A long-awaited stroll; a latitude, hydrological divides, and other fancies

Snow: mostly melted. Temperatures: in the fifties (F); sixties tomorrow. I take Abel and Daniel strolling. Daniel jumps in all the puddles. He soaks the insides of his boots. I don’t know what he’ll wear if we go out again very soon.

Abel, in the stroller, leans forward, his head as near to the ground as he can get it, as if he were peering into tidal pools.

I halt to check if he’s all right; Daniel races ahead.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Fun fact I just learned: Canada’s lowest latitude passes through South Bend just a few blocks north of Toad Hall.

(Toad Hall is our house.)

I could pinpoint the location, stroll there, and hop back and forth over the line. “Now I’m south of all of Canada. Now I’m north of a little of Canada.”

I suppose the urge is due to having grown up near the equator.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I could do this with the nearby drainage divide, too. “Now I’m daining into the Great Lakes. Now I’m draining into the Gulf of Mexico, I mean the Gulf of America.”

It seems a less arbitrary line since it has a basis in physical rather than political reality – until I remember that the Great Lakes drain into the St. Lawrence River and thence into the Atlantic, which encompasses the Gulf of Mexico (I mean, America). So that, ultimately, the distinction between these drainage basins is artificial.

Of course there’s a physical difference between draining one way and draining the other, but if you mark all such differences you end up with insignificant, postage stamp-sized drainage basins.

Artifice – human purposiveness – seems inescapable if much geography is to be done at all.

I remember checking out geography Ph.D. programs when I was very young. There was the respectable but daunting meteorology specialization; all else seemed postmodern free-for-all. A bitter disappointment to someone who’d vaguely entertained the thought that his vocation might consist of memorizing picturesque but unimpeachable facts, e.g. that Czechoslovakia’s capital is Prague.

R.I.P. Western Avenue Kroger

STORE CLOSING

(A sign posted at our Kroger.)

Shoppers are invited to use the “neighboring” branch, seven miles away, on Ireland Road.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Nearer to us, at a distance of just one mile, is the much “Guccier” Martin’s Super Market. It shouldn’t be too miserable to walk to, after the heat dome has dissipated.

(I walked to Martin’s and back, in the heat, on Sunday; and when I got home, I promptly fell asleep.)

But I don’t think I’ll often stroll to Martin’s with the children – not even in good weather. We’d have to scurry over busy Mayflower Road.

There’s a crosswalk, but cars aren’t meant to halt there. They just slow down. And not every time.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I’ve almost finished reading Sense and Sensibility.

This is my favorite S&S cover painting. It adorns a Penguin Classic – but I’m reading from an old Modern Library omnibus.

A savage read!

Did you know that christianbook.com sells literary classics? (Only certain classics. Not, e.g., Sade or Céline. But still.)

I didn’t know, before today.

S&S is on sale now.

Birthdays; mischief; the Fruit of the Spirit; a word association; a walk; a rogue motorcar

Happy birthday to Karin; to my sister-in-law, Ana; and, apparently, to quite a few of my acquaintances.

Here’s an old photo of Karin and her dad.

My parents baked Karin a cake. Daniel got it all over himself, and we had to toss him into the bath.

We asked Samuel if he wanted to bathe; he demurred. Later – too late – he apprehended that we were respecting his stated wishes, that we in fact didn’t intend to bathe him. He grabbed some fistfuls of cake and judiciously applied them. So we bathed him after all.

Daniel, whom we’d dried and partly dressed, climbed into the water again.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

This morning, I was urging Samuel to be patient, which got him onto his favorite Sunday School topic – the Fruit of the Spirit – and so we read from Galatians 5, which also mentions walking along with (beside, behind, in step with) the Spirit; which made Samuel impatient to take a physical walk; which we did take, along the perimeter of the nearby school. We observed the physical education students riding bicycles upon the running track. I never got to ride a bicycle in P.E. in my day. … Even stranger, a few yards ahead of us, a car casually drove over the grass and mounted the sidewalk and ambled behind the tennis courts and into a parking lot. I could hardly believe I’d seen this, but I checked the grass, and the tracks were there. What was so strange was the nonchalance of it, as if it were a familiar route for that car.

Mo Farah; strolling; July’s poem

Here is stunning news concerning one of the world’s great athletes:

“Sir Mo Farah reveals he was trafficked into the UK using another child’s name.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Today’s weather was on the cool side. I did two strolls of forty-plus minutes: one with Daniel and Samuel, and one with Daniel, Samuel, and Karin.

Samuel now owns a pair of sunglasses that he wears during his strolls and car rides. When he wants to leave the house, he puts on his glasses and asks to head out to “the church” – his all-purpose term for the store, the park, etc.

Daniel’s head flops around too freely in the stroller. Today’s first stroll put him to sleep; he leaned forward, his head dangling over his chest. His little legs seem to have been sunburned.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

This month’s poem, by Kate Bush, is “Wow.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

We’re all alone on the stage tonight

We’ve been told we’re not afraid of you

We know all our lines so well, uh-huh

We’ve said them so many times

Time and time again

Line and line again

Ooh, yeah, you’re amazing

We think you’re incredible

You say we’re fantastic

But still we don’t head the bill

Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Unbelievable!

Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Unbelievable!

When the actor reaches his death

You know it’s not for real: he just holds his breath

But he always dives too soon, too fast to save himself

He’ll never make the screen

He’ll never make the Sweeney

Be that movie queen

He’s too busy hitting the Vaseline

Ooh, yeah, you’re amazing

We think you are really cool

We’d give you a part, my love

But you’d have to play the fool

Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Unbelievable!

Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Wow! Unbelievable!

We’re all alone on the stage tonight

We’re all alone

On the stage

Tonight

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I’ve had job interviews like this one.

A plan for success

So here’s the plan.

(1) Karin takes the day off from work; maybe goes to the mall, walks up and down, prepares her muscles.

(2) She takes tomorrow off, too, for more of the same.

(3) If, by 7:00 tomorrow evening, she hasn’t begun laboring, we check in to the hospital.

(4) On Wednesday, someone takes our car to get an oil change. Karin produces our son.

Our dwelling is about as ready as we’ll make it. Today, looking for more to do, we separated unexpired grocery coupons from expired ones. Then we slept a little. Karin is still sleeping. I might put away our ironing board.

Teenagers

Ecuador 2, USA 1 (U-20 World Cup). These are some highlights:

Alas, they don’t convey how dominant the Ecuadorians were. The defensive midfielders, especially, chewed up the U.S. dribblers.

It’s a proud moment for the country: we’ve qualified for our first World Cup semifinal. (Our opponents will be the South Koreans.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Meanwhile, other athletes have been doing Ecuador proud. The most impressive is the teenaged race walker Glenda Morejón, daughter of greengrocers. Though she enjoys very little financial sponsorship, she recently defeated a world record holder, an Olympic medalist, a world champion, and the like in a major race, her 20 km debut.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Very unpopular right now is the men’s senior soccer team. Tonight, Ecuador lost a “friendly” against Mexico. I watched a few uninspired minutes.

David and Stephen and I use the same streaming account, but the company doesn’t allow us all to stream at once, so I watched on a YouTube channel whose broadcast looked like this:

Brianna is taught the consequences

Ziva’s adoption-day was yesterday; she and Jasper were allowed to share a can of tuna. She’s lived two years with us. We love her very much.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

Today, I worked on revising my dissertation chapter on the Rawlsian quest for political stability. This chapter has been scrambling my little brain.

Rawls offers many different characterizations of his key ideas. It’s bad enough, having to explain which characterization of an idea is the most important one for him; explaining others’ confused interpretations is downright dizzying.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

As I was engaged with these tasks, Karin’s little sister, Brianna, knocked on our door. She’d missed her school bus – again – on purpose, to talk to her friends (Brianna is a twelfth-grader). Also, she hadn’t wanted to walk home. Instead, she’d walked in the opposite direction, to our apartment.

Karin was away for the evening and couldn’t drive Brianna home.

Karin’s and Brianna’s mother refused to come over and drive Brianna home. “Why are you punishing Brianna in this way?” Karin asked her. “I’m not punishing Brianna,” her mother said. “I’m merely helping her to learn the consequences of her actions.”

I was inclined to agree with my mother-in-law. But, in this case, the consequences of Brianna’s actions fell squarely upon me. (Farewell to a peaceful evening during which to write.)

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

“Gather up your school things,” I told Brianna. “We’re walking to your house.”

Of course, Brianna is capable of walking by herself (though, notoriously, she doesn’t).

But what could she say? It’s much easier and nicer to be kicked out of someone’s home when that person goes with you on your journey.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

On the way to Brianna’s house, we saw the friendly Mormons driving down the street. They waved at us and drove away.

Goodbye, Mormons, I thought. I wish you’d offered us a lift.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

The walk to Brianna’s house took fifty minutes. When we arrived, Brianna’s mother was in her car, pulling out of the driveway. She stared at me. “Thank you for walking my daughter home,” she said. Then she drove away, to go shopping.

I hadn’t quite expected my mother-in-law to offer me a lift home; I suppose that if she had, it would’ve interfered with Brianna’s learning of the consequences. Still, I was a little irked that she didn’t.

All together, my round trip was five miles. A few years ago, that would’ve been a cinch to walk; but now, I’m old and fat. My limbs are sore, and I am tired. These, also, are among the consequences.

Austin, pt. 2: Russell and one other frisky, young dog (the goose hunter)

Karin & I are nearly back at home. I’m writing this on the train between Chicago and South Bend.

I was going to call this entry “Austin, pt. 2: Sux By Southwest,” but Mary (or some other commenter with the moniker “Me”) is impatient to read about Russell, and so I’ll discuss him instead. During our visit, Russell was unfailingly sweet and playful as a host. Also, he refrained from chewing up the travel cushions that we left lying around the apartment, which showed impressive maturity. He certainly is being raised better than Karin & I are raising Jasper and Ziva (though he has the behavioral advantage of being a dog).

It was pitiable to leave him in Ana’s & David’s apartment for many hours each day, but that’s what we had to do.

On Thursday, we went downtown to look at the capitol building from afar and to get lunch from a typical Austin food truck. This second quest was quite an ordeal. Because of the hipster festival, we had to pay $20 to park in a faraway garage. Then we walked several miles through downtown, past shoppers and festival-goers, and when we arrived at the food truck, we paid $52 for a three-person lunch. The festival itself wasn’t especially vibrant; Karin & I were in Chicago for one hour this afternoon, and the St. Patrick’s Day revelers there put SXSW to shame.

We finished our tour of downtown Austin by walking a few more miles on a lakeside trail. David pointed to some kayakers who had their dogs with them. “This is what Austinites aspire to,” he said. I was reminded of the good people of South Bend. Then one of the kayakers’ dogs jumped into the water and started to paddle toward a flock of geese. The birds were wise to him and kept out of his reach.

At the end of the day, Ana joined us and we hiked several more stony miles on a different trail. Finally, we came to a small, clear pool, into which Karin dipped her feet. This made her want to use the hot tub at the apartment complex. So, that night, we did: I bobbed up and down while Karin swam a few dozen tiny laps.

While all of this was going on, Austin made the national news because package bombs were killing people there. We were so busy with our activities, we didn’t learn about the bombings until this morning, in the airport.

The fall, pt. 2

So far today, I’ve walked five miles: to the doctor, to the bank, to my job, etc., etc. All the time, it’s been cold and rainy. And to think that I used to routinely do this sort of thing.

A householder on Sunnyside Ave has left out some potted ibises, free for the taking.

At the office, things are quiet. I trust the rain to keep my tutees away. What with the fall weather and Halloween, I’m reading three “supernatural thrillers”:

The Man Who Was Thursday (this is my fourth time);

All Hallows’ Eve; and

Inferno.

For this last book, I’m using Mark Musa’s evocative, elegant translation and notes (next time, I might read someone else’s). Inferno is like the Bible: each new version brings out something different. Also, like the Bible, it’s profoundly sobering.

Inferno has its quirks, though. Dante (the character) always is fainting. (Things keep getting worse and worse down there in Hell.) Also, Dante clearly thinks well of his own ability. He likes to group himself with the most illustrious fallen poets.

A brave couple of games

South Bend is powdery now. Jasper, who used to run out into the yard every time he could, has been staying well away from the front door. Karin & I’ve been doing seasonal errands – retrieving my coats from Martin’s & Mary’s house; buying salt for the outdoor staircase.

Yesterday, I walked to Bethel in the snow. It wasn’t a difficult walk, but in the classroom the melted snow dripped down from my curly, long locks.

I’m on Cloud Six or Seven because all of my course prepping is done. What remains is to give exams and to grade.

Today, I allowed myself a break and watched two soccer games. In the first one, Leicester City demolished Manchester City with some fine counter-attacking and less than thirty percent of the total possession. The British announcers enjoyed skewering Pep Guardiola, the possession guru, manager of Man City. “He won’t win the League this way,” they said. It was a proud moment for British soccer. And, truth be told, on the counter, Leicester looked lovelier than Man City ever did.

Then I went to Stephen’s and we watched B.S.C. play the last game of the season – the “victory lap” game (the championship had been clinched the week before). Though I’d watched plenty of games this year, I’d yet to see Barcelona take the lead in a game and win. In the first half, our lead was 3 to 0. Even our goalie, the brave Máximo Banguera, scored. Then, in the second half, the game fell apart. An offside goal was wrongly given, our opponents scored twice more, and I had to settle for watching a draw.

Karin has just come into the house. When she opened the door, both kitties rushed out onto the snowy porch. The goose-brains (Karin calls them).

The kitties

Not only has Ziva been climbing out over the barricade; yesterday, Jasper knocked the whole thing down. So, again, we’re confining them – one at a time, and mostly Ziva – to the bathroom. They’re behaving better. Now, when they’re both out, they take as long as ten minutes to start fighting one another to the death.

This morning, Karin sprayed cheese on two crackers and put the crackers next to each other on the floor, and the kitties peacefully licked the cheese off of their respective crackers; only afterward did they fight.

Karin talks to a vet who says to give them more time to get used to one another. So we’ll see. Maybe we’ll end up keeping Ziva.

Yesterday I went to my high school job, and then I briskly walked for 40 minutes to Bethel and taught two consecutive classes of Spanish, and then I walked to my IUSB job. This will be my routine for much of the semester. It’s been three years since I last taught. I’d forgotten what it’s like to stand in front of a room and command attention from everyone. And I wasn’t even saying anything interesting: I was just going over the syllabus. It went to my head a little bit. I think I now project more authority than I used to, because I’m older and fatter and I have a professorial mustache. Also, I was very sweaty from the brisk walking, and I wore baggy, brown, corduroy pants and a tight, yellow, soccer shirt. I don’t think the students were bored.

Copa América Centenario

Yesterday Karin & I went to the south side of town, and then she dropped me off and I walked home by way of a detour into Southmore. I walked for approx. seven miles, my longest casual stroll in a few years.

Panera (Ireland Rd.) to Ireland/Fellows, 0.9 mi;
then to Fellows/Klinger, 1.1 mi;
then to Langley/Southmore, 0.4 mi;
then to Southmore/Montgolfier, 0.2 mi;
then to Southmore/Fellows, ? mi;
then to Fellows/Chippewa, 0.1 mi;
then to Chippewa/Addison, 0.2 mi;
then to Addison/Jennings, 0.3 mi;
then to Jennings/Michigan, ? mi;
then to Michigan/Sample, 1.7 mi;
then to the Farmer’s Market, 0.8 mi;
then to our home, 1.1 mi.

Total distance > 6.8 mi.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

I’d drafted a long entry about why the Copa América Centenario shouldn’t be held and why I wasn’t going to pay it any mind. But then the U.S. got brushed aside by Colombia, 2–0, and I watched a bit of the ineptitude of Haiti and Peru; and so I got into the mood to watch Ecuador vs. Brazil.

The match ended 0 to 0. Miller Bolaños’s perfectly good goal was disallowed.

December fragments

My little cousin posted this:

“Just to give an idea of how many books can fit
in my small bedroom. This is all thanks to my
dad who basically gives me a new book every day.”
‪#‎itsanerdelthing‬ ‪#‎youshouldseehisbookcollection‬

I feel so proud.

Announcement !!!

What: Leg One of the Ecuadorian soccer championship.

Where: Estadio Monumental Banco Pichincha, Guayaquil.

When: Wednesday (tomorrow) at 8:00pm, U.S. Eastern Time.

The cheapest tickets cost $25. This is the priciest B.S.C. game I’ve heard of. On behalf of the chusma, I’m indignant.

I don’t have a TV link to offer you. Please google “Barcelona Emelec en vivo,” and then cheer for the yellow team.

Leg Two will be played on Sunday.

Today after work I walked home in a pleasant, light rain. The park that I walked through could’ve been muddier; the alley could’ve had more puddles — I wouldn’t have minded. On the street, two different motorists flipped me off, which I enjoyed. (This is how it feels to recover from depression.) When I got home, I asked Mary to light a fire for me, and I dried my socks; she told me it would’ve been easier if I’d put them in the drying machine. Here is a nice video of some people making out.

Belgium 1, Russia 0; Algeria 4, South Korea 2; Portugal 2, USA 2

Belgium boringly qualified for Round 2. …

Hats off to the Algerians. Their fourth goal was especially well-crafted. And hats off to the Koreans for trying all game long. …

The U.S. came within a minute of qualifying against the mediocre Portuguese. I roared with pleasure when Silvestre Varela scored the tying goal.

Now Ghana and Germany, the better teams, are poised to qualify instead of the U.S.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

This morning, before I walked to work, I checked the forecast: 0% chance of rain … and then a downpour caught me as I was waiting for a train to pass. I called Martin, and he kindly brought dry clothes.

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.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

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.

Overstimulated

Tuesdays, my shifts go from 9:00 to 11:00 in the a.m. and then from 6:00 to 8:00 at night. In between: a long lunch, somewhere distant. (An effortful walk does me good.)

Today, though, I only got as far as the IUSB cafeteria, what with needing to quickly rid myself of jitters from breakfast (I’d drunk too much syrup and coffee). Therefore, after lunch I had an extra hour to kill in the library. I was restless. I was able to read just ten or twenty pages before I had to get up to browse the stacks. There’s that Tim O’Brien book I’ve been curious about. There’s another Anne Lamott book to wallow in.

But I figured, what I check out I’ll have to carry home, and hardbacks are heavy. So I put them back.

As it happened, though, Martin offered to drive me home because of the windchill. When we arrived at the house, Mary had the fire going, and Bianca was all snuggly. … Point is, I could have painlessly brought home those books.

Stephen and I have agreed to read Shirley Jackson’s The Road Through the Wall, one chapter per day, beginning tomorrow (the prologue counts as a chapter). We invite you to read it with us.

Melting

Most definitely not snowed in; but the last two nights, walking has been perilous due to the ice. There are too few English terms for the different slicknesses I’ve encountered.

Today, though, we’ve had lightning flashes and thick rain. The snow mounds — formerly tall as houses, hard as marble — are greatly reduced.

(Will corpses be revealed, I wonder?)

If we’re lucky, the water won’t refreeze; the air will remain warm until the fluid has all trickled away. Meanwhile our yard is a slushy swamp, impassable in canvas shoes.

The male Sabby has sent me this beautiful thing.

The female has been nagging at me to continue applying, belatedly, for health insurance:

two Facebook messages;
one text message;
one email;
one e-card;
one postcard.

It’s so touching, I almost hate to do it.

Betrayal

I must be aging: this year it feels more tiresome to walk miles and miles to and from work, every day, in the bitter cold. … More tiresome and more tiring. During spare half-hours at IUSB I wander the hallways, searching for armchairs in which to sleep.

Today the Saudi students have taken the best armchairs. I go away. … I return. The Saudis have not stopped sitting. I wander remoter hallways.

Through sheer winsomeness I’ve coaxed my IUSB students to read their textbooks on time. (Earlier in the semester, hardly any of them would do this.) But at Bethel my students have regressed: a few weeks ago, when I assigned Descartes, they stopped bothering to read at all. So now I must coerce them with quizzes. Oh how they complain. I’m tempted to remind them of the Parable of the Two Sons.

It’s a feeling I must come to terms with as I walk those miles in the cold.

I feel betrayed, I say to my friend, the college administrator, at McDonald’s.

Betrayed! he laughs. They’re undergraduates. What did you expect.

Vegetarians off of the wagon, we comfort ourselves with double cheeseburgers.

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.

Midwinter, pt. 3

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

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

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.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

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.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

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.