It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your sorrow, have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain.
I want to know if you can sit with pain, min or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.
I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic or to remember the limitations of being human.
It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself, if you can beat accusation or betrayal and not betray your own soul.
I want to know if you can be faithful and therefore be trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see beauty even when it's not pretty everyday, and if you can source your life from it's presence.
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of the full moon - YES!
It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bond and do what needs to be done for the children.
It doesn't interest me who you are or how you came to be here. I want to know if you can stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.
It doesn't interest me what or where or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in empty monuments.
--An Indian Elder
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Who do you trust?
on one of the forums I belong to
someone recently asked the question
"who do you trust?"
and it kinda got me to thinkin
the answers were myriad
besides a bunch of the obligatory
"In god we trust" responses
one guy said he trusts his cats
and one woman said she trusts her hubby
to always do the wrong thing
makes me wonder
who do I trust?
in the old days my response would have been
I trust in mother earth
or
I trust in father moon
or my mommy
or my daddy
I don't have the kind of relationship with my family that would foster
unerring trust
I don't have a partner
and now the dog's deaf and almost blind
so
who do I trust?
mostly I trust me...
I trust myself to operate within my own vision of integrity
I trust myself to "own" my decisions
good bad or indifferent
someone recently asked the question
"who do you trust?"
and it kinda got me to thinkin
the answers were myriad
besides a bunch of the obligatory
"In god we trust" responses
one guy said he trusts his cats
and one woman said she trusts her hubby
to always do the wrong thing
makes me wonder
who do I trust?
in the old days my response would have been
I trust in mother earth
or
I trust in father moon
or my mommy
or my daddy
I don't have the kind of relationship with my family that would foster
unerring trust
I don't have a partner
and now the dog's deaf and almost blind
so
who do I trust?
mostly I trust me...
I trust myself to operate within my own vision of integrity
I trust myself to "own" my decisions
good bad or indifferent
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Sheldon's Christmas Story
this story may be a repeat for many of you - but it bears repeating...
I started posting this story 3 years ago and am honored to be able to say that Sheldon's Christmas Story has inspired people in 2 provinces and 5 states to hold annual charity fundraisers for the homeless.
They say that if you can affect or inspire one person in your life time you have done a good job...I guess that I'm truly lucky that Sheldon affected me and by doing so allowed me to affect others - each and every time someone of us pay it forward, we will affect the lives of many who are not as fortunate as we...
For years and years I too hated Christmas…too much brouhaha in my books…then I had a Christmas epiphany…no small feat for a non-Christian…but here goes
I always put huge store in Christmas…because I was raised in a huge family and I had believed all my life that “family” is what Christmas was about…My Father’s birthday is the twenty-third and my uncle’s was the twenty-fifth and as a child we always did the big Christmas/birthday celebration…but as time goes on things change and you discover that “family” are people too…and they have foibles…they mess up…and things never quite live up to your expectations.
In the early ‘90’s my Mother moved to BC leaving me to live in the old family home in Thunder Bay. My brother was newly married to woman that put the “C” in control. (and another word that I won’t use here!) She didn’t like cooking when I was around and for many years I thought it was cos she was intimidated by the fact that I have my chef’s papers…turns out she’s just lazy, opinionated and lazy…but that’s another story.
So Mom moves to BC, Dad and my sister are in Toronto and I am faced with the prospect of cooking the whole Christmas shebang at my brother and sister-in-law’s house. My sister-in–law has invited her whole family so I am cooking a 27lb turkey and all the trimmings. Two kinds of stuffing (one for each end) 3 kinds of salad and 4 vegetables, mashed spuds, gravy, pickles etc etc and top it all off with Figgie Pudding…(I’m from a go big er go home kinda family)
Five days before Christmas my sister-in-law calls me and informs me that I am “allowed” to come to her house for an hour between 6 and 7 AM to stuff the bird and put it in the oven…but then I need to leave for the day so she can have some “quality” time with her family.
Can you guess where I told her to put her bird? ~ahem~
So the Christmas dawns and I am alone. I am not answering the phone…and I am depressed….as my Grampy used to say, “I am lower than whale shit and that is on the bottom of the ocean! We are having a good old North Western Ontario blizzard and as I listen to the radio I am overcome both with the concept that I can’t get away from Christmas (it’s just freakin everywhere) and that I am alone. So I jump in my truck and head out to the local truck stop for breakfast. Somewhere where there’s people and noise.
On my way to the truck stop I drive past the Greyhound Bus Depot and while it is closed I spot and elderly man in a summer weight suit huddled in the doorway.
I drive by…then go around the block and drive by again. Something about this situation tweaks my conscience and I cannot get the picture of this man out of my head.
On my third pass I pull into the parking lot and lean out my window. “Are you ok?” I ask. This tiny elderly fellow looks up at me and with tears running down his face says, “I’ll do.”
“Well no…he won’t do.” I think as I watch him shiver and shudder. So I offer to let him in my truck. I’m thinking that if it turns out he’s got a gun…I certainly won’t feel any worse off than I already do this Christmas.
At first he refuses. But then with some cajoling and conversation he eventually climbs in and I take him to the truck stop to warm him up and maybe get him some food. He refuses to eat but allows as I could buy him a “cup of cocoa”.
As he thaws out he tells me his story. He tells me his name is Sheldon Shepherd. He left Vancouver 3 days ago on his way to London ON to spend Christmas with his family. He was traveling by Greyhound. In the bathroom in the Thunder Bay bus terminal he is mugged…robbed…and knocked out. Because he is old school and won’t ask for help when he comes to… he doesn’t tell anyone, his grandkid’s Christmas presents are gone, as is his coat and wallet. He finds himself outside of the depot, the depot closed, in a blizzard with a lump on his head the size of Santa. Areas of his story seem lacking to me…but he’s got this lump and no coat and no money…so…
I am filled with righteous indignation and I insist that he allow me to call the police. They come and after all is said and done I find out that they can get him another bus ticket to London but they have to find a judge to authorize the funds and besides there is no bus running thru till the twenty-sixth. One of the police officers suggests that this sad soul go to the local homeless shelter. I’ve never been there but I know where it is so I agree to drive him there.
Sheldon is quiet on his way to the shelter. He confides in me as we are pulling into the parking lot that he’s never had to accept charity before and not comfortable with it now. I fully understand. I have never been able to look a homeless person in the eye. I have always been consumed with guilt and the thought that there but for the grace of all the gods go I.
In we go. My first impression was that we were entering a jail. We walked in thru the front door to be confronted with locked double doors and a “security guard”. Sheldon is pulling back so I tell the guard his story and the guard opens the locked doors to allow us into the shelter telling us to “find Rick”.
As we enter I am assaulted by a cacophony of sounds and smells….lots of them not pleasant. There is a riot of color and furniture and bodies everywhere…there are people sleeping standing up against walls and on the stairs and tired used old blankets clutched in dirty little children’s fingers.
Slowly as I become accustomed to the “ambiance” I begin to see Christmas in this room. There are bits of tinsel hanging from dirty stocking caps set jauntily over dirty faces. There’s what can only be called a Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the corner and there are new socks and new gloves on many hands and feet…and lots of the people that are awake are smiling. I don’t understand.
Across the room is the big serving window to the kitchen but I see no one on the other side…as I start across the room I hear the unmistakable sound of dishes smashing to the floor and a resounding “Damn it!” from behind the wall. I peek around a see a harried fellow, in half a Santa suit picking up broken dishes and muttering.
“Rick?” I ask. This frantic man turns to me and blesses me with the biggest gap tooth smile and says…”yup…hiya! What can I do for you?”
I explain Sheldon’s story and Rick tells me no problem he can stay here over night. He then turns to Sheldon and says,”I don’t suppose you can cook?”
“Why?” says Sheldon and I at once. Turns out that the volunteer church group that was to cook the shelter’s Christmas dinner won’t be coming because of the storm. Rick says that Christmas is always a banner time for the shelter food wise…”people assuage their guilt by giving at Christmas”. The end result is that he has tons of food and no cooks.
“Hmmmmmm,” says I, “maybe I can help”
Long story short…we have Christmas dinner for close to 200. Sheldon isn’t a cook but he’s a mean dishwasher and clean up kinda guy…and we recruit a couple of people from the shelter and we are off… We have beef and turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing made in pans instead of in the bird and spaghetti with sauce and chocolate pudding.
We have Christmas Carols and laughter and hugs and tears and handclasps from dirty little fingers. By 10 PM I am completely and totally physically exhausted, sweaty and hot, hot, hot… but as I turn to survey the room I have an epiphany.
Christmas is not about receiving the love from my family that I believe is my due. It truly is about the giving. In any way shape or form.
Sheldon passed away in 1996 but I still hear from his daughter Janice…once a year at Christmas. And that’s the best that I can do
I started posting this story 3 years ago and am honored to be able to say that Sheldon's Christmas Story has inspired people in 2 provinces and 5 states to hold annual charity fundraisers for the homeless.
They say that if you can affect or inspire one person in your life time you have done a good job...I guess that I'm truly lucky that Sheldon affected me and by doing so allowed me to affect others - each and every time someone of us pay it forward, we will affect the lives of many who are not as fortunate as we...
For years and years I too hated Christmas…too much brouhaha in my books…then I had a Christmas epiphany…no small feat for a non-Christian…but here goes
I always put huge store in Christmas…because I was raised in a huge family and I had believed all my life that “family” is what Christmas was about…My Father’s birthday is the twenty-third and my uncle’s was the twenty-fifth and as a child we always did the big Christmas/birthday celebration…but as time goes on things change and you discover that “family” are people too…and they have foibles…they mess up…and things never quite live up to your expectations.
In the early ‘90’s my Mother moved to BC leaving me to live in the old family home in Thunder Bay. My brother was newly married to woman that put the “C” in control. (and another word that I won’t use here!) She didn’t like cooking when I was around and for many years I thought it was cos she was intimidated by the fact that I have my chef’s papers…turns out she’s just lazy, opinionated and lazy…but that’s another story.
So Mom moves to BC, Dad and my sister are in Toronto and I am faced with the prospect of cooking the whole Christmas shebang at my brother and sister-in-law’s house. My sister-in–law has invited her whole family so I am cooking a 27lb turkey and all the trimmings. Two kinds of stuffing (one for each end) 3 kinds of salad and 4 vegetables, mashed spuds, gravy, pickles etc etc and top it all off with Figgie Pudding…(I’m from a go big er go home kinda family)
Five days before Christmas my sister-in-law calls me and informs me that I am “allowed” to come to her house for an hour between 6 and 7 AM to stuff the bird and put it in the oven…but then I need to leave for the day so she can have some “quality” time with her family.
Can you guess where I told her to put her bird? ~ahem~
So the Christmas dawns and I am alone. I am not answering the phone…and I am depressed….as my Grampy used to say, “I am lower than whale shit and that is on the bottom of the ocean! We are having a good old North Western Ontario blizzard and as I listen to the radio I am overcome both with the concept that I can’t get away from Christmas (it’s just freakin everywhere) and that I am alone. So I jump in my truck and head out to the local truck stop for breakfast. Somewhere where there’s people and noise.
On my way to the truck stop I drive past the Greyhound Bus Depot and while it is closed I spot and elderly man in a summer weight suit huddled in the doorway.
I drive by…then go around the block and drive by again. Something about this situation tweaks my conscience and I cannot get the picture of this man out of my head.
On my third pass I pull into the parking lot and lean out my window. “Are you ok?” I ask. This tiny elderly fellow looks up at me and with tears running down his face says, “I’ll do.”
“Well no…he won’t do.” I think as I watch him shiver and shudder. So I offer to let him in my truck. I’m thinking that if it turns out he’s got a gun…I certainly won’t feel any worse off than I already do this Christmas.
At first he refuses. But then with some cajoling and conversation he eventually climbs in and I take him to the truck stop to warm him up and maybe get him some food. He refuses to eat but allows as I could buy him a “cup of cocoa”.
As he thaws out he tells me his story. He tells me his name is Sheldon Shepherd. He left Vancouver 3 days ago on his way to London ON to spend Christmas with his family. He was traveling by Greyhound. In the bathroom in the Thunder Bay bus terminal he is mugged…robbed…and knocked out. Because he is old school and won’t ask for help when he comes to… he doesn’t tell anyone, his grandkid’s Christmas presents are gone, as is his coat and wallet. He finds himself outside of the depot, the depot closed, in a blizzard with a lump on his head the size of Santa. Areas of his story seem lacking to me…but he’s got this lump and no coat and no money…so…
I am filled with righteous indignation and I insist that he allow me to call the police. They come and after all is said and done I find out that they can get him another bus ticket to London but they have to find a judge to authorize the funds and besides there is no bus running thru till the twenty-sixth. One of the police officers suggests that this sad soul go to the local homeless shelter. I’ve never been there but I know where it is so I agree to drive him there.
Sheldon is quiet on his way to the shelter. He confides in me as we are pulling into the parking lot that he’s never had to accept charity before and not comfortable with it now. I fully understand. I have never been able to look a homeless person in the eye. I have always been consumed with guilt and the thought that there but for the grace of all the gods go I.
In we go. My first impression was that we were entering a jail. We walked in thru the front door to be confronted with locked double doors and a “security guard”. Sheldon is pulling back so I tell the guard his story and the guard opens the locked doors to allow us into the shelter telling us to “find Rick”.
As we enter I am assaulted by a cacophony of sounds and smells….lots of them not pleasant. There is a riot of color and furniture and bodies everywhere…there are people sleeping standing up against walls and on the stairs and tired used old blankets clutched in dirty little children’s fingers.
Slowly as I become accustomed to the “ambiance” I begin to see Christmas in this room. There are bits of tinsel hanging from dirty stocking caps set jauntily over dirty faces. There’s what can only be called a Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the corner and there are new socks and new gloves on many hands and feet…and lots of the people that are awake are smiling. I don’t understand.
Across the room is the big serving window to the kitchen but I see no one on the other side…as I start across the room I hear the unmistakable sound of dishes smashing to the floor and a resounding “Damn it!” from behind the wall. I peek around a see a harried fellow, in half a Santa suit picking up broken dishes and muttering.
“Rick?” I ask. This frantic man turns to me and blesses me with the biggest gap tooth smile and says…”yup…hiya! What can I do for you?”
I explain Sheldon’s story and Rick tells me no problem he can stay here over night. He then turns to Sheldon and says,”I don’t suppose you can cook?”
“Why?” says Sheldon and I at once. Turns out that the volunteer church group that was to cook the shelter’s Christmas dinner won’t be coming because of the storm. Rick says that Christmas is always a banner time for the shelter food wise…”people assuage their guilt by giving at Christmas”. The end result is that he has tons of food and no cooks.
“Hmmmmmm,” says I, “maybe I can help”
Long story short…we have Christmas dinner for close to 200. Sheldon isn’t a cook but he’s a mean dishwasher and clean up kinda guy…and we recruit a couple of people from the shelter and we are off… We have beef and turkey and mashed potatoes and stuffing made in pans instead of in the bird and spaghetti with sauce and chocolate pudding.
We have Christmas Carols and laughter and hugs and tears and handclasps from dirty little fingers. By 10 PM I am completely and totally physically exhausted, sweaty and hot, hot, hot… but as I turn to survey the room I have an epiphany.
Christmas is not about receiving the love from my family that I believe is my due. It truly is about the giving. In any way shape or form.
Sheldon passed away in 1996 but I still hear from his daughter Janice…once a year at Christmas. And that’s the best that I can do
Thursday, December 01, 2005
a Cousin's Rememberance
My cousin sent this to me and I think it's beautiful:
I have a friend,
although He is dead know to the living world,
He is very much alive in my heart.
When Kevin died I helped in making an Aid Quilt in His Honour,
put His name on the Memorial at 319 Church Street (Toronto),
and celebrate His life lots by talking to Him in my thoughs.
Kevin died in 1991 from an Aids related illness,
and to say that I miss him is an understatement.
Kevin and I learned about love without sex,
communication without talking,
and that friends and family are
truly an amazing gift that God has given us.
We had known each other for 20 years. ~Pamela
A Day Without You
I cant control
My Destiny
I trust my soul
My only goal
is just to be
without you
the hand gropes
the ear hears
life goes on
but im gone
cause I die
without you
No day but today
Will I lose my dignity
Will someone care
Will I wake
Tomorrow
from this
nightmare
There's only now
There's only here
Give in to love
or live in fear
no other path
no other way
No day but today
I die without you
I have a friend,
although He is dead know to the living world,
He is very much alive in my heart.
When Kevin died I helped in making an Aid Quilt in His Honour,
put His name on the Memorial at 319 Church Street (Toronto),
and celebrate His life lots by talking to Him in my thoughs.
Kevin died in 1991 from an Aids related illness,
and to say that I miss him is an understatement.
Kevin and I learned about love without sex,
communication without talking,
and that friends and family are
truly an amazing gift that God has given us.
We had known each other for 20 years. ~Pamela
A Day Without You
I cant control
My Destiny
I trust my soul
My only goal
is just to be
without you
the hand gropes
the ear hears
life goes on
but im gone
cause I die
without you
No day but today
Will I lose my dignity
Will someone care
Will I wake
Tomorrow
from this
nightmare
There's only now
There's only here
Give in to love
or live in fear
no other path
no other way
No day but today
I die without you
Friday, November 25, 2005
A Dave Matthews Band moment...
I'm havin a Dave Matthews Band moment...
I was flippin channels thinking that I really should go to bed (not that I have a lot on my plate tomorrow...but that I doooo looove my sleep)
Anyway...
I came across a Dave Mathew Band special on PBS.
I'd forgotten how much I enjoy Dave Matthews Band. I'd forgotten how different his music is.
This specific concert was a weekend at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Morrison Co. The Amphitheater seats just under 10,000 people and there sure didn't look like there were any seats left. Wow.
The particular song that initially caught my attention wasn't even a Dave Matthews song...it was it was Time of the Season (you know..."what's your name? who's your daddy? Is he rich like me?") It was done by the Zombies that 60's British rock group...and when he sang that refrain..."this is the season for love" it seemed like every person in that place sang with him.
I got all goose bumply...and it started me to thinkin...
Did ya ever wonder what it must be like to be on stage with your little ole box guitar and a couple of your buddies doing what you like to do best and realize that every single person there is singing your words with you?
I guess for a musician it's gotta kinda be like the feeling I get when I'm sitting at a stop light and we look up to spot a couple of kids (young or old) looking at me sittin purdy on our rides with envy in their eyes....or the pure unadulterated thrill of hitting my Zen in the wide open spaces...just me, the sky and my ride...are one.
*sigh*
I can't wait for spring.
I was flippin channels thinking that I really should go to bed (not that I have a lot on my plate tomorrow...but that I doooo looove my sleep)
Anyway...
I came across a Dave Mathew Band special on PBS.
I'd forgotten how much I enjoy Dave Matthews Band. I'd forgotten how different his music is.
This specific concert was a weekend at Red Rocks Amphitheater in Morrison Co. The Amphitheater seats just under 10,000 people and there sure didn't look like there were any seats left. Wow.
The particular song that initially caught my attention wasn't even a Dave Matthews song...it was it was Time of the Season (you know..."what's your name? who's your daddy? Is he rich like me?") It was done by the Zombies that 60's British rock group...and when he sang that refrain..."this is the season for love" it seemed like every person in that place sang with him.
I got all goose bumply...and it started me to thinkin...
Did ya ever wonder what it must be like to be on stage with your little ole box guitar and a couple of your buddies doing what you like to do best and realize that every single person there is singing your words with you?
I guess for a musician it's gotta kinda be like the feeling I get when I'm sitting at a stop light and we look up to spot a couple of kids (young or old) looking at me sittin purdy on our rides with envy in their eyes....or the pure unadulterated thrill of hitting my Zen in the wide open spaces...just me, the sky and my ride...are one.
*sigh*
I can't wait for spring.
Wouldn't ya just
Wouldn't ya just....
love 5 stinkin minutes
alone
with one or two of them idjits
that keep sending you email offers
to enlarge your penis??
I mean really?
what kind of idjit
gets involved in enlarging penis'
as a full time job?
certainly not rocket scientists,
certainly not nuclear physicists
and certainly not English Majors...
cos they'd be able to come up with a better name....
I mean...come on....
why would I trust anyone
with a name like
"PPBigger" or
"BigWackerNow"
or better yet...
"BiggerPPFaster"
and my all time favorite
"BiggestPPEver"!!!
that one surely took
a lot of thoughtful reflection
I'm sure...
do they think my pp is stupid?
not likely!
leave my penis alone!
love 5 stinkin minutes
alone
with one or two of them idjits
that keep sending you email offers
to enlarge your penis??
I mean really?
what kind of idjit
gets involved in enlarging penis'
as a full time job?
certainly not rocket scientists,
certainly not nuclear physicists
and certainly not English Majors...
cos they'd be able to come up with a better name....
I mean...come on....
why would I trust anyone
with a name like
"PPBigger" or
"BigWackerNow"
or better yet...
"BiggerPPFaster"
and my all time favorite
"BiggestPPEver"!!!
that one surely took
a lot of thoughtful reflection
I'm sure...
do they think my pp is stupid?
not likely!
leave my penis alone!
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
The Season of the Bike
The Season of the Bike, by Dave Karlotski
There is cold, and there is cold on a motorcycle. Cold on a motorcycle is like being beaten with cold hammers while being kicked with cold boots, a bone bruising cold. The wind's big hands squeeze the heat out of my body and whisk it away; caught in a cold October rain, the drops don't even feel like water. They feel like shards of bone fallen from the skies of Hell to pock my face. I expect to arrive with my cheeks and forehead streaked with blood, but that's just an illusion, just the misery of nerves not designed for highway speeds.
Despite this, it's hard to give up my motorcycle in the fall and I rush to get it on the road again in the spring; lapses of sanity like this are common among motorcyclists. When you let a motorcycle into your life you're changed forever. The letters "MC" are stamped on your driver's license right next to your sex and height as if "motorcycle" was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition.
But when warm weather finally does come around all those cold snaps and rainstorms are paid in full because a motorcycle summer is worth any price. A motorcycle is not just a two-wheeled car; the difference between driving a car and climbing onto a motorcycle is the difference between watching TV and actually living your life. We spend all our time sealed in boxes and cars are just the rolling boxes that shuffle us languidly from home-box to work-box to store-box and back, the whole time entombed in stale air, temperature regulated, sound insulated, and smelling of carpets.
On a motorcycle I know I'm alive. When I ride, even the familiar seems strange and glorious. The air has weight and substance as I push through it and its touch is as intimate as water to a swimmer. I feel the cool wells of air that pool under trees and the warm spokes of sunlight that fall through them. I can see everything in a sweeping 360 degrees, up, down and around, wider than PanaVision and higher than IMAX and unrestricted by ceiling or dashboard.
Sometimes I even hear music. It's like hearing phantom telephones in the shower or false doorbells when vacuuming; the pattern-loving brain, seeking signals in the noise, raises acoustic ghosts out of the wind's roar. But on a motorcycle I hear whole songs: rock 'n roll, dark orchestras, women's voices, all hidden in the air and released by speed.
At 30 miles an hour and up, smells become uncannily vivid. All the individual tree-smells and flower-smells and grass-smells flit by like chemical notes in a great plant symphony. Sometimes the smells evoke memories so strongly that it's as though the past hangs invisible in the air around me, wanting only the most casual of rumbling time machines to unlock it.
A ride on a summer afternoon can border on the rapturous. The sheer volume and variety of stimuli is like a bath for my nervous system, an electrical massage for my brain, a systems check for my soul. It tears smiles out of me: a minute ago I was dour, depressed, apathetic, numb, but now, on two wheels, big, ragged, windy smiles flap against the side of my face, billowing out of me like air from a decompressing plane. Transportation is only a secondary function. A motorcycle is a joy machine. It's a machine of wonders, a metal bird, a motorized prosthetic. It's light and dark and shiny and dirty and warm and cold lapping over each other; it's a conduit of grace, it's a catalyst for bonding the gritty and the holy.
I still think of myself as a motorcycle amateur, but by now I've had a handful of bikes over a half dozen years and slept under my share of bridges. I wouldn't trade one second of either the good times or the misery. Learning to ride was one of the best things I've done.
Cars lie to us and tell us we're safe, powerful, and in control. The air-conditioning fans murmur empty assurances and whisper, "Sleep, sleep." Motorcycles tell us a more useful truth: we are small and exposed, and probably moving too fast for our own good, but that's no reason not to enjoy every minute of the ride.
There is cold, and there is cold on a motorcycle. Cold on a motorcycle is like being beaten with cold hammers while being kicked with cold boots, a bone bruising cold. The wind's big hands squeeze the heat out of my body and whisk it away; caught in a cold October rain, the drops don't even feel like water. They feel like shards of bone fallen from the skies of Hell to pock my face. I expect to arrive with my cheeks and forehead streaked with blood, but that's just an illusion, just the misery of nerves not designed for highway speeds.
Despite this, it's hard to give up my motorcycle in the fall and I rush to get it on the road again in the spring; lapses of sanity like this are common among motorcyclists. When you let a motorcycle into your life you're changed forever. The letters "MC" are stamped on your driver's license right next to your sex and height as if "motorcycle" was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition.
But when warm weather finally does come around all those cold snaps and rainstorms are paid in full because a motorcycle summer is worth any price. A motorcycle is not just a two-wheeled car; the difference between driving a car and climbing onto a motorcycle is the difference between watching TV and actually living your life. We spend all our time sealed in boxes and cars are just the rolling boxes that shuffle us languidly from home-box to work-box to store-box and back, the whole time entombed in stale air, temperature regulated, sound insulated, and smelling of carpets.
On a motorcycle I know I'm alive. When I ride, even the familiar seems strange and glorious. The air has weight and substance as I push through it and its touch is as intimate as water to a swimmer. I feel the cool wells of air that pool under trees and the warm spokes of sunlight that fall through them. I can see everything in a sweeping 360 degrees, up, down and around, wider than PanaVision and higher than IMAX and unrestricted by ceiling or dashboard.
Sometimes I even hear music. It's like hearing phantom telephones in the shower or false doorbells when vacuuming; the pattern-loving brain, seeking signals in the noise, raises acoustic ghosts out of the wind's roar. But on a motorcycle I hear whole songs: rock 'n roll, dark orchestras, women's voices, all hidden in the air and released by speed.
At 30 miles an hour and up, smells become uncannily vivid. All the individual tree-smells and flower-smells and grass-smells flit by like chemical notes in a great plant symphony. Sometimes the smells evoke memories so strongly that it's as though the past hangs invisible in the air around me, wanting only the most casual of rumbling time machines to unlock it.
A ride on a summer afternoon can border on the rapturous. The sheer volume and variety of stimuli is like a bath for my nervous system, an electrical massage for my brain, a systems check for my soul. It tears smiles out of me: a minute ago I was dour, depressed, apathetic, numb, but now, on two wheels, big, ragged, windy smiles flap against the side of my face, billowing out of me like air from a decompressing plane. Transportation is only a secondary function. A motorcycle is a joy machine. It's a machine of wonders, a metal bird, a motorized prosthetic. It's light and dark and shiny and dirty and warm and cold lapping over each other; it's a conduit of grace, it's a catalyst for bonding the gritty and the holy.
I still think of myself as a motorcycle amateur, but by now I've had a handful of bikes over a half dozen years and slept under my share of bridges. I wouldn't trade one second of either the good times or the misery. Learning to ride was one of the best things I've done.
Cars lie to us and tell us we're safe, powerful, and in control. The air-conditioning fans murmur empty assurances and whisper, "Sleep, sleep." Motorcycles tell us a more useful truth: we are small and exposed, and probably moving too fast for our own good, but that's no reason not to enjoy every minute of the ride.
Friday, November 18, 2005
If
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
~Rudyard Kipling
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
~Rudyard Kipling
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Dreamer...
do you suppose it's possible
to live a better life
thru dreaming
than real life?
in my dreams I can be a heroine
I can stop all the suffering
I can find the secret treasure
I can stop all the injustices
I can leap tall buildings
get the picture?
I've noticed that as life
gets more and more mundane
in this middle age
my dreams are longer
more vivid
somehow more satisfying...
is it possible
to live a better life
in my dreams?
jeeez...I gotta get my motoPickle fixed
this is nuts!
to live a better life
thru dreaming
than real life?
in my dreams I can be a heroine
I can stop all the suffering
I can find the secret treasure
I can stop all the injustices
I can leap tall buildings
get the picture?
I've noticed that as life
gets more and more mundane
in this middle age
my dreams are longer
more vivid
somehow more satisfying...
is it possible
to live a better life
in my dreams?
jeeez...I gotta get my motoPickle fixed
this is nuts!
Sunday, November 13, 2005
The Dr is In!
'Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.'
Dr. Suess
Dr. Suess
Friday, November 11, 2005
Strange Days
strange days in the old barn
seems people are leavin
in droves
change is upon us
everyone
just everyone
that hasn't left
is talking about leaving
change is inevitable
and it truly
felt like the end today
almost
but Monday comes
and for a few
there's a new start
and for those of us left behind
it's like a new start as well
same stuff
just in a different order
We Remember....
Wilfred Owen
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Perspective
Funny how shit happens to put your life in perspective
yesterday, my mother, whom you may remember suffers from white coat syndrome and hasn't been to a D in virtually 30 years - got the results of a passle of tests that her new Dr has run - she has to see a vascular surgeon as one of the main arteries in her neck (the one that feeds the brain on the left side of her neck) is 80% blocked...and that's what caused her eye to "black out" 2 weeks ago....
I know that they can do wonders with shunts in this arena...but she says she isn't going to the appointment with the surgeon and has forbidden me to inform my brother and sister of the situation.
I am gonna end up pissin her off and telling them...and I am gonna get her to the surgeon if I have to throw her over my shoulder to do it...the appt is on the 9th...which to me is an indication of just how urgent the Dr thinks this situation is.
the whole thing certainly puts my angst about my job in proper perspective.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Science may have found a cure for most evils; but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all -- the apathy of human beings. - Helen Keller
yesterday, my mother, whom you may remember suffers from white coat syndrome and hasn't been to a D in virtually 30 years - got the results of a passle of tests that her new Dr has run - she has to see a vascular surgeon as one of the main arteries in her neck (the one that feeds the brain on the left side of her neck) is 80% blocked...and that's what caused her eye to "black out" 2 weeks ago....
I know that they can do wonders with shunts in this arena...but she says she isn't going to the appointment with the surgeon and has forbidden me to inform my brother and sister of the situation.
I am gonna end up pissin her off and telling them...and I am gonna get her to the surgeon if I have to throw her over my shoulder to do it...the appt is on the 9th...which to me is an indication of just how urgent the Dr thinks this situation is.
the whole thing certainly puts my angst about my job in proper perspective.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Science may have found a cure for most evils; but it has found no remedy for the worst of them all -- the apathy of human beings. - Helen Keller
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
A Toast to the Bride and Groom
It would seem, that once again, it falls to me to speak….Guess it’s a good thing I’m rarely at a loss for words huh?
Those of you that know me will be happy to note that I have finally made investment in Kleenex tissue stock…cos I’m a girl scout.
I could start this with a “Once Upon a Time”…but we’re all way to old to have time enough for that, so instead I’ll start from my beginning with the newlyweds.
I’ve known Brenda for virtually as long as she’s been on the Island. Not as long as many of you and longer than some of you. Right from the beginning we developed a rapport that was something like a sisterhood. Bee is my sister wise and I have, right from the beginning, been drawn to her strength of character and integrity. I like it that she strives to be the best she can be all the time, not just some of the time. I know that I’m lucky to have someone as sincere and as heartfelt on my side. I like it that we’ve become the kind of friends that allows her to tell me to shut up…even when no one else will…Bee’s been through a lot in the last couple of years and I’ve been worried about her.
A couple of years into my friendship with Bee, I happened to run into Bryan…in all honesty it was his trike that first caught my attention. I was at Clover Point with my visiting maiden aunts and the Voice of Doom and spotted his trike and virtually abandoned my family for talking to he and Gator. Gator had just recently met Ali, the love of his life and Bryan was a little bereft. I remember clearly two things from that day….I remember the maiden aunts and the Voice of Doom twittering about Bryan’s big wonderful smile and I remember feeling right from the beginning that Bryan and I would become fast friends.
So now I can fast forward to July 2004 and Bryan and I decide to ride our trikes to Salmon Arm for the Summer Stomp, just like adults. Bee, ever the social butterfly is driving her van with a gaggle of women on board. I had introduced the two of them previous to this weekend…but this was the first time they actually got to spend some time with each other. We all spent different parts of the weekend with each other and many other friends and then we returned to the Island.
So
Here’s where I could fill your ears with all kinds of stories and suppositions about destiny, and karma and things being meant to be, but what I will remember forever is a call from Bee in her oh so politically correct and professional voice asking me “if I’d mind if she was receptive to contact from Bryan as they’d twinkled at the Summer Stomp”
Twinkled says I?
What the hell is twinkled?
Apparently…twinkled they did. And inspite of the odds, and the roadblocks large and small, Bryan and Bee became a couple.
I held my breath, and I (ever the selfish one) lived for a while in abject terror that something would happen and they’d quit talking to each other. I mean really? Where the hell would I be if my best male friend and my best female friend couldn’t stand each other.
But as we can all see…luck and destiny and karma were on my side and they truly fell in love.….and as it turns out karma and destiny were taking control because through time they found out that they went to public school together, Bryan a grade behind Bee…he remembers her but she doesn’t remember him.
From the outside….I love it that they see the best and the worst of each other. I love it that they take turns being the strong one and the soft one. I love it that they work so hard at respecting each other and operating within integrity with each other. I love it that they have built a life together, and I am honored to be here at the beginning of this newest chapter.
Brenda and Bryan, May your marriage bring you all the exquisite excitements a marriage should bring, and may life grant you also patience, tolerance, and understanding.
May you always need one another - not so much to fill your emptiness as to help you know your fullness.
May you need one another, but not out of weakness.
May you want one another, but not out of lack.
May you entice one another, but not compel one another.
May you succeed in all important ways with one another, and not fail in the little graces.
May you look for things to praise, often say, "I love you!" and take no notice of small faults.
May you race to be the first to say I’m sorry.
May you enter into the mystery which is the awareness of one another's presence - no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities.
May you have happiness, and may you find it making one another happy.
May you have love, and may you find it loving one another!
Ladies and Gentlemen please raise your glasses
A Toast!
To the Bride and Groom!
Those of you that know me will be happy to note that I have finally made investment in Kleenex tissue stock…cos I’m a girl scout.
I could start this with a “Once Upon a Time”…but we’re all way to old to have time enough for that, so instead I’ll start from my beginning with the newlyweds.
I’ve known Brenda for virtually as long as she’s been on the Island. Not as long as many of you and longer than some of you. Right from the beginning we developed a rapport that was something like a sisterhood. Bee is my sister wise and I have, right from the beginning, been drawn to her strength of character and integrity. I like it that she strives to be the best she can be all the time, not just some of the time. I know that I’m lucky to have someone as sincere and as heartfelt on my side. I like it that we’ve become the kind of friends that allows her to tell me to shut up…even when no one else will…Bee’s been through a lot in the last couple of years and I’ve been worried about her.
A couple of years into my friendship with Bee, I happened to run into Bryan…in all honesty it was his trike that first caught my attention. I was at Clover Point with my visiting maiden aunts and the Voice of Doom and spotted his trike and virtually abandoned my family for talking to he and Gator. Gator had just recently met Ali, the love of his life and Bryan was a little bereft. I remember clearly two things from that day….I remember the maiden aunts and the Voice of Doom twittering about Bryan’s big wonderful smile and I remember feeling right from the beginning that Bryan and I would become fast friends.
So now I can fast forward to July 2004 and Bryan and I decide to ride our trikes to Salmon Arm for the Summer Stomp, just like adults. Bee, ever the social butterfly is driving her van with a gaggle of women on board. I had introduced the two of them previous to this weekend…but this was the first time they actually got to spend some time with each other. We all spent different parts of the weekend with each other and many other friends and then we returned to the Island.
So
Here’s where I could fill your ears with all kinds of stories and suppositions about destiny, and karma and things being meant to be, but what I will remember forever is a call from Bee in her oh so politically correct and professional voice asking me “if I’d mind if she was receptive to contact from Bryan as they’d twinkled at the Summer Stomp”
Twinkled says I?
What the hell is twinkled?
Apparently…twinkled they did. And inspite of the odds, and the roadblocks large and small, Bryan and Bee became a couple.
I held my breath, and I (ever the selfish one) lived for a while in abject terror that something would happen and they’d quit talking to each other. I mean really? Where the hell would I be if my best male friend and my best female friend couldn’t stand each other.
But as we can all see…luck and destiny and karma were on my side and they truly fell in love.….and as it turns out karma and destiny were taking control because through time they found out that they went to public school together, Bryan a grade behind Bee…he remembers her but she doesn’t remember him.
From the outside….I love it that they see the best and the worst of each other. I love it that they take turns being the strong one and the soft one. I love it that they work so hard at respecting each other and operating within integrity with each other. I love it that they have built a life together, and I am honored to be here at the beginning of this newest chapter.
Brenda and Bryan, May your marriage bring you all the exquisite excitements a marriage should bring, and may life grant you also patience, tolerance, and understanding.
May you always need one another - not so much to fill your emptiness as to help you know your fullness.
May you need one another, but not out of weakness.
May you want one another, but not out of lack.
May you entice one another, but not compel one another.
May you succeed in all important ways with one another, and not fail in the little graces.
May you look for things to praise, often say, "I love you!" and take no notice of small faults.
May you race to be the first to say I’m sorry.
May you enter into the mystery which is the awareness of one another's presence - no more physical than spiritual, warm and near when you are side by side, and warm and near when you are in separate rooms or even distant cities.
May you have happiness, and may you find it making one another happy.
May you have love, and may you find it loving one another!
Ladies and Gentlemen please raise your glasses
A Toast!
To the Bride and Groom!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
People Puzzle Me...
yup
they do...I have here a compilation of some of the things that currently puzzle me...
~~~~~~
so I may have mentioned that my brother and his wife have split up
he's like selling the farm to get shet of her
and she's sucking him dry
literally
so today - she phones and says she wants all their airmiles points
cos she's gonna go to India on holidays with her new beau of 15 minutes
and cos she's gonna treat one of her friends to a trip to Oprah
(go figure)
he says...no...you can't have all of them
cos you didn't earn all of them
and I've already given you the house
the business
and my left testicle
so I think I'll just keep some of the airmiles points
she freaks and calls him all kinds of names
then she hangs up
and her boyfriend calls back
to tell him that he's (my brother) being mean to her
and he shouldn't
my brother - ever the nice guy
says "have a nice day" and hangs up
me...I'd have said
"get yer loppy arse outta the bed I paid for and see ya in court!"
~~~~~~~~~~
next puzzle:
where I work
we have all these people that are really really good at their job
and all these people that are...not so much
so one of the really good people wants to make puppies for a day
(as in fuckin the dog)
my boss says "no"
so I say "no"
so she says "fine then I quit"
so I say "I don't take blackmail lightly - see ya! bye!"
and the boss says
"ok - fuck the dog for a day"
and she's still employed
so I talk to him about it
and in the long run we argee that we have to take blackmail lightly
cos in our position right now
she's got us both by the speckled bluies
~~~~~~~~~
next puzzle:
my mom is scared of Dr's
and as a result hasn't gone to one regularly for about 30 or more years
so last Monday she mentions that she has had this "episode"
where her eye "went black" for an hour or so
so I suggest she should have that looked at by a Dr
and she figures she don't need a GP
so she goes to the optometrist
???
he (cos he's a smart man)
tells her that she needs to have a bunch of tests run
and she says "well ok"
so he says "who's your GP?"
she says "aint' got one"
so he says "isn't that funny...
I have a friend that 's just opened up a practice around the corner"
and walks her out the door and around the corner
to the GP's office...
so she has an appointment
and I think we're makin progress here
and she goes for the first visit
and comes back pissed
cos the Dr put her on BP med's
and ordered about a bajillion tests
she feels
she's succumbing to the influence
of the demon pharmaceutical companies
I'm like...
"whatever!"
~~~~~~~~~~~
next puzzle:
here I am
a smart cookie
why am I still workin at a place
were I now feel
completely overwhelmed by the workload?
is it cos it's easy?
is it cos it's safe?
is it cos I am resistant to change?
is it cos I am so insecure that I believe I can't get anything better?
is it cos I'm lazy?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
next puzzle:
how did I let myself get roped into
being in the wedding party
nobody said nutting about carrying flowers
and walking in a freakin procession
ain't it enough that I'm dressing like a god damn girl?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
last puzzle for the day:
look at the size of one square of toilet tissue
now
look at the size of one kleenex tissue
think of what those 2 different tissues clean
and tell me that ain't a fucking puzzle to you too!
G'night Dick~
they do...I have here a compilation of some of the things that currently puzzle me...
~~~~~~
so I may have mentioned that my brother and his wife have split up
he's like selling the farm to get shet of her
and she's sucking him dry
literally
so today - she phones and says she wants all their airmiles points
cos she's gonna go to India on holidays with her new beau of 15 minutes
and cos she's gonna treat one of her friends to a trip to Oprah
(go figure)
he says...no...you can't have all of them
cos you didn't earn all of them
and I've already given you the house
the business
and my left testicle
so I think I'll just keep some of the airmiles points
she freaks and calls him all kinds of names
then she hangs up
and her boyfriend calls back
to tell him that he's (my brother) being mean to her
and he shouldn't
my brother - ever the nice guy
says "have a nice day" and hangs up
me...I'd have said
"get yer loppy arse outta the bed I paid for and see ya in court!"
~~~~~~~~~~
next puzzle:
where I work
we have all these people that are really really good at their job
and all these people that are...not so much
so one of the really good people wants to make puppies for a day
(as in fuckin the dog)
my boss says "no"
so I say "no"
so she says "fine then I quit"
so I say "I don't take blackmail lightly - see ya! bye!"
and the boss says
"ok - fuck the dog for a day"
and she's still employed
so I talk to him about it
and in the long run we argee that we have to take blackmail lightly
cos in our position right now
she's got us both by the speckled bluies
~~~~~~~~~
next puzzle:
my mom is scared of Dr's
and as a result hasn't gone to one regularly for about 30 or more years
so last Monday she mentions that she has had this "episode"
where her eye "went black" for an hour or so
so I suggest she should have that looked at by a Dr
and she figures she don't need a GP
so she goes to the optometrist
???
he (cos he's a smart man)
tells her that she needs to have a bunch of tests run
and she says "well ok"
so he says "who's your GP?"
she says "aint' got one"
so he says "isn't that funny...
I have a friend that 's just opened up a practice around the corner"
and walks her out the door and around the corner
to the GP's office...
so she has an appointment
and I think we're makin progress here
and she goes for the first visit
and comes back pissed
cos the Dr put her on BP med's
and ordered about a bajillion tests
she feels
she's succumbing to the influence
of the demon pharmaceutical companies
I'm like...
"whatever!"
~~~~~~~~~~~
next puzzle:
here I am
a smart cookie
why am I still workin at a place
were I now feel
completely overwhelmed by the workload?
is it cos it's easy?
is it cos it's safe?
is it cos I am resistant to change?
is it cos I am so insecure that I believe I can't get anything better?
is it cos I'm lazy?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
next puzzle:
how did I let myself get roped into
being in the wedding party
nobody said nutting about carrying flowers
and walking in a freakin procession
ain't it enough that I'm dressing like a god damn girl?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
last puzzle for the day:
look at the size of one square of toilet tissue
now
look at the size of one kleenex tissue
think of what those 2 different tissues clean
and tell me that ain't a fucking puzzle to you too!
G'night Dick~
Monday, October 24, 2005
A healthy reminder
If you die today...
work will replace you tomorrow...
run without you in a week...
and forget you in a month.
So why do we spend so much time focusing on work and less time on life?
Don't live to work...
Work To Live!
work will replace you tomorrow...
run without you in a week...
and forget you in a month.
So why do we spend so much time focusing on work and less time on life?
Don't live to work...
Work To Live!
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
ZZZZZZZzzzzzzzz
what a tiring day
I'm pooched
it was one of them
dress up the big wigs are comin days
and they didn't show up
and they weren't even polite enough to phone
and tell anybody that they weren't comin
our office had to call to find out
sheesh
if I did something like that I get demerits
I' m fighting off bronchitis again
I'm terrified it will hit just before B n B's wedding
so I'm gonna try to sleep lots between now and then
if the cosmos would just cooperate!
g'night
I'm pooched
it was one of them
dress up the big wigs are comin days
and they didn't show up
and they weren't even polite enough to phone
and tell anybody that they weren't comin
our office had to call to find out
sheesh
if I did something like that I get demerits
I' m fighting off bronchitis again
I'm terrified it will hit just before B n B's wedding
so I'm gonna try to sleep lots between now and then
if the cosmos would just cooperate!
g'night
Sunday, October 16, 2005
It's Official...
I'm an old fart....and fall has arrived and I seem to be nesting instead of riding cos the pickle is still broke.... yesterday I made a vat of turkey veg soup (4 big canning pots in all)
and a vat of spaghetti sauce
then I had to go to the store and buy a cartload of that fake tupperware so I could get it all inna freezer!
there's nothing like the smell of homemade turkey soup and homemade bread to snap you outta a little melancholy!
and a vat of spaghetti sauce
then I had to go to the store and buy a cartload of that fake tupperware so I could get it all inna freezer!
there's nothing like the smell of homemade turkey soup and homemade bread to snap you outta a little melancholy!
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Crazy - Simple Plan
Tell me what's wrong with society
When everywhere I look I see
Young girls dying to be on TV
They won't all stop 'till they reach their dreams
Diet pills, surgery
Photoshop pictures in magazines
Telling them how they should be
It doesn't all make sense to me
Is everybody going crazy
Is anybody gonna save me
Can anybody tell me what's goin' on
Tell me whatall's goin' on
If you open your eyes
You all'l see that somethin' is wrong
I guess things are not how they used to be
There's no more normal families
Parents act like enemies
Makin' kids feel like it's World War III
No one cares, no one's there
I guess we're all just too damn busy
And money's our first priority
It doesn't make sense to me
Is everybody going crazy
Is anybody gonna save me
Can anybody tell me what's goin' on
Tell me whatall's goin' on
If you open your eyes
You all'l see that somethin' is wrong
Is everybody going crazy
Is everybody going crazy
Tell me what's wrong with society
When everywhere I look I see,
Rich guys driving big SUV's
While kids are starving in the streets
No one cares
No one likes to share
I guess life's unfair
Is everybody going crazy
Is anybody gonna save me
Can anybody tell me what's goin' on
Tell me whatall's goin' on
If you open your eyes
You all'l see that somethin' is wrong
somethin' is wrong
When everywhere I look I see
Young girls dying to be on TV
They won't all stop 'till they reach their dreams
Diet pills, surgery
Photoshop pictures in magazines
Telling them how they should be
It doesn't all make sense to me
Is everybody going crazy
Is anybody gonna save me
Can anybody tell me what's goin' on
Tell me whatall's goin' on
If you open your eyes
You all'l see that somethin' is wrong
I guess things are not how they used to be
There's no more normal families
Parents act like enemies
Makin' kids feel like it's World War III
No one cares, no one's there
I guess we're all just too damn busy
And money's our first priority
It doesn't make sense to me
Is everybody going crazy
Is anybody gonna save me
Can anybody tell me what's goin' on
Tell me whatall's goin' on
If you open your eyes
You all'l see that somethin' is wrong
Is everybody going crazy
Is everybody going crazy
Tell me what's wrong with society
When everywhere I look I see,
Rich guys driving big SUV's
While kids are starving in the streets
No one cares
No one likes to share
I guess life's unfair
Is everybody going crazy
Is anybody gonna save me
Can anybody tell me what's goin' on
Tell me whatall's goin' on
If you open your eyes
You all'l see that somethin' is wrong
somethin' is wrong
Friday, October 14, 2005
Customer Service
everyone has an opinion
this one is hilarious!
http://rollertrain.blogspot.com/2005/07/how-may-i-help-you-die-customer.html
this one is hilarious!
http://rollertrain.blogspot.com/2005/07/how-may-i-help-you-die-customer.html
Sunday, October 09, 2005
Pickle Power?
Many of you know that I blew the motor in my Trike on Sept 17th...
So I was pleased to receive a call from the mechanic...the new (to me) motor is in...
Turns out my old motor was a 1200 single port VW and the new one is a 1600 dual port...so she's not only fixed but will go like snot!! and I have lights again!
Next is the addition of the new front end some time in Novemeber...things are definitely looking up over here...
and then...
so I hop on the Mill Bay Ferry from Brentwood and Jenn picks me up...off we go to collect the Pickle...
I get there....Bull starts er up....she sputters a bit cos she's mad and then purrs like a kitten...
Jenn has done a restoration job on her finish so she's shinny like a new penny and Bull has not only put in the *bigger* motor...but did anyone know I had dash lights for oil and electrical??? I sure a hell didn't...and...my radio works again...as does my headlight!
So I'm all excited...
I get my gear on to ride her home...
I get about half way down their driveway and the pissy old woman starts to puke smoke...I stop...Bull runs up and pulls the cable offa the battery...he looks up and says..."so...remember the wiring you were planin on doing in the spring?" and he winks...
It's all the old woman's fault...Jenn and Bull have been treatin her so nice she decided she wanted to stay longer....crickey they ever let her sleep in a garage...so she's spoiled now!
End result....Jenn run me back to the ferry and here I am home...back in my Pickle free zone...
uhmmm Jenn?...start weaning her now so that the next time I get up there she'll at least let me outta the damn driveway will ya?
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Motorcycle Maintenance
So your shiny new cruiser is gleaming in the garage, and the payments aren't too bad, and you have some ultra-loud pipes and a skull-and-crossbones do-rag on order. Life is good. If you ask an assortment of riders why motorcycles are better than cars, you'll get the usual assortment of answers about freedom, being one with nature, astounding performance for the money, fuel economy, and looking cool. It's all true, of course. Cars offer somewhat better protection against heat, cold, rain, and impromptu street riots, but for most of us, that doesn't compensate for the joys of riding.
There is one definite drawback to the motorcycle, however. To one degree or other, motorcycles have their mechanical parts hanging out and accessible, which to many people is an open invitation to adjust, modify, or maintain their own mechanical marvels--even people who have difficulty operating a VCR or assembling the toy in a kid's Happy Meal. Sportbikes do what they can to discourage this by shrouding many components in expensive plastic, but this is just a token gesture, because it's easily removed and broken. Our V-, Road, and Royal Stars are gleaming examples of mechanical accessibility, just inviting the complete idiot to adjust a brake or remove a valve cover or drain the fork oil. As a passable example of just such an idiot, I thought I'd offer a few suggestions to the beginner.
Your Workspace
You hear a lot about "shade-tree mechanics," but in the motorcycling world, most of them have been crushed by Silverados whose kickstands sunk into the dirt below the shade tree. You will need a flat, firm surface, like your bedroom floor or Arnold Schwarzenegger's abdomen. Make sure that you have adequate lighting to distinguish a loose axle nut from parts of your own anatomy. You will need a small pan to catch oil drips (unless you're working on a friend's vintage Harley, in which case you will need a child's swimming pool). Make sure you have lots of shop rags, band-aids, and chilled fermented beverages. A fire extinguisher should be nearby, along with your medical-insurance card and your dealer's phone number. Most beginners strive for a workspace with large, immovable objects elevated just far enough from floor level for bolts and small parts to bounce under when dropped.
Basic Tools
Most modern motorcycles can be damaged beyond repair with just a few simple tools designed for plumbing and carpentry use. You should have at least:
One roofing hammer, which will be used to break loose stubborn parts, to reshape sheet-metal items, for carburetion adjustments, and to force-fit screws and bolts that you forgot that you removed from the other side of the bike One large, inexpensive crescent wrench, used to round off small bolt heads One small, flat-bladed screwdriver, which will sort of fit into the slots of a Phillips-head screw or bolt Two large, flat-bladed screwdrivers, used to puncture tubes while levering tires on/off of rims One can of WD-40, useful for evaporating grease out of bearings and helping road dirt stick to everything One 12-amp automotive battery charger, for that sweet smell of boiling acid One spray bottle of Armor All, used for making both your seat and tire treads exceedingly slick One container of two-year-old lawnmower gas 90% of all home motorcycle repairs can be bungled with this simple collection of tools and supplies. If you don't have these, I'd guess that your dealer will be pleased to provide them for you. As you gain confidence, you might add an SAE socket set for your metric bike, or vice-versa; some duct tape in a contrasting color to anything on your bike; woodworking glue; and a crowbar. You're now ready to do your own repair work.
Preparing to Work
Before starting any work on your motorcycle, make sure that it is clean. Take your bike and a pocketful of quarters to a coin-operated car wash and pressure-clean the wheel bearings and electrical parts with soap, then call a friend with a pickup truck or trailer to get you and your non-starting bike back home. While your bike drip-dries, scatter your tools on the floor around it for easy access. Maintenance jobs go faster if you wait until evening when you are tired and cranky. I recommend wearing only clothing marked "dry clean only," because these will better resist solvents.
Some Expert Help
One optional step, only for the squeamish, is to obtain a shop manual. You will need a new one each time you obliterate the illustrations with black, greasy handprints. Factory shop manuals all cost a hundred dollars, are 500 pages thick, and say things like "Use Yamaha Special Tool GRS85-003021-5439(a) to remove the ignition key from the ignition switch assembly." Aftermarket manuals spell words oddly ("tyres," "blinkers") and have had the same photos of fouled spark plugs for 30 years. Either type will have exploded diagrams of various subassemblies, useful for figuring out just which part just bounced under the old refrigerator, but will direct you to use exotic tools like "pullers" and "feeler gauges," which you don't have and which would look suspiciously like sex toys on your Visa bill.
Some Simple Rules of Thumb
All motorcycles legal for sale in North America use oil in precise quart increments. If three quarts doesn't look like enough, pour in another quart. Recommended tire pressures are approximate, because the pressure rises as the tire heats in use. The lower the tire pressure, the greater the heat and resulting increase in pressure, so just about any reading between "flat" and "exploded" is OK. "Slick" tires have a greater contact patch on the road, as all drag racers know. Replace worn tires only when bits of carcass fabric are sticking out of the tread, unless you can clean those up with nail clippers. Motorcycle batteries are designed to benefit from the various life-giving elements in mineral water, available in various sizes at your grocery store. If you remove muffler baffles (or entire mufflers) to reduce backpressure, be sure to reduce intake restrictions as well by removing the air filter, or at least replacing it with a high-flow model. Unsightly dried bugs on a windshield or instrument faces come right off with Comet cleanser or steel wool and a little "elbow grease." And Comet added to your oil will also help de-glaze cylinder bores. If your machine burns or leaks oil, try a heavier viscosity such as 50W-70 or even better, gear lube, with a quart of STP. Control cables tend to fill with crud over time, which can be removed by pressure-washing at the car wash. Air-cooled engines should only be washed with cold water from a garden hose, once the engine has warmed to operating temperature and is idling. Greasy build-up can be removed from aluminum parts with inexpensive muriatic acid, available at pool-supply stores. Be sure to mask adjoining parts carefully before spray-painting your tank or fenders. Use a quick-drying enamel such as "Krylon." Latex house paint will tend to discolor over time. As you gain familiarity with your machine, and learn the names of all the parts guys at your dealership, you will have the self-satisfaction of knowing that your machine reflects your personality and mechanical aptitude. Now before you get all proud and big-headed, make sure that you have your car hood welded shut.
This is all in fun, of course. Everything suggested above will ruin your bike. As they say in the ads, "don't try this at home."
There is one definite drawback to the motorcycle, however. To one degree or other, motorcycles have their mechanical parts hanging out and accessible, which to many people is an open invitation to adjust, modify, or maintain their own mechanical marvels--even people who have difficulty operating a VCR or assembling the toy in a kid's Happy Meal. Sportbikes do what they can to discourage this by shrouding many components in expensive plastic, but this is just a token gesture, because it's easily removed and broken. Our V-, Road, and Royal Stars are gleaming examples of mechanical accessibility, just inviting the complete idiot to adjust a brake or remove a valve cover or drain the fork oil. As a passable example of just such an idiot, I thought I'd offer a few suggestions to the beginner.
Your Workspace
You hear a lot about "shade-tree mechanics," but in the motorcycling world, most of them have been crushed by Silverados whose kickstands sunk into the dirt below the shade tree. You will need a flat, firm surface, like your bedroom floor or Arnold Schwarzenegger's abdomen. Make sure that you have adequate lighting to distinguish a loose axle nut from parts of your own anatomy. You will need a small pan to catch oil drips (unless you're working on a friend's vintage Harley, in which case you will need a child's swimming pool). Make sure you have lots of shop rags, band-aids, and chilled fermented beverages. A fire extinguisher should be nearby, along with your medical-insurance card and your dealer's phone number. Most beginners strive for a workspace with large, immovable objects elevated just far enough from floor level for bolts and small parts to bounce under when dropped.
Basic Tools
Most modern motorcycles can be damaged beyond repair with just a few simple tools designed for plumbing and carpentry use. You should have at least:
One roofing hammer, which will be used to break loose stubborn parts, to reshape sheet-metal items, for carburetion adjustments, and to force-fit screws and bolts that you forgot that you removed from the other side of the bike One large, inexpensive crescent wrench, used to round off small bolt heads One small, flat-bladed screwdriver, which will sort of fit into the slots of a Phillips-head screw or bolt Two large, flat-bladed screwdrivers, used to puncture tubes while levering tires on/off of rims One can of WD-40, useful for evaporating grease out of bearings and helping road dirt stick to everything One 12-amp automotive battery charger, for that sweet smell of boiling acid One spray bottle of Armor All, used for making both your seat and tire treads exceedingly slick One container of two-year-old lawnmower gas 90% of all home motorcycle repairs can be bungled with this simple collection of tools and supplies. If you don't have these, I'd guess that your dealer will be pleased to provide them for you. As you gain confidence, you might add an SAE socket set for your metric bike, or vice-versa; some duct tape in a contrasting color to anything on your bike; woodworking glue; and a crowbar. You're now ready to do your own repair work.
Preparing to Work
Before starting any work on your motorcycle, make sure that it is clean. Take your bike and a pocketful of quarters to a coin-operated car wash and pressure-clean the wheel bearings and electrical parts with soap, then call a friend with a pickup truck or trailer to get you and your non-starting bike back home. While your bike drip-dries, scatter your tools on the floor around it for easy access. Maintenance jobs go faster if you wait until evening when you are tired and cranky. I recommend wearing only clothing marked "dry clean only," because these will better resist solvents.
Some Expert Help
One optional step, only for the squeamish, is to obtain a shop manual. You will need a new one each time you obliterate the illustrations with black, greasy handprints. Factory shop manuals all cost a hundred dollars, are 500 pages thick, and say things like "Use Yamaha Special Tool GRS85-003021-5439(a) to remove the ignition key from the ignition switch assembly." Aftermarket manuals spell words oddly ("tyres," "blinkers") and have had the same photos of fouled spark plugs for 30 years. Either type will have exploded diagrams of various subassemblies, useful for figuring out just which part just bounced under the old refrigerator, but will direct you to use exotic tools like "pullers" and "feeler gauges," which you don't have and which would look suspiciously like sex toys on your Visa bill.
Some Simple Rules of Thumb
All motorcycles legal for sale in North America use oil in precise quart increments. If three quarts doesn't look like enough, pour in another quart. Recommended tire pressures are approximate, because the pressure rises as the tire heats in use. The lower the tire pressure, the greater the heat and resulting increase in pressure, so just about any reading between "flat" and "exploded" is OK. "Slick" tires have a greater contact patch on the road, as all drag racers know. Replace worn tires only when bits of carcass fabric are sticking out of the tread, unless you can clean those up with nail clippers. Motorcycle batteries are designed to benefit from the various life-giving elements in mineral water, available in various sizes at your grocery store. If you remove muffler baffles (or entire mufflers) to reduce backpressure, be sure to reduce intake restrictions as well by removing the air filter, or at least replacing it with a high-flow model. Unsightly dried bugs on a windshield or instrument faces come right off with Comet cleanser or steel wool and a little "elbow grease." And Comet added to your oil will also help de-glaze cylinder bores. If your machine burns or leaks oil, try a heavier viscosity such as 50W-70 or even better, gear lube, with a quart of STP. Control cables tend to fill with crud over time, which can be removed by pressure-washing at the car wash. Air-cooled engines should only be washed with cold water from a garden hose, once the engine has warmed to operating temperature and is idling. Greasy build-up can be removed from aluminum parts with inexpensive muriatic acid, available at pool-supply stores. Be sure to mask adjoining parts carefully before spray-painting your tank or fenders. Use a quick-drying enamel such as "Krylon." Latex house paint will tend to discolor over time. As you gain familiarity with your machine, and learn the names of all the parts guys at your dealership, you will have the self-satisfaction of knowing that your machine reflects your personality and mechanical aptitude. Now before you get all proud and big-headed, make sure that you have your car hood welded shut.
This is all in fun, of course. Everything suggested above will ruin your bike. As they say in the ads, "don't try this at home."
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
did ya ever
get the feeling that life is passing ya by?
well maybe not passing me by
but speeding along without me
every once in a while I look up
and it seems that another month has gone by
and nothings changed
dead end
somethings wrong
I just can't put my finger on it
maybe it's time
for that change
I've been talking about
well maybe not passing me by
but speeding along without me
every once in a while I look up
and it seems that another month has gone by
and nothings changed
dead end
somethings wrong
I just can't put my finger on it
maybe it's time
for that change
I've been talking about
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Dead Pickle
I feel like I should be listening to a dirge...
my buddy Bryan just called...the mechanic stopped by today to look at the Pickle...her motor is in fact blown...dead, deceased, caisse, done.
Bry says that now that he's had a chance to look at it he too can see the hole...actually he was able to stick his fingers thru it (not sure how I feel about that)
I know you all will understand when I say....this just sux - large - big - huge..ginormous
Crap!
I'm going to go sit in the corner and suck my thumb
Monday, September 19, 2005
Goodbye Dear Summer
Dear Summer,
As you pack your bags and gather up all your personal belongings into that great seasonal Hefty bag in search of better times and nicer weather, remember this, my beautiful mistress of suntan lotion soaked frivolity:
You'll be back, bitch.
Just like always, you'll come crawling back, and just like a lonely socially inept man in love with a prostitute, I shall forgive you for all your past sins and treachery for just one shot at three more months of carefree buffoonery and sweatsoaked debauchery with you. Like a good woman and an even worse friend, you've taught me things about myself no other season has had the gall to.
And for that, Summer...
...for that, I am still in love with you.
You've shown me the joy of wandering through a state park, sunburnt fields littered with plastic relics of the modern consumer age, the smell of the highway's exhaust saturating the crisp hot humid air, only to stumble across a large group of filthy hippies kicking around a rice filled hemp sack, welcoming my wit and cash with open arms and unshaven armpits.
From there, sweating in my black NIN t-shirt, a foolish and carefree dreadlocked gypsy would offer me an uncut ten-strip of LSD soaked construction paper, or a delicious little sugar cube double dipped with that fiendish mind replacer Aldous Huxley so brazenly explored reality with. A budding youth barely old enough to buy cigarettes, I handed the patchouli-soaked heathen two twenty American dollars and bounded away. Away from the hippy stench. Away from your unbearable afternoon heat. Away from the carefully constructed veneer of wilderness located alongside a stretch of busy highway. Away.
You whispered in my ear that it WAS ok to chemically poison my brain and deepfry my synapses, just so long as I was willing to face the consequences of forever walking around on this Earth with the knowledge that things aren't always what they seem to be. Especially not this reality, this waking life. Jaw clenched tight and that copper taste of chemical infused saliva, pupils gaping open like some poor Californian teenageer after her first try at double anal, spine vibrating with Kundalini like a massive tiger-striped Balinese serpent-beast, you took my hand and held on tightly right before you kicked me in the ass and shoved me into the abyss. You taught me that it was ok to be insane, if just for 8 hours, depending on the dosage ingested. It's ok to see right through people as if suddenly I had stumbled upon the only pair of actual working X-ray goggles, not made of cheap paper and googly eyed lenses, but constructed out of the splintered remains of the doors of perception, long kicked in and broken down by mad savage psychonauts.
No matter what the reasoning by any action was, you showed me the truth, Summer. You showed me that the slick and glistening skin of a beautiful woman laying out on a car hood, cigarette in her lips, acid in her mind, and my name on her tongue is truly a wondrous thing indeed.
You showed me the many faces hidden behind my own friends' ego, and never stopped or pulled any punches when I could look no further, for I had seen the demon, the Fear, inside of them. And you left me wanting more. More, before the cold winds and the dying leaves swept in. No other season could attest to that, Summer. For you are the great glowing lioness breastfeeding us all upon the throne of carnal delights. You are the lover we mere mortals break our backs for, while forcing ourselves to deal with the other seasons, in an effort to afford ourselves your burning embrace.
And now, now you're leaving us. You're leaving me.
So in conclusion, I want to thank you, Summer. I want to thank you for introducing me at the age of 16 to the wonderment of hallucinogenic pharmacopeia, and showing me that it's perfectly acceptable to lose one's mind for half a day, just so long as I had you by my side, carefree and lazy in our conquests. Because without you, Summer, I would not be the man I am today.
Waiting for that whore of a season, Winter, to come and go. - Timothy Leary
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Got a song stuck in my head again...
Angel - Jimi Hendrix
Angel come down from heaven yesterday,
She stayed with me just long enough for afternoon tea.
And she tell me a story yesterday,
About the Love between the Moon & the deep blue sea.
And when it was time for her to go,
She spread her wings high over me,
And she said, "I shall return tomorrow."
And I said, "Fly on my sweet Angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet Angel,
Tomorrow I'll look for you by my side."
And sure enough this morning comes to me,
While silver wings silhouette against the glow of the child's sunrise.
And as the blue birds and the sparrows envy me,
She says, "I Love you little boy and today you shall fly."
She kissed me once,
And the feeling so good she made me cry.
And now we can fly together...
And I said, "Fly on my sweet Angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet angel,
Together we shall always be alive."
Angel come down from heaven yesterday,
She stayed with me just long enough for afternoon tea.
And she tell me a story yesterday,
About the Love between the Moon & the deep blue sea.
And when it was time for her to go,
She spread her wings high over me,
And she said, "I shall return tomorrow."
And I said, "Fly on my sweet Angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet Angel,
Tomorrow I'll look for you by my side."
And sure enough this morning comes to me,
While silver wings silhouette against the glow of the child's sunrise.
And as the blue birds and the sparrows envy me,
She says, "I Love you little boy and today you shall fly."
She kissed me once,
And the feeling so good she made me cry.
And now we can fly together...
And I said, "Fly on my sweet Angel,
Fly on through the sky,
Fly on my sweet angel,
Together we shall always be alive."
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
At the risk of repeating myself...
ah hab a toad id by dose
ah feel lak shit
ah dodn't wand do be wid fabily
or fweinds
all ah wand do do is sweep
dood dight
ah feel lak shit
ah dodn't wand do be wid fabily
or fweinds
all ah wand do do is sweep
dood dight
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Overcome...
Here once again
I am overcome
by the devastation
brought about by
Katrina
it's been a tough week
I had to hit the ground running
to make up for
the time I lost
when Eric died
in order to
make my numbers for a week
I've been
living
breathing
eating
and sleeping
my job
tonight
I finally sat down
and watched
and
I am overcome
I hear the news commentator saying
that people didn't leave
because they were so poor
that they had no way to get out
that all they owned in their lifetimes
were the houses
they likely died in
there is no food
there is no safe water
and the city of New Orleans is no more
there will be no more
"riding on the city of New Orleans"
how do people
live through such horror
and remain sane?
how do people
suffer such loss
and remain sane?
how do people do it?
The looting has started
and gangs of thugs
have armed themselves
and are fighting the police
to take over
there are no roads
and even if there were
there's no place to store
all the supplies brought
to the Red Cross
on behalf of the survivors
I fear
that homeland disasters
such as this
will make or break humanity
will it be survival of the fittest?
or can mankind come together?
fear does awful things to people
and I'm truly frightened to find out
what we will become
all this while
I am watching footage
and just when I think
that this time
my heart will truly break
I see there flying in the wind
in the midst of miles and mile and miles
of devastation...
"Old Glory"
and I am reminded that
our brothers and sisters
to the South
will rise up as a nation
and take care of their own
and I am OverCome
I am overcome
by the devastation
brought about by
Katrina
it's been a tough week
I had to hit the ground running
to make up for
the time I lost
when Eric died
in order to
make my numbers for a week
I've been
living
breathing
eating
and sleeping
my job
tonight
I finally sat down
and watched
and
I am overcome
I hear the news commentator saying
that people didn't leave
because they were so poor
that they had no way to get out
that all they owned in their lifetimes
were the houses
they likely died in
there is no food
there is no safe water
and the city of New Orleans is no more
there will be no more
"riding on the city of New Orleans"
how do people
live through such horror
and remain sane?
how do people
suffer such loss
and remain sane?
how do people do it?
The looting has started
and gangs of thugs
have armed themselves
and are fighting the police
to take over
there are no roads
and even if there were
there's no place to store
all the supplies brought
to the Red Cross
on behalf of the survivors
I fear
that homeland disasters
such as this
will make or break humanity
will it be survival of the fittest?
or can mankind come together?
fear does awful things to people
and I'm truly frightened to find out
what we will become
all this while
I am watching footage
and just when I think
that this time
my heart will truly break
I see there flying in the wind
in the midst of miles and mile and miles
of devastation...
"Old Glory"
and I am reminded that
our brothers and sisters
to the South
will rise up as a nation
and take care of their own
and I am OverCome
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
the thing about...
blogging
is that life gets in the way
I seem to do most of my writing
during the quiet times
the busier my life is
the less I seem to have to say
eureka!
it's a breakthrough
so methinks more real writing will happen
when this whirlwind summer winds down...
is that life gets in the way
I seem to do most of my writing
during the quiet times
the busier my life is
the less I seem to have to say
eureka!
it's a breakthrough
so methinks more real writing will happen
when this whirlwind summer winds down...
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Hotel California
I'm watching the Eagles
live on PBS
it's the "retirement" tour
I'm thinking once again
about the soundtrack of my life
music plays
I close my eyes
and once more
I am transported
back
back to a different time
a different place
and I smile.
live on PBS
it's the "retirement" tour
I'm thinking once again
about the soundtrack of my life
music plays
I close my eyes
and once more
I am transported
back
back to a different time
a different place
and I smile.
Life Goes On...
It seems
that we are
in a state of flux
life goes on
and I sometimes wonder
how it can for some
and not for all
bunch of the gang
went and got memorial tattoo's for Lucky yesterday
I couldn't go
but I will as soon as I can...
this is Jill's
appropriately enough the "Viking Eric" and the symbol for eternity
gawd could you imagine how unfair you would think "it"
to find yourself a widow at 28?
that we are
in a state of flux
life goes on
and I sometimes wonder
how it can for some
and not for all
bunch of the gang
went and got memorial tattoo's for Lucky yesterday
I couldn't go
but I will as soon as I can...
this is Jill's
appropriately enough the "Viking Eric" and the symbol for eternity
gawd could you imagine how unfair you would think "it"
to find yourself a widow at 28?
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The Code
It used to be that all bikers shared a common bond, an unspoken code of ethics and behavior that transcended words and was built on actions. There was never a bible written on this Biker's Code and there was no need for such.
But the times are changing and there seems to be a lot of new riders out there. These days the riders you see blasting down the road are just as likely to be clad in shorts and sneakers as jeans and engineer boots. And the roughest, toughest-looking biker you pull up next to could be your doctor or lawyer and may be wearing a Rolex watch under his leathers.
There's nothing wrong with that, so long as these new riders learn the Code just as we old-timers did. Being a biker used to be about using your creativity to take a basket case old hawg and using only grit and ingenuity, turning it into a one-of-a-kind eye dazzler, then risking your life on the asphalt on a bike you made yourself out of pride. Bikers wore leather and grease because they knew cagers would just as soon run them down as look at them.
We were a breed unto ourselves with no union, no support group, and in many cases no family (they threw us out). We had to make it in the world of our own, against all rules, against mainstream society, and against all odds.
We survived and prospered because of the Biker Code and we never took shit from anybody. As an old scooter bro once said, "It's every tramp's job to school the young. How else are they going to know a Panhead from a bed pan?" Take heed, brothers and sisters, for our Code is a hallowed one filled with honor and loyalty, the likes of which have not been since the days of knighthood.
Be kind to women, children and animals, but don't take any bullshit about being a biker. This is an essential part of being a biker. It has to do with respect and honor. Anyone can be a quick-tempered fool. Be cool, stand tall and proud. Stand behind what you say with action.
Never lie, cheat or steal, always tell the truth. Bikers are always the greasy bad guys in the movies, but every real biker knows that his word is his bond. Your word is all you have in life that is truly yours. Guard it carefully and be something noble, for you are a true knight of the road.
If you see a wrong, fight it yourself, if you are about anything. You'll take care of problems yourself, find solutions.
Don't Whine. Absolutely no one likes or respects a whiner. Another way to think of it is, "Don't sweat the small stuff" Most of life's little inconveniences work themselves out whether you whine or not. Keep your chin up, you're a biker, not some lowly snail.
Never say die and never give up. Whether it's in a fight, a debate, or a business deal, no matter how bad it gets a biker never gives up.
Help others. When a brother or sister is broken down by the side of the road, always stop and help them. Even moral support, if that is all you can give, is better than riding on by. Remember life is about the journey, the ride, not getting there. You already are there. And don't just help bikers stop for anyone broken down, show the world that we are better than our image portrays us. Courtesy costs you nothing and gives you everything.
Stick to your guns. Do what you say you'll do, be there when you say you will. This is called integrity. This also goes back to standing for something. Like the song says, "You've got to stand for something or you'll fall for anything."
Life is not a drill, this isn't a dress rehearsal. This is life -- go out and take big bites of it. You've got no time to lose and bikers don't stand around waiting for the party to come to them they make the party. You only go around once. Tomorrow you could be road kill, thanks to a snowbird asleep at the wheel of his Caddy. Live life now, make the most of each moment.
All right, now let's review. You are a biker, a modern-day knight of the road. Protect the weak, walk tall and stand proud. Your word is your bond. Stick to your guns. Don't take any shit. Life is not a drill. Now go forth and ride. When in doubt, ride. That's what we do...ride. If you want to ride around in a Day-Glo Hawaiian shirt and sandals, go for it, but if you intend to look like an idiot, at least don't act like an idiot. These commandments are just a few of the broad strokes, there is a lot more to being a biker than buying a bike. If you just buy a bike, you are a motorcyclist. Being a biker is a way of life, a proud way of life we hold in high regard with a burning passion for the open highway.
Copyright 1992 Bob Dolan
But the times are changing and there seems to be a lot of new riders out there. These days the riders you see blasting down the road are just as likely to be clad in shorts and sneakers as jeans and engineer boots. And the roughest, toughest-looking biker you pull up next to could be your doctor or lawyer and may be wearing a Rolex watch under his leathers.
There's nothing wrong with that, so long as these new riders learn the Code just as we old-timers did. Being a biker used to be about using your creativity to take a basket case old hawg and using only grit and ingenuity, turning it into a one-of-a-kind eye dazzler, then risking your life on the asphalt on a bike you made yourself out of pride. Bikers wore leather and grease because they knew cagers would just as soon run them down as look at them.
We were a breed unto ourselves with no union, no support group, and in many cases no family (they threw us out). We had to make it in the world of our own, against all rules, against mainstream society, and against all odds.
We survived and prospered because of the Biker Code and we never took shit from anybody. As an old scooter bro once said, "It's every tramp's job to school the young. How else are they going to know a Panhead from a bed pan?" Take heed, brothers and sisters, for our Code is a hallowed one filled with honor and loyalty, the likes of which have not been since the days of knighthood.
Be kind to women, children and animals, but don't take any bullshit about being a biker. This is an essential part of being a biker. It has to do with respect and honor. Anyone can be a quick-tempered fool. Be cool, stand tall and proud. Stand behind what you say with action.
Never lie, cheat or steal, always tell the truth. Bikers are always the greasy bad guys in the movies, but every real biker knows that his word is his bond. Your word is all you have in life that is truly yours. Guard it carefully and be something noble, for you are a true knight of the road.
If you see a wrong, fight it yourself, if you are about anything. You'll take care of problems yourself, find solutions.
Don't Whine. Absolutely no one likes or respects a whiner. Another way to think of it is, "Don't sweat the small stuff" Most of life's little inconveniences work themselves out whether you whine or not. Keep your chin up, you're a biker, not some lowly snail.
Never say die and never give up. Whether it's in a fight, a debate, or a business deal, no matter how bad it gets a biker never gives up.
Help others. When a brother or sister is broken down by the side of the road, always stop and help them. Even moral support, if that is all you can give, is better than riding on by. Remember life is about the journey, the ride, not getting there. You already are there. And don't just help bikers stop for anyone broken down, show the world that we are better than our image portrays us. Courtesy costs you nothing and gives you everything.
Stick to your guns. Do what you say you'll do, be there when you say you will. This is called integrity. This also goes back to standing for something. Like the song says, "You've got to stand for something or you'll fall for anything."
Life is not a drill, this isn't a dress rehearsal. This is life -- go out and take big bites of it. You've got no time to lose and bikers don't stand around waiting for the party to come to them they make the party. You only go around once. Tomorrow you could be road kill, thanks to a snowbird asleep at the wheel of his Caddy. Live life now, make the most of each moment.
All right, now let's review. You are a biker, a modern-day knight of the road. Protect the weak, walk tall and stand proud. Your word is your bond. Stick to your guns. Don't take any shit. Life is not a drill. Now go forth and ride. When in doubt, ride. That's what we do...ride. If you want to ride around in a Day-Glo Hawaiian shirt and sandals, go for it, but if you intend to look like an idiot, at least don't act like an idiot. These commandments are just a few of the broad strokes, there is a lot more to being a biker than buying a bike. If you just buy a bike, you are a motorcyclist. Being a biker is a way of life, a proud way of life we hold in high regard with a burning passion for the open highway.
Copyright 1992 Bob Dolan
Saturday, August 20, 2005
How Wyz got forked!
A year ago I introduced my best male friend to my best female friend (you may remember my story from May when he proposed to her in front of 30-50 bikers at a riding club event?)
Bee and Bryan just got home from 8 weeks of holidaying around the continent culminating in a mad dash from Sturgis to get here in time for our bro?s funeral (actually she flew from Rapid City to Kelowna a week ago to assist an ailing friend and he rode like snot to get home in time...but I digress)
So I go up there to Naniamo yesterday to prepare for the funeral and wake...Bee n Bryan say they've brought me a surprise from Rapid City...
They present me with a helmet sticker that says "if I have to understand don't bother to explain it"
I say "thank you very much for thinking of me on your holiday"...
Then they say they have something else for me...
And they give me a helmet sticker that says "When I woke up this morning I had one nerve left and You're getting on it"
I say again, "thank you very much for thinking of me on your holiday"...
They then say they have something else for me...And they give me another helmet sticker that says "I'm not a bitch...I've just been in a bad mood for the last couple of years!"
I laugh again and again I say... "once again, thank you so much for thinking of me on your holiday"...
They tell me once more that they have something else for me...and they give me a Sturgis T-shirt?"
Way Cool !" says I, "I can't believe you guys took the time to like shop for me while you were on the holiday of a lifetime...thanks."
Bryan gets this funny grin on his face and disappears into the bedroom. He reappears and places on the table in front of me a new fender for my Pickle!
I am flabbergasted. (I haven't had a front fender on my trike for 2 years and I live in the bloody rain forest!)
I don't know what to say...can you imagine 2 people going on the triking trip of a lifetime and hauling a freakin fender alla way back for a friend?
I jump up and give them both a hug.
We sit back down and I am examining said fender and I proclaim "look at all the shiny chrome bolts...me likes shiny". (the Pickle is currently a rust bucket) To which Bryan answers"oh...I have other bolts to go with that...come 'eer"
He grabs me by the hand an waltzes me across the living room to the front hall where he pulls a jacket off a shiny new set of springer forks and leans over and points at the big bolts in the bottom "see? " he says, "more shiny bolts for Wyz"
I look at him and then I turn and look at her...and they are both grinning like Cheshire cats....so I did what any other red blooded biker would do...I burst into tears!
Bryan then goes on to tell me that they bought them for me because they want me to be safe and that my old forks are soo distressed that he's worried I'm gonna end up killing myself and he adds that if it wasn't for me he'd have never found the love of his life....so it's important to both of them that I'm safe.
To which I answer with a little hysterical sobbing and completely obliterate the part where he tells me that there's also handle bars, grips and cables coming directly from the shop that originally built my trike some 30 years ago! I gotta tell ya...I was a bloody write off.
A large bald mass of sniveling pulp...with red eyes.
So now we're gonna have a forkin' party...and I'm gonna get forked...!
whoooooooo hooooooooo!
Bee and Bryan just got home from 8 weeks of holidaying around the continent culminating in a mad dash from Sturgis to get here in time for our bro?s funeral (actually she flew from Rapid City to Kelowna a week ago to assist an ailing friend and he rode like snot to get home in time...but I digress)
So I go up there to Naniamo yesterday to prepare for the funeral and wake...Bee n Bryan say they've brought me a surprise from Rapid City...
They present me with a helmet sticker that says "if I have to understand don't bother to explain it"
I say "thank you very much for thinking of me on your holiday"...
Then they say they have something else for me...
And they give me a helmet sticker that says "When I woke up this morning I had one nerve left and You're getting on it"
I say again, "thank you very much for thinking of me on your holiday"...
They then say they have something else for me...And they give me another helmet sticker that says "I'm not a bitch...I've just been in a bad mood for the last couple of years!"
I laugh again and again I say... "once again, thank you so much for thinking of me on your holiday"...
They tell me once more that they have something else for me...and they give me a Sturgis T-shirt?"
Way Cool !" says I, "I can't believe you guys took the time to like shop for me while you were on the holiday of a lifetime...thanks."
Bryan gets this funny grin on his face and disappears into the bedroom. He reappears and places on the table in front of me a new fender for my Pickle!
I am flabbergasted. (I haven't had a front fender on my trike for 2 years and I live in the bloody rain forest!)
I don't know what to say...can you imagine 2 people going on the triking trip of a lifetime and hauling a freakin fender alla way back for a friend?
I jump up and give them both a hug.
We sit back down and I am examining said fender and I proclaim "look at all the shiny chrome bolts...me likes shiny". (the Pickle is currently a rust bucket) To which Bryan answers"oh...I have other bolts to go with that...come 'eer"
He grabs me by the hand an waltzes me across the living room to the front hall where he pulls a jacket off a shiny new set of springer forks and leans over and points at the big bolts in the bottom "see? " he says, "more shiny bolts for Wyz"
I look at him and then I turn and look at her...and they are both grinning like Cheshire cats....so I did what any other red blooded biker would do...I burst into tears!
Bryan then goes on to tell me that they bought them for me because they want me to be safe and that my old forks are soo distressed that he's worried I'm gonna end up killing myself and he adds that if it wasn't for me he'd have never found the love of his life....so it's important to both of them that I'm safe.
To which I answer with a little hysterical sobbing and completely obliterate the part where he tells me that there's also handle bars, grips and cables coming directly from the shop that originally built my trike some 30 years ago! I gotta tell ya...I was a bloody write off.
A large bald mass of sniveling pulp...with red eyes.
So now we're gonna have a forkin' party...and I'm gonna get forked...!
whoooooooo hooooooooo!
Friday, August 19, 2005
A Eulogy
Shocked is not the word. Numb better describes how I feel at the moment. I can hardly believe it.
I am here, speaking to you today in loving memory of Eric, “Lucky” Eric the Viking, Father, Son, Brother, Husband, Lover.
Eric who with all the love in his great big heart lived life to the fullest. He rode his bike and rode it often, in good times or bad. It was his life….the only thing that meant more to him was his family.
Our brother Lucky created his own light.
The glory of being a human being is that we are capable of being so much to so many. His children knew him as their father. His parents knew them as their son. Jill knew him as the reason for loving. We knew him as our friend and brother.
He was so much to so many and now he has gone on.
As eloquently said by a friend of the road… "Our community lost an icon the day Eric finally took a rest." He was and is so loved and missed by his beautiful wife Jill and their children, by his SCRC family and by his innumerable brothers and sisters of the road.”
Eric had a zest for life that was second to none…we all knew Eric was never one to color between the lines. He rode hard and he loved hard.
Jill, I know you know this, but it needs to be said out loud. Eric thought the sun rose and set on you. You are “why he’s lucky”. I once asked Eric what he was most proud of in his life and he turned and pointed to you and your children.
Eric lived his life ever mindful of the biker’s mantra…"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming -- WOW-- What a Ride!!!"
When I sat down to write this eulogy I first thought to myself that this is not the job for me. Better suited would be a family member or someone that new him longer or better than I.
I thought, if it were up to me I’d lead off with something by Frank Zappa and immediately thereafter thought that it might not be proper for a funeral, and then again thought “it might be the most proper after all, my friend Eric didn’t hold too much for propriety.
Then I thought, "If Eric is right and I am wrong…I'll find him somewhere in heaven, and I’ll wag my finger at him and he’ll go ‘neener, neener, neener.’"
Eulogies tend to paint the deceased as a saint, but not here. Nobody should pull their punches. Eric wasn’t a saint, but we all recognize that the world is a better place because Eric passed through it.
The last time I saw Eric he was doing what he loved the most. I am so grateful that a guy like Eric comes along every now and then. I hope that as even he died fighting the demons that took his life he realized how much we loved and appreciated him.
We all know that when someone is seriously hurt or killed, life goes on. When cameras are rolling and microphones switched on, you'll often hear quotes like "We've got to keep on doing whatever it is we were doing before because 'he would have wanted it that way.'"
Sometimes you have to wonder if it's just a pat phrase to help them get through a difficult time. Sometimes you might even wonder if it's true.
In this case, we know this to be true. Eric would not want us to mourn too long, to weep or wail. Eric would want us to laugh and remember why he’s Lucky.
And Eric would want us to ride.
To that end we will remember Eric the man. Eric the father, Eric the husband. We will know that Eric is with us, in our memories and in our hearts and on the road. We will remember Eric as he was.
Eric, my brother, you’ve made the full circle. God and all the other Great Sprits alike have blessed you and all that loved you in your brief time with us and for that we are grateful.
I am here, speaking to you today in loving memory of Eric, “Lucky” Eric the Viking, Father, Son, Brother, Husband, Lover.
Eric who with all the love in his great big heart lived life to the fullest. He rode his bike and rode it often, in good times or bad. It was his life….the only thing that meant more to him was his family.
Our brother Lucky created his own light.
The glory of being a human being is that we are capable of being so much to so many. His children knew him as their father. His parents knew them as their son. Jill knew him as the reason for loving. We knew him as our friend and brother.
He was so much to so many and now he has gone on.
As eloquently said by a friend of the road… "Our community lost an icon the day Eric finally took a rest." He was and is so loved and missed by his beautiful wife Jill and their children, by his SCRC family and by his innumerable brothers and sisters of the road.”
Eric had a zest for life that was second to none…we all knew Eric was never one to color between the lines. He rode hard and he loved hard.
Jill, I know you know this, but it needs to be said out loud. Eric thought the sun rose and set on you. You are “why he’s lucky”. I once asked Eric what he was most proud of in his life and he turned and pointed to you and your children.
Eric lived his life ever mindful of the biker’s mantra…"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming -- WOW-- What a Ride!!!"
When I sat down to write this eulogy I first thought to myself that this is not the job for me. Better suited would be a family member or someone that new him longer or better than I.
I thought, if it were up to me I’d lead off with something by Frank Zappa and immediately thereafter thought that it might not be proper for a funeral, and then again thought “it might be the most proper after all, my friend Eric didn’t hold too much for propriety.
Then I thought, "If Eric is right and I am wrong…I'll find him somewhere in heaven, and I’ll wag my finger at him and he’ll go ‘neener, neener, neener.’"
Eulogies tend to paint the deceased as a saint, but not here. Nobody should pull their punches. Eric wasn’t a saint, but we all recognize that the world is a better place because Eric passed through it.
The last time I saw Eric he was doing what he loved the most. I am so grateful that a guy like Eric comes along every now and then. I hope that as even he died fighting the demons that took his life he realized how much we loved and appreciated him.
We all know that when someone is seriously hurt or killed, life goes on. When cameras are rolling and microphones switched on, you'll often hear quotes like "We've got to keep on doing whatever it is we were doing before because 'he would have wanted it that way.'"
Sometimes you have to wonder if it's just a pat phrase to help them get through a difficult time. Sometimes you might even wonder if it's true.
In this case, we know this to be true. Eric would not want us to mourn too long, to weep or wail. Eric would want us to laugh and remember why he’s Lucky.
And Eric would want us to ride.
To that end we will remember Eric the man. Eric the father, Eric the husband. We will know that Eric is with us, in our memories and in our hearts and on the road. We will remember Eric as he was.
Eric, my brother, you’ve made the full circle. God and all the other Great Sprits alike have blessed you and all that loved you in your brief time with us and for that we are grateful.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Ain't life strange?...
so much has happened since last I was here
Lucky's accident
the Princeton Poultry Party
Lucky's passing
now I have to prepare myself for a funeral in a church
me
who swore to never walk thru the doors of a house of god again
is going to pay homage to my lost brother
but mostly to support his wife
sheesh
ain't life strange?
I promise I'll be back soon
to tell you stories
in the meantime
remember Lucky
and live your life
dammit!
cos ya just never know
do ya?
Lucky's accident
the Princeton Poultry Party
Lucky's passing
now I have to prepare myself for a funeral in a church
me
who swore to never walk thru the doors of a house of god again
is going to pay homage to my lost brother
but mostly to support his wife
sheesh
ain't life strange?
I promise I'll be back soon
to tell you stories
in the meantime
remember Lucky
and live your life
dammit!
cos ya just never know
do ya?
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