I installed a garage door opener today. I bought it about two years ago, i think, from the next door neighbor, before he left.
I still have to buy two lag bolts, but it works fine with a temporary fix.
We are so excited. Becca got to push the button first. And we drove the car in the garage together. it was like Christmas.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Roger Levasque visits Doyles Pub -
So I did not think meeting a member from the Sounders FC would be such a laid back experience. I was expecting a lot of photographs, lines, crowds, and handlers and PR people. Roger was such a laid back and normal guy that I think the PR agent mistook me for him when I walked up to the bar that night. A nice girl was standing in front of the bar with a cell phone and waved to me as I approched. I should point out, I am fairly certian that she was waving at me, because no one else was ahead or behind me on the sidewalk, it was dusk, and it was about 7:00 pm. He ended up showing a little bit later. As you can see from the photo, we do have a similar build so this is just a hunch. (I never did have a chance to ask if that was the case.)
Anyway, Roger arrived. He met with fans, smiled, shook hands with people, laughed, had a beer, and talked with people sitting around. A pretty laid back guy, He is from Maine, where I hear people are just that way. So however he made it to Seattle, I think he'll find there is a bit like home. Even with its Big City attitude Seattle still has its roots in fishing, and logging industry, much like back East.
I asked him what it was like to work for Sigi Schmidt, and what its like being in the MLS. He responded with an answer that sounded like he has answered the question before. (My effort at asking a unique question fell horribly flat.) The team is getting behind what Sigi has been doing and saying. As an expansion team, it is I am sure vital to start with a good baseline to build from. With Sigi and the reputation he has for being a consistant, and consistanly winning coach, this is probably more a strategic move from the management, than anything. And of course everyone likes to win right? Roger pointed out that in the MLS he has to be "on" all the time. Meaning mentaly and physically sharp, ready, aware of the situation. In college there was room to take a break on the practice field, during a game, in the locker room. But the demand has increased so that at anytime he has to be 'on' during the game, practice, review, everything.
Roger is a guy who probably after a season of soccer, and two games left is enjoying taking a short break, ( Sounders have been off for a week, and play again this Saturday.) only to be energized for the rest of the season. You can tell that behind the laid back personality, there is a guy who knows how to play soccer, and enjoys what he's doing.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Camp Muir
On Friday of last week I hiked up to Camp Muir with 9 guys from our church. I have been attending the men's bible study on Thursday mornings for the past few weeks on and off. Since I have been out of work for the past month I have more free time than I ever imagined, and more ways to spend it than I thought possible. The opportunity came up and I jumped at it. The theme at the bible study is around a book called Wild at Heart. Its inspirational reading for men who want to take risks in their life. Be it a career change, a closer relationship with their wife, or family, friends, and ultimately God. I would say a lot of the talk centers around risk taking, being real, keeping our edge as we grow into middle and old age. Well what does this mean?
I woke up at 5:00 am Friday morning got dressed gave Becca a kiss and quietly let her continue sleeping. It seems to me good adventures start in this way for me. Get up early, try not to disturb anyone still sleeping, because no one in their right mind should be awake, and leave a little something for Becca to remember me by, you know, just in case...
I joined the rest of the group in a grocery store parking lot and we got a head count prayed and loaded up the trucks and SUVs. On the way up Charles and I tried to get a few more minutes of precious sleep while Tim drove. We drove through Ashford which is home to Whitakers and many of the other climbing organizations. It is home to some of the most skilled and expert climbers in the world.
As we entered the national park entrance the mist and fog grew thicker. As we climbed past Longmire clouds surrounded us.
Paradise is the farthest vehicles are allowed up the mountain. we unpacked and left the world behind. just above the visitors center is an alpine meadow filled with flowers and conifers, grasses and brooks. Its perfect for families. The farthest I have been is up in this area. I remember the last time here, I saw groups of hikers with full hiking gear, crampons, hard shelled boots, ice axes, 60 pound packs. I sort of though they looked funny in such a beautiful garden. Like astronauts in a theme park. Becca and I visited another time and saw a group walking single file upwards. It was cold and looked like they were not enjoying themelves. I could tell because they were wearing 60 pound packs and were hunched over. Even with all of their gear and layers, their body language said they were hunched over and miserable.
Our group was travelling light today, a day hike requires much less, but still the same basic supplies. We tore through the alpine meadow, and asphalt trails. It lead us to wonder less why they were paved and more how they actually did it with steep slopes. Paved trail gave way to rock and marked paths. Dewy flowers and mist covered trees gave way to a moon surface. The light grew brighter and less difuse. our pace smoothed out and we reached our first rest stop, about 40 minutes into the hike. Almost instantly I was able to see the top of Mt Rainier as we continued on.
We became level with the top of the clouds we had been under all morning. Now it was less than one and a half miles to Camp Muir. Across the last snow field I stopped every 10 steps to pause and rest. If I went to fast I could feel my blood pumping through my ears and head.
At one point the Camp came into sight, but distances and perspective are skewed so it was hard to tell exactly how far away it was. a quarter or half mile off.
about 30 minutes later I arrived at the ramp to a ridge upon which the camp site rests. It is a group of three or four stone structures, and a wood structure. on the other side of the ridge were three tents set up for climbers making an attempt at ascent to the peak. I have read about base camps in other books. The ridge to me was a line which separated day hikers like myself from those who were seriously taking some risks with their life. There is a sense of raw experience here, and its easy to see how the view of the mountain, effort it takes, the challenge, and friends, all roll into one addictive, transformative state of mind. One that is easily craved and sought after even with the dangers firmly apparent.
To be continued...
I woke up at 5:00 am Friday morning got dressed gave Becca a kiss and quietly let her continue sleeping. It seems to me good adventures start in this way for me. Get up early, try not to disturb anyone still sleeping, because no one in their right mind should be awake, and leave a little something for Becca to remember me by, you know, just in case...
I joined the rest of the group in a grocery store parking lot and we got a head count prayed and loaded up the trucks and SUVs. On the way up Charles and I tried to get a few more minutes of precious sleep while Tim drove. We drove through Ashford which is home to Whitakers and many of the other climbing organizations. It is home to some of the most skilled and expert climbers in the world.
As we entered the national park entrance the mist and fog grew thicker. As we climbed past Longmire clouds surrounded us.
Paradise is the farthest vehicles are allowed up the mountain. we unpacked and left the world behind. just above the visitors center is an alpine meadow filled with flowers and conifers, grasses and brooks. Its perfect for families. The farthest I have been is up in this area. I remember the last time here, I saw groups of hikers with full hiking gear, crampons, hard shelled boots, ice axes, 60 pound packs. I sort of though they looked funny in such a beautiful garden. Like astronauts in a theme park. Becca and I visited another time and saw a group walking single file upwards. It was cold and looked like they were not enjoying themelves. I could tell because they were wearing 60 pound packs and were hunched over. Even with all of their gear and layers, their body language said they were hunched over and miserable.
Our group was travelling light today, a day hike requires much less, but still the same basic supplies. We tore through the alpine meadow, and asphalt trails. It lead us to wonder less why they were paved and more how they actually did it with steep slopes. Paved trail gave way to rock and marked paths. Dewy flowers and mist covered trees gave way to a moon surface. The light grew brighter and less difuse. our pace smoothed out and we reached our first rest stop, about 40 minutes into the hike. Almost instantly I was able to see the top of Mt Rainier as we continued on.
We became level with the top of the clouds we had been under all morning. Now it was less than one and a half miles to Camp Muir. Across the last snow field I stopped every 10 steps to pause and rest. If I went to fast I could feel my blood pumping through my ears and head.
At one point the Camp came into sight, but distances and perspective are skewed so it was hard to tell exactly how far away it was. a quarter or half mile off.
about 30 minutes later I arrived at the ramp to a ridge upon which the camp site rests. It is a group of three or four stone structures, and a wood structure. on the other side of the ridge were three tents set up for climbers making an attempt at ascent to the peak. I have read about base camps in other books. The ridge to me was a line which separated day hikers like myself from those who were seriously taking some risks with their life. There is a sense of raw experience here, and its easy to see how the view of the mountain, effort it takes, the challenge, and friends, all roll into one addictive, transformative state of mind. One that is easily craved and sought after even with the dangers firmly apparent.
To be continued...
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Remembering and Memory
My mom says I have a great memory for remembering the color of a weight bench. Its one that has been sitting in their basement for 20 years, its now time to get rid of it. To CL we go!
Remembering and Memory. The human brain is an amazing organ. I know a detail like a color, and then I can barely remember what I had for dinner last night! They say we can improve our ability to remember by using mnemonic devices, or muscle memory improves by rehearsal. Some people remember details others faces and names. I was never good at remembering names. Typically since I work with computers and operating software and programs, I find myself having to remember keyboard commands or troubleshooting routines. Usually if I get stuck I can Google an error code and find the web page with some brilliant developers little known fact or a lackey who was in a similar situation a year ago and made a plea for help. A routine to follow and "unstick" the problem. These are written like digital trail markers for all who might pass that way from here to whenever. Well there it is, my auxiliary memory bank. Now I can go back to remembering... what was it?
As for memories of childhood these I find deeper, more satisfying when it comes to actually wanting a trip down memory lane. And I do at times like to think of the good old days. (Being the ripe age of 35 now.) These memory trips are simple and enjoyable. it is not out of job necessity, or shall I say desperation. One that does not require me to "Get the darn thing to work now" or heads roll.
They say that the sense of smell is the most powerful too in that regard when it comes to our ability to recall the past. I would say this is especially true given that computers don't sweat, or give off a smell like dewy grass on a summer morning, or the heavy perfume of the lady in church. Maybe this is good, maybe bad. I suppose if computers did give off a scent every time it threw an error we all might be living less in our cubicles given the sewer like smell they might constantly emit. Well at least for most of us.
Childhood experiences are wonderful experiences, every kid should have them. Watching ants, daydreaming, swimming, trips to the park. I think of it as the stuff you will keep with you the rest of your life. and even though they say middle school is the worst time of you life, its also the best. you're 13, no job, no worries, if there is a bike involved, your world becomes larger and so do the possibilities.
Remembering and Memory. The human brain is an amazing organ. I know a detail like a color, and then I can barely remember what I had for dinner last night! They say we can improve our ability to remember by using mnemonic devices, or muscle memory improves by rehearsal. Some people remember details others faces and names. I was never good at remembering names. Typically since I work with computers and operating software and programs, I find myself having to remember keyboard commands or troubleshooting routines. Usually if I get stuck I can Google an error code and find the web page with some brilliant developers little known fact or a lackey who was in a similar situation a year ago and made a plea for help. A routine to follow and "unstick" the problem. These are written like digital trail markers for all who might pass that way from here to whenever. Well there it is, my auxiliary memory bank. Now I can go back to remembering... what was it?
As for memories of childhood these I find deeper, more satisfying when it comes to actually wanting a trip down memory lane. And I do at times like to think of the good old days. (Being the ripe age of 35 now.) These memory trips are simple and enjoyable. it is not out of job necessity, or shall I say desperation. One that does not require me to "Get the darn thing to work now" or heads roll.
They say that the sense of smell is the most powerful too in that regard when it comes to our ability to recall the past. I would say this is especially true given that computers don't sweat, or give off a smell like dewy grass on a summer morning, or the heavy perfume of the lady in church. Maybe this is good, maybe bad. I suppose if computers did give off a scent every time it threw an error we all might be living less in our cubicles given the sewer like smell they might constantly emit. Well at least for most of us.
Childhood experiences are wonderful experiences, every kid should have them. Watching ants, daydreaming, swimming, trips to the park. I think of it as the stuff you will keep with you the rest of your life. and even though they say middle school is the worst time of you life, its also the best. you're 13, no job, no worries, if there is a bike involved, your world becomes larger and so do the possibilities.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Ode to Rhubarb Crisp, (Made by my wife)
Oh I don't know if i should say this but the rhubarb crunch takes me
back to my childhood
Rebecca says:
is that in a good way?
tell me more
Joel
well its in a plastic Tupperware container, kinda soft and slightly
above room temperature from being in my backpack.
its tart - not too much sugar
and the granola is mostly soft with shome crunchy bits
I used to crack open my lunch bag and pull the top off and I knew it
was homemade. no Twinkies, ding-dongs, fruit roll ups
I was envious of the other kids then
but now i feel pretty special for having homemade.
I appreciate it now for its value and for its value
of all the homemade stuff that's out there, something made with
rhubarb stands out.
its tart, its red, and its a dessert
compared to meat loaf, meat and potatoes, garden vegetables, corn on
the cob it beats them easily.
OK well not homegrown corn on the cob, they are sort of tied
Rhubarb crisp is sort of like ketchup to Midwesterners.
back to my childhood
Rebecca says:
is that in a good way?
tell me more
Joel
well its in a plastic Tupperware container, kinda soft and slightly
above room temperature from being in my backpack.
its tart - not too much sugar
and the granola is mostly soft with shome crunchy bits
I used to crack open my lunch bag and pull the top off and I knew it
was homemade. no Twinkies, ding-dongs, fruit roll ups
I was envious of the other kids then
but now i feel pretty special for having homemade.
I appreciate it now for its value and for its value
of all the homemade stuff that's out there, something made with
rhubarb stands out.
its tart, its red, and its a dessert
compared to meat loaf, meat and potatoes, garden vegetables, corn on
the cob it beats them easily.
OK well not homegrown corn on the cob, they are sort of tied
Rhubarb crisp is sort of like ketchup to Midwesterners.
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
No Bronze for me
Miyagi: Why? Fighting fighting. Same same.
Daniel: Yeah, but you knew karate.
Miyagi: Someone always know more.
- The Karate Kid (1984)
So for those of you who know me, I bike. For the past few weeks I have been commuting one way from work by bicycle. It's a source of conversation among my co-workers, who ask questions like, where do you ride to? How far is that? What route do you take? How long does it take?
I usually take the van pool in to work, unload my bike and then from work in the evening I ride to my car which is at the train station in Puyallup. It’s a mix of trail system in King and Pierce county and side roads, preferably ones with wide shoulders and low traffic volume. (Unfortunately the real world has not caught up with the world in my head.)
There is a sense of pride in riding 2 hours and being able to tell people about it. Since I am the guy with the longest commute at work, it verges on a bit of show off-y.
So what is the ride like? When I start out from the office front door, I am clean and neat and generally look and feel like I have been sitting in an office chair all day. By the end of the ride, I am pretty worn out, my face is crusty with sweat, knees and legs are dull and loose, shirt damp and I am ready for a dinner. This metamorphosis takes place and I turn into a commuter.
For the past two or so weeks I have been out riding more often as it gets warmer, my legs and lungs are building up a level of fitness and I can tell.
All this can give a guy an ego. So let me pause and ask the question, do you talk to yourself? While exercising? What do you say? Is it positive? Is it overly positive? Do you ever get the thought you might just be able to take Lance head to head? Dream of riding down the Champs-Élysées with the entire peloton to your back? If so then you and I are not alone. It’s fun to do, but fun only in a sense that it’s a dream and some dreams are best kept to ourselves. I have to admit, I had been dreaming like this for the past few days on my ride home. It’s a fairly mindless ride in some places on the Interurban trail, which is mostly flat, straight.
no one around, and I am cruising along with only rabbits to scare up and cottonwood seeds to dodge, thinking thoughts of greatness.
Today I was gently reminded that we are often not who we think we are. I entered the Trail at Tukwila and 3 miles into it I met up with a rider. Actually, he met up with me. He came up on my left side slowly and kept cruising past me. I matched his speed and checked the speedometer; it was a pace of about 5 miles per hour faster, that me. The funny thing about it was I decided to follow him for a while. Not bad, I can keep up, I thought.
As we approached an intersection we stopped and restarted together. We rode but he inched further away from me.
A second rider, we shall call Mr. Green (shirt) caught both of us and rode past at an even faster pace. At a road crossing, I asked, “what pace are you guys keeping?" Mr. Green, smiled and gave a Houdini-like reply, it really depends on the wind and the temperature, and riding conditions." "We have a pretty good tail wind." I responded “yea, today is a pretty good day" he smiled. The sign changed and we crossed. I followed him and looked at my speedometer. His pace was 7 or 8 miles faster than either me or the other guy! We rode for the next 7 miles until I lost Mr. Green and the other guy in the distance. But not before another guy approached as stealthy as a cat burglar, he took third place from me. He caught the other guy and made it look easy.
I think I have made my point.
These small events in our lives allow us to give pause and reflect on our achievements, both great and small, and place them in the realm of all things. Whether we like it or not. I suppose my perspective has been given greater horizon and depth. And quite a reality check.
Daniel: Yeah, but you knew karate.
Miyagi: Someone always know more.
- The Karate Kid (1984)
So for those of you who know me, I bike. For the past few weeks I have been commuting one way from work by bicycle. It's a source of conversation among my co-workers, who ask questions like, where do you ride to? How far is that? What route do you take? How long does it take?
I usually take the van pool in to work, unload my bike and then from work in the evening I ride to my car which is at the train station in Puyallup. It’s a mix of trail system in King and Pierce county and side roads, preferably ones with wide shoulders and low traffic volume. (Unfortunately the real world has not caught up with the world in my head.)
There is a sense of pride in riding 2 hours and being able to tell people about it. Since I am the guy with the longest commute at work, it verges on a bit of show off-y.
So what is the ride like? When I start out from the office front door, I am clean and neat and generally look and feel like I have been sitting in an office chair all day. By the end of the ride, I am pretty worn out, my face is crusty with sweat, knees and legs are dull and loose, shirt damp and I am ready for a dinner. This metamorphosis takes place and I turn into a commuter.
For the past two or so weeks I have been out riding more often as it gets warmer, my legs and lungs are building up a level of fitness and I can tell.
All this can give a guy an ego. So let me pause and ask the question, do you talk to yourself? While exercising? What do you say? Is it positive? Is it overly positive? Do you ever get the thought you might just be able to take Lance head to head? Dream of riding down the Champs-Élysées with the entire peloton to your back? If so then you and I are not alone. It’s fun to do, but fun only in a sense that it’s a dream and some dreams are best kept to ourselves. I have to admit, I had been dreaming like this for the past few days on my ride home. It’s a fairly mindless ride in some places on the Interurban trail, which is mostly flat, straight.
no one around, and I am cruising along with only rabbits to scare up and cottonwood seeds to dodge, thinking thoughts of greatness.
Today I was gently reminded that we are often not who we think we are. I entered the Trail at Tukwila and 3 miles into it I met up with a rider. Actually, he met up with me. He came up on my left side slowly and kept cruising past me. I matched his speed and checked the speedometer; it was a pace of about 5 miles per hour faster, that me. The funny thing about it was I decided to follow him for a while. Not bad, I can keep up, I thought.
As we approached an intersection we stopped and restarted together. We rode but he inched further away from me.
A second rider, we shall call Mr. Green (shirt) caught both of us and rode past at an even faster pace. At a road crossing, I asked, “what pace are you guys keeping?" Mr. Green, smiled and gave a Houdini-like reply, it really depends on the wind and the temperature, and riding conditions." "We have a pretty good tail wind." I responded “yea, today is a pretty good day" he smiled. The sign changed and we crossed. I followed him and looked at my speedometer. His pace was 7 or 8 miles faster than either me or the other guy! We rode for the next 7 miles until I lost Mr. Green and the other guy in the distance. But not before another guy approached as stealthy as a cat burglar, he took third place from me. He caught the other guy and made it look easy.
I think I have made my point.
These small events in our lives allow us to give pause and reflect on our achievements, both great and small, and place them in the realm of all things. Whether we like it or not. I suppose my perspective has been given greater horizon and depth. And quite a reality check.
Wednesday, May 06, 2009
Tires and Brakes
Just ordered tires and brakes for my road bike. they should arrive in a few days. getting ready for the big ride this August
-The Courage Classic. Bicycle tires cost almost as much as the same as car tires. why is that?
Saturday, May 02, 2009
Work Crew
I got up this morning and made apple strudel pancakes for Becca and I. After lounging around and reading the paper, I realized it was 9:00. Time I promised Ron M. I would be at church to help with mowing and yard work. "Sure I have a lawn mower, and I would be happy to bring it over. I have been cleaning it up and it should be ready to go." Actually I had been working on it, and in a blindly destructive way. I still don't know what’s wrong with it. The mower was bought on Craigslist on Sunday. The guy started it up and it sounded great. I took it home and it sat in the garage until Thursday, when I had a chance to go over it. Wielding a screwdriver and 11 mm socket wrench I began removing plastic parts looking for dirt, grass, to clean off. My big task ended up inspecting the drive train. I knew only one front wheel turned when the self propel bar was engaged. With the front axles nicely re greased and brushed out, I put everything back together and headed to the back yard with a hose and nozzle. Turning the mower on its side I hosed out the deck. Now here is where I don't know what went wrong. With the whole thing back on its wheels I tried starting it. But nothing happened. It sounded ready to go but then after a few dozen pulls I gave up. Nothing. I waited until Friday to try again. And then again on Saturday morning. With a stalled lawnmower in the back of the wagon I made it over to church. Maybe someone could help me make an assessment, or afterwards I could head to a small engine repair shop. This is, I thought, one of the small things I should be able to do on my own, but I have neither the knowledge nor tools to properly fix what I thought was a seemingly easy problem. A flooded engine, and maybe a slight adjustment in the carb, the spark plug or the air intake.
It was 9:30 by the time I arrived at church. The men, all in their 40s and up were already about 3 or 4 laps into their section of lawn. I walked over to the guy on the riding mower. His name was Don, I think, the mower was clanky and grass stuck to the wheels refusing to let go. Rain was falling lightly, ever so, just to make the parking lot darker shade but not enough to call off a Saturday work crew. He made a gesture and coming around the last turn in the race way he idled the mower and we talked. "No one here is really in charge" he said. There are two other guys with mowers. Did you bring yours?" Yea I said "but its umm not really working, it sort of won't start."
I thought maybe someone could help by taking a look at it, or I could work on something else." There is a string trimmer, in the workshop you could get started on. “Don said. I looked around and he had turned off the mower by this time. “I think I hear a mower over there. Maybe go talk to Alan and see what can be done."
" Sure, Sure. Thanks. I'll head over there"
Walking past the main entrance to church I realized what my calling was for that day. Sweep up the flower petals that had dropped off the trees and gathered along the curb. Two weeks ago they were in their glory. White dazzled the eye, a mild fragrant canopy of flowers. For the next 4 weeks the flowers drop and turn a tannish blond color and in the rain the turn to a spongy mush. So the task began. Two sides of the driveway exit and the curb in front of the main entrance. I swept and swept. And swept. I have not done this kind of work in a while. As a kid I remember a family vacation where we parked the motor home on a cement pad somewhere in the northwest. Pine needles lay across the entire camp site. I decided it was my duty to take a pine branch and sweep the concrete pad, out of boredom or neatness, I am not sure which. In the end I had a needle free 14 x 25 foot slab surrounded by a forest floor of pine needles.
Sweeping is fairly mindless, and my thoughts drift to technique, and posture. A guy tried using a leaf blower yesterday but everything was too damp to move. So it’s sweeping. More thought drifting, to the other guys jobs on the crew, to the few people inside doing whatever they are doing. Making copies, committee planning meetings, vacuuming, generally walking around and talking with other people. Back to the rain, and the cracks in the sidewalk that collect flower petals, damp mucky sludge being swept out, and along the curb, dry spots under trees and petals that are stuck to the ground like plastered wallpaper. I wonder how many times this job has been done here. I know I am not the only one who has ever cleaned up flower petals. It’s a task I want done so that tomorrow at church I can say. "Did you see how clean the main entrance to church was or did you not even notice? Yea? I did that. I even swept out the cracks, looks nice doesn't it? yea thanks, it was nothing"
This is not really penance or an act of washing Jesus feet with fine perfume, but my heart says I should pat myself on the back for doing such a simple act. What fool I am.
Eventually I am joined by another guy, we pick up the pace and I sweep while he shovels into the wheelbarrow. We are now union guys working just another union job. We are joined by another and now we are really moving. I only push the wheelbarrow now.
Dan walks out and offers Subway sandwiches and ice tea. We finish the job and Dan heads out to pickup lunch. I stand and talk to one of the guys in the empty church parking lot. The feel is a lot different than on Sunday morning. I point out there is a dead tree in the far corner of the lot and he offers to grab his chain saw from home if I really wanted to be ambitious. "No no" I say. Not really thinking I want to do more work. Just, maybe we could suggest it for the next group if they are looking for things to do." We talk a little bit more. He works two other jobs for about 80 hours a week. I can't believe it. Here is an act of service, spending what little time he has doing yard work at church.
Now the fun begins. A guy can sum up the joy of yard work in two words. Power tools.
Earmuffs check. Safety Goggles, Check. Gloves Check. I head over to the workshop and get a string trimmer and fire it up. I have been wanting to edge for a long time. A house was donated to church and it has a nice backyard. I practice in the tall weeds on the other side of the fence. Scalp, buzz, scalp, buzz. I swing the head over the uneven ground, trying to find a rhythm, it can't be that difficult. But it is. The tool does not balance on the handles and the throttle is touchy. I find myself hitting pay dirt and ripping through the tips of the grass all in one pass. Fences are no easy thing either. I file down the plastic cord on the posts. And catch blackberry shoots and massive weeds that send up a mash of green pulp onto my face and chest. Whoops. It looks like a salad gone wild when I am done.
My edging skills are nowhere near perfection as I round the corner into the yard. I keep thinking,”This is your Scalpel, be a surgeon." But there is no hope; I am more like Dr Frankenstein. Maybe it was the comparative thrill of having my hands on a broom and shovel earlier versus a formula one car now. It was hard to control and harder than it looks. I butchered and hacked my way around. And then set out for a final walk through the tall grass to make a path to the parking lot. Easy, since there is no worry of making things look nice. . I was done. The grass was conquered. And my arms, tired.
(Note: I sit at a desk typing all day, not much for upper body strength.)
The rest of the crew had left, and Dan had placed a subway sandwich and a gallon of tea on the bench outside. I sat alone and collected my thoughts. With the work done it was quiet now. Mowers were quiet, and the lot was somewhat vacant. Birds sang from the trees and I stared out on the parking lot. There are so few times in the week that I am able to sit and rest a while, to take something in, in silence and to listen in silence with nothing to do but relax and be. My thoughts turned to my job, and my job during the week. Competency and all the fears and frustrations along with it. They were distant now like a passing car, but present. I was quiet though and did not mull these things over. There was no point to doing so, nor the energy. Life stood still. I instead waited for someone to come from inside and talk, but no one did. I had the place to myself, and I had another Styrofoam glass of ice tea, and sat in silence. I wonder if this is what I was meant to do. I mean not work for a living and get paid, but just hang around the church and make myself available to work there on yard work and meet people and sit and visit. Like my friends in PNG would do. Could Becca and I survive? Probably not. But it’s a thought that maybe I was meant to just be around people and be myself and that's all I have to do.
Again my thoughts change. Is this what old age is like? It’s been a while since I have gone off by myself and been quiet. I wonder where Dan went. I'll give Becca the other half of my sandwich, she would like that. String trimmers are fun but difficult to manage. My arms are tired.
I am now back in my car and I am heading home. Grass is stuck to my pants and my shoes are wet. My jeans are old, not bought new and made to look old, as it is these days, but old as in old. There is a tear in the right knee and the denim is wearing thin around the other knee. They are jeans from about 15 years ago, maybe high school or college. I look in the rear view mirror and remember the lawnmower sitting idle in the back waiting to be repaired. I need to get that thing fixed.
It was 9:30 by the time I arrived at church. The men, all in their 40s and up were already about 3 or 4 laps into their section of lawn. I walked over to the guy on the riding mower. His name was Don, I think, the mower was clanky and grass stuck to the wheels refusing to let go. Rain was falling lightly, ever so, just to make the parking lot darker shade but not enough to call off a Saturday work crew. He made a gesture and coming around the last turn in the race way he idled the mower and we talked. "No one here is really in charge" he said. There are two other guys with mowers. Did you bring yours?" Yea I said "but its umm not really working, it sort of won't start."
I thought maybe someone could help by taking a look at it, or I could work on something else." There is a string trimmer, in the workshop you could get started on. “Don said. I looked around and he had turned off the mower by this time. “I think I hear a mower over there. Maybe go talk to Alan and see what can be done."
" Sure, Sure. Thanks. I'll head over there"
Walking past the main entrance to church I realized what my calling was for that day. Sweep up the flower petals that had dropped off the trees and gathered along the curb. Two weeks ago they were in their glory. White dazzled the eye, a mild fragrant canopy of flowers. For the next 4 weeks the flowers drop and turn a tannish blond color and in the rain the turn to a spongy mush. So the task began. Two sides of the driveway exit and the curb in front of the main entrance. I swept and swept. And swept. I have not done this kind of work in a while. As a kid I remember a family vacation where we parked the motor home on a cement pad somewhere in the northwest. Pine needles lay across the entire camp site. I decided it was my duty to take a pine branch and sweep the concrete pad, out of boredom or neatness, I am not sure which. In the end I had a needle free 14 x 25 foot slab surrounded by a forest floor of pine needles.
Sweeping is fairly mindless, and my thoughts drift to technique, and posture. A guy tried using a leaf blower yesterday but everything was too damp to move. So it’s sweeping. More thought drifting, to the other guys jobs on the crew, to the few people inside doing whatever they are doing. Making copies, committee planning meetings, vacuuming, generally walking around and talking with other people. Back to the rain, and the cracks in the sidewalk that collect flower petals, damp mucky sludge being swept out, and along the curb, dry spots under trees and petals that are stuck to the ground like plastered wallpaper. I wonder how many times this job has been done here. I know I am not the only one who has ever cleaned up flower petals. It’s a task I want done so that tomorrow at church I can say. "Did you see how clean the main entrance to church was or did you not even notice? Yea? I did that. I even swept out the cracks, looks nice doesn't it? yea thanks, it was nothing"
This is not really penance or an act of washing Jesus feet with fine perfume, but my heart says I should pat myself on the back for doing such a simple act. What fool I am.
Eventually I am joined by another guy, we pick up the pace and I sweep while he shovels into the wheelbarrow. We are now union guys working just another union job. We are joined by another and now we are really moving. I only push the wheelbarrow now.
Dan walks out and offers Subway sandwiches and ice tea. We finish the job and Dan heads out to pickup lunch. I stand and talk to one of the guys in the empty church parking lot. The feel is a lot different than on Sunday morning. I point out there is a dead tree in the far corner of the lot and he offers to grab his chain saw from home if I really wanted to be ambitious. "No no" I say. Not really thinking I want to do more work. Just, maybe we could suggest it for the next group if they are looking for things to do." We talk a little bit more. He works two other jobs for about 80 hours a week. I can't believe it. Here is an act of service, spending what little time he has doing yard work at church.
Now the fun begins. A guy can sum up the joy of yard work in two words. Power tools.
Earmuffs check. Safety Goggles, Check. Gloves Check. I head over to the workshop and get a string trimmer and fire it up. I have been wanting to edge for a long time. A house was donated to church and it has a nice backyard. I practice in the tall weeds on the other side of the fence. Scalp, buzz, scalp, buzz. I swing the head over the uneven ground, trying to find a rhythm, it can't be that difficult. But it is. The tool does not balance on the handles and the throttle is touchy. I find myself hitting pay dirt and ripping through the tips of the grass all in one pass. Fences are no easy thing either. I file down the plastic cord on the posts. And catch blackberry shoots and massive weeds that send up a mash of green pulp onto my face and chest. Whoops. It looks like a salad gone wild when I am done.
My edging skills are nowhere near perfection as I round the corner into the yard. I keep thinking,”This is your Scalpel, be a surgeon." But there is no hope; I am more like Dr Frankenstein. Maybe it was the comparative thrill of having my hands on a broom and shovel earlier versus a formula one car now. It was hard to control and harder than it looks. I butchered and hacked my way around. And then set out for a final walk through the tall grass to make a path to the parking lot. Easy, since there is no worry of making things look nice. . I was done. The grass was conquered. And my arms, tired.
(Note: I sit at a desk typing all day, not much for upper body strength.)
The rest of the crew had left, and Dan had placed a subway sandwich and a gallon of tea on the bench outside. I sat alone and collected my thoughts. With the work done it was quiet now. Mowers were quiet, and the lot was somewhat vacant. Birds sang from the trees and I stared out on the parking lot. There are so few times in the week that I am able to sit and rest a while, to take something in, in silence and to listen in silence with nothing to do but relax and be. My thoughts turned to my job, and my job during the week. Competency and all the fears and frustrations along with it. They were distant now like a passing car, but present. I was quiet though and did not mull these things over. There was no point to doing so, nor the energy. Life stood still. I instead waited for someone to come from inside and talk, but no one did. I had the place to myself, and I had another Styrofoam glass of ice tea, and sat in silence. I wonder if this is what I was meant to do. I mean not work for a living and get paid, but just hang around the church and make myself available to work there on yard work and meet people and sit and visit. Like my friends in PNG would do. Could Becca and I survive? Probably not. But it’s a thought that maybe I was meant to just be around people and be myself and that's all I have to do.
Again my thoughts change. Is this what old age is like? It’s been a while since I have gone off by myself and been quiet. I wonder where Dan went. I'll give Becca the other half of my sandwich, she would like that. String trimmers are fun but difficult to manage. My arms are tired.
I am now back in my car and I am heading home. Grass is stuck to my pants and my shoes are wet. My jeans are old, not bought new and made to look old, as it is these days, but old as in old. There is a tear in the right knee and the denim is wearing thin around the other knee. They are jeans from about 15 years ago, maybe high school or college. I look in the rear view mirror and remember the lawnmower sitting idle in the back waiting to be repaired. I need to get that thing fixed.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The examined life and other thoughts
we are into a new book book study. the title is 'UnChristian' Its written to address why the church struggles to attract younger generation to Christianity. How Christians are perceived, how their actions cause those perceptions. and 'hopefully' to raise self awareness of how our actions do matter greatly. I am excited about it.
And hope its more engaging than the current book I am reading. "the Great Emergence" Phyllis Tickle. Her thought is: about every 500 years since the ministry of Christ and maybe even before the Church / Religion has undergone a major renovation. Pushing it to new territory, and bringing about internal change as well.
right now I have gotten past Martin Luther, but still stuck discussing 18th century philosophers, psychologists and thinkers who shaped the modern world. Its a pretty broad overview and events just fly by. I am hoping she has something intersting to say about what it is exactly that is currently so revolutionary, or who, or why they are causing us to rethink christianity. we shall see.
bike ride today was wonderful. I got some sun on my neck, it was chilly so I had layers and long sleeves, pants.
When is it ok to ask for a raise? when you think you are going to get one already? when you really really need one? When you know your wife is pregnant? Everyone else is getting one, why not you? I have no idea. I suppose part of it is based on what you're contributing, part on what your reason can be dicerned by where your heart is. not that that has any thing to do with buisness decisions, we are the only ones who have to live with our decisions so its more personal question I guess.
And hope its more engaging than the current book I am reading. "the Great Emergence" Phyllis Tickle. Her thought is: about every 500 years since the ministry of Christ and maybe even before the Church / Religion has undergone a major renovation. Pushing it to new territory, and bringing about internal change as well.
right now I have gotten past Martin Luther, but still stuck discussing 18th century philosophers, psychologists and thinkers who shaped the modern world. Its a pretty broad overview and events just fly by. I am hoping she has something intersting to say about what it is exactly that is currently so revolutionary, or who, or why they are causing us to rethink christianity. we shall see.
bike ride today was wonderful. I got some sun on my neck, it was chilly so I had layers and long sleeves, pants.
When is it ok to ask for a raise? when you think you are going to get one already? when you really really need one? When you know your wife is pregnant? Everyone else is getting one, why not you? I have no idea. I suppose part of it is based on what you're contributing, part on what your reason can be dicerned by where your heart is. not that that has any thing to do with buisness decisions, we are the only ones who have to live with our decisions so its more personal question I guess.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Earth and All Stars
partly in response to a blog posting i read on the song: Earth and All Stars" by Herbert F. Brokering (b. 1926)
1. Earth and all stars, loud rushing planets,
sing to the Lord a new song!
O victory, loud shouting army,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Refrain:
He has done maaaarvelous things.
I, too, will praise him with a new song!
2. Hail, wind, and rain, loud blowing snowstorms,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Flowers and trees, loud rustling leaves,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
3. Trumpet and pipes, loud clashing cymbals,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Harp, lute, and lyre, loud humming cellos,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
4. Engines and steel, loud pounding hammers,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Limestone and beams, loud building workers,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
5. Classrooms and labs, loud boiling test tubes,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Athlete and band, loud cheering people,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
6. Knowledge and truth, loud sounding wisdom,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Daughter and son, loud praying members,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
The author starts out with some normal ideas. planets, stars, the universe, all praising God. then he goes on in later verses to add in some weather, and musical instruments all tyical church nouns to an extent, we have other songs with these words, King David praises the Lord through music, and voice. there are a couple of adjectives that you just don't see every day in verse. and then the song gets really weird...
loud boiling test tubes. No doubt a wild and imaginative author may have penned other words to describe the love of praising God. but I suppose by this time in the song we realize this is not your average song. So here is where we need to stop and reflect, on test tubes.
Think of it, test tubes quite a modern day instrument of technology used to inspect and quantify the world surrounding us. This may be old technology compared to the atom smashers and x-ray microscopes of today and the future. But at the time quite high-tech. (maybe comparable to an ipod or .mp3 in music tools?) Born in 1926 Herbert Brokering has about 80 years on me or so. I have never met him, don't know who he is other than these lyrics. I like you thought this was the craziest song I had ever heard. Its always caused discussion with my friends, and at exactly the same points. "loud boiling test tubes? Classrooms? cheering people? " fruity, tacky, never meant to be sung in a Church. but then what IS meant to be sung in a church? I think the author has hit on a very wonderful theme, all that is around us, and even the things we do not know or have yet to discover still praise the Lord. The songs we sing have meaning when we put meaningful words into the song and hearts into singing them. I like the thought of singing a traditional song that was writting by someone my grandparents age that makes me smile and laugh. The author knew what he was talking about when he wrote Sing to the Lord a new song. Whats next? do we sing about blackberries? youtube? Survivor Series? one can only hope this generation is as creative.
1. Earth and all stars, loud rushing planets,
sing to the Lord a new song!
O victory, loud shouting army,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Refrain:
He has done maaaarvelous things.
I, too, will praise him with a new song!
2. Hail, wind, and rain, loud blowing snowstorms,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Flowers and trees, loud rustling leaves,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
3. Trumpet and pipes, loud clashing cymbals,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Harp, lute, and lyre, loud humming cellos,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
4. Engines and steel, loud pounding hammers,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Limestone and beams, loud building workers,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
5. Classrooms and labs, loud boiling test tubes,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Athlete and band, loud cheering people,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
6. Knowledge and truth, loud sounding wisdom,
sing to the Lord a new song!
Daughter and son, loud praying members,
sing to the Lord a new song! Refrain
The author starts out with some normal ideas. planets, stars, the universe, all praising God. then he goes on in later verses to add in some weather, and musical instruments all tyical church nouns to an extent, we have other songs with these words, King David praises the Lord through music, and voice. there are a couple of adjectives that you just don't see every day in verse. and then the song gets really weird...
loud boiling test tubes. No doubt a wild and imaginative author may have penned other words to describe the love of praising God. but I suppose by this time in the song we realize this is not your average song. So here is where we need to stop and reflect, on test tubes.
Think of it, test tubes quite a modern day instrument of technology used to inspect and quantify the world surrounding us. This may be old technology compared to the atom smashers and x-ray microscopes of today and the future. But at the time quite high-tech. (maybe comparable to an ipod or .mp3 in music tools?) Born in 1926 Herbert Brokering has about 80 years on me or so. I have never met him, don't know who he is other than these lyrics. I like you thought this was the craziest song I had ever heard. Its always caused discussion with my friends, and at exactly the same points. "loud boiling test tubes? Classrooms? cheering people? " fruity, tacky, never meant to be sung in a Church. but then what IS meant to be sung in a church? I think the author has hit on a very wonderful theme, all that is around us, and even the things we do not know or have yet to discover still praise the Lord. The songs we sing have meaning when we put meaningful words into the song and hearts into singing them. I like the thought of singing a traditional song that was writting by someone my grandparents age that makes me smile and laugh. The author knew what he was talking about when he wrote Sing to the Lord a new song. Whats next? do we sing about blackberries? youtube? Survivor Series? one can only hope this generation is as creative.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Brain Teaser
Sitting on a crowded bus a woman is talking loudly on a cellphone. She tells the person on the other end of the phone that she has a highly contagious airborne disease. Only one person looks up while listening. later after she exits the bus. No one talks about what was said, and in fact they happily go about their business. the person who looked up is the only one who covers her mouth. Why?
If you know the answer write a comment. I'll leave this up until my birthday or until someone answers it correctly.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
God's Twitter - lost in thought
Does God twitter? If He did Twitter, what would he say? The thought crossed my mind today. but before I decided to ask the question, I figured why not see if the question itself has already been asked. Maybe i can get credit for being an innovator, a thought provoker, or maybe not.
After I googled the phrase "if god used twitter what would he say" I found a few people had already thought of the question.
Which supports the theory that there is "nothing new under the sun" which is funny because Twitter itself is relatively new, much like the Internet. I mean new in relation to the age of the earth, or new to the age of a star or light wave flying through space. so Twitter being new is something new under the sun, sort of. ah the opportunity for exploration and new-ness! but in the time that it has been around, even questions of "if God twittered what would he say?" have been asked. And I know this because I googled it. and anything that is found on Google...
but back to the original question. if he did Twitter...
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Skiing
I went skiing at Crystal today. my one day to go of the season. it was a beautiful sunny day. a little icy but otherwise wonderful.
I have a pair of skiis from high school. they are 17 years old. I pulled them out of storage to use them. Back in the day they were the hottest ski I knew of. A bump ski at 205 cm they tore up moguls at TimberRidge. I was young then, and I remember seeing guys in their fortys on classic Elan's and Rossingnols from the 70's. solid, flat, steel bindings with suicide straps. The straps were designed to keep skiis from sliding down the mountain after wiping out. if you were good, you would not need them. These were accompanied by bamboo poles, and sometimes leather boots, or some other semi stiff material. I remember thinking, these guys are from another planet. But hey, they're here, skiing, enjoying it for what it is. I on the other hand was into big air, pounding bumps, tricks with style points. young and foolish. Now I am older. I still like to ski. I have kept these relics from the past hoping to ride them agian. from the expression on peoples faces when I sat on the chair lift, they were old. I think I have become that guy with the ancient skiis, who eschews fancy new Shape skiis or whatever they are. I am not admitting to being over the hill, but I am working my way up to the top. after that, I guess I just ski back down. By the way, I was the only one on Hot pink Dynastar Vertical Assualts. ask me for a picture. but wear your sunglasses. these thing are as hot as the guy riding them.
I have a pair of skiis from high school. they are 17 years old. I pulled them out of storage to use them. Back in the day they were the hottest ski I knew of. A bump ski at 205 cm they tore up moguls at TimberRidge. I was young then, and I remember seeing guys in their fortys on classic Elan's and Rossingnols from the 70's. solid, flat, steel bindings with suicide straps. The straps were designed to keep skiis from sliding down the mountain after wiping out. if you were good, you would not need them. These were accompanied by bamboo poles, and sometimes leather boots, or some other semi stiff material. I remember thinking, these guys are from another planet. But hey, they're here, skiing, enjoying it for what it is. I on the other hand was into big air, pounding bumps, tricks with style points. young and foolish. Now I am older. I still like to ski. I have kept these relics from the past hoping to ride them agian. from the expression on peoples faces when I sat on the chair lift, they were old. I think I have become that guy with the ancient skiis, who eschews fancy new Shape skiis or whatever they are. I am not admitting to being over the hill, but I am working my way up to the top. after that, I guess I just ski back down. By the way, I was the only one on Hot pink Dynastar Vertical Assualts. ask me for a picture. but wear your sunglasses. these thing are as hot as the guy riding them.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Odometer Stats for 2008
At the end of 2008 the odometer on my yellow Fuji Roubaix road bike read 2261.1 miles.
Today I reset it, before taking a ride. 33 miles is a good start to the new year. Here is to safe happy peddaling.
a footnote (sic):
This does not include a ride I took earlier last week in which the cyclocomputer was not working. I rode from Tukwila train station to Puyallup train station. I'll post that after then next time I do the same ride. Count them as hidden miles that will be a footnote on this years distance.
Today I reset it, before taking a ride. 33 miles is a good start to the new year. Here is to safe happy peddaling.
a footnote (sic):
This does not include a ride I took earlier last week in which the cyclocomputer was not working. I rode from Tukwila train station to Puyallup train station. I'll post that after then next time I do the same ride. Count them as hidden miles that will be a footnote on this years distance.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
a krafty response
**** aside****
it appears my idea got a nice smile from the people at Kraft consumer relations. Seems like this one comes to a screeching halt at the front door of inovation. Read on...
******
Thanks so much for taking the time to contact us with your suggestion. We're always delighted when people care enough about our products and packaging to offer their own creative ideas.
As you might know, we have a new "unsolicited ideas" policy that allows Kraft to consider some types of ideas (mainly for new products and packaging innovations) submitted by consumers. However, our policy does not cover unsolicited ideas regarding: product line extensions, packaging changes, advertising, promotions and recipes ideas.
So, those types of ideas are not sent along to our new "Innovations Team," who is responsible for analyzing unsolicited ideas under our new policy.
But, we do want you to know that comments shared by our consumers can be very helpful to Kraft. Various Kraft teams do review comments such as yours, which help us identify consumer trends, preferences and needs.
Again, we appreciate you contacting us and applaud both your creativity and loyalty.
It was great hearing from you, and remember we're always updating our site so visit us again soon!
Kraft Easy Mac
ask me about my million dollar idea for Kraft. all I'll say now is:
Your information has been successfully uploaded and your submission is complete. Kraft and our Innovations Team sincerely thank you for choosing to share your ideas with us. You can expect to hear back from someone on our Innovations Team in about 6 weeks.
Your information has been successfully uploaded and your submission is complete. Kraft and our Innovations Team sincerely thank you for choosing to share your ideas with us. You can expect to hear back from someone on our Innovations Team in about 6 weeks.
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Selling stuff on CraigsList
Its really kind of spooky to sell stuff on craigs list.
I'll do my best to describe it.
when ever possible I sell things away from home. My wife does not allow me to invite strangers over. But thats where it gets interesting.
it goes like this. Find something that you thought you needed a long time ago. Its been sitting around the house for a while. a very long while. Its not been used in forever, and so it sits in the closet, or on a shelf collecting dust. taking up space. So some restless Saturday morning the urge to clean up the garage, the back room comes along. vows are made, oaths on graves are sworn, convictions are high. and something like Shermans march to the sea takes place, or Ceasars conquest of Gaul. Its an epic campaign that ends, sometimes good, and sometimes defeated, and sometimes on CraigsList. The stuff that is. the things that are cluttering up the rooms in the house. the physical stuff that surrounds and consumes us. Its time to haul it off.
(you know, I am not really sure what we did before ebay, amazon, CL and other internet sites that allow us a way to sell our attics, and basements full of stuff. I think it was something called a Classified, or a garage sale. Thats so last Milennium....)
anyway. So the most marketable, cost effective marketplace in the world is now at our fingertips. amazing huh? bringing people, stuff, and money together.
a nice thing about selling is that the buyer is typically close to home. I say that because I have driven 50miles to buy a drill press.
but here's the cool thing. the transactions are always the best.
I find something not worth keeping.
create a posting, set a price, take a picture, write up an advert.
wait for someone on the other side of my LCD screen to look at it think about whether they need it and send an email.
it can be simply, I am interested in your, <insert random item here > call me.
or a story, or a comment about how desparate the need is, or not. or whaterver.
if it seems like a potential match or more questions need longer answers a number is exchanged a call is made.
introductions are made, explainations are given, ruminations and mullings take place, storys are told.
a bid is made and maybe its accepted. otherwise the dance ends and thats it.
but if its a match then you find a place to meet. and you meet.
To me, its cloak and dagger stuff, james bondish, theres a parking lot, cars idling with a driver waiting under a streetlight
true i guess you never know what to expect from the other party, Be alert and be patient. But there is enough trust to keep and other people around in the area to make it legit. The whole transaction takes about less than five minutes. a few times I have thought to myself, so this is what its like to be a drug dealer, or, "Bond, James Bond". or "the bird flies at midnight only if there's a full moon"
there is another step to this. and thats the trade.
it I think of the stuff I have bought from people and what it was of value to them, and how it outlasted its usefullness to them.
there is usually about 10 seconds of story or less that goes along with a sale. "it was my sisters. I got a bigger vise. The guy is retiring and moving to Arizona." its all kind of fun stories to think about. and my brain feeds off of the fragments and scraps of history.
and thats it. just 10 seconds to tell a story about yourself or what something ment to you, or why this thing is being sold.
money changes hands, maybe a handshake and back in the car heading for home.
thats how people, sell stuff to each other on the internet.
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