The Lean Machine played tonight kids …it was a tough one at times. The crowd was into both types of music; Country and Western. I know, right ;) Anyway, it was fun-ish, but work at the same time. Here’s Jodie and Jessie, they’re the singers of the songs. Speaking of which (work that is), I hope to get motivated shortly and post some crap of my own that’s been piling up on the hard drive as of late. It seems sometimes I get disinterested rather quickly with something that’s not-so-new, so it’s a matter of just putting in the work. But that’s the thing too, putting in the work when it’s not really work. Or something like that.
It’s been about 6 years and I don’t
remember much except that I was
lucky she chose to die when I
was planning my holiday. I guess
I’ve always been kinda lucky with
death. One Uncle died while
I was returning from a motorcycle
trip so I was able to swing by for that.
Another gave me a much needed
mid-week break at work. My Grandma
though, she laid in her hospital bed
breathing raspy, short filled breaths
that gave an odd smell matching
their odd sound. It was a sound
you’d think would be easy to
fix, like an obvious gash or broken
bone, but they evidently couldn’t.
So she laid there feigning sleep
while we filled in the spaces between
her breaths with our own sounds
that too, needing fixing. Together,
it was a terminal symphony.
When we reached the end of
that day’s round (played as a round
or course, as it often didn’t know when to
quit) I jumped on an intermission -
“No, I’ll stay with her. You guys
go and I’ll just sit here for a
while and meet you at home. I’ll
call if something happens.”
As they left I felt a weight
removed. Now it was just me and
Grandma, like it used to be when
we’d sit there watching her stories
or when I bothered her in the
kitchen while she fixed beans
or peeled dutch potatoes. She had
opened her eyes just briefly in
the 24 hours I’d been there, but
I knew she could hear. I don’t
think she moved once either.
So I pulled my chair up a little
closer and, somewhat uneasily,
held her hand. I’m not big on hand-
holding. Part of that’s a guy thing but
a bigger part is that it’s just the way
I am. She knows that too. As I
sat there comfortably with her hand
and her raspy breathing and that
odd smell, I found an odd ease in
the rhythm of it all and soon dozed off.
The previous day’s drive had caught
up with me I guess, and I headed straight
into rom and awoke, seemingly,
as quickly as I had nodded off. It
was surprising, that instant I woke,
and I sensed a strange absence.
My eyes fixed on the source
of that sound that had earlier
sent me off …and I waited for it.
And waited. Math never came
easy to me especially as a kid (I blame
Mrs. Gafuik) so it took me a while to put
the two two’s together to figure out
that that raspy breathing had come
to a stop. A dead stop.
After it sunk in I realized her hand
was still in mine. It was dry, but I
wouldn’t say cold but more room
temperature. And I didn’t think to
move it, which is weird because
most kids holding a dead hand would
want to move it even a little. The
clock told me 40 minutes had past?!
I quickly got up and figured it best to tell
someone what happened so I went out
into the hall and started toward the person
at the desk mumbling something about
“…she stopped breathing. I fell asleep
and didn’t know but she must of
stopped…” to which the pink-gowned
girl seemed relieved and said it was ok
(which I thought was weird as someone
just died ….but like I said I’m not good at
math) and she talked about how my
Grandpa is probably still awake which
got me thinking about calling him and Mom…
so I did. And I didn’t go back in there
either. I stayed in the hall
while everyone else went in,
and I just paced around the front
lobby reading and rereading stuff they
had on the walls and thinking about
how the funeral would be in a few
days and then I’d get home almost
to the day that I had planned on leaving.
And I’m thinking how convenient
her death was, and how perhaps
she waited for me like she did when I
was a kid getting distracted
doing my kid things, and how luck
probably had very little to do with it.
Today’s obligatory fitness post is on close-grip pull downs. They’re for the back. If you do them once in a while your back will be happy. Tonight for example, I did them (with a few other back exercises and some tricep stuff) and my back said to me “Hey Turtle …thanks for doing those! I haven’t felt a good pump like that for a while. Let’s do them again next time …huh?!” I didn’t reply back to my back however, as I didn’t want to draw too much attention in the gym. Gym guys are usually pretty tolerant to people doing weird things while working out, but carrying on a conversation with yourself (and not having a bluetooth earpiece attached) is grounds for some awkward glances, and I don’t need awkward glances. Or not any more than usual that is.
More to the point though, close-grip pull downs (the shapefit.com guys call them v-bar pull downs) target the mid-back area, and using a closer grip means working more of the inner muscles. Wider grip targets the outer muscles (the guy in the gif is using an even wider v-bar than I was). It’s good to go somewhat heavy with these too, and when bringing the bar down try to bring it right to the chest. The amount of time needed to bring it down should be the same on the return, and doing these somewhat slower with good control is key. Also, try not to let your arms do too much of the work. They do some work of course, but if you concentrate on pulling from your mid-back then you’ll actually use that area in the movement. But of course you’re thinking when doing all your exercises anyway, right :)
What do you have when silence sounds,
when breaths are heard and night resounds?
When meaning stalls and promise fades
while voices trail as if not made?
Or what of steps that measure not
between the places least forgot
but lie across (so freshly pressed)
a Winter’s coat exposed? Undressed.
And what of life (that Grand Routine)
at quest for something more pristine -
is it enough to warrant hope?
To stave the end enough to cope?
I’ve heard it said “Death is built in.”
A saving grace or life’s chagrin?
(There’s no need to commit right now.
Discuss amongst your group.) And how
about that face? That look, threadbare…
that found me in the window’s glare?
Forget it now …the clock has turned and shown its pace
while sleep impedes the answer that I seem to chase.
This makes me happy (click). I’ve been waiting for something of a facebook backlash for a while now. Here’s hoping for an early Christmas present this year.
This makes me sad …”We’ve been blessed with natural resources…“ It’s a comment I overheard by a member of my parliament while on Rutherford’s 630 CHED radio program. It seems he was upset with Obama’s recent decision to delay the XL pipeline. From what I can gather, the boundaries that define Canada have been bestowed by some deity with abundant materials that we Canadians can exploit as we see fit. Sweet, I love deities that play favorites …especially when they’re on my side.
This makes me relieved (click). I don’t like pirates. Water-logged or digital. What I hate worse than pirates though are ‘artistic thieves’ – ones who steal creativity by limiting its growth. Clay Shirky summed it up well in this recent Ted Talk: “The 20th Century was a great time to be a media company […] If you were making a TV show, it didn’t have to be better than the other TV shows of the day …it only had to be better than the two other shows that were on at the same time.“
This makes me laugh (click). It seems someone’s been playing the old iPad switch-a-roo, and a few consumers have gotten a bag of clay instead of the real McCoy. It’s not all that funny if you got one I suppose, but what I’m excited about is for those with time on their hands to throw together some videos/skits with Apple ‘fanboys‘ actually trying to use the product. Clay iPhones will be the next big seller if I know my trends.
Finally, this makes me wonder… “To admit that our ancestors are bacteria is humbling. It has disturbing implications. Besides impugning human sovereignty over the rest of nature, it challenges our assumptions of individuality, uniqueness, and independence. It even violates our view of ourselves as discrete physical beings separate from the rest of nature and – still more unsettling – questions the alleged uniqueness of human intelligent consciousness.” pg 32. Dazzle Gradually by Lynn Margulis and Dorion Sagan.
That’s what bothers me most about our Government’s ‘git er done’ approach concerning the export of Western oil. It’s as if jobs, the economy, jobs and more jobs are the only factors worth considering. That’s the appearance at least, especially if you glance through local media. I appreciate the concern too of potentially affected communities and the damage a theoretical spill may have on them, but even that is somewhat short-sighted given the ‘earthly’ concerns that spread far beyond our boundaries. Sure we may provide ‘safe’ oil, ‘secure’ oil and even ‘environmentally friendly’ oil (spin is a wonderful thing) …but for what purpose? To use obviously. To use, to generate more use, and to eventually come back to haunt us like a dark cloud might drift across an unprotectable boarder. The bigger picture needs to be looked at, and I haven’t heard anyone locally suggest talking about it. Aside from this article in today’s paper that is. Lol, but I suppose I don’t get out much either.
Mike Robinson also mentioned a book by Thomas Berger – Northern Frontier, Northern Homeland: the Report of the Mackenzie Valley Pipeline Inquiry (1977). I remember reading this back in one of my early University classes. I completely forget the course (obviously an option of some sort) and I recall only the Native Canadian instructor and some discussion with my Dad (who worked for oil companies for most of his life) around some things the book had to say. Again, I don’t recall what we talked about other than talking, but considering how damning the report was then to pipeline development, they probably weren’t the most uninteresting conversations. But it is odd how, as Mike suggests, we’re still at the same place we were over 30 years ago. I suppose the national economy isn’t something to write home about, foreign enterprise isn’t as uneventful as it once was and the general state of connectedness we share with other countries is only adding to our pile of concerns …which only makes the lure of easy oil money that much more appealing.
To state the obvious this planet isn’t getting any less crowded. I don’t think it’s a matter of whether or not these pipelines will happen, but more the case of when they’ll happen. And unfortunately, given our present concerns at least, I don’t think another 30 years is going to make a difference in how we handle them. But here’s hoping.
Way back in the days of my scholastic endeavors in music, I had a trombone teacher who gave me a book to practice out of. I thought that was funny; practice. Especially out of a book. So I didn’t. I showed him -ha. For some strange reason I kept it though, and have sporadically worked my way through it. Most of it was boring. Some somewhat exciting. The book is V. Cornette’s Method For Trombone. It’s green, and seems to have been revised by Jerome N. Procter in 1936 …so it’s pretty current as far as trombone technique goes. In the back of it are these things called ‘duets’. I’d tell you exactly what a duet is except the Internets are abound with disgruntled interneters (in particular Wikipedia) protesting the SOPA and PIPA bills that are bearing down on our presumed-guilty-before-charged thieving little paws. In a nutshell, the word duet comes from the word ‘Do’ and the other word ‘it’ …meaning you’re supposed to ‘do it’. Get it? Do it! Right. (pfft, who needs Wiki anyway). As i was saying, I came across these ‘duets’ and figured what the heck, I may as well do it. The only problem was there were two parts to it, and I couldn’t play them at the same time. Bummer. So I just played one.
I did this for a while and during one rare bout of freak practice I thought my ears detected something amiss in the melody. Could that Eb actually be an E natural? Hard to say. I did however, surmise that the ‘other’ part may provide some clues …and so I played it as well. Still hard to tell. One part had an Eb and the other an E natural …was it supposed to sound like this? Was music evil sounding even back in the 30′s? Eventually I came to the realization that hearing both parts at the same time would provide me with the answer, but how to do that. Should I find another trombone player? Good luck with that I thought, the trombone went out of style in 1938 (right after the revision by Mr. Procter) and the odds of finding a player is remote. Then a bolt of lightning. Flash! “Why don’t you record yourself playing one part and then play along with the recording while playing the other?“ Brilliant, I thought! So I grabbed my trusty little cassette recorder and went about laying down a track, then playing along to it. And voila …The Eb should indeed be an E natural. Crisis resolved!
As an exciting aside, I did find playing with myself to be rather ….er, entertaining (ahem) so I decided to record the shenanigans on my computer and see if things can sound any better. The result? Nope. Lol, same crap. It did feel nice though, to play with myself (ahem again) so I went about switching up one horn (bone to trumpet) just to make it interesting, and decided that it was fun enough to share with my peeps. That’s you btw. You’re the peeps. Don’t be insulted ;) Keep in mind though, I never play the trumpet that much so by the end of the piece my chops were always crapping out and the pitch moving all over. Ditto for the notes. And the phrasing. And the dynamics. Etc, etc, etc… Oh, and the trombone -lol. Excuses and non-caring aside, you have the wonderful piece of music before you titled – Six Concert Duets for Two Trombones by V. Cornette. Duo #1. And, more importantly, that dreaded Eb has been fixed …and thanks to my sloppy playing you won’t even realize it anyway :)
If you’re keeping score, this one’s in the key of F. F is for Fun. And Fail. And some other F-type words I’m sure.
Windchill. I hate the term. It’s often the weather persons’ goto ploy for excitement around here …appearing to milk all they can of the not-so-unusual as if their jobs depended on it. And perhaps they do, although I’d assume every station manager knows the weather in Edmonton is essentially unremarkable for 360 days of the year. Yet still, windchill is at the front of the forecasters’ toolbox. And I suppose it gets people talking. We’re starving for something out of the normal, and a typical -30 Cel. day with some wind seems to suffice even though it, oddly, comes around every Winter. Is the regularity somehow baffling this time around ;)
I guess it’s a boring town. Not much to talk about. Maybe it’s the case that the beehive of activity around it actually keeps us warm? It’s all about the extremes it seems, on both ends of the spectrum too. Oddly though, the forecasters don’t feel the cooling winds during the Summer are worth mentioning. It’s the exciting stuff we’re after. The news stories. That’s why I’ve yet to hear a weather personality in July proclaim it’s 31 Cel. outside but with the wind it only feels like 24 Cel. Nope, that just wouldn’t be exciting.
It’s been a month and a half since my surgery and although things have been coming along, I haven’t ventured into impact related movements. While at physio today Lauren (my most excellent physio person) suggested I take a few laps around the track. “What!? Really!?” She was serious of course, and I did. Baby steps at first and by the third lap I was up to my usual slow-jog pace …and no peep from the knee at all! Sweet. Truth be told I was quite happy. The knee seems to give me little grumblings once in a while but usually after I start moving around on it, things level out. And this kinda happened today on the track. She also had me try some horizontal leg presses with some ‘muscle stim’ contraption shocking the quad just above the knee ever so slightly, and this too felt great. So yeah, it was a good day …and things are looking up.
I recall doing wind-sprints in February last year just before all this knee-crap transpired, so if things stay the course I could feasibly be doing the same in a month or so, which means one whole year of sporadic to nil mobility will finally be coming to an end.
Those bad haircut looking kids won’t be laughing at me this spring. *those can’t be famous last words either …because these are -ha*
