Recreation and parks

John-Paul: “Karin, what should I blog about?”

Karin: “How good Howard Park is.”

It is good. It has a splash pad, a large playground, an ice-skating rink (in wintertime), valleys, hills, and a view of the river. It was redeveloped a few years ago, but we only recently began taking the boys there.

It’s also next to a trendy restaurant with loud live music. Acoustic covers of Savage Garden: that sort of thing. Alas.

The other day, we took the boys up a hill next to the park and across a footbridge to look out over the river. There were homeless people on the other side, resting. One guy – the coolest-looking one – lifted up his palm as if to say: Hey, man.

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Another time, we went to a rather desolate park closer to our house. It borders a desolate apartment complex.

We were the only people there until an SUV pulled up and a little Hispanic boy got out. His mother (I assume that’s who she was) stayed in the SUV. The little boy played by himself. I was pushing Daniel on a swing. The little boy walked over and gestured as if he wanted me to lift him onto a swing. I peered over toward the mother. She wasn’t visible; the SUV was behind some play equipment. I lifted the boy onto the swing. He sat forlornly. He couldn’t get going. After a while, I pushed him and he swung for a bit. Then I helped him off and he went back to the SUV. It drove away.

Then some youths ambled over and asked Karin for dollars to buy sodas. She gave them some. She’s soft that way.

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We all walked to Kroger today (that, too, is recreation) and, while we were in the checkout line, a pretty, young, Black woman with classic basketball shoes opened her box of Outshine popsicles and gave one to each of her children and one to Samuel. Then, as she was leaving, she noticed Daniel. I didn’t know you had two children, she said. She went out to the parking lot, came back inside (we were still checking out), bought another box of popsicles, and gave one popsicle to Daniel.

Last days in Mishawaka

Happy birthday to Karin, who is thirty.

As she pointed out, our ages start with the same digit. For now.

The grownups’ books – not Samuel’s – have all been transported to the new house, except the 35–40 vols. that I’ve set aside for imminent use. I miss the books that are out of reach. Until lately, I’d never had such an urge to read “The Canterville Ghost.”

The furniture, including the beds, will be moved on Saturday. This will be our last week at my parents’ house.

Like a good addict, I worry about where in the new neighborhood I’ll exercise. I’ll miss Mishawaka’s riverwalk. Its pavement once seemed too hard, but my legs have gotten used to it, and I have no trouble covering an extra mile on little more than a whim. Some mornings, I go incredibly fast, faster than I would have dreamed, because I have to get back to the house before Karin can leave for her job.

A renewed athleticism

Thunderstorms and flash flood warnings tonight: no pickup soccer, despite the fervid wishes of the twenty or so nerds who like to run around on an unpainted, undersized field with lots of gnats. My muscles are getting more used to the sport. Alas, I’ve had a three-game goal drought. That’s what comes of playing fullback while lacking the will to cover more than twenty yards.

Hmm. Facebook says people are playing right now. Well, good for them. I am at home in bed.

I have been running again; that, too, is increasingly easy, though the concrete surface of Mishawaka’s running trail is painfully hard. The trail goes along a scenic riverfront. Unfortunately there are many geese, and the crows have been attacking me.

Tomorrow the building inspectors will look at the house we intend to buy, and so we’ll find out if it’s habitable.

A little sunlight

Lifting Samuel, I pulled a muscle in my back. It was painful … debilitating … and so, yesterday, rather than work her half-shift, Karin stayed home to care for us.

This made for a lovely weekend, especially after Karin introduced me to the miracle of IcyHot.

Today I am mostly recovered. Karin & I did a seventy-minute stroll along the river (Samuel rode in his chariot). I’d hardly been in sunlight this year; I expect my skin to turn a little pink.

Or even a little orange, what with the meals I’ve been inventing for the rice cooker. The latest one is made of bacon, butter, whole-grain mustard, onion, and a pound of carrots. Samuel begged to taste it. I was reticent – I’d also put in cayenne powder and jalapeños – but he insisted.

What can I say? The boy likes spicy food. He did a fair amount of panting, with a wry grin.

A pleasant Sunday

Excellent weather this weekend. It rained all of Friday, then was cool yesterday and today. It also rained a little this morning. Our church service was moved from the parking lot into the gym, so we boycotted it (or, rather, we self-quarantined at home).

Later, we strolled Samuel around Mishawaka’s riverwalk. He stayed awake until the final minutes.

Karin constantly looked at her phone. “Let’s go stand there, near that part of the river,” she said.

I pointed out that it was near some teenagers who were doing jumps with their skateboards. Karin usually doesn’t like teenagers. When we watched the new comedy Banana Split, Karin said she wouldn’t relive high school for a million dollars.

But this time, she surprised me: “It’s all right. I’m doing battle.”

I was reminded of that famous saying of the Scottish minister Ian MacLaren: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle of Pokémon Go.”

We met our pastor and his wife on the trail. They were out walking with their two-year-old daughter.

“We skipped church because it was held indoors,” I said.

“Probably for the best,” they said. “People came rather close to one another this morning.”

My apologetics textbooks have arrived, and I’m educating myself. I’d never studied the different methodological camps. Presuppositionalism seems like a non-starter. It’s very strange to look at the world, and even at such texts as Saint Paul’s Athenian discourse (Acts 17), through the eyes of an extreme Calvinist.

La reina rezaba por los niños pobres

… according to Duolingo’s sentence generator. Karin was amused.

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It’s Labor Day weekend. There isn’t a day when Karin & I don’t have at least one event scheduled with this or that acquaintance.

For us, this is unusual.

Today, we visited my friend Dan’s family. We went to the beach. Although the water was supposedly infested with E. coli, it contained many bathers.

We didn’t bathe. We walked down a pier to where, between the cities of St. Joseph and Benton Harbor, our own St. Joseph River empties itself out into Lake Michigan.

We also went on a carousel (I gather it’s impossible not to do so if one goes to the beach with Dan’s kids).

I rode the flamingo:

It had a slimming effect.

Dan and his wife, Lizzie, kindly gave us many things for our baby. Dan & Lizzie aren’t going to produce any more children. They have three who are cute but wild, especially at night.

February fragments

Four weeks after having sprained my ankle, I walk much better; but my ankle still hurts all day long.

Karin drives me to work each morning, what with my being injured; and when my shift ends, I walk home the scenic way, upon a riverside path that’s much less icy than my usual route.

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I’ve been trudging through Paul Auster’s New York Trilogy. I just finished Ghosts, the second installment. Some fifteen years ago, I read the first book, City of Glass, and vowed not to again; well, now I have. The second time was better. I suppose it was effective training to have read, in the interim, novels like Murakami’s Wind-Up Bird Chronicle and 1Q84 in which the characters stay holed up for long periods with their thoughts. But in those novels, the long, inactive waits are punctuated with tasteful elevator music and wistful sippings of Cutty Sark. In Auster’s books, the waiting turns the protagonists into bums. Anyway, my objective is to get through the third book in Auster’s trilogy, The Locked Room, so that I can then read Sjöwall & Wahlöö’s Locked Room and write down the same title twice consecutively in my reading journal.

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The kitties have been chasing each other around the apartment all the last hour. Jasper trapped Ziva behind the couch for a while, but Karin coaxed him away.

Karin & I show appreciation

Just a little more rain has fallen. Some floodwater has receded, though the river is still quite high. Our front street remains impassable. This isn’t a problem for us, however, since we have back streets galore upon which to drive.

Tonight, Karin & I bought dinner for the nice young woman who watched over Jasper and Ziva while we were in Kansas City. About halfway through the meal, it dawned on me that not everybody would consider being taken out to dinner to be an especially pleasant treat. For example, not everyone could comfortably eat the entirety of his or her order in front of other people, in one sitting. (I certainly could, though.)

Afterward, Karin & I hopped over to Fazoli’s, where Karin’s sister, Lily, is employed. We meant to wish her a happy birthday. She’d been called in at the last minute for a five-hour shift. She was the only counter worker, and she was running hither and thither, taking orders and distributing breadsticks.

We bought a cheesecake for ourselves, wished her well, and left.

A flood!

The St. Joseph River has flooded, what with all this raining and this melting of snow. Elkhart and Goshen (Indiana) and Niles (Michigan) seem to have been hit the hardest. South Bend also has been affected.

IUSB canceled its classes today. For the second time this week, I’m at home, not earning money.

I took this photo yesterday, through a window in the library at IUSB.

Let me explain a little. The school’s dorms are on the other side of the river. The footbridge that connects them to the main campus is partly under water. You wouldn’t know it, but several walking paths and a field are pretty well submerged.

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The apartment complex where Karin & I live, just across the street from the river, has remained dry. The water covers our street one block to the north of us and one block to the south.

Last night, we went out to look at the encroaching water, and Karin took this very dark photo.

You can see ducks swimming in the street (look where the light is reflected). They were quack-quacking all the lovely while.

“Let’s bring out the kitties,” we said.

We didn’t do that.

Yesterday and today have been dry, but more rain is supposed to fall tonight.

Howards End (the book)

Emelec beat Delfín to win the Ecuadorian championship. Barcelona failed to qualify for next year’s Copa Libertadores.

The Oakland Raiders, whom I’ve been casually following this season, came within inches of scoring the touchdown that would’ve kept their playoff hopes alive. Rather than score, they did this.

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The good news is that my health is much restored. My cold lingers but no longer pains me. I’ve been resting at home, drinking water and tea and dosing myself with Mucinex.

Karin, who’s been tending to me, is a little sicker now.

Last Friday night, we went to a birthday party for my dear grandpa (his ninetieth).

Today, the air was rather warm, and I walked for half an hour by the river. I wore a coat that one of my fellow tutors gave to me on the last day of the term.

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My newest reading project is Howards End by E.M. Forster. This is the book of the Wilcoxes vs. the Schlegels: the materialistic English vs. the romantic “German” English. The book also depicts a few representatives of the hapless English poor, whose role is to be the grass trampled upon by the two warring upper-class factions.

The LimeBike

As Borat says, “In my country, there is problem / And that problem is transport.”

Well, South Bend has joined in an experiment to make transport better, or, at least, more hip. It has adopted the LimeBike system.

Behold these young Seattleites riding LimeBikes.

The system works like this. Garish green bikes are planted all over the city. When you find one, you scan its QR code with your phone. This allows you to ride for up to 30 minutes.

$1 is charged to your tab.

Afterward, you leave the bike in any accessible, unobtrusive place (e.g., on the grass next to a public sidewalk).

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I strongly disapprove of car transport, and so you’d think I’d have high hopes for the LimeBike.

Alas, I don’t.

I don’t think the LimeBike ever will become popular enough to significantly change the transport system. South Benders will continue to drive.

If I recall correctly, that’s what’s happened in the Netherlands. For many years, the Dutch have had a generous bike-sharing system. And many Dutch do use it: cycling is an important part of their culture. But few Dutch commuters switch over from driving cars.

My conjecture is that no matter what country you go to, introducing more bikes won’t change the overall transport preferences.

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But suppose that LimeBikes were to become popular in South Bend, or were perceived to be popular. That would be dangerous, lest support be withdrawn from public bussing.

Mass transit is what really matters to poor people. No one too poor to own a car would wish to depend on some dumb bike. Especially not in snow or rain. And not in old age or illness or affliction.

For the occasional light errand, the LimeBike is OK. Though it isn’t cheaper than riding the bus, in some circumstances it’s more practical. But as a significant influence upon transit patterns, it’s less likely to help than to hurt.

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Also, the LimeBike reminds me of Dr. Seuss’s Pale Green Pants. I keep seeing it in strange places, as if it were following me.

This week, there’s been a LimeBike in my parking lot. Every day, the thing has moved a little closer to my building. Now it’s sitting on my front porch.

It creeps me out.

In Seattle, the LimeBike has taken to hanging from the trees.

And in South Bend, it keeps on appearing in the river, as if it were Ophelia.

Our new home

On moving day, thankfully, there was very little rain. The next day, it rained much harder.

While our helpers were carrying furniture and boxes into our new apartment, Jasper and Ziva were hiding under the bed. (Or, rather, Jasper was keeping his head under the bed, like an ostrich.) Only after the helpers left did the kitties venture to the living room. Since then, they’ve been sniffing around the apartment. They seem to like it well enough.

Still, they’ve been clinging to us more than usual. When Karin went to work this morning, Jasper cried most piteously; and he did it again when I was about to leave.

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The unpacking will be completed by the end of the week – I hope.

Unused to such hard labor, Karin & I sleep soundly. At bedtime, we can hardly move.

Karin (lying in bed last night): “That was such a weird movie, Sweetie.”

John-Paul (almost too pained to speak): “Which movie?”

Karin: “Pineapple Express for Kids.”

John-Paul: “Pineapple Express for Kids?”

(Pause.)

Karin: “Yeah. You know. Superbad.”

We watched Superbad quite a while ago. Why would Karin be reminded of it – or of The Pineapple Express, for that matter? Maybe because of our neighbor, who’s often smoking in his parked car.

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This is one of the better apartments I’ve lived in. The main window lets in a good deal of light. There’s plenty of counter space in the kitchen. The rooms are fairly large. The crime rate is fairly low.

As I’ve mentioned, the river is across the street. Next to it is a good trail for running. Karin says she’ll go with me if I run lazily enough.

I lose a race

You play like an old man, Brandon tells me as I limp off the field (not that he’s very limber). I am an old man, I answer. But the truth is, I’ve let myself go; I could refurbish my motor if I wanted to.

This morning, by the river, I run five miles (I can do that any day, irrespective of my rustiness). Half a mile ahead jogs a slim young woman. Slim but slow. Ten minutes later, I’ve passed her. Another slim young woman appears in the distance; five more minutes, and I’ve passed her, too. On a bridge I pass another woman. This one is walking her dog. The bridge is narrow, but the dog is leashed, and the woman pulls it close to her. Comfortably ahead, I slow my pace. This is the life.

Just as I relax, though, I’m passed by a crafty old man: one of these “health fiends.” This won’t do. (A year ago I was on the trail constantly, and no one ever passed me.)

I speed up: for a while I keep pace behind this presumptuous old man. But eventually he pulls well ahead. His legs are toned, but not more than mine. Last year, I would have lapped him.

At home, worn out, I sleep for several hours.

A grand day out

Spring Break came and went. Mainly I spent it on the couch, thinking about my diet. (My goal is to fit into a particular suit by David’s wedding-time.)

I lost five lbs.

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After this morning’s work shift, I treated myself to a stroll along my old haunts: westward on Mishawaka Ave.; northwestward, next to the river; to and fro, down-town. Then, for the first time, I went into the DoubleTree Hotel. In the lobby I browsed the well-stocked bookshelves. I detected no thematic pattern to the books: spine color (white, gray, black, or blue) appeared to be the sole criterion for inclusion.

I wandered over to the hotel’s enormous, empty atrium. There I bought a Starbucks drink and sat and read. Light flowed down from the high glass ceiling; heating machinery distantly hummed. Cozy in my armchair, I was happy.

A new season

No tutoring this last week, but plenty of busyness: (1) attending meetings and turning in paperwork; (2) reading textbooks (and a few secondary sources); (3) writing essay prompts and syllabi.

(2) and (3) have been pretty exciting. I chose each textbook because of its fonts. And I’m writing my IUSB course documents in Plantin and my Bethel documents in Photina.

Next week — Monday! — I’ll begin teaching. And during the nights I’ll be packing up my books to move out of my apartment. This has been a convenient but pricey place in which to live.

Where will I end up? I don’t know. Mary & Martin have offered to host me until I find somewhere better.

They just bought a house near Bethel. Their yard has a hot tub in it, with a large fence for privacy. Between the fence and the sidewalk, flowers grow out of a narrow strip of dirt. I told Mary & Martin to clear out the flowers and to plant tomatoes for public use: “Mishawaka Unity Garden.”

Along the eastern boundary of the yard is a noisy road. The western boundary nearly touches a power station.

Others might recoil, but I find the scenery quite charming. Industrialism, traffic: I am able to glean comfort from such things. I will miss the river, though. And it will be sad not to be able to walk so easily to my church.

Home improvement

Today at IU I tutored someone who said, “I don’t think you should be getting paid to do this.”

Um.

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Wanna be my housemate/flatmate/roommate? Or know of anyone else who might want to be? My lease expires at the end of August. I’d like to stay around Keller Park, but that’s negotiable.

Funny, I care more about living near to my church than about living near to my job. (Yes, I’m very pious, but the main reason is that on Sundays the buses don’t travel.)

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More orbiting around those twin suns, Sabby. Their magnetism is irresistible. Last week I was with the male Sabby, the architect, and he was like, “I found some cool stone artifacts in the river. Let’s go haul them out.” And so we did that. I can’t remember what every cool stone artifact was, but one was a part of a century-old balustrade (I think the male Sabby said). We brought them to Sabby’s house and the male Sabby put them away. I’m not sure what he’s going to do with them. (His wife, the botanist, is like him: she’s always collecting leaves and flowers and things, which is a little strange and endearing.)

Then I saw their very old reel mower and felt a sudden compulsion to mow their lawn. And so I did that.

Then this week I was in Sabby’s kitchen, which they’re remodeling, and I had a sudden longing to help them to strip the floor. And so the next day I did that. I helped to tear out a thin layer of sticky stuff and a thin layer of wood and I pounded the exposed staples deep into the bottommost wood layer (see, I don’t know any of the technical terms). It was very extraordinary of me and I’m a little surprised. The female Sabby got me to help her to cook, an activity which wasn’t so extraordinary for me but which felt less effortful than usual.

Midwinter, pt. 3

My Kenyan friend has agreed to reduce her generosity to just two meals each week.

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Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday were warm days. At first everything was foggy: steam was rising up from the leftover snow. I exercised in shorts. Later it rained. Walking home from work, I saw that the river had flooded over parts of the East Bank Trail.

Since Thursday it’s been cold, cold.

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At IUSB the custom is to avoid proclaiming one’s religion. And so my department’s secretary — a jolly, John Goodmanesque, ex-naval man; a motorcyclist with all the paraphernalia — keeps his faith low-key.

One day when I must’ve looked lousy, he said, “I’ll be sending positive vibes your way.” I thanked him. Lately he’s grown bolder. When I’ve come into the office and flipped the switch, he’s said, “Let there be light.”

Like many other Christians, he’s offered to drive me home. (He shudders at the weather.) Once, during a downpour, I accepted; but I hated to, despite his kindness.

I like to ride with those whom I particularly enjoy — for the sake of being near to them, not for the sake of free-riding, of doing what’s easy. What I’m discovering in South Bend is that the burden of friendship falls unequally because I never drive. (In Ithaca this wasn’t an issue, for I seldom rode with friends.) I never will defeat this culture. I never will convince the world to walk. The result of my stubbornness is that I’m a bad friend.

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Kenny drives me when I can stand to ask him to do that. On the other hand, Kenny and I just finished watching Peep Show, and lately we’ve been watching Downton Abbey, and I pay for the Netflix subscription.

Midwinter, pt. 2

A delightful surprise: today an Ecuadorian came in for tutoring. I helped him with his grammar and then we talked about the Homeland. It turns out, we both cheer for Barcelona Sporting Club, and his family lives in my parents’ neighborhood in Guayaquil.

“Do you like South Bend?” I asked him.

“I do,” he said. “I go everywhere on foot. Compared to Guayaquil, this place feels very safe.”

In South Bend he’s found two other people who’ve lived in Ecuador: another IUSB student (I met her, too, last semester) and, of course, the Pedro.

But the winter displeases him.

It displeases me less and less. As I walked home along the East Bank Trail, the frozen river looked lovely; the trail itself had recently been cleared of snow. And yet I noticed just one other pedestrian. I had the city to myself.

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My Kenyan friend brought food four times last week. Four times! Some of her dishes are elaborate, some are not. One day, she’ll bring over a complicated chicken dinner; another day, a tuna sandwich. I don’t know how to react. Kenny charmed her in Swahili pretty well, but I think he’s out of phrases.