Results tagged "Recreation and Sports"

I once knew a man that, upon my saying that I liked sunflowers, replied with “That’s it. I’m gonna build you a field of em’… riteovahdare….For you, my dear — anyting.”

And, although I was completely aware of the fact that the field of sunflowers really wasn’t for me… That he had planned it way before my acquaintance AND had done so simply in order to appease the neighbors that were complaining about the million dollar homes he was building next door. But the idea that the field was ‘for me’ sat so sweet in my mind that I let it stay… even though the field was entirely ‘for him’… until letting it go a long time ago… And when I see sunflowers, I think about him saying that to me for a brief millionth of a second… laughing to myself about how I knew, but didn’t care about the fact that he was lying to me.

Because who has time to deal with people that are lying to you about sunflowers?

(I know, I hear you… DEEP, right? Just where do I come up with these nuggets of eloquence and enlightenment? Well — despite being completely confused all week for really no reason at all, yesterday was in fact Thursday — even though I thought it was Monday…. Like what did I think was going on with Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday? I feel like a weeble wabble. A few projects landed on my desk, which I’ve been diligent on — along with the other assorted things… brooches, spatulas… Will starts school this coming Monday, so I spent a great deal of my days this week dealing with Montessori Parental Intimidation, which I believe is the new high school musical… Add on top of that getting the proper gear lined up for munchkin soccer starting tomorrow… while thinking about what defines the soccer mom and how to avoid any and all recognition there-of… And, of course, even deeper than that is my concern over my hair and how to handle THAT situation… at least I have my priorities in check.)

Did you like this? If so, please bookmark it, about it, and subscribe to the blog RSS feed.

So… I cryptically mentioned the other day that I am starting to archive old blog posts.

There I was, bawling my eyes out with one hand on the mouse, the other on the bottle–WHY! Why can’t the QUOTA go the OTHER WAY? WHY WHY… and then a dedicated reader and participant in the whole FTB experience reached out and suggested that I NOT delete… Instead, as she grasped my shoulders firmly…shaking me with understanding and fury… She exclaimed.. “JUST PUT THEM SOMEPLACE ELSE!..” And with that the planets realigned and calm spread throughout the land.

So it is with this advice that I have started to compile les Archives — found just up over there… No, not there… THERE – up at the top of the left hand column under PAGES. There you will find the beginnings of a compilation of “yeah I wrote that” words strung together into nonsense-grammatical-sentences — historical rants and raves of almost daily observations. Don’t get me wrong, the duds are being deleted… but as this process continues.. just know that if you haven’t had enough of me yet – there is now a place where you can find MORE.

And it is with this that I am also starting an new “thing” called Two for Twosdays where I republish something from the way back machine… Because the other day while driving I heard Three Strange Days by School of Fish… which took me back a few decades to a time when I used to slip away (sorry mom & dad) to NYC to go to a concert series called Two for Tuesdays at the Twin Towers. And I’m so totally grounded for this. It was awesome– AWESOME I SAY and always an adventure, and while I’m reading all this old stuff anyway… it took me to this piece, written last April.

Can I borrow your headlamp?

Almost 10 years ago (yikes!) I worked at a company that was deep out
in the New Hampshire woods… a company that developed ground
penetrating radar equipment and software. I will give you a second to
think about this.

The radar tools were used worldwide for things
like major infrastructure projects, highway repairs, and my favorite –
archeology and hidden treasures. I was titled the “Graphic Presentation
Specialist” and spent a lot of time looking at pictures of digitized
rebar. It was my job to make radar look sexy. I have always had a
slight interest in science, so this was it wasn’t too mundane for me…
most of the time.

My co-workers were all scientists–geologists
mostly… and when I needed approval on the latest product shot I would
have to go on a scouting hunt through the woods to find the individual
in question.. Once found, they were usually dressed head to toe in
protective jump-suits, not as a precaution–just because they wanted
to–testing equipment in the dank woods. Headlamps were also big in this
office… when at their desks, they all seemed to need the extra
light–despite the mind-burning fluorescents in the ceiling.  Gas masks
were also in abundance, although I don’t recall ever seeing or catching
a wiff of any hazerdous chemicals. These were all regular people…
just really smart and into the world underground.

There were some
creepshows– the guys that lurk around unibomberesk. But for the most
part everyone was really friendly and upbeat. They had organized runs
after lunch–big groups of geologists running on the country roads
talking about rocks and rebar. I’m not going to lie–it was amusing…
And, it was a good job. They had awesome beneifts and, because we were
owned by a larger Chinese oligarchy, the 401K was-a-rollin. I probably
would have stayed with the company longer than I did (about 1.5yrs)..
but I began to laugh at the rebar jokes… I began to recognize the
flaws in the digitized software accounts of cracked concrete… I
started to think that the lights weren’t bright enough–can I borrow
your headlamp? It was time to move on… and so I did.

In
2001–after 9-11 and during the clean-up of, I was watching the news.
Still living in New Hampshire — although no where near the woods, I
was of course somber about the course of events when… WAIT – in the
background there… That man… I know him… Hey that’s STEVE from
GSSI–he’s holding a peice of Ground Penetrating Radar equipment!

To date, the company is still going strong, and I will always have fond memories.

Did you like this? If so, please bookmark it, about it, and subscribe to the blog RSS feed.

Last week I was out walking with my son and parents in my hometown. It wasn’t too cold and it was before the storm of the century — which just turned out to be a snow storm anyway… We walked over a familiar bridge that crosses over the local train line to Manhattan, and when we came to the top of the stairs to descend… it happened again. Dizzy, ears ringing… pull it together… you’ve stood in this same spot hundreds of times in your life… pull it in.. vision focused. Whew, panic attack averted… but for what?

A few years ago… wait, no – many years ago.. because, right? who am I kidding… We went to Bermuda in the off season. It was Marchish and the island was empty… with the exception of the locals–WHO HATED US. But being full of ourselves we were immune to noticing the discerning “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE NOW” glances. Blame it on ignorance – we were on vacation and dammit, that island was OURS.

One night we were strolling along looking for a nice restaurant when we found the perfect establishment… through the windows we could feel the vibe pulling us in… a tiny little hole in the wall bistro.. people were laughing, the food looked awesome… it was as if there was a vacuum sucking us off the street–we read the menu outside… FIVE STARS — And, open in March(ish). We entered… We entered only to be met by a woman that quickly escorted us out… “I couldn’t possibly seat you without a reservation”, as we eyed the many open tables.

Now. Mr. Sal did not care…  I, however, felt that if we didn’t eat at this restaurant before leaving the island that the island would have defeated us… and please bare with me because I swear this post is going somewhere…  Clearly, we were not from there. Clearly, we were Yankees stomping the English land. But clearly we were not traipsing about in matching “BERMUDA!” tee shirts. Several calls were made – no answer. Time was desperate as we were flying out in a day or two. I felt severely NOT at ease. Finally, a man answered… “They don’t take reservations because they are only open on a limited basis.” WHAT? Firstly, what is with the word “THEY” as I quickly reeled back with dominate rapport — the exact words the woman had tossed at us while showing us the curb. “What did she look like?” Oh — and my tone softened as I described her as if she were standing in front of me. “Okay, I will make an exception – how about dinner at 9pm”. SUCCESS.

That night, after a few cocktails, we floated down the cobbled street to what had been built up in my mind to be the most amazing eatery in the entire world… We entered… only to be greeted by the same woman glaring at us… “oh YOU“. “THE GUESTS of HONOR“. “We Saved our BEST Table for you!“… the sarcasm froze the room. Literally. The other diners stared… the wait staff froze mid-spoonage. Platisicized, we were lifted onto one of those music video conveyor belts and unwillingly displaced from the doorway to our table. “What CAN I GET YOU“… “Anything for YOU.”  We wanted to get up and run out of what had now become Mrs. Lovett’s pie shop on Fleet Street. But then… sigh… but then the chef appeared and explained that we had walked into a private party the evening before and that in her excitement, the owner — that was leasing the space from another proprietor, had breached an agreement by uttering the word “reservation”. That, in fact — the restaurant was opened just for us — hoping to fill the rest of the tables in the off-season month. DEFEAT.

The next day, having barely touched the food that we were sure had been laced with meth, we decided to do a bit of sight seeing… the air was crisp–sky bluer than blue. We climbed the lighthouse stairs to the small opening–Mr. Sal went straight out while I froze at the door. All I could see was the thinnest of thin wrought iron railing at about knees height… I envisioned myself falling… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I pulled myself back inside and sat on the floor. Frozen. What was happening? I was not afraid of heights.

From that day forward I have had panic attacks at ranging heights… from the top of the stairs at the train station.. to cathedral ceilings… to mall escalators… to dunes. It had been only a few years before this experience that I enjoyed climbing numerous cathedral domes and leaned daringly over ledges while traveling in Europe… As I kid I freely leaped off cliffs into miniscule bodies of water… “Bowls” if you will. So, after evaluating and talking to the experts that seem to think that “vertigo” is a made up word that only pertains to the planet Mars… I have decided that I need to go back to Bermuda to apologize. Come full circle. Find the woman that I know is still damning me to this day… and explain the confusion. Lift her curse… This is the only way. 

Did you like this? If so, please bookmark it, about it, and subscribe to the blog RSS feed.

A repeat of Sarah Rich’s 2007 Birding in Dubai… read more here

Did you like this? If so, please bookmark it, about it, and subscribe to the blog RSS feed.