Community Service Announcement - Geocaching.com website is down...

Stupid internet.... No sooner do I publish my newest and most interesting cache to date, and a mere hour after that, the site disappears from the internet.... The tease!!!

Actually, it all sounds quite serious, being the result of a major fire. (We so get used to think of the internet as a 'virtual' world that it kind of surprises you with something so physical can interrupt it) And the temporary hiatus of a recreational website is nothing compared to the issue around stalled financial and data transactions.

But still, I'm sure all cachers around the world are awaiting the return anxiously - and I know my little cache is sitting out there waiting for a first visit! (And to go down on a weekend too - oh, the cruelty!)

It's funny how very important something that you didn't know about a couple of years ago can become!

Recreational hazards

As regular readers will know, I've become an avid geocacher in the last year or two, and it's helped me find some wonderful, unexpected places in that time.

Of course, as with all hobbies, it comes with its hazards:

"Hide and seek game causes Auckland bomb scare"

Here's a bit more from one of the people involved. To be honest, when I think back on all the time I've spent lurking around public buildings, reaching up under ledges, looking suspicious and secretive, it's a suprise this doesn't happen more often!

Do you work? Do you enjoy it? Are you good at it? Is it meaningful?

Questions like that have been banging around in my head a lot recently, and more today as I braved to pick up my reading again, de Botton's "The Pleasures and Sufferings of Work" - Last time I picked it up was at a rough point in my work and it made me feel nothing but deep melancholy. Today, was a similar melancholy, but deeply thoughtful... Especially these two passages which continue to echo in my thoughts:

"Of all wastes, the greatest waste that you can commit is the waste of labour. If you went down in the morning into you dairy, and you found that your youngest child and the cat were at play together, and that the boy had poured out all the cream on the floor for the cat to lap up, you would scold the child, and be sorry the milk was wasted. But if, instead of wooden bowls with milk in them, there are golden bowls with human life in them, and instead of leaving that golden bowl to be broken by God at the fountain, you break it in the dust yourself, and pour the human blood out on the ground for the fiend to lick up - that is no waste! What! you Perhaps think, "to waste the labour of men is not to kill them" Is it not? I shoudl like to know how you could kil them more utterly". (John Ruskin)

.......

Most of us stand poised at the edge of brilliance, haunted by the knowledge of our proximity, yet still demonstrably on the wrong side of the line, our dealing with reality undermined by a range of minor yet critical psychological flaws. We are like an exquisite high-speed aircraft which for lack of a tiny part is left stranded beside the runway, rendered slower than a tractor or a bicycle.

I left (his) company newly aware of the unthinking cruelty discreetly coiled within the magnanimous bourgeois assurance that everyone can discover happiness through work and love. It isn't that these two entities are invariably incapable of delivering fulfilment, only that they almost never do so... In denying the natural place reserved for longing and error in the human lot, the bourgeois ideology denies us the possibility of collective consolation for our fractious marriages and our unexploited ambitions, and condemns us instead to solitary feelings of shame and persecution for having stubbornly failed to become who we are.


I hope you find your own way to a completion of that aircraft, and take off....

Moving on...

Glance out the window
See the lines pass me by on the road
I'm moving onward as another chapter unfolds

And I wonder who will I love?
And who will I see?
Most of all I wonder
Who will I be?
It seems like yesterday I had it all
And nothing was wrong
But the times are changing
And I am moving on

Feel so alone but at the same timeI feel so alive
My time here is over
I'm off to a new place
A new life


Moving On (Weekend Excursion)

Suffering for Christ...

Stumbled upon this article in the tea room today, and it validated a few thoughts I'd often had about church and the direction we can sometimes take it in 'adapting to society', compared to the more monastic orders which still continue today, which still hold their own without bowing to trend or fashion.

The more costly the behaviour, the more likely it is to be sincere: few would willingly give their life for an ideal they did not believe in, and devotees who take vows of poverty or chastity are clearly putting their money where their mouth is. Such credibility-enhancing displays are even more effective if performed by a high-status individual such as a priest or other leader, says Henrich.

This may explain why strict evangelical Christian churches are expanding in the US at the expense of mainstream denominations. "To be a member you've got to walk the walk and talk the talk," says Henrich. "And this transmits deeper faith to the children."

Religions owe their success to suffering martyrs - science-in-society - 27 May 2009 - New Scientist

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Seven things...

A few weeks ago I was tagged by K to write seven things about me...

Well, I'm not normally into this kind of thing, but I can't turn K down, so here goes. Most of these I'm sure will be no surprise to any regular readers...

1) I cycle.

I can say that with sincerity today as the legs are a bit worn out from a week of 35km per day rides. It's been about 12 years since I started cycling again. As a kid, well, everyone rode. But then when I was at uni and doing a placement in Richmond I decided, for reasons I can't remember, to start riding to work. And I haven't looked back. I love it. Even on 2.9 degree mornings like today, or 44 degree days like a couple of months back, it's wonderful. I wouldn't have it any other way... Plus the sheer logic of something which (a) takes no more time than driving (and less in many instances), (b) is cheap, and (c) gets my exercise done in my commute time. Seems stupid not to really!

2) I'm impulsive.

Especially when it comes to buying stuff. But usually, it has good outcomes. When we think of the things we've just foolishly jumped at and bought, they've all been worthwhile. Camping gear, the bicycle trailer, our couch, dining table, the Land Rover, even the house we live in now. They've all been rather impulsive purchases, but we've enjoyed them probably more than the things we carefully and wisely considered and deliberated.

My next impulse buy? Well, I'm tempted by an eee PC right now, so I can stop typing this on this 8 year old laptop which is just managing to limp along. But.....

3) I'm trying to live simply.

So that means balancing impulsivity with that nagging question of 'do i really need this', 'will it really improve my life?'. It's a good counterbalance and it's very satisfying when it pays off, and you see yourself getting by with so much less than you thought you needed. Little things like building our chook shed out of scavenged bits, rebuilding bikes that had been abandoned, or just sitting out in the backyard around our home made table eating home made cookies... Even the fact that I sit here in a house warmed by a woodfire, fuelled from wood we've scavenged in the streets, helps satisfy that desire to live simply, sustainably, and meaningfully.

4) I married my first girlfriend.

What was that an impulsive choice? hmm... But it was the right one.

5) I was/am penetecostal.

Despite the relatively 'grounded', and very down to earth church scene that we're currently a part of, my earlier Christian years were spent in the Pentecostal scene. And, to be honest, I loved it and it was a huge part of my growth, even if I don't fully agree with everything we believed or did. It was a great kickstart for a new Christian like me, and a safe community to be a part of at that vulnerable time. And I guess I would say that, in part, I've still got a pentecostal element. Perhaps not in the charismatic worship kind of way, but having experienced what I did in my time and that scene (and the fact that some of those 'gifts' still stay with me) means that I still cherish it, and look back fondly on that time. I guess it's a bit like a wonderful relationship, which even though you may have grown apart, you still remember how wonderful it was, and how it made you feel, and how much you liked who you were in their presence, and miss that.

6) I don't cry at sad things, only happy ones.

Weird, I know... The saddest, most tragic story might have me upset, but dry as a bone. But give me a slightly happy ending or sentimental bit of nonsense, and I'm creating excuses for rubbing my eyes...

7) I love driving.

Not in the city, but give me an open highway and a decent car, and I'm happy for hours. Some of my most cherished experiences have just been me, in a car, driving through the countryside. Time to think. Time where you're forced to not work or do anything else but just sit with your thoughts, talk to yourself. For some reason, even beyond my understanding, it just sits close to my heart and the memories still make me feel fulfilled and satisfied. A Ford Cougar up the Hume to Beechworth for a quiet coffee and pastry. A 4wd from Bendigo to Mildura and back in one day, and the satisfaction of pulling up back at the house after the long haul. A Mitsubishi Verada to Swan Hill and back, driving through bands of rain and stopping at obscure towns and sights that nobody bothers too anymore. A dodgy Land Rover we'd just bought from Adelaide to Melbourne. A tiny Volkswagen through the mountains of New Zealand's south island. They're all precious moments, even if I still don't fully understand why.


Now... according to the rules of this meme:

1. Link to your original tagger and list these rules in your post.
2. Share seven facts about yourself in the post.
3. Tag seven people at the end of your post by leaving their names and links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged.
5. Let your tagger know you've completed the meme.

Well, unfortunately, unsociable little me doesn't really know 7 bloggers! But I do know one who I swear would have at least 7 blogs by now, so she's getting my pick!

Life from the ashes.

So last weekend we made the most of the Easter break... Friday with the Lees, climbing the 1000 steps in Ferntree Gully and then rewarding ourselves with a nice dinner. Saturday at my sister's wedding which, as you can imagine, was an event and a half. And Sunday with the extended family, who had come together for the wedding for the first time in about 15 years (It's not that we don't like each other, we just don't happen to all get together at the same time very much).

So we also wanted to make the most of Monday, and after a tip-off from a fellow geocacher, we were encouraged to go and visit Marysville... post the fires which tore the town apart.

I was a bit unsure about going. It felt morbid to go and 'tour' the devastation. I didn't know how welcome it would be, how confronting it would feel, or what one should 'do' there - But since the locals were encouraging people back, we decided to suck it up and go...

So slowly we made our way out there. At a quick cache stop near Healesville we got our first vision of the fire damage - With the forest destroyed right down to shoreline of the local reservoir, and dangerously, frighteningly close to Healesville. Then the drive through the Black Spur showed painfully how bad they'd been. The forest entirely blackened and thinned out. Amazingly, there were still idyllic patches of green here and there, but wherever you looked, it was clear the fire had taken its toll.... It was awful...

But that was until we passed through Narbethong and the turnoff to Marysville, and saw what the real devastation was..

God's Hoover...

Beyond the turnoff, I'd never imagined how bad it could be. It wasn't that everything was burnt and blackened. It's simply that there was nothing there. All one could see, for miles, was red dirt and black trunks. That's it. Nothing else. Everything else looked like it had just been sucked up by a gian vacuum cleaner... Not a scrap of grass or shrubbery or weed. We even looked for a charming little cottage we'd played with the idea of buying when we saw it for sale on that road - We couldn't even find where it had been. It had just vaporised in the flames. One can only imagine how fierce such a fire must be to simply wipe a landscape clean...

What was here again?...

On arriving in Marysville.. well, the real toll became clear. You realise how little you pay attention to the everyday things in a town until they're gone, and you drive down a street, with nothing but rubble and ash on either side, and try and remember what was there. We drove past some accommodation we'd stayed at less than a year ago to find simply nothing but a pile of sheet metal and stone. The Cumberland, where we'd spent many conferences, was a blackened shell. The stores we'd frequented, gutted at best, but most completely gone... Surreal.

Discretion...

Yet amongst all of that, the ludricousness of the discretionary nature of fire stood. The odd house, in perfect condition amidst a blackened forest. A shop destroyed, but it's fence and signpost untouched, still welcoming people to the store. A Christmas banner on a street post still recalling a time now lost in the past. And the shop's bakery, now it's only remaining operating store, standing beautifully and untouched when all around it had fallen. What had allowed the fire to leave this standing?

The ludicrousness of it all continued as you drove around the town, with, naturally, fireplaces standing firm, often bizarrely, as in one case where the wood fired oven, obviously from a second floor kitchen, now stood forelonely 12 feet about the ground amidst a broken mess.

Resilience

Yet, the town survives. On that day, the town was bustling and felt strangely festive. The bakery was doing a roaring trade, and they were happy to see people back and giving to the community. Locals acted as volunteers, showing people what still existed and encouraging them to look around (whilst also giving some guidance about the privacy they still required), and showing photos of the devastation in areas we still couldn't go. They didn't shy away from what had happened, but showed that they could overcome. As we looked at the photos of the destroyed
Stevensons' falls, the volunteers comment was simply "It burned down in the 1930s too, and we rebuilt then. We wil again." And the local art gallery, while burnt down, was still open, as people wandered around the now blackened outdoor gallery/garden, now speaking a very different message with stone sculptures amidst the destruction...

And then, to almost symbolise the town's unbroken spirit, we checked on a cache we'd found there a year or so ago. It was in the centre of town, attached to something large and wooden. I'd given up hope of it. But amazingly, miraculously, it was there. Perfect and pristine.... That spoke to me strongly, as that cache's log had become a bit of a empathy space for the geocaching community to mourn Marysville - and now it speaks of its survival and future..

We're glad we went.

If you're a local, we encourage you to go, reflect, respect, support....

Got to get me one:

As someone who grew up in the 80s, and was a bit of a nerd (some would say 'is', not 'was', but we shall not credit such fluff and nonsense), this is just wonderful:

http://hackaday.com/2009/04/06/commodore-64-laptop/

I so want one - Not just for the games that bring back my youth, but I'd love to take it on a plane, or into a work meeting, and just pull it out nonchalently and proceed with business..... With the added irony that my mobile phone probably has 100 times the computing power...

I couldn't agree more:

"You may like to arrive in style – I like to arrive with an arse like a farmer’s face. Just how utilitarian is this thing? Well, there’s a flap just under the windscreen, running the full width of the vehicle, which can be opened with a crude lever from inside. Basically, you open this if the engine’s not quite noisy enough for you or, when you take the Land Rover to the local jet wash, you can do the inside at the same time."

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A tribute to the green one (a love story of sorts)

You know that friend you have – The one who you kind of have an on-again, off-again relationship with. Doing everything together for a while, then drifting off, occasional calls or emails. Then perhaps a period of silence, until something brings you together again, and the relationships picks up where I left off, with nary a glitch...

That’s been me for the past 10 years with my little green Fila Portofino – my first bike as I returned to cycling back in the late 90s. It was a big purchase for me back then, studying full time and on social work placement. And a risk, as I’d never cycle commuted. I’m not even sure what provoked me to start, but it’s just one of those things that happened. But it was the start of something good.

And for the next few years I cycled on it exclusively. It evolved slowly. A set of bar ends, clipless pedals, new sportier saddle, better tyres, lights, and suspension forks. Yes, I read too many bike magazines and got all the go-faster parts...

Until a few years down the track when I tried a friend’s better bike and got the bug to upgrade to something new, and flasher (and 4 times the price!) How terribly unfaithful of me. I turned my back on the trusty old girl and went running after something more exotic and impressive – a dual suspension Marin with disc brakes and all the trimmings. And I loved her too- who couldn’t, with all her shiny bits and fancy curves. But eventually her complexity and fragility became too much. She’s still fun, still with me, but only for recreational purposes and when I’ve got the time to deal with her J So I went back to the faithful one, the reliable one, the one that kept on going through all things with no fuss or complaint. She’d been handed to my dear M during that time, and had graciously served her well too, but now she came back to me, and evolved into another incarnation: bullhorn handlebars, super slick tyres, pretending to be a road bike.

And then, as my work moved and riding was no longer as appropriate, she got some more rest.

Until this workplace, where she evolved again. Or should I say, regressed, almost back to where she was when I bought her. Straight bars, rigid fork, and a rack for the pannier bags. And I rode her and rode her more than ever before, and remembered why I loved her so... 1000kms in just a couple of months... until it became apparent, that just as we were renewing our relationship so strongly, our time was coming to an end. After probably over 20,000kms, she faced a slowly dying drivetrain which would cost more to fix than was worth it. And so, graciously again, she retired. Or rather, evolved again into a more ‘retired’ form: Singlespeed, big basket on the back, the ‘shopping bike’ which will sit by the front door to zip up the road for milk, beer and fish and chips..... And she’ll no doubt be loved and faithful in that role too.

And so, a new partner has entered the relationship. A carefully considered, deliberated and evaluated partnership... A new, Kona Dew Drop. A bike carefully chosen to do exactly what I need. A road bike with a sturdy frame and wheelset to handle the constant use, drop bars to give me some space and comfort, and disc brakes to be safe and reliable. And so far, she’s lovely too. Very different – we’re taking a while to get to know each other – but she’s teaching me new things and she’s learning my ways...

We’ll see what our future holds.

So now my household has 3 bikes for me... Plus one for M... Plus various for the kids (bikes, tag-a-long third wheel bikes, trailers).. and a fixed wheel bike I haven’t finished building yet (after several years!). And it’s a happy harem... One bike really never is enough... :)