Blogging with the Bags

Regular coffee is never just that with the bags. Take tonight for example, we are here learning about blogger. So are new to it and so already have an account but every one has juicy stories to write about. Can't wait to read em.

The Fall Of Icarus

"In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on." (W.H. Auden)

In Auden's poem "Musee des Beaux Arts" he talks about suffering and tragedy and how it takes place while someone else is going about their daily routines. Yesterday I sat in a waiting room for 3 hours waiting to get winter tires on my truck. Meanwhile south of the border a tragic event was unfolding; a 20 year old entered an elementary school killing at least 20 children and 6 adults.

I wonder if we are destined to be the farmer in Breughel's painting, sure we heard the splash and the forsaken cry of yesterday's events but for us "it was not an important failure..." the sun continued to shine and set only to shine again today. Or will we be like the expensive delicate ships, briefly amazed but simply had somewhere else to be and calmly sailed on.

The Waiting Room

Waiting rooms, a place where time can stand still or you can loose time. I think it depends on your attitude when you enter the room.

Sitting in the waiting room at Canadian Tire I am thankful for Agnes and all her wonderful stories. She is from Neil's Harbour and is out doing some Christmas shopping and enjoying the mild weather.

Agnes bought two new fryers which apparently you can make fries with just a tablespoon of oil. They are Christmas gifts for her health conscious children. Agnes may, in time, purchase one her self if there are no harmful chemicals in it. Agnes is a little leery of deep frying potatoes in just a tablespoon of oil.

Agnes introduced her ex husband who is traveling with her because, as Agnes says "we are still great friends." He sat very quietly next to her.

Agnes talked about the old day, she grew up in the fishing village of Neil's Harbour, where her father would trade fresh fish for some fresh vegetables from farmers in the area. She is concerned with the anticipated 5 to 7% price jump of groceries which is going to happen in January 2013.

Agnes doesn't think there will be any ice this year and I may not get much ice fishing in, this saddens me a little as I can not wait to get on the ice to catch some smelt.

Agnes also loves moose meat if it is marinated in apple juice and vinegar.

Three older gentleman also from down the country chimed in on the conversation from time to time. The older gentleman sitting next to me pulled out a Nokia cellphone that had a pull out antenna. He was amazed by the iPhone I had which also had a GPS on it.

I didn't get much of my novel read but the time sure did pass quickly. As Agnes left she wished everyone a merry Christmas and was on her way to Walmart then back home before dark.

Escaping the Holiday Madness

There is something in the way the pine and spruce trees line the narrow road that rescues the tired soul and allows the mind to escape from the hustle and bustle of the holiday madness. It is not too often one can get out for a ride on the 9th of December. But with temperatures reaching a balmy 10 degrees what else is there to do but ride and escape the madness.

Here the spattering of sunshine reaching through the canopy of leafless trees takes me back to the days of summer, lost for a moment in those delightful memories I am quickly snapped back to reality with the pain in both my hands. The cold and bitterness of the approaching winter is felt in my fingers and is a reminder of what is to come.

This time of year the rides are few and far between and one must take advantage of the opportunity if it arises. Escaping on a bike where time moves more slowly does wonders for for the soul, especially when the journey is shared with another rider.

The Worn Path

Eudora Welty's "The Worn Path" is a short story about a southern Negro woman named Phoenix Jackson and the journey she takes from her country house into town. There is plenty of symbolism in this story from the title "The Worn Path" to the main characters name.

The name Phoenix comes from the name of a mythical bird which when it dies it rises from its ashes. This symbolizes that nothing can knock this main character down. Whatever hardships come her way, Phoenix will rise from the ashes and continue on. Born into slavery and living in a racist world Phoenix has, like the mythical bird she is named for, risen from the ashes.

Phoenix's journey along the "worn path" is full of obstacles which she must overcome alone. Even the description of the path calling it "worn" suggests that it is a journey that she has taken many times before. Always rising from the ashes to overcome the challenges and hardships that she encounters each time along this path, Phoenix endures.

Another reason Phoenix is a great name for this main character is how she has risen above the racist people she meets on her journey. The worn path that Phoenix is travelling is not an easy one and Phoenix states "seem like there is chains about my feet ," this brings to mind images of slaves being held back by their white owners.

From the white hunter who tries to intimidate Phoenix by pointing his gun at her to the rude nurse nurse at the Doctors office who calls Phoenix a "charity case," she endures like the mythical bird and rises from all the humiliation heaped upon her.

Phoenix may be a poor, uneducated country woman but she does not allow these obstacles to stop her from getting the medicine she needs for her grandson. Phoenix is a strong willed woman who would not allow age, poverty, or racism beat her down.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

and sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

and looked down one as far as I could

to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

and having perhaps the better claim

because it was grassy and wanted wear;

though as for that, the passing there

had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

in leaves no feet had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --

I took the one less travelled by,

and that has made all the difference

We seem to have a thinking that the grass is always greener on the other side. Our general discontent is inherent we seem to be jealous of others. We are born with this discontent and it dies with us. This sense of discontent never leaves us because we are always being placed at a crossroads. We have to make choices and every choice is irrevocable.

We need to learn to take the road less travelled, be an individual and live the life we choose. Stop regretting that we didn't take the other road. Appreciate the road you are on and look for the hidden treasure that are there.

Making Every Moment Count

Managed to get out for a ride this past weekend with two friends. Hard to believe it is the end of November and we are still able to ride for a few hours.

As motorcycle enthusiasts we have learned to make everyday count. Appreciating all that the ride offers and sharing the laughs while forgetting our troubles. What an escape if only for a few hours.

Doors

Some doors are better left unopened. But you usually don't realize that until you're on the otherside. We all make mistakes comes with the territory. Still no reason to live your life in one room. The doors we choose to open determins the path of our lives be they brave, angry, foolish, painful. We are defined by what we do, by where we go, and  you can't go anywhere without opening a door.

From my Window

Sitting here at work looking out my window wanting  to feel the wind in my face. Nice sunny bright days are always difficult for a rider without their bike. Longing to escape to the beautiful scenery that a ride offers. Getting lost in an array of vibrant colors.

The rumble of the pipes are hypnotic pulling me into the present moment as if I had no choice, here in this moment all my worries about yesterday and apprehension about the future give way and I am truly alive. I am left to experience everything yet being distracted by nothing.

Even recalling some of the past rides I am able to clear my mind and rejuvenate my soul.

Forsynthia

These grey melancholia days of spring are at times overwhelming.

The dampness chills to the bone.

The relentless wind whipping away at you.

A poet once said April is the cruelest month and days like this I believe him.

In this damp, grey, melancholia world there you sit in a vibrante yellow.

A splash of hope of what is to come.

Forsythia, you chase away the sadness like rays of sunshine growing out of the soil.

Belt Drive Betty's Blog

Belt Drive Betty's Blog

Sheldonism 101 Leftovers

Trying to wrap my mind around the notion of blogging. I have realized that not every blog will be a mind altering spiritual revelation. In fact this blog entitled "Sheldonism 101 leftovers" is nothing  more than perhaps a rant about my food  idiosyncrasies.

First let's go over a few vocabulary words.

Sheldonism: things the TV character Sheldon Cooper might say or believe. I thinking there is a little bit of Sheldon in everyone.

Mysophobic: the pathological fear of contamination and germs.

Leftovers: the uneaten edible remains of a meal sometimes hard for a mysophobic to digest.

After a long day of work followed by a 2 hour staff meeting and a 2 hour Saddlebag meeting I was looking forward to finally eating my supper. On the menu was left over chicken breast with stuffing and rice. My mouth was watering as I pulled into the driveway. Eagerly greeted by my ADHD German Shepherd, I tossed him a few treats and said that you'll have to wait until I eat before we go outside.
Standing in front of the fridge for a good 2 to 3 minutes scanning each shelf wondering can my dog actually open the fridge now, did he eat my leftovers?

I soon realized that someone put my leftovers in the microwave thinking I would be home at 3pm to eat supper before the meeting. It is now 8:30 pm and my food has been sitting at room temperature for nearly 6 hours. This is a dilemma for a mysophobic person. So I cut up the chicken breast and scrapped it into the dogs bowl along with the stuffing.

My dog now curled up at my feet as I sit here eating my toasted ham sandwich has the audacity to beg for a bite of my sandwich.

 

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

With the riding season now over I am feeling a little lost and there are times I wish I was out on the bike wandering around my island.

Looking back on this past riding season I can easily say that some of the best rides never had a set destination but rather were spent wandering around the island.

Finding other biker to travel with who share a common desire to get lost in all that the grey pavement has to offer has made for one amazing summer.

Yellow Line Therapy

The painted yellow lines are all that I need to see; they are all that I trust; they are all that matter. Somewhere between the excitment of exploring new paths and the banality of one road after another, the strugle to define one's self becomes easier.

It is here in the vast expanse of nothing, when all that is before you is a single road, you are set free. No longer overwhelmed by choices that have to be made, distractions that need to be dealt with, you are able to come alive, breathing in deeply all that the road has to offer.

Following the painted yellow line is all I need to do to define myself. No choices or distractions; you just follow. There is a sense of spiritual connectedness that comes from riding a motorcycle; the blending of body, machine, and all that nature has to offer. One stretch of kilometer after another bring about a different combination of elements such as feeling the heat of the summer sun on my face, breathing in deeply the sweet scent of freshly cut grass, and the gentle crosswinds pushing me this way.

Out on a single road, following the painted yellow lines brings about an inner peace which my machine pierces through and I consume.