Even more embarrassing

The first time Roberto, my mechanic, made a house call I was worried about a sound that the car was making that apparently cars always make.

The second time he visited Nick, Matt and I had tried to replace the spark plug wires. We had already got the rear shocks changed, and had done a could of other things, but we thought we'd try this because, well our success rate had been 100% thus far.

We felt pretty good.

When Roberto came a week later to fix nearly everything we'd done he said to me, en Español, "You did this?"

"Si. Esta bien?"

He smirked, looked at Miguel, and said "no".

Miguel said to Nick, en español, "These are good cars to learn on because you can't mess things up too bad, and they're not too hard to fix."

So while my assistant spoke with Jorge's assistant, Roberto and I (mostly Roberto) went about undoing the work that we had proudly done a week earlier.

When we were working on it, my brother-in-law and father had tried to couch me out to f doing it at all, but, as I said earlier, I was batting .1000 and completely unstoppable. Steve and Dad, when they realized what I was tackling, had me slow the process down - but by the time they had done that the firing order had been forgotten and no amount of YouTube could put it back together again.

In the end all I had done was mix up the first cylinder with the second, but I might as well have put my right shoe on the left rear brake pad.

The car wasn't going to work. End of story.

A little too optimistic

So yes, posting something everyday for the next year was a little optimistic, but that doesn't mean I'll wait 365 before trying again. This time I'll start with smaller goals and build up to everyday.

Its been a while, so I'll have to get back into practice.

We're putting the final touches on the car. Roberto, my mechanic, cane by the house because I tried to fix the distributor, and ended up taking a cab to work.

Very frustrating when we're only four days away.

Roberto has made 3 house calls since I've started calling him, and each of these house calls has been a result of my taking more apart than I should have. In all, these visits have cost me 700 pesos. That's roughly $12 bucks an hour for him to drive to my house, fix my screw ups, and have three beers with us.

Yes, I pay for friendship. I'm okay with it.

He visited the first time because I thought I heard a knocking in the engine when it was running, bit the reason Roberto came to me was because the car wasn't starting at all. We had pushed the car to get it moving after he sat for two weeks over Semana Santa.

I had felt like a pretty high roller when the mechanic showed up at my house. You see, I had met a parent of one of my students who owned a couple of bugs who said to call him if I needed help ever.

My car wouldn't start. I needed help.

"Jorge. Hello. Soy Brad. El maestro de su hija. Bueno, gracias. Si, my car won't funcionando. No, nada. You're assistant? You don't need to send him. That's amazing, thank you!"

Manuel, Norge's assistant, arrived shortly after with Roberto. Manuel and I stood around while Roberto hot wired the car, tweaked a few things, told me the knocking was the sound of the engine... that's it. Just the engine.

Turns out I was a new parent and my daughter had the hiccups.

How embarrassing.

Four Things

I am going to pledge to write one thing everyday for the next year.

In one day I turn 32, which means I have one year left of childhood. Papá says that Christ was a man at 33. I'm not going to give my life for a cause, nor is this about faith. This is simply a look at my childish life thus far, and a look forward into adulthood.

In two weeks I'll be crossing the Mexican-US boarder in a 99 old style VW Bug. You are all welcome to read along with the ride. Nick, my copilot, and I have our first three nights figured out - we'd love to stay at your place if you'll have us.

In 397 days I'll be marrying the most beautiful woman in the world. I'll be doing this just 31, days after I become a man.

That's all for now.
I love you all.

Bird

Cold start

This post's title comes from a saved draft that I got no farther than creating a title, and it appears that I am not going to get much farther this time around.

It is cold this morning. It will be over thirty today, but it feels like it's 12.

How to buy a car in México

Step one - Find someone else to do it for you

There is a chance

There is a chance that I am allergic to my classroom.

At the end of last year I packed up all my dusty things, the things that the teacher before me had put on the shelves when she arrived and never took them out, put all those things that I never took out into boxes.

The boxes and desks and chairs and other boxes where all moved into the top floor of the air conditioned library where I'd be housed the following school year; this particular school year.

This summer went fast, and then I was here again. Specifically I am in my bed. It is the day before school starts, and I want desperately for my lungs to open up so that the excited-for-tomorrow can settle in in its place.

But they can't. I can't get my lungs to open up. I can't get myself to want to go tomorrow because I am quite sure I am allergic to my classroom.

When we were little, my sisters and I, the house was full of carpet. At least, I think the house was full of carpet; now it is not, and I have been told that it was. The house is not full of carpet because when I was two because when I turned two I was told I had asthma.

When I was two a child under two couldn't have asthma, all they could have was a cough, severl hundred allergies and a continuous wheeze. The called it "sick".

I was sick. Very. Sick.

When I was two mom and dad took out all the carpet, rolled it into a big ball and burned it.

(that may be a bit off as I don't remember this happening, nor was I told that they were burned. I like the idea that they were burned as an offering to the god of breath. I am sure they were just tossed into a hole to become the flooring of a family of rabbits that were not allergic to dust mites and their excrement)

Now that I am heading towards thirty-two I need my mom and dad to come down to México, take out all the carpet, roll it into a big ball, and burn it. Otherwise I am going to spend the better part of the first reporting theme in the hospital.

Besides this, I am doing quiet well. How are you?

The Little Guy

The little guy's a big guy, but relative to me he's just a little guy. He's a little guy with a big heart, loads of energy and a curious streak that will eventually kill four cats. He rarely raises his hand to speak, but never does anything actually wrong. He's just a little guy with a big heart and outweighs his classmates by 15 lbs.

That's a lot when your seven.

One day I pulled him out of the class because of a bump he had with another kid. Essentially the other kid bounced off the little guy when turned around.

Buddy I said to him you're bigger. You need to watch yourself.

I know, Mr Birdley, but he pushed me first

I'm not upset about who-pushed-who-first, you're bigger than them. You need to be careful. Even when you're playing, you can do dammage.

Ah, I (stretches out the "I") see Mr Bird, it's b'cause I'm bigger.

Then, just yesterday, the little guy became one of my line leaders. Which means he's leading the pack down the stairs while the pre-first kids are coming up the stairs and, just like all little kids whose shoes are the most interesting thing in the world, the smaller guy wasn't looking up and didn't see the soft wall he ran into at the first landing.

uh-oh, I thought.

I could see the situation playing out in the Little Guys head - he was the bigger vessel and this smaller guy was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Then I counted them ... one .. two .. three .. .. three chest bumps. The Little guy was trying to bounce them smaller guy off his chest.

I'm going to have one child with a cracked head, and another one that's still going to think the little guy was in the wrong place.


This little guy reminds me so much of another Big Guy I know.

an image

Tears and Little Eyes

It was the first day. My plan had basically been done for me, there are some veteran staff here that go above and beyond helping.

But 45 minutes to set up their agenda and copy homework? You can't be serious.

She was.

This is something that I've just come to accept over the past five days. These little things that I don't remember learning will take a long time to become so routine that they can do them with out prompting.

For now the last period of the day is a lot of

"Take out your agendas and write down today's date"

"Can everyone take out their agenda"

"John, can you take out your agenda"

"Hands up if you have the date written down"

"Julie, take out your agenda"

"Hands up if you have your agenda out. Hands up if you have your agenda here today. Hands up if you can hear me. Hands up if you're listening. Hands up if your hand is down. Hands on your nose, on your chin, on you head, on your desk, on your nose."

Those last few keep me sane.

There's a tug at my side, little eyes looking up. "Mr. Bird, I don't have my agenda with me." Of course you don't. "Can you check your bag again, please?" Little Eyes look back at me as if to say I've checked my bag, stupid. It's not there. It isn't here today. What the heck do you want me to do.

Instead of saying those things, though, mostly because she's a language learner and doesn't know how, she walks away and I go back to the other 48 little eyes that are wondering what they are supposed to do with their hands on their noses.

my goodness they listen well at the most odd times

Over the next 28 minutes we manage to get the date written and 2 of 3 points on the homework list. This is when my boss walks in. She's here to check on the little one who has been having a rough day. This rough day started with Mom dragging, unsuccessfully, her into the classroom and Dad, unsuccessfully, shoving her into the classroom; both ending, obviously, in tears.

She was still coming in and out of tears.

I scan the classroom and notice, at the same time as my boss, the Little Eyes with her head on her desk.

son. of. a. crap.

"Is she crying?" my boss mouths to me, with more concern than anything else. I shrug because I have no idea ... I'd only noticed half a second ago too.

My boss rubs her back to see what is the matter.

Nothing. No movement. Nothing.

Boss looks back at me, shakes the Little Eyes' shoulder.

Nothing.

Shakes a second time, and Little Eyes looks up groggily.

son. of. a. crap. She'd fallen asleep. I didn't help her find her agenda, or give her a blank sheet of paper, and she'd fallen asleep. And my boss had seen it before I had.

The good news was that Tears was no longer in them and seemed to have made friends with the girls sitting to either side of her.

mental note: keep her there for as long as is necessary. feed children coffee at 1:30.

Happy "New Header" Day

This is my new header. It's not as family oriented as the last one, but it'll do for now. It's also not my artwork; I borrowed it from flickr and put my own text on top of it.

Thanks to the one who took the picture.

I'll get an image of my own up soon, I just have to take one. I haven't been taking many pictures, at least not ones that I'd like to use. J took one, and I have to dig it out of the digital depths that it was put in.

Hasta Luego,

Pájaro (pah-yaro)

Re: Useful info from The Weather Network

Thanks mom, the weather's pretty great. No rain yet, just a steady 23 or so. 

[PS - turns out today it's 35, but there's no humidity]

We're settled in the apartment, a few things need sorted out, like the shower head is terrible and the bathroom sink sprays water in every direction except down. 

The place we're in is a palace, regardless of the direction of the water. 12 foot ceilings, colourful walls, walking distance to a few great watering holes, an Internet place (where I am now sitting at with my phone) and a mart that exclusively sells walls (when I find out more about this I'll write again). 

The price of the Internet is 12 pesos which is actually the cost of the pop which is funny to the American sitting next to me because to her it's a soda. 

For now, that's all the stories I have to share now - save for the wobbly luggage wheel, the 18 hr travel day and the security guard who was giving my hair tips - but those can wait for another day. 

Adios, mi amigos!

Written with the help of a thousand monkeys

On 2012-08-06, at 10:22 AM, momma_bird@hotmail.com wrote:

August 06, 2012 You might find this information from The Weather Network useful. http://www.theweathernetwork.com/ mom

A Holiday

(I found this in my drafts folder)





Lightly tapping on the table, Uncle Dude stares at his phone. Small
one was bursting with excitement and could hardly control herself
while he waited in line for a smoothy. It wasn't the smoothy she cared
about, in fact she hardly touched it when he brought it over. Mommy
was seated quietly next to small one looking rather disengaged, uncle
dude was tapping away on his phone.

"stop that" he said, "you'll get me sick." Small one looked just as
confused as you do right now - as she had no idea what she had done.

"he needs his space" she said in a way that redefines passivity.

"this is my cylinder", he said gesturing to his sphere.

Small one's expression might have resembled an emotion close to <I>
why did you just say cylinder<\I>, but since she didn't know what
cylinder meant she cocked her head to one side and smirked.

"yeah" small one smiled, "well this is my sillindinar", supporting my
theory completely.

Uncle Dude tapped tapped tapped on his phone some more and then
stopped. Small one had started to work on her smoothie again and mommy
had drifted off somewhere.

Uncle Douche stood up and said "mumble mumble", or something equally
unrelated and motioned for Small One and Disenchanted to follow him,
which they did. Small one skipped a bit until momma reached for her
hand to keep her grounded. Uncle dude walked several paces ahead of
the pair with his nose once more burried in his phone.

Merry Christmas kid, I sure hope your mom finds a less douchie dude by
next holiday season.

Arrivals and Departures

The flight into Calgary was followed by a five hour car ride. The four of us, BiL, Sister, Dog and I, piled into the truck and headed north.

Had you have asked me then if I thought I was going to tackle a bull calf to have it castrated I would have said there is a vas deference between that and how I'm going to be spending my weekend.

I would have been wrong.

I also wouldn't have figured I'd be fishing on a pontoon boat , let along catch 10 or so fish (two of which we end up catching, and one of those I'd get to gut myself).

There would be campfires and fireworks and lazy river rafting. There would be old traditions shared with new friends, and tradition setting fathers remembered. Younglings would sip beer and everyone would find it cute.

However that was what the weekend promised to contain, and we weren't to those places yet. We were stuck on the hwy, heading north stopping only for bathroom breaks every 40 mins and at the Canadian Tires we saw between the bathrooms.

Currently I'm seated on my flight home, and I hope to recount a few of the weekend's events. At least as much as I can.

(greg, it's just occurred to me that we didn't meet up last night. I hope you enjoy Stampede!)

In flight,

Bird








Written with the help of a thousand monkeys

Untitled, for now

It was going to begin with the tweet

"Lady behind me "hasn't been gambling in six months". I be her she won't last the flight."

But then I needed Some context.

I started writing

"at the airport. Let's get this party started. #therewillbenopartyattheairport"

Then I realized that I did t care enough to send it, so why would anyone on twitter care to read it. Or anyone at all. Save yourself, dear reader. By the way, thanks for stopping by.

I was listening to the lady behind me because I'm here four hours early because my loving gf wanted to make sure I arrived here, not wanting to leave anything to chance, two busses or a distractible, thirty-something.

That reminds me, I need to change the banner.

I'm glad you still showed up. You may have had trouble finding it since I laid to rest the dot 'ca' address. It my be occupied by a squatting robot by now, I hope it doesn't write better than I do. I'd hate it if my writing voice could be reproduced by an algorithm.

Currently I'm routed North of Edmonton, with a short layover in Calgary. The connecting flight, however, will be a car. The pilot's my brother-in-law and the in-flight meal will be granola bars and sandwiches and some sort of beverage.

I love travel.

Stay tuned for more western stories, as well as some teaser posts about my upcoming Mexican experience.

The trouble is

Dear Salutmaman,

The trouble is I am supposed to be either prepping for the class I'm about to teach, or studying Spanish for my lesson tonight.

Not writing.

Which I'd like to do, but shouldn't.

Perhaps soon. I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you and writing here.

Hope you're well,

Bird

Written with the help of a thousand monkeys

A Grump

Today I'm a grump.

(A great way to break my hiatus, start out with a story about how I'm a grump today)

A time ago a man told me to "remember who you're grumpy at, Bird". This was after I had asked him why he was never grumpy. "Well Bird" he said, "you have to remember ..."

Then I smirked the way late teens smirk when they hear something they know is profound yet don't quite understand what is profound about it. That something may not be entirely, or specifically, profound at all, merely a neat observation, but I'd smirk all the same since it was the reaction I knew best and was quite good at it.

A guy at the site today said to me "Bird", he said "Bird, why are you so grumpy today. I like it when you come to site cause you're usually cheerie. Not today, today you're a grump."

"I am", I said, "I know. I'm trying not to be."

I'll fix my attitude right now. I'll write it down to get it out of my system, then post it two weeks later.

Sharing

At college I learned how to use a binder. How dividers can be placed, how to pick out what goes where, when a topic has graduated to its own binder, when to shrink down to just one. How to title page, to colour coordinate, to spine label and to index.

I grew to like putting them together. I'd even say I loved doing it. Often, in english* to "love" something gets overused, but I'd say I loved it. Definitely a deep like.

I'd fall asleep with them spread out around my room, think about them first thing in the morning and bring them everywhere I went. I would be a wreck if I happened not to bring them with me, and the ones I didn't need to have with me I'd think about all day anyway.

So when someone at my office the other day talked about one of my binders, one that I created and packaged and beautified, as if it was the new guy's binder I just about died.


<i>There weren't even binders here when I arrived four months ago. He's been here three days and all of the sudden it's his?</i>

I clenched my fists for a moment to ease my jealous burst.

<i><b>It's just a binder. Everything will be alright. He leaves before you, and when he does you can put it back on you shelf. </b></i>

My hands relaxed and colour flowed back into the room.

For a moment I went back to what I was doing.

Then I heard my 3-hole punch crunch on a stack of paper which shouldn't have happened because it was MY 3-hole punch and it was sitting on MY des-


<b>Grrrrrr...</b>




*and I have no reference point from another language to work from; other than chatting to italian families and people who speak more languages than i
written
with the help
of
a thousand monkeys

A Spectacle

www.salutmaman.ca

Needy, so needy

quietly, in the background
"...oh, it must be that guy..."

I smirk. It's me she's talking about, and obviously doesn't realise that I wasn't put on hold, only set down on the counter.

In her defense, this is the third time I've called today and the fifth time this week. Had I not've lost my glasses (in a golf cart related incident) I wouldn't be in such need, or be so needy. I feel a bit like a boy who's waiting for his first crush to call him after making that first move toward her locker.

Who am I kidding, I still feel that way. It's becoming more and more apparent to me how much I value constant connection. It should have been known to me sooner, and I should have dealt with it sooner too. I have been blogging for a while now, and the medium requires tough skin. I don't know if anyone reads this, there's a stats page that I can check but I have no idea who reads it, or how often, or for how long they stay, where they're coming from, why they're here, why they stay, why they come back - if they come back...

... man. I am needy.

The lady at the glasses store recovered quickly, quicker than I did. I awkwardly laughed every few seconds trying to show who not-unimpressed I was she basically called me annoying in front of everyone she works with.

I was hoping I'd draw out of her that she was sorry to have said it, but she never did. She just kept a steady voice for as long as I was on the phone, rolling her eyes as soon as the handset was in its cradle then carrying on with her next customer, one that was in front of her and not calling from some starbucks, somewhere.

I would tip her if I thought a person tipped glasses salespeople, and if she wasn't making commission off this sale. The easiest sale ever, might I add.

(However the easiest sale ever is making for a boring entry. If you've stayed with me this far into the post you'll be prepared for the image of me with my new specks that'll come shortly after me putting them on)

Don't Panic

The security guard at the airport drop off saw us coming, well before we saw him. Regardless, we were well on our way to where we needed to be, and we weren't going to stop to talk to him. We hadn't a moment to spare and he would have had too many questions, all of them rhetorical.

"How are we doing for time, Bird" the Boss said to me, fifteen minutes later than he should have. I raised my brow in such a way so as to demonstrate a sense of urgency.

I assumed the urgency part, he was the one who did the math. I couldn't remember it.

"We gotta go", I stated simply. There was no other way to say it. We were trying to impress a client, and panic doesn't sell anything.

We shook hands, grabbed papers and made for our Sewing Machine of a rental whom we would, quite shortly, be testing every ounce of its strength.

Mrs Boss called at 6:42 "Is Boss there?"

"Busy dropping the car off" I replied. Mr. Boss smirked at me, knowing full well he was not and wouldn't be for at least another ten.

"Sorry" I said. "Don't tell her I did that"

"I won't till tomorrow"

The Security Guard at the airport drop off moved like a second baseman who knew the shortstop had under shot the fly ball. He started slowly from his perch, and by the time I saw him he rounded a column and we rounded the rental lot's median. I didn't see what did after that, none of us do. We knew very well we were driving the wrong way, but we had to get the rental back, and I'll be damned if we were going to circle the airport again.

Phone rang again "is he there now?"

"Bathroom."

(I was more articulate than that, but that's the important bit. I wanted to demonstrate the urgency of the situation, without losing the cucumber cool I had on the phone)

"Who was that?" "Farked if I know, park this flaming thing" I snapped in my head, but didn't actually say. Instead I just smiled.

A Greyhound staffer at the airport drop off watched the whole scene unfold. She cocked her head to one side as we second guessed the parking lot entrance, and exhaled with a smirk as we rounded back again two wheels.

Boss went into Rental Co to toss the keys, I grabbed the bags and ran for our gates.
Twelve minutes left.

I was flustered when I got to the desk, which was quick given there was no line and I had ran full tilt from the Rental Co office, but before I could get too far into the scenarios running thru my head-

.... leaving Boss there ... "Indian jones"ing onto the plane .. Bribing them at the gate .

-Boss was standing next to me.

"Hey" "Hey"

Stamp. Sticker. Stack.

"Where do we-"

"Toward the escalator please, si-" and I was to the top before she hit the last syllable.

Long story short, we jumped over the customs line. I was doing well till Security made small talk about my hard hat and I couldn't remember what it was I used it for.

"You had to think about that?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and reaching into his pocket. Rubber gloved scenarios ran through my head as I moved faster than I thought I could.

"Did I make it" I asked the woman I was about to bribe.

Make it? You've loads of time. We START boarding at seven.

"Well", said Boss "we'd better go get a fast one, shouldn't we? That'll take this edge off"

I really wish I had a less cheesy way to end this. I don't. It's all about the journey anyways, right?

I'm laughing now because I'd forgotten Short Stack was even with us.

It's a good thing he was able to keep up.
www.salutmaman.ca