Work

                                 

All work consist mostly of two jobs. Taking stuff that's spread all around and stacking it in a pile or taking stuff stacked in a pile and spreading it all around.

Sports

Not made a post in a while, no picture just a link. This kid is one of my best friends, an old soul. I don't know anything about sports not even 1/8 of what this gentleman knows, but I know a lot about enthusiasm. He has it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-02sc998Ruw&feature=player_embedded

Wisdom and Washing Dishes

My father once told me a story of how when he was a little boy he stood watching his mother wash dishes. A question came to his mind, he was about four or five years old at the time. He wanted to know, why, if they ate their food only from the face of the plate, was it necessary to wash the back. His mother went and opened the cupboard where the plates were stored and explained how as the plates are stacked, back resting upon face, a dirty back would make for a dirty face. My dad told me that at that moment he became sure that his mother was a very smart person.

I never got to meet my grandmother on my fathers side, she had died before I was born, but I had the opportunity to spend a little time with her kin. This past Saturday was the Tschirhart Reunion. Held this year at the lovely little cottage of my Uncle Earl and his family. The cottage sits high atop a cliff overlooking lake Erie, just outside of Port Dover Ontario. It was great to see everyone, they are all such fantastic people. I got to meet my first cousins granddaughter Katie. I guess that makes her my third cousin or something, but when it comes to being a sweet little girl she is definitely first.

Our ages ranged, I think from just over three to perhaps just shy of ninety years old, four generations stretched out on a beautiful summer afternoon,sharing food and drink, games and stories, laughter, smiles and hugs. Its so wonderful to be among a group of people linked by blood and marriage, by a common story, shared memories.

I wonder how many times little bits of wisdom have been past down this family chain through time. Wisdom like the the story of plates and their washing. Stories that tell us that as a child you can find an answer to a simple questions using the tools reflection and logic, that as an adult the same tools help us find the answers to questions more complex.

What It Is

I built this pergola for a customer in Waterloo, it turned out rather well I think. The owner did the design. He’s the kind of guy that has a real sense of the way he wants things, the way that things should look. He insisted on using cedar despite the added cost. We made changes as we went along, as the structure took shape. The customer has an, “It is, what it is” attitude and remained very flexible. Early on we decided to use two upright post instead of the first conceived three. and after all was done we saw that the two posts framed the garden beautifully.

The project set me to thinking about order in the way we live. I’m kind of a unorganized person my only saving grace is that I can put shoulder to it and pull things together when need be, bring order out of my chaos in a way.

I like the way that my wife folds the laundry. I like the way it looks when I open the closet and the crisply folded linens present a wall of order to the eye. I like the look of my neighbours freshly trimmed lawn, the walkway swept, borders snipped, hedges clipped.

I could tidy up some things of mine, and I will, I’ll get around to it. For a while things will have order, but then after time, I’ll start just dropping things in drawers or worse just leaving them on the counter. “Oh well”, as my customer with the beautiful pergola and garden would tell me. “It is, what it is”.

Supper

I made this tonight for supper. No recipe, totally extemporaneous. I was going for a chicken cordon blue kind of thing. I had no smoked ham so I stuffed the chicken with chorizo sausage. Yes I'm the kind of fella that would have no ham but still posses a link of chorizo in the fridge. I love those little potatoes, anything that a tired cook doesn't have to peel is a godsend.

That's fresh Ontario asparagus under a sauce of Parmesan and Swiss, all herbs used were fresh from my garden. Tomorrow Kraft dinner.

Underwater Wellheads, Depleted Uranium, All of that Stuff

I can't remember where first I saw it. It must have been when I was a boy. A medicine cabinet with a mirrored door and behind the door a small slot an inch and a half or so wide. When I found out what it was for I was astonished, it left my mind unsettled. Of course the slot was the disposal chute for used razor blades, and I realized that it was probably the best way to get rid of them, but it bothered me. To think that in your home, while you slept, there lay behind the plaster, between the studs, a rusting pile of sharp danger.

We do good things as people and as societies. We plant flowers and grow food, we build schools and paint lovely pictures, but we also leave hazard in hidden places.

camera obscura

camera obscura : dark chamber, a dark box, with a light sensitive element within. Thats what I lost, but found again. Then, well... Listen to the story... Last week I was having lunch with my wife Elaine, she had the day off and I had no work. The kid, Connor was in school and this was one of the rare times we get to do something together, just the two of us. Lainy excused herself and went to the restroom. I used the time to check my emails on my phone. {Email from Brandy S- Peter, did you perchance lose a digital camera at 32 University ave E.? } Thats where it was, on a job site, 5 weeks or so ago I was replacing a broken door at a student housing complex. My Camera was found by a student who brought it to the administration office, Brandy, who looks after me when I work there, scrolled through he pictures on the memory card until she saw a blurred image of a man sitting on a couch in his living room. The person in the picture was me.

I took the picture above at the Riverside Rails skate park in the Preston section of Cambridge. This is for sure the last picture that I will ever take with my little camera. Shortly after my Cannon Powershot, suffered a fatal lens error. A speck of dust or a misalignment of pins has rendered it useless, all forms of remedy suggested by an in-depth internet search have come to no avail...She's dead Jim.

My head: camera obscura : dark chamber, a dark box. My brain : a light sensitive element within.

Bottle Cap

If you find a single bottle cap on the beach you would have a treasure, a reminder of a wonderful day in the sun. If you find a dozen bottle caps you would have a hand full of litter. That is sometimes the way that I feel about blogs, about photography. I wonder about my adding to this litter of words and images, I wonder to what end. I lost my little camera, it can't be found. I must have set it down on a job or in a cafe. It is most likely in the hands of another.

I feel content not taking pictures, taking a break from it. My wife wants me to buy another camera she says it's part of who I am... I think that I would like to be someone else for a little while, think about other things.

I baked the most amazing loaf of bread today and hung a new door on my front closet, a carpenter, a baker, a prose writing faker. Work is a little slow but I have plenty of the nonpaying variety to do around the house.

I'll cut this short, I'll press just one bottle cap into your hand to take away and stash in that shoe box in your mind, to remind you of a happy day.

The Soft Skeptic

I've miss placed my camera, I think. It's small, about the size of a package of cigarettes. It's very portability caused me to take up photography again, unencumbered by a huge gadget bag and a leather strap around my sweaty neck. Oh well it will turn up in a drawer or my glove box, maybe in the pocket of my heavy coat. No matter.

I've been thinking a lot about belief lately. I've heard interviews with some writers, writers who charmingly put forth the idea that religious belief is not only wrong, it is harmful to humankind. Rather then simply not believing and and being an atheist they feel compelled to be anti-theists and point out the harmful absurdity of the believer.

What am I then? Certainly not an atheist, nor a true believer either. I'm what I call a soft skeptic.

The soft skeptic at his core admits that all things may be. He knows that there is no proof so absolute that he can totally discount anything. He does however, pay little attention to those things that are not supported by solid evidence, a firm testable theory. He does not demand proof of other peoples beliefs, only his own. The soft skeptic has in the past blown and will most likely in the future blow again, upon a pair of dice.

It does not matter to me what you believe as long as you have a good heart. Even if you don't believe in Heaven or Hell it would be helpful if you could suggest to me... Where in the hell did I leave my camera?

The Solace of Snow

Boy, February is beating the heck outa me. Work is slow, I hate the cold and the snow. We've all been sick and I have a cough that just wont quit. Tonight I'm trying to bust out of my funk. I'm cooking Tuscan Chicken, peasant food at its best. I'm drinking a little wine, past sunshine caught by the grape and stored in a bottle. I hope that you, my northern hemisphere crew, are hanging in there. Spring is just around the corner, fellow children of the light. Days will become longer the warmth will return.

The Solace of Snow

The snow has fallen, it covers both king's barrow and peasant's grave.

All stains of sadness lie hidden beneath. From pain, our hearts it does save.

A white illusion of newness, of purity, gives hope, an escape from the past.

It insulates us from bitter, troubling reminders that happiness will never last.

Flowers and earth, and sprouts of green, the Spring brings life to the land.

I say keep the snow covering all, It is sadness that the Spring has planned.

This is the mood that February brings, melancholy through lack of light.

our limbs seem like lead and we cannot move, inaction is our plight.

Keep the path and plod along, know that what you're doing is good.

Spring will come whether we wish or not, it will elevate our mood.

Sadness comes I know not why, it seems like it has no reason.
Sadness will past in three months or so, just like any season.

Merry Christmas

I, at one time, five years ago or so, would rush home from work on a Thursday night to take my boy to his swimming lessons. I would sit on the bleachers and watch the little ones tread water. Each week they were able go a little longer before they had the need to grab the deck at the feet of their encouraging instructor. One thing that always struck me as funny was that when the whistle called them from the water into the cool air, they would all clasp together their hands at their chests. It looked to me like little monks lining up and joining in a chattering, shivering, prayer.

It makes me wonder about the origins of this almost universal gesture, that of hands pressed together, held to the body, an outward indication of prayer. Do we humans do this in order to warm our spirits?

2009 was a chilling time for a lot of people in this world. Many found hardship and challenge. I hope that if the whistle blew for you, and you were forced into the coolness of the air, that you found a way to keep your spirit warm. I also hope that 2010 will afford you plenty of time in the pool.

Merry Christmas

Be Inspired

This will be my first sort of guest post on my blog. On Friday my Uncle Wilfred was granted, or he excepted, I'm not sure of the exact term... Perhaps had bestowed upon him, a well earned degree. I could not get away to attend the ceremony. My cousin Jane Curtis sent me an email saying that she would take some pictures and share them out. That not being enough for me I asked her to write something. Pictures are never enough, I need to hear a story.

With Jane's kind permission, I will share what she wrote for me with you. Take this story of my Uncle Wilf and use it when you feel like your best days are behind you, when all opportunity seems missed. Use the story when you need to cut the grass and weed the garden, but just can't find the energy.

Thanks Uncle for the inspiration, and thank you Jane for taking us there.



A Day to Remember
October 30, 2009
Wilfred Gregory Tschirhart receives his
Doctor of Philosophy in Geography at he age of 88
 
Today was a rare and special day. My Uncle Wilfred Tschirhart achieved his Doctor of Philosophy in Geography and quite remarkably at the age of 88 years of age!
The Wilfred Laurier University convocation took place at the Waterloo Recreation Complex with a graduating class of approximately 500 students.
I met up with my Uncle Wilf’s son Cousin Chris, along with my sister Judy, cousins Ed and Bill and then we were joined by our cousin Mary Jane who is Wilf’s daughter. As we sat waiting for the ceremony to begin we laughed and joked as we always do when we get together. We had excellent seats right next to the stage.
The arena facility was transformed with red carpet and a very large stage and a band played music to set the tone. Later we found out that all the musicians in the band were graduates of Laurier.
When the procession started there was Uncle Wilf right near the front in his beautiful gown and cap. He looked like a true scholar. His seat was near the front and second from the aisle on the side where we sat so we had a great view. The convocation began with the Chancellor for the University making a speech about education and future goals.
The Doctorates were recognized first and Uncle Wilf was the second to go on stage. As he proceeded to the stage the speaker remarked that he had achieved all of his educational degrees after the age of 65. At that moment the entire graduating class rose to their feet for a standing ovation, the only one of the day! This moment brought a proud feeling to my heart and a tear to my eye. What a remarkable achievement, extremely inspirational.
Uncle Wilf was also given a special gift from the book store.
After the convocation we got together to take photos and then the majority of us proceeded to a restaurant called Kennedys in St. Agatha where Uncle Wilf lives. We were joined by Cousin Ed’s wife Pauline and Mary Jane’s daughter Jessica and her boyfriend Phil. Jessica and her sister Rebecca had mid term exams today or they would have been there for their Grandfather’s marvellous achievement.
We had a lovely meal and further time to talk about the day. After the meal we went to Uncle Wilf’s for some more socializing and he opened up his gift to discover a book on the brain.
He remarked that he saw us all sitting together as soon as he got near the front and that having us there made his day more special.
He is truly inspirational and I can’t even begin to imagine all of his efforts toward this day.
I will never forget this once in a lifetime event.
 
 

Ten Foot Pole

Yesterday I was painting a difficult ceiling, it was above a stairway and it had a strange curve to it .
There was no way to use a ladder and I had no scaffolding, so I took out my telescoping pole and attached my roller to it. The job was going well, but when it came time to cut into the corner where the wall met the ceiling on the curve, the work began to slow down. I had to tape my brush to the pole and slowly, carefully, with great concentration, trace the contour.

Last night as I slept, I dreamt that I had come upon an installation of performance art. A woman sat in a chair behind a low barricade. Leaning against the barricade was a long bamboo pole with one end covered in a soft fabric. I picked up the pole, and with its soft end I traced along the contour of the woman's face, down her long neck to the V shaped depression where it met her upper sternum.

When I awoke my first thought was of blogging and the Internet. It occurred to me that the writing and the reading of blogs was somehow like reaching out and touching someone with a pole.

Poke, poke.

Quintana Roo

Quintana Roo is the name of a Mexican state. It is also the name given to the daughter of the American writer Joan Didion, I knew this for some reason, I had read it somewhere I think, perhaps in the lines of a book dedication. When I first heard the pronunciation of the name it was an Anglicized version, very much the way it appears.

When I went for a vacation in Cancun I notice the state name on the licence plates. I ask our driver the Mexican pronunciation, and he replied, (Keentawnaw Row) the last syllable was clipped short like it had been barked by a dog.

Anyway to the purpose of my post: I'm giving away this book, Miami By Joan Didion It's a first edition. The book was gifted to me years ago buy my brother in law Dave, maybe for Christmas I can't remember. I think that Didion is one of Dave's favourite writers. The guy is very serious about books, even the funny ones :), He has been a bookman all his life, or if you prefer the gender neutral, but less romantic term, bookseller.

I have read this book at least three times. I am rarely a person to read a work of fiction more then once.

If you wish to have your name in the jar for the chance to win this great read, all you have to do is add a comment sharing with us a person who you think has an unusual name. You don't have to be a regular reader of this blog to participate, you can be just passing through.

Lastly I should give credit to the person that I stole the idea from, Kendalee from Dance of a Painted Lady blog. I don't know how to form a hyper link, but if you give the girl a Google I'm sure that you'll find her.

Good luck all.

What's for Supper?

Curried beef Kabobs with potato. The recipe is totally off the cuff. I'm going to put them in the oven at the minimum safe temperature and let cook slowly while we go for a hike at Rattlesnake point with our pals the Reddins. When we get home we'll dig in. I'll let you know how it turns out.

Inside the Box

When trying to solve a problem, the personal development gurus will suggest that we get creative and think, “Outside the Box”.

I'm fine with this, I think it's a great idea, but the thing that they don't tell you is that you should take a peek “in” the box first, nine times out of ten thats where the answer is.

Thats where you left your keys...

Chicken Pie

I was at the supermarket yesterday with my son. His mother was pushing the cart far from us down an unknown aisle and he and I were doing what we do best, joke around. He has my sense of humour or perhaps you could say that we share a common one.

The store had advertised a sale on beef so he and I headed to meat department. We saw something that appealled to our chuckle headed nature. Around the beef display area there was a crowd of shoppers all digging through the cello wrapped meat, searching for the best looking chunk to take home. I grabbed my son by the arm and told him that they look just like lions on the African plain, feeding on a fresh kill and he and I were just a couple of hyenas too timid to take a bite.

We bypassed the hungry pride and found a nice small chicken, it wasn't on sale but it looked good and our family can get three meals out of a small chicken.
Bird in hand my son and I went off to find his mother and the cart. We were laughing, laughing like hyenas.

The Grand River

The Grand River of my early youth was nothing like it is now. For the greater part I would say that its health and beauty have greatly improved. There was a time when the river was a polluted vein of ugly water that ran through our town carrying sewage and agricultural runoff from lands and settlements along the way.

To eat fish from the Grand was unthinkable, there were so many phosphates in the water that huge amounts of grey brown foam would form on the surface of the churning waters below the Park Hill dam. On very windy days this awful stuff could be seen blowing around on the streets nearby.

The story of my river is to me a reminder that not all things get worse. If you care about and care for something it can be made better, decay is not always inevitable.

When I was a boy you never saw the graceful heron stalking small fish in the shallows at the rivers edge. Today their numbers high, to see them is common, though they are less rare, to see them is still a delight.

Each Brick a Prayer

When my son was very small, maybe three years old , he had a tough time falling asleep. He was afraid of ghosts and monsters and for some reason that I can not explain... hobos. I made up a story to give him comfort. I told him that in 1960, when our house was being built, the mason who laid the bricks was so much more then just a bricklayer. The man was a shaman, a priest, a holy man. I told my son that he didn't just mindlessly lay the blocks in mortar. I said that with each brick he placed he uttered a prayer, an incantation. He said, “ May no evil pass or dwell within these walls.”

This week I have been busy working on my front entrance. I ripped out the old rotting oak threshold and cast a replacement in concrete. I'm going to replace the door with a modern unit, fitted with a leaded glass window.

After I pushed and bumped the heavy, new threshold into place, I spoke the words, “ May no evil pass or dwell within these walls”.

Oak

Oak trees have always been a favourite of mine. I like how they stubbornly hold on to their brown, crisp leaves well into winter, like an old man with a full head of hair. Where there are oak trees there is wildlife, acorns are a great source of food. I once read, somewhere, that oak trees are the most likely to be struck by lightning. No wonder the ancient Celts revered them, for they are chosen by the gods of the sky.

I understand that French oak makes the best barrels for ageing wine. I've tasted it, in a bottle of Bordeaux, I must recommend it.

Have you ever noticed that the fruit of the oak, the acorn, has a tiny little hat, like the beret of a Frenchmen? The connection to wine in the light of that fact seems all the more appropriate.

The largest oak that I know of in Cambridge is an ancient one at the northern end of the cricket field in Victoria park. I could take two or three of you and join hands and we may still not encircle it's trunk.