Archive for June 2009
It’s All About Packing
It’s not as if there isn’t a lot to write about, what with everything going to hell in a hand basket and death and disaster everywhere we turn all at the same time that everything is coming up roses and love is all around, but there is hardly enough time between periods of Stanley Cup playoff games on nights when I should be setting up my tent to see if everything is present and accounted for, or giving my bike a deserving once-over inspection and superficial clean and lube in preparation for the week-long trip. Not to mention that I need to prepare things tonight for my early departure in the morning for soccer at the health club, and in the interest of best health it behooves me to get myself to sleep before that notable 11 o’clock hour.
Next week, I’ll have all sorts of time. But I won’t have my internet connection. It’ll be back to the hand-written journal. That’s ok. I know how to make that work. I gotta go [watch hockey] do some packing. Yeah, that’s it, I’m working on packing…
Plannin’ to Pack
It is sort of a deja vu for me to be packing for a trip so soon after returning from the big trek in Nepal, but it is time to do it again. This Friday, I depart for a week-long bike trip “through the land and among the waters where those rollicking Frenchmen roamed,” referring to the fur trading voyageurs of days gone by. I will be joining friends and fellow bicyclists for the 35th annual Jaunt with Jim bicycle trip in the middle of June. This year we explore the upper reaches of the Minnesota portion of the north shore of Lake Superior, all the way to Grand Portage, and make a foray up the Gunflint Trail for a bit. I haven’t done any packing yet, but I’ve started my planning to pack.
The first time I rode “the Klobuchar” –one of several nicknames for this annual week of biking and camping that has visited just about every nook and cranny of the state of Minnesota, as well as several jaunts to neighboring territories– was back in 1994 on the occasion of the 20th ride. I have missed 3 or possibly 4 of these trips in the years since, but it is something almost automatic for me to decide I will ride the Jaunt with Jim every June. When I got home after the ride in 2000, I composed a song about the experience. It ended up being so wordy that I had a hard time establishing phrasing that worked well with my melody and made it almost impossible for me to memorize. I decided to share it with the group a couple of years later, as a poem; reading from the page instead of reciting from memory.
Occasionally, I bring a guitar along on the trip. I don’t do it every year, because it does add one more thing to be concerned about and sometimes I enjoy having a break. But I do miss it when I don’t bring it along and I receive a fair amount of requests from others to make sure to bring it the next time. Last summer was one of those years I didn’t bring it, so when I got home, I mentioned how nice it would be to have a small travel guitar for just such occasions. My wish was granted on my birthday when Cyndie and Julian took me guitar shopping and I picked out a Baby Taylor guitar.
So in honor of the new guitar, this year I worked on memorizing that poem as a song again, the way it was originally intended. It really is targeted to a specific audience, so I’m not sure how well it comes across to others, but I will share the lyrics here because they really do paint a picture of what a week of riding the Jaunt with Jim is like. Don’t worry about getting the itch to sign up to join us this year, after reading it, we’re beyond his maximum already and he’d have to turn you away. But, there’s always next year… we hope.
The Middle of June
What if it fit in the form of a perfect song?
The trial of surviving a ride through a daylong storm?
Some things come ‘round only one time a year
you need to grab and hold tight or chance missing the magic parts
that live in the stories and sweet spots of our minds
You know so many friends who can’t fathom that you do this
And fashioned a bond with the rest of us
who’ve joined you once again
Chorus:
It’s the middle of June
And here I go again
I’m getting back on my bike
To go Jaunting with Jim
You might call it neurotic, that pallid look that arises
when all too quickly I discover my time for packing has expired
and I’m suddenly in some form of campground of some outstate small town
The faces are familiar, though sometimes names come too slow
A ritual of pack and lock the auto, a parting glimpse to ways of yore
You can watch it as it blossoms and the trip so deftly is born
It’s so great to see you, tell me how have you been?
I want to share within your laughter and bow my head to hear your tears
Who is it brought a new bike there, who hasn’t changed theirs in twenty years?
If you put a piece of tape there, it might work fine, just look at his
Can I be your tent neighbor, will you snore more than me?
Once I’m packed in the morning, I’ll have much more than I meant to bring
How can that be Jim’s whistle? Good Morning right back at you
Do I wear my new tights yet or will it be 95 degrees?
I can’t see yet if it’s cloudy, nor discern if there’s any wind
Where’d I put my water bottles and oh my god do I have to pee
We thank you oh Conductor for this special opportunity
Please forgive me if I waiver and consider a jaunt to a B & B
We eat like we think we have to, then have some more when it tastes so good
wait in line to use a restroom and see our bottles all start out full
Then just repeat Jim’s instructions, did he say 59 not 23?
We’ll snack in eighteen hill-free miles, can it be this easy?
The road just rolls past our tires, “On your left” so you say
Who’s that singing while they’re riding? Haven’t you passed me twice today?
We fan out across the horizon, dodging roadkill and debris
Shouting Gravel! Hole! & Bump! while speaking with whomever we happen to be
We notice wild flowers ‘tween the farm fields, gaze on lakes as well as woods
Wave at gawking rural town folk and race with dogs past the point they should
It isn’t always smooth sunny tailwinds, yet it always ends up manageable
And we shout out the joys of elation the sight a water tower can tend to bring
Soon one day gets confused with others, it’s hard to say where we’ve been when
I remember bits of one funny incident, though which town I can’t quite claim
The shared meals more than nourish us, the joint accomplishments give common bond
Communal showering to humble us, and ties like family are coming on
Mere words can’t describe it, when you ride with us then you know
After years of having done this, it gets more important for me to go
All too soon the trip is over, the time just comes, the dancing’s done
Bittersweet to reach the start again, don’t want to stop, can’t wait to get home
What will it feel like back in my bed again, how’ll I do riding on my own
I’ll pretend I hear a morning whistle, the sound of tent poles breaking down
But I’ll rarely find convenience, such as the freedom from planning out
All the details of my day’s plan, as on Jim’s annual ride around
It’s the middle of June
And here I go again
I’m getting back on my bike
To go Jaunting with Jim
© 2000 JWHays
Perspectives
Everything is relative. Occasionally our perceptions may actually be accurate. Lately, I have found myself thinking, not so much about things that rarely happen, but about how amazing it is that they don’t happen more often. Does that make any sense?
It may actually be that they do happen often and that we don’t perceive it that way. Don’t you hate it when you accidentally swallow wrong and end up choking on your own saliva? Mention something like that and there is an immediate response of recognition. Everybody does that. Not all the time, but enough that we all relate to it with distinct familiarity. (And how often does it happen in a quiet place with a lot of people around? Why is that?) It amazes me that swallowing wrong doesn’t happen more often. Think of how many times you swallow everyday. There are so many possibilities for calamity everyday, yet we glide through the majority of our days successfully avoiding them. Even the extreme situation of death is a possibility that remains a constant reality.
I feel like I should be trying to sell insurance at this point, but I’m attuned to our differing perceptions. Like how often things happen. For the most part, we avoid death everyday and so do all the people we know. But have you ever seen a day when there were no names listed in the obituary of your local newspaper? Then consider that it holds true for every newspaper in cities across the nation and likely over the world. That’s a lot of deaths. Everyday. All the more amazing how often our days go by unscathed. That’s the other way to look at that same thing. How often some things don’t happen. Think about how often you drive or ride in a car and are not involved in a collision. But for the grace of God go I.
On Friday, Cyndie and I came upon a backup of traffic and soon discovered flashing lights of emergency vehicles and it became apparent they had closed the road to all southbound traffic and we were forced to turn. I glanced to see a small bicycle and a shoe by some clothes on the road. Sobering. Several hours later we passed through the intersection from the other direction to find that southbound lane still closed and state officials now engaged in reconstructing the incident. All signs pointed toward a fatality. For whatever reason, we have yet to learn from local news sources, any news of what had happened.
For those involved, this was a major drama; a life shattering disaster. The rest of the world doesn’t know anything occurred. If someone well-known dies, the shared grief can get so intense it is palpable. If you just happened to drive a different route in town on Friday night, you would be oblivious that anything of significance had transpired. If we were to feel equal grief for every situation of death in the world we would be incapacitated, so maybe it is a defense mechanism that we don’t.
And maybe when there is occasion where we do feel the grief, part of the intensity is our conscience taking advantage of the opportunity to release the emotion that has been held in reserve for all the others having passed when we paid no heed. A way of achieving some universal balance.
In the mean time, consider the perspective of seeing how many things function the way they are designed and how often things actually go right. Notice how many times you swallow correctly today. It is impressive how many things go right every day.
Speaking of Sleep
The very best moment of each day, especially when practicing being in the moment, has got to be when you lie down, stretch out, and relax to go to sleep. Since it is ever so hard for my mind to remain focused on the present moment, I lie down and enjoy the thought that I am on the front end of the whole rest of the night’s sleep. I’m thinking ahead, already.
Often times, when I know I have shorted myself sleep, I consider the nap as one of my remedies. But somewhere, I recently read about amounts of sleep and how it related to healing the liver. The guideline was 11:00 p.m. for the time to get to sleep to allow proper time for healing the liver. I did some crude internet searching to see a variety of descriptions of how many tasks the liver works to accomplish and how much time it takes to achieve, and it makes sense to me why someone came up with the 11:00 guideline. Cyndie and I have allowed that time to become a reference point and usually use it in a wisecrack that curiously combines both our doubt over the simplicity of the claim and reverence for the likely wisdom contained in the principle.
The thinking that led to the 11 p.m. milestone is that many different body functions accomplish their growth, healing and rejuvenating recovery when we sleep and not all of it happens simultaneously; there is a sequence. There needs to be enough time in our sleep cycle to allow a few things to shut down and processes to occur before the liver can begin the serious work it is tasked with and then a chunk of what appears to be agreed as around 3 hours allowed for that to get finished. If we give ourselves enough time for sleep, as in the oft said 8 hours, our physical body has time to do what it is designed to do. Imagine this: optimal health results.
As for that nap as a remedy to shorting myself sleep, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t allow time for my liver to heal.
Tired Report
OK folks, we didn’t hit a peak of traffic here yesterday, but those of you who did visit and participated in my little email scheme did GREAT! Remember, it’s not too late! Send Cyndie a belated birthday greeting and extend her celebration. We had a pretty good time last night. The restaurant of choice turned out to be The Melting Pot, downtown Minneapolis. That made it convenient for Elysa because she was working until 6:00 and already downtown. Cyndie, Julian and I went down in her convertible and we enjoyed a long meal together for the first time in a very long while. For those who are not familiar, that aptly named restaurant is a fondue place. I spent a lot of money to go out and cook my own food, but it was fun.
Got home too late to watch any of the 4th Stanley Cup game and also too late to see the season premier of “Burn Notice” that Cyndie was hoping for. But all was not lost, the network smartly replays it later in the evening, so she got to extend her day all the way to midnight and stay up to watch the program. I mostly was awake with her to the end. One of the hardest practices I struggle with is getting a full night’s sleep. I got up this morning for soccer and dragged myself to the game to find an uncharacteristic (of late) low turnout. I should have slept in. At about 1:30 or 2:00 this afternoon, I’ll REALLY be wishing I’d slept in. Got good exercise anyway.
Tomorrow was supposed to be a day of biking to get my body prepared for the big trip coming in a week, but I hear it might be cold and rainy. Just might have to try and catch up on some of that missing sleep…
Not Just a Thursday
Many of you in the invited audience for Relative Something are family and friends who know my wife. If you know us well enough to be aware that she spells her name with a “y” and “ie” and can solve the puzzle of placing a “dot” between her first name and our last name in an email address @ gmail”dot”com, today would be a great day to work collectively to flood her email inbox with specific birthday greetings, don’t you think? Yep, today is her day.
Even if you have stumbled upon today’s post a little late, I encourage you to send her a birthday greeting anyway, and we’ll extend her celebration extra long. It would be only fitting, since we started it plenty early. I had all sorts of plans to surprise her with the perfect gift, and then on our road trip to the lake for Memorial weekend in her convertible, she suddenly tells me she wants an Original Buff Multifunctional Headwear like the ones I have been wearing. Completely spoiled my surprise. What could I do but let her know it was a done deal? When we got home from the lake, I let her have an early present of the three patterns I bought just for her. That very same day, a couple of television series DVDs I bought for her arrived in the mail and since we were already in the mode of opening presents, I gave in to the moment and let her open that, too.
So, for a week and a half before her actual birthday arrived, we have been enjoying her presents. Tonight we watched episode 3 from season 1 of Burn Notice. We hope to have a dinner event with the kids tonight, and then on Saturday we’ve got big plans with her parents. If you all could join in the fun by sending her a surprise greeting of your own, it will add nicely to all the planned festivities.
You only get old once. A year. Or something like that. Might as well celebrate it in style. Me, I hope to sneak by entirely unnoticed when my actual birthday arrives, since my sister already gave me a present early. I got a nice visor hat, complete with a bushy crown of fake gray hair. Maybe it’s a good thing birthdays only come once a year.
It’s a good thing Cyndie doesn’t read my blog, huh? Hee hee. Send her a message! Just don’t tell her how you knew…
Republished
| From my archives… originally written for a different audience, Jun 15, 2002 but relatively timeless I think: |
Today, elect not to interpret the world knocking on your door as inherently hostile and specifically aimed at you.
Consider the possibility that it is not about us all the time. And sometimes when two people are chasing after the same ball, they bump shoulders.
I’d like to slough off all the accumulated hurts that I unconsciously clutch from the times I’ve been bumped and didn’t have the insight to look past and accept as a part of the game, and in good spirit, carry on with eyes on a higher prize.
Life. Play on. It isn’t specifically all about you, and it can be fun.
this message brought to you by the ‘I’ve heard one too many people whine today’ committee in hopes of making each of us a little less important than we thought we were when we launched into our self indulgent tirade that really wasn’t meant to serve anyone but ourselves in the long run as we elect to lower others in hopes of making us feel better in lieu of the harder choice of overriding the fight or flight triggers to work on the mightier task of dragging us up by the bootstraps and rising to the occasion to seek better from ourselves first and then as quickly seeking the best from others, even when it is hiding in their own fight and flight turmoil.
…or something like that.
Happy June!
I’m trying to remember why the last thing that I can remember is still waiting to be remembered when it has already been remembered, in fact, being the last thing I remember, it should fall under the category of things remembered, but I don’t remember why. Don’t bother trying to understand that. It doesn’t have any value whatsoever toward contributing to the bettering of the world around us. It’s as if there is steam built up and suddenly it gets vented into the atmosphere, but with no appreciable work being done by the energy.
The boy is home safe and sound, the house is filled with young adults and there are shoes all over the place in the front hall. We have returned to the mode of not ever really knowing if the house is shut down for the night. Suddenly I won’t be turning out all the lights and shutting doors and windows before I head to bed for the night. And now we never really know if it is getting done by anyone else after we’ve gone to sleep. In the morning I usually find myself doing a lot of that chore, often just a short time after kids have finally dispersed. 5 a.m. becomes our crossing point as they give in and seek some sleep and I’m just getting up.
It has been a relatively productive weekend, especially if I get to count testing the hammock on Saturday afternoon. It works perfect. Garden is making progress and the pile of dirt in our driveway is down to a very manageable size. I guess it’s time to get back to work for a week. Oh joy. Happy Monday.
Happy June!
Relative Something 
