Present, spacious, improbable

Sitting in the Quaker meeting this morning, these themes came up in vocal ministry. A cancer survivor mentioned “being present” as key to her remission. She referenced the book Anticancer. Later in the day, Dorothea picked it up from the library. Another member spoke of the Christian liturgy this time of year, and about how “improbable” much of it seems — virgin birth etc.

Not remembering the context in which spaciousness was mentioned. Counterintuitive being present and spaciousness seem to go together. Being present is so “here and now,” so pinpoint, so specific. But time and space are concepts; instead of scrunching down on “here and now” — expand, contemplate the infinity of space — the improbable.

Peace Coffee Cafe Morning

@Walker Thursday Wow, another post emerges. Dormant for almost a year, neuron channels suddenly link up; muse spontaneously tickles; sap flows; juices — hmmm — what do juices do? Maybe it was the Beatles music playing in the the background. White Album.

Current pet peeve: what makes people think it is okay to sit down in a coffee shop and start talking on their phone? Annoying.

 

Sweating at WA Frost

Rode on my “Amsterdam” bike to Omnium bike shop for overdue initial maintenance check-up. Bought it in October 2012 on a whim and since–it was stolen from our front porch and again, and I’ve been to Amsterdam to see its hundreds of thousands of cousins.

Stopped in at the Y and am now across the street on the shady patio with a glass of Chinon cab franc and sweating. (Wikipedia says “known locally as Cabernet Breton”–nice touch.)

Long standing and unrequited interest in GarageBand–for the last couple of days, seeing if I can generate a score for clarinet (maybe recorder), piano, tuba, and guitar for Dorothea, Madeline, Liam, and me of a Breton folk dance song to record for Babette for her 60th. I think I found a nice sight with eight midi files and GarageBand does a nice job creating the notation for the score.

Old Wives’ Tales

Currently in Portand, Oregon, on the verge of a week here for work. Sunday brunch at a restaurant called Old Wives’ Tales (Burnside and Sandy.) Just sent a text to Dorothea about the women in the booth behind me. One was saying to the other that she’d gone somewhere to get a turkey for Thanksgiving. Wherever it was, apparently the turkey was initially still alive. Some of the other turkeys had names. She asked what was this turkey’s name? But apparently it was nameless. Reminded me of the skit in Portlandia where they ended up leaving the restaurant and going out to the cult run farm to investigate the origins of their meal. (That chicken had not only a name, but a bio.)

Ticketed but not towed

While riding the bus to downtown Minneapolis this morning, I texted Dorothea “can you pick up the car from tires plus?” Nov 16, 2012, 8:37 PM. I’d dropped the Sonata off there yesterday. Walked home. They called, saying alignment needed. Go ahead. Later, they’d called my cell again, left a voicemail. I never did check that voicemail. Assumed they’d left message saying the car was ready. Dorothea texted back “we just got a ticket. Our car was not moved.” Today is the day that the city crews are cleaning our street. I saw the signs yesterday as I walked back from the auto shop, “No Parking Friday 8:00 AM – 6:00 PM” and was thinking at that time of moving the cars. This morning, I forgot, and left the house without a single car thought in my head.  The good news: the car didn’t get towed, just ticketed. Also, it was only one ticket, not two, because the other car was in the shop.

Evening, autumn, green tea, coffee shop

Day Two of my little October vacation. Liam asked to be picked up from school so he can bring home a sousaphone to practice for auditions next week. But my hope is to be far away by two o’clock. Thinking Nerstrand or Frontenac.

Last night I wandered over to Kopplin’s and had a cup of green tea. This picture, taken from booth through plate glass window, is of their front door with the address in reverse “2038 Marshall.”

Kopplin Front Door
Evening, autumn, coffee shop

 

Eighieth versus Ninetieth birthday

From the blog: We drove to Little Falls yesterday. Dorothea’s aunt celebrated her eightieh birthday at the Senior Center. I was reminded of both my mom’s eightieth and her ninetieth, of who was and wan’t there for each, what they looked like, and how their appearance changed over the decade. 80: my mom was driving and just moved to a townhouse-sort of place. Did things like drive to the farm and Little Falls. 90: stopped driving, and moved into an assisted living facility attached to a nursing home. 80: there were in attendance some still lively cousins of hers and other weird relations; 90: not.

One (at least one) cool thing about Dorothea’s side is that they’ve maintained contact with the side of the family that stayed in Germany. There was a brother who stayed, and a brother who left.

Also, Dorothea fell in love with and spent most of the time sitting next to this guy who looked like and sounded like her father.

(Later in the day, hours after I had posted this, I realized I’d erred using the word “eighth” instead of “eightieth.” First comment: They are both odd words, using usual rules. Second, here’s the beauty of having a blog post rather than just a Facebook entry: I was able to go back and edit. Google+, for instance, also allows for editing.)