Let Us Make a Joyful Noise

I've been enjoying immensely the cracking good new BBC America reality series, The Choir.  The first series features Gareth Malone, choirmaster, trying to start a choir at a high school in a blue collar community that has never had a school choir, and then getting them ready in a few short months to compete in the Choir Olympics in China.  The back stories of the students are often as compelling as the story of the choir. 

Gareth is infectious with his absolute passion for music and choirs and the role they play in bringing people out of themselves, in helping them find self-confidence through self-expression, and in the unifying power music has to bring people and communities together through song.  It brings to my own experiences with choirs; our church youth group going into nursing homes and singing at Christmas time and having the residents join in the singing; the timeless melodies and familiar lyrics joining strangers previously separated by generations, now united by song.

And I watch feeling thankful for my high school choir teacher, Andrea Lyman, who made our school choir open to all.  She shared Gareth's passion for the power of music and performance and community.  Our school's show choir was competitive, but she encouraged me to try out.  And even though I didn't make that choir (I have a range of about five notes and have been known to render people sterile with my singing), the period of thinking I MIGHT be good enough to make it was worth it.  I;m sure that is why she encouraged all members of the choir to try out for the show choir.  She wanted each of us to believe we just MIGHT be good enough to make it, to believe in ourselves.  Teachers like Mrs. Lyman and like Gareth understand that teaching is as much about building the character and confidence of their students as it is about conveying information on a particular subject matter.
                                                                                      

The Choir is drawing inevitable comparison to the cultural phenomenon that is Glee.  I LOVE Glee for its often poignant stories, for Jane Lynch, for it sometimes awesome 80s pop songs, and for the chance to hear Kristen Chenoweth sing.  I LOATHE Glee for its often ludicrous stories, for its contrived musical-dance numbers, and for its sometimes awful 80s pop songs.  So on Glee?  I am a solid meh.

But I am not at all meh about The Choir.  If you haven't already, CHEQUE IT OUT!  Wednesday evenings on BBC America.  And if you don't have BBC America, are you MENTAL?!

She Dresses Like A Super Hero With No Budget

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No adventures in bicycling today.  I had a medical appointment 15 miles across the valley, and I wasn't up for biking the almost 30 mile round trip.  Plus, I am less than fast on my bike - we are both built for comfort, not speed - and it would have taken me all day to ride there and back.  So I scooted instead.

I ride my scooter in the far right lane, referred to by police officers as the number one lane, but known colloquially as  the "slow lane."  I prefer scooting in this lane because I ride at the speed limit and vehicles in the other lanes are inevitably going faster than that.  The problem with the this lane is that it is fraught with obstacles:  animals entering the road, general road debris, vehicles creeping along looking for unfamiliar addresses, vehicles stopped to load or unload passengers, sprinklers overshooting the lawn into the roadway
 . . . . 

As I scoot along, moving around obstacles or sometimes switching lanes to avoid them, I find myself feeling like I am my Avatar, JRo, in Mario  Kart. 

Objects in the roadway become the dreaded turtle shells.   Animals entering my view become the interminable owls.  Other vehicles are now perceived as competitors.  I scan the road for speedy mushrooms or mystery boxes to help me to victory.  And of course, in both worlds, I avoid thunderstorms. 

All of this is just a figment of my imagination you say?  S'Okay.  Figment and I are old friends!

So go ahead pigeons. Laugh it up. I'm getting in my car now and the last time I checked, we had no deal!

Last week I mentioned a family of quail traipsing through a wedding I was performing. A few weeks before, a family of quail ran through the bike lane as I was headed to work, pulling a hundred pounds of dog and trailer behind me. I had to come to a complete stop to avoid them, which I don't like to do because it takes a lot for my bone on bone, arthritic knees to get me and Toby and the trolley started again from a complete standstill. This weekend, I was riding home from a movie and two quail ran in front of me. They did that panicky thing where they stopped, darted one direction, then the next, in an apparent attempt to decide which course of action was best to avoid collision (or maybe in a parody of the classic "serpentine! serpentine!" scene from the original The Inlaws). I again had to come to a complete stop to avoid running over quail. Additionally, my parents live in a neighborhood (750 miles from me) so full of quail that the street is aptly named Quail Run Drive. When we visit, Toby considers it his job to keep the backyard free of quail and other feathered and furry visitors. I am now wondering if this regular appearance of quail in my life, especially as I live in a very urban environment, is some sort of message to me from the Universe. If it is, I'm missing the point.  But it does bring to mind George Constanza. Because last time I checked, the quail and I? We have NO DEAL!

Adventures in Babycycling

Today's bicycle commuting adventure comes to you courtesy of an unidentified child who shared the bike lane with me on my way to work, along with a woman I presumed to be his mother.  He was riding along ahead of me but behind her, most the time working the insouciant, hands free maneuver so familiar to me from my own youth.  His riding seemed so joyous and fun, and I remembered this technique as being so easy, so I decided to try hands free riding myself.  My short-lived, wobbly attempt made me reconsider relearning this skill whilst riding in a lane where a mishap would place me in the path of oncoming vehicles. It would appear my balance is not what it was as a twelve year old athlete.  I'll try it out at the park instead where I only risk being run over by the less lethal dog walkers, roller-skaters, joggers, or fellow cyclists.

Changes in Attitude, Changes in Latitude

I put my geriatric dog Toby on Rimadyl recently, to try to provide pain relief for his arthritis.  I've heard that it can have serious side effects, including death, but my vet assured me such side effects were rare and most dogs tolerate it just fine.  Nevertheless, I carefully read the packaging materials regarding all possible side effects.  The materials warned to look for signs of vomiting, blood in the stool, changes in appetite, or depression.  Hard to know what depression would look like on Toby.  He is such a joyful creature.

But I did take this hole he ate in the wall as a change in appetite.

Rimadyl discontinued.  We're going to try the glucosamine and laser treatments instead.

Someday We'll Find It, The Rainbow Connection. The Lovers, the Dreamers and Me

Earlier today I was riding my bike to the theater to see Despicable Me. I was running late because I hung around the house too long doing important things like playing Mario Kart and emptying the dishwasher. As I rode past an older woman walking an elderly dog, she asked if I could stop and help her. I was frustrated because I was already late, but I stopped to see what she needed. She explained that she was visiting her son and had taken her dog out for a walk and now couldn't find her way back. She forget to bring her phone. I offered her the use of mine, but she didn't know his phone number. She couldn't remember the address. The temperature was almost triple digits, heat was radiating up from the asphalt street and concrete sidewalks, and the dog was panting heavily and beginning to show signs of distress. I was blazingly hot and I'm sure the woman was as well.

She kept telling me what she thought the address was and then telling me where she thought they had been on their walk but those two things were miles apart and as she hadn't been gone long, it was unlikely he lived where she said she thought he did. We finally sorted out what she thought his address was. She was on the right street, just a few blocks away. So I pointed her in the right direction and rode rapidly away, now trying to make up even more time, hot and frustrated with the delay, and telling myself I'd done all I could to help her.

Yet as I rode past the address she gave, I decided to stop and make sure it was the right one. I asked the man who answered my knock if his mother was visiting. It seemed unlikely as he was Asian and she was caucasian but of course families come in all varieties. He said his mother wasn't visiting and he didn't have anyone staying with him and I realized the woman was walking to the wrong address and still would have no idea where she was supposed to be.
So I turned around thinking that at least I could ride home, get my car and some water for her and her dog, and drive them around looking at all the possible combinations of addresses she thought were correct until she recognized his place. When I rode back past her, I stopped and told her that I'd checked the address on my way by and it was wrong. I asked if her son was listed with directory services and she said she thought he was. So I looked up his address on my phone (which I hadn't thought to do initially). She had transposed the last two digits and the house was only a few houses away from the first address she had given me. I went along beside her to make sure she got safely back to her son's house. As we walked we exchanged the usually social pleasantries and she repeatedly thanked me for my help and blessed me for my kindness.

After the encounter, I left feeling like the day was a little brighter and the world was a slightly better place. It had nothing to do with my helping her. If anything I felt ashamed that I hadn't cheerfully done more to help her to begin with. I performed a wedding ceremony last night and part of my ceremony talks about doing things for each other in a spirit of joy and love, not of duty and sacrifice and those words kept coming to mind. Why had I been so annoyed to be stopped to help someone in need? Nothing that important about missing a movie that would show five more times that day and seven times the next day. Instead of seeing the movie as scheduled I met Nancy from Bellevue, Washington who will always be part of my memories and therefore a part of me and I'm sure Reddirtgirl from Salt Lake City, Utah will always be part of her. And I was feeling happy and positive because I had experienced one of those countless, fleeting human connections that enrich our lives, or communities, our world.

Clang, Clang, Clang Went the Trolley!

Today Toby came to work with me which means I towed his trolley behind my bike. We stopped on the park on the way so we could do a lap and get him his exercise. As I was getting ready to load him back into it, a woman walking by, stopped and peered into the empty trailer, and exclaimed: "You you forgot your babies!" I pointed to Toby standing beside me, to which she exclaimed, "It's for the dog? How nice!"

Yesterday on the commute home, I shared the bike lane with awesome ice cream bicycles. Today, I shared the the bike lane with this awesome double tall bike.

As he rode past and turned left, the rider of this bike noticed Toby in the trolley and exclaimed: "Cool, man! It's for a dog!" Later someone shouted out of a car as they passed us, "You've got to be kidding me!" Clearly Toby has become the goodwill ambassador for the 300 East bicycle lane.