I'm always waiting too long

This should get done sooner. That's the story of my life. How well can you do what you know you need to do if you're always doing it just before it's too late? Like you've just remembered that you have to make lunch for tomorrow when you realize that there's no bread. Or rather, the bread is in the freezer. So you stand up to go to the freezer. You find the loaf - rye - already opened at some point, so there's a lot of frost in the bag. Now you're wondering how to thaw the bread without it sitting and soaking in all that frost when it melts. Just then you realize that it might be nice to eat something. A little something, as they say. Your little something tonight will be graham crackers and peanut butter, which tastes pretty good, but there's something about the combination of graham crackers and peanut butter that facilitates the peanut butter to stick, tenaciously, to the roof of your mouth, and to that space between your cheek and your teeth. You're always having to stick your finger in there to remove the wads of peanut butter and ground up graham cracker - brownish blobs that you really shouldn't look at before you put them back into your mouth - that your tongue just can't get at.

You're wondering what sort of lunch to make that will be look-forward-to-able enough for a Friday. Yesterday, on the way to the staffroom for lunch a colleague says that lunch is always the best meal of the day, because you're ravenous. You've been working, and you've been waiting for that break, and then when it comes, and you get to eat during it too, it's just too good. So there's a lot of pressure on the quality of your lunch-making. Do you see what I mean? I've been trying to up the ante a bit. Really, though peanut butter and honey might be all right for an evening snack, or a Saturday afternoon pick-me-up, your ravenous lunchtime appetite deserves more gustatory pleasure. Lately it's been garden tomatoes and toast and cheese and mayonnaise. That's pretty fine, I'd say. That'll probably what I'll get ready in just a few minutes. 

There's a toaster in the staffroom, so I just pack three slices of rye bread, plain, in a plastic sandwich container. Then I fill another, smaller, plastic container with mayonnaise, and cut about six slices of old cheddar cheese. Together with a fist sized tomato, an orange, and an apple (also from the tree on the yard), this all gets arranged in a plastic bag (usually a white plastic grocery bag) and tied up tight to keep it all together, so as not to crush the tomato. In the morning this will sit in my pannier, on top of the pants I've packed. Then I'll load the panniers on the bike and head off to work. 

I'm waiting too long, because I'm always making this lunch at or around 12 pm. I don't really know why I can't just accept that this is my routine. There's no real reason to fight it, because though it's always a bit of struggle to get up in the morning, once I'm up and at school, I'm awake. I never feel sleepy in the way that makes me think that I need more sleep. Still, it feels like I wait too long. You know? It's 11:51 pm and I haven't made my lunch, or brushed my teeth, or shaved. Really all I want to do is go to bed, but I have all these things to do because I've waited too long. 

Ride report

in:      6'C wind 30ks NW

out:  12'C wind 30ks NNW

  

Composition

First he eats a tomato. He washes it and then eats it like a fruit, without salt and pepper or mayonnaise. Then he takes two bunches of small purple grapes that have grown on the yard. Now he stands at the counter and looks around. You watch him stand in front of his computer and log in to one social networking site, and then another. There's only one new friend request today, and no one has added him to their circles today. You imagine, as you sit comfortably in the next room and watch him through a doorway, that he's envisioning something. But what?

The keys begin to click. In uneven spurts and, dare we say, outbursts, he appears to be typing something. You can hear when he makes a mistake, or backtracks, as the tempo of the keying, the rhythm of it really, is punctuated by a fast and steady tatatatatat and then the more regular (uneven that is, really) business of composing while typing resumes.

The radio drones on. Slavic names. Dog day afternoon at the puppy mill. A woman who takes great pride in making the lives of 500 dogs better. She talks like she's right - like there'd never be a question that her definition of a good life, for a dog, would be standardizable and accepted in legal form by anyone who might ask. Would she imagine making the same effort for the poor and miserable people just across the river? Would she imagine pronouncing about the propriety of the living conditions of those young ones whose ages range from infancy to 18? You suspect that she finds it easy to say these things about dogs and other domesticated animals, but may not be so certain about what makes the life of a young human acceptable. 

And then there's the story of the gunman that you imagine walking out of the bush near where you're working, and taking you away at gunpoint. A gunman. You wonder why your imagining that. And what does a "gun"man" look like, actually? What part of him is the barrel? the sight? the stock? the trigger? You could use a visual cue, to be sure. But maybe that's for another day. Not likely. Sorry for taking your time.

Ride report

in:       12'C wind 10 ks SW

out:     20'C wind 15 ks WSW

Well sometimes you get bit

You know how it is don't you. You're doing your thing. You're pretty confident about it, comfortable doing whatever it is you do. So comfortable perhaps, that you don't see the possible speedbump ahead. When you hit it at speed, you're jolted out of your comfort and into a kind of shocked blinking hazy wha ... that makes you wonder whether you'd ever had any control of anything. So quickly and easily your confidence takes a hit. Really, you know, I've just got to "man up," as the boys say. Or perhaps the Joker's taunt works best: "Why so sensitive?" 

I've gotten used to being chased by dogs. It's been a long time since I've gotten bitten because I can see them coming, so I'm ready for them. No surprises is key. Today, it was all about the surprise. I didn't see the dog coming. I got bit. Maybe I could have seen it, maybe not. It's not that big a deal really. Just a reminder that it doesn't take much to mess you up some days. 

Ride report

in:       7'C wind "facing" SW

out:     23'C wind 5ks W

 

Later, and weenier, than usual

Still, there's something to say: I'm just not a winner. This weekend I raced in my third cyclocross race of the season and I'm once again forced, by dint of steady and overwhelming information, to realize (and accept?) that I do not know how to win. I'm pretty good at losing, actually. Doing things that will ensure that I will not win.

What kind of winning are you talking about PK, you might ask. Well, that's a good question. In my case it's the kind of result that makes me feel like I competed to my potential, and didn't make the sorts of mistakes that I shouldn't make. Yesterday I made one of those mistakes, again. And the thing is, the mistake I made was to think too much about the very mistake I was about to make, that is, that I was going to think too much about how the race was going, and by thinking too much about making a mistake, I was going to make one. Which I did. 

It (or I) went down like this: It's the third lap. I've ridden well so far. I'm ahead of my starting position (20th) and riding alone. I'm working on bridging the gap between the middle pack of 10 or so riders and the front pack of 10 or so. I'm feeling pretty good. I've just ridden out of the river pathway (the race was at La Barrier Park) and I'm heading up to an open grassy hill that I'll have to cycle up and down and around in various twists and turns. As I head toward a turn that will take me down, and then around and back up again, I do it. I look up the hill at the rest of the course, looking for the lead riders. Looking for one of those lead riders (who shall remain nameless) in fact, and I see him. Or I think I do. Then, it happens. I turn back to what I should have been looking at - the course - and realize I'm a yard or two away from crashing into the fence. So I turn hard, the back tire slides, the front wheel jams, and I'm scudding along the grass (a little raspberry action on my left elbow and shin). By the time I've picked up the bike, adjusted the front wheel so that it spins, three riders have passed me, and the lead group is another 30 seconds ahead - which is an awfully long lead in cyclocross. 

I ride the rest of the race well. I'm totally exhausted by the end of it. I haven't seen the results yet, but I think I placed around 15th, which is well into the top half of the field, and which is to say that I held my position after my dump. Still, I'd feel more like I winner if I wasn't so likely to beat myself mentally. 

I'm a mental weenie out there on the track. I'm distracted by stuff that will only hurt me. I want to get better, I really do, but I'm starting to think that this is just the state of things for me - mental weenieness. Ah well. They say it's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game that counts. Too true. And I don't play the game that well most of the time. Crap.

Ride report

in:       7'C wind 10ks SE

out:    16'C wind 10 ks SSE

  

Redemption?

I'm going to ride to work tomorrow. No big deal. Happens all the time. But this time it'll be an 80 k ride to Vita. I'll leave around 6:15 am and ride into the sunrise. We're working in Vita because it's an inservice day. That is, a day to learn more about how to teach, to develop as a professional. This is what we hope for. 

The teacher's pray, the night before a PD Day:

Lord make the day a day in which

I sit with friends

share a few laughs

and so, somehow,

redeem the time.

As insurance I'm riding 2.5 hours to get there. Once I get there the day will already have been well spent!

Ride report

in:       2'C wind 13ks SE

out:     12'C wind 10ks SE

I bought an ebook

After finishing another fine short story in The New Yorker, this one by David Means, it came upon me to feed my yen for more by this writer. I'd heard testimonials as to how easy it was to acquire book electronically. This seemed a time to see what all the fuss is about. I don't have an ereader, but I've heard that you can download an app that will do the same thing on your pc (laptop in this case), so I found the Kindle app and downloaded it. This took about 2 minutes, tops. Then I rummaged about for the book. Means has had four collections of short stories published. I perused the reviews and the most recent one, The Spot, was well-reviewed, and I found that it was available electronically, for $12.95. I followed the instructions at the site, opened the Kindle app and clicked on the one click buying option at Amazon. It might have been 10 seconds after I clicked, and my new ebook was open in front of me, at the first story.

I clicked back to look at the cover, and the disappointment began. Whereas the cover on the print volume looked like this:

The ebook cover looks like this:

Why so European? So ugly? And the font? I hate it. If it was on the printed page I wouldn't even begin to take issue with this, but since it's digital I assume that if I don't like the font, I'll be able to change it to something I do like. Nope. I can only make it bigger or smaller, or space the letters further apart, or tighter. Whoohoo! Further, the file is in an Amazon format, rather than a pdf, so I cannot share it, and I have to have a Kindle, or a Kindle app to read it.

I'm disappointed. Mightily. I'll hold off on further judgement when I buy a Kindle, or some other reader, and try to read the book on it. But right now the aesthetic experience of purchasing and reading an ebook lacks much, and what it lacks seems to be endemic to what it is - a nearly non-tactile, slick, quick, controlled experience. Dammit. This sucks, because I have a sense that I'm going to have to do a lot of reading of ebooks in the future.

Yup. "I have seen the future brother, and it is murder."

Ride report
in:      8'C wind 30ks N
out:   10'C wind 20ks NNE

Several issues

It's just hard to write something worthwhile sometimes. Not for you, you know. You really are a second rate player on the "is it worth putting down" question. For me. I'm trying, but lately there's a lot of crap that I could write, but that I probably have (definitely have) already written, and the bar's pretty low sometimes you know, so even I have reached a limit, of a kind. This can't just be a diary of the crap that goes on from day to day. Robert Kroetsch said, in class one day, that what made a journal interesting was the gaps. The days that were missed. Why were they missed? What about the days that follow a long silence? They better be good right? Don't you think? I'm sure that they're nothing special either though. 

Anyway, don't expect consistency these days. I'm about to head out to pick up M after about 6 days of absence. And yes, that makes me happy. I had a steak and a strong beer to celebrate the incoming company. It's time. I get it already. I like being alone, but I like being alone knowing that I won't be alone for a long time. I'm fickle. I'm not satisfied. I'm easily distracted. I'm looking forward to M's return but I'm still not sure that once we're back together I won't still be unsettled. I don't like this, but  it is what it is. Right now the idea of being back together makes me happy. I'm looking forward to it. I hope I don't screw that up when we meet again. At the airport. I'll have flowers. Could it be more cliched? I hope not. Cliches have a point you know. It's a kind of weight of evidence. There has to be a  helluva-alot of right going on for something to end up as a cliche. So I'm hedging my bets with the rightness of it. Flowers. That's right! Three daisies. She loves me ...

It's late

And I'm alone. 

Not to whine or anything, 

but it's so much easier 

to stay up (even) later than

usual.

Still I don't mind it all

that much

She's coming back in a few

days and that seems to be

enough for now.

Thank the Lord

(if you will)

for friends and

occupation to get 

your mind off it.

Ride report

in:      3'C wind SW 10 ks

out:    8'C wind S 15 ks

Not the best policy

At least if you measure it by how well things go for you immediately. At least if you've 'fessed up to a high school sporting body that decides to be unsporting about it.

Our confession and appeal for clemency was denied. We were thanked for our forthrightness, and then assessed a 0-1 loss, to replace our 8-0 victory. It seems that our "sporting" side which under the duress of playing the game will accept the foibles of human judgement, when able to otherwise apply the letter of the law, there is no room for error - intentional or inadvertent. But methinks I protest too much. At least tonight the boys overcame that disappointment to defeat a team that over the past few years has "had our number" 3-1. I believe this victory will be safe.

A sympathetic colleague offered comfort by assuring me we'd done the right thing, that this would stand us in good stead for the future. In fact he said that the next time a neighbouring community's coach asked for one form of leniency (which he is, in our experience, wont to do) or another we could occupy the high ground and remind him of this situation and deny him his hopes. Well okay, I say, but this does not seem to match the spirit of the dictum about honesty.

In fact this too is mean-spirited and small-minded. We end up not with a grace-filled golden rule moment, but rather a reverse golden rule: Do unto others what they have done unto you. It's an eye for an eye to be sure. Which is, ultimately, the spirit of sport. Anyone who tells you otherwise hasn't tried to compete with people bent on winning.

The only place I've experienced good-natured, all for one and one for all, and let's head out for a beer afterward (and before if possible) is in cyclocross. Long live bikes and their riders who, by riding hard unto exhaustion are too tired to be jerks, and thus better able to realize their potential to make the world a good place!

Ride report
in:      4'C wind NW 30ks
out:   12'C wind NNW 20ks

Ah, the weather

It's September 13th and Environment Canada sees fit to warn us in its important red box of the possibility of frost tonight. What does this mean? What should I do about it? A thunderstorm, tornado, or blizzard warning I understand. But a frost warning? In a month or two this sort of thinking will be beyond stupid. 

The weather's important I guess. I am, as always, more interested in windspeed and direction. Right now it's 22 k/h gusting to 31, from the NNW. In the morning it'll be about the same, so the ride in will be great. I guess I'll wear gloves. To protect myself against the frost. Pshaw.

Ride report

in:       5'C wind NW 20 ks

out:    9'C wind NNW 40 ks

Soccer pitch lines, School prep, Bike cleaning, Blogging

In that particular order these are the things of my day after 3:30. I hauled out the rope, measuring tape, stakes, and the lawn-mower, measured and staked and roped and mowed the lines. By 7 pm that was done. Reasonably well.

I got home and ate a great supper prepared by M (pork tenderloin, french fries (homegrown and made), garden tomatoes and cucumbers, and honeydew (also from the garden) (thanks, I'm not worthy)). Then it's time to envision the day to come, which involves recalling what's been done, and what needs to follow - for four courses. 

By 10:30 it's time to clean the bike of the caked-on Red River mud from yesterday's MudFest, at which time it becomes apparent that the rear wheel needs a bit of TLC (aka truing). All goes well, the pannier rack is re-installed, and I'm ready for the ride tomorrow (today I drove the truck, to bring the mower, rope, stakes, etc to do the lines). 

Now I'm blogging. I still have to make lunch for tomorrow. This is all so ... exciting.

 

Where to start?

Today was the first cross race of the season, Mudfest, in St. Adolphe. A great time, as always. But what kind of a great time is it when, about halfway through your last lap you're asking yourself why you've paid money and signed up for a whole series of these things. Then you hammer down to the finish, cross the line, gasp for air, find some water, put your feet up and laugh with a friend about it, and it's all clear to you. Of course you'll do it again. For that moment right there you'll do almost anything again.

Then you get home and head out to soccer scrimmage with the boys. You're still hurting from that endo you suffered (because for one second you let your mind wander) just a few minutes before you had that existential moment on the track, but you go anyway. And the boys are there, all energy and happiness to be kickin' the ball around with friends. You start the game. You play terribly, though they play well. You're feeling pretty good about the team and their prospects for the season. From your vantage point as a goalie you, in this small-town in southern Manitoba, watch as a group of five Muslim women fully covered in hijabs walk along the paved path just south of the pitch. You here them laughing and stopping to talk or gathering around one who is showing the others something. You can hardly imagine that this is happening. You think about how they might be feeling. Why they are out walking across a schoolyard on a rather warm Fall night. Are they relaxed and elated that the only danger might be the snickering of some young Canadians? Has life become much better since they've arrived here? 

It is quite simply astonishing that they are here at all. Whatever Merkel or Cameron say about the failure of multiculturalism in their countries, the wonder of it is that when you put diverse people together, the lives of those people are enriched. Will there be tension? Yes. But if they surmount it, because they choose to see the similarities rather than the differences, what could be better? Meanwhile Abdalhadi made his 5th (or was it his 6th) run up field with the ball, only to launch it way over the net.   

'fessing up

Ah the age-old question: Is honesty the best policy? 

Yesterday the soccer team I coach played its first game of the season, and won quite handily: 8 - 0. Today a colleague brings to my attention that one of my players may well be ineligible to play because he's in his 5th year at school. Having taught T in grade 11 English last year it hadn't crossed my mind that he was in his 5th year, but when the phys.ed. department looked into it, it was indeed the case.

If you play a game with an ineligible player on the roster, and you play that player, the rules state that the game may be forfeited. T played 45 of the 90 minutes and scored 2 goals - the 3rd and the 8th - so his play didn't change the essential direction of the game. But he did play. So I've written a letter to the MHSAA and the Zone commissioner bringing the problem to their attention, asking for clemency based on my oversight and the decisiveness of our victory.

When I heard that he was ineligible however, I first thought to just shut up about it, quietly remove him from the roster for the remaining games, and hope for the best. That could well have been a successful strategy. However, were it not to be successful, it could become rather ugly. To be caught would be to be embarrassed and most surely to be sanctioned with a loss. 

But I'm still not convinced that honesty always brings about the best results. If we are allowed to keep the win, I'll be encouraged, but if we're levied with a loss, despite our honesty, I'll be more likely to be deceitful on issues like this in the future. So honesty is really only the best policy if things turn out in such a way that you feel it was best for you to be honest. Really what I've done is played my honesty, like a poker player might play the cards he's dealt. I've placed a wager (determined that the odds are better if I'm honest than if I'm not) on it, expecting it's my best chance to win the hand. If I lose, I'll consider playing differently next time. 

Honesty is the best policy ... if things turn out well for you.

Ride report

in:        14'C wind 10 ks SW

out:      28'C wind 10 ks W

    

 

What's possible

I'm riding home just West of Gnadenfeld when a vehicle passes, then slows, pulls over ahead of me, and stops - signals flashing and driver's arm out waving. I pull up. It's R, a former student. One I'd remember and recognize anywhere. Not just because she's named after a great Fleetwood Mac song. She's so much herself that she can't be anything but recognizable. We talk for a while. She's got kids (boys) and one of them is wailing in the back seat. As she says, "He's in a car seat so he doesn't know why the car isn't moving." Fair enough.

We have a good conversation. A good start. She's moved back to A-town with her family, though the car's still sporting BC plates. After Nash has made it clear that he's not going to settle down, I say good bye and pedal off. She passes me again too. As I finish the ride home I understand again what a gift it is to be in an occupation where you can get to know people in a way that you might otherwise have never had the chance. She's  almost 30 now and at about the same place we were at that age. When she was in school though, all bets were off. Some of her teachers back in the day might be surprised about how she's managing now. To be fair, it was/is school.

As I've said before, school doesn't always work. What can always work though, are people and their drive to get along. To relate and to interact and to help and to care and to love. Believe it or not school is absolutely rich with opportunities to be human. The system can be a drag, but it's the tension and pressure that it applies to people that can make for really interesting interactions. When people are working at being good people within this inadequate system, wonderful people and relationships can result. It's not a sure thing, but it's possible.

Ride report
in:         12'C wind SW 10 ks
out:       27'C wind S 15 ks

It's about time

Some of us had to go back to work. I've also taken a break from this, what shall we call it, endeavour(?). As is my way I feel a little apologetic, but there's also beauty in pauses, absences. There has been much to write about, but I'd fallen out of the energy for it. Now there's nothing like the coercion of employment to return one to other rhythms. So I'll be back on a (more) regular basis.

Here are a few bits of the days gone by:

Bit 1
I've got a few movies to recommend, that I woulda, shoulda, coulda reviewed:
An Education
Source Code
Tokyo Sonata

Bit 2
... and a few books:
The Crying of Lot 49 (Pynchon)
July, July (O'Brien)
Interrogation (Clezio)

Bit 3
I still haven't seen the last Harry Potter movie, but I thought this piece by Sady Doyle was a pretty good comment on the whole series, both as a text and as a movie.

Bit 4
As of yesterday we are empty-nesters. (At least while the younger two are at school for the year.)

Bit 5
I found a Mavic Aksium hub to replace the one that broke about a year ago. What are the chances that someone is going to be selling a single rear hub made in the same year as the one that I broke, and sell it for $20? I don't know either, but thank you internets for your performance wonders!

Bit 6
Even if you want to play your best - even if you work hard at it - you may not.

Bit 7
I'm not a fan of beginnings, but what are you going to do?

Bit 8
I don't want to be 90 and lonely. This is as good a motivation to make young friends as any I can come up with ... even with the preposition at the end of that sentence.

Ride report
in:               12'C wind 15 ks S
out:             26'C wind 5 ks S