I've not much to say tonight.
However, I've been thinking fond thoughts of my former musical partner,Brian Volke. He moved to Calgary ten years ago, and I see him a couple of times a year when he visits his family here. His band in Calgary is named Tir na n'Og, and their website is http://www.tirnanogtheband.ca/.
Brian's coming back to darkest Saskatchewan to play at a fundraiser for the Irish Club's dance group. This is a good thing, because I'll get to play with him again.
So if you happen to be in Regina on July 26, and can find St. Luke's parish hall on Argyle Road, I'd love to meet you.
Slainté!
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Poi again
Tonight I'm going to talk about poi for Elizabeth, and everyone else who uses a wheelchair.
Poi are balls on cords or chains, and are spun around the body. The daring amongst us might even spin fire, but not me. And it's really not recommended for beginners at all. Some don't recommend it for anyone because it can be toxic and/or deadly hot.
Beth asked me if someone in a wheelchair could spin poi; the answer appears to be "Of course!" Modifications you'd arrange for wheelchair adaptation would be to use lighter weight poi balls, shorter chains (cord would be lighter), and, ideally, something soft, 'cause hitting yourself in the head and, er, "naughty bits" with a tennis ball isn't fun. "Trust me on that," he said, in a funny, squeaky sort of voice...
The moves you'd use from a chair would differ slightly, in that you can't spin as close to your side as we able-bodied show-offs, and you can't, obviously, pass them under your legs. You could get lots of mileage spinning above and around the head, and with the balls fairly far from the sides.
There's a forum at homeofpoi that will answer manymany questions about poi.
One person who answered my question suggested that someone in a wheelchair should try contact juggling. That's where the ball rolls around the hands and arms, mostly. And yes, it's very cool, but for someone with deteriorating small muscle control, it would be a real challenge. Beth??? See http://video.google.ca/videoplay?docid=8335132654793565672&q=EJC and http://youtube.com/watch?v=sIUcLDcIIF8&feature=related , where someone shows her OCD side.
As for my poi skills, I'm at a plateau already. I can do the basic moves I was taught a month ago, and I've learned a couple more, but there's moves called weaves that are completely beyond me for now. I'm having fun trying them, though.
Until next time...
Poi are balls on cords or chains, and are spun around the body. The daring amongst us might even spin fire, but not me. And it's really not recommended for beginners at all. Some don't recommend it for anyone because it can be toxic and/or deadly hot.
Beth asked me if someone in a wheelchair could spin poi; the answer appears to be "Of course!" Modifications you'd arrange for wheelchair adaptation would be to use lighter weight poi balls, shorter chains (cord would be lighter), and, ideally, something soft, 'cause hitting yourself in the head and, er, "naughty bits" with a tennis ball isn't fun. "Trust me on that," he said, in a funny, squeaky sort of voice...
The moves you'd use from a chair would differ slightly, in that you can't spin as close to your side as we able-bodied show-offs, and you can't, obviously, pass them under your legs. You could get lots of mileage spinning above and around the head, and with the balls fairly far from the sides.
There's a forum at homeofpoi that will answer manymany questions about poi.
One person who answered my question suggested that someone in a wheelchair should try contact juggling. That's where the ball rolls around the hands and arms, mostly. And yes, it's very cool, but for someone with deteriorating small muscle control, it would be a real challenge. Beth??? See http://video.google.ca/videoplay?docid=8335132654793565672&q=EJC and http://youtube.com/watch?v=sIUcLDcIIF8&feature=related , where someone shows her OCD side.
As for my poi skills, I'm at a plateau already. I can do the basic moves I was taught a month ago, and I've learned a couple more, but there's moves called weaves that are completely beyond me for now. I'm having fun trying them, though.
Until next time...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Poi!
As part of Beth McClung's May Madness weekend, I attended a one-hour class in spinning poi. It was good fun, and I met a cycling companion from over 10 years ago.
Since then, one friend has asked me to teach her about Poi, and I was happy to spend some time on a cold Tuesday evening with her in our downtown park. She turned out to be fairly good for a beginner, partly because her father had taught how to spin two swords. Yes, it's a similar technique, but slightly less dangerous when the spinning objects are balls on strings. On the other hand, she did demonstrate why EMTs tend to refer to facial piercings as "zippers." She managed to catch one of the strings on her eyebrow stud, and tugged hard enough to cause blood. Not serious, but painful enough to encourage her not to do it again!
As I left work Monday afternoon, I noticed three young ladies spinning poi in the park next to my workplace. I couldn't resist stopping for a few minutes to watch them, and try to figure out one of the techniques they were practicing. We agreed that what they were doing is a bit like double-entry bookkeeping: if you try to analyze it, you'll mess up your head. If you just do it, it'll work fine. So I watched the three fit, adventurous young ladies who are ever-so-much more flexible (and better looking!) than I, and went home inspi - encouraged to continue practicing.
Poi is a fitness and training device developed by Maori warriors. It's quite good for developing flexibility, coordination, and general fitness. It's gentle too, if your poi are relatively light; mine are made of tennis balls with a swivel of some sort on a string, and encased in a nylon sack. Though I bought them from the instructor at the workshop last month, they originally came from http://www.homeofpoi.com/ and they're available from many other sites, too. I wondered on Beth's behalf if they could be spun from a wheelchair, and found a site that briefly mentions just that. There's no reason they couldn't, but you'd have to avoid your wheels and legs is all. Some moves wouldn't work, but practice would make others work.
As for the thrice-damned pipes below my kitchen sink, my Beloved Wife assisted my father yesterday, and they installed a new drain. It leaked a little bit for a while, but I think it's safe to say the job is finished for now.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Father’s Day, My Ass. Or, "Where's It Leaking This Time?"
On Saturday last weekend, I replaced the faucet on the kitchen sink. It’s a simple process - Step 1: remove old faucet... Yeah, right. I eventually used a ratchet handle as a hammer to pound the “finger-tight” plastic nuts loose, with insufficient clearance and no way to actually see what I was doing.
You see, Regina water has peculiar properties: the lime in it can cement the threads of nuts and bolts more securely than rust.
But I persevered, and managed to install the new faucet in half an hour. AFTER removing the old one. We tested the new faucet, and it worked wonderfully. Except there was a small leak in a horizontal section of the drainpipe. Ah, crap; the banging and smashing of finge - plastic things must have loosened a solder joint in the pipe. No problem, ‘cause I have a propane torch and I can figure out how to put more solder into the leaking joint. The Internet helped me there, and the next day, I began to get to work.
The propane torch didn’t work. I’m not able to see what’s wrong with it. It may just be dust in the burne unit, but I can’t see how to clean it. So I put a margarine container under the very small leak, and made plans to fix the drain this weekend. I started by buying a new propane torch yesterday. No problem.
I started to look at the pipes this afternoon. Sunday. Father’s Day afternoon.
I grabbed the pipe to wiggle it to see how loose the bad joint was, and my thumb went THROUGH the copper.
Remember the peculiar properties I mentioned of Regina’s municipal water supply? It corrodes copper pipes. It can take more than twenty years, but our drinking water will corrode copper pipes. And some of us drink the stuff.
So I called my father for moral support, and he came to watch and help as needed. Fortunately, the previous owner of the house left an eight foot long piece of pipe of just the right diameter in the basement rafters. Dad and I cut the pipe, cleaned it up, got the old, corroded piece out, and replaced it, with a false start here and there. It took about three hours, but we got it done.
We tested our work: it leaked from a different joint. I touched the vertical pipe next to that joint, and the copper collapsed. This time, the corroded pipe was the one attached to the sink drain. Ah, crap; we shoulda checked that, and we could've replaced both pieces at the same time. Oh well.
We heated and separated the bottom joint, took the remains outside, heated the top joint and got the corroded pipe off the flanged pipe from below the drain. We used our knowledge from the previous false starts and actually made good time in getting the old pieces of plumbing ready for the second new piece of copper pipe.
Did I mention that the eight-foot leftover pipe in the basement was a bit dirty? For lack of a wire brush, we used emery paper on the inside for over an hour to get it clean enough to solder into place. The sun had set by the time we had tested the fit, prepared the two new joints with flux, and heated the joints to solder them in place. Oh, and we remembered the plastic washer that goes between the plastic drain and the copper pipe.
We finished the second pipe relatively painlessly, and tested the new pipe again. And it leaked again. Crap. When I heated the joint, I accidentally melted the plastic parts above it. And those parts would be the bottom end of the drain.
By then it was 9:30 p.m. There are no hardware stores open. And I have to work in the morning.
My father has volunteered to pick up a new drain tomorrow from the nearest hardware store, and will help my Beloved (known for now as my first wife) install the new drain. Then she’ll be able to wash today’s dishes.
It’s now 11 p.m. and I haven’t yet gotten all the melted plastic off the top of the copper pipe. I also haven’t started the proofreading I volunteered to do for my dear friend who’s writing a newsletter for the Society for Creative Anachronism. She came to the house at 7:30 this evening to pick it up, and I have completely forgotten it.
I have drunk some Bailey’s Irish Cream and some tea. And I’m very frustrated with plumbing. I’m also rather sweaty now, so I’ll post this, have a couple of laps of the bath tub, and proofread what I can before I fall asleep exhausted.
And that was my Father’s Day.
I hate "holidays."
You see, Regina water has peculiar properties: the lime in it can cement the threads of nuts and bolts more securely than rust.
But I persevered, and managed to install the new faucet in half an hour. AFTER removing the old one. We tested the new faucet, and it worked wonderfully. Except there was a small leak in a horizontal section of the drainpipe. Ah, crap; the banging and smashing of finge - plastic things must have loosened a solder joint in the pipe. No problem, ‘cause I have a propane torch and I can figure out how to put more solder into the leaking joint. The Internet helped me there, and the next day, I began to get to work.
The propane torch didn’t work. I’m not able to see what’s wrong with it. It may just be dust in the burne unit, but I can’t see how to clean it. So I put a margarine container under the very small leak, and made plans to fix the drain this weekend. I started by buying a new propane torch yesterday. No problem.
I started to look at the pipes this afternoon. Sunday. Father’s Day afternoon.
I grabbed the pipe to wiggle it to see how loose the bad joint was, and my thumb went THROUGH the copper.
Remember the peculiar properties I mentioned of Regina’s municipal water supply? It corrodes copper pipes. It can take more than twenty years, but our drinking water will corrode copper pipes. And some of us drink the stuff.
So I called my father for moral support, and he came to watch and help as needed. Fortunately, the previous owner of the house left an eight foot long piece of pipe of just the right diameter in the basement rafters. Dad and I cut the pipe, cleaned it up, got the old, corroded piece out, and replaced it, with a false start here and there. It took about three hours, but we got it done.
We tested our work: it leaked from a different joint. I touched the vertical pipe next to that joint, and the copper collapsed. This time, the corroded pipe was the one attached to the sink drain. Ah, crap; we shoulda checked that, and we could've replaced both pieces at the same time. Oh well.
We heated and separated the bottom joint, took the remains outside, heated the top joint and got the corroded pipe off the flanged pipe from below the drain. We used our knowledge from the previous false starts and actually made good time in getting the old pieces of plumbing ready for the second new piece of copper pipe.
Did I mention that the eight-foot leftover pipe in the basement was a bit dirty? For lack of a wire brush, we used emery paper on the inside for over an hour to get it clean enough to solder into place. The sun had set by the time we had tested the fit, prepared the two new joints with flux, and heated the joints to solder them in place. Oh, and we remembered the plastic washer that goes between the plastic drain and the copper pipe.
We finished the second pipe relatively painlessly, and tested the new pipe again. And it leaked again. Crap. When I heated the joint, I accidentally melted the plastic parts above it. And those parts would be the bottom end of the drain.
By then it was 9:30 p.m. There are no hardware stores open. And I have to work in the morning.
My father has volunteered to pick up a new drain tomorrow from the nearest hardware store, and will help my Beloved (known for now as my first wife) install the new drain. Then she’ll be able to wash today’s dishes.
It’s now 11 p.m. and I haven’t yet gotten all the melted plastic off the top of the copper pipe. I also haven’t started the proofreading I volunteered to do for my dear friend who’s writing a newsletter for the Society for Creative Anachronism. She came to the house at 7:30 this evening to pick it up, and I have completely forgotten it.
I have drunk some Bailey’s Irish Cream and some tea. And I’m very frustrated with plumbing. I’m also rather sweaty now, so I’ll post this, have a couple of laps of the bath tub, and proofread what I can before I fall asleep exhausted.
And that was my Father’s Day.
I hate "holidays."
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Spinning things
I spin things.
I spin pedals for enjoyment and transportation; early morning bicycle rides are beautiful, with cool air, warm sun just rising, and less traffic than there will be later. I spin the pedals fast, too. The number of times in a minute you spin pedals is called cadence. It's generally agreed that a cadence of less than 80 isn't very efficient for cycling (at least it was 25 years ago). I try for a cadence of 104 when I can, so I don't have to push as hard on the pedals. That's quicker than most would spin their pedals, but the kilometres do fly by when things are going well.
Two years ago I hired a fibre artist to teach some friends of mine, and my beloved wife and me, how to spin yarn using a drop spindle. (I guess that was a Wild Weekend too!) Medieval textiles were created mostly from fibre made with drop spindles. The sails on those gorgeous Viking boats? All of them were made of linen, and all those thousands of kilometres(!) of linen thread were spun on drop spindles, woven on warp-weighted looms, and sewn together. But labour was cheaper back then.
My beloved spins much better than I; she's working on some Merino wool that is going to make something wonderful. We don't know what, yet, but it will be special. Spinning is one of the things we do to fit into the medieval atmosphere of the Society for Creative Anachronism.
For Beth McClung's Wild Weekend last month, I learned to spin Poi. No, no, not the Polynesian staple food. Poi is balls spun on cord or chains. If you're adventurous, you could spin pots of fire. I'm not that stup - er, adventurous. And it's not what I'd consider a safe risk. So my poi is tennis balls in nylon covers on strings. Flashy, but relatively safe. There are LED versions to flash or glow for night-time use, which are much safer than real fire.
My adventure for today was to teach a young friend how to spin my poi balls. She has swung swords around, so this wasn't a big leap for her. It was a little thing, perhaps, but it helped to pay forward the enjoyment of Beth's challenge. And since we did this lesson at the local SCA fight practice, I also got to watch over five people in armour swinging blunt objects at each other, which is part of my duties as a volunteer first aider, or chirurgeon, in the SCA. Nobody needed first aid, which is good, and my young friend got to spin with me, which is better. Small things, perhaps, but the world is made of small things, which put together add up to big things.
So there's lots of spinning in my life; pedals, yarn, balls: it's all good.
I spin pedals for enjoyment and transportation; early morning bicycle rides are beautiful, with cool air, warm sun just rising, and less traffic than there will be later. I spin the pedals fast, too. The number of times in a minute you spin pedals is called cadence. It's generally agreed that a cadence of less than 80 isn't very efficient for cycling (at least it was 25 years ago). I try for a cadence of 104 when I can, so I don't have to push as hard on the pedals. That's quicker than most would spin their pedals, but the kilometres do fly by when things are going well.
Two years ago I hired a fibre artist to teach some friends of mine, and my beloved wife and me, how to spin yarn using a drop spindle. (I guess that was a Wild Weekend too!) Medieval textiles were created mostly from fibre made with drop spindles. The sails on those gorgeous Viking boats? All of them were made of linen, and all those thousands of kilometres(!) of linen thread were spun on drop spindles, woven on warp-weighted looms, and sewn together. But labour was cheaper back then.
My beloved spins much better than I; she's working on some Merino wool that is going to make something wonderful. We don't know what, yet, but it will be special. Spinning is one of the things we do to fit into the medieval atmosphere of the Society for Creative Anachronism.
For Beth McClung's Wild Weekend last month, I learned to spin Poi. No, no, not the Polynesian staple food. Poi is balls spun on cord or chains. If you're adventurous, you could spin pots of fire. I'm not that stup - er, adventurous. And it's not what I'd consider a safe risk. So my poi is tennis balls in nylon covers on strings. Flashy, but relatively safe. There are LED versions to flash or glow for night-time use, which are much safer than real fire.
My adventure for today was to teach a young friend how to spin my poi balls. She has swung swords around, so this wasn't a big leap for her. It was a little thing, perhaps, but it helped to pay forward the enjoyment of Beth's challenge. And since we did this lesson at the local SCA fight practice, I also got to watch over five people in armour swinging blunt objects at each other, which is part of my duties as a volunteer first aider, or chirurgeon, in the SCA. Nobody needed first aid, which is good, and my young friend got to spin with me, which is better. Small things, perhaps, but the world is made of small things, which put together add up to big things.
So there's lots of spinning in my life; pedals, yarn, balls: it's all good.
Monday, June 9, 2008
So much for good intentions
Good intentions are wonderful, and I had intended to blog daily. But life tends to get in the way. I guess im not as dedicated as some bloggers.
On Saturday, I played plumber, and spent far too long and a great deal of energy replacing the kitchen taps. Damned lime built up and corroded the nuts into place under the counter. Oh, you’d have to see a lab analysis of our water to truly understand it, but it can be full-bodied, and foul. Not poisonous. Quite. Just foul tasting and smelling.
On Saturday evening, Eldest Son stopped by on his way home from work to help tidy the fridge, as teens tend to do, and then stayed to talk. One of his friends called him to say the party she was at wasn’t happening, so she came over and we all chatted until after 1 am.
Yesterday, I paid for Saturday’s late night with a reminder of my own little “disability”: I woke up with a migraine headache. So I went back to bed, and my beloved was kind enough to let me sleep in. I woke up at 3 pm with the headache mostly gone. But the time I was going to spend blogging was spent in other pursuits, and now its Monday evening already.
One of the more exciting things that happened on the weekend was that Middle Son fell asleep on the couch instead of applying himself to long-overdue homework. My beloved was unable to wake him, so she painted the nails on one of his feet. Since he had Gym today in school, he spent rather a long time scraping and sanding gold nail lacquer off his toes.
Today, it rained. Oh, the farmers will love it, but I can already hear the mosquito larvae cheering as they prepare to leap forth into the world.
And another day passes. No great revelations. But I got to bicycle home from work under clouds and in wet streets.
On Saturday, I played plumber, and spent far too long and a great deal of energy replacing the kitchen taps. Damned lime built up and corroded the nuts into place under the counter. Oh, you’d have to see a lab analysis of our water to truly understand it, but it can be full-bodied, and foul. Not poisonous. Quite. Just foul tasting and smelling.
On Saturday evening, Eldest Son stopped by on his way home from work to help tidy the fridge, as teens tend to do, and then stayed to talk. One of his friends called him to say the party she was at wasn’t happening, so she came over and we all chatted until after 1 am.
Yesterday, I paid for Saturday’s late night with a reminder of my own little “disability”: I woke up with a migraine headache. So I went back to bed, and my beloved was kind enough to let me sleep in. I woke up at 3 pm with the headache mostly gone. But the time I was going to spend blogging was spent in other pursuits, and now its Monday evening already.
One of the more exciting things that happened on the weekend was that Middle Son fell asleep on the couch instead of applying himself to long-overdue homework. My beloved was unable to wake him, so she painted the nails on one of his feet. Since he had Gym today in school, he spent rather a long time scraping and sanding gold nail lacquer off his toes.
Today, it rained. Oh, the farmers will love it, but I can already hear the mosquito larvae cheering as they prepare to leap forth into the world.
And another day passes. No great revelations. But I got to bicycle home from work under clouds and in wet streets.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Zed!
Hello:
Yes, Zed. This isn't the end (or maybe it is, but it's the other end), nor am I beginning at the end. And since this is my first entry, let us hope that I don't end at the beginning.
I'm starting at Zed because that's the title of the book I'm currently reading. The author is Elizabeth McClung, who I discovered in late 2007. Now I'm addicted to her blog, and honoured to be considered her friend. I've also read the blogs of some of Beth's commenters, and some of them have inspired - oops (sorry Beth!), encouraged me to start my own blog.
I have read and enjoyed many blogs, but they've almost all been the blogs of people with one or another disability. I've not bothered with any blogs from people living without disabilities, and I don't know what able-bodied people blog about. Maybe I'll find out, maybe not.
So here we are, at the beginning of an adventure. How long an adventure it will be, I know not, but you're welcome to stay and enjoy the ride. Comment away, and maybe we'll travel together.
By the way, I won't presume to review Zed. Not yet. I can tell you it's not a light-hearted book, but I'll wait to comment on it until I've finished it.
Yes, Zed. This isn't the end (or maybe it is, but it's the other end), nor am I beginning at the end. And since this is my first entry, let us hope that I don't end at the beginning.
I'm starting at Zed because that's the title of the book I'm currently reading. The author is Elizabeth McClung, who I discovered in late 2007. Now I'm addicted to her blog, and honoured to be considered her friend. I've also read the blogs of some of Beth's commenters, and some of them have inspired - oops (sorry Beth!), encouraged me to start my own blog.
I have read and enjoyed many blogs, but they've almost all been the blogs of people with one or another disability. I've not bothered with any blogs from people living without disabilities, and I don't know what able-bodied people blog about. Maybe I'll find out, maybe not.
So here we are, at the beginning of an adventure. How long an adventure it will be, I know not, but you're welcome to stay and enjoy the ride. Comment away, and maybe we'll travel together.
By the way, I won't presume to review Zed. Not yet. I can tell you it's not a light-hearted book, but I'll wait to comment on it until I've finished it.
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