Full Circle

"Could you take this to your Dad on your way over there?" my father-in-law asked.  "Sure, what is it?" I replied.  "A baguette pan."  With that, a seemingly benign conversation set into motion what I consider a remarkable turn of events.  Events that have caused me to do a lot of thinking.

My dad seemed pleasantly surprised by his unexpected gift.  While most would consider a baguette pan to be a "white elephant", chucking it aside atop a mountain of useless kitchen items, not my dad.  Scoffing at bread machines and sending gluten-free freaks scurrying, dad is always baking up and perfecting some new and tasty breads.  As if he needed a reason and anxious to test out his new toy, he set to work.  Bread-making is a labor of love that requires artisan-like craftsmanship and time.  But on this visit, the family was in tow and the kids were growing restless and punchy.  As far as they were concerned, we had overstayed our welcome and it was time to go.  Time had run out.  "We better get going," I said.  "But the bread will be ready in ten minutes," my mom said "C'mon, I'll throw it in a bag for you."  Despite all of the screaming and chaos I capitulated, "Okay."

With hot French bread in hand and family loaded up, it was time to head across town to the other grandparents' house.  Tired of highway driving, we opted for the Salem Avenue scenic and slightly downtrodden route.  The old Tasty Bird Poultry Company (now out of business), Pinky's Fried Chicken (formerly a Lou's Broaster Hut and a Rally's, now all out of business), an old Red Lobster (now a fully functional funeral home), and a beggar on the I-75 on-ramp.  "Don't stop, Go!"  my wife urged as we approached the yellow light.  Too late, I had to stop.

It'll be okay I thought to myself.  This guy looked pretty bedraggled; too pathetic to try any funny business.  Just don't make eye contact I again reasoned, then he may want something.  His sign simply read "Hungry+Homeless."  "Should we give him something?" my wife asked.  No way was I giving this guy beer money (it's a shame that we have to think this way), but his sign said nothing about money.  "Give him a loaf of bread" she said.  Pausing for a moment I grabbed one of the loaves, shoved it in a bag, and thrust it out my now open window.  "Dude, my dad just made this, it's still hot," I said handing it to him.  Without missing a beat, he grabs it and stuffs it inside his jacket.  "Merry Christmas" he said stoically.  For the first time I make eye contact with him; he seriously looked as if he would cry.

I felt somewhat skeptical about the guy's situation, but I also felt pretty good about what just transpired.  Our intentions were good and it really made me reflect on the day's events.  What if I forget to bring the baguette pan?  What if I decide not to wait for the bread to be ready?  What if that guy really was hungry and doesn't get the bread?  Our decisions, intentional or otherwise, insignificant or colossal, affect our daily lives, those of others, and our future. It's pretty amazing when you think about it.  So many days and people pass right by and no thought is given to how we impact their destiny, most of the time without even knowing it.

I wonder what became of that loaf of bread.  I wonder what became of that dude?

Greatest Gifts

Tis always the season for something and many people use this time of the year to reflect.  Why not reflect on some of the greatest gifts given or received?

Rather than focusing on the former and staying away from intangibles and fluffy thoughts (such as the obvious and far too overused "it's better to give than to receive" and "this season, give the gift that keeps on giving, give the gift of life"), I present this; aren't some of the best gifts the ones that you never knew you wanted?  Okay, I'll admit, that Sega Genesis of '91 kicked ass, and the Hungry Hungry Hippos of '83 made for hours of entertainment (to this day, Pinkie is still the best).  But despite me keeping my Sega through college (and making good use of it too), neither stood the test of time.  Breaking or otherwise falling by the wayside of life, only to be left in a scrap heap and a memory.

So what am I talking about?  Nothing more than slippers and a bottle to name a few. Several Christmases ago I received some slippers from my mom.  I had gone thirty years without and didn't feel the need to change now.  That is, until now.  Now there's not a wintry day that I can go without.  So much so, that when I wore through that original pair, I went out the same day and bought another. The other happened to be a Nalgene bottle that I received from my wife.  I drink a lot of water and was tired of spending two bucks a pop on throw away plastic bottles.  For the eight dollars that one bottle cost, I have gotten six liters of water a day for the past year.  I won't go anywhere without that bottle and won't drink out of anything else. 

While these gifts fall short of Castle Greyskull or a chemistry set for "wow" potential, they more than make up for it in practicality and usage.  It's unexpected treasures like these that sometimes make a Christmas season.

Ich bin kaput/Winter mode

I'm doing something that I haven't done here before: filling this post with my own self pity and doubling up on the topics.

I just haven't been myself lately. Sick for three out of the last four weeks, plenty of motivation but no impetus, and my knee is wrecked. Though I cannot cite when it happened, I can tell you that it has only gotten worse. Two doctors and four diagnoses later, and I can barely walk. This sucks. Thankfully, it is winter time, and the mileage and bike riding have slacked off (though I am not usually accustomed to this much slacking). Winter represents a hibernation for most cyclists.  A time to build endurance with long, slow paced rides and a time to recover. Having been prescribed six weeks of physical therapy, I should have plenty of time for that. 

Facing a mandatory reprieve from cycling, I decided to join up once more with the Charleston Winter Bike League.  Like a dog let loose before being neutered, I wanted one more fling with the bike.  At first I wasn't crazy with the idea of this ride, but after going a few weeks ago, I was sold.  This is a great ride concept with great people and even features some off-road sections that got me feeling like Paris-Roubaix.  The rest of the ride was nostalgic, even down to the pee breaks taken alongside an old logging road.  It was like a scene from one of those old Tour de France posters where all of the riders stop for a smoke and a beer.  Too bad my bones were sawing away again at the tendons in my knee.  What a shame that it will be missing out on these rides.  

I'm doing something that I haven't done here before: hanging up the bike for six weeks.

Guernica

Guernica

Pablo Picasso

ca. 1937

Dollars Dehumanize

Something caught my eye during a recent trip.  On the horizon, huge steel and glass obelisks; a city skyline.  A few, made totally of glass, caught my attention for another reason; people.  Forty stories in the air, window-washers danced on the slanted mirrored surface of this monolith. Enamored, I stared and thought, "what an exciting job!?...like a thrill ride. I'm sure these people are well compensated for their skills and risks." Nope.

According to most internet sources, window washers pull down a hefty $20,000 a year (equaling the poverty level for a family of three). Considering that these jobs predominantly exist in major metropolitan areas, I can only assume that this salary wouldn't pay for rent in the same building.  No scaffolding and for no reason.  Does someone really need to risk their life for clean windows?  Apparently the tenants of this building thought so.

I suppose that in this economy (or any economy for that matter), if there is a demand for a service, there will be a supply; such is the power of the dollar.  A corporation will stoop just low enough to allow others to eek out an existence (and gladly do so at that) for the dollar at the end of the stick. It's the capitalistic caste system at work and it is evident right here in my own town in the form of human signs.  Have you seen these?  People paid to stand on busy street corners holding signs, usually touting "Going out of business" or "Total liquidation, everything must go" on them.  Perhaps these places would still be in business if they weren't paying people to hold signs; last time I checked, it didn't cost anything to drive a stake into the ground.

Why are people risking their lives for clean windows?  They have to.  What is it that drives a wedge between dignity and humanity?  The dollar.