Chipmunks in the duct work...

Chipmunks in the duct work...

I woke up about 3 o'clock this morning thinking about chipmunks in the heating ducts.

Ten, maybe fifteen, years ago I stopped over at my folks' house one evening and in the course of the conversation they told me they had chipmunks in the cold air return at the end of the hallway. They could hear them every night squeaking away up there. This had been going on for several days. We discussed calling an exterminator, because, as you can imagine, one wouldn't want a critter to get stuck up there and die leaving behind a smelly legacy.

A week or two later I stopped in again and got the rest of the story. I think the word sheepish was coined to describe the look on my dad's face when he explained that it hadn't been chipmunks after all... it was the low battery alarm on the smoke detector.

By 4am I realized that my chipmunks weren't going away, which is why if you had peered in my window at 4:03 you would have seen me up a ladder in my dining room changing the battery in the smoke alarm. They left me in peace after that.

Thoughts from the Abbey...

Thoughts from the Abbey...

Several years ago I spent a weekend at St. Gregory's Abbey, a Benedictine Monastery near Three Rivers. Ever since I've been on their mailing list, which means I get a quarterly eight page newsletter. Tonight the Christmas edition was in my mailbox.

It's an unremarkable little book - the photos , at least in print, are always a little grainy and grey. But in addition to news about events at the Abbey (I learned that Desmond Tutu visited there last August) there is always a little essay that is thoughtfully written. Today's, on the coming of Christmas, was exceptionally well done.

Here is an excerpt:

It has been said, many times many ways, that it is easy to get so caught up in the details of preparing for Christmas that we can lose sight of what Christmas is about. Christmas is about the Gospel. But quite apart from the normal distractions of the holiday season, if any of the above contradictions ring true—and I believe they do—then a fair question to ask is, “What is the Gospel?” Certainly we know the story. There’s a hay-filled manger with all kinds of animals nearby. There’s the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus and St. Joseph. There’s the star and three wise men bringing gold, frankincense, and myrrh. There’s an angel and some shepherds. It all makes for a pretty scene adorning a mantle piece—or for those who really splash out, a front yard—and it does remind us of the narrative.

I do not wish to discount the value of knowing the Nativity story, but the question still remains: What is the good news? What is the meaning behind the Christmas story that makes having all those trinkets worthwhile? If here you are hoping for a simple “Jesus saves” kind of answer, dear reader, I am afraid you will be disappointed. The fact is that in merely having to ask, “What is the Gospel?” an even more unsettling question arises: Is there a Gospel? Is there any good news at all? In a world that is dominated by rampant materialism, a notion that all things can be explained by quantitative formulae, and a relativism that denies even the possibility of abiding truth, there is precious little room for a newborn baby who, some claim, is the savior of the world. It is no wonder so many people detest the Christmas season.

If this gets your attention, you really should go and read the rest of the essay.

Back to the future...

Back to the future...

Today I woke up and saw the sleet on the street and the weather forecast of a 70% chance of freezing rain through the day and decided the bike was out and that it was time to try out the Interurban Trolley.

It's been 30 years since I routinely rode public transit. Back then I didn't own a car, so Kitchener Waterloo Transit was the best option for getting around. Today I left my car in the Garagemahal to do my little part to consume less fossil fuels.

The local trolley passes within a block of my house, and runs right past my business. One way fare is $1, which seems high until you factor in the total cost of automobile operation. The federal government reimbursement rate for private car use is $0.48/mile, so the 3.3 mile drive to my office actually costs just over $1.50 one way. And you can be sure that rate doesn't take into account greenhouse gas emissions.

I'm happy to report that the Trolley was right on time, both directions. This morning I was one of half a dozen riders (most got off at the college), but this evening I had it all to myself. I even got to catch up on some magazine reading, but not much because the trip is so fast.

Maybe someday the Trolley will run more frequently than every 30 minutes, and cover more ground than it does today. Then we might get back to the service, convenience (and ridership) we had in KW 30 years ago.

The only unpleasant aspect was waiting for a gap in traffic after the ride so I could cross Main Street to walk the rest of the way home. That seemed to take almost as long as my bus ride. I watched: most of the cars had only one person in them.

Retrospective...

Retrospective...

This holiday week I've found myself pondering all that has changed in the last 12 months. What a difference a little time makes!

A year ago everything was upside down, and I felt stretched to the breaking point. Thanksgiving kind of snuck up and pounced on me, and then several other emotionally charged events tumbled on top of each other that same weekend.

Now I find myself moving into a wholly new space, and I'm not just talking about my house. Last year I couldn't come up with a lot that I felt grateful for. This year I'm feeling thankful for my whole life.

Forgive me if I don't itemize a list here of all I'm thankful for. A generic list (family, friends, blah, blah, blah) cheapens it, and I don't know how to get specific without becoming maudlin. But I must say thanks to all who have walked with me down this path.

Bloggers... er... Cloggers...

Bloggers... er... Cloggers...

Twenty plus years ago I played 2nd fiddle in a band called Shoofly. Today I got an email from Jen, also an alum of that band (and a member with me in the Owls) with a link to this goofy video featuring 'Uncle Earl'. The incredible fiddler is Jen's daughter Rayna, who 20 plus years ago was just a kid. Now she can play '4 Cent Cotton' better than Lowe Stokes. Jen points out that the piano player is John Paul Jones (Led Zeppelin).

I especially like how Rayna calls her fiddle to her.

Ritual...

Ritual...

I'm just back from my retreat. It provided a kind of ritual blessing for my new life that I have found in no other setting. With divorce there is no casket, no funeral, no covered hot dish. We have elaborate ceremonies to recognize the start of marriage, but none - absolutely none - for the end. All that and much more lends a shadow of shame.

Getting together with a group of peers to talk about the stuff that really matters is a remarkable experience. Powerful stuff.

Penultimate...

Penultimate...

I've always loved that word, penultimate. Tonight was my penultimate church board meeting.

After December 31 I will be off of all volunteer boards and committees. No hospital. No orchestra. No church. No nothing...

I'm sure someday I'll recommit to something. Volunteer groups can be a fun way to connect to other people and make a contribution to something you think is important. But right now the idea of shedding all committee meetings is really appealing.

I'm taking off Friday evening for a weekend retreat. Be back Sunday evening.

Ahead of the curve...

Ahead of the curve...

I've been using my bike to commute as much as possible for the last 18 months, and now I find out that I'm just ahead of the curve.

According to this story I'm combating both my own spreading waistline AND global warming. Not only that, "Reducing car travel in favor of biking or walking would not only cut obesity and greenhouse gases, they said, it would also mean less smog, fewer deaths from car crashes, less osteoporosis, and even less depression since exercise helps beat the blues."

Normally I'm skeptical of such claims: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. But all of this is true. Now if it would just combat terrorism, turn the economy around and end the war... but maybe I'm asking for too much.

So what are you waiting on? Leave your car in your garagemahal and start pedaling.

5:30pm Update:
What are you waiting for? I answered my own question in the middle of the afternoon when I looked out my window and saw that the 30% chance of showers had increased to 110%.

I decided not to worry about it - just take the weather as it came when it came time to leave. It kept raining. Torrential downpour is a better term.

But by the time I got on my bike shortly after 5, the downpour had eased to a soggy mist. By the time I made it home it had stopped completely.

Maybe you have to be a little nuts (you choose "headstrong" or "persistent", "obstinate" or "determined") to bike even in this kind of uncertainty. Actually the ride home was almost exhilarating.

Patience...

Patience...

My perspective on patience has changed a lot in the last few years. Maybe being middle-aged does that to you.

Used to be, patience is what you did to stop your foot from tapping when you queued for tickets, or registered for college classes, or some such thing. I always hated standing in line. Still do. I go out of my way to avoid it. But I've learned that patience is more about spanning months or years, not a 30 minute wait.

But it is more than just the time span that has changed.

I think I used to think of patience as a problem of how to distract myself so I wasn't annoyed by the wait. Now I'm more aware that I make choices, and it's harder to feel impatient when you see that you have options and you've made a choice to live with the wait.

But there is even more: Now I find myself paying attention to what's going on in the wait. Well - if a wait is going to span years, I better not be distracting myself.

Which reminds me of Mr. Holland's Opus.

And who was it said "Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans."?

Which reminds me of my Dad's email signature, which he started using in his 80s:

That lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne
Chaucer quoting Hippocrates

Note to L: The incense burner works great, albeit a little funky.

Settling in...

Settling in...

I had a busy weekend, playing at two (count them, two) square dances. Why do these things happen on the same weekend?

Of course they were fun, but it takes s huge patch out of the weekend and means I'm scrambling to grab a few groceries on Sunday evening, and hanging out laundry at odd times of the day and night.

The highlight was moving back into my closet and 'proclaiming that it is good.' I get a remarkable amount of satisfaction from the little things that make the place mine. Even something like putting a chair in the right place is a wonder, and to actually have shelves in my closet triggers a deep sigh of contentment. How will I feel when I get some hooks in place, and another bank of shelves built and installed?

I once had a friend who would say "Simple pleasures, simple minds." Maybe that's true; but I think it is deeper than that, having to do with my world turning upside down and figuring out now what sticks and what has dissipated.