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adventures / Auburn / photo / Thursday — Comments Off
7
Mar 13

Swimming and diving

At the intramural swim meet, it was the Auburn Master’s, of which The Yankee is a part of, versus all the various fraternities, sororities and any other group that heard there was pool time available.

The Yankee took part in the diving competition and swam in three events. She was a diver in college, so maybe she’s a ringer. She won on the one-meter board:

Not everyone’s dive was as nice or innovative as hers. I have a great unfortunate dive to share later in the week. Here’s the tease: I said to the judges “Give that guy extra credit for volume! You heard the smack! He earned those points!”

She also swam in three races, the 50-free, the 100-free and the 4×200 relay.

She placed fourth in the first two races. She cleaned up in the relay, though, swimming the best time on her team and, perhaps, the entire pool. If she could apply that 50 as an individual race she would have qualified for nationals. Not bad considering she’s been on the swim team for less than a year. She’s pretty fast.

Also, she made faces at me:

We had dinner with friends at a Mexican restaurant, where the chips flowed with abandon. At home we caught up on a bit of television. It was pretty much the best kind of night.

adventures / Auburn / baseball / photo / weekend — Comments Off
16
Feb 13

A sporty day

I’m standing on the parking deck, trying to simultaneously suck in the sun and hide in the stairs. That defeated the wind, but put me back in the shade. And it was cold. Windy and cold. Gloves, hat and scarf cold.

And so we sat, sniffly, watching Auburn take easy, steady control over Maine, who were the most comfortable people in the weather. The locals were coming and going, and it all had to do with the sun, which was behind a giant cloud for far too long.

A lady asked me if I had a child on either team. Her husband struck up a conversation, not realizing that when he asked me about the War Eagles thing he’d get an inning long conversation and a chamber of commerce speech. He was from California, by way of Georgia.

Turns out they were part of a family there to watch their son/nephew/cousin who was hoping to get into his first collegiate game. And then, after chatting with them for most of the game, the stadium announcer called his name.

Rock Rucker was brought in to pinch hit in the eighth inning. He fell behind 0-2 and then had the patience to wait for the pitcher to work his way into a full count and took a walk. So now his family, the folks of this first round caliber talent were very excited to see their guy standing on first base.

The next batter quickly doubled down the left field line. By the time the ball was getting out to the wall, 315 feet from the plate, Rucker was already touching second. He never slowed down and so we all celebrated his first score together:

It can be easy to lose the proper perspective of collegiate sports, I think, until you meet the players’ families. They appreciate the game at a different, better, level.

This was the first game of a doubleheader, which Auburn won 12-3. I walked two blocks away to the aquatics center where The Yankee was in the Short-Course Yards Invitational

Here she is, in the orange Auburn cap, leaving the blocks in her first race:

Mind you, she started out saying “I don’t know if I should sign up for any events.”

And I would say Go ahead, do one, have a good time, meet more people.

Then she came home one day and said “I signed up for three races.”

Today was her first race:

She had a good swim today, finishing second in the 200 freestyle.

Today she said “I might race as part of a relay, too.” So we’ll be back at the pool tomorrow afternoon.

After spending the rest of the evening at a very cold second baseball game. The sun had gone down by then, but Auburn won 4-3.

Then Chinese takeout, and resting up for tomorrow’s swim.

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22
Jan 13

Dropping off, if only

I am going to stop following my lovely bride as she moves her bicycle about town. She wants to do challenging things like “Hills.”

So we did an hour of that this afternoon. Take two of the biggest hills in town — “Big” being relative, of course, we live at the place where geographers would say the upland begins to give way to the coastal plain. So the hills are small, but we are in the sweet spot: be on the beach in a few hours, be far enough away from the water to be safe … from the water — and ride them. Get to the top, turn around and drift down. Turn around and ride up them.

Did this for an hour, uttering things in different languages that I didn’t realize I could say. Several more weeks of this and I might be able to do something better than just drag myself over a hill.

Drag is a great word for riding a bicycle. Sometimes the bike drags you along. Sometimes you’re doing everything you can to get from here to there, or emptying your mind so that nothing in it prohibits you from getting from here to there. Drag is a great word. But it wasn’t the proper word to describe my third trip up the second hill. It really needs a full phrase rather than a simple word.

“Avoiding falling over from the combined effects of gravity, friction and inertial mass” would have been more appropriate.

But a lovely, sunny, slightly coolish day to ride for an hour. Sadly the total elevation gained was nothing to brag about, and I’ve already spent four paragraphs on this.

Did work. I wrote things. Emailed people, solved problems, caused other ones. I fleshed out lesson plans, assignments and a few readings. I have some more of those to do.

I did research. I held the cat.

I wrote a letter of recommendation. I like these; the students that ask for them manage to be great students and I’m happy to say “He is a young man of fine character” or “I give her my full recommendation.” Great students deserve the kudos.

Also wrote a letter, an honest to goodness piece of correspondence. I typed it, because I like the recipient and I wouldn’t wish my handwriting upon her. She is an elderly lady that my mother semi-adopted, one of those sweet grandmotherly types you’d like to hug up and squeeze and she wouldn’t complain about the pressure because, you know, hugs. Figured I’d send her a little note, realized I don’t have much to say — but you knew that already, right? — made a resolution to do interesting things and then just summed up January. Play with the font and size for longer than necessary — as is my right — printed it and folded it up in an envelope.

Now, stamps. They still make those, right? He said in that coy way that suggests his habits and patterns have yielded to an ignorance which surpasses the need for understanding an ancient device thereby rendering it culturally irrelevant. There are stamps around here somewhere. At least you don’t have to lick them anymore, and for that I say the USPS should get whatever subsidy they want. The downside is that you can’t buy stamps at many post offices anymore, we get ours at the grocery store of all places, so I say we take away every subsidy the USPS has ever been granted.

I think I’ve just taken a step toward solving the nation’s financial problems.

I dropped off a prescription in the drop off line at the pharmacy. They have two lanes for cars. “Full service” and “Drop off only.” There was one car in the drop off lane and three on the full service side. No brainer. Four cars passed through the full service line while I waited for the one to finish in the drop off only lane.

But there was a nice lady on the other end of the magical speaker when I finally made it there. Put your date of birth and phone number on the script. Drop it in the magical drug provider tube, press send. (Note to self, the pharmacy tube system does not have the plastic container like banks use. Also, they do not hand out suckers.) The pleasant voice said she had the doctor’s note.

Would you like to wait?

No.

Would you like me to text you at this number when your prescription is filled?

Yes, that would be great.

OK, will do and thanks.

Ninety minutes later my phone buzzed. Someone in a pharmacy 1.5 miles away had counted out pills and put them in a plastic bottle and placed that in a paper bag and stapled on a little page of information and directions and it was all ready for me to pick up any time. And I haven’t seen anyone.

What a world we live in.

Visited the grocery store for potato salad purposes. We made ribs tonight, had a guest and I had to pick up a side item. I wandered around looking at cans of things, bags of things and boxes of things.

For no reason other than that I was standing there, here is a picture of the tea section:

On the top left there is a Candy Cane Lane tea, which sounds far better than the green tea it actually is. There’s Black Cherry Berry and Country Peach Passion (The neighbors WILL talk about that one.) There are samplers and the regional and national brands. They show off the tea, delicious and mouth-watering in those carefully focus grouped and air brushed photos of tea pitchers.

Some of those generics are steeping in pots, so you can’t see their shame.

I love tea. We have a cabinet full of the stuff. We just accumulate it somehow. Really, the store should visit us to keep their tea aisle stocked. I even used it once in a science experiment in high school, dropping an egg from great height. Tea leaves, if you didn’t know, are a great insulator. Arthur C. Clarke taught me that in Ghost from the Grand Banks, a story which should have culminated in 2012. (We’re now out-pacing near-future science fiction, think about that.) My egg survived the drop, by the way. Seems tea leaves can do other things, too. Tea leaves, they are multipurpose.

Anyway. Potato salad, babyback ribs for dinner, company for the evening, seconds because of the hills. Had a great time just sitting around the dining room table telling stories. Lovely way to end a day. Helped rest the legs, too.

There’s a new picture on the Tumblr today, and more on Twitter. Do check them out, if you like. Now, to go read.

adventures / cycling / Friday / iPhone — 2 Comments
18
Jan 13

“I want to ride it where I like”

Barbecue House for breakfast, where they know our names and pretty much have the orders committed to memory, too. So naturally there were new people working there this morning. Now they have to be taught about “The Usual.”

That is about as bad as it gets: This young lady does not know what I want for breakfast. And she will make me say my name out loud before caffeine. Also, she will spell it wrong on the order.

It is a tough life, you know.

Love Barbecue House. Professors, students, athletes, old people, folks passing through and people who built the city, all under one roof. One of the former football coaches was in this morning and told Mr. Price, who owns the place, that he’d see him at church on Sunday. We learned later today that that coach just got a new job at another school, and so we won’t see him or his family any more, which is a shame.

There is always some news at Price’s Barbecue House.

Took a ride this afternoon, a slightly challenging 20 mile route, my best ride as I build back up. I passed this pond:

Lovely day for a ride, no?

I went out 10 miles, found a school and tried to turn around there. This was about the time that the school was dismissing for the day, and so every high school student with a car was lining up to begin their weekend. One guy serenaded me with a bit of Bicycle Race. A 21st century high schooler knowing a mildly successful 34-year-old Queen song seems an odd thing. I credit your parents, kid, and also the Internet.

High schoolers with cars and trucks while acting like high schools versus one guy on a 17-pound bike seemed a losing deal, so I waited them out. There wasn’t a cloud in the deep, dark blue sky. Just a beautiful afternoon.

It was a good ride, too, except for the two hills on that particular route which always get the better of me.

Right around that halfway point I also saw this old shack:

I love places like this. I used to climb around them. I still might, but not this one in particular. Looks like a good cross wind would topple it. So I just glanced in through the openings. Hard to tell what used to go on here, but someone spent a lot of time inside. Maybe raised a little family, and probably the cattle in the pasture across the road.

Once upon a time this house was the only thing around for a few miles. The person who built that place probably liked it that way. Probably buried in a cramped city cemetery today, but we’ll never know for sure. Whatever history is in there is probably just left to the family, and that always has a peculiar way of becoming opaque.

Dinner tonight was at Laredo’s, one of the better Mexican restaurant in town. (Try the enchiladas.) It is a big place, and busy, so I don’t have any cute little anecdotes about town. They turn the place over in a hurry, though. We had to park in an overflow lot and there must have been 30 people waiting to be seated, but we got a table within 10 minutes or so.

Our salsa had every pepper in the place.

And then we had ice cream. Because it was in the low 40s, after all.

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31
Dec 12

Travel day

Up and at ’em and at ’em and at ’em. Finished the packing, had a brunch with my father-in-law at a local diner. Packed up the car and he took us to the airport. They put on a wonderful Christmas, my in-laws.

Shame about the traveling though. This trip started with a four hour drive. Figure in the time from the parking spot to the airport, the airport wait, the two hours in the plane and then the 45 minutes or so to their home and you have an entire day of travel. On the other hand, a full day of travel means moving something like nine degrees to the north. It snowed on me there.

The downside to a lovely visit, though, is the return trip. So we packed our bags with all of our things and Christmas plunder — Santa was far too good, as I was not — and then went through the tiny local airport, onto the windy tarmac and into the tiny plane.

We landed in Atlanta, the plane took off late but landed more or less on time. Caught the shuttle to the car and saw this:

And that’s what happens when you move nine degrees south in latitude.

Tonight we had barbecue and celebrated the new year with friends. One of them used the word “bifurcated” in a conversation about 1980s music — you can tell he’s in a doctoral program. Another discussed the capabilities of his kevlar vest. He works with the ABI. The fire chief stopped by, because he is a friend of the host. One woman pronounced every song her favorite. Another guy, a financier, managed the impossible task of being in three different conversations in two different physical locations of the party.

Most of that was before the counting down and the silly string and noisemakers.

We all decided that it was beyond time for 2012 to be gone. In that boundless optimism that comes along when you’re through with one year some resolved that 2013 can only be better.

It started out with momentum, after all. We laughed at Mayans and watched the Senate, kicking and screaming, doing something resembling their job. At a party full of blue collar and white collar people, it was good to see people who still work hard, believe in themselves and what they do. That’s what a new year’s optimism is all about, belief in one’s self.

Good to have when you’re going around the sun.