“YESSSSS,” he says, two fists pumping the air.
I look up. I can barely keep my eyes open. There is so much to be done. I almost forgot to remind a friend he’s needed as a pall-bearer. The date’s been brought forward a day, there are flowers to arrange and sound system and catering and slideshows and orders of service to organise. We can’t find the cemetery guy. We’ve got his number, I spoke to him only just before Christmas – “we’ll be needing a plot, but I don’t know how soon,” I told him then… turns out, we need it next Thursday – but he can’t be found now. Maybe he’s on holidays. How inconvenient. That’s the way things go in the country: it’ll all work out, don’t stress.
“I think I finally got it,” my weary husband’s voice says to me through the fog of my own bereaved thoughts as I struggle to finish a website I’ve promised. I have a sales team waiting keenly now. Pressure’s on. Death can be so inconveniently timed. He has been working night, day and all hours in between (wherever they are to be found). School is back next week and they have created something out of thin air, these technical wizz-kids (wizz-men sounds so totally wrong, although Steve is the youngest at 40). Yesterday one of their sales team was *actually* hugged by a teacher who loved their App presentation so much she just had to express her gratitude.
THAT’S an App.
And he’s done it all in between ferrying, herding and nourishing our little Lolly. He’s here but he’s absent, forced to work until he works this out. They’re relying on him. Hundred of students and their school faculties. Equally forced to look after the LGBB single-handed because I simply cannot take her with me when I have been travelling to help my father and stepmother. She’s missing her Dad very much. She hasn’t been together with us all for weeks, it feels like. I’ve not been here more than two nights in the past week. I’m taking her back with me on Sunday night, we can’t leave Dad alone to wake up on his 70th birthday on Monday with an empty house.
“What?” I make the error of asking. For my own amusement, I capture most of what he says – he’s barely caring if I’m listening, assuming I’m typing as I stare blankly ahead. But really, I want to document a little of how in awe I am of what he’s helped to create here.
After a year of planning in between their day jobs, four blokes have put their heads together and come up with a winner. I daren’t count my eggs before they hatch, but I hear those chicks a-tappin’ and they’ve got “pay off the mortgage” written on them…. But they hit a stumbling block last week. The App was refusing to accept the data. The orders are coming in daily – school after impressed school – but the App… oh, Mr. Hart, what a mess.
After days of solid concentration and silent internal hysteria, he thinks he’s cracked it tonight. Just for humour’s sake, let’s see if you can follow along (for the record, I couldn’t – I usually can, but with this…. nup. He lost me. I partially blame my current emotional state):
“I’ve been tailing the access log and the error log for the NGIX web server looking for errors in the PHP-FPM. The error code #502 said the upstream header was too big so I modified the NGINX.conf and added into the http section fast CGI buffers of 8k, 16k and 32k (I think that’s what I did), restarted NGINX and accessed the server from the App, requesting a full refresh of data and instead of getting a 502 error, I got a 200 response from the server… which means it’s all ok. And the app loaded the data it was getting. Finally. Was that Lolly, do you think she’s asleep yet? When I refreshed the data from the app, it sends a json packet to the server which is passed through a PHP page that requests data from the MYSQL database which loads it into an array (in memory) encodes it into json xml that’s returned to the app where it’s decoded and stored into the SQL database within the app to display all the various information.”
The moral of the story is, my husband is a freaking genius.
Oh, and… his middle name is Jason. See? All true geeks have a json in them somewhere. Fact.