kar0ling

I must admit: she caught my eye as I walked past. Normally, I maintain it's about function, not form, but it was both her prettiness and her price that drew me back to test drive this one three times and finally take her home despite some dissatisfaction with the fit. Bullwinkle here replaces my dearly departed Bigfoot fatgirl which grew wings and flew off my third-floor balcony where she was locked. She went for her first winter ride October 26 . It was slippery after a nasty combination of rain and cold temperatures all morning. I expected to think she was overkill by the time I headed home at the end of the day, but the icy road conditions had worsened. Unusually for Manitoba, the bridges were skating rinks, causing multiple car pileups in a city crisscrossed by rivers. Skyline was okay the next day, but then I was out of province for a week, returning to a winter wonderland in November . Bullwinkle and I will be getting to know each other well from now on (as long as...

Truth and reconciliation in Palestine. Jonathan Kuttub, a Palestinian and American and Mennonite lawyer addressed a crowd at Sam’s Place tonight. “Truth, justice, and peace – in that order,” he quotes, cautioning that if we try to start with peace, before learning the truth and working for justice, we may simply perpetuate injustice for the sake of a false peace that disillusions instead of heals. Truth: Palestinian Christians are not the result of Western Christian mission efforts; Western Christians are the result of Palestinian mission efforts. We need to stand in solidarity as brothers and sisters. Truth: evil carries within itself the seeds of its own destruction. History contains many examples of tyrants regimes suddenly collapsing. “The arc of history is long but it bends toward justice,” Kuttub quotes Martin Luther King Jr. Don’t despair due to today’s or even next week’s or next year’s trials. In the long view, things may get better.  Truth: hope is spirit...

Glowing autumn air Your fiery source of warmth slips ’neath the horizon I’m sorry. Beautiful skies motivate me to write bad haikus in hopes that someday, through practice, I might write a good one.

My social media feeds were full of commentary on and denunciation of the neo-Nazi action in Charlottesville, Virginia. I nodded and made sympathetic noises as I read articles and Tweets and long Facebook posts from both expected (Sojourners) and some unexpected (Beth Moore) sources. Not that for a moment I think Canada doesn’t have its own racism problems, but troubling as this whole situation is, it is in the U.S., rooted in their particular contextual circumstances, so I didn’t sense any obligation to make a pronouncement. But then I read an anguished comment – not a shout, but a whispered hope; not a status, but buried in comments on a thread – I wish more white Christians were raising their voices against this . And I’m crushed by “not all white people” defenses. And the next day, my own city was splattered by anti-Semitic vandalism. So I’m speaking up in my little corner with a few “all” statements of my own, directed first and foremost at myself. Maybe no one will read ...

There was an article making the rounds lately about “Xennials” – the group in the shoulder space between Gen X and Millennials, who relate with some of the characteristics of each and not at all with others. A tongue-in-cheek Guardian quiz declared me a true Xennial because “you understand modern technology but are not so emotionally needy as to need constant validation from strangers you will never meet.” Another article said Xennials “possess both Gen X cynicism and Millennial optimism.” You can probably tell that I regard myself as fitting into this group (as much as a nonconformist leaning individual raised in a bizarre subculture ever fits). What it has to do with smartphones is that I’m not “digital native” enough to be good at texting. (I try the two-handed thing, but it seems just as laborious and inaccurate as one-finger hunt and peck.) So I speak to my phone. (Kind of like in the old fashioned days. Except not.) This dictate function works brilliantly for some people. D...

...but poetic. In the humidity, the mist from Emptyful hangs a dreamy fog about the library plaza, diffusing the glaring lights. It used to be so dodgy, you’d avoid it even in daylight; now the park invites a stroll on a dark, rainy night.

Presuming to know something about this medium (HA! My one follower may belie such pretensions), I conducted a workshop on blogging during a short-term mission orientation session. I continued to hang out with the young people for the rest of the day, lured to stay with the promise of a square dance later that night. What happened there was noteworthy, so I feel I must practice what I preach and write up this event. But what did I learn? Oh my! I probably wouldn’t have plumbed the experience for insight had I not sat down here to reflect here, but here goes. (And that’s one of the points I tried to make to the young’uns: writing serves critical reflection.) Lloyd had gone out to the asylum shelter and invited sundry newcomers to join us at the square dance – “a genuine Canadian social activity”. (Actually, it’s probably more accurate to call it American.) Halfway through the evening, they joined us, so I was paired with a young man from Bangladesh. Things weren’t quite as smo...

For someone who has an intermittent tendency to apply nicknames to people (ever been confused by references to “Peach”?), it may be odd that my bikes, which play a significant role in my life, don’t get monikers. But they do get designations. My 3-season bike is the Skyline (the brand on the frame). My dearly departed fatbike was the fatgirl . (Her replacement will likely be the fatgirl 2.0.) And, now, my omafiets has finally arrived. The Dutch bikes – brought over in a shipping container by a local bike advocate with a grand vision to bring comfortable Dutch-style biking to Winnipeg – were handed out at random (based on numbers handed out at registration) and I managed to completely luck out. We were all promised rear racks, though a few – unusually – lacked even that. (Recipients of such bikes were promised a front rack, all of which had been disassembled for shipping.) I got not only a nice rear rack, rear wheel lock, front and rear lights appearing to be in decent sh...

The dreaded moment has come, in an unexpected way. The fatgirl was stolen – off my balcony! I was away from home from Tuesday till Sunday. I watered my plants before leaving and didn’t notice anything amiss.When I wandered out on the balcony to check my plants and let fresh air into my suite on Sunday, my bike rack caught my attention for standing askew. It took a beat before I realized why this was strange: something is missing – my bike! Alas. Before After

Pregnant air – laden, seeping out royal fragrance. Bursting forth, then gone.

It seems to me our common weather proverbs – particularly relating to spring – are not necessarily inaccurate, merely geographically misapplied. Climatic sayings from England’s sea-bound coasts don’t describe the conditions in continental extreme very well, and my skepticism of weather dictums extends to the calendar dates of spring and winter. Usually, winter-like conditions are long established by the time December 21 rolls around, and rarely is spring in the air yet on March 20. Except this year. Not only has the snow been disappearing and the temperature playing above zero even before and certainly since, but the air itself has had a refreshing warmth suggestive of the actual arrival of the marvellous season called spring. So, on April 1, with several days of rolling on dry roads already behind me, I’ve already got the Skyline home from the shop. Both my girls will stay in my living room, close at hand, until April has proved more definitely it will not bring sn...

Twenty years after the dance at Banff sparked a year of consternation, dancing was again on the mainstage at convention. It wasn’t teenagers spontaneous gyrating this time, though. And it performance, not participatory. First two jingle dancers filled the room with tintinnabulation and invitation, then the hoop dancers wove their figures imbued with energy and passion. Contrary to what my straight-laced upbringing tried to instill in me, I don’t believe dancing is dangerous or sinful, and tonight was no exception. I tend to agree with the elder who introduced the drum as a sacred circle and dance as healing. God gave us bodies, not just minds. There is something sacred about rhythmic, artistic, creative movement: the interplay of physical, mental, emotional, and social aspects in dance make it a rather wholesome activity for the restoration of the soul. Could it be possible that this time we would allow the dance to invite us to something new? Will we have the humility to walk t...