At the movies

Last Thursday, A. and the boys took some friends up to the cabin for an overnight.  This left me with a night all to my own.  I decided to go to a movie, even though it felt weird and a little wrong.  For me, movies have always been something you do with others, a convenient reason to get a group together or a good date activity.  Movies really are custom made for the introvert in me.  Unlike a party, where you're expected to mingle and engage in some degree of conversation, a movie demands just the opposite.  Perfect.  If I've got to go out with a group of people, let's do a movie.  I can sit quietly with the best of them.

Still, it felt strange and a little extravagant to go to a movie alone.  I got there early so there would be plenty of seat choices.  I've always been a little suspicious of the loners I see in the theater.  I'm even more uncomfortable when they sit down next to me or the group I'm with.  I didn't want to be that guy so I got there first.  After I found a seat that was generally in the middle of the theater, I relaxed a little and checked my watch - plenty of time.  As I sat there, the theater slowly filled and I thought about the concessions and the bathroom, places I would surely have visited if I had someone with me to save my seat.  Instead, I sat there and tried not to take an inventory of all the liquids I had enjoyed that day.

The movie I saw was rated R, a far cry from the G and PG movies I usually see with the boys in the theater.  When selecting a movie, I looked for one that was not aimed at kids and that I wanted to see and that I figured A. would have no interest in.  For once, I thought, I was going to a movie that did not star some sort of computer-generated talking animal - I think the last one was guinea pigs.  Once the movie began, any discomfort about being alone dissipated and I enjoyed myself.  It did occur to me, though, that many of the main characters in the movie I chose were computer-generated talking aliens.

Tweet

I'm being followed.  On Twitter.  Despite the fact that I had only "tweeted" twice, the last time being months ago, I received an email recently that some guy was following me.  Maybe he figures that after months of inactivity I'm due.  Now, I feel the need to tweet...something...anything.  I know he's likely following lots of people and won't notice if I tweet or not.  Still, I can't shake the image of him sitting there, looking at a blank screen, waiting....for me.

This morning, I decided to make his day.  I decided to tweet.  First, I needed to reset the password on my Twitter account since I couldn't remember it.  Once I was loggged on, I made my tweet.  I let my follower know that I saw a movie last night and I enjoyed it.  I'm sure he'll be happy to know that.

I sent my tweet and in less than five minutes I received an email notifying me that someone else was now following me.  Good grief!  Now, I have two souls to feed.  I wondered if the movie tidbit would suffice for the new follower or if I should add another tweet, just in case.  I wasn't going to, but I just couldn't leave him with nothing.  I threw out another tweet, mentioning that I needed to update this blog.  Two tweets on the same day, a veritable flurry of activity compared to my idle past.

Within minutes, I received another email about yet another follower.  Like crows watching a corn crib, they latch onto any kernel that falls.  "He's fed us before, maybe he'll do it again!"

I don't think these people should be following me.  I'm really not that interesting.

Barefoot

I am not a person prone to going outdoors with bare feet.  For me, even sandals are a bit of a stretch.  I do have a pair of sandal-ish shoes that I like wearing.  These shoes expose much of my feet but they cover my toes.  Because of this, I have concluded that my issue with sandals and going barefoot is really all about the toes.  To test this, I imagined wearing a pair of regular running shoes that had the top removed on the end, exposing my toes.  Yep, I imagine I would be uncomfortable in such footwear.

Now, I do sometimes step outside in bare feet.  In particular, I like the way sidewalks and concrete driveways feel on my soles; the cool of it in mid-morning as the air around it warms up; the warmth of it in the evening as coolness of night moves in.  Of course, the concrete has to be swept clean, for my usually clad feet are as delicate as a flower.  The tiniest pebble can send me reeling.  It's one of the reasons I don't particularly like walking in grass, you never know what sticks or rocks may be lurking unseen between the blades.

On Saturday, I stepped outside barefoot.  The car was parked in the driveway.  It rained a lot last week and due to a disconnected sunroof drain line, a fair amount of water had found its way to the floor of the car.  After reconnecting the errant hose, I decided the amount of water merited removal by Shop-Vac.  Evaporation alone would not do.

Normally, at this point, I would put some shoes on.  After all, the Shop-Vac involves traipsing about in the garage, plugging in electrical cords and dragging hoses, all sorts of opportunities to step on something.  And there was a voice in my head saying "We should put some shoes on, they're right inside the door!"  But it was a beautiful day and the driveway felt so good on my feet.  The garage floor was extra smooth and cooler.  The sensations were just too good to pass up.  So, with great care, I lugged the Shop-Vac out to the car and ran an extension cord back to the garage.  I daintily stepped around the lawn mower to reach an open outlet socket.  Then I pranced (yes pranced) back out to the car, being mindful not to step on the cord I had just connected.

I crouched outside the car and set to work sucking up as much water as I could.  The water was concentrated on the driver's side both in the front and back.  I finished up the front first.  This was the wettest area and I felt a certain satisfaction listening to the vacuum slurping.  Once the slurping ceased, I turned my attention to the back.  I was enjoying myself.  I was focused.  So much so that I never noticed the bee.  Not until it stung the bottom of my foot.  Then I really noticed it.

That's what I get for straying from my shoes.

Twitterfall

On Friday, I was running some fairly long tests at work.  It was one of those jobs that needed to be done but didn't really tax the brain cells, actually a pretty good option for a Friday afternoon.  To help pass the time, I opened a web browser up to the twitterfall site.  I had this window running mostly in the background but I could see the messages scrolling by along the left margin of my screen.

Twitterfall is basically a site where you can watch twitter traffic.  You can specify search tags and topics to narrow what you see.  I usually put in something like "dinkytown" and then I watch to see who's tweeting around me.  It's usually pretty mundane stuff, like "I'm at Espresso Royale on 14th, leaving soon." I started using the site during the recent upheaval in Iran.  It was interesting to watch the messages and try to sort reality from propaganda.  After awhile, I'd settled in on a couple of people whose tweets convinced me they were actually in Iran and witnessing events.  I tuned in regularly for a few days filtering so I only saw messages from them or referencing them.  They were frequent tweeters and it was a little startling when one day there were suddenly no messages from or about them.  I don't know why they stopped, if it was voluntary or if something happened to them.  Either way, it was a reminder that even though we shared a part of the internet, their world was very different from mine.  It makes the local tweets seem all the more trivial and mundane.  Here, we have freedom to express ourselves and the best we can come up with is "I'm leaving McDs, spilled Big Mac sauce on my shorts."

On Friday I chose a new search term for twitterfall to follow.  The ELCA was having its convention in Minneapolis and, being a good Lutheran boy, I figured I'd check out what was going on.  After a few general searches, I landed on a couple of search tags that seemed specific to the convention itself.  The messages were interesting enough that it was difficult to keep the window in the background.  It was a strange mix.  There were a number of tweets that I assume were humorous but I think you had to go to seminary to get the joke.  Many of the messages were regarding the fact that they were not supposed to be tweeting from the convention floor.  Intermixed with these messages was a mostly respectful debate about the primary topic of the day; the proposal to allow gays and lesbians in monogamous relationships to serve as clergy members.  I was impressed with the level of discourse on the topic.  To be sure, there were some inflammatory comments from those on both sides of the issue.  But mostly, what I witnessed was a number of people genuinely concerned about the church, trying to understand the ramifications of a decision either way.  I closed the window before the vote took place so I don't know if the tenor changed afterward or not.  I like to believe that an air of respect was maintained.

Now, I'm no pastor and I'm not gay.  In fact, I only know a few openly gay people.  I am probably one of the least qualified people to offer an opinion on this topic.  I have, however, been Lutheran my entire life and I know what feels right to me.  But, I know there are plenty of good Lutherans out there that feel just the opposite.  Maybe they're right and I'm off base.  I just don't know.  I do know that the outcome of the vote brought great joy and great pain to many people.  I hope the church takes delicate steps as it moves forward.

In any event, it was good to see some local tweeting that rose above the mundane.

Mining

Part of our recent vacation involved visiting an amethyst mine north of Thunder Bay.  The visit consisted of a brief lecture about the geology of amethysts and the area followed by the opportunity to "mine" some amethyst stones for ourselves.  The lecture itself was educational but I must confess I was less enamored with amethyst after hearing how it is formed.  Even so, it is a pretty stone and our group was eager to do some mining.

There was a part of me that was assuming that amethyst mining would involve hard hats and shovels, maybe a pick axe if we were lucky.  I imagined us in a quarry or cave, chipping away at the side of a rock wall, looking for the distinctive purple vein of pure amethyst.  Instead, the rocks were brought to us.  Large loaders go into the mine and scoop up bucketfuls of dirt and stones.  They then dump their buckets out in a field where tourists can pick through the rubble.  There are also a few water hoses strung out throughout the field to help clean the stones enough to find the good ones.  The hoses turned what would have been a dusty experience into a decidedly muddy one.

When they release you onto the field, they give you a plastic pail and a metal rod.  They say the rod is for helping dig through the rock pile but it's not really substantial enough for that.  I think the main purpose of the rod is to try to maintain the illusion that you are mining and not merely picking up rocks from the ground.  After all, you don't need a tool for that.  When you're done mining, you can buy as many of the stones as you'd like - the place we were at charged three dollars a pound.  It took N. about a minute to fill his pail to overflowing.  As I watched him struggling to drag the pail towards me, I glanced at his brother, whose pail was also filling quickly.  In my head I was estimating weight and calculating cost.  The mining adventure had the potential to be the quickest and most expensive thing we did on vacation.  I talked to the boys about the cost involved and I encouraged them to be more discriminating in their choices.  To their credit, they dumped out most of what they had and started over at a slower pace.  I tried to balance their collections by limiting what I picked up.

We left the mine with a substantial haul of amethyst.  I'm not certain what we will do with it all.  The larger stones have found their way to the garden.  I put some smaller rocks in a tumbler.  The boys have given a few out to their friends.  The rest are sitting in a bag, their fate uncertain.  As I suspected, it was the most expensive single activity we did on vacation.  Still, we managed to control ourselves a little bit so the cost wasn't extreme.  And the rocks seem a more lasting and fitting memento of our trip than anything we could have picked up at a gift shop.

Fun Run

Falcon Heights held its first (hopefully annual) 5K fun run/walk last Saturday.  I've been training for this event for months.  Well, maybe not specifically for this event, but I've been running about this distance for awhile now.  I felt ready.  I like competing in the 5Ks that are billed as run/walk.  I figure even if I tire out after running the first third, I can still switch to walking and probably not finish last.  When they throw the "fun" in front of it, it's even better.  When a run is described as a "fun run" it means that 1) You may or may not get a unique race number.  2) They may or may not have an official timer.  3) They will very likely NOT be posting individual results.  It's all for fun.  No matter when you finish, you can always pretend you could have run faster if it had been a "serious" race.

On Saturday, three members of our family participated in the race.  A. chose to do a fun walk.  B. and I ran together.  B. went into this race without having trained at all.  He has some new running shoes but he chose to wear his old beat up ones (I think he chose them because they were already tied). 

The starter pistol fired and we took off.  We were swift gazelles bounding across the open plain - for about thirty yards.  That was when I received the first query regarding whether we were close to the finish yet.  We were not, I confessed.  In fact, we had barely begun.  The rest of the race consisted of B. intermixing slow walks and sprints as I cajoled him from one landmark to another ("C'mon buddy, let's just try to run up to the corner").  Any time B. was walking, I would run in big wide circles along side him so I wouldn't leave him behind.  I'm a big believer in momentum and inertia.  I feared that if I stopped running I wouldn't get going again.  I think by the end of the race, I'd run about 8K.

As we caught sight of the finish, B. found renewed energy and we finished strong, once again gazelles.  We crossed the line side by side in just under forty minutes.  It was the longest motivational speech I've ever given.

Ugly Shoes

While walking down an office hall,
I came upon some shoes,
That made me gasp and shudder,
And my cookies almost lose.

They didn't look like shoes at all,
But more like actual feet.
Yet, the color was unnatural,
Like that of rotten meat.

The girl that wore these grotesque things,
Was fair and kind of cute.
But her footwear choice was ogre-ish,
And made her seem a brute.

I hope these shoes do not become,
The latest fashion trend.
For then I'll see them everywhere,
And that would be my end.

Rain

It was raining this morning as I sat on my back porch sipping coffee and perusing the newspaper.  It was a steady but not heavy rainfall, backed up by a sky dark with clouds, promising an extended shower.  I stayed out there as long as I could but eventually I had to leave for work.  I wish I could have lingered there longer.

I love rain.  It pleases so many of my senses.  This morning there was little wind and the rain was falling straight down.  Looking out from the porch I could sense the motion of the raindrops, as if the normally empty spaces of my yard had suddenly come alive.  I also enjoy those times when I happen to be outside when a rainstorm begins.  I love watching the first droplets explode on dusty and dry patches of the ground.  I took a deep breath as I sat outside and enjoyed the wonderful smell of wet grass.  My lawn was overdue for a good washing.  I am glad to see Mother Nature finally got around to it.

By the time I arrived at work, the rain had intensified.  I did not run from my car to the door.  I walked my normal pace.  I got wet but it felt so good.  I'm just going to be sitting in a cube, working mostly alone.  I don't mind if I'm damp.  As I sit, I can hear the rain pelting against the window like an impatient child wanting my attention, begging me to come out and play.  I try to focus on what I'm doing but I am aware of its presence and it soothes me.

I suppose part of the reason I love rain so much might be due to my growing up on a farm.  Farmers depend on the rain and the weather in general.  In a supreme act of faith, they stake their livelihoods on something they have no control over - not just once, but year after year.  Usually the weather cooperates, but not always.  It is that uncertainty that makes each rainfall all the more appreciated.  As a child, I don't think I understood the significance of a rain shower and what it meant for the crops.  I celebrated the rain because it meant Dad couldn't get out in the fields.  A rainy day kept him nearby, busying himself around the farm yard, where he was easy to find.  And if it was really wet, there was a chance my siblings and I could convince our parents that the day might be better spent shopping - maybe even in the big city, that's right, Sioux Falls.

So many reasons to love the rain.

Dress Code

As I waited at a stoplight this morning, I noticed a guy waiting at a bus stop.  He was wearing a very nice gray suit and he could not have looked more uncomfortable.  The bus stop he was waiting at is mostly used by university students.  The typical attire worn by most of the crowd there barely rises to casual.  Some of the kids appear to be wearing pajamas, which I suppose is both trendy and efficient when you're running late.

The fellow in the suit stood very stiffly and appeared to be trying to maintain a buffer between himself and any structures or people.  The structures weren't giving him much trouble but the people kept crossing into his personal space bubble.  Each time a group moved in a little too close, he would shuffle a little bit away from them.  He kept himself on the perimeter, obviously wary of getting trapped from multiple sides.  He appeared to be about the same age as the rest of the group but none of them seemed to know him.  Or maybe they just didn't recognize him in his businessman disguise.

As I drove on, I thought about men and suits.  Some guys just look natural and comfortable in a suit.  Whether they are in church or at a baseball game, they don't really seem out of place.  The suit is like an extension of themselves, an integral part of who they are.  When they try to go casual, it's usually Dockers and a polo shirt and they always seem a tad less at ease.

On the other end of the spectrum, are guys like the one I saw this morning.  No matter how nice the suit is, or how well it fits, something just doesn't seem right.  I am one of these guys.  When I put on a suit, it's like I'm playing dress-up.  These are not my clothes.  This is not me.  I would much prefer to wear a t-shirt and jeans.  And that is what I often do, whether I'm going to church or a baseball game.  Interestingly, when someone from this group tries to dress up a little, they often go with Dockers and a polo shirt.  It's nice to see there's a little fashion common ground out there.

I guess most of us feel most at ease when the people around us are comfortable.  And I think people are most comfortable when they can be themselves.  If that means wearing a suit to a baseball game or jeans to church so be it.

Our Vacation with Elton John

Like all good family summer vacations, ours involved many long hours of driving.  Nothing brings the family together like a little intense time in the old minivan.  We anticipated that the boys might get tired of the riding so we had a few strategies in mind to help them out.  When I say we, I of course mean my wife.  She had picked up a new DVD and borrowed some audio books from the library.  She also brought along a fine cross-section of our music CDs.  Typically, the boys use headphones when they watch a movie.  This frees us to talk or listen to music without too much disruption.  Of course, if the boys do need something they usually forget to remove their headphones.  Instead, they shout their request/complaint and then can't hear our response unless we shout back.  So, during movie time our van was mostly quiet with occasional outbursts of shouting.

As I mentioned, I had little involvement in procuring items for amusement and distraction.  My responsibilities fell to the technical side.  I hooked up the portable DVD player and made sure both sets of headphones were working and properly connected.  Our van does not have a CD player so I was responsible for bringing a portable one along with all the necessary wiring to interface it to the van's radio.  On this second point, I'm afraid I failed miserably.  I remember watching my wife load this huge stack of CDs just as we were taking off.  Somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, I know that the van doesn't have a CD player.  But I don't usually drive the van.  I drive the car.  The car has a CD player.  We drove for the first hour with the boys watching a DVD and the two of us talking.  Even as A. reached for that first CD it did not occur to me that we had no way to play it.  I was still blissfully driving along, happy to be on vacation - right up to the time when she asked, "So, where's the CD player? You did bring it along didn't you?"  At times like this there's not much to do but confess to being an idiot (I think she accepted this explanation far too readily).

The next few minutes were spent looking through the audio books and finding that, indeed, many of them were on CD.  Next, like rats in a dumpster, we searched every nook and cranny of the van, looking for any cassettes we might want to listen to.  Our prize for this effort was an Elton John's Greatest Hits tape, released in 1974.  We opted to instead ride in silence.  CD cases slid around our feet, adding insult to injury.

Throughout our week of vacation, the boys tired of the DVDs and we played the few audio books we were able.  After that, N. and B. played, talked, argued and fought.  When things got too loud or heated, we would put in Elton John and crank up the volume.  Initially, this stunned them just enough to quiet them.  But after awhile, they began requesting the tape.  After all, what little boy wouldn't want to listen to songs about crocodiles and rocket men?  By the end of our trip, they were singing the tunes even when the tape wasn't playing.  I still haven't decided if this is a good thing or a bad thing.