Back on my mind...

Hey yous guys.  What's the good word for you this Memorial Day weekend?  How about FREEDOM! 

I'm just about done with a book on the battle of the Atlantic during the Second World War.  Words like U-boat, sailor, and rationing, and imagery of abstract qualities like selflessness, swagger, and commitment abound throughout the pages. The book focuses on the lifeline that supplied the European Theater of the war: the convoy routes from the US to Britain and beyond.  Many unsung heroes who never made the front page of Time and who never made it to the other side of the pond.  These sailors and merchantmen were just a few of the countless faces and souls that were integrated into the noble undertaking of mammoth proportions that preserved the freedom that we get to enjoy every single day here and now.  I read recently about a veteran who had to go to court to be able to fly the Stars and Stripes outside his apartment.  I don't know the details.  Maybe the flag location was obstructing a fire lane.  I don't know.  But this isn't the first time a story like this circulated around the news wires.  I also recently read a few articles about a war memorial, somewhere in New Mexico, I believe, where a cross was erected years ago as a sign of remembrance for the local soldiers who lost their lives in battle...I think the cross was stolen.  A replacement was erected, but later had to be covered because the cross was offensive and crossed that church and state line we hear about all the time. I'd like to know what church they're talking about.  As far as I know, some 30,000+ churches claim the cross as a religious symbol.  I won't go on listing all the religious symbols such as elephants, moons, and yin-yangs that should be outlawed from public display based on the separation of church and state "logic".  Confusing.  The saddest thing about the case in New Mexico is that the beloved dead are the ones that are truly mocked in this case.  A whole 'nother issue perhaps the same church and state minority would like me to warm up to; namely, "forget about the dead".  Shoot, the lines are already being/have been drawn to forget about the living!  Pass the elderly or "undesirables" to the side, forget about them...so with that attitude, why should I even consider remembering the departed?  It's ironic that the blood shed by those fallen men and women fortified the foundations that the so-called civil liberty contingent set their pedestals on...For what it's worth, to the men and women that did so much for me and preserved the opportunity for me to do what is right...I solemnly thank you and pray for you this holiday weekend and beyond.

I spent a good chunk of time in bed yesterday thinking about summer time as a little kid.  Cousin Joey shot me an email earlier this week and mentioned that the upper peninsula of Michigan was a place he'd like to visit some day. The UP of Michigan may very well be my favorite place in the world.  About this time of year some 20 years a go or so, I'd be getting amped up about school letting out in a week or two.  Little league would just about be in full swing.  More and more lightening bugs would be coming out in the evenings.  And the quiet hum of the air conditioner would probably be the last sound I'd hear as I drifted off to sleep on a warm and humid night...many times with Michigan on my mind.  The yearly trip to Michigan always took place in the summer.  Sometimes in early June, a few times over the 4th of July, other trips a few weeks later.  Whenever it was, I looked forward to it and couldn't wait to go.  Looking back on it now, it may have been the reality that, even though I was just a little kid, I got to be a part of an adult experience: waking up early, trolling for hours on end, peeing over the side of the boat without falling in...these were all the things Dad did...these were the things that Bob Clark and Uncle Mike did.  The UP rarely if ever crosses my mind without Bob and Uncle Mike somewhere in the memory. In fact, the place and the people are inseparable in my mind.  Every year leading up to the week-long get-a-way, it seemed that Uncle Mike had to make a point to say that he would not make it that year.  "Nah, not going in July. Too late to catch the bluegill on the beds" was a common reason...and each year I'd get upset, plead with him to come at the same time we were going, or try to see if we could go when he'd be there.  But just about every year, a few hours after we'd get to the cabin, the White Scottsdale Custom Deluxe would pull into view much to my delight. Or, the little camper would come into view on the left-hand side of the descending dirt road that lead to Peavy...what a wonderful sight!  The Clarks were always in the UP when we made our trip...fun was always a given fishing on their pier over the Paint River, burning gallons of gas riding the tractor around, or tip-toeing around the woods and quiet side roads looking for deer. The vacation was partly the place but largely the people. 

Uncle Mike was probably the single most influential person in my first 20 years.  Uncle Mike was blunt and stubborn and I don't think I ever remember hugging him or him hugging me, let alone telling him that I loved him or him telling me (for which I regret)...but I looked to him with a reverence and love that I can still feel today.  His longevity and consistency at doing what he loved, fishing and hunting, were for me as a kid everything that I thought was awesome.  The coolest person I knew when I was 12 was my 70 year-old great uncle.  The place I wanted to be more than anywhere else on a Friday night in mid-October in 1993 was in Uncle Mike's trailer, thumbing through the same worn out deer hunting magazines and listening how to set up a tree stand in the dark or about the time when the bears splashed across the brook he was wading in with a fish on the line. Uncle Mike was a story teller.  He'd captivate me with stories ranging from beagles chasing rabbits to homemade golf clubs made from choke cheery tree shoots to even mushroom picking. Those stories and memories will be with me until hopefully one day, I get to meet up with Uncle Mike again.  I suppose I share this sentiment for two reasons.  One because being the end of May, my mind tends to automatically wander to the "what used to be's" of summer time fun and I enjoyed placing myself in the size 5 Converse shoes again.  Two because Uncle Mike was a veteran of the Second World War and as part of the Memorial Day weekend, it seemed fitting.  He was a cook.  He served in the Pacific theater.  I know he spent time in the Philippines, but aside from one very short episode when he explained briefly how his unit got ambushed, I do not know anything about his service. Hopefully there's a little bit of Uncle Mike in me today.

Changing sentimental gears, I head to a footy game tomorrow...err...today.  My buddy Alfonso from work and I are heading to the Subiaco Oval to watch the home team Freemantle Dockers do battle with the North Melbourne Kangaroos in live footy action.  Looking forward to the experience.  The Dockers are kicking some footy arse this season, so hopefully we don't jinx their luck.  A full report to follow next time.

Seeing that it's now, oh, almost 1am Perth time, it's time to call it a night and pedal my sleepy butt way back to the apartment.  Have a great weekend whether you're sailing on a lake, swimming in the pool, or just grilling out burgers in the back yard.  Be safe, have fun and God bless.

Scotty

Quokka what???

Greetings, folks. 

Sitting here reading up on Giro D'Italia reports and listening to some Jackson Browne tunes.  If you haven't listened to Jackson Browne before, I highly recommend that you do.  He's a great musician and his songwriting is something special.  He can get political sometimes, and I'm not a fan of all he has to say...but that aside, the way he orchestrates his lyrics is truly a pleasure to listen to.

Had a long weekend so far that started Friday night with Golder's 50th anniversary shin dig.  What started out as a few guys working out of an apartment in Canada has turned into a global enterprise the last 50 years.  Quite remarkable and I'm proud to say I'm part of the team.  Dinner, cocktails, and dancing.  A good way to end the work week.   

Saturday started out early with a ride to the Fremantle to catch the Rottnest Express ferry to Rottnest Island. Rottnest Island is a get-away location of sorts near Perth.  An hour bike ride to the ferry, then a 45 minute ferry ride and boom, you're there.  Well, that's how it's supposed to go. And it sort of did for me and my Golder colleague, Glenn, but not quite.  The plan was for Glenn and I to meet up at the ferry terminal at 9 am to catch the 9:30 boat.  I left a few minutes later than planned, but blasted along the rail line bike path from Subiaco to Fremantle and pedaled along the ocean front roadway until the ferry terminal signs started to pop up...the Indian Ocean on my right and shipping containers stacked several stories high to my left.  The twisting road took me through the heart of the Port of Freemantle and after nearly getting taken out by an unwieldy semi on a sharp 90-degree turn, there was a sign for the Rottnest Express.  I got off the bike exactly at 9 am.  I didn't see Glenn, so I putzed around the dock area, ate one of the PB&J sandos I whipped up and aired up my tyres (that's how they spell "tires" here in Oz)...15 minutes later, still no Glenn, and it hits me that, even though I'm at a Rottenest Express ferry dock, I may not be in the right place.  Just as I was starting to ask one of the ferry personnel, Glenn calls.  I didn't answer as I was asking the ferry guy what the deal was...sure enough, I rode to the wrong terminal!  Seems that there's another Rottnest Express terminal around the corner...but at least a 15 minute bike ride away...considering that it was already a quarter after nine, I crossed my fingers and asked if I could stow-away on the boat floating in front of me...luckily it left at 10 and had plenty of room for a gibroni like me.  After I sorted out what could have been a real debacle, I called Glenn to fill him in.  Glenn started laughing and said, "That ferry leaves at 10?  Great, I'm at the wrong ferry terminal too!  I'm heading your way.  Will be there in a bit".  I started rolling.  Both of us wound up riding to two different and incorrect terminals.  So much for Google maps.  While waiting for Glenn I struck up a conversation with an older couple who overheard my conversations with the ferry guy and Glenn...they were quite amused!  Glenn showed up, we loaded up the bikes, and joked half way to the island about screwing up on the directions. 

So Rottnest Island measures only about 6 miles long and 2 miles wide, but it's a gem of a place to visit.  As a cyclist I was happy to hear that there aren't any cars on the island...only the tour buses and other cyclists roam the roads.  Another friend and fellow North American, Alfonso, took the train (and the right ferry!) and met up with us out there.  Alfonso trotted around via bus and foot while Glenn and I spun the pedals over the rolling, chipsealed roads.  The skies were crystal clear and the temps were mild...warm enough for shorts in the sun...cool enough for a sweater in the shade with the sea breeze that was blowing.  The views were fantastic as we rode along the perimeter of the island...turquoise and light blue coves and white sand beaches, rolling surf out a-ways.  A very enjoyable ride. 

One of the primary motivators for going to the island was to see a little creature called a quokka.  As I'm sure you're aware, Australia is full of interesting animals, and the quokka fits that description.  It's a marsupial (has that pouch thingy) and is about the size of a cat.  It's furry, hops around like a kangaroo, and lives all over the island.  Glenn and I met up with a quokka at the end of our ride.  We saw a bunch more at the little village where we grabbed a bite to eat...they were hopping around under the tables and mingling among the crowds with no reservations. They must be used to the tourists! 

After eating a chicken sando from Red Rooster, Alfonso, Glenn, and I roamed around the water front as we waited to board the ferry back to the mainland.  As we were walking around, we saw a big ole sting ray skating around a pier next to the beach, so we decked over to the pier to check it out.  The ray was just moseying around the pier, putting on a show for us and the rest of the interested folks that came to take a look.  I uploaded some pictures of the island...give 'em a look when you have time.

Soon thereafter, it was time to head back to town. Bikes stowed, the three of us grabbed a seat on the top deck of the boat and got to watch the West Coast Eagles play the Melbourne Demons for the short jaunt back to port.  Glenn filled Alfonso and I in on the rules to footy...now terms like "marks" and "behinds" make a lot more sense.  Once to port, Alfonso jumped on a train and I rode with Glenn along the coast towards his place before I took a roger and worked my way through City Beach in search of Holy Spirit Church.  A friend of mine from the States knows the parish priest there, Fr. Kettle.  I got directions from a lady exercising along one of the footpaths and found the church just as she described.  I tried to find the church once before but didn't have any luck.  I walked in as quietly as I could, but the "clop clop" of my worn-out cycling shoes echoed throughout the narthex and sanctuary.  Much to my surprise, adoration was taking place, so I stuck around and said a few syllables for awhile. I had hoped to meet Fr. Kettle, but it was getting late and I needed to head back home before the sun said goodbye for the day.  Will make another visit sometime down the road.

After all that riding, I was toast.  I cooked up some sassages on the grill, whipped up a salad and scarfed down dinner soon after I got home.  An hour later, I was sawing logs.  I've been tired all day today as well.  Here on the computer to skype a few folks and then call it a night.

It's about time to start skyping.  I hope you all are having a great weekend. Enjoy the company of family and friends. 

Peace and love,

Scotty

p.s. I wanted to ask for your prayers for a few people who have passed away recently. A colleague from here in Perth passed away over the weekend in a car accident. Another colleague's mother passed away a few weeks back.  Please keep them and their families in your prayers.  Thank you.

Mother's Day

How's it going today?  Hope all is well in the Northern/Western Hemisphere.  Happy Mothers day to all you moms, mums, madres, matkas and so forth out there!  Tis a special day, indeed.  Without you, none of us would be here...thank you for the gift of life!

Had some things to share with you, but I'm way tired and going to call it a night.  A few people asked, so I posted a few pictures of my apartment to the link on the right.  Will catch up with you all soon.

Cheers and a special blessings to all the moms out there.

Scotty

Snarky...

ood morning/afternnon/evening/yaddi/yaddi...never can tell who may be reading this when, so I figured I'd cover all the bases.  So how's it going on your end of town?  Anything new or exciting happen last week?

Three highlights from this past week: 

1. Snarky is a real word...
2. Going out on a limb here, but I contest that Windows 07 is a pain in my arse
3. Shopping for houeshold goods makes Scotty snarky. 

Last weekend I heard the word "snarky" used for the very first time.  I learned that one of its meanings is "testy, irritable". I must have repeated it to myself a few dozen times in a host of voices and in various contexts just to say it and to amuse myself (perhaps a self-depricating admission, but what else you gonna do when your riding home after work?).  Snarky is a catchy word, methinks.  Snarky is so catchy that it caught me a few days after I heard it...may I introduce you to Windows 2007...yes folks, the great minds at Microsoft have created yet another masterpiece of an operating system....comparable to great accomplishments of man like the pyramids, the Great Wall, and, err, I mean, Pepsi Free, the SARS debacle, and the Yugo. Some of you may recall a tirade I penned in a post while in Peru after a day-long battle with Excel.  In much the same way, I battled with that handy-dandy, nifty little geotechnical program called gINT.  After nearly two days of mickey-mousin around with this file and that directory, I realized that gINT is not so compatible with Windows 2007...or should I say Windows 2007 is not so compatible with gINT?  I was a pretty snarky fella come quitting time Friday afternoon.  In the end, I learned two "new" words...compatibility mode.  Thank you Windows 2007.  Since I was pretty snarktified Thursday and Friday, it was only natural that the snarkiness would weasel it's way into the weekend.

I moved into a place for the long-term last night (pictures coming).  It's a new remodeled townhouse set-up...one bed, one bath...upstairs and downstairs.  Nice place to call home for the next six or seven months.  Came pretty much furnished: bed, couch, plates, forks, spoons...even a flat-screen tv and a few paintings on the wall.  What it doesn't have though, caught me by surprise (after my trek to the store to buy everything I needed to settle in).  In the mad rush to find a place in the ultra-competitive market out here, I saw the plates and forks, etc...it never dawned on me that it didn't have bowls, pots, pans spatulas, etc.  Interestingly enough, again, in one of my Peruvian posts, I shared a bit of my anxiety of shopping for household items with some of you. I'll refrain from a lengthy discussion of my shopping psychosis, but needless to say, after four hours of looking here, then there, then remembering this and forgetting that (and still pots- and utensil-less)...well, let's just say Scotty was pretty snarky. 

I guess the one positive from the shopping fiasco today was that I got a lot of practice driving here in Oz...No real problems and after a few clicks I was shredding air guitar riffs on the steering wheel and waving to the pretty girls as I passed by in the stylin Golder utility van...Naw, the right-hand turns are a bit dicey...not used to the width of the van or the "blind" side of the car on the left there.  Got another day to practice.

But alas, the evening came and I got to video skype compare Nick and cuzin Joey.  Good to see and talk with friendly and familiar faces. And wouldn't you know it?  I can't seem to find a bit of snarkiness anywhere.  So, before it comes back, I think I'm going to call it a night and end the day on that good note.  Mass, then another couple two-tree hours of shopping tomorrow, but hopefully I'll get some bike or run time in there too.  

Yous guys enjoy the weekend and have fun doing whatever it is you plan to do.  Until next time, much love and God bless.

Scotty