Why I go to Nina's

Why do I come to Nina's? For random, brief conversatios with June
about handwriting and change making.

At Nina's. Bought the NY Times. Nostalgia, I guess. Also had a good
little conversation at the counter with proprietess June about making
change and handwriting. She mentioned that she had been a sixth-grade
teacher. Ah-ha. Firm believer in teaching children how to make change
and have good penmanship. (Penship? Penpersonship? Writing utensil
wielding skills? Seems likely to be a pre-postfeminist thing.)

I reached my National Novel Writing Month goal of writing 50,000 words
last night, after copy/pasting from the one-a-day for each of the
preceding days of November Google Docs that were my repository into
one iMac Word doc, and then into the designated textbox at
http://nanowrimo.org . In reality, I submitted 50,000 words, their
word-counting algorithm confirmed it. Blogging, twittering, emailing,
facebooking, texting, instant messaging--it is all there.

Now I have built me a habit. Question: what am I going to do with it?

--
David
www.schons.net

After the Storm

After the storm, so to speak. It is still all calm, still early morning, still dark outside, house still asleep, and I have decided not to go out for coffee. Instead, I am at the iMac, with home-made french pressed coffee. Just realized though that being home shoots a hole in my card for my 100 year-old aunt issue, cause I would have picked up a card at Nina's. Will have to keep an eye on that today. Maybe if Dorothea and I take the dog for a walk, I can stop somewhere and pick up a card.

Queued up is a visit to my mom in Saint Cloud. Thoughts are to begin planning to move her to the Twin Cities. But for now, it is an hour and a half drive.

The toast, yesterday, given by Dorothea, was to survival. Given the general Hansmeyer family history, it was apt for any of them. But we'd just been having a discussion that delved into some of the more personal specifics, which is probably what prompted toast. Maybe the toast was an attempt to change the subject. But there also was at the table the adopted, now single mother, who'd spent a good share of her life in group homes; two Vietnam vets, one of whom had been in the squadron portrayed in the movie "Platoon"; and just in general, we've all overcome some pretty horrendous stuff. And here we are.

A couple of Bernice stories come to mind that I feel I can share. Bernice's troubles, her mental illnes, no secret there. 

The first story is about the effort to plant trees on the farm. The second story is about an empty bottle of homemade rhubarb wine, graveside.

"Whatever else, she wasn't dumb," commented one of the brother-in-laws. To which was added the story of how, several years ago, the idea was to contract with one of the paper mills. They'd come in and plant fast-growing popular trees, and then, some years later, harvest them for pulp. For whatever reason, Bernice didn't like this idea. Apparently, she very uncharacteristically worked the phones, calling the mill, the land broker, whomever, telling them how she thought that was a bad idea. The deal never went through.

January, 2008, -20 degress, graveside, at the burial service for Bernice. One of the sisters had a bottle of homemade rhubarb wine, significant of something, and was filling up and passing around little plastic cups of it. We toasted, we were ready to all bolt for our cars. What I didn't know was want happened to the empty bottle. Someone turned to the funeral director as everyone left. What to do with the empty bottle? The funeral director took it, opened the lid of the casket, set the bottle inside, closed the casket. Quite appropriate. 

--
David
www.schons.net

The long day of to and fro

First, the abortive attempt to participate in the Thanksgiving Meals on Wheels program at Cretin. They were booked up with volunteers by the time that Liam and I got there. Liam and I were there relatively early at his encouraging. But not early enough. It could be that our fashionably-late appearances of years past might have served us well, in that we were late enough that there were always loose ends, miscalculations, from earlier, that became our route.

Then, Dorothea, with Madeline and Lou in tow, both reluctant early risers, picked us up at the Bean Factory Coffee Shop, and we drove to the Mall of America. There is always a general charity walk there on Thanksgiving morning. We walked for not quite two hours, and ending up giving some cash to a guy selling t shirts for the event.

Home, for a brief respite, and Dorothea and I took the dog for a walk. Then off to sister-in-law Mary's house for the repast. This was the housewarming for Mary's most recent house. Lots of Hansmeyers in attendance. Notable was Quinetta, adopted at the age of four or so by Gene, one of Dorothea's older brothers, and his spouse Lila. Now she's in her late twenties, and has a five year-old son and a finance. That was when I first met her, when I was initially dating Dorothea, more than twenty years ago, and hadn't seen her for ten years or so. She definitely has had a tough life, but seemed to be doing quite well, which was very good to see, indeed.

Tingly all over

"Where ya been?" "I've been more swamped than Louisiana." (This exchange was a male customer at Nina's (the swamped one) standing in line and the counter staff--greeting a loved but long absent regular). And my thought was--he's gay. What is it about me and my antenna and my interpretations of some guys and that guess they are gay? (Why do I even care?) Yesterday, two guys came over to my cube, one the edirectory guy, the other the Active Directory guy. They both hit just the right tones about things, and off we go. They'll send me a "silly little form," and so begins the process. Like they would fit right in on that show, "Myth Busters(?)." --gotta google that--yup, on The Discovery Channel. Of course I am crap at interpreting people, so I don't know what's up with this. Maybe there is a certain style that some men have which connects with me, and my brain just chooses to interpret that way. The manufacture of meaning. It is the Java meaning factory.

Was going to reach for the molskine, what the heck, but then realized that unless the words that I write are bits and bytes, the words don't count. At least not now, during National Novel Writing Month. I am almost at 50,000 words for http://nanowrimo.org , to website for National Novel Writing Month. This post will be thrown on the heap. (Usually these blog posts are about 300-400 words.)

Finally have the electric guitar, computer, headphone (crucial) thing worked out. Prince, look out man. You've been warned!

That which makes me tinkly, I have realize, is often the most mundane things. Talking to people sometimes will do it. Men, women. Face-to-face, engaged. Is anyone reading this? Ahem.

Postscript: I wrote this in the morning, at Nina's. My custom is to email it off the old Tmobile Wing right away, and the entry immediately appears in the blog. Usually sometime later in the day, after I get home from work, I go to Facebook and update so that the entry appears there. But I have now done even more editing on the damn thing. Misspellings, gaps. Sheesh. It is endless. -- David www.schons.net

At Liam's guitar lsesson

At Liam's guitar lsesson. Sitting on the old futon in the next room in
the attic of the teacher's house. No gutar lsesson-time walk with
Stella to see her cousins, the Como Park wolves. She's has diaherra
that last couple of days. The fear is we don't know if she's totally
recovered. I have missed out on most of the fun on that one.

Today I thought hanging out and listening to what's happening with the
lesson was a good idea. Liam just sight read a version of "These Are a
Few of My Favorite Things," playing along with the Band in a Box.

Also today, this morning, Dorothea and I went to Liam's school
conferences. Must say I am always pleasantly surprised. So far my
fears of him doing as badly as I did have never come true.

--
David
www.schons.net

Double-Parked in Dorothea To-do Land

Just was looking at an electronic todo list that I have. It is a list
of Dorothea date ideas. None have been checked off yet. Phipps Silent
Movie House in Hudson; museums, Happy Gnome, happy hours, out with
other coupled, make music, camping, Dubliner, Turf Club, long drive,
bike ride, walk, Town Talk Diner, Strip Club, concert, movie. I guess
we've done a few of those recently.

Today was a day of double-booking myself. Or thinking about it.
Wednesday night at about 10:00 PM, I realized that I had scheduled
myself to work on the evening that we'd also made the date with the
McCartney's. I texted Martha right then, and she responded. Seemed
okay withit. Try again. Our schedules just don't mesh.

Also on Wednesday I made a lunch date with co-workers, and this was a
big deal because we don't go out to eat much. My calendar was clear, I
had rescheduled one meeting. Just before leaving, I realized that I
did have another meeting at that time. I just had never put it on my
calendar. I took iPhone with me and tried to call in, but it was
futile. (As well as silly.) Double-parked again. Maybe a good idea for
a country-western song lyric?

--
David
www.schons.net

I miss my old bad habits.

I miss my old bad habits. Especially the most recently given up ones.
Do you ever feel that way? There is always a feeling of loneliness, of
a lost friend. Oh well. The old sayings-cliches "you can't win for
losing" and "nickel and dimed to death" come to mind. Not sure what
those things mean, but so be it. What of the need to say good bye?

Cryptic, hmmm? That is all I have got. I continue with the eternal
struggle of what to and what not to share.

Today I am dressed in biking clothes but drove. The weather looked
like rain later, so I donned for biking. But before I got a chance to
depart, it began to drizzle. Shoulds woulds coulda taken the bus, but
got delayed with conversation with Dorothea, and so was feeling time
crunch, sending me to the car. But I am driving and wearing spandex.
Odd.

At Nina's, sitting at the top of the stairs. Never really lingered up
here. Different view. The Statue of Liberty is across the room. As I
looked up and over, thinking that hey, I am at eye level, I realized
that she is wearing sunglasses. How long? Never noticed that from down
below.

--
David
www.schons.net

Emergency Response

Barista banter overheard: "I have two brothers, and their goal every
morning before school was to make me cry." (Offered with no further
comment.)

I am seeing my coffeeshop to gym ratio beginning to slip.

Last night, I left work a bit early for the diversion of biking home
while there was still light outside. I came up Fairview, and stopped
at Whole Foods (spending there a ridiculous amout on vitamins). After
leaving the store, as I crossed Summit, I could see up ahead some sort
of mess, which turned out to be a two-car accident. One car was all
the way up on the hill in the front yard of the apartment building in
the northeast corner of the intersection. Behind, at a similar angle,
half on the boulevard, half in the street, was a minivan, looking as
though it was following the other car. Both were headed for the
livingroom of Apartment 2. Also of note was the nearby Veit truck in
the middle of Faiview, stationed in the shared turning lane, as they
often are when working on the sewers. But in this case, it was very
close to being, maybe actually was in, the intersection.

I detoured over to Wheeler to get home. Walked with Madeline from the
house back over to the scene, expecting to see police car, ambulance,
tow truck. Instead, none of those, still just the two cars, and two
women, the drivers, in or by their vehicles, on their cellphones.
Quite separate. Thirty minutes, still no police. The Veit truck from
earlier--gone. I looked up the St. Paul Police non-emergency number,
called, and got the Ramsey County dipatcher, who said the police were
on their way. Ten minutes more passed, still no emergency response. I
re-dialed. The dispatcher answered and said she was going to put me on
hold! I kept talking. Couldn't believe that. Put me on hold. Just
then, the police car finally pulled up. I stuck around long enough to
make sure the sewer truck got into the report.

--
David
www.schons.net

Twenty-sx degrees

Twenty-sx degrees and it feels a lot colder than the recent time when
it was twenty-nine. Everything that might get frosty is. I feel the
cold in my head and my fingers. I have a band around my ears, but the
top of my head is exposed. (I lost the nice REI skull cap.) And my
fingers. I have been wearing a pair of Thinsulate driving gloves,
which until today had bee perfect.

But being outside at this time of day still feels great. The streets
are quiet, there are few cars. Like going back in history. How far
back would one have to go for there to be so little traffic? Probaby
forty or fifty years.

The bike ride from my house to the Selby-Western area is almost
entirely along Laurel Avenue, except for a jog to Summit and back
getting over Ayd Mill Road, and the turn north on Western. Laurel,
which reachs from the Mississippi on the west, near Shadow Falls, to
near the Cathedral of Saint Paul on the east, ends at Nina Street.
Nina was a woman who ran a brothel nearby.

The ride is like an archeological, geologic historic journey. I was
struck today by an old house, eighty years old at least, surrounded
left, right, and back, equally aged biuldings. Not just a hold out,
that house, but a long time hold out. The ride is like a passage
through a protracted, real-life Monopoly game. Slow motion Sim City.
Small houses give way to duplexes, then apartments. A few blocks oxer,
mansions. Nearby, the lesser homes of managers and professionals. All
atop 500 million years of bedrock, and punctuated with evidence of
thousands of years of human habitation.

--
David
www.schons.net

On my bike, rode to Nina's.

On my bike, rode to Nina's. Don't have a good reason for either riding
my bike this morning or for having come all the way over here, except
habit. I got started late, so I am skipping the YWCA. Could have
driven directly to work, but am not in that bg of a hurry to get
there.

Starting late has also meant that I have gotten caught up in queues--
traffic at intersections causing me to wait where I'd usual not have
to; at the grocery store, where usually I feel like the only customer,
lines at the checkouts were two and three deep and there was a rare
call for another cashier; line was four, five deep at the coffee shop
counter, people coming in the door pretty regularily.

The definition of probability that I like: if it can happen, eventually it will.

Definitely cloudy this morning. Something has arrived. Warmer out this
morning then previous mornings by far--Yahoo says 50 degrees. I am
definitely over dressed. Just took off my outer felt layer, right
here, in front of (or behind) all. A bit expo.

Madeline and Enzo went to the Sadie Hawkins dance last night. Pretty
amazing, I said-- going to a dance, going to that dance, driving,
driving on the interstate to get there, the there being downtown St.
Paul, parking in a parking ramp, the whole thing at night, was
something I couldn't have pulled off at her age, probably coud never
have imagined it.

I was awake when they came in a little after midnight, and was
introduced to yet another new world, that of the after dance whatever
downstairs in my livingroom, my daughter. Now I am the parent upstairs
in bed.

--
David
www.schons.net

A listing of the contents of a vending at the YWCA

A listing of the contents of a vending at the YWCA that is across the
room from the elliptical trainers. It is the view from the elliptical
trainers.

Sour Punch
Cheez-it
Sun Chips
Potato Skins
Lays
Doritos
Animal Crackers
Cheetos
Goldfish
Snyders Pretzels
Snickers
M&Ms
Twix
Reeses
Hershey
KitKat
Milky Way
Snackwells
Nutroll
3 Musketeers
Skittles
Butterfinger
Mounds
Nature Valley
Trail Mix
Chips Ahoy
Rice Krispie Treats

--
David
www.schons.net

Nina's burning ring of fire

Up early this morning--4:00 AM-ish--to check on our servers--my
department's servers. Everything seems to have survived updates this
weekend by two other departments. The administrators of of the
database servers updated the clustering software, and the
administrators of the scheduling software updated that to a new
version.

Dorothea and I went to see District 9 this weekend. Dorothea's
distaste for the movie's violence has been seconded by a Facebook
friend. It will be interesting to chat with my co-worker who was so
enthusiastic about the movie that he and his whole family--kiddies and
all--saw it three times. Certainly the set designers and props people
got the techno junk right. We are all complicite. Be alert.

--
David
www.schons.net

Saved by the bell

Life seems to be a matter of distractions from confronting the gaping
existential maw of . . .well, don't know. Won't know until. . .when?
Till then, green grass and high tides, la Vida tranquil. What will be
the next distraction? Will it be benign or malignant, pregnant or
barren?

My current groove is biking to the YWCA in the morning, sitting at
Nina's for awhile, ( that's where I am now), writing a bit--thumb
typing on the old Tmobile Wing PDA that no longer functions as a phone
but has WiFi, a mechanical keyboard, and Microsoft Word Mobile, and
even editing. (Kazaaw bada bing--using spellchecker!)

While I was on the elliptical trainer at the YWCA, listening to a
podcast from KEXP, to a pretty much rap style song, there was a lick,
probably a sample, of a little piano run, Stevie Wonder-esque. And I
thought "wouldn't it be great if I could notate that little lick?" so
I could remember it? Ah! The App Store! Sure enough, there's a bunch
of stuff there. And so -- I downloaded so far: Grand Piano Lite and
NLogFree. The next question is whether I want to delve in, aware of
the risks of obsession and compulsion.

Saved by the bell. I need to trundle off to work.

--
David
www.schons.net

Virtually virtual?

Online life. Pondering the the stuff I put online, and the virtually
eternal life of what I put online, my virtual self. Sort of like
outsourcing my life.

Deciding what is appropriate for where. What to tweet, facebook, blog,
flickr, and to whom. Of course, in the cases where we think we can
control who sees what, friends on facebook, blocked on twitter, public
or private on flickr, we are deluding ourselves. All the calculations
are for naught. Some innocuous update may come back to bite you. I say
picking a healthcare plan, or financial iad package for your kid, or
deciding between a cash balance or traditional pension, or becoming a
rocket scientist, is easier.

But the human urge to connect persists. People can have very real
personas online. Viverant personalities. In a sense, there is nothing
"virtual" about virtaul. It is still our life, still time spent; the
coal burning to provide electricity for the datacenters that are the
"cloud," very much real. As is the techno junk containered to Africa
by the shipful. Oh well.

Long queues at Nina's counter today. I tried to sit it out, but
eventually joined in. I used the gift certificate for the first time.
Sure enough, the barista at the cash register dutifully wrote "$2.31"
on the back.

At first, by the way that she was holding the pen, I thought she was
left-handed, but realized that it was her right hand and elbow that
she was sticking out. I commented, and she responded, tiredly; heard
it before. Something about her mother being left-handed. I shared that
I tied my shoes weird because I had been taught by a lefty. She seemed
to find that mildly amusing.

--
David
www.schons.net

The coffee counter queue

The coffee counter queue stays full. I sat down first and wrote a bit.
Coffee and a smoke, things that I was just reminded are not taken for
granted by all. I sat in the sauna this morning. Stll warm from that.
Two other guys my age in there too, both contractor types, talking not
only roofing, but a particular roof of a prominent building at the
corner of Selby and Snelling. I steamed them out. Such is shared
existence. Guess we'd all be lonely otherwise, right?

Bought a Nina's gift certificate for myself, on which they will keep a
tally of my tab. This in an effort to reduce the number of times I use
my credit card. Credit card fees are a bad deal for small mechants.
Prepaying seems to be trend for me.

IRV voting was approved in Saint Paul by a relatively small margin on
a light voter turnout.

I sit at a table, vigilant, awaiting the refill of the half and half
carafe. Ah. brb.

Life--swirling flecks of dust and viruses. Dorothea texts me just
now--this is very real time--with "what are we doing david?" Dread.
That could be a light-hearted question. Could be something else. The
something else is what came to mind instantly. Old habits die hard. If
at all, really. Perhaps they just keep morphing and transforming.

Dorothea walks to St. Thomas and gets on the bus. I leave the coffee
shop to drive to work.

--
David
www.schons.net

100 words a minute

Or about 100 words an hour. If I was a fast enough typist, wouldn't
take that long at all. Had a nice time with madeline driving over and
back from piano lesson. Actually I just went for a ride. It was the
clearest of bright moonlit nights. The moon seemed to be
extraordinarily bright. I wonder if my iPhone moon app has anything to
say about that. So here I am sitting in my desk chair in my cube with
my back turned to the world and thumb typing like mad, as mad as it
gets for me whoo hoo. So if I get one more line in here I think can
call it a 100 words.

--
David
www.schons.net

Election Day

Election Day. For us here in Saint Paul, Far Siberia, an incumbent
mayor, establishment Democrat, versus a Republican-backed upstart,
Eva. And IRV: Instant Runoff Voting. A weird issue, but a way, it
seems, break the two party oligarchy.

Below freezing this morning: barely--29 degrees. On bike again. At
Nina's, skipping YWCA. Was disoriented by the morning light. I had
bought and got myself configured yesterday with high-powered bike
lights, and was simply anticipating darkness. Dawn instead. The real
test will be on the ride home tonight.

Distracted reading cracked.com while eating my muffin, about the ten
worst places in the world to live. But now the muffin is consumed and
the coffee on the verge of being too chilled.

Quaker Men's group tonight. I am locked and loaded. Back to the
meetinghouse and the Grotto, which will undoubtedly look, after tens
of thousands of dollars sunk into remodeling the building, like the
dumpy basement room it has always been.

Oh yuck, the tone of this narrative is taking a nasty doenward turn.
Probably best if I just wrap up and head to work.

But wait--if you will. I must say that this is Day 3 of my
participation in nanowrimo--National Novel Writing Month. Goal is to
write 50,000 words during the month. 1,667 a day. So far I am on
track. The organization asks "is it a novel?" and answers "if you say
it is." So, I am essentially writing whatever. But hey. . . . . .

--
David
www.schons.net

After Lunch

Sitting in the cafeteria after consuming a fajita. This even though I
have brought a frozen dinner for lunch. I am weak. I just had the
thought in my head that a fajita was the thing to have. Bright blue
sky visible to the northwest out the window. The weather forcast seems
favorable for a week of biking to work. That would delay the
transition to the bus, maybe until next week. Listen to someone talk
about some project management thing. Funny to hear snippets of
techno-talk. On the one hand, sounds very familiar. On the other, I
really have no idea what they are talking about. Well, back to the
cube.

--
David
www.schons.net

Folding and slouching into a Nina's booth, 21As whirl behind

Folding and slouching into a Nina's booth, 21As whirl behind me on
Selby, stones in David's sling. Day One of the rest of whatever comes
next. Whatever comes next. I expect it will have a somewhat familiar
quality. A soft, amoeba 3-d appearance. Death bed scenes.

Biking, 43 degrees, clear, light wind. YWCA, short meditation,
stretching, elliptical. Nina' s, carrot muffin, coffee. Still riding
on the bubble of the fall time change. I am a bit overdressed for
sitting inside. Sign across the room in front of me, advert for the
Wednesday Socrates Club, "why is the meaning of life so important to
our species?" Makes me think "The Secret of the Life of Brian." Dated
10/28/09. Thing, think, thought of the past.

A short while back, in a nearby town, a son, off his meds, shot and
killed his father. The father was my neighbor's brother. Also in the
news: a county sheriff reservist, was hit by a car and killed while
directing traffic. Age 57, Big Mike they called him, son of some folks
who'd lived 50 years in the house across the street from us, until
recently moving out to an apartment. Those folks, husband and wife,
are big people, so as they are noticeable, periodically driving by in
their minivan to look at their old house,

Late on Halloween night, looking out our bedroom window across the
street, towards Big Mike's childhood home, we saw a nonhuman Mohican
standing in the street for a disconcertingly long time, talking into
the open driver's side windows of parked cars and cars that came by
and stopped mid- street.

Just about to move on from coffee shop, and in comes Tony. Chatted
briefly, and went on with our days.

David
www.schons.net
www.twitter.com/davidschons
www.facebook.com/davidschons

Listening to Audio Dharma podcast, Equanimity and Investigat

Listening to Audio Dharma podcast, Equanimity and Investigation. The
teacher raises a good point in a comparison of thoughts and thinking.
He uses the story of seeing a pickup truck with a blue tarp over the
back, of instantly getting the thought that there's a dead body in
back of that truck, under the tarp. He had no control over his brain
generating that thought. The brain just creates thoughts, that is what
it does. It is the thinking you do about the thoughts that gets you in
trouble. Also, the thoughts that come up, we invest them with meaning
and value--good and bad-- which feeds the thought process. Not that
thoughts and thinking are bad; sometimes we need to think, certainly;
but most thoughts-- perhaps we'd be better off ignoring,

David
www.schons.net
www.twitter.com/davidschons
www.facebook.com/davidschons