there's no challenge in them, and they become rote, not scary, boring.

Let down your guard. Don't be surprised what happens.

Sitting in the workshop, I can't help but think, good lord, this is a complete flip from the way the people "in power" want things to run. managers and supervisors and the like from ten years ago would have freaked out at the thoughts of an XP (agile) approach can't figure out why things don't work at the end, well, did you ask the customer what they wanted in the first place?

The arrogance of power or the foolishness of user groups who will tell you what you want to hear, not what they really feel. The madness of crowds, and the force of a single personality in that group will skew your results each time.