After my third time warming the bath last night I began to wonder about water. (Every so often I enjoy a long bath, a really long bath. This is a reaction to my time of going weeks without a good cleansing, times change. And I really enjoy my new aquatic learning tools). Floating in the tub reminded me of the time spent bring down trees with my uncles. We would chop them, drag them with the mules, and then float them to the mill.
Water is the great choice when trying to move a huge tree from the forest down to the mill in order to make some floor boards for the neighbor’s house. Have you ever noticed that mills are near a river or stream? Party this local is to harness the strength of the river to power the saw blade. But another great reason is to float your newly felled tree with the water and not break your back in the process. The current can work for you and carry the load.
You can also go with the current when transporting your long boat through the narrow straights surrounding the arctic north. The water knows where it is able to go, and the current will tell you where you’ll be able to go as well. The ship’s pilot still needs to be vigilant and watch for glacier peaks, but on the whole the current can work for you.
Beyond the bath tub and the occasional trip to the beach I am not around water that often. But I still see the influence of currents. I see currents working in my social and financial life. Books that my friends like are the ones I want to read next. Music that is held in high regard by people I trust deserves a listen. The people that know about saving and how to find a deal are the ones I want hanging around.
I do my best to keep these streams of influence small. Many friends and acquaintances have drove head first into quickly moving rapids of social fun only to find out they need a floatation device. The new computer ploy to take my money and time is not a current I want to move with. Find yourself a group of frugal fun loving folks are you are free to float. Just be sure the current is not guiding you toward a saw mill. That blade will tear you two ways to Tuesday. (For real, don’t mess with that. I knew a guy once, I won’t go into it, but he doesn’t play cards any more, or the guitar. He’s got Velcro sneakers; it’s sad). All I’m saying is you have to stay aware while you float.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Nesting
The nesting instinct is real. Lest you doubt, take for example the cardinals in my back yard. (As an aside, I live in an affordable row home in a large North Eastern City, and I have a back yard with trees, I love our realtor). Back to the majestic birds with the deep red plumage preparing nests in our yard. At this time of year the yard is alive with transition.
The grass is preparing to grow strong and thick, the crocuses are beginning to bloom, and the daffodils are on deck to display their deep yellows. But these grounded changes are slow in comparison to the flittering above the vegetation. The birds are preparing their spaces for the coming brood. Especially busy is the female cardinal. She flies back and forth through the yard collecting material for the nest as her bright red partner keeps a protective eye.
In her natural habitat the North American Pregnant Spouse (NAPS) is not so different. My wife is one of 10 intimates that are going to add to their brood in the next month or two. And goodness is our house flittering with activity.
Up to this hour we have; cleaned the car inside and out, built new shelves and subsequently redistributed the contents of the basement, cleared the old growth from the garden, installed new exterior doors, revamped the budget with all the necessary debates and agreements, made a list to track the lists that we will need to complete, packed a bag, assembled the crib, vacuumed with abandon, stocked the freezer, and ordered pizza. It’s been a good morning.
Like the male cardinal I mostly stood watch and added opinions when needed. I enjoyed the construction in the basement and cleaning the car. But mostly I am here to lift heavy things and give a reassuring nod.
The grass is preparing to grow strong and thick, the crocuses are beginning to bloom, and the daffodils are on deck to display their deep yellows. But these grounded changes are slow in comparison to the flittering above the vegetation. The birds are preparing their spaces for the coming brood. Especially busy is the female cardinal. She flies back and forth through the yard collecting material for the nest as her bright red partner keeps a protective eye.
In her natural habitat the North American Pregnant Spouse (NAPS) is not so different. My wife is one of 10 intimates that are going to add to their brood in the next month or two. And goodness is our house flittering with activity.
Up to this hour we have; cleaned the car inside and out, built new shelves and subsequently redistributed the contents of the basement, cleared the old growth from the garden, installed new exterior doors, revamped the budget with all the necessary debates and agreements, made a list to track the lists that we will need to complete, packed a bag, assembled the crib, vacuumed with abandon, stocked the freezer, and ordered pizza. It’s been a good morning.
Like the male cardinal I mostly stood watch and added opinions when needed. I enjoyed the construction in the basement and cleaning the car. But mostly I am here to lift heavy things and give a reassuring nod.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Consider the vegetable
Looking back over my week I recognize that I have not eaten any meat. I have enjoyed noodles, veggies, and even pizza with no meat in sight. I am considering being vegetarian.
I’m not considering if I want to be a vegetarian, I know that answer. I’m considering what it means to be a vegetarian. For instance, is there a time threshold you must cross before you can claim the title. “I have not consumed meat for one full month, I am now a vegetarian.” Or do you claim the title and then live into the reality, something like, “from this day forward I am a vegetarian, bring on the quinoa.”
Image you are on a boat somewhere off the coast of Greenland. You and the crew have been out to sea for many days, possibly weeks. You have eaten the meat rations and all that is left are potatoes and continually souring cabbage in a big wooden barrel. The boat is not in any danger of running out of these and other life sustaining options. But gone are the days of braised rabbit over field greens. Are you now on a boat full of vegetarians?
Now you know full well that once the boat gets back to shore every person will walk their leather boots to the local tavern for fresh water and a big hunk of an animal’s leg. Every one of them will relish the tearing and chomping of the whole ordeal. But while on the boat they had no meat; vegetarians?
Or you are on the farm in early spring. Flowers are blooming and the young animals are learning to walk on their spindly legs. It will be months until any of these new young are ready for the grill, so we eat from the bounty of the garden. The season is filled with steamed vegetables and wonderful salads. Are we currently vegetarians, or simply waiting for the day when the bird is plump enough for the feathers to be ripped off and the skin to crackle over the charcoal?
So if this week has been filled with pizza but no pepperonis, spaghetti with no meat balls, and salads topped with bacon bits that never knew a pig, can I call myself a vegetarian? Or should I wait a week or two before I claim the title?
I’m not considering if I want to be a vegetarian, I know that answer. I’m considering what it means to be a vegetarian. For instance, is there a time threshold you must cross before you can claim the title. “I have not consumed meat for one full month, I am now a vegetarian.” Or do you claim the title and then live into the reality, something like, “from this day forward I am a vegetarian, bring on the quinoa.”
Image you are on a boat somewhere off the coast of Greenland. You and the crew have been out to sea for many days, possibly weeks. You have eaten the meat rations and all that is left are potatoes and continually souring cabbage in a big wooden barrel. The boat is not in any danger of running out of these and other life sustaining options. But gone are the days of braised rabbit over field greens. Are you now on a boat full of vegetarians?
Now you know full well that once the boat gets back to shore every person will walk their leather boots to the local tavern for fresh water and a big hunk of an animal’s leg. Every one of them will relish the tearing and chomping of the whole ordeal. But while on the boat they had no meat; vegetarians?
Or you are on the farm in early spring. Flowers are blooming and the young animals are learning to walk on their spindly legs. It will be months until any of these new young are ready for the grill, so we eat from the bounty of the garden. The season is filled with steamed vegetables and wonderful salads. Are we currently vegetarians, or simply waiting for the day when the bird is plump enough for the feathers to be ripped off and the skin to crackle over the charcoal?
So if this week has been filled with pizza but no pepperonis, spaghetti with no meat balls, and salads topped with bacon bits that never knew a pig, can I call myself a vegetarian? Or should I wait a week or two before I claim the title?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Penna Black Bear
Yesterday I did a pull up. For some of you that means very little, and might not sound like much of an accomplishment. Well, dear reader who has never seen me, take my word for it, this was no small thing.
This is because I am no small thing. Let me draw some mental pictures. I’m built like a Penna black bear just before hibernation. I called myself the Amish Viking, gentle but broad. Something of a lumberjack, not really surly, but burly to be sure.
Part of the tendency to be broad is my lineage (German mostly), but mainly I eat too much and exercise too little. I should be plowing fields or rowing through the cold north instead of sitting in front of little boxes that light up and sing for me.
But that has been changing. If you refer back to the first sentence I did a pull up yesterday. Take that you flannel shirt, horned helmet, neutral colors wearing old self. There’s a new me breaking through, mostly in my back and shoulders at this point. We’ll see about the gut later in the year.
And I don’t have any plans to lose the neutral colors or horned helmet, they will just fit more comfortably.
This is because I am no small thing. Let me draw some mental pictures. I’m built like a Penna black bear just before hibernation. I called myself the Amish Viking, gentle but broad. Something of a lumberjack, not really surly, but burly to be sure.
Part of the tendency to be broad is my lineage (German mostly), but mainly I eat too much and exercise too little. I should be plowing fields or rowing through the cold north instead of sitting in front of little boxes that light up and sing for me.
But that has been changing. If you refer back to the first sentence I did a pull up yesterday. Take that you flannel shirt, horned helmet, neutral colors wearing old self. There’s a new me breaking through, mostly in my back and shoulders at this point. We’ll see about the gut later in the year.
And I don’t have any plans to lose the neutral colors or horned helmet, they will just fit more comfortably.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Sunny Days are Here Again
In an effort to follow my own instructions, I will now tell you that I am enjoying today’s mild winter weather. If you have not noticed, it is sunny outside. Not just sunny, downright delightful. Especially after all the days of frozen streets that do not allow motorcycles to drive freely. Days that demand extra layers comprised of wool and cable knits. Days that will not allow the bald amount us to walk with no lid. Today is markedly different, I left all of my cable knits and lids at home and rode off into the sunrise with little more than a leather jacket (okay, I did wear a helmet). Today is a good weather day.
If you are reading this on the north east cost of the US I suggest you turn off the monitor/television/hand held display. I promise not to take too much time and I assure you that when you return Gilligan will still be on the island, the kid with a sword will still be searching for the princess, and our favorite local sporting team will still have a fighting chance.
But you, my friend, have an opportunity to step out into the sun light, the light that provides reprieve from your long hard slog of a winter. If you suffer from the winter blues you could even add a walk for good measure. If you miss your time in the sun today they tell me tomorrow will be more of the same.
However take the opportunity while it is here. I just looked ahead, and forecast is not that good. Apparently it will rain and maybe snow next week. It is still February, lest we forget. But my focus is not on possible weather next week. My focus is out the window.
I’m sorry, have nothing more to say, I must go.
If you are reading this on the north east cost of the US I suggest you turn off the monitor/television/hand held display. I promise not to take too much time and I assure you that when you return Gilligan will still be on the island, the kid with a sword will still be searching for the princess, and our favorite local sporting team will still have a fighting chance.
But you, my friend, have an opportunity to step out into the sun light, the light that provides reprieve from your long hard slog of a winter. If you suffer from the winter blues you could even add a walk for good measure. If you miss your time in the sun today they tell me tomorrow will be more of the same.
However take the opportunity while it is here. I just looked ahead, and forecast is not that good. Apparently it will rain and maybe snow next week. It is still February, lest we forget. But my focus is not on possible weather next week. My focus is out the window.
I’m sorry, have nothing more to say, I must go.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Books in the Hull
Months ago my work was located in what we call an up and coming neighborhood. You could also call it gentrifying. I did benefit from the growing economy of restaurants and small stores, mostly I benefited from the library one block from my office door. It was easily the best part of my work day. It was truly a sanctuary from my day of forms and nagging computer responsibilities. I visited every day. If I was not inside the building reading I was there long enough to pick up and drop off my book as I went to the local park bench.
Four months ago my office moved. No doubt it was influenced by the development in the neighborhood we left behind. The biggest problem with the new place is that the closest library branch is not an easy walk away, and there are no park benches anywhere in sight. Add to this picture the fact that the temperatures have been downright frigid. So I have been forced to become creative and lower my expectations of a comfortable place to read.
This reminds me of my time spent on a Viking long boat with my uncles. You may have heard that long boats are very fast. Fast enough to outpace the boats carrying the poor saps from that little village on the inlet. There are several reasons for the quickness in our boats. One major contributor is the lack of any space you might call comfortable. Everything on the boat was designed with utility in mind. All the objects in the ship add to the practical matters of making a boat move swiftly through the surf.
This makes finding a quiet place to read during our down time very difficult. I did find a few spots to get away. Generally that meant going up in the ropes (not particularly comfortable) or down in the hull (mostly too dark to read). It was difficult to finish a good read, but I managed.
The people who designed our current office had a Viking mentality. There is very little here that does not aid in completing our job. There is a lunch room, but only enough space for about ¼ of the staff. There are bathrooms, but I have yet to take a book in there. And there is a conference room, however it is being used to store back files. So it leaves me one place to get away from my desk and read in relative quiet.
My solution is to walk up the stairs from the third to the fourth and simply stop half way. I stop and find a seat when the stairwell turns 180 degrees. No one in my building walks down the stairs from the fourth floor, hasn’t happened in 3 months.
There are two problems with this plan. Stairs are not really a place to lounge and relax, they are drastically practical. And in the current season the concrete gets cold and stays cold. No amount of newspaper can insulate the frigid seat. When I’m done reading it takes my backside a couple of minutes to regain the proper warmth.
Four months ago my office moved. No doubt it was influenced by the development in the neighborhood we left behind. The biggest problem with the new place is that the closest library branch is not an easy walk away, and there are no park benches anywhere in sight. Add to this picture the fact that the temperatures have been downright frigid. So I have been forced to become creative and lower my expectations of a comfortable place to read.
This reminds me of my time spent on a Viking long boat with my uncles. You may have heard that long boats are very fast. Fast enough to outpace the boats carrying the poor saps from that little village on the inlet. There are several reasons for the quickness in our boats. One major contributor is the lack of any space you might call comfortable. Everything on the boat was designed with utility in mind. All the objects in the ship add to the practical matters of making a boat move swiftly through the surf.
This makes finding a quiet place to read during our down time very difficult. I did find a few spots to get away. Generally that meant going up in the ropes (not particularly comfortable) or down in the hull (mostly too dark to read). It was difficult to finish a good read, but I managed.
The people who designed our current office had a Viking mentality. There is very little here that does not aid in completing our job. There is a lunch room, but only enough space for about ¼ of the staff. There are bathrooms, but I have yet to take a book in there. And there is a conference room, however it is being used to store back files. So it leaves me one place to get away from my desk and read in relative quiet.
My solution is to walk up the stairs from the third to the fourth and simply stop half way. I stop and find a seat when the stairwell turns 180 degrees. No one in my building walks down the stairs from the fourth floor, hasn’t happened in 3 months.
There are two problems with this plan. Stairs are not really a place to lounge and relax, they are drastically practical. And in the current season the concrete gets cold and stays cold. No amount of newspaper can insulate the frigid seat. When I’m done reading it takes my backside a couple of minutes to regain the proper warmth.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Little Sledding Hill
My house growing up had a nice little hill in the back. If you managed the snow and your sled correctly you could slide left across the hill, around the tree, and then edge back toward center to extend the ride. My siblings and I became quite good at building a berm at just the right spot to push us to our goal. It was alot of fun, but I did not know what sledding could be.
Thankfully, as I have grown my sledding has grown with me. I can now say that I have gone down some very big hills and been pulled behind some very strong four by fours. The largest hill I have sled might be more accurately called a mountain. Not the Alps or anything, but a foot hill of the Appalachians. I was driven to the top in the back of truck and we then slid on our stomachs about a mile and a half down a utility road. The only other people we saw were on snow mobiles. It was intense and crazy fun.
The other side of intense and crazy fun is being pulled behind a truck across the snow filled fields of the Amish farm land. (The trucks are provided by our English neighbors). The first time around the field is generally easy and somewhat lazy, but soon there are ruts and waves of snow and everything changes. There’s nothing like the rush of mowing down the remains of corn stocks at about 20 mph behind a truck with all four tires spitting powder.
I have now found a parallel for my city dwelling neighbors. (It was new to me but maybe not to you). This past weekend I enjoyed my first sledding experience down the steps of the PMA. You have seen these steps before when Mr. Balboa ran up them in his grey hoodie. But now you must envision those steps encased in a frozen water fall. Every ninety degree filled with snow and the lip of each step serving as a rumble strip. There are 5 flights with a small landing that gives the rider 2 choices. You can either take the small landing as a place to slow down and establish your balance before moving on, or let the landing be the launch pad for the next set of steps and sail on with ever gaining speed.
I had just come from dinner and was dressed in my earth toned finery, so I opted for the more subdued ride. But even so there was very little subdued about thundering down 72 steps with nothing but a rubber trash can lid protecting you from a snowy grave. I highly recommend it.
Thankfully, as I have grown my sledding has grown with me. I can now say that I have gone down some very big hills and been pulled behind some very strong four by fours. The largest hill I have sled might be more accurately called a mountain. Not the Alps or anything, but a foot hill of the Appalachians. I was driven to the top in the back of truck and we then slid on our stomachs about a mile and a half down a utility road. The only other people we saw were on snow mobiles. It was intense and crazy fun.
The other side of intense and crazy fun is being pulled behind a truck across the snow filled fields of the Amish farm land. (The trucks are provided by our English neighbors). The first time around the field is generally easy and somewhat lazy, but soon there are ruts and waves of snow and everything changes. There’s nothing like the rush of mowing down the remains of corn stocks at about 20 mph behind a truck with all four tires spitting powder.
I have now found a parallel for my city dwelling neighbors. (It was new to me but maybe not to you). This past weekend I enjoyed my first sledding experience down the steps of the PMA. You have seen these steps before when Mr. Balboa ran up them in his grey hoodie. But now you must envision those steps encased in a frozen water fall. Every ninety degree filled with snow and the lip of each step serving as a rumble strip. There are 5 flights with a small landing that gives the rider 2 choices. You can either take the small landing as a place to slow down and establish your balance before moving on, or let the landing be the launch pad for the next set of steps and sail on with ever gaining speed.
I had just come from dinner and was dressed in my earth toned finery, so I opted for the more subdued ride. But even so there was very little subdued about thundering down 72 steps with nothing but a rubber trash can lid protecting you from a snowy grave. I highly recommend it.
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