Yesterday I read the latest post over at fatcyclist.com, in which Fatty (Elden Nelson) gives an update of his wife Susan's ongoing battle with cancer. Like so many other folks who commented on that post, I sat at my desk at work and felt my eyes well up with tears for two complete strangers whose lives I read about on the internet. Then last night, after posting my own latest blog, I thought about all the self-indulgent, self-absorbed whining I've done here on the 'net. I live a fairly peaceful, contented life, going to work, then going out to ride my bike or otherwise enjoy myself. Really, my life's so good that it's surprising that I'm as inclined as I am to pissed-off, depressed tailspins. After a short bit of wallowing, I come right back out of those moods and get on with things, but still, compared to Susan and Elden, wtf do I have to be pissed-off and depressed about? Susan Nelson leaves me humbled.
I'm sure I'll still post my usual rambling, self-pitying crap here from time to time (hell, this particular post is annoyingly self-obsessed). This blog's unfortunately my best outlet for those feelings. But Fatty's words served as a sharp reminder that I've got a lot for which to be grateful, and that people of Susan's ilk make any suffering I experience seem like small potatoes.
May 2, 2008
May 1, 2008
Bikes, kayaks, nature and death
Ok, so, I continued this past weekend to break out of the oh-so-hardened shell of slothdom in which I'd been stuck the last several months, by heading to Maryland's eastern shore area for a kayaking/cycling trip with my buddies from the Team Estrogen cycling forum (Can I just say again how weird I feel posting at a site named for a female hormone? But anyway...). We all signed up for the Wild Goose Chase ride at Blackwater Wildlife Refuge and, since we've begun paddling together as well as pedaling, the idea immediately came up to bring our 'yaks along and make a multi-sport weekend of it.
A few of my favorite things...
Saturday's weather was gorgeous, and much warmer than any of us expected it to be. It was great to be on the water in such a beautiful place, and to stretch out little-used muscles in the smooth repetitive motions of paddling. Like cycling, kayaking can easily induce a meditative state through the synchrony of breath with motion, and of body with vehicle. Forward propulsion of a kayak is more than just windmilling a double-bladed paddle. It involves power through the shoulders, rotation of the torso, swiveling of the hips, and pressure through the legs in order to glide and maneuver your craft through the water. Once this combination of body functions becomes muscle-memory, it feels both exhilarating and peaceful to move so subtly through nature, with the different perspective that comes from being at water level. That perspective creates an intimacy with your surroundings that no noisy, vapor-spewing jet-skier will ever experience.
After about our half-dozenth bald eagle sighting, one member of our group wondered just what it is about those birds that so fascinates us. They're certainly not the most noble of creatures, being more scavenger than hunter. And, in places like Blackwater, they're nowhere near as rare as they used to be. But there is a majesty about them that derives from their size and the fierceness of their profile. Honestly, though, I get just as much of a kick out of watching vultures as from sighting eagles. The humble turkey vulture fascinates the heck out of me. Butt-ugly up close, vultures also have some fairly vile habits, such as projectile vomiting when frightened and peeing on their own legs to cool themselves in hot weather, in addition to their diet of carrion. But on the wing, a turkey vulture soars the thermals with as much grandeur as any eagle.
Overnight, Ma Nature turned Jekyll-and-Hyde on us and we woke Sunday morning to a grey sky, chilly temps, wind, and the threat of rain. My more ambitious cycling buddies left the motel at 7:30am to get an early start on the 65- and 40-mile routes, while I puttered about my room trying to maintain my motivation in the face of gloomy weather. I finally got my crap together and headed over to the ride start at about 9:00 or so. My intention going into the weekend was to attempt the 40-mile route, even though I haven't been on a ride of that length in over eight months, but the dreariness of the day influenced me to do the 25-miler instead. I started out spinning easily at a much higher speed than my typical average. Within a handful of miles, though, a turn in the road put us directly into a cross-wind and I immediately slowed down to my usual pace. Entering the refuge's Wildlife Drive a third of the way through the route, we were requested to reduce our speed even further, which made for a nice opportunity to meander along looking for wildlife. I had fun at one point watching a tiny swallow (bank swallow, perhaps?) swoop back and forth across the road in front of me for a quarter of a mile, before it finally veered off towards the marsh.
Back on the road, the cross-wind turned into a head-wind and I was forced to shift down almost to my granny-gear. I forgot to look at the weather report later that evening to find out what speed the gusts were-- probably nowhere near as strong as they felt, but enough to make the last several miles a struggle. It's apparently lame to describe cycling as a Zen-like activity, but I insist on doing it anyway. Even in the worst conditions, finding that perfect balance of rpm/mph that allows you to spin the pedals in smooth circles, like a second hand circling the face of a clock, can put even the snobbiest cyclist into a zone of mindless mindfulness. It's the rides when the legs lunge around the cranks in herky-jerky squares that are the hard ones. But when you find that sweet spot, even on a difficult or painful ride... Those are the rides that you look back on fondly, with no memory of effort or discomfort. Take one of those rides, throw in beautiful rural scenery (even with a grey sky), and I end up one happy puppy.
Believe it or not, I did bring my camera along on this trip. I just left it in the car while I was paddling and pedaling. Silly me. But there are a couple of old churches with cemeteries along Md Route 50 that I couldn't resist stopping at on the way home, and a few of the photos actually turned out somewhat decent.
What's left of Old White Marsh Episcopal Church
So sad, dead at 17 in 1792
A few of my favorite things...
Saturday's weather was gorgeous, and much warmer than any of us expected it to be. It was great to be on the water in such a beautiful place, and to stretch out little-used muscles in the smooth repetitive motions of paddling. Like cycling, kayaking can easily induce a meditative state through the synchrony of breath with motion, and of body with vehicle. Forward propulsion of a kayak is more than just windmilling a double-bladed paddle. It involves power through the shoulders, rotation of the torso, swiveling of the hips, and pressure through the legs in order to glide and maneuver your craft through the water. Once this combination of body functions becomes muscle-memory, it feels both exhilarating and peaceful to move so subtly through nature, with the different perspective that comes from being at water level. That perspective creates an intimacy with your surroundings that no noisy, vapor-spewing jet-skier will ever experience.
After about our half-dozenth bald eagle sighting, one member of our group wondered just what it is about those birds that so fascinates us. They're certainly not the most noble of creatures, being more scavenger than hunter. And, in places like Blackwater, they're nowhere near as rare as they used to be. But there is a majesty about them that derives from their size and the fierceness of their profile. Honestly, though, I get just as much of a kick out of watching vultures as from sighting eagles. The humble turkey vulture fascinates the heck out of me. Butt-ugly up close, vultures also have some fairly vile habits, such as projectile vomiting when frightened and peeing on their own legs to cool themselves in hot weather, in addition to their diet of carrion. But on the wing, a turkey vulture soars the thermals with as much grandeur as any eagle.
Overnight, Ma Nature turned Jekyll-and-Hyde on us and we woke Sunday morning to a grey sky, chilly temps, wind, and the threat of rain. My more ambitious cycling buddies left the motel at 7:30am to get an early start on the 65- and 40-mile routes, while I puttered about my room trying to maintain my motivation in the face of gloomy weather. I finally got my crap together and headed over to the ride start at about 9:00 or so. My intention going into the weekend was to attempt the 40-mile route, even though I haven't been on a ride of that length in over eight months, but the dreariness of the day influenced me to do the 25-miler instead. I started out spinning easily at a much higher speed than my typical average. Within a handful of miles, though, a turn in the road put us directly into a cross-wind and I immediately slowed down to my usual pace. Entering the refuge's Wildlife Drive a third of the way through the route, we were requested to reduce our speed even further, which made for a nice opportunity to meander along looking for wildlife. I had fun at one point watching a tiny swallow (bank swallow, perhaps?) swoop back and forth across the road in front of me for a quarter of a mile, before it finally veered off towards the marsh.
Back on the road, the cross-wind turned into a head-wind and I was forced to shift down almost to my granny-gear. I forgot to look at the weather report later that evening to find out what speed the gusts were-- probably nowhere near as strong as they felt, but enough to make the last several miles a struggle. It's apparently lame to describe cycling as a Zen-like activity, but I insist on doing it anyway. Even in the worst conditions, finding that perfect balance of rpm/mph that allows you to spin the pedals in smooth circles, like a second hand circling the face of a clock, can put even the snobbiest cyclist into a zone of mindless mindfulness. It's the rides when the legs lunge around the cranks in herky-jerky squares that are the hard ones. But when you find that sweet spot, even on a difficult or painful ride... Those are the rides that you look back on fondly, with no memory of effort or discomfort. Take one of those rides, throw in beautiful rural scenery (even with a grey sky), and I end up one happy puppy.
Believe it or not, I did bring my camera along on this trip. I just left it in the car while I was paddling and pedaling. Silly me. But there are a couple of old churches with cemeteries along Md Route 50 that I couldn't resist stopping at on the way home, and a few of the photos actually turned out somewhat decent.
What's left of Old White Marsh Episcopal Church
So sad, dead at 17 in 1792
April 24, 2008
A good quote #2
Things should be made as simple as possible, but not any simpler.
- Albert Einstein, as quoted on the tab of today's Good Earth Sweet & Spice tea bag.
- Albert Einstein, as quoted on the tab of today's Good Earth Sweet & Spice tea bag.
April 20, 2008
Aqueous Transmissions on a rainy day
It rained today. Great huge buckets of rain. This week, though, I refused to let either depression or fastidiousness get the better of me. I needed to get up to Shaharazade's, and to spend some time outside experiencing Spring. So, after a morning of lounging in front of the tv watching King Kong (Peter Jackson's version. The ending leaves me sobbing like a fool every time.), I threw on my rainjacket and drove, carefully (I'm not kidding that it was pouring), to West Va.
Shaharazade's was busy, so I didn't bother to pester the owner's daughter about the status of the restaurant (her step-father still hasn't gotten back to me with the info I need) and quietly enjoyed my veggie frittata and pot of Nepali tea like I used to before visions of ownership began dancing in my crazy head. Afterwards, I strolled down to the Lost Dog for a chai (no such thing as too much tea) and to read some Roald Dahl (the man's adult fiction is even more wonderfully subversive and perverse than his kid's stuff). While there, I got it into my head to once again wander that deserted old dirt road along the Potomac River.
The rain had stopped by the time I drove down to the river and began trudging upstream. With every step, I regretted that I hadn't brought my camera to capture the fresh, bright green of young leaves against the backdrop of misty grey sky. It didn't take long to reach the clearing with the make-shift fountain. There's now a small dead frog sprawled on the grating, being slowly pulverized by waterboarding. Poor thing. (It's very obvious I've been reading Dahl lately...)
It began to rain again on the way back downstream, but I just didn't care. I was out and wandering and coming to the realization that I need to begin doing this sort of thing more often again. I've always had issues with the effect of dreary days on my mood, but I never used to let bad weather keep me from the outdoors. I don't know just when I became such a weenie, but it's been years since I've hiked in the rain or biked through mud (The last time I did that, I ended up with my arm in a sling-- damaged a ligament in my elbow by landing wrong when my tires slipped out from under me. Never extend your arm to break a fall.). Today, though, I left my hood down and my rainjacket unzipped and became increasingly, pleasantly, soggy.
Back at the car, I sat and scribbled these words with my hair plastered to my forehead and water running down the back of my neck, feeling peaceful instead of morose. Could the sight of sticky little leaves perhaps have broken the spell I've been under?
And of course there's a song to match the mood. It's not about rain, but it is about a river, it's very soothing, and the ending makes me think of Spring so it's fitting. It's also one of the most beautiful things Incubus has ever created. Listen all the way through and enjoy...
Aqueous Transmission
I'm floating down a river
Oars freed from their holes long ago.
Lying face up on the floor of my vessel,
I marvel at the stars
And feel my heart overflow.
Further down the river
Two weeks without my lover,
I'm in this boat alone.
Floating down a river named emotion,
Will I make it back to shore
Or drift into the unknown?
Further down the river
I'm building an antenna,
Transmissions will be sent when I am through.
Maybe we'll meet again further down the river
And share what we both discovered...
Then revel in the view.
Further down the river
Shaharazade's was busy, so I didn't bother to pester the owner's daughter about the status of the restaurant (her step-father still hasn't gotten back to me with the info I need) and quietly enjoyed my veggie frittata and pot of Nepali tea like I used to before visions of ownership began dancing in my crazy head. Afterwards, I strolled down to the Lost Dog for a chai (no such thing as too much tea) and to read some Roald Dahl (the man's adult fiction is even more wonderfully subversive and perverse than his kid's stuff). While there, I got it into my head to once again wander that deserted old dirt road along the Potomac River.
The rain had stopped by the time I drove down to the river and began trudging upstream. With every step, I regretted that I hadn't brought my camera to capture the fresh, bright green of young leaves against the backdrop of misty grey sky. It didn't take long to reach the clearing with the make-shift fountain. There's now a small dead frog sprawled on the grating, being slowly pulverized by waterboarding. Poor thing. (It's very obvious I've been reading Dahl lately...)
It began to rain again on the way back downstream, but I just didn't care. I was out and wandering and coming to the realization that I need to begin doing this sort of thing more often again. I've always had issues with the effect of dreary days on my mood, but I never used to let bad weather keep me from the outdoors. I don't know just when I became such a weenie, but it's been years since I've hiked in the rain or biked through mud (The last time I did that, I ended up with my arm in a sling-- damaged a ligament in my elbow by landing wrong when my tires slipped out from under me. Never extend your arm to break a fall.). Today, though, I left my hood down and my rainjacket unzipped and became increasingly, pleasantly, soggy.
Back at the car, I sat and scribbled these words with my hair plastered to my forehead and water running down the back of my neck, feeling peaceful instead of morose. Could the sight of sticky little leaves perhaps have broken the spell I've been under?
And of course there's a song to match the mood. It's not about rain, but it is about a river, it's very soothing, and the ending makes me think of Spring so it's fitting. It's also one of the most beautiful things Incubus has ever created. Listen all the way through and enjoy...
Aqueous Transmission
I'm floating down a river
Oars freed from their holes long ago.
Lying face up on the floor of my vessel,
I marvel at the stars
And feel my heart overflow.
Further down the river
Two weeks without my lover,
I'm in this boat alone.
Floating down a river named emotion,
Will I make it back to shore
Or drift into the unknown?
Further down the river
I'm building an antenna,
Transmissions will be sent when I am through.
Maybe we'll meet again further down the river
And share what we both discovered...
Then revel in the view.
Further down the river
April 15, 2008
An interesting commute
There was apparently a lunatic on the train this morning. I didn't see him, but I heard him. I get on at the end of the line and board the very first car, which becomes the very last when the train pulls out of the station. I always get on at the middle doors and sit facing the direction the train will be going as it heads towards the city. Because it's the first/last station, there are usually only a handful of people in the car until we get to the next stop. So, this morning, I could clearly hear him behind me, at the farthest end of the train, a single voice muttering, growling, occasionally raising in volume to repeat one sentence over and over.
Homeless folk often accumulate enough change to buy a subway fare, and then take the train out to the suburbs. Sometimes they get off at my stop and I see the same people on street corners near home that I've seen on street corners near work. Other times, they curl up to sleep and just ride the train back and forth along its route. The ones who don't sleep are often very vocal. I remember one woman once who entertained the morning commuters with songs from My Fair Lady and a story about how she and her sister learned to play those songs on the piano as children. I listened to those songs and that story probably ten times in the course of my 40 minute ride that day. What is it about repetition that so appeals to the insane?
When I heard the guy this morning, I briefly considered getting off and waiting for the next train, but I didn't. I stayed in my seat, exploring my varying sensations of revulsion and fascination and wondering just what there was in me that inspired each.
At each station, the train filled up with more passengers. Within a half-dozen stops, other voices had drowned out the babbling lunatic one, and I wondered about the reactions of the people boarding that far end. Were they repulsed, compassionate, embarassed, apathetic? How many of them wondered who he was and what might have brought him to this state of being?
I wish now that I had turned around and gotten a look at the guy, so that I could watch for him on the street corners downtown.
Homeless folk often accumulate enough change to buy a subway fare, and then take the train out to the suburbs. Sometimes they get off at my stop and I see the same people on street corners near home that I've seen on street corners near work. Other times, they curl up to sleep and just ride the train back and forth along its route. The ones who don't sleep are often very vocal. I remember one woman once who entertained the morning commuters with songs from My Fair Lady and a story about how she and her sister learned to play those songs on the piano as children. I listened to those songs and that story probably ten times in the course of my 40 minute ride that day. What is it about repetition that so appeals to the insane?
When I heard the guy this morning, I briefly considered getting off and waiting for the next train, but I didn't. I stayed in my seat, exploring my varying sensations of revulsion and fascination and wondering just what there was in me that inspired each.
At each station, the train filled up with more passengers. Within a half-dozen stops, other voices had drowned out the babbling lunatic one, and I wondered about the reactions of the people boarding that far end. Were they repulsed, compassionate, embarassed, apathetic? How many of them wondered who he was and what might have brought him to this state of being?
I wish now that I had turned around and gotten a look at the guy, so that I could watch for him on the street corners downtown.
April 13, 2008
Coming out of Agoraphobia
Agoraphobia
Two people touching lips
Hands on each other's hips
Nothing in else in the world but one another
The 42nd floor
On a distant shore
I wonder how we've strayed so far from this
Remember when we were
Just flesh and bone
You, sir, may have forgotten how good your world can be
So, put down your hollow tips
And kiss your lover's lips
And know that fate is what we make of it
Please end this, please end this
Before this ends us, ends us
I wanna stay inside
I wanna stay inside for good
I wanna stay inside
For good
I read the news today
And everything they say
Just makes me want to stay inside and wait
But the better part of me knows
That waiting in the throes
Is on par with reading with my eyes closed
"What can I do?" you say,
"It's just another day
in the life of apes with ego trips"
Put down your hollow tips
And kiss your lover's lips
And know that fate is what we make of it
Please end this, please end this
Before this ends us, ends us
I wanna stay inside
I wanna stay inside for good
I wanna stay inside
For good
I'm gonna stay inside
I'm gonna stay inside for good
I'm gonna stay inside
For good
I wanna stay inside
I wanna stay inside for good
I wanna stay inside
Don't want to stay inside for good
I was listening to this song while driving recently and originally decided to post it with little comment, just because I feel it's a good one. But since then I've finished reading Three Cups of Tea and watched the film Into the Wild, and I suddenly found some connections. In the latter, a man walks away from the evils that he perceives in society and into the massive solitude of the Alaskan wilderness, where he succumbs and perishes. In the former, a man wanders out of the solitude of a mountain wilderness and into a tiny Pakistani village, after which he devotes every bit of his financial, emotional, and physical resources to improving the lives of the people he encounters. Both are incredibly moving true stories, though only one of them continues as I write this.
I'm gonna cheat here and use Amazon's description of Three Cups of Tea:
Some failures lead to phenomenal successes, and this American nurse's unsuccessful attempt to climb K2, the world's second tallest mountain, is one of them. Dangerously ill when he finished his climb in 1993, [Greg] Mortenson was sheltered for seven weeks by the small Pakistani village of Korphe; in return, he promised to build the impoverished town's first school, a project that grew into the Central Asia Institute, which has since constructed more than 50 schools across rural Pakistan and Afghanistan. Co-author [David Oliver] Relin recounts Mortenson's efforts in fascinating detail, presenting compelling portraits of the village elders, con artists, philanthropists, mujahideen, Taliban officials, ambitious school girls and upright Muslims Mortenson met along the way. As the book moves into the post-9/11 world, Mortenson and Relin argue that the United States must fight Islamic extremism in the region through collaborative efforts to alleviate poverty and improve access to education, especially for girls.
What Greg Mortenson has done is absolutely amazing. He's the polar opposite of the anti-social creature described in Brandon's lyrics above, and of Christopher McCandless' disenchantment. I can't imagine doing anything like what he's accomplished, but that's ok. Not all of us have the drive and energy to dedicate our entire being to helping others. But the rest of us can certainly do small things here and there to support people like Mortenson, or to find other avenues to connect, give back, and avoid agoraphobic dissociation.
There was a time when I rarely thought about any of this. I actually once prided myself on my misanthropic tendencies, and I still have many, many days when I make every effort to escape into solitude away from other people. It was through exploring Buddhism that I first began considering not only being more tolerant of others, but also the possibility of taking steps to actually help someone else. In Ethics for the New Millenium, the Dalai Lama writes:
What is entailed, therefore, is... a reorientation of our heart and mind away from ourself and towards others. To develop a sense of universal responsibility-- of the universal dimension of our every act and of the equal right of all others to happiness and not to suffer-- is to develop an attitude of mind whereby, when we see an opportunity to benefit others, we will take it in preference to merely looking after our own narrow interests.
In a nutshell, looking beyond our own desires and perceived needs and doing something to alleviate the external suffering of others will, in turn, ameliorate our own internal suffering. Even the littlest thing can do the trick and, in the process, go a long way towards changing the atmosphere of evil in the world that has been perceived by souls like Chris McCandless.
Getting into Incubus and reading about their Make Yourself Foundation has further encouraged me. Knowing that buying the band's cds and dvds means I'm contributing in some small part to worthy causes has made me proud to be a fan, and motivated me to figure out ways in which I can do more. For anyone else out there who's considering the same, here are a few avenues I've found:
-- Three Cups of Tea homepage and the Central Asia Institute.
-- 10,000 Girls, an organization in Senegal providing education and employment for young girls through their own efforts.
-- Kiva.org, investing instead of charity as a means to help others.
-- FreeRice.com, an addictive word game that helps to provide food for the hungry.
-- Make Yourself Foundation MySpace profile, at which there's a PayPal donation box.
If anyone who reads this is so inclined, please feel free to add your own links in the comments section.
Another Philly excursion
Drove up to Philly yesterday to check out the Star Wars, Where Science Meets Imagination exhibit at the Franklin with my buddy Leo. It was damned nice to have a change of scenery, so I took the camera along...
On the way up, I took a detour off of Rte 95 into Havre de Grace, MD to get some breakfast at Java on the Bay. Yet another coffee shop in a quiet little historic town, but with none of the yuppified feel of most that I visit. It was a very appropriate spot to spend a few moments perusing Garrison Keillor's Good Poems for Hard Times while wolfing down a carrot cream cheese muffin and spiced chai.
A row of windows above the store-fronts on Washington Street
The weather forecast included the chance of thunderstorms, but those never materialized. The day was a tad bi-polar, though, with cirrostratus clouds streaking across a blue sky one moment, and almost totally grey overcast the next (which made for wacky lighting conditions, so all of these shots are in solarized camera mode to give them a little extra oomph).
After picking up Leo, the first stop we made on the way down into Philly was at the very excellent InFusion Coffee and Tea shop (sensing a theme yet?). Fantastic place in the Mt Airy district of Philly, with a great spinach and lentil burrito.
The Star Wars exhibit and the Franklin Science Museum were very cool. Climbing around in the giant heart exhibit was as much fun as displaying what a total nerd I am by deluging Leo with geeky trivia at each of the Star Wars displays. Afterwards, we wandered up towards Eastern State Penitentiary. There wasn't time to tour the prison, but we did hit up Mugshots CoffeeHouse and Juicebar (I really can't pass one up at this point, I think it's an addiction) before heading back to the car with three minutes to spare on the meter.
An apartment across from Eastern State Penn. Awesome windows with an eerily terrific view.
One of the highlights of the day was having the chance to cruise through Valley Forge National Park again. If I lived anywhere around the King of Prussia area, I think I'd spend every spare moment in that park. Absolutely wonderful place. I took advantage of being there to finally snag photos of the Kennedy Supplee mansion. All in all, a very excellent day-trip.
On the way up, I took a detour off of Rte 95 into Havre de Grace, MD to get some breakfast at Java on the Bay. Yet another coffee shop in a quiet little historic town, but with none of the yuppified feel of most that I visit. It was a very appropriate spot to spend a few moments perusing Garrison Keillor's Good Poems for Hard Times while wolfing down a carrot cream cheese muffin and spiced chai.
The weather forecast included the chance of thunderstorms, but those never materialized. The day was a tad bi-polar, though, with cirrostratus clouds streaking across a blue sky one moment, and almost totally grey overcast the next (which made for wacky lighting conditions, so all of these shots are in solarized camera mode to give them a little extra oomph).
After picking up Leo, the first stop we made on the way down into Philly was at the very excellent InFusion Coffee and Tea shop (sensing a theme yet?). Fantastic place in the Mt Airy district of Philly, with a great spinach and lentil burrito.
Germantown Ave, Mt Airy
The Star Wars exhibit and the Franklin Science Museum were very cool. Climbing around in the giant heart exhibit was as much fun as displaying what a total nerd I am by deluging Leo with geeky trivia at each of the Star Wars displays. Afterwards, we wandered up towards Eastern State Penitentiary. There wasn't time to tour the prison, but we did hit up Mugshots CoffeeHouse and Juicebar (I really can't pass one up at this point, I think it's an addiction) before heading back to the car with three minutes to spare on the meter.
One of the highlights of the day was having the chance to cruise through Valley Forge National Park again. If I lived anywhere around the King of Prussia area, I think I'd spend every spare moment in that park. Absolutely wonderful place. I took advantage of being there to finally snag photos of the Kennedy Supplee mansion. All in all, a very excellent day-trip.
April 7, 2008
Anxiety and insuperable effort
In the world of the dreamer there is solitude: all the exaltations and joys came in a moment of preparation for living. They took place in solitude. But with action came anxiety and the sense of insuperable effort made match the dream, and with that came weariness, discouragement and the flight into solitude again. And then in solitude, in the opium den of remembrance, the possibility of pleasure again.
The above quote is from Anais Nin's Children of the Albatross. I first heard it in the opening footage of Incubus' tour documentary dvd, Look Alive. Brandon Boyd reads those words over a montage of video clips of the band members enjoying some free time, surfing, skate boarding, spending time with pets, re-charging themselves before coming back together to work through all the preparation necessary to launch a world tour. Brandon compares the feeling of Nin's quote to the "daunting" effort involved in preparing to hit the road. I find I can apply those words to my own life, as well, especially lately with all the details I'm having to plow through in making the decision whether or not to buy Shaharazade's.
The restaurant. Well. At this point, things are moving very slowly. It's tricky because I haven't told my current employer, so I can't make phone calls while I'm at work. I called in sick Friday a week ago (I actually was sick) and took advantage of the time to call a financial planner, then on Saturday I spent the afternoon with a neighbor who once owned an ice cream shop/cafe, then that Sunday I went up to Shaharazade's for breakfast and had the chance to introduce myself to the wife/owner (up till this time I've only talked to the husband/owner). I think she was a bit peeved because she had just stopped in to collect her husband so they could go to church and I caught her on her way out the door. Oh well. Then, on Monday, I called a bank loan officer to discuss what's required to apply for a loan and what some of my options might be, and called a second financial planner as a possible alternative to the first. On Thursday, I sent the owners of Shaharazade's an e-mail with a looong list of questions about the business and a request for their financial statements. But this is where it gets really hard for me. All of the phone calls wear me out, I'm just not used to talking that much and having to answer question after question, much less think of the questions I need to be asking. And anything financial is stressful for me, so I'm fighting my own resistance to dealing with this part of the situation. I keep telling myself, though, that if I can't handle the financial process of obtaining the restaurant, what on earth will I do if it becomes mine and I'm responsible for all of it? So this process is a good test. If I can buck up and get through everything I have to deal with (figuring out whether I can afford it, getting a loan, working with a lawyer and the current owners on a contract, fixing up my condo, renting my condo, finding a new place to live, learning the restaurant biz), then I would hopefully be able to deal with anything that comes at me once I'm a "restauranteur".
This past weekend was a serious struggle against Nin's "weariness, discouragement, and the flight into solitude". It's very easy for me to get stressed and frustrated and begin to feel that I should just forget this whole thing and stick with my boring, meaningless, yet very stable and well-paying, job. And then I get frustrated with that. On top of that, I've been needing to get out on my bike or to wander in the woods or something. I've really lost my connection to the outdoors over the last few months and that's having a bad effect. The cold I picked up the week before last triggered some extreme asthma symptoms and I've been coughing and wheezing since then. In spite of that, I was determined to get out and ride on Sunday because all last week the weather forecast was for sunshine and 60 degrees that day. On Saturday while I was at work, though, things turned around and it ended up raining all day Sunday. So instead of riding my bike, I watched tv (I had never seen Bridges of Madison County before. Damned sad movie, and the wrong thing for me to have watched on that particular day), went for a drive to get some lunch (at a very cool place called Beans in the Belfry), then came home and watched more tv and tried not to dissolve into anxiety-induced tears. I should have forced myself to do yoga or some other form of exercise, but between feeling so fucking blah because of stress and the weather, and still having some breathing issues, it was way too easy to just be a morose lump instead.
And on top of everything else, I've had a couple of slaps in the face lately that contributed to my being so shaken up over the weekend. I've mentioned before how much I love to drive, and how obeying the speed limit is something I don't love to do. This has caused me trouble before, back in my early twenties, when I received a warning from the MVA that I had too many points on my license. Since then, I'd fallen into a pattern of getting speeding tickets just far enough apart that points from the last ticket were almost ready to fall off my license. I've been slipping up the last year or so, though, and got another one of those little warnings from the MVA. Then, last month, I got two tickets over the course of one weekend, one of them courtesy of a brand-spanking new camera set-up in the small town of Poolesville. The irony is that small towns and residential areas are just about the only places in which I do normally obey speed limits. I received notice of the camera-generated ticket just this past Saturday, and paranoid visions of some MD traffic judge cutting up my driver's license contributed to Sunday's black mood. And, of course, I had to go out and drive to feel better. (Seriously, does anyone know if there's a such thing as Speed-Demon's Anonymous?)
The other factor contributing to a state of dukkha on that day was logging into my bank's website and finding out that some fucking moron had somehow gotten ahold of my check card number and used it to rack up charges of over $700 to Sprint (I don't have phone or any other kind of service through Sprint) and The Children's Place (I certainly don't have any children). So I called customer service and they immediately invalidated my check card, before I'd had the chance to pay any of my bills on-line or make it to the ATM to withdraw any money. Fortunately, grocery-store bank branches are open on Sunday (genius idea on someone's part) so I was able to get some cash. But this was just one more bit of anxiety I didn't need to deal with. Especially when finances are very much on my mind. Having something like that in my banking record might not work in my favor at a time when I'm going to be applying for loans, y'know?
So, I've been struggling to continue taking action and not revert back to Nin's world of the dreamer. In moving beyond that "preparation for living", I'm having to face so many issues I'd rather avoid and so many stresses of my own making. And consequence is one hell of a bitch.
Consequence
Blink and you miss a beat,
Keep one of your eyes open at all times.
Think that you're on the brink?
The shit hasn't even begun to hit the fan.
Consequence, you'll see, will be
stranger than a gang of drunken mimes.
Situation has a stink,
Better clear the air before your son
becomes a man.
Blink, everything's been augmented,
You've been left so far behind.
I think, for sure, next time you should
wear a pair of eyes in the back of your head.
Consequence, you've seen, has been
stranger than sci-fi of any kind.
Situation baffles me,
I guess it's true you too are one of
the walking dead.
You better think fast!
Cause' you never know what's comin'
around the bend.
You better not blink!
For consequence is a bigger word
than you think.
It's bigger than you or me.
The above quote is from Anais Nin's Children of the Albatross. I first heard it in the opening footage of Incubus' tour documentary dvd, Look Alive. Brandon Boyd reads those words over a montage of video clips of the band members enjoying some free time, surfing, skate boarding, spending time with pets, re-charging themselves before coming back together to work through all the preparation necessary to launch a world tour. Brandon compares the feeling of Nin's quote to the "daunting" effort involved in preparing to hit the road. I find I can apply those words to my own life, as well, especially lately with all the details I'm having to plow through in making the decision whether or not to buy Shaharazade's.
The restaurant. Well. At this point, things are moving very slowly. It's tricky because I haven't told my current employer, so I can't make phone calls while I'm at work. I called in sick Friday a week ago (I actually was sick) and took advantage of the time to call a financial planner, then on Saturday I spent the afternoon with a neighbor who once owned an ice cream shop/cafe, then that Sunday I went up to Shaharazade's for breakfast and had the chance to introduce myself to the wife/owner (up till this time I've only talked to the husband/owner). I think she was a bit peeved because she had just stopped in to collect her husband so they could go to church and I caught her on her way out the door. Oh well. Then, on Monday, I called a bank loan officer to discuss what's required to apply for a loan and what some of my options might be, and called a second financial planner as a possible alternative to the first. On Thursday, I sent the owners of Shaharazade's an e-mail with a looong list of questions about the business and a request for their financial statements. But this is where it gets really hard for me. All of the phone calls wear me out, I'm just not used to talking that much and having to answer question after question, much less think of the questions I need to be asking. And anything financial is stressful for me, so I'm fighting my own resistance to dealing with this part of the situation. I keep telling myself, though, that if I can't handle the financial process of obtaining the restaurant, what on earth will I do if it becomes mine and I'm responsible for all of it? So this process is a good test. If I can buck up and get through everything I have to deal with (figuring out whether I can afford it, getting a loan, working with a lawyer and the current owners on a contract, fixing up my condo, renting my condo, finding a new place to live, learning the restaurant biz), then I would hopefully be able to deal with anything that comes at me once I'm a "restauranteur".
This past weekend was a serious struggle against Nin's "weariness, discouragement, and the flight into solitude". It's very easy for me to get stressed and frustrated and begin to feel that I should just forget this whole thing and stick with my boring, meaningless, yet very stable and well-paying, job. And then I get frustrated with that. On top of that, I've been needing to get out on my bike or to wander in the woods or something. I've really lost my connection to the outdoors over the last few months and that's having a bad effect. The cold I picked up the week before last triggered some extreme asthma symptoms and I've been coughing and wheezing since then. In spite of that, I was determined to get out and ride on Sunday because all last week the weather forecast was for sunshine and 60 degrees that day. On Saturday while I was at work, though, things turned around and it ended up raining all day Sunday. So instead of riding my bike, I watched tv (I had never seen Bridges of Madison County before. Damned sad movie, and the wrong thing for me to have watched on that particular day), went for a drive to get some lunch (at a very cool place called Beans in the Belfry), then came home and watched more tv and tried not to dissolve into anxiety-induced tears. I should have forced myself to do yoga or some other form of exercise, but between feeling so fucking blah because of stress and the weather, and still having some breathing issues, it was way too easy to just be a morose lump instead.
And on top of everything else, I've had a couple of slaps in the face lately that contributed to my being so shaken up over the weekend. I've mentioned before how much I love to drive, and how obeying the speed limit is something I don't love to do. This has caused me trouble before, back in my early twenties, when I received a warning from the MVA that I had too many points on my license. Since then, I'd fallen into a pattern of getting speeding tickets just far enough apart that points from the last ticket were almost ready to fall off my license. I've been slipping up the last year or so, though, and got another one of those little warnings from the MVA. Then, last month, I got two tickets over the course of one weekend, one of them courtesy of a brand-spanking new camera set-up in the small town of Poolesville. The irony is that small towns and residential areas are just about the only places in which I do normally obey speed limits. I received notice of the camera-generated ticket just this past Saturday, and paranoid visions of some MD traffic judge cutting up my driver's license contributed to Sunday's black mood. And, of course, I had to go out and drive to feel better. (Seriously, does anyone know if there's a such thing as Speed-Demon's Anonymous?)
The other factor contributing to a state of dukkha on that day was logging into my bank's website and finding out that some fucking moron had somehow gotten ahold of my check card number and used it to rack up charges of over $700 to Sprint (I don't have phone or any other kind of service through Sprint) and The Children's Place (I certainly don't have any children). So I called customer service and they immediately invalidated my check card, before I'd had the chance to pay any of my bills on-line or make it to the ATM to withdraw any money. Fortunately, grocery-store bank branches are open on Sunday (genius idea on someone's part) so I was able to get some cash. But this was just one more bit of anxiety I didn't need to deal with. Especially when finances are very much on my mind. Having something like that in my banking record might not work in my favor at a time when I'm going to be applying for loans, y'know?
So, I've been struggling to continue taking action and not revert back to Nin's world of the dreamer. In moving beyond that "preparation for living", I'm having to face so many issues I'd rather avoid and so many stresses of my own making. And consequence is one hell of a bitch.
Consequence
Blink and you miss a beat,
Keep one of your eyes open at all times.
Think that you're on the brink?
The shit hasn't even begun to hit the fan.
Consequence, you'll see, will be
stranger than a gang of drunken mimes.
Situation has a stink,
Better clear the air before your son
becomes a man.
Blink, everything's been augmented,
You've been left so far behind.
I think, for sure, next time you should
wear a pair of eyes in the back of your head.
Consequence, you've seen, has been
stranger than sci-fi of any kind.
Situation baffles me,
I guess it's true you too are one of
the walking dead.
You better think fast!
Cause' you never know what's comin'
around the bend.
You better not blink!
For consequence is a bigger word
than you think.
It's bigger than you or me.
March 16, 2008
Redefining moments
It's been an interesting two weeks since I wrote about Shaharazade's being up for sale. A handful of days in Florida for a work-related software convention gave me the opportunity to visit family and talk to my parents about the situation. They were very encourgaging and proved to be a good sounding board off of which to bounce my thoughts. I came away with an extensive list of questions to ask the current owners, and a feeling of confidence that I might actually be able to handle such a potentially crazy enterprise. At this point, it all hinges on the question at the top of that list I've put together: What was the current owner's personal income from the restaurant last year? If it's an amount I could comfortably live on, then I'm going to begin the process of pursuing this. Trouble is, these people are hard to get ahold of. Messages to the e-mail address at the shop's website have all bounced back and phone messages left with staff have been slow to be passed on. Through a few conversations this morning, though, I learned the following:
-- The owners apparently don't spend much time in the shop, as their daughter runs it for them. I know that the husband/owner usually stops in on Sunday mornings, so I planned to have breakfast there today. Of course, I just missed him and his daughter wasn't working, but I was told that my phone messages had been passed on.
-- The owner of a store down the street gave me the low-down on the restaurant's kitchen-- It's supposedly so tiny that they have propane-powered heating elements instead of a stove. Considering the quality of their food, that knowledge (if it's accurate) gives me profound admiration for the kitchen staff. It also tipped me off to what's probably one of the greatest challenges of running the place.
-- Another shop owner, of the awesomely funky Lost Dog coffee shop (my second favorite place in Shepherdstown), informed me that the husband/owner of Shaharazade's is also the town mayor, which gives me another possible avenue of contact.
I also made sure to walk past the realty office that's advertising the restaurant and get their phone number. So, I'm hopeful of talking to someone this week. With my luck, I'll find out that they've already accepted another offer, but at this point even that would be a relief. See, I'm following my typical pattern on this: Once I get an idea or a desire in my head, I grasp it tenaciously and become obsessed and impatient to see it through to fruition. And if that impatience goes on too long, I either become excited and slip into irrationality, or discouraged and blow the whole thing off. Since talking to my parents, it's been more of the former than the latter. I've been allowing myself to visualize life as the owner of Shaharazade's, and to wonder about such things as where I'd end up living if this comes to pass (and yes, I've already googled rental properties in the area). At the moment, I can feel the physical manifestation of that anxious excitement-- an intermittent tightness in my chest as if a fist were wrapped around my sternum and trying to yank it out from between my ribs. It's unsettling, to say the least. No wonder I have such issues with dukkha. But I'm trying my damndest to squelch the grasping and remain calm until I can get enough information to rationally decide whether to move forward or just let go.
In the meantime, I've been exploring that feeling of confidence that began in Florida, as well as just where I am at this point in my life. It's not that I'm generally lacking in confidence (I've been known to occasionally border on arrogance. Yes, me. Really!), but the growing realization that I'm at a crossroads and that I need to step out of complacency into something unknown has led me to a questioning state of soul-searching that challenges my self-assurance. I'm a slave to stability. I've had only three full-time jobs in my life. I spent 7 years at the first and only left because the company went bankrupt. After 9 years at the second job, I faced a situation similar to what I'm experiencing now, except that I ended up completely despising that job and crying in the car during morning commutes until I found my current position. In September I'll have been at this job for 9 years, so I'm apparently coming up on my version of the "Seven (or so) Year Itch". That's apparently my life-change cycle. Roughly every seven to nine years, I go through the same round of questions: What and how much can I handle? What and how much am I willing to handle? Is this [idea that I'm pursuing] the right direction for me? If I decide that it's not, or if it just doesn't work out, what else do I want to/am able to do? Will this choice drag me to the depths, or will it bring out latent strengths buried by complacency? Just how do I want to re-define myself?
Redefine
Imagine your brain as a canister filled with ink,
now think of your body as the pen where the ink resides.
Fuse the two, KAPOW! What are you now?
You're the human magic marker, won't you please surprise my eyes?
It's in your nature, you can paint whatever picture you like,
no matter what Ted Koppel says on channel 4 tonight.
So modify this third rock from the sun,
by painting myriads of pictures with the colors of the one.
I'm sick of painting in black and white
My pen is dry and I'm all uptight
So sick of limiting myself to fit your definition
Picture the scene, where whatever you thought
would, in the blink of an eye, manifest and become illustrated.
You'd be sure, man, that every line drawn reflected a life that you loved
not an existence that you hated.
So, must we demonstrate that we can't get it straight?
We've painted a picture, now we're drowning in the paint.
Figure out what the fuck it's about,
before the picture we painted chews us up and spits us out.
I'm sick of painting in black and white
My pen is dry and I'm all uptight
So sick of limiting myself to fit your definition
Redefine
All of this has put my head in a whirl and created a hell of a distraction, which is obvious by the way I've just been babbling. And of course, it's affecting me at work. It was very hard to focus at the convention in Florida. There were moments when I was seriously interested in what I was learning and how I could apply it at work, but just as many others when I was day-dreaming and thinking of questions to ask the owners of Shaharazade's.
I did have one moment of peace, though. The convention takes place at a resort/convention center in St. Pete Beach, which is not a bad spot considering that it's Florida. It's right on the beach (and I lucked into a room with a view) about a mile and a half up from the somewhat fabulous Don Cesar hotel. Tradition at this convention includes an after-dinner stroll down the beach for drinks at the Don's swanky bar. Up till this year I'd resisted that tradition, but this time around I decided that I should finally see the place. If you're into 100 year old cognac and expensive cigars, it's your kinda place. Me, I had two ginger ales, said my goodnights to the group, and headed out to the beach to stroll back to the resort alone.
After the chaos of three days with family, a whirlwind of software seminars, and the Big Issue I've been pondering, that solitary night-time walk along the Gulf of Mexico was wonderfully refreshing. I passed a few other people, but none walked as close to the water as I chose to. About halfway along, I caught up with a group of sandpipers scuttling along the edge of the surf. I followed them for a while, losing sight of them against the water in the dim light, then glimpsing them again as they ran from the tide flowing up the beach. Farther along, just before the spot where I needed to turn away and head up to the resort, was a heron stalking along through the breakers. He was engrossed in hunting and ignored me as I squatted on the sand to watch him. How he was able to see anything in that dark water is beyond me. To me, he was barely more than a long, pale silhouette against the grey and black gradients of flat sea, horizon, and midnight sky above. But observing his focus and determination served to center me, however briefly, and I hope to hold on to the image when I feel that damned fist closing around my sternum.
-- The owners apparently don't spend much time in the shop, as their daughter runs it for them. I know that the husband/owner usually stops in on Sunday mornings, so I planned to have breakfast there today. Of course, I just missed him and his daughter wasn't working, but I was told that my phone messages had been passed on.
-- The owner of a store down the street gave me the low-down on the restaurant's kitchen-- It's supposedly so tiny that they have propane-powered heating elements instead of a stove. Considering the quality of their food, that knowledge (if it's accurate) gives me profound admiration for the kitchen staff. It also tipped me off to what's probably one of the greatest challenges of running the place.
-- Another shop owner, of the awesomely funky Lost Dog coffee shop (my second favorite place in Shepherdstown), informed me that the husband/owner of Shaharazade's is also the town mayor, which gives me another possible avenue of contact.
I also made sure to walk past the realty office that's advertising the restaurant and get their phone number. So, I'm hopeful of talking to someone this week. With my luck, I'll find out that they've already accepted another offer, but at this point even that would be a relief. See, I'm following my typical pattern on this: Once I get an idea or a desire in my head, I grasp it tenaciously and become obsessed and impatient to see it through to fruition. And if that impatience goes on too long, I either become excited and slip into irrationality, or discouraged and blow the whole thing off. Since talking to my parents, it's been more of the former than the latter. I've been allowing myself to visualize life as the owner of Shaharazade's, and to wonder about such things as where I'd end up living if this comes to pass (and yes, I've already googled rental properties in the area). At the moment, I can feel the physical manifestation of that anxious excitement-- an intermittent tightness in my chest as if a fist were wrapped around my sternum and trying to yank it out from between my ribs. It's unsettling, to say the least. No wonder I have such issues with dukkha. But I'm trying my damndest to squelch the grasping and remain calm until I can get enough information to rationally decide whether to move forward or just let go.
In the meantime, I've been exploring that feeling of confidence that began in Florida, as well as just where I am at this point in my life. It's not that I'm generally lacking in confidence (I've been known to occasionally border on arrogance. Yes, me. Really!), but the growing realization that I'm at a crossroads and that I need to step out of complacency into something unknown has led me to a questioning state of soul-searching that challenges my self-assurance. I'm a slave to stability. I've had only three full-time jobs in my life. I spent 7 years at the first and only left because the company went bankrupt. After 9 years at the second job, I faced a situation similar to what I'm experiencing now, except that I ended up completely despising that job and crying in the car during morning commutes until I found my current position. In September I'll have been at this job for 9 years, so I'm apparently coming up on my version of the "Seven (or so) Year Itch". That's apparently my life-change cycle. Roughly every seven to nine years, I go through the same round of questions: What and how much can I handle? What and how much am I willing to handle? Is this [idea that I'm pursuing] the right direction for me? If I decide that it's not, or if it just doesn't work out, what else do I want to/am able to do? Will this choice drag me to the depths, or will it bring out latent strengths buried by complacency? Just how do I want to re-define myself?
Redefine
Imagine your brain as a canister filled with ink,
now think of your body as the pen where the ink resides.
Fuse the two, KAPOW! What are you now?
You're the human magic marker, won't you please surprise my eyes?
It's in your nature, you can paint whatever picture you like,
no matter what Ted Koppel says on channel 4 tonight.
So modify this third rock from the sun,
by painting myriads of pictures with the colors of the one.
I'm sick of painting in black and white
My pen is dry and I'm all uptight
So sick of limiting myself to fit your definition
Picture the scene, where whatever you thought
would, in the blink of an eye, manifest and become illustrated.
You'd be sure, man, that every line drawn reflected a life that you loved
not an existence that you hated.
So, must we demonstrate that we can't get it straight?
We've painted a picture, now we're drowning in the paint.
Figure out what the fuck it's about,
before the picture we painted chews us up and spits us out.
I'm sick of painting in black and white
My pen is dry and I'm all uptight
So sick of limiting myself to fit your definition
Redefine
All of this has put my head in a whirl and created a hell of a distraction, which is obvious by the way I've just been babbling. And of course, it's affecting me at work. It was very hard to focus at the convention in Florida. There were moments when I was seriously interested in what I was learning and how I could apply it at work, but just as many others when I was day-dreaming and thinking of questions to ask the owners of Shaharazade's.
I did have one moment of peace, though. The convention takes place at a resort/convention center in St. Pete Beach, which is not a bad spot considering that it's Florida. It's right on the beach (and I lucked into a room with a view) about a mile and a half up from the somewhat fabulous Don Cesar hotel. Tradition at this convention includes an after-dinner stroll down the beach for drinks at the Don's swanky bar. Up till this year I'd resisted that tradition, but this time around I decided that I should finally see the place. If you're into 100 year old cognac and expensive cigars, it's your kinda place. Me, I had two ginger ales, said my goodnights to the group, and headed out to the beach to stroll back to the resort alone.
After the chaos of three days with family, a whirlwind of software seminars, and the Big Issue I've been pondering, that solitary night-time walk along the Gulf of Mexico was wonderfully refreshing. I passed a few other people, but none walked as close to the water as I chose to. About halfway along, I caught up with a group of sandpipers scuttling along the edge of the surf. I followed them for a while, losing sight of them against the water in the dim light, then glimpsing them again as they ran from the tide flowing up the beach. Farther along, just before the spot where I needed to turn away and head up to the resort, was a heron stalking along through the breakers. He was engrossed in hunting and ignored me as I squatted on the sand to watch him. How he was able to see anything in that dark water is beyond me. To me, he was barely more than a long, pale silhouette against the grey and black gradients of flat sea, horizon, and midnight sky above. But observing his focus and determination served to center me, however briefly, and I hope to hold on to the image when I feel that damned fist closing around my sternum.
March 2, 2008
Synchronicity, or just a pipe dream?
Main Entry: pipe dream
Function: noun
Etymology: 1896, from the fantasies brought about by the smoking of opium
Definition: an illusory or fantastic plan, hope, or story
So, a few weeks ago I followed one of my favorite routines of cruising up to Shepherdstown, WV, for tea and breakfast at Shaharazade's. Afterwards, I went for a stroll through town. Shep'town appears at first glance to be just one more tiny little historic country town, with a tiny little main street of slightly crumbling historic buildings. But a closer look reveals that the street-level of those buildings is full of some pretty chi-chi shops and restaurants, and at least three of those store-fronts are home to realty offices that plaster their windows with very expensive listings, which I normally ignore because I think it's disgusting that housing should cost that much, even if it is historic. I have the impression that much of the staff of Shepherd University (after which the town is named) and the visiting parents of many of the students apparently have significant disposable income, and the town seems happy to oblige them.
So, anyway, after breakfast on that particular day a few weeks ago, one of those listings jumped out and grabbed my attention as I was walking by. Being offered for a mere (relatively speaking) $75,000 was my beloved Shaharazade's! In the following weeks, I inquired of the staff when I was there and left phone messages for the owners, but got no information. This morning, though, I was there again and one of the owners came in just as I was finishing my meal. I had been hoping for just such an opportunity and chatted with him for a bit. It seems that, even though the business is doing just fine, there are too many other issues going on in his and his wife's lives and something had to give. They're apparently semi-retired and decided to take away the "semi-" part in order to have time to deal with things.
I've been thinking about this a lot. I probably wouldn't be if I weren't going through this phase of being dissatisfied with both my job and where I live, but I am fed up with both and so very ready for a change. But...
1) I'd have to sell my condo to have the money to do this. I could probably, possibly, find a place to rent for a decent price out thataways (an hour or so farther west of DC), but to get a decent price for my condo I'd have to throw several thousand dollars into fixing it up. Even then, the current housing market situation means that I wouldn't get anywhere near what I could have a few years ago, or what I might if I waited for this economic slump to end. I'm guessing, in it's current state, I could get more than double the price of the restaurant, but less than triple. Would that be enough to buy the business, find a place to live, and make the venture successful? And then there's the timing of it all to consider. Who knows how long my condo would take to sell? Would the owners of Shaharazade's wait that long? Or would I have to take out a loan and then pray that the condo sold quickly? Could I even take out a loan for that amount before selling the condo?
2) Even more importantly, I know jack-shit about the restaurant industry. I've got a quarter-century in luxury retailing under my belt, including sales, management and administration, and I'm sure some portion of that knowledge and experience would translate into running a restaurant. But what about the rest? There's so much I don't know, and that's the part that scares the bejeezus out of me. The place comes with all equipment, inventory, staff, etc, and the current owner is willing to assist whomever takes over. But I have no idea how long the learning curve would be. I've read Anthony Bourdain's books, and I've heard the horror stories from that industry. What if I were to take this plunge and have it fail in less than a year? What the hell would I do then?
Not to mention the fact that Shaharazade's is my sanctuary, the place that I've run to these many months when I've needed a serene, comfortable place to read, write, think, and escape. If I were to take over the business, how long would it take for it to turn from calm sanctuary to stressful nightmare?
So I've spent the past couple of weeks wondering whether this is one of those synchronous opportunities I wrote about so recently, or just a crazy, unrealistic, impractical pipe dream. How the hell to tell? There are just too many questions. Could someone out there please tell me whether or not I'm a lunatic to consider this with any degree of seriousness? Or could I actually make this work? Is this a leap I should take, or would I just end up screwing myself?
Where's a fucking Magic 8-Ball when I need it?
While I'm stuck here driving myself to distraction over this little fantasy of mine, here's some Incubus for y'all to chew on:
Pendulous Threads
Mend this careless thread, it’s gone askew.
(Thread on my sweater is pendulous, step back & pull it.
Watch it unravel faster than a speeding bullet.)
Or pull & see how much we can undo.
(Thread on my sweater is pendulous, step back & pull it.
Watch it unravel faster than a speeding bullet.)
On a burning bridge, your options are minimal at best.
Depending on where you’re standing
& how much breath is in your chest.
If it came down to it
would you high-tail home & hide?
Or dance on fire & enjoy the ride?
Mend this careless thread, it’s gone askew.
(Thread on my sweater is pendulous, step back & pull it.
Watch it unravel faster than a speeding bullet!)
Or pull & see how much we can undo.
(Thread on my sweater is pendulous, step back & pull it.
Watch it unravel faster than a speeding bullet!)
At the heart of it all,
that innermost, your fiery core,
there’s an amassing armor
& it’s building you into a bore.
Life’s a match in a gas tank,
don’t ever mourn the ebbing tide,
just dance on fire & enjoy the ride!
Hey!
(Chorus)
Function: noun
Etymology: 1896, from the fantasies brought about by the smoking of opium
Definition: an illusory or fantastic plan, hope, or story
So, a few weeks ago I followed one of my favorite routines of cruising up to Shepherdstown, WV, for tea and breakfast at Shaharazade's. Afterwards, I went for a stroll through town. Shep'town appears at first glance to be just one more tiny little historic country town, with a tiny little main street of slightly crumbling historic buildings. But a closer look reveals that the street-level of those buildings is full of some pretty chi-chi shops and restaurants, and at least three of those store-fronts are home to realty offices that plaster their windows with very expensive listings, which I normally ignore because I think it's disgusting that housing should cost that much, even if it is historic. I have the impression that much of the staff of Shepherd University (after which the town is named) and the visiting parents of many of the students apparently have significant disposable income, and the town seems happy to oblige them.
So, anyway, after breakfast on that particular day a few weeks ago, one of those listings jumped out and grabbed my attention as I was walking by. Being offered for a mere (relatively speaking) $75,000 was my beloved Shaharazade's! In the following weeks, I inquired of the staff when I was there and left phone messages for the owners, but got no information. This morning, though, I was there again and one of the owners came in just as I was finishing my meal. I had been hoping for just such an opportunity and chatted with him for a bit. It seems that, even though the business is doing just fine, there are too many other issues going on in his and his wife's lives and something had to give. They're apparently semi-retired and decided to take away the "semi-" part in order to have time to deal with things.
I've been thinking about this a lot. I probably wouldn't be if I weren't going through this phase of being dissatisfied with both my job and where I live, but I am fed up with both and so very ready for a change. But...
1) I'd have to sell my condo to have the money to do this. I could probably, possibly, find a place to rent for a decent price out thataways (an hour or so farther west of DC), but to get a decent price for my condo I'd have to throw several thousand dollars into fixing it up. Even then, the current housing market situation means that I wouldn't get anywhere near what I could have a few years ago, or what I might if I waited for this economic slump to end. I'm guessing, in it's current state, I could get more than double the price of the restaurant, but less than triple. Would that be enough to buy the business, find a place to live, and make the venture successful? And then there's the timing of it all to consider. Who knows how long my condo would take to sell? Would the owners of Shaharazade's wait that long? Or would I have to take out a loan and then pray that the condo sold quickly? Could I even take out a loan for that amount before selling the condo?
2) Even more importantly, I know jack-shit about the restaurant industry. I've got a quarter-century in luxury retailing under my belt, including sales, management and administration, and I'm sure some portion of that knowledge and experience would translate into running a restaurant. But what about the rest? There's so much I don't know, and that's the part that scares the bejeezus out of me. The place comes with all equipment, inventory, staff, etc, and the current owner is willing to assist whomever takes over. But I have no idea how long the learning curve would be. I've read Anthony Bourdain's books, and I've heard the horror stories from that industry. What if I were to take this plunge and have it fail in less than a year? What the hell would I do then?
Not to mention the fact that Shaharazade's is my sanctuary, the place that I've run to these many months when I've needed a serene, comfortable place to read, write, think, and escape. If I were to take over the business, how long would it take for it to turn from calm sanctuary to stressful nightmare?
So I've spent the past couple of weeks wondering whether this is one of those synchronous opportunities I wrote about so recently, or just a crazy, unrealistic, impractical pipe dream. How the hell to tell? There are just too many questions. Could someone out there please tell me whether or not I'm a lunatic to consider this with any degree of seriousness? Or could I actually make this work? Is this a leap I should take, or would I just end up screwing myself?
Where's a fucking Magic 8-Ball when I need it?
While I'm stuck here driving myself to distraction over this little fantasy of mine, here's some Incubus for y'all to chew on:
Pendulous Threads
Mend this careless thread, it’s gone askew.
(Thread on my sweater is pendulous, step back & pull it.
Watch it unravel faster than a speeding bullet.)
Or pull & see how much we can undo.
(Thread on my sweater is pendulous, step back & pull it.
Watch it unravel faster than a speeding bullet.)
On a burning bridge, your options are minimal at best.
Depending on where you’re standing
& how much breath is in your chest.
If it came down to it
would you high-tail home & hide?
Or dance on fire & enjoy the ride?
Mend this careless thread, it’s gone askew.
(Thread on my sweater is pendulous, step back & pull it.
Watch it unravel faster than a speeding bullet!)
Or pull & see how much we can undo.
(Thread on my sweater is pendulous, step back & pull it.
Watch it unravel faster than a speeding bullet!)
At the heart of it all,
that innermost, your fiery core,
there’s an amassing armor
& it’s building you into a bore.
Life’s a match in a gas tank,
don’t ever mourn the ebbing tide,
just dance on fire & enjoy the ride!
Hey!
(Chorus)
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