Summer flying by

I was walking down the street and suddenly heard a "Whoosh". Something was moving; something big, moving quickly. It was summer.

And it's flying by so fast that autumn is being sucked into it's wake and dragged along.

I was really starting to enjoy the park this year. I've carried my towel across the road a couple of times to stretch out in the sun. And the more of that I enjoyed, the more I wanted. But the weather hasn't been playing along. Cold, cloud, grey winds and dark temperatures. Not sunbathing weather.

It's been a week. A week since the last warm sunny day. Since then Mother Nature has been painting with a different pallet. And then there's the whooshing sound, which is her vacuuming the last bits of summer up.

Bill Cosby Understands

I had a weird moment last night. I described the experience in a guest post at Waking Up In Amsterdam. But Bill Cosby can describe it even better.

"I said to a guy, I said, tell me. What is it about cocaine that makes it so wonderful?"

"And the guy said,' Well, it intensifies your personality.'"

"And I said yes, but what if you're an asshole?"

Beautiful Strange

I think it's a music day today. My words all went to guest posting here.

Actually, I have a lot more words on the ideas expressed there, on feeling Dutch, feeling contectedness and more. To many for now.

This is a song by Bedrock called Beautiful Strange. It popped up on the stereo's randomized playlist and fit the moment.



Call me an optimist, but as I rose early with the new week, I felt an energy in the air. Perhaps today's job application will pan out to something wonderful. Perhaps it's just that today I had the energy and inspiration for a job application?

I can't wait!

It's just a plan. But it's a pretty good plan so far and I think it's going to happen.

I'm going diving!

It's been a year and a half, since Sharm and since what I think of as "getting a little bent". But Adam and I have been talking lately. We both miss diving. So today I called and reserved tanks. Then I renewed my diving insurance and finalized all the plans.

Saturday we'll find out if our gear still works. Do my regulators still deliver air? Is my dry suit still aptly named?

I'm going diving, and I can't wait!

You asked my politics?

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

What you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me.

Jesus was a Buddhist. Or at least, He and Buddha would have agreed on a lot. And part of that boils down to "we are all one". Think of it as being part of something bigger.

Western culture encourages our individualism and competition. But if we followed truly Christian values, could any of us see "us" and "them"?

Why do I mention it? I believe in a future, a potential future, in which technology is used to sustainably provide basic human rights to all mankind. A future where it's possible to feed, house and cloth everyone. But it only seems possible if we see the world as "all of us", as one.

Apparently there already exists enough resources to give everyone their share. A chance to grow up, learn, love and live their lives. But money is the main obsticle. It isn't profitable to give to the poor. Nor shall it be. But where is the Christianity?

I think people are working on such a future. I think people throughout societies all over the world are begining to feel the change. The recognition of oneness.

Nothing

It isn't easy to do "nothing". Sunbathing on a tropical beach may involve hours without motion, but you're still actively doing something. You're sunbathing and resting. The time you're putting in is part of a plan to achieve an end.

To really do nothing is a terrible thing. Totally different from "having nothing you have to do". Having nothing that needs doing is liberating, restful, and a time to choose. Because whenever there is nothing that needs doing there are still things that could be done. There are always things that could be done, and usually when faced with doing nothing, the could-be-done things finally get some attention.

When you're really doing nothing, there are still things that need to get done, and things that could be getting done. But these things don't get done.

And once you really get going with nothing, it's hard to stop. Or is that start? Either way, it's hard to change. After all, name the greatest activity you can think of, then ask "what could be better than that?" Nothing? Exactly. Nothing can always seem better. Although it never is.

Personally, I've had enough of nothing. I've re-re-started the job hunt. I've re-re-started attending karate and exercising nearly every day.

It all goes to proving one thing to me. What's better than nothing? Anything!

Guest Blogging

I first met my friend Todd at a whiskey tasting competition. Since then, I suspect we've had lots of deep and interesting conversations, although I can't actually recall any of them.

Todd has quite a set of stories. He's lived in Amsterdam almost as long as I have, is retired from the U.S. Army and has an extra impressive tale about walking away from his wheelchair. Most of these stories, and a few others, have been detailed in his blog Waking Up In Amsterdam.

Alas, Todd is on his way home to America. Soon he'll be waking up in Seattle. But while he's gone I'll help out with occassional content from here.

Today I made my first guest post on his blog.

Acceptance

I'm lost,
I'm worried.
I'm frightened,
And scared.

I'm searching,
I wander.
I'm falling,
Thin air.

I'm looking,
Not Seeing.
Not knowing,
Alone.

I'm floating,
No, falling.
Not growing,
I groan.

So big,
The world is.
So small,
I am.

These people,
All moving.
Not me,
I stand.

Alone,
With no one.
Not caring,
Not scared.

Those people,
All moving.
There faces,
Blank stares.

Happy,
Not caring.
Ignorance,
Bliss.

I've seen,
Those people.
I'll stay here,
Like this.

-----

Circa 1993, the original is undated. I found it with university papers and it was laser printed so not from the 80's dot-matrix era. The title, Acceptance, is about accepting the fact that I'm different. That I stand slightly (ever so slightly) aside from the rest, observing. It's how I felt then and when I came across it today I was touched by how it is still what I feel.

It's not good peotry, but given the reems of old school books now thrown out, it is (now) one of my first/oldest.

I feel numb

Not good, not bad, I feel numb. Me and my cousin and aunt have just spent the whole day in the basement of my Dad's house. We've sorted a billion boxes of crap in preparation for an upcoming yard sale. And under the crap, a billion memories.


People's exhibit one. I can't believe this was me. Who? How long ago? How? Was I ever this young? And was I really this happy and hopefull?

Okay, this picture was taken the "day after" the first time I ever made-out with a girl. I was on top of the world!

In addition to pictures there were "artifacts" of my past. Heck, my whole past! Every test, every textbook, school project. My mother threw out nothing. But today I thew out most of it.

Someday I'll regret that. For now I'm impressed by the empty spaces in the basement, and the fullness of the garage. And I'm impressed that I have memories dating back 10, 15, 20, and 25 years.

The above picture was from 1985, and last year I was dating a girl born in 1984.

At first I just felt old. But honestly now, I just feel numb.

Time to fly

I fly today, for the first time in months. Packing is all new. All the handy pre-prepared bits (travel toiletries, etc.) are no longer laid out ready for use. And though I'm only going home to Canada, I can't decide what to bring, what needs packing and what doesn't. *sigh*

All symptoms of a bad week? No, more about symptoms of a bad spring. But I'm hoping this is a time of change. Over the coming weeks there will be a number of birthday celbrations, including for my Dad and for summer. Summer has to be better than the spring. The spring was better than the winter.

I'm hoping this will be a trip for healing. I'll help my Dad and I know he'll help me. And we'll work on the home renovations, get confused about cutting angles on trim pieces, and bond over fixing computer problems.

I see the clock says I have only a short while to the airport. Time for lunch, and packing up this laptop. It's time to fly.

Unrequited

Unrequited love is love that is not returned. It's a lot like normal love, except where all the highs and joys and goods are turned into arrows which shoot back into the lover's heart to cause pain and sadness and pain and sorrow and pain.

And yet, giving up the unrequited love is itself even more painful. Breathing hurts. Every inhale wants to be a gasp for air, and every exhale has a sob waiting to follow it out.

Happy Birthday Mom

Happy Birthday, Mom. Today you would be 67. That fact alone makes me cry.

I didn't know how to celebrate Mother's Day this year. I feel like I should be "doing something" for your birthday too. And so I am. I'm going bike riding.

Good or bad, you set an example that I learned from. And thanks to that, I hope to be riding on my 67th too.

Safari Morning

In England during and after the Second World War anyone could have recognized the sound of a Lancaster bomber. Or a Spitfire! 12 cylinders of Merlin engine, once or four times over. I'm what must be the 0.1% of my generation that can immediately recognize these things by sound. I spent most weekends of my adolesence at the airport. And one of the world's great aviation museums was close by. I volunteered at the annual airshow and knew the sound of every classic plane and engine that regularly flew there.

Even recently, I heard a DC-3 flying over and ran to a window to see it. Beautiful, and fully distinctive in it's own sound.

This morning I impressed myself with something similar, but original. I was laying in bed, still 90% asleep when I heard it...

Buzzzzzz, Bump, BUZZZzzzz, BUzzZZzz, BuzzZZ, Bump, BUZZZZZZZZZ, Bump

"Queen Bee!", went like a shot through my conscious and I was instantly awake. The elephant of the insect word was smashing its way around the curtains, and somehow I knew it from sound alone. It could have been a Merlin engine for all it's distinction. Clearly it was HUGE.

A few gentle tugs at the curtains revealed it really was a queen bee. And it really was Huge!

I got a stick to guide it out the, now fully, open window. She walked onto the end of the stick and rode it comfortably outside. Poor thing probably has a belly full of eggs and no collany yet to tend them. But my bedroom? No. Sorry. There shall be no bee hives in my bedroom.

Chickens, bunny rabbits, and squirrels are about the largest wild animals you'll ever see in Holland. (Yes, we have a lot of parks with "wild" chickens.) Relative to these normally benign surroundings, sleeping with a queen bee is like waking up on safari. It gets you moving in the morning.

Empty v. Full

The other day a friend of mine told me she felt "empty". Her life was in a state of change and the actual changes were fully beyond her personal control or influence. She looked towards her life plan to see if it gave a clue as to where to go. Alas, this introspection showed her she wasn't actually following her life plan and thus it's anticipated guidance was more an admonishment.

So when you're not sure where you are, where you're going, or the relative bearing to anyplace you'd like to be, the net result is like feeling empty.

I feel full. So full that the billion ideas inside are fighting all at once to get out. And the result is paralysis.

I need change. And I can see how small efforts in any one of a dozen directions can affect the changes I need. But which direction, which efforts? So many options bring too many questions. And the questions fill me, and stop me.

I see opportunities to write. Many. So many ideas need exploring, telling. But none will pay the rent. I see opportunities to change career. I could be an instructor, teacher, coach. I could go apply for a job in that office over there. I don't know what they do and I don't care. But while that's change, is it a good change? There is even, perhaps, a chance to return to a previous job, and employ my years-honed skills. But how far away from my own life-plan is that? A lot.

Empty and full feel completely different on the inside. But they look the same. It's a focus, missing from the face of the individual out of balance.

He Doesn't Care

A few weeks ago I received my new punching bag. A floor standing "heavybag" intended for boxing and kickboxing practice. I use it to train the skills I'm learning in karate. It makes for excellect cardio excercise and builds strength too. But, it's 100kG weight sits on the floor and transmits much of the force of a punch or kick through to the apartment below me; or so I feared.

When I first got the bag I took multiple steps to mitigate noise problems. One was to add thick foam padding to the underside. Another step was to send a note to the neighbours. I figured that by anticipating the problem I would reduce the severity of noise complaints.

I met the downstairs neighbour yesterday, in the elevator. I introduced myself and asked about the noise.

"Huh? What? Oh, we never hear anything. And we're moving any way."

And we're moving any way?

"Oh, ok," I said," So the new neighbour won't have a noise problem? Good to know."

"Huh? Uhm, sure."

There was a look in his eyes. It said," Do you see these children I'm with? You could launch a nuclear strike and I wouldn't hear it over the noise these little demons make." He didn't say this out loud, since the little demons where right there at his feet. But I'm sure that's what the look said.

I expect that some day soon I'll neet the new downstairs neighbour. Thanks to the look from the old neighbour, I suspect it may well be regarding a noise complaint.

We Can't Kill the Planet

This is an idea that's bothered me a long long time. "Save the planet." It sounds great, but in truth we can't kill the planet. I don't mean, should not, I mean cannot. All our carbon, all our chainsaws, all our nukes, all together, could not wipe out life on Earth or kill the planet.

Let's be really clear in the future as to what we really mean. Kill the planet? Kill the euphemisms!

There are microbes in the Antarctic ice and bacertia feeding on volcanos at the bottom of the ocean.

We're not killing the planet; we're killing ourselves.

I first heard about the perils of climate change in the mid-eighties. It was included in a presentation which predicted wars for oil, rising sea levels, and doomsday-type chaos. Thus, like the early scientests who used computers to study weather, the message was easy to dismiss as extremist and unrealistic.

Today few of us doubt what nearly all scientists now agree on. And as computer models improve and more variables are added the results remain similar. Similar, except the predictions of chaos keep moving forward in time. Climate swings can apparently happen much faster than originally suspected.

A significant portion of children born today will live a full hundred years and more. But it's now known that ocean currents, local climates, and global patterns can shift in a decade. Thus I humbly submit that while worrying about the planet is noble, worrying for ourselves would be wiser.

Precisely when we'll hit the tipping point that endangers billions of us is still unknown. Until then, let's loose the vague speech. Stop saving the planet. Let's save ourselves!

(Oh, but Happy Earth Day none the less.)

A week of workouts, a day of rest

I have to thank Betty. Not only have I enjoyed a number of trips with my new omafiets, but she's also inspired me to do some real riding. Indeed, the whole week has been fitness crazy.

My exercise log shows workouts (weight lifting) last Friday and again Wednesday. On Sunday I took my racing bike out for it's first ride of the season. It was a short 15km jaunt that got the blood flowing and the legs working. Tuesday it was a 30km ride. And yesterday I rode 50km in just a bit over 2 hours. Thursday was taken with karate. And I'm not including in the "exercise" the multiple times Betty and I have gone into town.

As well as the obvious increases in riding distances I've measured other improvements this week. Karate class always requires push-ups, which were done all at one go, for the first time. Wednesday I raised the weights by ~25% and still managed to knock out all the reps I intended. That's stunning!

And so with all that, I don't feel bad that my knees have decided to force a day off. Standing up from sitting on the couch requires both hands; only by taking the weight off my legs can I get my knees to bend with certainty. Once up, the feet ache and demand to move to relieve the pressure on them. This shuffling is supported by the back, which reminds me that I was bent over the bike yesterday afternoon and that I have not yet recovered. Stretching the back requires moving the arms which errupt in complaints from the shoulders to my fingers. If it moves, I've probably recently pulled, damaged, or over strained it.

It sounds bad, but every twitch is a mark of pride in a workout well done. No, I couldn't sit on my bike saddle today... not without a whimper or perhaps scream... but tomorrow I will. Or maybe I will exercise the (few) muscles which aren't currently hurting? Either way, I know that will be tomorrow.

Because today is my rest day. What ever it is that's getting done today, has probably already happened. Everything else, is for the future.

I think I'll name her Betty

It's here, it's here! My new granny bike (omafiets) arrived yesterday!


She arrived with a new (used) rear wheel rim and a bunch of fresh spokes in both wheels. The rust (an anti-theft approach) remains but the bike is quite smooth to ride. Bertus was even kind enough to help me adjust the seat position.

Last week I went out and bought a new chain lock and front and back lights. Yesterday afternoon I picked up a new rear-wheel lock and a bell. (This is Amsterdam where "anything goes", but the police have a zero tolerance policy regarding bikes without lights or bells.) As the sun was setting I finished adding all the accoutrements. It only took a few screws and four zip-ties, but it makes Betty feel like my bike.

And now? It's time to ride.

I think I bought a bike...

I love my mountain bike. It`s a Kona Kilauea and was the Bike of the Year when I bought it. I used it for racing for years and have not only kept it maintained, but flourished expensive upgrades on it. And in addition to being expensive, every part of the bike shares an important racing-bike property; they can all be quick-released from the bike in a second. The wheels, the suspension fork, the seat and post, the lights, computer, titanium bits... it is impossible to lock securely. And so here in the bike theft capital of the world, I don`t ride my bike much.

I have often explained to people that bikes aren`t purchased in Amsterdam, they are meerly rented for a limited period. Collectively we share a pool of bikes that slowly rotate owners through a dance usually performed in the wee hours of the morning.

And last night I got approached for a bike. But in a slightly different way that makes it all seem more legitimate than normal. I met a man I`ll call a bike-repair entrepreneur. He was riding his own bike down the street when he suddenly stopped, jumped off, and picked up another bike from the side of the road. Then he grabbed a lock off his bike and started to chain up the bike he`d just picked up.

I was walking past at the time and had to stop with curiousity. He explained he repairs abandonded bikes and sells them again. Abandonded? He pointed out the huge bend in the back wheel. It had been run over by a car, apparently. And instead of locked with the other bikes in the rack, it had been left unlocked and laying along the side of the road.

Some time today Bertus (the bike repairer) will return to that spot, unlock the bike, and he will walk it home. In the coming days it will get a new rear wheel, a few little fixes, and then one more city bike will be back in service. In my service!

In Dutch it`s called an omafiets, which means grandma-bicycle. No gears, no hand brakes, wide handlebars and an upright position; I`m going to feel so Dutch going through town. I can`t wait!

Perhaps I should send a message to Bertus, just to make sure he doesn`t forget, I`ve got first dibs on the new omafiets.

I've got nothing to say

This blog has always been, primarily, about writing. I take my ideas and practice conveying them with written words.

Today, however, I have no ideas. I want to write. I want to blog. But beyond," I'm okay," I don't have anything to convey. I've got nothing to say.

Perhaps I'm living too much inside. Not just inside my apartment, but inside my head.

I have been out. I've been dancing with the glitterarty. I've been social with my friends. I've even escorted a lovely woman through town for drinks and food. I've exercised and been to the dojo. I've kicked and been kicked. But the best description I can come up with is that it's largely been on "auto-pilot".

Not to say I'm ignoring my friends! In a conversation, one-to-one, I'm there. But the surroundings aren't. The area beyond my friend, or laptop, or book just disappears.

I'm looking for the words. Just the right way to express the feeling. It isn't numbness, it's not emptiness. It isn't loneliness or longing. It's not about sad or happy or busy or bored. Is there a word for "inside-ness"? Is there an english word for the feeling of being protected inside your head regardless of where your body is?

So I wanted to blog. I wanted to write. I wanted to open a small window to the inside-ness and reach tentatively outside. But I've got nothing to say. My mind, like this post, is full of words but without a point.