Dear Blog Reader
I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. The heat is good for the garden unless you really need lettuce or arugula. The kale is going to burn up and forget about the spinach; nothing doing as the temperature creeps up above 85 degrees.
Yes, as promised last week, I am here to discuss the weather surrounding the July 4th weekend. I really hated giving homework. But I really needed you to remember the rained out July 4th weekend. As the list of blog topics piles up, some are given away to the outer recesses (what an oxymoron; outer recesses) of my brain; the 12 foot tall sunflower that broke off before blooming, the beauty of hanging clothes on the line, the beauty of central air, why are some bees so mean, or if we don't stop misbehaving we are going to have to stop buying tall flag poles. The world has been bumping from one crisis to another. Over the past month the flag has flown at full staff for only 4 days. The other 26 it has flown at half-staff under the direction of our governor. Other topics stick in the forefront of my brain and I can't shake them. They wait until the traffic jam of life and my brain clear out and I get around to doing it.
So you were tasked with homework last week. You were supposed to remember the miserable rainout we had for the July 4th weekend. I want to take a moment to marvel at the lesson in the failings of big government. I know there are many of you who think that the purpose of government is to solve our problems and make the lot of our lives better. Bless your heart. You keep on thinking that. And don't read the rest of this blog.
Yes, the 4th of July was predicted to by rainy. Not only the 4th but rain was predicted everyday of the big weekend. All of the big 4th of July firework displays were threatened. They were threatened early in the week. The five day forecast predicted 100% rain on each of the days of the weekend. We were given early warning that the festivities were in danger of being rained out. The only fit time to shoot off fireworks was going to be Friday evening, the night when no festivities were planned. We had just finished a big week. We were on the brink of a three day weekend. Collectively, we needed to gather ourselves for the big weekend. So Friday was out, there was no time to reschedule. Fire personnel, police, and public safety personnel of all stripes could not be mustered in time for the events to take place on Friday evening.
So we went into the weekend, wringing our hands with anxiety and the cold sweats of those who know the entitlement of a city with an indoor football stadium whose roof opens for those three days a year when it is sunny and 70 degrees at kickoff. Would we be able to see the fireworks this weekend? Would the parade and street fair occur Saturday? Maybe it could be postponed until Sunday afternoon or Monday. Our face paint shouldn't run. Life would continue its uninterrupted string of successful holidays and celebrations. But Henny Penny could look at the weather forecast and see that was not going to happen. There was an 80% chance of rain each of the days. Yes, it was going to rain and rain hard. Still Penny wrung her hands.
I started this train of thought saying that a wonderful lesson was taught to us. The teachers came in the most remarkable form. We usually don't look to those DIY pyrotechnic experts, those who keep an eye on the seasonal fireworks shops, those who proudly sign the "I promise to light my fireworks at the approved fireworks lots placed around the state." They sign this proudly and without compunction under penalty of perjury knowing that they have no intention of lighting their fire works any place other than their own back yard barbecue, on their deck, after consuming multiple adult beverages and shooting towards your house.
Usually, they are not the paragon of virtue and good judgement. Yet, this time they got it right. Adam Smith called it the "invisible hand". According to Wiki the invisible hand theory states "that individuals' efforts to pursue their own interest may frequently benefit society more than if their actions were directly intending to benefit society." Yes, the invisible hand if those perjury committing hill-jacks single handedly saved our Independence Day. You may consider them and their home fireworks of shells, Roman candles, and sparklers a nuisance. However faced with a weekend of certain rain these sons and daughters of freedom stepped up and pursuing their own interests benefited society by jumping the gun and firing off their works on Friday night.
I know what my law and order fans want to say. "But Roger, they put the public and themselves at risk. Also, I hope that you weren't being insensitively ironic about the whole "invisible hand" thing." I wasn't and the fact that you brought it up shows how cynical you are. Sure some of them lost a finger or many fingers. Yet in the end this small subset provide a precautionary tale for the rest of us. Make sure that you throw the explosive after ignition. If it doesn't detonate in the prescribed time, let it be. Go get another one of the six free ones you got when buying one. Even the guy, on YouTube who put a "magic fountain" in his pants and lit it, provided millions of hits and shares bringing the world closer together. It was actually quite impressive until something went askew, as it was bound too, and started shooting million degree sparks at his belly button.
What was the rest of the world doing besides criticizing the Liberty loving patriots? They had their spokes-people on the news looking all glum about the show that was postponed on Saturday night. It was repeated for Sunday night. Some governments cancelled. Others postponed theirs until September. The news used the same breathless sense of urgency that they use for 4 inch snow storms. I was a little worried I wouldn't be able to have my traditional French toast 4th of July breakfast because all of the milk, bread, and eggs had been bought off the shelf in the panic.
So there you have it. On the one hand, government stood on the sidelines fretting about the rain and what to do and creating quite a stir in the mean time. On the other hand, the invisible hand, people went out and did what needed to be done. Sure, the rest of us had to show a little more forbearance and understanding for people who can sometimes be obnoxious in their exuberance. But in the end, they had a celebration the government couldn't get off the ground.
Take care.
Roger
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Fading Daybreak
Dear Blog Reader
I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. I mentioned last week that I had a lot to write about. It was the time to write it that is the problem. I have two good blogs and time to write one. So I need you to remember the weather July 4th weekend. There are some observations about a rained out 4th of July. They can keep for a week or so.
Big news alert; my daughter Grace and I will be riding across Indiana in the RAIN ride. It is 160 miles from Terre Haute to Richmond on SR 40 with a detour around Indianapolis. It will be my second time and Grace's first time. It is exciting and a bit nerve wracking at the same time.
Speaking of riding my bike for special events, I am coming to the end of a special annual set of rides. I ride early in the morning for training during the week. When I started riding, I would ride in the evening. Get started by 6:30 or 7:00, and except for the small time from November to March, I would be riding in the light. Of course, they say you should never vigorously exercise immediately prior to going to bed. There were a few nights at the beginning when my endorphin charged blood stream would not let me go to sleep. My body adjusted however and I was sleeping fine. This schedule allowed me the opportunity to get up in the morning and veg out for an hour or so. For some reason, I love to get up at 5 and sit, read through the news and Facebook, browse a couple of sites where I get other news and generally contemplate life.
The only drawback to this plan was that I lost that hour of lovely Miss Beverly time in the evening. Compromise is the spice of life. So, I changed up the routine. I started biking in the morning. In order to ride for an hour and make my hour commute, I need to leave the house at 5:00 a.m. I found pretty quickly that I still needed some time to engage the brain before my butt hit the bike seat. So I get up at 4:19, spend 26 minutes doing the mini cross word, checking the weather,reading the news. At 4:45, I get in my bike gear and am out the door by 5:00 or so.
Speaking of lost hours, the hour that I routinely give those who have enough power to take with Daylight Savings Time means that these morning routines never see the light of day. Well almost never. For 3 and a half weeks, centering around the Summer Solstice, I get to ride in first light and I get to see day break for about one week. First light is that lightening time. You can't see the sun over the horizon. However, it provides enough for shadowing to be able to turn off the headlights.
I do not get this benefit for the entire ride even on the longest day of the year. Even on June 21st, the first half of the ride is made in the dark. I am using every light I have sweeping the fields and side-ditches for assassin deer or skunks out for their morning constitutional. I am also on the look out for any road kill that might be littering the road. It is never pleasant to try to rekill the already dead and somewhat squishy on a bike going 16 miles per hour. You kinda have to brace and hope for the best. A certain amount of mouth breathing helps also.
So 40 minutes in the dark and eventually 20 minutes in the light gives me the perfect ride for three and a half weeks every late June and early July. It is perfect because 6 months ago I found a different ride. I used to do two laps through the countryside and finally got bored. So I went East and went through the small town on Pendleton. Pendleton has a great downtown consisting of mainly restaurants, antique stores, and a donut shop. They also have a neon sign maker. Many of the shops have his handy work and like to leave it on all night long. So riding through down the street under the mercury lamps and the bright neon signs brings joy to my soul in the predawn hours. Plus I get the added benefit of riding past people's houses wondering if they are having a good nights rest.
That joy is doubled during these 3 and a half weeks, the first half through downtown Pendleton, the second half 20 minutes later turning down 750 W. and heading north the first light slowly fading the lighting ability of my headlamp. Last week, I found myself delaying may departure by a couple of minutes a day. I have just been trying to hold onto to the perfection for a few days longer. This week I am sure that I will make the choice to stay gainfully employed and avoid speeding tickets to make up the lost time. I will leave the house on time. I will accept the single joy of the lights of Pendleton. I will ride in the dark for the next 11 months.
I know that this dark riding is the fault of the "powers that be." Who knows who those powers are? It could be big golf. It could be big evening barbecue, I suspect that big keep you up until the 11:00 p.m. news is part of the cabal. I used to be angry at all of you. But that changed this time through the joy of these few weeks.
My journey to releasing this anger is a stretch. But riding my bike thinking things often stretches me physically and mentally. Every time that I thought about the time that is taken by those in power, I would flash back to a passage written by C.S. Lewis in Mere Christianity. He was answering the question is "psychoanalysis okay within the Christian tradition."
To paraphrase; he stated that the idea of mental illness is one of the reasons that Christ admonished us not to judge others. Those with mental illness combated forces that were ingrained and brought upon themselves with little fault of their own. He went onto say that it is impossible to determine the blame for another. Maybe the alcoholic that was able to forestall a drink for a couple of days or who swore to stay sober for the 10th time to fail two weeks later was showing more of Christ's grace and sustaining power than a teetotaler who never drank a beer in his whole life, simply because he never liked the smell of alcohol.
Somehow on those rides, I came to feel the same way about the stealers of light. You are doing the best that you can. I wish you well with your 9:00 p.m. sunsets, and am thankful for the 25 days of watching this sliver of joy rise in the East, having it erase the beam of my headlamp, and letting me see the deep greens of deep summer in the quiet of a warming morning.
Take care.
Roger
I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. I mentioned last week that I had a lot to write about. It was the time to write it that is the problem. I have two good blogs and time to write one. So I need you to remember the weather July 4th weekend. There are some observations about a rained out 4th of July. They can keep for a week or so.
Big news alert; my daughter Grace and I will be riding across Indiana in the RAIN ride. It is 160 miles from Terre Haute to Richmond on SR 40 with a detour around Indianapolis. It will be my second time and Grace's first time. It is exciting and a bit nerve wracking at the same time.
Speaking of riding my bike for special events, I am coming to the end of a special annual set of rides. I ride early in the morning for training during the week. When I started riding, I would ride in the evening. Get started by 6:30 or 7:00, and except for the small time from November to March, I would be riding in the light. Of course, they say you should never vigorously exercise immediately prior to going to bed. There were a few nights at the beginning when my endorphin charged blood stream would not let me go to sleep. My body adjusted however and I was sleeping fine. This schedule allowed me the opportunity to get up in the morning and veg out for an hour or so. For some reason, I love to get up at 5 and sit, read through the news and Facebook, browse a couple of sites where I get other news and generally contemplate life.
The only drawback to this plan was that I lost that hour of lovely Miss Beverly time in the evening. Compromise is the spice of life. So, I changed up the routine. I started biking in the morning. In order to ride for an hour and make my hour commute, I need to leave the house at 5:00 a.m. I found pretty quickly that I still needed some time to engage the brain before my butt hit the bike seat. So I get up at 4:19, spend 26 minutes doing the mini cross word, checking the weather,reading the news. At 4:45, I get in my bike gear and am out the door by 5:00 or so.
Speaking of lost hours, the hour that I routinely give those who have enough power to take with Daylight Savings Time means that these morning routines never see the light of day. Well almost never. For 3 and a half weeks, centering around the Summer Solstice, I get to ride in first light and I get to see day break for about one week. First light is that lightening time. You can't see the sun over the horizon. However, it provides enough for shadowing to be able to turn off the headlights.
I do not get this benefit for the entire ride even on the longest day of the year. Even on June 21st, the first half of the ride is made in the dark. I am using every light I have sweeping the fields and side-ditches for assassin deer or skunks out for their morning constitutional. I am also on the look out for any road kill that might be littering the road. It is never pleasant to try to rekill the already dead and somewhat squishy on a bike going 16 miles per hour. You kinda have to brace and hope for the best. A certain amount of mouth breathing helps also.
So 40 minutes in the dark and eventually 20 minutes in the light gives me the perfect ride for three and a half weeks every late June and early July. It is perfect because 6 months ago I found a different ride. I used to do two laps through the countryside and finally got bored. So I went East and went through the small town on Pendleton. Pendleton has a great downtown consisting of mainly restaurants, antique stores, and a donut shop. They also have a neon sign maker. Many of the shops have his handy work and like to leave it on all night long. So riding through down the street under the mercury lamps and the bright neon signs brings joy to my soul in the predawn hours. Plus I get the added benefit of riding past people's houses wondering if they are having a good nights rest.
That joy is doubled during these 3 and a half weeks, the first half through downtown Pendleton, the second half 20 minutes later turning down 750 W. and heading north the first light slowly fading the lighting ability of my headlamp. Last week, I found myself delaying may departure by a couple of minutes a day. I have just been trying to hold onto to the perfection for a few days longer. This week I am sure that I will make the choice to stay gainfully employed and avoid speeding tickets to make up the lost time. I will leave the house on time. I will accept the single joy of the lights of Pendleton. I will ride in the dark for the next 11 months.
I know that this dark riding is the fault of the "powers that be." Who knows who those powers are? It could be big golf. It could be big evening barbecue, I suspect that big keep you up until the 11:00 p.m. news is part of the cabal. I used to be angry at all of you. But that changed this time through the joy of these few weeks.
My journey to releasing this anger is a stretch. But riding my bike thinking things often stretches me physically and mentally. Every time that I thought about the time that is taken by those in power, I would flash back to a passage written by C.S. Lewis in Mere Christianity. He was answering the question is "psychoanalysis okay within the Christian tradition."
To paraphrase; he stated that the idea of mental illness is one of the reasons that Christ admonished us not to judge others. Those with mental illness combated forces that were ingrained and brought upon themselves with little fault of their own. He went onto say that it is impossible to determine the blame for another. Maybe the alcoholic that was able to forestall a drink for a couple of days or who swore to stay sober for the 10th time to fail two weeks later was showing more of Christ's grace and sustaining power than a teetotaler who never drank a beer in his whole life, simply because he never liked the smell of alcohol.
Somehow on those rides, I came to feel the same way about the stealers of light. You are doing the best that you can. I wish you well with your 9:00 p.m. sunsets, and am thankful for the 25 days of watching this sliver of joy rise in the East, having it erase the beam of my headlamp, and letting me see the deep greens of deep summer in the quiet of a warming morning.
Take care.
Roger
Sunday, July 3, 2016
The magic of broken strings
Dear Blog Reader
I hope this finds you doing well. I am fine. Hope that you were not too concerned with the lack of posts. Yes, I know that the blog recently passed a milestone. It is a milestone that I had hoped I would not have to pass on this journey of the "you said what; Roger?" Blog. June 2016 was the first month that I have gone without blogging since "Girls gone Wild"; a blog about Grace a newly minted college freshman spreading her independent wings ironically by jumping out of a perfectly good plane, in September 2010.
On the one hand not a bad string; almost six years opening my brain and watching what pours out onto a screen to by released into the world. On the other hand a string broken is a broken string. You pull on one end and the other end does not, cannot move. Also, this broken string reminds me that all of the strings will be broken sooner or later.
Strings are important to me. The most precious string in my 54 years (except my 54 years and 31 years of wedded bliss to the lovely Miss Beverly and the string of one successful jump from a perfectly good airplane for Grace) was Pete Rose's 44 game hitting streak in 1978. I vividly remember in late July of 1978 going to River Front Stadium with the family for Farmer's Night and watching Pete Rose (may he never get to the Hall of Fame), get a bunt single to extend his string on the way to 44 consecutive game hitting streak. The 16 year old Roger went crazy. Sure it wasn't a real hit. It was a bunt for goodness sakes. He wasn't using skill, hand speed, or eye hand coordination. He was using cunning and sneakiness to extend the streak. But I was delirious with joy that the string was extended one more day. A string that was cut 12 games short of the record by Joe DiMaggio. Joe's string was a string that was cut at 56 games far short of going on forever, which is how long any 16 year old fanboy thinks a string should last.
The Sharritt household is atwitter with the causes and excuses for the blogging string breakage. There has been the adoption of multiple new hobbies. I am like a high school Jr. trying to get into Harvard by trying to pad my resume. Two hives provide bees that are buzzing in the expanded garden. It is not just any garden. It is an Amish child garden. An Amish child garden, for those unfamiliar with the blog, is a garden tended by Amish children who have no access to TV, or video games, and still have a tendency to get under their mother's feet. Mom gets frustrated and tells the kids to get out to the garden and hoe a row; viola a pristine weed free garden. In addition to those two full time past times, I plan on riding 5000 miles on a bike this year. Plus, my woodworking skills had rusted from years of non-use and I have decided to revive those. No wonder my blogging string was frayed.
If that weren't enough, as you know if you have read the blog, the lovely Miss Beverly and I have taken in two children with Safe Families. The placement at 10 months has continued longer than expected. I think that it is not coincidental the blog writing string started when Grace's departure created an empty nest allowing space for the blog and the girl's stay refilling the space crowding blog writing to the edges. I personally think that it is the empty nest connection but as I wrote the Sharritt household is hotly debating the causes and effects of the situation.
I am sure of one thing though. The lack of blogging does not come from a lack of topics to blog about. This month you almost heard about the assassin deer being caught at the scene of a raccoon's death on CR 750 at 5 a.m.; the sliver of time granted to me each year when the sun almost rises at the end of my early morning bike rides; and the books that I read for self help and the strange places that I find good advice. It would have been a good month.
No crying over spilt milk. They did not get written. They can still be written about. That is the thing about broken strings. They can't be put back together again. They can't be made into a whole string. You are certainly left with four ends and not two. I suppose all that is true unless you are a magician and can magically repair the strings that you so ostensibly cut in two in front of your bewildered audience. If I were a magician, the string would not be broken. But as you can see there are no tricks up my sleeve. Until next time.
Take care.
Roger,
I hope this finds you doing well. I am fine. Hope that you were not too concerned with the lack of posts. Yes, I know that the blog recently passed a milestone. It is a milestone that I had hoped I would not have to pass on this journey of the "you said what; Roger?" Blog. June 2016 was the first month that I have gone without blogging since "Girls gone Wild"; a blog about Grace a newly minted college freshman spreading her independent wings ironically by jumping out of a perfectly good plane, in September 2010.
On the one hand not a bad string; almost six years opening my brain and watching what pours out onto a screen to by released into the world. On the other hand a string broken is a broken string. You pull on one end and the other end does not, cannot move. Also, this broken string reminds me that all of the strings will be broken sooner or later.
Strings are important to me. The most precious string in my 54 years (except my 54 years and 31 years of wedded bliss to the lovely Miss Beverly and the string of one successful jump from a perfectly good airplane for Grace) was Pete Rose's 44 game hitting streak in 1978. I vividly remember in late July of 1978 going to River Front Stadium with the family for Farmer's Night and watching Pete Rose (may he never get to the Hall of Fame), get a bunt single to extend his string on the way to 44 consecutive game hitting streak. The 16 year old Roger went crazy. Sure it wasn't a real hit. It was a bunt for goodness sakes. He wasn't using skill, hand speed, or eye hand coordination. He was using cunning and sneakiness to extend the streak. But I was delirious with joy that the string was extended one more day. A string that was cut 12 games short of the record by Joe DiMaggio. Joe's string was a string that was cut at 56 games far short of going on forever, which is how long any 16 year old fanboy thinks a string should last.
The Sharritt household is atwitter with the causes and excuses for the blogging string breakage. There has been the adoption of multiple new hobbies. I am like a high school Jr. trying to get into Harvard by trying to pad my resume. Two hives provide bees that are buzzing in the expanded garden. It is not just any garden. It is an Amish child garden. An Amish child garden, for those unfamiliar with the blog, is a garden tended by Amish children who have no access to TV, or video games, and still have a tendency to get under their mother's feet. Mom gets frustrated and tells the kids to get out to the garden and hoe a row; viola a pristine weed free garden. In addition to those two full time past times, I plan on riding 5000 miles on a bike this year. Plus, my woodworking skills had rusted from years of non-use and I have decided to revive those. No wonder my blogging string was frayed.
If that weren't enough, as you know if you have read the blog, the lovely Miss Beverly and I have taken in two children with Safe Families. The placement at 10 months has continued longer than expected. I think that it is not coincidental the blog writing string started when Grace's departure created an empty nest allowing space for the blog and the girl's stay refilling the space crowding blog writing to the edges. I personally think that it is the empty nest connection but as I wrote the Sharritt household is hotly debating the causes and effects of the situation.
I am sure of one thing though. The lack of blogging does not come from a lack of topics to blog about. This month you almost heard about the assassin deer being caught at the scene of a raccoon's death on CR 750 at 5 a.m.; the sliver of time granted to me each year when the sun almost rises at the end of my early morning bike rides; and the books that I read for self help and the strange places that I find good advice. It would have been a good month.
No crying over spilt milk. They did not get written. They can still be written about. That is the thing about broken strings. They can't be put back together again. They can't be made into a whole string. You are certainly left with four ends and not two. I suppose all that is true unless you are a magician and can magically repair the strings that you so ostensibly cut in two in front of your bewildered audience. If I were a magician, the string would not be broken. But as you can see there are no tricks up my sleeve. Until next time.
Take care.
Roger,
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