I awoke in the pre-dawn hours uncomfortable. My neck was wet with perspiration against my pillow. The air was hot and stuffy, even though I could hear the air conditioner running. However, my ears noted a difference. A check of the thermostat confirmed my suspicions; the temperature was four degrees above normal. The air blowing out of the vent was warm, lacking the satisfying chill of a functioning A/C. The thought of going through the weekend in a hot apartment did not appeal to me, and I spent the remaining hours before departing for work doing various chores and contemplating where I might spend time should a lengthy repair be necessary.
How weak am I in this modern age that the thought of spending a day or two without comfortable climate control causes me to shudder?
I spent Tuesday night at the oldest continuously operating dance hall in Texas. Gruene Hall, located forty-five minutes south of Austin along the Guadalupe River, is a truly unique place. Rather than letting time pass it by, Gruene ignores that the passing of time exists at all. The dance hall has been there 130 years, and little has changed. The patrons are the same, though their clothes have changed. The music has changed, but not as much as we might think. Air conditioning hasn't been invented yet; only fans and a breeze crossing through the open windows offer relief from the heat, which is only noticeable once one leaves the dance floor. One is left to deal with it in the same way Texans have dealt with it all along: grab a cold beer and walk outside to pitch a horseshoe or two.
The great lesson is that it takes very little to fully enjoy life. Friends, good music, a spin around the dance floor...a beer. Such things have always been and will continue.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
good times
To a Texan, which is the bigger problem: more chips than queso OR more queso than chips? I'll admit this question is a bit tricky. Think about it; I'll reveal my response at the bottom of the post.
I write this following one of the best weekends ever. We got to celebrate S.'s birthday on Friday, spend some quality time at the lake on Saturday, spend some quality time at the pool, and spend some quality time with BBQ. And, I only had to put in eight hours at the office. I woke up yesterday morning, almost unable to move, such was the intensity of Saturday's swimming and volleyball playing.
I am blessed with incredible friends, who for reasons passing understanding choose to allow me in their presence. My friend A. made for me perhaps the best coffee of my life yesterday evening. Sure, it followed a satisfying meal of brisket and an afternoon of watersport, so there is an intrinsic psychological factor. However, this should not detract from the quality of the beverage itself, which had a rich, dark and deep flavor absent any trace of bitterness, infused with properties to soothe both body and soul. It was A.'s best effort to date, and a memory that is a bright star against a backdrop of faded constellations.
As a bonus, the work week began well. A co-worker, famous for her queso, brought in a batch to share. Nothing like starting off your Monday with some chips and queso. Which brings us back to the original question.
Neither is a problem. If you run out of queso, you go back to the salsa. If you run out of chips, it's time to break out the spoon.
I write this following one of the best weekends ever. We got to celebrate S.'s birthday on Friday, spend some quality time at the lake on Saturday, spend some quality time at the pool, and spend some quality time with BBQ. And, I only had to put in eight hours at the office. I woke up yesterday morning, almost unable to move, such was the intensity of Saturday's swimming and volleyball playing.
I am blessed with incredible friends, who for reasons passing understanding choose to allow me in their presence. My friend A. made for me perhaps the best coffee of my life yesterday evening. Sure, it followed a satisfying meal of brisket and an afternoon of watersport, so there is an intrinsic psychological factor. However, this should not detract from the quality of the beverage itself, which had a rich, dark and deep flavor absent any trace of bitterness, infused with properties to soothe both body and soul. It was A.'s best effort to date, and a memory that is a bright star against a backdrop of faded constellations.
As a bonus, the work week began well. A co-worker, famous for her queso, brought in a batch to share. Nothing like starting off your Monday with some chips and queso. Which brings us back to the original question.
Neither is a problem. If you run out of queso, you go back to the salsa. If you run out of chips, it's time to break out the spoon.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
a voice in the night
It's the middle of the night, I'm awake and alone. This is not an unprecedented event, for I've experienced this particular circumstance many times. This is the fifth draft of the first two sentences, rewritten to their present form to eliminate the potential misconception I write in metaphor.
The cause for my current nocturnal consciousness is a work project, requiring me to burn some "midnight oil" in the interest of our business. The precise reasons why this is necessary are buried in the particular politics of my office and a definite commitment to our customers. This is not readily understood by others in my field, nor often by me. I don't really mind it and at certain times (even this one), it caters to my primal nature. Still, it can be a pain.
There are certain drawbacks, and the one on which my mind now centers is the isolation I feel at this hour. This is not a despairing isolation, but it is admittedly lonely. I have to be up and alert so that I do not meet the challenges of my tasks with a dull mind, but there are long periods of down time to get through. In order to get through those and return to a task ready and able, I must find some way of occupying my mind. For example, I'm writing this entry. However, I'd rather be talking to someone, kept in company, and have a source of good cheer. It's quiet, for the world (that in immediate vicinity and only mostly) sleeps.
How interesting it would be to have a good friend in Asia, whom I could call and chat with when the hours become small.
There are times when one purposefully seeks isolation; times of meditation. Camping on a hilltop, early morning car trip departures, a midnight hike through a well-known wood. There is something especially oppressive, however, about recognizing isolation in an urban area. I live in an apartment; there are people above and below me, perhaps feet away through my wall. Yet, I know them no more than by their passing glance as we leave for work in the morning or are out of doors for some other reason. All these souls, with independent thoughts and desires, experiences, talents and skills, and unique personalities living in such close proximity without knowledge of one another. It is thus an extraordinarily poignant thing to be alone in the midst of so much life.
What is it about the day that deafens my desire to reach out, and about night that this desire is amplified? Would it be different were I not single? Perhaps. Regardless, such occasions as these will arise.
Fortunately, my night ends earlier than I anticipated. I am about ninety minutes ahead of schedule, and could have added about sixty to that had I been more attentive in a few areas. I hope this will be a great Saturday for you. As for me, there stand only a few hours sleep between now and the lake.
The cause for my current nocturnal consciousness is a work project, requiring me to burn some "midnight oil" in the interest of our business. The precise reasons why this is necessary are buried in the particular politics of my office and a definite commitment to our customers. This is not readily understood by others in my field, nor often by me. I don't really mind it and at certain times (even this one), it caters to my primal nature. Still, it can be a pain.
There are certain drawbacks, and the one on which my mind now centers is the isolation I feel at this hour. This is not a despairing isolation, but it is admittedly lonely. I have to be up and alert so that I do not meet the challenges of my tasks with a dull mind, but there are long periods of down time to get through. In order to get through those and return to a task ready and able, I must find some way of occupying my mind. For example, I'm writing this entry. However, I'd rather be talking to someone, kept in company, and have a source of good cheer. It's quiet, for the world (that in immediate vicinity and only mostly) sleeps.
How interesting it would be to have a good friend in Asia, whom I could call and chat with when the hours become small.
There are times when one purposefully seeks isolation; times of meditation. Camping on a hilltop, early morning car trip departures, a midnight hike through a well-known wood. There is something especially oppressive, however, about recognizing isolation in an urban area. I live in an apartment; there are people above and below me, perhaps feet away through my wall. Yet, I know them no more than by their passing glance as we leave for work in the morning or are out of doors for some other reason. All these souls, with independent thoughts and desires, experiences, talents and skills, and unique personalities living in such close proximity without knowledge of one another. It is thus an extraordinarily poignant thing to be alone in the midst of so much life.
What is it about the day that deafens my desire to reach out, and about night that this desire is amplified? Would it be different were I not single? Perhaps. Regardless, such occasions as these will arise.
Fortunately, my night ends earlier than I anticipated. I am about ninety minutes ahead of schedule, and could have added about sixty to that had I been more attentive in a few areas. I hope this will be a great Saturday for you. As for me, there stand only a few hours sleep between now and the lake.
Monday, July 17, 2006
linguistic hunger
Some people awake on Monday with a craving for coffee, an apple fritter, or perhaps a run through the park. More often this craving may be experienced as an intense desire to return to one's pillow, and on many occasions I have satisfied such a desire.
This morning, I awoke with a different craving: the German language. I realize this is not an oft expressed desire, and perhaps it occurs only rarely in the wild. German is on my mind a lot lately. Some time the previous weekend was spent in an impromptu German conversation with a friend as we prepared to dine at a German restaurant. I liberally use the word conversation, as I employed more listening than speaking skills. I studied German in high school under a wonderful and colorful instructor for whom I have great respect. In college, my official minor was German. Indeed, one of my college instructors attempted to persuade me to enroll in the German graduate program. It is therefore shameful that my facility with the language has atrophied.
Of course, the primary reason for my renewed fascination with the language is an upcoming fall trip to Germany. I suppose one would define the trip as a vacation, but I've been thinking of it more as a research expedition. This should not, however, obscure the enjoyment of it. I spent a good deal of time this weekend planning this trip and finalizing some details. There is still quite a bit to do, but I'm on the downhill slide. I've been reading guidebooks, searching internet sites, refreshing my history, and seeking out others with association to Germany.
An unfortunate casualty has been my knowledge of French, acquired from three semesters of college electives. Friday was Bastille Day, and I had been looking forward to the now annual French email exchange with my friend S. Both of us had busy schedules, so it was a short exchange. Because of that, it carried over to the next day and intensified when S. discovered an old French phrase book. I struggled to make a response, but could do little to communicate. My knowledge of French is shuttered away behind the Deutsch mode of my brain.
From what source could I begin to sate this Monday morning hunger for die große Sprache? I started out with news broadcasts, but then inspiration struck. Podcasts. There surely must be German podcasts. Indeed there are; it is an incredibly popular medium in Germany. I've found two very interesting series. Conversational, friendly German. I think this will do nicely.
Tchüß!
This morning, I awoke with a different craving: the German language. I realize this is not an oft expressed desire, and perhaps it occurs only rarely in the wild. German is on my mind a lot lately. Some time the previous weekend was spent in an impromptu German conversation with a friend as we prepared to dine at a German restaurant. I liberally use the word conversation, as I employed more listening than speaking skills. I studied German in high school under a wonderful and colorful instructor for whom I have great respect. In college, my official minor was German. Indeed, one of my college instructors attempted to persuade me to enroll in the German graduate program. It is therefore shameful that my facility with the language has atrophied.
Of course, the primary reason for my renewed fascination with the language is an upcoming fall trip to Germany. I suppose one would define the trip as a vacation, but I've been thinking of it more as a research expedition. This should not, however, obscure the enjoyment of it. I spent a good deal of time this weekend planning this trip and finalizing some details. There is still quite a bit to do, but I'm on the downhill slide. I've been reading guidebooks, searching internet sites, refreshing my history, and seeking out others with association to Germany.
An unfortunate casualty has been my knowledge of French, acquired from three semesters of college electives. Friday was Bastille Day, and I had been looking forward to the now annual French email exchange with my friend S. Both of us had busy schedules, so it was a short exchange. Because of that, it carried over to the next day and intensified when S. discovered an old French phrase book. I struggled to make a response, but could do little to communicate. My knowledge of French is shuttered away behind the Deutsch mode of my brain.
From what source could I begin to sate this Monday morning hunger for die große Sprache? I started out with news broadcasts, but then inspiration struck. Podcasts. There surely must be German podcasts. Indeed there are; it is an incredibly popular medium in Germany. I've found two very interesting series. Conversational, friendly German. I think this will do nicely.
Tchüß!
Friday, July 14, 2006
vendredi
Friday, and all the world has slowed to a crawl. I know not whether I am ready for the week to end or for the weekend to get underway. Regardless, the end of my workday approaches, and my smile broadens.
Although, according to a co-worker, if you get lost in the woods, all you have to do is go back to where you knew where you were. This is sage advice.
More of my day than I had planned has been spent talking to the above co-worker about her upcoming wedding. The wedding date was influenced by my trip to Germany, so I've already had significant input.
I just got an email letting me know that my place of employment is granting all staff a free pedometer. That's exciting!
Although, according to a co-worker, if you get lost in the woods, all you have to do is go back to where you knew where you were. This is sage advice.
More of my day than I had planned has been spent talking to the above co-worker about her upcoming wedding. The wedding date was influenced by my trip to Germany, so I've already had significant input.
I just got an email letting me know that my place of employment is granting all staff a free pedometer. That's exciting!
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
progress
I recently purchased a new bottle of chocolate syrup. As I took it out of the bag upon arriving home, I noticed the old nozzle had been replaced by a flip top lid. Initial testing reveals this is a marked improvement over the long standard pop-up spout with the separate lid, which would inevitably become lost or be layered with chocolate residue. While somewhat nostalgic over the "old way", I am eager to embrace progress here. Way to go, chocolate syrup bottle manufacturer!
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