ANSWERING MACHINE

Hello, this is Past P Jay. I’m sorry to say that Present P Jay is unavailable, but if you, Present You, would like Future P Jay to get in touch with Future You, that is entirely possible. Here’s the system I’ve worked out, and I must say it’s pretty ingenious. Future P Jay will thank me.

Here’s the process. In a moment, Present You (well technically Slightly Future You, but you guys are close, right?) goes ahead and speaks into the receiver. I, Past P Jay, have connected a device, which works intra-temporally by recording what you, in the present, say. Now, that message will be effectively immortalized, passing through time for our purposes largely un-tampered with in any way, until such time as Future P Jay comes in and re-plays the message, thereby creating a sort of time-leap and opening a one-way line of communication between you, who are in the present, and Future P Jay, who is not.

Your head must be reeling, but don’t worry. The basic weight of this whole procedure is this: upon hearing a beep, you will be effectively speaking with Future P Jay immediately. As such, you needn’t use any special or unusual grammar (eg: Hey, I ‘was’ leaving a message) since this will only confuse Future P Jay. In fact, if you wish, you can go right ahead and, along with addressing Future P Jay in the present tense, speak as if you are Future You him/herself . It won’t make much difference to Future P Jay, and if he can get in touch with Future You right away, it might actually be the smoothest means. Just be sure you pass along to Future You the message so he/she isn’t caught off-guard. How embarrassing that would be!

I don’t know how exactly I came up with this method of connecting we four parties (to recap: Past P Jay (me), Present You (you), Future P Jay, Future You) except by divine creativity. There must have been a muse here with me. My only regret is that even with all the open lines for communication, I cannot, not via any third- or fourth- or fifth- (etc.) party message-passing, ever connect you, Present You, with Present P Jay, for Present P Jay is clearly not in (or why would you otherwise hear from me?). The two of you are destined never to meet or enjoy simultaneity of any kind. Regrettably, this is probably all you really wanted though, eh?
BEEP.

Young Eubie

Eubie was poised to prove his worth to Sam when the opportunity came that day. It was lunch time, and Eubie sat a the end of a long brown formica table with the rest of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th graders, this being second lunch. Sam was in the middle of the table, bookended by her two best friends. Just in case he needed to know, Eubie had made the decision to memorize the names of each, first and last, even though Gertrude Flemming wasn't in Mrs. Plum's class with Gillian Stanz, Sam, and Eubie.
As Eubie eyed Sam from his perch at the end of the table, careful to use mainly his peripheral vision so as not to make her nervous with constant staring, he gathered from a series of actions that Sam's mom had once again botched a sandwich order, and switched Sam's turkey and swiss with ketchup for her brother's banana, peanut butter, and honey. A not uncommon mistake, Eubie had seen this before, and it's a good thing he had, for on this day, Eubie was able to step in and save Sam from a tummy-grumbling second half of the day.
A small smirk crept across Eubie's face. "Ha! Eubie, you've done it again!" he nearly said aloud. Eubie never ceased to amaze himself, though frequently failed to amaze plenty of others in this world: teachers, parents, bullies. This didn't bother Eubie, for no one's opinion of Eubert Sharp's worth mattered more than his own. Well, except for right now in the lunch room, when he was about to open himself up to judgment from Sam. His smiled evaporated just then, and some of his confidence was replaced by a sort of professional seriousness. 'Here we go. Don't worry, she'll love you for this,' he whispered.
Eubie hated turkey, swiss, and ketchup sandwiches. Or at least he had at first, now he was able to stuff them down without much thought, as long as there was a carton of milk around to wash it down. He always ate his sandwich first, before the teddy grahams, when he was hungriest. It flattened the taste.
His dad thought he was crazy. 'You want what for lunch?' he'd said, one eyebrow raised.
'A normal turkey and swiss sandwich. With, ya know, a squirt of ketchup on there for some zip.'
'Zip, huh?'
'Yeah, you know, hit the edge of my palete.'
'Your palete?'
'Is this going to be a problem? I don't ask what you eat for lunch.'
This jab of sass made Eubie's dad suspicious, but also gave an effective mind-your-own-business message, which ended the questions. Eubie's dad had a special consideration for his son's unique and personal needs as a young man.
'I suppose not.'
'And don't bother cutting the crusts off, I've decided I need the extra fiber.'
'Uh huh. Well I'm not sure your grasp of diet is quite as firm as you think, but who am I to argue with a man's preference in matters of lunchtime?'
'Exactly. Thanks Dad.'
Sam was wrinkling her nose in disgust as she peeled back a sticky, honey-slathered piece of bread on the sandwich in front of her. Eubie toyed for a minute with delivering a corny line like 'Never fear, my sweet!' but decided an understated brand of chivalry would suit him better. He grabbed up his untouched main, still fresh in its ziplock pouch, and swung out of his seat at the end of the table. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and walked over behind Samantha.
'Excuse me, madmoiselle.' "Oh, nice touch Frenchie," thought Eubie. But she failed to turn around. Instead he got the attention of Gertrude, whom he knew more on paper than in person.
'Huh?' She replied, demonstrating, from Eubie's perspective, a significant lack of intellect.
'Nevermind, Miss Flemming. I was speaking to your friend, not you.' But Samantha had turned away from him, and was now engaged in some seemingly spontaneous giggling with Gillian.
'Who are you? My name is Trudy.'
'I am Eubert Sharp.'
'Weird.'
'It's a family name, and though it may seem esoteric to you, I have a great deal of fondness for it.'
'I would never marry a boy named Eubert.'
'I think I see why we've never spoken before.' Eubie was unable to contain his impatience.
'Yeah.'
Eubie reached over and tapped on Sam's shoulder.
'What do you want?' Gillian was facing Eubie and spoke first. Eubie attributed the lack of friendliness to a childish lag in maturity. No doubt Gillian spent her afternoons playing with dolls, a "No Boys Allowed" sign taped up on her bedroom door.
'From you? Nothing.'
Now Samantha turned her head and face Eubie. She was only a few inches away, and the proximity erased Eubie's mind completely.
'Hi Eubie.' Sam looked up with those pretty green eyes. Her hair was pushed back with an elastic headband, and two clip on earrings twinkled on either side of her face.
Eubie parted his lips slightly and stared. Several seconds passed.
'How are you?' tried Sam.
Eubie nodded a little. More empty seconds passed, filled only with the dull roar of an elementary school cafeteria.
'Um...' Sam said, adding to the thickening awkward surrounding Eubie. She continued to meet his gaze, petrifying Eubie as though she had snakes in her hair. He was a stone, he was inanimate, he was completely helpless. And just when it looked like little Eubie would blow it, a little spark of coherence glimmered.
He was suddenly very aware that he was staring, and that was bad. Eubie quickly shifted his vision to put Sam in the periphery, and that made him feel better. Then, he saw her sandwich sitting there, peeled apart and unwanted, and Eubie's synapses fired once more. The sandwich! Still unable to put words together, and careful not to re-establish eye contact (lest he descend again to complete idiocy) he reached his sandwich out in front of him toward Sam.
She looked at it, confused.
Eubie, frustrated that she didn't comprehend his magnanimous gesture, yet still not back to a verbal state, pushed the sandwich into her hands to make his point. She raised her eye brows in bewilderment, and it was at this point that Gillian and Gertrude began the infernal giggling. Eubie looked at his shoes, then the wall, and his shoes, then the wall, and the giggling kept on coming. Louder and louder, and now Eubie wanted to explain himself, wanted to say he was sorry, and he felt words returning to him, but that giggling! It drowned out his thoughts and all he could do was clap his hands on his ears and run, out of the cafeteria, down the hall to the boys bathroom.
Gerturde and Gillian were beside themselves with laughter next to Sam.
'He's so weird!'
'I know!'
Sam however, had noticed the ketchup stain on the ziplock bag. She opened it up and caught a familiar and welcoming smell of that most unusual combination of fine swiss, oven baked turkey, and bread avec crust, all of it ruined with ketchup, and smiled to herself. Inaudible to her shrieking friends, she said 'Thanks Eubie' and took a bite.

Donald Goes Down

When I look back on my childhood, as far as I can see into the past, I begin to mix memory and biography like anyone else. Sometimes I think I remember what is really a photograph I’ve seen many many times.

One thing though, which no one photographed was lunch-time soccer in elementary school. I remember from first grade to third running all over the mostly dirt schoolyard field, using the cunning and ingenious “bunch-ball” strategy so prevalent among un-coached teams of that era. It was a mostly defensive game plan, though a highly aggressive one. It can be summed up in the few following words, which were surely echoing around the insides of every kid’s head: ‘He’s got the ball! Get him!’

Since there were approximately thirty kids on the fields all following the same conniving plan of action, it was difficult for anyone to do much with the ball. And therein lay the basis for such a tactic. If you solidly connected with rubber even once, you fell to the right of the bell curve. No one could handle the smothering, stifling blanket of twenty-nine other pairs of legs kicking and jabbing at his ankles.

No one, that is, except Donald.

Five minutes after lunch began, we’d meet on the field, stomachs suffering mild indigestion after the ulcer-inducing flux of food into our eight year-old guts. A rigorous survey taken today would surely reveal staggering levels of heartburn among the victims of such behavior. My apologies to the good taxpayers of my country for shouldering the present healthcare cost of my youthful carelessness.

Those in charge, who drew their influence from being the oldest and biggest, and most notably, the ones providing the ball that day, were in charge of picking the grossly unfair teams we all came to expect. The reason for this was Donald. Donald was a natural, who’d probably bicycle-kicked his way out of the womb, and his above average talent was enough to sway the game in his team’s favor no matter what the distribution of the rest of us. Naturally, my narrow-minded peers concluded that to get what they really wanted, domination of the Craigin Elementary Premier League, they should contract Donaldinho to their squad. Everyone wanted to be on his team, and naturally when your team has the best striker in the league, you want to get him the ball.

So Donald handled the ball pretty much all the time. If you were on Donald’s team you were unofficially promised a victory that day, and you could be part of that success in one way: pass the ball to Donald. Any other offensive decision might as well have been treason. And so, Donald attracted the worn-out, half-flat implement recognizable as a soccer ball only by its traditional polygonal pattern of black and white, like a paddle does a tethered bouncy ball. He took every shot, and his leg was built like a sixth grader’s. How could it have been otherwise? No sensible human could ignore the simple statistics of the situation. By far and away the most likely way to score was to tee it up for Donald.

But I didn’t like racking up assists. I didn’t like playing for the team everyone knew would win. Winning meant nothing then. So I dodged Donald’s team and I played for the daily underdogs, waiting for the game that would really make history: when Donald was overthrown.

Here’s the one event that sticks with me most of all, though by most medical reckoning probably shouldn’t. It was a fantastic day for glory. The score, after a nearly complete lunch break was still 0-0. Craigin Elementary’s first ever tie game was afoot (pun intended)! A total hierarchy overhaul was not in the making here, A.C. Underdog had put precisely no shots on goal. Win we certainly could not. However, we’d adopted an even more heavily defensive strategy than classical bunch-ball that day. At the unlikely opportunities when the ball should squeeze free of the bunch like a slippery fish, we directed our clears not upfield to the opposing net, but out of bounds. Throw-ins were a good way for a lesser player to feel like part of the action, and so we burned up minutes on the clock forcing the other team to argue over who should get to chuck the ball to Donald from the sideline.

But we sucked. I’m talking bad. The ball spent about 99.9% of the time on our half of the field. Our most devastating counter attack came when a member of Donald United got confused and started making for his own goal. He was quickly dropped from the roster and would struggle to find work in the league again after that day. One reason for our incompetence was that anyone with a little finger’s worth of skill or speed was typically used to, and liked winning, and so got himself onto Don U. But not me and the boys of A.C. Underdogs. We were holding our own that day, by combination of determination and dumb luck, and soon we’d have our overdue fifteen minutes.

A hurdle to success presented it self just then. Our ferocity on D, though driven, was skill-less and desperate, and finally led to an overzealous goal stop a la mano from a non-goalie, resulting in a nearly point-blank penalty shot. Naturally, gargantuan-leg Donald would be shooting. This was a game-ender. No one blocks a penalty shot, especially not when you’re as tiny as we were. And Donald with the leg he had. No wonder our keeper quit the team just then, and no one was stepping forward to take his place. Who wanted to be the one who allowed certain defeat? After so nearly pulling off the big upset, it wasn’t fair to ask anyone to take on that responsibility.

So I did it. I stood smack in the middle of the goal, hunkered down, and stared Donald in the chin. Before what went down went down, Donald gave me a reasonable warning. “Look out, kid. This is going to be a hard one.” No shit Sherlock. But as I say, this day remains clear. Most of it. As Donald reared back, took his few approach steps and absolutely creamed the ever-loving bajesus out of that poor ball, I guessed correct and jumped in a parabolic path that intersected the incoming artillery round. That ball, fresh off the foot of Goliath himself, felt on the side of my face pretty much like the foot of Goliath himself. I was kicked in the head hard, but the collision altered the course of the ball. Unfortunately, the impact threw my chin wildly upward. I didn’t see where I’d re-directed the ball, and as my skull shook around my brain with horrifying force, I admit I lost all understanding of what the hell was going on. The memory goes hazy for a moment during the most critical slice of time in the whole story, but it begins again, clear as day. It is of lifting my little ringing head off the dirt and asking whoever was nearby, “Did it go in?”

“That was awesome!” someone said.

“Did that hurt?”

“You took it right in the dome!”

I repeated. “Did it go in?”

Some kids looked around. The answer was obvious. They wondered how I could not know. I noticed no one was playing anymore. “Yeah, it went right in. Bounced through to your left.”

Damn. Oh well, another one in the same old same old column.

But it wasn’t. All day I enjoyed celebrity status. I overhead retellings, “Did you see Henry get hit in the head?”

“Donald nailed him.”

“He didn’t even see the nurse.”

Nurse. Ha! Point Henry!

Donald: 100 billion, Henry: 1.

Pineapple

I am now back in Tucson, and though many of the people that made this place so special are still off on their own travels, it's nice to feel at home.

Today I made some grilled pineapple with ginger, cayenne, and cinnamon on it that is delicious.

Monday I begin teaching students algebra at summer school, where I may very well be in over my head for a while. Hopefully I'll get the hang it of quickly, and maybe by the end of the 6 week course the students will even have learned a thing or two that sticks with them for a while.

In addition, I am taking a welding class from Pima Community College, which is going to be interesting. It's geared more towards industrial style welding and won't quite reach the level of bicycle building, but it's an interesting and useful first step in that direction, and perhaps after I'm done I'll be at a place where I can learn the rest through practice, and won't need many more classes.

Sunrise in Kaukapakapa

This morning I woke up, as I often do here in New Zealand, a few minutes before sunrise. I lay in bed a while, thinking my last thoughts about the weird dream I had just had and now can’t remember, then climbed down out of my bunk bed and put on a long sleeve shirt and beanie. I slipped on my Keens, which were still soggy from the days before when I worked outside in the rain, and began walking up the hill from the house where I am staying. As I got higher up, I could see more and more of the paddocks below me, all filled with cows and sheep eating dew-covered grass. Beginning at the horizon, I could see some towering clouds. They were raining on the distance, and so formed a thick column of dark grey with blossoming white cumulus white tops above them. The whole mass of vapor soaked up the sunrise in a gauzy way. What would be a blue sky by the time I reached the top of the hill was pink and yellow.

Depression

It’s a groggy whole-body feeling, not unlike having a mild fever. Achey, irritating and persistent. It also feels like a lead vest. Standing up from a sitting position seems a huge inconvenience, and just going into the other room to hunt for the telephone is a chore. Your mind’s only real attempt to snap out of it is through anger, which is the easiest emotion to generate. Room mates are the safest targets, easy and handy. Why the FUCK would she put the phone in between the couch cushions? Nobody has any decency or consideration for other people besides me, so what’s the point? That’s another question that shows up a lot, What’s the point?
Preparing food isn’t fun, but you’ve no hope of actually wanting to go anywhere to eat. It’s all a monumental task. You don’t have any desire to go with anyone else, no interest in conversation. Everything seems expensive and far away. You think of the gas it would take and get angry. You think of how sweaty you’d be if you walked or biked. You decide to order food for delivery even though you’re bitter about the expectation to tip. It takes you forever to decide what you want to get, and by the time you call, it’s off-peak hours. Some days you go without lunch altogether, and feel like it’s been withheld from you by the world. Today though, you’re eating lunch at 3:00pm, hungry and cranky. You’re like a toddler who needs a nap, but you lied in bed all morning unwilling to face your day so you aren’t tired. You’re tired and not tired at the same time, and you hate that feeling.
If anyone calls you, it’s a hassle to find the phone, and ringing makes you angry. If you can get yourself to pick up the receiver, which is unlikely, you’re terse and demanding. You answer Yeah? Like you’ve got someplace to be, or something more important to do. You cannot STAND ums and likes and stalling. Your sighs say Get to the point. It’s a friend and he wants to do something. What? You want to know, as though it couldn’t be worth your time. I don’t know, he says. Well I’m kinda tired, you lie. Why do you lie? You don’t know, it just seems like what they deserve. Alright, well I’ll let you go, I guess. Yeah. You have forgotten how to end a conversation. You don’t remember that you like this person, that you have liked this person for years. You can’t be bothered to say goodbye. You’re busy sulking.
You watch a movie, but it takes you forever to decide what to watch. You paw through every DVD like three times but can’t remember what any of them are when you get to the end of a row. Finally you pick one and shove it into the player. Even the DVD player is an asshole. The FBI warning lasts for hours, and you press fast forward the whole time, even though that little Oh-no-you-don’t icon is in the top left of the screen. When the phone rings again, it’s like a cell phone in a movie theatre. The NERVE. Hi. You don’t mean it like, Hi, how are you? You mean it like Yeah? It’s another friend, she wants to know if you feel like going to a movie with her and your friend from earlier, and a handful of other people that you genuinely like. That would you do anything for, if they needed it. Well, I’m kinda in the middle of something, you say. But you don’t even know what’s happening in your movie. Inside you decide that you just can’t handle the social intricacies of group hanging-out time, and that seems like a reasonable excuse. But it’s a fucking movie, you won’t even have to talk to anyone. Still, you don’t want to go. You’re stubborn, very stubborn. Alright, well I guess I’ll let you go then. Yeah, see ya. But you wish ill will in your head. Want us to call you if we go somewhere after? Sure. But you only say that so you can turn them down later. Alright, later then. Yeah.
It’s now 8:30, past dinner time. You are hungry, but you don’t want to order more food. It’s been like four hours since your friends called. They MUST be done with the movie. They were supposed to CALL you. So you call your friend up, the second one, and ask Where are you guys? Like they’ve stood you up or something. We just ordered some food, want to come meet us? How could they? You resent them for not adequately preparing you to turn them down for dinner. Now you’ll be late. It’s too late, there’s no point now. You’ve been made to feel like a jerk for even calling. We can order you something if you want, she says. No, that’s okay, you respond. So why did you call? Later, you say, without explanation. Uh, okay, later, she replies. She isn’t exactly disappointed you’re not coming, you can tell. Well Fuck them you manage to think across the phone before you hang up. You hang up quick to make sure she hears the beep of your phone being turn off. Fuck them. You’re not even sure why you ever hung out with them.
By midnight, you’re still awake, cause you haven’t so much as gone outside to get the mail all day. You have burned like 12 calories today, and you’re no tired at all. Now though, you have some new feeling besides anger. You’re lonely. You are lonely for company, for someone to make you feel better. You pick one friend and miss them, miss the hell out of them, because while everyone else has been an asshole, they only have been a true friend. You just know this. As you remember your whole life, you know this. She’s out with the rest of them, you know. You’d be willing to call her up, to make an effort, but you don’t feel like facing the rest of them. You are starting to realize that you might have come off a little grumpy earlier, and the last question you feel like answering is What was with you today? Like YOU know.
It’s later now, you wonder where everyone is. Are they still hanging out? Did they go their separate ways for the night? If they’re out, they’re probably drinking. You want a drink.
Swallowing your own pride is becoming distantly conceivable now. The fever is gone, and you’re left with the after-symptoms of a long flu. You’re still tired feeling, but not tired. The anger of the day has worn you out in your brain. Maybe you could just call and see who’s still hanging out, you could join in maybe, if they aren’t all drunk. Catching Up would be asking too much of yourself, but you could have a beer. You’d love a beer actually. You could watch someone play pool. You could take a Guest Shot maybe.
This is about the time you start taking deep breaths for no reason. Not all in a row, just once every minute or so, like your practicing little mini pride-swallowings. Finally, you make a call. You try to sound cool, but your voice is a little raspy, and you’re sure she can tell that you’ve been depressed and acting like a dick all day. Hi, and this time you mean it like We’re still friends, right? You imagine word of your bizarre behavior spreading through the network of your friends, you imagine she’ll have a third-hand rumor of your suicidal and insulting feelings. Like people have been saying things like Yeah, he should get some serious Help all day.
But she says Hey, and means it like Hey, how are you? She tells you they’re at The Buff, or whatever your usual bar is, and do you feel like a drink? Your earlier assessment, that she is your one true friend is upheld. We’re not doin’ much, she continues, just hangin out. Yeah, I’d like to come, you say, and your sending Thank you for asking across the connection too, with your mind.
You get there in a little while, after it takes you like twenty minutes to pick out a clean shirt to put on, and have prepared in the car your explanation, your alibi, but once inside, you only hear You feeling okay today? once, and they accept Eh, just a little under the weather as explanation enough. No one wants you to apologize, in fact, no one really remembers you being weird earlier. They might if you pointed it out, but right now they’re playing Shuffle Puck, and its your Guest Shot, and when everyone else is smiling, it’s easy to smile too. You shoot a terrible shot, but of course no one cares. Someone gives you a glass and points to a pitcher, so you have some Coors. You kinda like the taste of Coors, what little taste there is. No one asks for any money, but inside you make a careful note to buy the next refill.
Things in you that refused to relax let go. Your face feels better, and it’s easier to stand up and walk around than it was before. You have a few deep breaths but now its more like you’ve caught your breath and are sitting in a boat and less like you’re treading water in the ocean. You’ve refused help all day and yet still managed to get pulled aboard somehow. Fondness for your true friend spreads like wildfire, and if you had a lot of drinks right now you’d probably get a little gushy, but instead you keep it together. You find your mouth is smiling without you even thinking about it. This isn’t going to be a night that people talk about later. No one is doing anything crazy, there’s no story.
But while you walk to your car later on, you try to put this night aside. You try to store it up in a little bottle in your head so you can find it again later, so that maybe next time you can skip all the bullshit and just say Yeah, I’d like to go to the movies with you guys. What the fuck were you thinking? But if you knew that, you wouldn’t have this problem, would you?

Hiatus Continued

Well, here are some updates. First: Joey, Scooter, and I went to Boutique Beach, a tournament in Hawke’s Bay. It was a hat tournament with 6 teams, 6-7 people per team. The level of ultimate was mediocre at best, with several people coming to play for the first time in their lives, but still fun. The beach lets you throw your body around plenty so even though the skills were shitty, we all got to lay out grab/d enough to make it fun. I however pulled a back muscle on Sunday, which left me pretty much in the prone position for hours. I finally managed to do a little standing and walking, and after several more days, am mostly back to normal. Has been a frustrating and somewhat painful recovery though. Reminiscent of my back injuries in the spring of 2007, I place blame on my throwing lots and lots of hard-as-I-can hucks post-tournament play on Saturday. But I’m getting caught up in the tournament. I’ll write about that later.
Second: Cyle is currently being fixed. Joey and I at the reins, we managed to transfer the mechanical breakdown insurance that Previous Owner had on Cyle to our name (my name) and successfully file a claim. This procedure all came about because we needed to figure out how not to the pay the $1500-2000 expected fee for putting in a second-hand motor to fix a broken cam shaft. As it turns out, the whole thing will likely cost $2400, with Drive Right, the insurer, picking up $1750 of the tab. A win, we think. Now, Joey and I are simply waiting for the job to be completed.
Third: Here’s where we’re waiting. Stuck in Hawke’s Bay after the tournament, me with a bad back, Joey and I explored some options. Initially, he though he might work on the vineyard again with Scoot, but that kinda left me screwed, since there might not be work for me, and my back sucked, so he abandoned that, which was very considerate. We ended up spending a day in Napier, figuring stuff out and letting me rest for a day. We crashed at a nice enough hostel for two nights, and decided to try and find a local solution, since the beach neighborhood wasn’t too bad. We decided to email pretty much all the reasonable WWOOFing spots in the area, and got a positive response (as well as many many negative ones). The place we got hooked up with is a B & B near Waipukurau. It’s a sweet gig actually, we work from 8 to 1 roughly each day, and have the rest of the time off to use the amenities of a luxury B & B (tennis courts, billiard table, pool, fruit trees, beach, etc.). It has been a comfortable and cheap way to spend the week while we finished the details with Cyle. We are not waiting out his rebirth. Also, there is a wedding here tomorrow, which will be fun to see/be a part of.

Hostesses, Volcanoes, and Car Trouble

Benjamin is well in the lead with hook ups on places to stay this trip. He found the Milnes, who have been hugely generous, and thanks to Baxi, met Linda, who has been an incredible mom away from home. First off, she and her husband Barry let us stay at their house for two nights in soft comfy beds. They also fed us three huge dinners (lasagna, roast with vegetables, steak and potatoes), gave us breakfast of museli and toast, and sent us hiking with sandwiches and apples. As if that weren’t enough, they let us stay, alone, at their beach house for a night where we enjoyed a quiet and beautiful day swimming and laying on the warm sand. Linda also mentioned some other places where she had some relatives that might host us. Wow.
We just hiked a couple of volcanoes in the past few days. First, Mount Taranaki, which is 2500 meters tall and a challenging climb with stunning cloudy views. Then, two days later, we hiked the Alpine Crossing between Mt. something or other and Mt. Rupaehu, the first half of which was fantastic, with completely new to me volcanic landscape reminiscent of Martian photos and some crazy sulfuric vents and yellow green pools. We also saw some fantastic lava flows, and some wild red rock formations. Pictures can be seen at the picasa site (http://picasaweb.google.com/HenryRScharf/)
Unfortunately our car, affectionately named Cyle Van Rockin, has fallen ill. He wouldn’t start up at the car park, and we eventually had him towed (thanks to my nearly expired AAA membership) to Owhango, a tiny place 55km away with a service station. Evidently the trouble is with the cam shaft, and now we’re hiding in a tiny motel room where we are allegedly one person, waiting to find out the damage with Cyle. Here’s hoping it’s a small fix.

Cwmglyn Farm - WWOOF #1

Today is Sunday, and since Monday night I have been here at Cwmglyn farm WWOOFign with Ben Gray. Basically what that means is, in exhange for food, shelter, and knowledge of organic farming (in this case, of organic Dairy farming) we work for 4-6 hours a day doing simple things like yard work, cooking, and cleaning. On Tuesday morning, our first whole day, we totally took apart the milk shed where Emily and Molly are milked daily and washed down the walls, shelves, floors, buckets, containers, and tools and put it all back together again. It took us roughly 4-5 hours to do, and then we made some dinner. This was a heavy day to be sure, but it was something of an audition day in my opinion, and we proved ourselves well. We took the rest of the night off beginning around 7:30 and relaxed in our spacious library that contains my bed and connects to Ben’s bedroom.
The next morning we awoke refreshed and ready to do some more work. Colin had us unearth some large stumps which though tipped on their side, had succumb to the dirt left on the roots and the quick New Zealand vegetation growth. It was tough but fun work to dig, then pry up, and then knock clean the giant stumps. By noonish we finished and went in to have lunch and begin a giant batch of stew, which would feed the four of us dinner that night, and Ben and I again the next day. With the pot simmering on the stove, we were given the rest of the day off and used it to go for a run in the countryside. The heat finally made me walk-run the last mile home, but Ben finished all 4.5 miles or so that we attempted over the rolling paddock-filled hills. We threw for a few minutes among the trees in one of the farm’s paddocks and felt our quads protest. It was a well needed run, especially with our high milk fat diet here. A shower, some puzzle work, and a couple card games took up the rest of our afternoon.
A note about our residence here on the farm. We live in a second house, connected to the newer main building by a hallway. Our house has a pool table, a huge library of fiction and non-fiction, and four separate beds. It also has a stereo of mediocre but well distributed sound. At first, our only real input was radio, but we finally put it together that Ben’s tape adaptor could give us iPod connectivity. In here we tend to play cards, read, nap, put puzzles together, and so on. It’s a relaxed study-like place that is nice and quiet when we want it to be, and much nicer than our former abode. It should also be noted that while we have earned no money this week, we have had to think about money the same amount.
We finished up our stay with some steaks one night, hack pizza the next, and my first ever attempt at Stroganoff, though with venison instead of beef. All went well. When Joey and Scooter finally came to pick us up, they stayed one night, and then we said goodbye in the morning after some pancakes. Colin and Biddy wished us well and told us to stop in if we were in the neighborhood again.

2009 so far

I had my first productive night of Baxi-ing last night in quite some time.  It came as something of a relief actually, lifting me up a little out of my rut.  Things in the past few weeks have been a little shaky, topping out with only one day of relief teaching last week, a two day cancellation to start this next one, and an improbably unlucky night on the trike this Friday.  I gave precisely two rides the whole night, only getting paid for one, as I watched every other tricyclist in our five man armada pull in a comfortable $100.  To make matters worse, our water was shut off that night by some prankster kids.  It was rough, and I woke up Saturday morning grumpy and a little short with my roommates, only to be the one who dealt with the plumbing.

But like I said, I make a bit of money Saturday night, and have been moving under some more favorable winds today.  I also went with Ben to the farmer's market, which is always an uplifting time.  Something about fresh produce.  That word itself suggests the feeling I get: productive.  We shopped around a bit with a discriminating eye, looking for good prices and quality fruit, and paid for our stuff with the loose change that builds up after a few nights of Baxi work.  When we got home, we stocked the shelves full of wholesome food, and this particular Sunday, I made waffles with strawberries, blueberries, cherries, bananas and whipped cream.

And so I am documenting this swing of events.  When things don't go one's way for a long time, it's easy to get down, especially for we Scharf boys.  And though I was making a very conscious effort to actively and positively change those things which I have some control over, it's nice to have those things that are out of my control come up in my favor.  

New Pictures

I have uploaded heaps of photos to my Picasa account.  If you'd like to see: http://picasaweb.google.com/HenryRScharf

The photos in the top right of this page come from the album "Typical Wellington".

Contributions to the Community

I had a great conversation with Ben last night about what a career really is, and how to go about getting a good one.

It started with my interpretation of what a job really is.  As I see it, in the purest sense, each individual is a part of a nest of communities, ranging from humanity as a whole (I will stick with terrestrial stuff) to a nation, a state, a city, a neighborhood, a family.  These communities are already established, and and were created and improved by people like ourselves in such an increasingly productive way over the course of human history, and now if we'd like to join up, we are welcome to do so, but we must of course contribute.  In exchange for giving time and energy to a specific focus, we get a little bit of the stuff that other people are committing.  The details of that transaction are contained within income and economies and such.

So the question I find myself asking is, what do I have to contribute?  What sorts of things can I do well?  Where can I best fit into the community?  And here's what I've come up with.  The sorts of things I really like doing and am best at, don't really point to a natural position in the network.  In my imagination, when I approach the board of directors for Humanity, and hold out my hands offering what I have to offer, they give me a look that says "Interesting, but we do not have a position that uses this set of qualifications.  We cannot fit you into the Whole." 

So what I realized from the end of this conversation, is that I am going to have to make my own position.  The reason I don't know what I want to do yet, might very well be that the job simply doesn't exist!  So, though it is considerably tougher to bushwhack my way through life creating my own road, and ultimately my own spot in the community, than it would be to change my skill set to match that of an already vacant spot in the Whole, it may be what I have to do.  And why not?  A couple of the skills I like to think I have are patience and resourcefulness.  I've been told by a couple of respectable folks down the road that I'm a pretty sharp guy, and I can do a math problem or two, aren't I qualified enough to go out on my own and find my own way?  

So I find myself planning to start my own business.  What will it be?  Well it may be many things, but one idea that already out in discussion-land is opening a combination cafe and bike shop.  It's an idea that Joey had months ago that we've both been mulling over and adding to ever since.  We've got notions about where we'd like to open it, what kind of vibe it should have, what the food will be like, what kinds of services we'll offer, who our customer base will be, and we've looked around at some similar types of places in other parts of the world thanks to the ol' internets.  Of course neither of us has done anything like this before, but here's the thing: we're well aware that attempting something like is challenging and loaded with the potential for failure, but that's okay.  If we give it all we got, and after a year and a half bite the dust, we'll still have been doing something we really cared about for a year and a half.  Debt is something that we can deal with.  But I sure hope the community realizes it wants a combination cafe and bike shop...