Today was a Good Day

The evidence:

1. I went to work and found out I didn't have to. Yay, three-day weekend!

2. I sat around by the fire and read the first half of the morning.

3. I put new guitar strings on my guitar the second half of the morning. It sounded so nice that I just had to play it for a long time.

4. In the afternoon I went up to Grand Mesa to go cross country skiing. I love cross country skiing!

(4 1/2. My boss has the same size feet as me, and so his ski gear fit me. Yay skiing for free and without mailing my skis from MN!)

5. Even though it was the first time I had skied since last season and I was up at 10,000 ft and it was like 8 degrees outside, I still had so much fun!

6. Now I'm going to a friend's murder mystery birthday party and I get to be a big important gangster and then die! (Oh wait, that kinda stinks... but it'll be cool until I die!!)

Q.E.D.

Time to shower.

I'm Dumb the Fourth

The past two days, I've been driving a tractor - all day, until the sun sets. It has it's perks - I've listened to all the Creedence and Led Zeppelin recordings I have and thoroughly enjoyed it, plus I get to be in the sun all day! - but it also has the major downsides of boredom and fatigue. And maybe the onset of carpal tunnel syndrome (?). (I used to think that joysticks were the best thing ever, especially if controlling a space ship or airplane in a video game. I am now totally joysticked out. I have been moving a stupid little joystick back and forth (at ~ 1Hz) for 8+ hours a day! My wrist is so sore!!!) Anyway, the reason for all the tractor driving is that it's getting very cold out here on the Western Slope, and the poor little vines may be in danger of freezing. And during the growing season we regularly strip the vines of their earthen clothing (a side effect of the turbulent inter-vine weeding made possible by the weed badger), making them even more prone to the cold. So now is the time of year to push dirt back over the bases of the vines to guard them against the cold! And what better way to do it than with yet another tractor implement?! (I think by now I've taken a full tour of the vineyard with all of 4 or 5 different implements...)

Okay. So now we're picturing me yesterday, on the tractor cruising through rows of vines. I am bundled from head to toe, a ball cap shades my eyes, and I'm now rocking out to Jethro Tull. My hand rhythmically moves a joystick back and forth, back and forth to guide a large steel blade in and out of the vines, pushing earth against them. My mind wanders to stave off boredom and monotony. I finish a row, turn the tractor and prepare to begin another, and I see one of the dumbest things on the property. A sight I'm by now familiar with (thanks to all of my tractoring), a large blue hydrant stands proud at the end of one of the vine rows... or rather, exactly in between two rows... right where any vehicle moving between the rows would have difficulty avoiding it. I don't know why it's there. It's just asking for trouble.

I noted the hydrant as I continued on beside it. "I [hoe in] should really [hoe out] remember to [hoe in] to be careful [hoe out] of that when I [hoe in] come back up the [hoe out] next row [hoe in]..." I traveled onward down the hill trying to think of some way to remember to be alert in another five minutes. My mind wandered. (It really is curious how your mind wanders when you're doing something that requires a great deal of attention and yet absolutely no brain power. It's kind of similar to the thoughts flying through your mind as you begin to fall asleep... intense, scattered and fleeting...) Back up the other side. [Ian Anderson sings: What a reason for waiting and dreaming of dreams...] End of the row. I look down and notice some irrigation piping I had safely laid aside earlier. Piping. Pipe. Hydrant. SHIT!!! I looked in front of me. No hydrant. (I was still moving forward.) Maybe this wasn't the row. I look behind me. There it was: a bent pipe gushing water, the remains of the hydrant fixture dragging behind me from the tractor. OHNOOHNOOHNOOHNO!!! I tried to stop the gushing, got wet, realized it was futile and ran to get boss man.

We headed up to the main shutoff valve for the domestic water for the entire farm, he chiding me the whole way. We shut the water off while he went to get a cap for the mangled pipe. I went to tell Colin and Anna how I was the source of the recent water scarcity. "Did you need the water for anything?" Colin replied, "Well, it was cooling the cooling tower for the still..." OHNOOHNOOHNO!! I ran back to turn the water on, a mini geyser better than a fried piece of expensive equipment. Too late. The still was okay, but the run had to be aborted. And back to shut off the water again. Lance came back with the cap, we screwed it on tight and I surrounded the pipe end with dirt so it wouldn't freeze. And back on the tractor until the sun set behind Grand Mesa.

Today, as soon as I spied the wind machine I started loudly chanting, "Matthew, don't hit the wind machine. It is imperative that you don't hit the wind machine with the tractor. It's getting closer. Don't forget. Don't hit the wind machine..."

Things that Make Me Come Alive

About two years ago, some very good friends of mine suggested that I make a list of things that make me come alive. One of these friends had created such a list - on a single blank sheet of paper, later artistically decorated - for a reason I'm now forgetting. A whim? A constructive tool for looking at the good things in life? Whatever the reason, it was a good idea. The piece of paper was proudly posted on the living room wall, and more such lists soon followed, created by each house member. And before long, a good friend and I (who frequented the house) soon added our lists to the wall.

Looking back, my what a good exercise that was. I remember feeling so good about life, myself and the person I was when I created that list. And every time I visited the house and saw those things that defined the essence of me I just... felt good inside. The house has since disbanded, and along with missing the friends who once lived there I often find myself wondering what happened to those lists. I'm not any less myself without mine, but I do think it's good to be reminded of the things that are really important to me. Furthermore, in my present mode of trying to figure out what I want to do with my life, I've taken to thinking about things in terms of whether they make me come alive or not. After all, who wants to live out their lives doing something that slowly kills their soul (the first description I could think of for the opposite of "makes he/she come alive")? Not I! So, while I have not made any major progress in determining "what to do next," I thought I would at least try to recreate my Things that Make Me Come Alive list. And I decided to post this version on everyone's living room wall via the internet. Without further ado...

Things that Make Me Come Alive
(in no particular order)

• cooking a delicious meal
• eating/sharing food with other people
• ice skating, biking down a hill, roller blading, skiing or anything else that makes me feel like I'm flying
• having good conversations with people I love
• staying up really late for the sake of a good conversation, prank, or game
• going for walks in beautiful places
• giggling hysterically with another giggler
• explaining something I know a lot about to someone who's actually interested
• working obsessively on a project
• building things
• taking pictures
• beat-boxing in the shower
• making really nerdy jokes with other nerds
• pwning n00bs - j/k lolololololololollol
  
• writing (in a journal, blogging, or other fun/creative writing)
• singing a capella with other people - improvised, hymns or Ratatat songs
• understanding a difficult concept
• being outside
• arguing for the sake of arguing (preferably about something dumb and/or funny)
• listening to good, live music in an intimate venue
• a good board game (preferably played with other competitive board game nerds)
• a good, exhausting game of squash
• salvaging things other people throw away and making cool/useful things from it
• becoming immersed in a good book
• a delicious, end-of-the-work-day reward beer
• trying new and/or exotic cuisine
• crossword puzzles
• a good night's sleep followed by waking up at a decent hour without an alarm clock
• learning about really interesting things from a scientific perspective
• helping to make someone's day better
• solving problems (having to do with math, relationships, bouldering, using closet space efficiently... whatever)
• using really nice equipment (power tools, cameras/lenses, sound equipment, etc.)
• being able to entertain a young child
• making funny faces in the mirror
• being silly
• listening to really good recorded music with really good quality sound equipment (i.e. Everything in it's Right Place turned up really loud in nice headphones)
• looking at the stars
  

I'm Dumb: Part the Third

Another delightful little quirk of Guinevere's that I may or may not have already mentioned is that she does not have a functioning parking brake. Also having a manual transmission, she occasionally gives me cute little Parking Dilemmas, especially if I need to leave the car running. These Parking Dilemmas are mostly endearing, and they were more infrequent back when I lived in Northern Indiana, but since I've moved to Colorado I have begun to become a bit more annoyed with these Dilemmas. There are times that I park - even when her engine is stopped, she is in gear and her wheels are pointing her straight into the curb - when I leave Gwen, half expecting to find her cloven in two by some telephone pole a block or two down hill. But thus far this aspect of our relationship has not strained us to a breaking point.

Aside from noticeable inclines, rural Colorado has brought another joy into my life: fences. Now I am no stranger to fences. In my early days I lived on a horse farm, and hopping horse fences was something done frequently, even for fun sometimes. And my Dad, still living in Kentucky, has gone with my on many walks in the woods, opening a cow fence here, squeezing through a barbed wire fence there. The North Fork Valley of Colorado, however, has shown me a different kind of fence. Here we have many orchards and even more mule deer. We like orchards. Deer like orchards. We don't like deer. We really don't like deer in orchards. We need deer fences everywhere! Q.E.D. And really, in order for fruit trees (or vines) to survive, deer fences are a necessity. Our vineyard makes no exception, and so a nine foot tall fence surrounds the entirety of our 70 odd acre property. Which lead me to my next paragraph.

Deer fences must annoy the hell out of deer. They can see the tender, juicy bark, they can smell it... they just can't get close to it. Theoretically deer fences should be much less of a nuisance to humans, for we designed them after all. And we can easily open and close them at our leisure. True but to an extent. Put said convenienced person in a car trying to drive out of their fenced-in driveway and suddenly replace "leisure" with "slight inconvenience, due to having to stop and wait for your passenger to open the gate and then stop again while they close it." That's assuming you have a passenger. Say you don't. Now you drive up to the gate, park, get out, open the gate, get back in, drive through, park, get back out, close the gate, get back in and you're off. [Do we see where I'm going with this yet?]

Now say that your driveway is slight incline, you drive a manual, you don't have a parking brake that works, AND you don't have a passenger... and this happens on a regular basis. Now replace "leisure" with "...I'll just drive through that [dang-tootin', confounded, sonuvagun] gate!" I never do actually work up the frustration to drive through the gate. Instead, I've - over time - channeled it into a very scientific process that has eventually led me to discover two very special car-shaped spots ,one on either side of the fence. These very special spots are flat enough that I can leave my car idling, in neutral while I open and close the gate, saving the time and frustration of turning my car on and off three times within 2 minutes of leaving my home. [Funny, the trivial crap I grouse about, eh?] Yay trial and error.

Okay. Lots of build-up... ending in Matthew being clever? But he's Dumb, right? Yes. Dumb to trust in his own cleverness. As it so happened, this evening I found myself leaving home for Paonia with the intent of visiting friends. Approaching the gate in the dark, I veered slightly to the left, heading straight for my sweet spot. It's hard to remember exactly where it is, and you do have to be right on it. Sometimes I stop too early and have to roll and tap the brakes a few times to get right on it. [Also, I'm dumb because I haven't realized that this actually takes longer than turning my car off and on again.] Tonight I had to try a few times to get it right. I got out to open the gate. The car looked like it moved a little. I quick hopped in and laid on the brake a bit to be sure it had stopped. I opened the gate. I looked up the road to notice a car zooming down it toward me. The thought struck me: Wouldn't it suck if my car... The thought interrupted my other thought: At this point in movies, by the time it takes a character to think such a thought, it's already too la... shit shit shit! I zipped up to my accelerating vehicle and barely [frantically] managed to slam on the brake, just in time. (In my rush, I also managed to slam on the accelerator at the same time, so the passing car must have thought me quite aggressive - rushing the road then revving my engine...) Phew!

I guess I learned my lesson, though. When pulling out of my driveway the sweet spot is just a wee little bit further back. I'll get it next time!

The Moral Ambiguity of the Musical Pirate

I don't steal music. Well, I might, but I won't admit to anyone over a public blog that I do. In any event I have plenty of thoughts on the subject of musical piracy. Here I will only touch on a few and those only to lead up to an interesting dilemma, primarily directed toward the Imperial Guard of the musical seas. (But I'm happy to discuss any time.)

In the world of today, digital files seem to have completely dominated the musical world. Personally I can remember back to having a Walkman (not to be confused with Discman, one of which I also had), but now this just serves to make me feel old. Anyone under the age of 16 now gives the same blank stare to "cassette tape" they would to "8-track." (I still don't really know what those are, by the way. I've just seen weird little Atari game-shaped plastic boxes that have crappy artist names on them, usually found in thrift stores. Anyone remember Atari?...) Now it's all mp3, digital music players, and i-friggin'-Tunes! If I ever get around to watching TV (doesn't happen often) I'm bombarded by companies wanting me to buy their latest mp3 player. CDs are out! The ease of digital music is in! (What I'm saying is it's Technology and Marketing's fault that music is so easy to steal.) I'm of the first generation that grew up computer mouse in hand, learning to copy and paste. It's second nature to me, and not surprising to me that so many people my age don't give a second thought to deftly copying a friend's music files just as they would a friend's photos.

Now there is that tricky little bit where it's illegal to copy copyrighted material. Artists work hard to make albums, and arguably, stealing an album is like stealing a little tiny bit of their paycheck. One could counterargue and say things like, "the record labels get all the money anyway," or "the Rolling Stones are already too rich," but the fact remains (even I'm freely willing to admit) stealing music is illegal. Okay. Let's get to that dilemma. (Only a few paragraphs away!)

So how do I feel about all of this? I love music. I love hearing new music, and I love having a large music collection and knowing it intimately enough that I can just about mirror any mood I'm in with an album I choose to put on. I also love to share music with others - to learn what music gets them excited and then make mixes or suggestions of music I think they will like. I am also poor (relatively speaking). This, plus my aforementioned tendency to think of music files as any other files (that can be copied and pasted), make it fairly easy for me to rationalize acquiring music in a less-than-legitimate way. (And a lot of older rock band are either really rich or dead...) Even so, I do try to support smaller bands that I really enjoy, or even bigger bands that I really enjoy. And though that is the secondary goal (the first being me getting more music), it's still sometimes hard to get past the fact that bands still only get a tiny cut of an album sale. And that's not to mention the fact that when I do get around to buying new CDs, I buy them used when I can. And when I do that, the band doesn't get any money from that particular transaction anyway! What to do?!

(One potentially good answer was provided by Radiohead a few years ago - offer download by donation on your website and create a direct money-for-music transaction between listener and artist, the listener paying as much as he/she is able or willing. It does help to be ridiculously successful enough to have a huge fan base in place and to be able to produce an album independently... But, perhaps this is the album-purchasing format of the future.)

Now please allow me to tell a poorly-disguised third person story about my friend Dylan. Dylan was swapping some music with a good friend. One of the bands his friend was very excited about was the RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND. She put it on his hard-drive. (Had she not, he would not have remembered the band's name, and they are small enough he may never have heard of them again.) A few months later, Dylan found the album on his iPod and put it on. The RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND was awesome! He began listening to them on a regular basis, being especially enchanted by the thoughtful lyrics and amazing voice of the lead singer, the band's namesake. By chance, he happened to look on the band's website and see that they were playing in Carbondale, a town near to which *ironically* both Dylan and I live. So on the night of the concert, Dylan braved the blowing snow, up and over mountain passes, and made the trek to Carbondale to see the RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND. [Incidentally, I happened to be at the same show, and Dylan and I had a great time catching up.] Dylan helped supported the band with his $15 cover charge, sat up front, was blown away by their awesomeness and then blew about $20 in merchandise (two albums not acquired from his friend). What's more Dylan gave the RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND support and appreciation while on the road (and they are small enough still that their setup is five dudes and all their stuff in a van... and they spent the night in the guitar shop where they played.).

So here is the moral dilemma. What Dylan did was wrong. He took music that wasn't his, from a small band that he now likes, what's more. But if he hadn't, that band would count one less among their fans and would be down two album sales. So having music stolen from them was... ultimately in their best interest?? It's unclear. And, as my mom sometimes points out, the train of logic described above really is just glorified rationalization. It's still stealing. True. But it's still an interesting situation.

After I started writing this I asked Dylan if he planned on giving the RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND money to compensate for the earlier acquired album, or just actually buying it. He was on the fence, but he said he would feel a little better about it if he convinced me to write the name of the band in ALL CAPS throughout my post so as to draw attention to it. Maybe it will eventually lure just one more potential fan into checking them out on YouTube and then buying all of their albums...



The RYAN MONTBLEAU BAND is pretty cool!

On a somewhat related note, I'll be driving to Aspen in another few weeks to see another newly discovered band called OZOMATLI. They are also awesome - very high energy shows from what I hear... Check them out too. after you buy all of Ryan Montbleau's albums...

A Juxtaposition of Two Contrasting Scenes that Presented Themselves to Me This Morning

Colin sews by the fire.

A winter wonderland.

[Note: This post was supposed to happen about a week ago. The internets were dumb back then and wouldn't let me post pictures. By now the snow has melted and I've been working in a T-shirt.]

On the Mend

Well, it's been quite a while since I last wrote. Harvest - and the duties that went with it - has been completed now for about a week and a half. My psyche is slowly recovering (long hours on a tractor can be therapeutic for the mental stress induced by overworking), and my body is even slower in recovering, though for non-harvest related reasons.

Don't get me wrong. Harvest destroyed my body. Between picking up full bins of grapes (weighing in between 35 and 40 pounds) from the field and then later repetitively dumping them into the destemmer, I estimate that during each of the 7 days of harvest I lifted the weight of a bin at least 300 times. Ouch. Sometimes I thought I could feel the muscles in my arms and back ripping and breaking down, all without getting the chance to rest and restrengthen. (There's a reason weightlifters do reps of the same kind every other day...) We crushed the last of the grapes on a Thursday. My mom and stepdad had arrived the day before, and it was a relief to be granted a three day weekend. I slept in and took it easy, going on a few short hikes with my mom on Saturday and Sunday. My body was beginning to recover. A leisurely bike ride Saturday morning and a recreational game of Ultimate on Sunday helped me further in recharging my bodily energy. So by Monday afternoon - a full day of work under my belt after my weekend of recovery - I was feeling up to a bit more bodily exertion. I hopped on my bike (instead of accompanying Colin to yoga) and set of for a tour of our mesa.


At first I considered just doing a loop or figure-8 on top of the mesa. Then I remembered how a friend and I had been talking of biking over a pass in the near future... I should really train for that, I thought. And though the sun was quickly sinking, it was a beautiful autumn day and I decided to prolong my ride by biking down the mesa and then back up. And down I went, taking the same route I had several times before. My speedometer recently fixed, I watched my speed gradually increase: 18 mph... 20...23... brake check... The section of road I was on wasn't exactly beautiful pavement, and so while tapping my brakes to maintain a reasonable speed (around 20 mph for the curves in this road by my judgement) I also tried to avoid the nastiest bumpy places. (An extra incentive toward this goal is the fact that my tires are tiiiiiiny... and pumped up to ~ 150 psi. Combine this with an aluminum frame and you have a recipe for a bumpy ride!)

It's hard to say just what exactly happened. As best I can recall I was trying to avoid some patchy asphalt, and I moved closer to the shoulder (the 2 inches on the other side of where the white line would be if there was a white line... the back roads of Colorado are not accomodating in their width) in doing so. About this time, though I was actively in the process of slowing down, a left turn in front of me told my brain that I was going a bit too fast. And I was too close to the shoulder. And a chunk of the shoulder was missing in front of me. Oh shit.

I think I was trying to brake, but I think I also knew the crash was inevitable. Though my brain was aware it was about to going flying along with it's home - my body - it did not provide me with a way out of the situation. Nor did it even decide the best way to try to fall. Just: you're not gonna make that turn. So what can we do about thi... well, at least we were wearing a helmet. And the next thing I new I was lying half on the road and half in the dirt, my bike on top of me: the classic "endo" (cool biker slang for "end over").

Remarkably, I wasn't very phased. It probably helped that I had had an almost identical crash a little over a year ago (sans mesa). I didn't feel pain, but this time I wasn't fooled. I knew that whatever chemicals my body had pumped through my veins as I was hurtling through the air would dull the pain only temporarily - I would be one sore dude in less than 30 minutes. Damage assessment: knee pretty banged up, shorts torn a bit... *ouch* elbow's pretty sad looking. (For those who have seen my nasty elbow scar from my past bike accident, be sad (or glad) to know that it is no more. This crash managed to obliterate most of it and cleave what remained in two. I can't wait to see what new scar-within-a-scar will form next...) Well, body's okay - or... good enough - what about the bike? I picked up the scattered water bottles and speedometer and turned my attention to my precious bicycle. Hope it won't cost too much, I thought. But as I tested all the levers and spun the tires I realized that not so much as a wheel was out of true. Amazing. Okay, good to go. T minus 20 minutes until I succomb to unbearable pain.


I reached into my fanny pack [Stop laughing. I can't afford the fancy bike jerseys with the nifty little pockets in the back.] and took out my cell phone to call Lance. "Yeah, so uh, I kinda wrecked my bike. Could you come pick me up? Great. Oh, and you might wanna bring some paper towels..." And the rest is just boring details. Lance graciously picked me up and drove me home, I picked the grit out of my elbow, I took some flattering pictures, I cooked some supper, I popped a few ibuprofen, I told Colin to pick up some gauze on his way home... And now I'm on the mend, I suppose.


But for me, "on the mend" is the classic two steps forward, one step back deal. I took the smallest band-aids off a few days after the wreck. Then I smashed my left middle finger between a rock and a hard place (a steel tractor implement in this case) - literally. By yesterday afternoon I was already feeling up to playing ultimate frisbee. I played - in bare feet even, thanks to the beautiful day - and between the dry climate and the stress of running in bare feet both of my feet developed nasty slits (resembling paper cuts) that now hurt like crazy when I don't walk just so. But the bandage is off my knee and that elbow is looking better and better... (So I should wear a helmet to work tomorrow?)

I'd like to end on a positive note, though. I'm a firm believer in experiencing life, and I try to as much as possible. Though sometimes "experiencing life" means taking some risks sometimes, I often feel they are worth it; the rush of the wind in my face as I zoom down a mesa on my bike is well worth the occasional road rash. Some people see my bandages or notice my limp and feel bad for me, but I'm truly in good spirits. I'll mend. And I'm enjoying life. And I do realize that sometimes you don't get to be so lucky, but that's just life too, isn't it? My friends and I joke, but I really do prefer the phrase "tell Mom it was worth it" to "sorry, I can't."

In case that's not a positive enough note, here's an even better one: I finished my first-ever batch of chocolate truffles a few hours ago. They're delicious.

Harvest: A Haiku

Four days and not done.
Averaging eleven hours
a day. Help me, God.

No really. Life's crazy right now. We had an early frost the night of Sept. 30 that wiped out most of the vines and the frost the following night took care of the rest. So now it's a race to harvest all of the grapes before they rot on the vine - or otherwise degrade. Personally, I've done little harvesting. I've done plenty of distributing empty picking bins to workers and picking up said bins when full... as well as even more destemming, crushing, pressing and pressure washing the bejesus out of all of the equipment in between each of those steps. It's been a long, taxing process, but I've been on auto pilot for the last 2 days or so. We'll be done soon... (right?) Plus I get to eat tons and tons of delicious grapes. (Wine grapes are like the kind you get at the store... only way sweeter and way better!) You haven't lived 'til you've taken a full cluster, lowered it in its entirety into your mouth and pulled of every single berry, slowly crushing them all with your entire mouth, juice dribbling down your chin... (Counterpoint: pressure washing tanks in the dark with a cold, dry wind blowing all the water onto your bare face and hands, extracting all of the warmth from your body totally sucks.)

My Job: A Whining Session Turned Humorous Account

I apologize for the long hiatus. Life can get busy here apparently. Actually, I think life is always busy, at least for me. I remember back in college, juggling a part time job, papers due, ridiculous physics problems (and concepts to understand), trying to maintain about 50 friendships... and thinking, "well, I may be busy now, but at least when I graduate I'll just work a regular job, and after each work day I'll have so much free time!!!" I currently work one of those jobs (not even the kind with take-home work) and I even live out in the boonies where friends are far away, and I am even more busy than before (or it sometimes feels like it).

Often I feel that my job takes up more of my time than I would like. [Whininess alert! (Wow, "whininess" looks so weird to write, but I can't think of how else one would spell it...)] Theoretically, Colin and I put in around 40 hours a week and can take vacation flexibly, within reason. This was the case for my first 2 or 3 months here, but lately things have been getting seemingly crazier. Granted, we are nearing harvest, but this does not account for all the business. In the past month I've been averaging around 9 hours a day, been forced to work 2 Saturdays and had to work one crazy 12 and a half hour day. Now I understand that plenty of farm interns in the area work this and much more for a mere stipend (= much less money), but this is not what I signed up for. And I guess what frustrates me most is that a good majority of the work that I deem "excessive" comes as a result of poor planning on the part of my employers (or it seems more excessive than it should because they only tell us of extra hours we have to work a day or two (or sometimes a few hours) before we have to work them) - we have to bottle gin this Saturday because we've been backordered for weeks (because we ran out of bottles), yesterday Colin was informed at the beginning of the day that he was to accompany Lance to an event in Grand Junction all afternoon/evening - so much for canning tomatoes... And so it goes. Sometimes Colin and I can find humor in all of it, and sometimes we're just pissed. Last Monday we found humor and good fun - barely - in a day packed with frenzied and panicked preparations for a farm dinner; it was a cold day so dining under the cottonwood tree was out, and so we had to figure out where to put 50 guests indoors. [I don't mean to nitpicky, but aren't Plan B's more effective if you come up with them before you need them??] What follows is the tale of that eventful day.

The day began as usual, only colder. And I was tired. The past weekend some friends and I had gone backpacking in the Maroon Bells - Snowmass Wilderness Area (gorgeous, and with the Aspens beginning to turn yellow, what's more). It was a spledid trip, though on our last day we hiked out in a considerable amount of cold rain. It seemed that autumn had arrived. We all celebrated our feat of energy expension by eating cookies and watching a movie, only Colin and I didn't arrive back at our home until well after bedtime. Bummer.


I was tired, and it was cold. Whereas the week before I donned Chacos and shorts I took one step outside and realized that jeans and shoes would be necessary. The second step told me that a flannel shirt might also be advisable. The morning briefing told me that I would spend the morning moving wine from the winery to the newly-built storage area in the barn and that Colin would distill gin all day. True, guests would be arriving for our second and last (for this season) farm dinner by 4 or 5 pm, but all we would need to do in preparation was set up tables and chairs, maybe do a bit of cleaning - nothing that couldn't be accomplished in an afternoon. All right! Forklift time! (As an aside, driving the forklift is probably my new favorite thing. There are so many neat levers to operate and it is a very spacial and careful task. It's kind of like a routine joyride for me [for which I get paid] ... until I do some math and - yipe! - that vat I'm moving contains around $50,000 in wine. Con cuidado, Mateo, con cuidado...)

I set about my chore (not easy, as all the wine I was to move was blocked in by approximately five gazillion other pallates) and soon realized that the rising sun was not doing much to bring relief from the cold. The flannel shirt would stay on! (Unless I was being totally buff and lifting really heavy things. Then I would take it off, misplace it, then get cold again and curse my forgetfulness as soon as I was done being buff.) Shortly before lunch, the reality of the weather began to sink in. If it's cold now... Yes, guests dining out of doors would indeed become popsicles, especially once the sun went down. Lance started to consider moving the party indoors. Anna was not at first convinced but was gradually won over. Underpaid workers: enact... 'Plan B'!!!! But as the discerning reader has already noted, there was no Plan B. The wine thankfully moved, Anna and I set about the full-time task of discovering Plan B.

We can fit fifty people into the distilling shed right? (She meant sitting comfortably at tables. I wondered if fifty people could stand in there.) We cleared tanks and pallates of bottles out and then proceeded to play rearrange the folding tables with Colin's help. Unfortunately the folding tables won and only allowed us to fit around 35 people inside (assuming that all the servers had a profile slimmer than the 6 or 7 inches left between the rows made once folding chairs were set up). Where could we put fifteen more people? The kitchen/dining room? That was soon ruled out. Mark Fischer, chef extraordinaire and owner of two amazing Carbondale restaurants, arrived midafternoon with his whole posse, and it became clear that they would take up most or all of the kitchen. Where else?... Colin's suggestion won the day. If we could move most of the barrels out of the aging room, maybe (just maybe) we could squeeze 15 people in. It's mid-afternoon already. We are all starting to panic.

Anna and I drive to the barn to get the pallet jack (inconveniently left over there) to help us move barrels. Even though the pallet jack aids us in dealing with the weight of the barrels, it doesn't make the aging room any larger. It's like gridlock (the puzzle game) meets tug of war... with the Countdown Clock of Impending Doom thrown in the mix just for fun (T minus 2 hours until guests begin to arrive). After much rearranging, we manage to squeeze two tables in the small room. Anna and I high five each other. Hopefully the wine the guests will be served will prove an adequate adornment for the bare cement slab walls and dim lighting that the aging room features...

"Now what do I do?" I ask Lance. There is an immense sense of unpreparedness all around and yet I can't think of any one thing that needs to be done that I can do. Lance thinks a moment and tells me to go down by the cottonwood and right the overturned tables (that have been sitting down there for 2 weeks, since the last farm dinner) and relocate (i.e. shovel into an inconspicuous pile) the numerous cow patties that have accumulated under the tree. [Apparently even though it is cold, guests will be served cocktails under the tree. Apparently during the last farm dinner guests did not appreciate the rustic and "authentic farm touch" that stepping in cow shit had to offer. Apparently when the cows escaped (twice) during the past week, they only traveled several feet to the shade of the cottonwood... and managed to triple the Cow Shit Density factor of the surrounding area.] Glad I could be of help. A few shovelfuls of crap later, and I spy a bemusing scene. I pause, bite my lip and call Lance: "Yeah, so uh, one of the tables blew over in the wind... and a cow took a huge dump on it. Do you want me to take it up and pressure wash it or just leave it?" I loaded the table into the RTV, and hauled it up to the winery, chuckling to myself. Apparently by this point Lance was laughing at the whole situation too, as were Colin and Anna. We're not ready. This is crazy. What more can you do but laugh? And as the "doom" continued to impend, laugh we did. And as it turned out, once the doom arrived, it turned out to be just a fun party.

After I cleaned up the table (I may or may not have pressure washed cow doo doo onto Mark Fischer's car...) Lance gave me the go ahead to zip home and change into nicer clothes. Apparently tattered jeans and a sunbleached ball cap are not befitting to a server of a 5 or 6 (lost count) course gourmet meal. Also, while home I was to inform Howard (resident grandpa) that he should print out 50 menus, the PDF emailed to him - the printer at the winery had just run out of toner. Perfect. I relayed the message to Howard and selected a nicer outfit. As I prepared to leave for the winery again, I knocked on Howard's door. No answer. Oh well. Colin still had to change, so he could pick the menus up. I returned to the growing festivities. Anna accosted me. "Where are the menus? Howard said he left them on the table for you." Uh... What? I was pretty sure someone was crazy. I mentally ruled myself out while Anna decided that Howard was probably just confused. Later Colin arrived with the menus and provided me with a more satisfactory explaination: After I took over his post at the still he had gone home to change. Upon arriving home, however, first priority was taking a dump. And - of course - as soon as he sat down to do his thing Howard knocked on the door. Howard is a bit hard of hearing and does not take no for an answer. These qualities may have contributed to the fact that he hollered and hollered at the door (Colin mentally willing him away) until finally Colin broke down and hollered back. Only Howard thought Colin was me, not yet changed and dropping a load. So at approximately 4:30 pm last Monday I broke some law of physics (I've been out of school for over a year, so I'm allowed to forget exactly which one) and existed at two places at once - checking the proof on gin coming out of the still (surrounded by inquisitive guests) and negotiating a drop location for fifty menus with a semi-deaf man while yelling at the top of my lungs and taking a crap. What an epic way to make scientific history...


The rest of the evening was much less stressful, mostly fun and enjoyable, and therefore much less humorous-account-worthy (guests never did meander down to the cottonwood that I had so diligently deshitified...). We hung out with an amazing chef (He assured us that he was just the figurehead - Bryce, the cook who came along was the real hero. Whatever the case the food rocked.), ate his amazing food (four-way tie for best course: arepes with BBQ lamb, warm Olathe corn soup, roast Berkshire pork with grits, mozarella and peaches and apple bread pudding with caramel, spiced pecans, and sweet creme friache), and schmoozed with the guests.


Later, after most people left, we hung out with Ron - one of the guests as well as our winery's soils specialist and a good friend of Lance and Anna's - who had brought his telescope. He showed us Jupiter's moons and the Andromeda Galaxy with his telescope and a good many constellations besides. What fun. And after that Colin and I came inside to listen to some musician friends of Lance and Anna's jamming in the kitchen. They had come to serenade the dining guests, but after most of them left they retired to the kitchen to rehearse for an upcoming gig. And it was awesome.


And here in the course of one long writing I've gone from being extremely negative about my work situation to loving it (or rather, the opportunities it brings me) immensely. So, ask me if I like working here. Depending on the day the answer will vary. But I can say consistently that work here is varied, exciting [written with a tinge of irony] and full of surprises. Also, I find it humorous to note that the title of this post, while accurately describing the post, essentially sums up my work here. I complain a lot, but in retrospect it makes for a fun and interesting story...

My Life is Amazing; My Life Sucks: A Paradox

I am tired. I am worn out. I began the day trying to wake up after my alarm went off at 7 am. Usually I pop right up, shut the darned thing off and start making breakfast. Today I rolled around, tried not to slip back into unconsciousness (that's a very real danger as my snooze button fell off several years back - there is no second wake-up call...), and eventually got myself out of bed. I called Anna: so, uh, did you want us to come in today? (Please God, no, no, no.) Yes, we're going to bottle. [pause] Okay, see you soon. And so we spent Labor Day laboring away - that's what you're supposed to do, right? And we labored and labored, bottling a ton of vodka followed by three different kinds of grappa. Evening plans were made with friends in Paonia over lunch. They were called into question at around 7 pm, and by 8:30 - when we finally finished - they were no more. I put in a 12.5-hour day, I'm beat and I feel that it all could have been avoided by some forethought on the part of my bosses (or at least they could have warned us of the longevity of today's labors...). AND today's events are in some ways simply par for the course. My life sucks.


Two days ago, our winery co-hosted a huge dinner party with renowned chef Kelly Liken of Kelly Liken's in Vail. Though we had to clean and organize all morning, in the evening Colin, visiting friend Kate and I got to help serve the guests as well as socialize with them. In down time, we got to hang out with Kelly in the kitchen while we chowed down on her amazing cucumber and tomato salads, succotash, and rack of lamb with chimichurri sauce - sooooo good. And Kelly is just one many very interesting people that I've had the privilege to meet here at the winery. (And the party was fun.) My life is amazing.

The art of winemaking is fascinating, and I have already learned a great deal since I began working here at the winery. I very much enjoy the variation in work from day to day, and it's great being a part of the winemaking process from planting to bottling. My life is amazing.

There are plenty of days when I do the same redundant thing over and over for 8+ hours, using my brain only to decide what album to listen to next on my iPod. Sometimes these chores are accompanied by Lance's abundant yet less-than-constructive criticisms. My life sucks.













Since moving out west, a great many close friends (all from college) have come out to visit me. Their time spent here has been a true joy, and I love catching up with them, exploring the outdoors in their company, cooking them breakfast and being reminded of the good ol' days of my time spent at Goshen College. I'm flattered by their visits to Colin and me out here in the boonies (though maybe I shouldn't be; Colin and the scenery would be enough to get me out here without me being here...), and I'm always a bit sad to see them go. My life is amazing.

Google just ate a toad. And now he's farting. My life sucks (kinda).

I live in Western Colorado. It's gorgeous here. So many vistas, so many outdoor sports to enjoy... I could (and might) stay out here forever. My life is amazing.

I am making plenty of new friends. Many are the type where a few hours after meeting we are swapping back-rubs. People are nice out here. My life is amazing.

(Most of those above-mentioned friends live a good 30-minutes' drive from my house. Also, even if I were to stay out here forever, the majority of said friends would be moving away in a less than a year anyway because they are just interns - like me... here for a while - just one adventure out of many in the youthful days of their lives. My life sucks.)


Whatever comes my way - good or evil, uplifting or depressing - I live with one cool dude named Colin, and he helps me weather it. (Jonathan used to help fill this roll, but now he's off to Purdue getting smarter and all. Poor guy... [and then there are those days when I would love nothing more than to solve a really difficult differential equation...]) We find new music together, cook together, explore nature together, discuss life, politics and women together, (work together), sit in the living room staring at our computers together... And when work sucks, we comiserate together. Colin is a good friend. My life is amazing.

Despite all the shit that comes my way, I manage to keep a positive outlook on life. Life is an adventure, right? and mine is amazing.

My* Dog

It's about time that I wrote a bit about Google (aka Googs, Googley Puff, Googley Poo, Googmeister...) the dog - the one that lives with Colin and I.

To begin, I will explain the asterisk. I am not a dog person. Don't get me wrong, I don't dislike dogs... I quite enjoy romping with them, scratching their bellies, playing fetch, and having them accompany me on walks in the woods. It's just that... well... for me all of these joys don't outweigh the dirtiness, the jumping, the slobber, the barking, the destroying of personal effects, the pooping, the humping and the continual need for affection and attention. Therefore, it was with mixed feelings that I replied, "Oh. Great." to Colin's announcement (over phone) that he and Jonathan had brought home a puppy. I was still in Indiana at this point, and since I hadn't yet met the dog named Google, I tried to have an open mind. But this was not going to be my dog. So, when I title this post "my dog" what I am saying is that despite my occasional grumpiness toward him, I still do my part to feed him and play with him. (And when attractive women are met in passing: "Why, yes. He is my dog.")

Now that I've said all that - and dog lovers everywhere are amassing to write angry letters to me, condemning my hateful language - let me describe all of the cute and cool little personality quirks of Google's that have so won me over (to him, at least, not the entire dog nation).

Jonathan and Colin gave Google his name because before he even came home with them from the shelter they had dreamed of owning a dog with the informational capacity of the internet. Now the running joke is that while he is somewhere in the j's, memorizing the internets, he hasn't yet learned English and so his vast knowledge is somewhat useless. (He is a smart dog in other ways, though. In the first week I was in Colorado we made him a good-sized adjustable hurdle and taught him the command "jump." He can also, sit, stay, "slap you some skin," and accurately find and fetch any generic-looking rock that you huck into a field of sage brush.


Actually, Google loves rocks so much that even if you don't throw one for him, he'll find one he likes and start kicking it around with his front paws (like one hiking a football) while yelling at it. Believe it or not, this can be annoying. One way to get him to shut up is to pick up the rock of his present attention and throw it. Then he promptly fetches it and the cycle repeats - only you've now been sucked into his game. A further testimony to his brilliance. (Sometimes we would try to explain his eccentric actions by theorizing that Google was secretly a world-renowned geologist. He would fetch a rock, start yelling "Look, look! I found a brilliant specimen here, practically flawless!" Then we would throw it, he would get pissed, bring it back, yelping, "No, you fools! That is a priceless fossil! You can't just throw it! No no no!!) One scary downside to his fascination with rocks is that one must be careful to throw them very far away. Google has gotten so good at reading the flight paths of frisbees and rocks and the like that if he gets a good enough head start (or if you don't throw it far enough) he will try to catch the rock in his mouth. OUCH! We try to avoid this.


Other quirks: He likes to eat lying down. We attribute this to laziness. He also likes to pass out in the most uncomfortable-looking positions possible! Most dogs I've seen lie on their stomachs and their feet tuck under or sprawl. But Google like to lie on his back, contort his spine and then put his head and legs wherever they look like they shouldn't go. And he does not reserve these bizarre shows for the evenings. No, he will follow you around outside all day, but the moment he enters a building with you he passes out. It's as though he is a computer with a power save mode and once inside his mouse is no longer being moved. Only messing with him (or going back outside) can possibly rouse him. And mess with him we do. Favorite games include wrestling, hugging, running around the house really fast and wheelbarrow races.


But as much fun as Google can be, what has struck me most in these past few months of getting to know him is what a responsibility he is. In the words of a friend, dogs are essentially "practice babies." They want love and attention, they can be a financial burden, they can wake you up at night, they can poo in places you don't want them to poo and they can even die if you screw up one little thing even once. Yep, Googs is a real bundle-o-responsibility. He's also taught me several good lessons in patience. Often after leaving him at home unattended for varying lengths of time (sometimes as short as 45 minutes!) I will return to find the living room in shambles and various possessions of mine in various states of chewed-up-ness (I've recently given him the nickname Shiva). I want to punt his whiny ass into the cow pasture, but then I remember that he will have no idea why I'm doing it. So I bite my tongue, pet him and vow to remember to lock him outside (and all of my shoes inside) next time.

At times like that I can't help but make the comparison to having a child to care for (he/she didn't know that those were Daddy's important books). He has so many needs, and attention seems to be at the forefront. It has been a real challenge for me to find the energy to play with him when he's bored, and when he whines for attention or tears stuff up it certainly tries my patience. In fact, if I couldn't assure myself that any future kid of mine would be physically incapable of chewing through a Chaco sandal strap (and half of War and Peace in the same sitting!), I'm not sure that I could maintain the notion that I want to have children some (far, far off) day. I guess my future children also have a leg up on Google in that they will be able to learn to read, talk, joke and eventually keep me entertained in my old age...

But on the whole, Google's all right. He's a pain in the rear sometimes, but he's mostly cool and fun to have around. And I do try to get him back whenever I can. In fact, when I imagine that I'm his big brother - rather than responsible parent - I feel much more justified in messing with him and occasionally ignoring him as long as I still remember to feed him...

I'm Dumb: Scene II

Believe it or not, I'm still a dumb person. I know it's been a while since I last commented on this aspect of myself, but after this afternoon's adventures I couldn't help but remind you all (How many is "all" these days? I'm predicting single digits, but sometimes I like to pretend that I'm writing to an expansive audience that just can't wait to hear what crazy $hit will happen to me next...) just how dumb I can be.

As a brief prologue to this afternoon's events, let me begin this paragraph by titling it Chapter XVII: In Which Matthew and Guinnevere Continue to Bicker and Finally Seek Out Relationship Counseling. So, I forget when my last car update was. I believe I had already mentioned putting too much oil in, discovering a rear wobbling, then having it not start and towing it to the shop (thanks boss' pickup truck!) to get repaired AND having one tire blow out en route. But only the broken off exhaust pipe was repaired then (oh, did I forget to mention that?). I drove back from the shop on my donut, eventually bought a new tire and finally: Gwen was good to go! To celebrate Colin and I hopped in and cranked some tunes on the way to frisbee!... oh, wait, it was still really wobbly. If I let go of the wheel it the whole car would violently veer to the right. It was kinda scary. Gwen was sent back to the infirmary for the time being. Now it just so happened that early this morning I had to drive Colin to the Grand Junction airport. I brilliantly decided to drop my car off at the local Kwiki Tire on the way to have the alignment problem fixed. Driving back from Junction, I got a call. "Mr. Rody? Yeah, we got your alignment squared away. But, uh, two of your tires - they look to be the same brand - the tread is about to come clean off of 'em." Crap. "And it's probably good to replace the other just for good measure, right?" He said I might be able to get away with not, but sooner or later it would go. What the hell. If I go for that extra tire, I thought, maybe I can completely pay for my car over again!! (Despite all the emoticons that our generation has to offer, I still have yet to see the "sarcastic double exclamation point." Someone please figure that one out.) The work was quickly done, and I could pick it up any time this afternoon. Great. Now, fast forward to the end of the work day.

I had talked to Lance at lunch and asked if I might get a ride into Delta to pick up my car. He said, sure, someone could take me. I said I could also ride my bike if it was a problem (though I hoped it wouldn't be, as it would be a good 15 miles in a fairly short period of time). At about 3:45 I noticed two cars pull in the driveway. They looked like tourists. I wondered if Lance would be needing to give a tour. We would need to be leaving soon (sooner if I had to bike), as the garage closed at 5:30. I called Lance. (Yes I'm too lazy to walk several hundred feet.) He didn't pick up. Anna? Nope. Evan? Nope. Anna called back. Could you take me to Delta? She had just come from Delta. Frick! And now they had family plans. Maybe I could work something out with the on-farm grandpa (Lance's dad). Nah, easier to not. The clock was ticking.

15 miles, mostly downhill. I could average at least that, right? So if I left... now! I could make it. I ran up to the house, remembering to recieve my instructions for the next day, since I would be running the place myself with everyone else taking Evan to college. [Okay, Anna... stop talking... need to go...] Back to the house. I packed enough water to survive. Helmet, glasses, air in tires... check, check, check. I left my driveway at 4:45. I decided to not do the math and just pedal really, really hard.

The first leg of my journey was easy enough as it was straight down the side of the mesa. And it was a rush! My speedometer long ago stopped working, but I estimated that I was going around 40 mph... but even going slower I was making great time. I'll be at Kwiki in no time. And then I turned onto the highway, straight into that confounded dry, hot, dusty desert wind. Even going slightly down hill I could not have been going more than 13 or 14 mph. My estimates got more and more pessimistic: Maybe I could still make it. Maybe I could still make it if I called ahead and said to stay in the store until I got there 10 minutes late. Maybe I could find enough sense to turn around NOW and save myself the extra mileage on the bike ride home...

I pressed on. The wind did not abate. I hit construction. I had thought about the construction before I left - in terms of bikes being able to fly by slow-moving cars on the shoulder. But wait... construction narrowed traffic down to one tiny, gravelly lane for at least few miles. MAN I'm dumb. Even if I could avoid getting hit, my tiny little road tires would bounce me to kingdom come! The time had come to deviate from the original plan (but when had I been following that?! And what was that plan anyway? Something like buy a nice reliable used car - Civics are good - and drive it to its death with no car troubles ever...).

I approached a long line of stalled cars. I rolled to a stop next to the first pickup truck and stuck out my thumb. No luck. I'm only going to Austin. "Sorry I can't help. Good luck mi hijo!" The target of my next attempt was an SUV, empty in the back with a young male driver. "You going to Delta?" "Sure, hop in." That was easy. And the rest is history. I negated some "dumb points" with some hard-earned "improvisation points" and "meeting cool new people points." James, a young paramedic, was my savior, and he was even cool enough to drive me directly to the garage (we pulled in at 5:26). I thanked him profusely and promptly got slapped in the face by three new tires of negative money. Oh well. At least my car was totally good to go. It's smart to fix your car, right? More dumb points negated.

Oh yeah. But it seems that I neglected to anticipate how sprinting furiously on a bicycle - while totally out of shape - would affect my frisbee game later that evening. I guess we can't all be smart...

Opportunites, Missed and Taken

This afternoon, as my plane made preparations to carry me on the first leg of my 3-flight trip home, an announcement was made that perked up my ears. Springfield, MO was experiencing thunderstorms and in order to prepare for a potential trip to Arkansas instead, my plane would have to extend its time in O'Hare long enough to take on more fuel. So much for having a comfortable buffer of time between flights. Several minutes later the announcement was made that with the addition of the extra fuel our plane was now officially "too heavy," and volunteers were asked for to exit the plane, fortunately still on the ground at this point. These volunteers would of course be recompensed with a seat on the next available flight as well as a voucher for a round-trip ticket to anywhere in the contiguous United States. My heart jumped up into my throat and started pounding abnormally. Here was my chance - a free ticket home for Christmas! And at this juncture, the genes I received from my mother hijacked my go-with-the-flow brain and started thinking of everything that could possibly go wrong with this plan: I could miss a whole slew of connecting flights and be stranded in Missouri long enough for the bump to lose its worth, my employers could be expecting me back today and have me slated for something extremely important the following day... and before I could conjure up images of tyrannosaurs in F-16s blowing up the airport minutes after seeing my once plane take off, two other people volunteered. Poop.

I hate it when I don't act on opportunities. Sometimes, like in this instance, I just don't act quickly enough - my mental every-possible-scenario-figurer-outer simply can't process with the speed necessary to decide something is in fact a good option before it ceases to be an option. (This frequently gets me when it comes to spontaneous acts of altruism - Do I pick up the hitch-hiker? Do I tip the street musician? Do I help the lady with the papers flying everywhere? ... Too often the answer is, "Well, too late for that one, I guess.") Other times, I chicken out entirely - working up the nerve to ask for a date, taking a ridiculously cool job (yet one that would require a longer commitment) and so forth. I'm getting better about making the most of my opportunities, but I still pass up enough that I routinely kick myself in the butt and resolve to take the next opportunity I get.

One particularly memorable missed opportunity occured within the last year. I had given myself a late Christmas present and splurged on a good seat to the concert Bobby McFerrin gave when he came to Sauder Hall at Goshen College. During the entire performance I sat enraptured by the sounds coming from this man's voice (and body!). Bobby has a vocal range of many octaves and has the ability to sing the melody of a song while simultaneously humming out a bassline and singing various harmonies. And the whole time I was sitting there thinking, man, I would love to be him and do this stuff for a living. And during the songs in which he called for audience participation, I remember thinking how fun it would be to just sit around and sing with this phenomenal musician. And then, as if God was speaking from the heavens (Bobby's talking voice is low), he invited someone down to stage to sing something - anything - with him (he is also an extremely skilled improviser). And instantaneously my soul was sprinting up to the stage. But my [bleepity-bleepin'] mind didn't let me. What if I couldn't think of anything to sing? What if I messed up a song if I did think of one. What if I myself tried to improvise but then utterly failed? And so I didn't go up. Three times (he extended the offer twice more). And though I did end up going when he invited a large group (to make up a choir), that day I was the maddest I have been at myself in a while. Screw inhibitions! I thought later. They only lead to sitting down and watching others have all the fun in life (and occasionally keep you from foolishly killing yourself)! And I resolved - as I always do - to not let another such opportunity pass itself up.


Really, though... I think life is much more rewarding when you don't let little nagging doubts prevent you from taking amazing opportunities. After watching the movie Yes Man I was struck by the message it seemed to be sending (though I didn't really care for the film itself). In it, Jim Carrey played a very boring man, challenged by a friend to literally say "yes" to everything, and his life was completely opened up to a world of possiblities because of his actions. There are always exceptions where it is still wise to exercise caution - as the movie pointed out in the end - but as a general policy it's good and life giving, seized opportunities begetting more opportunities and so on.

On these thoughts and more I reflected on my way to Springfield, then Denver... and it was while waiting to board my flight to Grand Junction that I heard those magical words, "Passengers on flight [number], we're sorry to announce that we've overbooked this flight..." If I didn't act this time then I might as well give up on myself now and save myself the trouble. My phone was already in my hand calling Lance as I popped up and headed for the counter. "Yes, I'm willing to take the bump. Let me just quick make this call." Lance only encouraged me and gave me his blessing. All right. No qualms about taking yet another vacation day. I surrendered my boarding pass right then and there. And now I'm sitting on my nice double bed ("I'm sorry sir, but I'm giving you a double. All the kings are booked."), looking over at my other nice double bed, digesting my free supper, and preparing to get my beauty sleep before my flight out tomorrow. And I have in my pocket a voucher that will fly me home (or, to one of them, at least) for Christmas. Cha-ching!

Small Town Community

My glorious and anything-but-restful vacation is soon coming to an end, and presently I find myself with a few hours of down time found within a nearly constant barrage of coffee dates, breakfast dates, hang-out times and all of that fun stuff. Part of the reason for this mayhem is that I am in Goshen (my place of residence for five years, up until 3 months ago) for a wedding that took place yesterday. And weddings draw friends that you haven't seen for a while (my conspiring still-single friends and I joked about making sure we married off all of our other mutual friends at regular intervals so that we could continue to find excuses to fly/drive long distances to see each other). So I've been doing lots of catching up with other out-of-towners, all former students and classmates.

BUT as it turns out, living in a small community for even as short a span as 5 years gives one a great many connections, and I've been startled to walk down the streets of Goshen and know about half the people I see (as well as where they live, who they're related to and so forth). The highlight reel from my few brief days in Goshen:

• Going to see the local bluegrass band - The Goldmine Pickers - I recognized two of four members as regular customers in the bakery where I once worked and said a few words to each. (One I used to see regularly on the mill race, walking his dog, as I skied by.) Another band member I recognized as the son of two other fun customers at the bakery/restaurant.
• At the farmers market yesterday I met up with one vendor friend and caught up. She gave me a tip on a good U-pick blueberry farm and then offered some free cucumbers. I then proceeded to another stall, said hi to another vendor, bought some delicious sungold tomatoes, found out that he and his wife grew the flowers for the wedding I was getting later for, and that one of their farm employees was the same guy who was a classmate of mine... and playing the prelude for the wedding on his classical guitar.
• While walking around town with one friend, we stopped by a house to see another friend. We walked in and through - without knocking - and found the friend outside, eating with his parents. The dad - a contractor and my employer last summer - said hi, and the mom - my former song leading professor - invited us to some apple crisp that she was just bringing out to the table.
• This morning I woke up in the basement of the house owned by two former housemates (happily married as of last spring). I proceeded to walk four houses down and eat breakfast with a good friend (now living in Virginia) who was in town for the wedding and staying with her sister and brother-in-law. At about 11:30 I got a call that the brunch organized by my old Sunday school class was under way. I said goodbye to my friend and walked directly across the street to the house of my former pastor (also the officiating minister at the wedding) where I ate a delicious brunch and caught up with many good church friends.

So many friends and acquaintances... I'm almost overwhelmed. And yet, it's comforting to know people and to be surrounded by a community of people that I trust and am familiar with. And perhaps part of why I am overwhelmed now is that I recently moved to a very rural place in this country. And it's been a good three years since I've really had to make friends (I'm kind of out of practice). So as a result, I often find myself feeling somewhat isolated from community out in Hotchkiss. And I miss Goshen. Yet, maybe it's okay (or arguably good) to leave such a community in search of who I am (and how I react to a world when on my own... or with two (now one) dear college roommates). And really, I am starting to make friends and connections where I am now, so perhaps I am finding out what I kind of already knew: there is community everywhere - you just have to find it and invest in it. The only tricky part, as brought up in a recent conversation among friends, is how to reconcile the contrasting urges to explore the world and find a community. But I will have to wrestle with that later since I just got a call telling me that yet another hangout session is about to begin...

This One Dude I Met (WARNING: extreme length advisory)

[At this point I would like to make a shout out to my good friend Reuben and his renowned Fair Street tales...]

Foreword: I am about to embark on an adventure that is a family camping trip in the Adirondacks of up-state New York. Though these trips are often wild and crazy and the expectation of coming back alive is never certain, I am not writing this post as a last-communication-with-the-world note. No, in fact the reason is somewhat of a story in itself, a story that goes like this:

Once upon a time I found myself on a greyhound bus going from Denver to Grand Junction. This happened (as all of my bus rides seem to) as a result of going somewhere (in this instance, Denver, to get a ride to a Nebraska wedding) without having a definite plan for getting back home. On the bus ride I happened to be sitting next to a very... unique man - one of his many interesting qualities being that he talked for practically the entire duration of the 5-hour trip. And when I say "he talked," please note the lack of indirect object. At times he talked to me (or to anyone else he could find), but even when he could find no one's gaze to meet with his own, he would continue his rambling speech, saying what I perceived to be whatever came first to his head.

At first I was amused. Then annoyed. Finally, as a survival instinct, perhaps, or maybe in following my make the best of the situation mentality, I became intrigued. I kept my crossword puzzle book in front of me, but turned my attention from the yet empty squares and stumping clues to the words pouring forth from this man's mouth, like popcorn from an overflowing kettle. My pen scratched furiously, now recording as many as possible of these disconnected thoughts in the margins of my crossword book. To the observant onlooker, my actions were by no means discreet, but I did not fear detection. I simply wrote, a scribe for his unwitting dictations.

How is this relevant to the necessity of me writing this now, you might ask? It so happens that presently I only own one book of crossword puzzles, the same that contains my hastily scribbled notes. And this book is accompanying me on our backpacking trip. And it will likely rain... and be wet. And I do not want to risk any situation other than this man (whose name I never learned) being immortalized forever in the pages [?] of my blog. And so, without further ado, please enjoy the musings of This One Dude I Met, as recreated from my personal notes.

[For purposes of continuity, or lack thereof, and accurate portrayal I will attempt to mimic in my writing his manner of speech, minimalizing my own thoughts and questions and relying mostly on things he said. I will make a few small notes when they help with context.]

Look a'that hill up there [very tiny, with condos at the bottom]. Wouldn't you like to take a snowboard down that hill. That fence would probably stop you, though. Or maybe the highway. I wonder if you could get enough air to make it to the highway. Wouldn't you like to have been in New York during 9/11? I hear there was a lotta gold under them towers. The took all the gold from Ft. Knox and put it down there in the basement. And all those firefighters who got to go around through the rubble afterwards. Man I woulda liked to be there. Think of all a that gold. Look at that train there. Once I was riding a freight train down in Louisiana, but it stopped right in the middle of a big swamp. The tracks up ahead were all blocked from the hurricane. The train just sat there, and I got all ate up by mosquitos. Man I hate mosquitos. They bit me all over, just swarms of 'em. They had to take me to the hospital afterwards. How did all that snow get up there [on the moutains]? Is it gonna melt and snowball down, in a big snowball the size of a house? And how did the injuns live up there, back in the day? Did they have to wear warm stuff - big parkas and all - to live in the snow? Man, wouldn't you like to throw something off the side of the grand canyon, like a big 'ol jug of wine or somethin'? Just kinda toss it over the edge? It would just fall and fall and POP! That would be a rush. When's the next smoke break? Is that a balloon up on that hill [referring to a large, oval-shaped mansion on top of a hill]? Or is it a house? It's not a UFO [matter-of-factly]. They can't hide in the forest. They're either in the skies or under the oceans. The reason they come to Earth in the first place is 'cuz out where they're from they don't have gravity. They got all sorts of crazy stuff on their ships - particle accelerators and what not. I read some books on all that stuff, quantum physics and Einstein's theory of relativity and all. That's how they generate their power. But they didn't know about gravity, so when they flew by Earth they just kinda got sucked in. And the reason the hafta stay under the oceans is to recharge their power. Look at that mountain there. Bet there's a lotta gold in it. All the real gold's deep in the mountain, not on top... there's still alot in there. But I wouldn't know. I'm no geologist. What's that? The radiator? If the radiator needs water we can all pee in it. Do you think it's possible for the boulder the size of a house to come down the mountain and land in the river? It'd make a big splash. I wouldn't like to be in the house, though! They got a choo choo train down there [in the valley]. Old one too. Did you see them goats? Must be homeless. They were dirty. I hear their horns are ivory. I'd cut 'em off with an axe, or a hatchet. Do you think you could take a bungee cord and jump off one-a them trees? Might hit your head on a rock, though. That wouldn't be any good. I think the bears must be hibernating now. I haven't seen any get hit on the road yet. Is that the driveshaft? ["No, it's the rumble strip."] Oh, I thought it was the motor. It's a long way to the nearest town. We might have to roast an antelope or something. If we need a fire, I know howta make a hand warmer. An old hippie told me on a freight train. You just gotta take a big can - like a coffee can - and put a toilet paper roll in it and fill it with kerosene. It just soaks it right up and it's a good little hand warmer. Even Rambo couldn't get through them woods. How many miles is that? I can't tell. Are those pine trees or douglas fir? Are there little Christmas trees too? Where are the pine cones? How big are the pine cones? I want one-a them big pine cones. You think I could find one in the city somewhere, like in the public library? I sure don't wanna go out in the woods lookin' for them. There might be poison ivy. I don't got medicine for that. Yeah, I'm riding out to LA now to get my ID. I'm from Indianapolis, but I need my ID to get food stamps. I didn't wanna be born in LA, but I didn't have any say in the matter. I wanted to be born in Indiana! Now I gotta go get my birth certificate so I can get food stamps. There's no jobs there, but I'm just a mooch anyway. I had to go there once before to get my birth certificate. Wouldn't'a worked either. I guess you gotta have some other sorta ID, social security or driver's license or something, but I don't have none'a that. The clerk there in LA told me I needed some other kind of ID, but I slipped him 2 fifties, and he said that'd be fine. I got lucky there. Can't those trucks just shift down to neutral or reverse or something? Do you hafta downshift? How many brakes does a semi got? If they all go out, they're really up a creek! Man, we can't stop to smoke for a minute? Makes a guy so angry. I almost wanna rip a fart in the aisle and light it, all the way up to the front! 'Course that's not possible. I don't understand them crazies - the ones that stock up on guns and then go and shoot everyone. Those are the people who lost all their money in the stocks - didn't wanna take it out. They shoulda put their money in the [as if letting me in on a secret] B-A-N-K. Look at the shocks on that car. I saw this one movie. It was a Wyann Brother's movie. In this one part an old lady was driving around in this car with them bouncin' shocks. These guys pull up in a Cadillac with the bouncing shocks too, and they've got gold chains with dollars signs and one's got a gold tooth. And they're like, "What up, Grandma?" And she flashes some gang sign [here he tries to make several gang signs with little success] and says, "What up, nigga?" I don't know what that means. I don't understand that rap stuff. But it was funny. There's some nice granite. I'd like a piece a' that but only 'bout this big [he indicates with his fist]. Don't wanna take it from the side of the mountain, though. It'd probably pull the whole thing down on me with my luck. Startin' to feel kinda sick. Back in the Navy, on the boats you could get sick pretty easy. We'd sleep on hammocks so as not to get sick. They would be real comfortable and you wouldn't get sick as long as you'd sleep on them and not a bed, but most people don't know that. All these problems we got with crime, it's because of the dope fiends. If I was a dope dealer, I'd slip some poison in - every poison you can think of - rat poison, cyanide. What's that one with the skull and crossbones? ... Anthrax! I'd put anthrax in, put in everything - bad case of poison ivy, crab lice... They smoke it and I'd give it away for free - kill all the dope fiends. That'd stop the crime problem. That's my outlook. It was the dope fiends that got my birth certificate, y'know? I had three... no four hundred dollars cash, rolled up in tin foil in the back of the fridge. But they didn't even touch that! They went right for my birth certificate, even though it was under my mattress. Now how did they know to look there? I figured no one would find it there. But they broke in and took my birth certificate. I hear they go for a hundred bucks on the street - probably used it to buy crack. The police said it was dope fiends that stole it, probably. But they didn't take my money. I even had another 300 dollars I hid away behind my bathroom mirror. I got that money from this one pond up at the mall. People gotta throw quarters on this platform thing to try to win a free TV or something, so there's all these quarters laying in the water there. So I come in there when no one's around with this pillowcase and a dust pan - like you sweep into, ya know? - and I filled up that pillowcase 4 times! I took all those quarters to the supermarket where they got one a' those coin machines that give you cash, I didn't wanna mess around with banks or nothin'. It came out to a thousand dollars! The guy told me they only had three hundred dollars cash but could write me a check or something. I just told 'em to keep the rest. I didn't wanna mess around with checks or names or anything. That's where that money came from. Can't be too safe, though. There's sneak theives too. They come in a steal stuff right out from under your nose. I'm on to them though. One time I come home and I notice that my toilet seat's up. But I never leave it up - the toilet's for poopin' in, not peeing. The sink's for peeing in. I always pee in the sink. The neighbor downstair always shouts up, "Hey! Is someone peein' in the sink up there?!" An' I say, "Nope!" but of course I really am. I don't know how those sneak theives get in, though. One time I figured it might be up the fire escape, so I went out and jumped on it 'til it falls off. The landlord was like, "Did you break that off?" but I told him, "no, I just stepped on it once and it musta been loose 'cuz it just fell right off." One time I made a test, right? to see if there was theives comin' and snooping around my place. I found an old safe - like you store valuables in - down in the alley. I couldn't carry it up the stairs it was so heavy, so I had to pull it up, with pulleys and all. I couldn't figure out the combination, but I set it right there in my living room with the dial set to zero. And sure enough, when I came back the next day the dial was moved and there was scratch marks - like from a knife - next to it, so I know there was sneak theives in my apartment. I just don't know how they get in. Hey, are you gonna eat the rest of your candy bar? Thanks. I haven't eaten since yesterday. When are we gonna get a smoke break anyway?...

And at some point, not even intrigue could compete with the fatigue of both my hand mind. I listened some as he carried on, my memory buffer completely full. And as I sat there I thought, wow, this is the kind of person you encounter in novels and wonder how the author creates such characters. It was then that I had the realization that such great characters are not fabricated; they are met... on park benches, at bars, on greyhound buses... And the aspiring author had the foresight to capture these people's essence in his/her mind's eye. And at this point in time, I resolved to purchase a digital recorder for future such occasions. And while I may never write novels or other such works of literature, I do enjoy writing creatively. So when my short story involving Frank, foe of the dope fiends arrives, you will all know my secret...

Afterword: I waivered on the fence for a bit on the subject of whether or not to post on this. On the one hand, this dude's story is a bit sad, and I felt a bit guilty for "taking notes" and making light of his situation. But then I reflected on his seeming contentedness with life, and decided that he would not mind. Rather, immortalizing him in this story was one small thing I could do for him, aside from giving him half of my candy bar...