String Theory

I wanted to teach myself to make a Flemish string for my bow. I thought it would be easy I had seen it done before. I built a jig that would free me from the measuring of individual strands and cutting them to the proper lengths allowing for an even stagger of strand ends in the bundles. That was the hard part, I thought, but I was wrong.

It turns out that learning the technique of twisting string has to be learnt twice, once by the brain and later stumblingly, by the hands. Like plucking a difficult series of notes, knowing can only come to you by doing.

More About Jacques

My dog can talk, well he almost talks. He sometimes lets out these weird vocalizations. We live on a quiet, dead end street that has very little traffic. Whenever a large truck comes down our way, to empty the recycle bins or make a local delivery the noise disturbs little Jacques and he starts to make sounds. In the three years that he has been my friend I've heard him say, Wow, Now, No, Ouch, Mama, and just yesterday he said, Bark Obama.

I asked him if he really thought that Obama's approach to the economy will work, whether it was the right way to fix the current troubles. He just look at me and said nothing.

Perhaps the reason that he and I have remained such good friends is because he refuses to talk about politics.

Heres a link to a video af him going for a walk.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z00IlLgeH8Y

Crossing Wires

This bike appeared in a Kijiji ad that I placed on Sunday. The asking price was $150.00 I didn't really need to sell it, but I rarely ride it anymore preferring the comfort of my mountain bike on my not so youthful body.

I received much interest. It's a bike that would be good for an athlete on a budget or someone looking for a good touring bike.

My first offer was for $40.00. I hate low ballers, why do they bother? I returned a message to him/her thanking them for their interest, I declined their offer

Next up was a guy named Mike he offered $125.00 and gave me his number. He was in the 905 area. In my add I had indicated that I could deliver the bike. I sent him a message to say that I could not deliver to the 905 Area for that price. Here is an exchange of our emails:

Mike:No problem will pick up tonite or tues anytime

905 xxx xxxx its a cell phone,Im coming from Waterdown

Thanks mike

Could you meet me at Tim Hortons 6 and 401?

Me:Hey Mike,

Tuesday 11:00 am at the Tims on six north of the 401 if thats ok. $125.00 and a medium black coffee to cover my travel. Blue Toyota with a bike on the rack. I'll check my email in the am and if it's ago I'll head out.

Thanks,

Peter

Mike:its a go, see ya 11
905 xxx xxxx

will call in morning to say im leaving,I dont have your # thou
will send email in morning otherwise

Thanks mike

Mike:Good morning Peter,see you at 11.00 am Tim Hortons 6/401

905 xxx xxxx Mike

ll be driving a gold Hyundia

Me:Great, My cell # is 519 xxx xxxx. See you at the Tim's 6 and 401 11am. today .

Peter

I left the house without Mike's telephone number, and I can't check my emails on my stupid old phone. I pulled into the parking lot at at the Tim Horton's at eleven in the morning and I immediately spotted a golden coloured Hyundia. I parked and walk pass the car. I see that there is no driver in it. I figure that Mike is just grabbing a coffee or using the washroom. I now notice that there is another vehicle in the parking lot with a bike on its rack.

I go back to my car and wait. About ten minutes later I walk in to the coffee shop and look around for someone sitting alone, I see a young man at a table, he has a book in his hand and he's wrapped up in what he's reading. I ask, “Are you Mike” “No” he replies . “I'm Mark.” I apologize for interrupting him and return to my car. At this point I'm really wishing that I had Mike's number.

Ten minutes more pass and I see a man at the rear of the Hyundia. I exit my car and walk over to him. I say “Mike”? He says, “Yes”, but looks confused. He asks who I am. I tell him that I'm Peter the guy with the bike, I pointed to the bike on the back of my car. The back of my blue Toyota.

A look of disbelief came over his face, He suddenly realized what he had done. In his zeal to find a road bike for the spring riding season he began to communicate with multiple sellers, He managed to twist his brain up in a confusion of emails, and struck a deal with both me and the other guy assuming we were the same person.

I let Mike off the hook and wished him happy riding. I drove home with the bike still on the rack.

We had this further email exchange:

Mike:Peter again I apologize for this morning,had spoken to so many regarding bikes I lost track of who I was talking to.

If you have not sold it,let me know I'll bump up to 140$ to cover cost of you coming out today,if sold send address and what you like on your pizza or beer you like.

I feel badly your time was wasted and I had no cash on me to make it right:(

sorry again mike

Me:Hi Mike there's no need for you to make amends. It was an honest mistake. You are a gentleman for offering to compensate me but I assure you there is no need. I have a funny story to tell my friends. There is also no need for you to own two bikes just because your brain had been over taken by the speed of the internet. :) It's a good bike at a really good price and i'm sure that I won't have trouble selling it.

Thanks for getting back to me,

Peter

This morning a friend of mine had asked me to write her a story. I thought that I might tell her a funny one to offer her some cheer. Two hours later I had my funny story all for the price of a couple litres of gas.

I wonder if the other man with the bike takes his coffee black as well.

Grey

I have a map booklet that I find very useful. Mapart is the name of the company that publishes it. It's well designed and easy to use. One helpful feature is that it has colour coded areas, pink is residential, green is parkland, and grey is zoned industrial.

Yesterday I drove to a grey area. An area that has been scared by heavy industry, but over the last thirty years many of the factories have closed down or been re-purposed. An old canal that runs through the area has been made shallow with the silt of a hundred years, beavers chew mulberry trees along it's banks. Teenagers drain cans of Coors Lite beneath the natural cover that has grown around old slag heaps, piles of rock that were once molten.

When in speech we refer to a grey area we are usually talking about something that is uncertain, not well defined. That is how I feel about my grey area, the place shaded grey on my map.

If I were to clearly tell you how this place is, define it clearly, you may not want to go there. Things and places and people will always have an area of grey to them. I find that comforting.

Stones

What is it that brings rocks to surface of a field? The farmer picks these stones, hauls them to the edge and piles them. He builds a long wall, a cairn, a monument to nothing but his hard work.

Surely there must be an end to it. An end to the back breaking labour, but every season the man finds these stones in the place where crop is want to grow. Bend,stoop, pick, pile.

Is it the the sun? The frost? Does the disc of the silver moon pull them from the earth?

There must come a time when the field has turned all of its stones, when nothing is left but the soft loam. Will some inheritor of that field look upon this pile of stone and appreciate the hardship of the man that came before?

I do.