kar0ling

I’m a word aficionado, a trivia collector, an all-season cyclist, a homework tutor, an editor, a worship team leader, a daughter, sister, aunt. But most importantly, I’m a beloved child of God. And I’m single. Is there a place in your church for me? Or will I be alone in hostile territory? God has opened doors along my path to study language, and teach English, and live and serve with Mennonites of many stripes, and teach school to MKs. Now I write and edit for the denomination, and I study, and I tutor children, and I sing at church, and I sit on committees. But sometimes, it feels like I haven’t graduated yet. Because in the church subculture, the entry requirement to sit at the adult table seems to be marriage and children. Recently, I had the honour of writing about the experience of being single in the church. I offered a challenge to our churches to emphasize the right thing – discipleship, not family. I received a tide of personal responses to that piece, and I’d...

Does anyone else find it ironic that those evangelicals who tend to emphasize "heart" (to the exclusion of mind), and have an ambivalence for -- even antipathy toward -- higher learning and critical thought are so awfully obsessed with believing and articulating exactly the right (narrow) things about Jesus and the gospel? The proliferation of workshops and books on "GOSPEL!" and the importance (and achievability) of "understanding" it correctly makes me gag. These same men (yes, I used that word on purpose) are the ones constantly chiding (or dismissing) those involved in social justice work for assuming (and perhaps at times neglecting) Jesus, yet they do so themselves in a terribly arrogant way when they implicitly suggest through their teaching emphases that conviction and conversion are up to us. If we don't have our gospel "right" and know how to articulate it properly, we will fail to make anyone a Christian! Wait, I thought it wa...

For most of the years I've been volunteering with after-school youth programming at an immigrants agency, I've attended the volunteer orientation at the beginning of the year. There are generally moments when I wonder why I'm wasting my time there (clearly, most of the volunteers don't show), but by the end of the evening, I've usually come away with some insights that stick with me. Last year, I was reminded not to be negative about math to the kids, but also to not call any given assignment "easy." These children may or may not be literate in their mother tongue, may or may not have had development-stunting undernutrition in their childhood, etc.; it may shame or frustrate a youth to have work he or she finds "impossible" dismissed as "simple." So, I resolved to urge all my young charges that their assignments are always "do-able!" This year, two facilitators who work with at-risk youth regaled us with stories from their...

Why is the church so fixated on who’s entering into exclusive intimate relationships with who? That was just one of the lines that didn't make the cut in a piece a wrote for the September issue at work. I'll probably get in enough trouble for my provocative opening (which I'm a tad worried readers will misconstrue) that it's just as well I left this inflammatory line out. The reason I liked this line so much that I had to share it elsewhere is that it spreads...let's not call it blame or accusation, let's call it... responsibility across a whole spectrum of people. It calls out those who can't accept single people as real adults until they've started dating; it challenges gossips and finger-waggers who tut-tut premarital sex without offering any constructive advice for making other choices; it points out the absurdity of  males in ministry who think the only way to preserve their purity is to never talk to women; and it questions those for whom pr...

On the thirtieth of April, of all days, I remarked the difference between riding in snow and riding in rain. When it is snowing, the streets are muted, quiet. The blanket of snow muffles the sound of traffic, and everything feels peaceful. When it's raining, however, the streets are louder than ever. The waterspray is audible, echoing off the pavement, wheel-wells, car bodies, and one feels slightly harried. It's cold in winter; that's a drawback, but the snow doesn't soak through all your outer clothing and penetrate through your socks to the skin (no matter what the footwear) the way rain does. However miserable, wet, and cold I was from riding the rain today, I can't say I was happy to greet snow on Queen's day -- when flowers should be blooming. What a way to end the "spring challenge" month of cycling!

There's something about an evening after a day of rain. When the sun comes out, the mood lifts. The air is peaceful, the beautiful dusk colours streak the clouds, and everything seems to glow a little. I was expecting to get wet and cold and miserable on my way home from work today, but I was relieved that it wasn't so bad. Of course, I did weave all over Grosvenor to avoid puddles, and when the sound of an approaching car made that seem unwise, I lifted my feet and squealed like a girl to prevent wet feet from a deep, unavoidable puddle.

Sometimes, I think I had such a good ride. I think, boy, this is wonderful; so smooth and effortless! And then, on the way back, I discover there's a strong wind blowing. It's not that I'm so practiced that it's become easy: it's that I had a tailwind before. In other news, the joggers are all out in full force now that the weather had turned decidedly nicer. Sunday morning, Assiniboine Avenue is always a favourite, but there were an extraordinary number of them today -- some 6 or 7 groups in just 7 blocks -- crawling over the bike path and all over the pitted street.

A shy lane is not a bike lane, no matter how wide it is. The road allowance for debris build-up has a purpose -- the aforementioned. It's not intended for bicycles to ride in. And I'll thank the Winnipeg city planner to stop thinking otherwise. The Maryland and Harrow bike lanes are not self-respecting roadways for cyclists; they're simply painted lines on the shy lane.

As citydwellers, we so easily become oblivious to the forces of nature in our environment. Commuting on a bicycle helps, but even so, I confess, I'm guilty of missing a lot. To avoid the nasty ice build-up on the Osborne Bridge pedestrian underpass, I started using the at-grade crossing, and the curb cut is so very nice that I've become too lazy to pedal the few extra feet (and to struggle up the opposite bank). As a result, though I live a block from the river, I've failed to pay any attention to its state. A few weeks ago, I puzzled over the fact that the area directly below the bridges began to thaw while the rest of the river remained snow- and ice-covered. Today, to my surprise, I glanced at the river as I crossed the infamous Sherbrook Bridge and was surprised to see it flowing swiftly, with only a bit of ice encrusted along the banks.

It seems the Sherbrook Bridge not just Mason-Dixon line dividing the chichi River Heights and Tuxedo neighbourhoods from granola Wolseley and ghetto West Broadway, but also climatic line of demarcation. In winter, as I cross it to return downtown, it marks the place where my frozen fingers instanteously thaw. This morning, it marked the place where scattered sparse snow pellets -- that could be denied out of existence -- suddenly turned to steady soft sizeable snowflakes pelting my unsuspecting eyes. (I'd thought Sunday's re-emergence of goggles would be the last time they'd be called for -- for pity's sake it's nearly May -- but I could have used them this morning. The sun came out and dried it all away in the afternoon, then on my way home, phantom pellets plagued my progress for a while.)

Riding down Sherbrook in winter and early spring feels liking running the gauntlet. New hazards lie ahead with every rotation of the wheel. Cars passing too close, road snakes, potholes, icy ridges, treacherous puddles, buses to dodge. It's so much nicer now with drier pavement, loose gravel notwithstanding.

It's Earth Day today. It's a day, not to worship creation, but to pay mind to it, and in so doing, to worship the creator. So, says Sarah Pulliam Bailey , was the intention of Earth Day's originator. I confess I'm not doing anything special for the day. I take pride -- perhaps too much -- in the "eco-morality" of the normal things I do. That morality, sense of self-righteousness, is not the reason for my choices. Instead, it's a conviction that it is, in fact, worship when I climb on my bike; dig paper out of the recycling bin or stock used envelopes for reuse; dissect a teabag so the paper tab goes in recycling, the bag into compost, and only the string into the garbage; use my thrift store dishes; even when I carpool with someone else. The little bits of inconvenience that I subject myself to in order to reduce waste are intended for the sake of the Creator. The attitude is not always worshipful; on my way home today, I was once again muttering i...

Singing the praises of the summer bike! When I leave my sister's house after midnight (which is usually, if I'm there in the evening), I call her when I get home. The other night, she was shocked how early I got home compared to the usual. Yes, it's spring, and spring bike time. So much nicer than winter. How many weather changes can one day hold? When I went to church in the morning, it had just started to snow. It was a bit nippy, and windy, but quite passable. When I left church, my seat was covered in rain, and a heavy, wet snow fell heavily, forcing me to wipe off my goggles several times before finally arriving at the destination. It was nasty. (Sidebar: I hate waiting at minor intersections on major roads during off hours. My little bike isn't big enough to trigger the light change.) By the time I left my sister's house late in the afternoon, the sun was shining cheerily, the streets were dried up (except for the puddles), and the weather was milder...

It was simply another day of drear. nothing remarkable. Lingering cold, almost dry streets, more of the same. But Friday was a delight. Friday, I got my skyline back from the shop. Everything feels different -- better -- from the second my foot sends the pedal around for the first time. I love my summer/3-season bike. Life is better when I'm riding it. My legs have room to breathe, each pump of my pedals takes me farther with less strain, the bike feels less unwieldy and more responsive to my touch. This is why I wait until I am nearly certain I shan't have to use the winter bike again before I switch over. It's too painful to go back to my winter bike, even for a few days, after reminding myself how good life can be on my summer bike.

Parking One's parking options in winter are complicated, not only for motorists, but also for cyclists. Those bike racks that do exists, when not shovelled regularly -- and even sometimes when the are -- are too hemmed in by snow to slide a wheel under the crossbar. And that's just the beginning. Low fences are too low to slip the u-lock shank over and still reach the frame. The more substantial posts of bus stop signs and the spindly metal strips of parking signs which serve in summer when a rack is not to be found can be surrounded with several feet of snow. On one occasion, I clambered up a snowbank nearly as tall as myself to plant my bike up there next to a tall signpost. That is to say, I'm really glad the snow is beginning to melt.

No personal pedalling today, but I looked enviously at the bike boulevards by Concordia University in Montreal, and at the simple bike paths that snake through Montreal's suburbs and bedroom communities. 

Why do some shiny, spiffy cars pass so very close so very quickly? I might scratch their paint job.

An artless haiku on the sun's glare off sidewalk ice puddles Orb burns ice pool to sidewalk shadow shallow melt reflections blinding

Despite my route taking me through Wolseley, I rarely encounter other cyclists between my house and my sister's. Imagine my surprise to encounter 3 on a coolish, still-half-winter, April night at 12:30 a.m.

Eating my words? Or having my cake and eating it too? When they announced plans to put a cycle track on Assiniboine, I felt strongly it was a bad idea. The street doesn't have enough traffic to warrant a dedicated lane (Pembina, on the other hand....) -- all it needed was a proper resurfacing. Well, it got the former without the latter. But while I maintain the street conversion was unnecessary and is needlessly antagonistic to motorists, I have enjoyed cycling down the track blowing past stop signs with impunity (they don't apply to the track). When they announced plans to put an at-grade lighted crossing at the Osborne bridge, I felt strongly it was a bad idea. It's already a bottleneck in rush hour -- for all but a week or two each year (except flood years, which are their own ball of wax), pedestrians and cyclists can cross beneath the bridge, an area that could use some infrastructure improvement. Well, apparently it's better to enrage motorists at rush hou...

My (three-season) bike makes conversation anywhere I go -- that is, with people who know bikes. They always comment on my internally geared rear hub. But so do I -- make conversation, that is, about the fact of biking. Now, in winter, when people in the elevator see my helmet, they make comments about cycling -- I got two comments today before I even left my building.  Usually the words are those of incredulity, humour, and amazement. Which is a nice change from my workplace where I am mostly viewed dismissively as crazy and immature or with awe as nearly superhuman.  Frankly, I find the veneration almost as distasteful as the scorn. You see, if I am some kind of hero for cycling, then others are exempt. If I cycle because I am young and fit and energetic and somehow more able, then anyone who choses not to identify with some or all that list can simply disqualify themselves from any notion of making active transportation choices. I resist the awe, because almost ...

Steady falling snow against grey skies did not encourage bike riding. But when the sun broke through late afternoon, I got up my gumption to leave the house for a short jaunt to the Forks. Leaving behind the gloves was a mistake but otherwise, it wasn't too bad. Underneath the Norwood Bridge, the bike path was covered with rivulets of ice from meltage dripping down from the bridge, and for the width of the two bridge spans, the river was flowing water right up at the surface, whereas the rest of the way appeared to be completely snowed over yet. That small view of open water was a reminder of the pending flood we'll see this spring, and of the great vulnerability we have to the elements: all it would take is the combination of above zero temperatures and an enormous ice jam, and we'll have some seriously rising water.

Not a moment too soon! I brought my three-season bike to the shop for a tune up today, and not a moment too soon. It takes careful planning each year to ensure that I get my good bike tuned up in time to be ready for spring -- not too late so that it becomes mired in the backlog of everyone prepping their bikes for spring, but not too early such that I have to retire it for another week or two before the roads are good enough to take it out. The weather isn't forecast to stay much above zero (if at all) till next weekend, so it works out perfectly that they're going to work on it Friday. I always get compliments on my bike from those in the know and today was no different. As they assessed it, the mechanics commented on how firm all the connections etc were, and how great the geared hub was. Of course, it was built by this shop, so it shouldn't surprise me that they'd appreciate their own work. I'd never dealt with either of these two mechanics before, though....

The winter that wouldn't end. A forecast of snow for the evening did not encourage me to get out of bed in the morning. In mid-March, it occurred to me that I hadn't wiped out yet all winter, but I suspected the time would come. Yes, with all the ice, the chickens have come home to roost -- twice. I shouldn't complain; generally my wipeouts are my own fault, caused by overcautiousness, and that was certainly the case today in the shadowed (read iced up) back alley less than a block from home. Exactly as I feared, I went down slowly, cursing and grumbling. At 6:00 p.m., I sprang from my office to the window, suddenly remembering the forecast snow, and hoping if it had not yet come, it wouldn't. The ground was still dry, but even as I looked through the glass, flakes began to fall. By 11:30, there was a decent blanket of snow, traffic on Osborne disturbed precipitation such that getting splashed was a greater problem than slipping on ice. Whoever thought April w...

Disclaimer: this is not complaining, but making observations for future reference. ;) The streets are deceptively treacherous at this time. The warm April sun manages to melt snow and ice in daylight hours, and it being April and all with mostly dry roads, one thinks we're home free. But the ice patches are unexpected and nasty. The good melt-work of the sun is undone by the temperatures that plunge far below zero before the last luminous rays disappear. In fact, those puddles that portend spring are the most dangerous part. As traffic splashes through them, they spread over the road and adhere to every surface, turning every shaded spot into a mini skating rink that seems to grow in circumference, rather than shrink every day. But this too shall pass. Eventually spring will come -- and for those near the river, the slower it comes, the better!

Wind, rain, and sun Wind The weather folks on the radio were not exaggerating when they said it was windy this morning. Usually, their commentary instills such dread of going outside that I can hardly drag myself from under the covers, but when I finally achieve it, it's not that bad. Today, however, the wind was worthy. It was one of those swirling, gusting wind that blows to your head no matter what direction you turn -- except for those precious seconds it whirls around pushes at your back for a moment, before turning against you again. In the final metres of my commute, running the gauntlet between a cluster of tall apartments in the midst of low-house suburbia, a wind tunnel effect nearly stopped me in my tracks. Rain The weather folks had also predicted freezing rain, a puzzling thing on a sunny day that's supposed to crack zero for the first time in what seems like forever. Yet there was a strange dampness, a wet sheen over everything outside that suggested some so...

I love the things I see when I bike. These things aren't necessarily hidden from those on other modes of transportation, they're just harder to notice where metal, glass, and speed put barriers between you and your environment. I love passing the fountain behind the Legislature, with its peaceful roar of water and its nighttime luminiscence. It's silent now, but it'll be a sign that spring has come to stay when it's turned on again, and will signal it's time to hunker down for winter when they turn it off. I love smelling the flowers in spring and summer, again, by the Legislature, where the smell of the Shubert cherry blossoming in spring is enchanting. I love the palpable quiet on snowy days when the white blanket muffles sounds, lending the streets a veneer of peacefulness. I love the view of downtown from the Norwood Bridge at twilight when the fierypink horizon deepens to a deep purple dome behind the grey towers. Or the view of St. Boniface with th...

Somebody has declared April the month to bike (see video ), so I've decided to participate and to attempt to blog about it. This might fail, or might be really boring, because I bike all the time anyway, but the discipline of putting words -- however banal -- to a page once a day is an excellent discipline for me that I have been sorely lacking for too long. Having the day off today, the only riding I did was a short trip to Safeway to pick up last-minute supplies for hosting Colombian refugees and friends for supper tonight, so there's not much to say about the ride. The weather, however, is noteworthy. The contrast between last year's weather and this year's could not be greater, which is what makes subzero temperatures on April 1 so very painful this year. The ground is still covered with snow! Thankfully, much of the road surface has been baked dry by the sun which has a fair bit of power at this time of year. Here's longing for spring to truly and fully...