journey to the periphery

The family went away for a seven-day break in Orlando, Florida. It was blue skies mostly! The scare was that the hurricane slammers of the previous weeks would ruin the whole vacation. On the contrary, the weather did deliver. Whole days spent in the Disney World Resorts and Theme Parks (Animal Kingdom, EPCOT, Magic Kingdom, MGM Studios, Downtown Disney), and one day spent in Cape Canaveral at the Kennedy Space Center. And so it was.

Vacations tend to reveal the true characters of the individuals going away from it all, and ours had been no different. I am especially surprised at a few things about my wife and son. The looking forward to still leaves a lot of things open to surprises. No matter how it gets shaken, the journey to the periphery starts with the first limbering away from the routine and the normal.

Now back in grey Toronto. Toronto the Grey. It's so nice to sleep in.

life as a staple wire; der Fisch in meine Suppe

Was walking last night in an already nippy 11°C evening. Had to stop quickly. For the amber light. At Church and Gerrard. Threw my gaze at a pole. Peppered with staples. Just them staples. Tens of thousands of them. Metal to wood. Forever watching the time pass. Literally just chilling. Tenacious for that singular purpose. Some of them straining. To rise above the circumstances. For no metamorphosis. Just to be. A staple wire hanging a little differently.

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Was laughing to myself earlier as I shaved. That joke did have takers. At an online forum, on the use of "doch" in the German language.

Thus spake in a restaurant.

– »Mein Herr, ist der Fisch gekocht?«
— »Doch! Der Fisch ist gekocht!«
– »Warum schwimmt er dann in die Suppe?!«

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Apropos Isha's comment to "pressed for time". A soupçon of pregnant symbolism in the dinner soup. No doubt an insalubrious concoction which Madame Martha Stewart will tut-tut. But for Uncle Eugene, a peripeteia of sorts.

pressed for time

My calendar tells me I have 68 days before my Strategic Planning exam. What am I doing?!

We've enjoyed an extra couple of weeks of fine summery weather here in Toronto. Having seen this year's summer gone to bonkers, I am pleased to see the autumn that just started is showing a friendlier and warmer face.

I am so glad that my son is taking a keen interest in music. It has been two weeks since he started piano lessons. He is learning the rudimentary piano exercises, and practising how to write the various elements of written music---like the G and F clef. It all brings back memories of 20 years ago, when I first started learning solfeggio in high school. Hey, if the little boy can read and write music early, that part of his brain will make the unique connections now to allow him to make discoveries of his own and appreciate the meaning and value of music in the house throughout his childhood and adult life. It will be easier, cross my fingers, to persuade him when he's a teenager to pick his music or to show courtesy if he ever would want or feel the need to get the ghetto blaster going just to spite his parents!

I also recently bought the boy an old copy of "Chess for Children". How old? Well, I suppose it is out of print. First published 1958; 10th impression 1972. By R Bott & S Morrison. Published by Collins, in London and Glasgow. It is in great shape, for $3. The approach to learning chess is keyed to battlefields and strategies, which my son digs. Got it at the Victoria University (U of T) annual book sale. The boy wanted me to read it to him as a bed-time book.

Well, there is this guilty pleasure. The chess book is not the only book I got. There were tons more. Considering I had to lug (and pay for!) the whole shebang, I did seem not to mind at all. I don't smoke or drink (well, once or twice a week, beer or red wine), so I feel I may let loose my addictive vice for books. However, I should be pulling my hair about finding the time to read them, including the magazine subscriptions and my remaining MBA courses.

Note to self: Personal time is a non-exchangeable good. There is no market for buying and selling personal time. One only seems to "buy time" from the future by procrastinating. While time does appear infinite at both ends, personal time does not at all seem that way. My memory does not go so far. My hopes do not reach beyond today's provocations. The future approaches, the past recedes.

Carpe diem, said the man who did not have today to pluck. "Shake it," said Outkast's Andre 3000 (Hey Ya).

Another note to self: Review the film "Waking Life" (by R Linklater) on Julie Delpy's take on time inside a dream.