Happy

I am happy that I've brought my guitar with me.

I suppose there's no story in that statement yet, but it's a truth that I hope will make a story.

I've been able to play it, the guitar, in public on a couple of occasions since arriving here. Both times were on the same day, and both were the first since I lived in London while going to school.

Not the big London, the Ontario one.

In London a couple of people I knew would get together and let me play poorly with them. One had a masters in music, another guy had recorded an album (I think, but I may have invented that just now) and another guy just loved to play simple songs.

In China, we had a BBQ with the school staff, which was actually a sort of picnic catered by a hotel under the disguise of a small wedding. The Chinese do BBQ differently here, it seems. I had sat in on a couple of rehearsals with other musically inclined people earlier that week, in preperations for a sort of singalong. After twenty-one seconds I concluded I was amongst many people who were much better at being musically inclined, no one seemed eager to play simple songs that could make me look good, and that I was in need of a new word for what I did with music.

(I actually don't need a new word, the word I do use is play-poorly-and-only-for-m'Lady.)

I was pretty scared by everyone there, so I sat on a bench just out of the circle playing just loud enough for people not to notice that the guitar I held was embarrassingly out of tune.

I like playing guitar. It makes me happy. Even in this moment, out of tune, and barely contributing, I was happy.

A friend of mine whom I got to know in Mexico asked (nearly two years ago) if I played anything, and followed up with "how long?"

The answer I gave was
"seriously for about two years".

Seriously, I said seriously.

I hope you have rolled your eyes at old me. I do. Every time I remember that moment, including the moment after I said it, and them moment just now as i remember saying. That moment immediately after was super strange for me. I knew what I meant to say, which was something closer to "on and off" or "not very much" or "I can hold it in my arms thusly", but I didn't come out with any of those. Instead I said

" seriously for two years"

Who the heck was I? Certainly not anybody about to open to a concert hall, or a guy with a cool, sharp, rock star nickname.

Hell, I don't even know most of the names of the chords I play.

But to Matt-with-the-hat I said
"seriously for two years"

and, rightly, called me on it.

"seriously, eh?"
(He didn't actually say eh, he's an american. I honestly can't remember what he said instead)

"well lah di day"
(which I am sure he didn't say either, but the tale must go on).

At this point I was pretty ticked at myself for botching this first impression, and making a complete dork of myself. I was also ticked at Matt-with-the-hat for calling me on it, but it wasn't a genuine or justified ticked since I deserved it, and was actually just mad at myself and not him at all.

I should have said "I'm happy when I play my guitar", that's what I hopped what I actually said sounded like.

It's how I felt sitting on the bench with an out of tune guitar with people who are better at being musically inclined, even though I wasn't helping to make music; in fact I may have been making it worse cause someone came over and offered to tune it.

And at the bbq-wedding, when I sat just out of the circle and played in my play-poorly-only-for-m'Lady sort of way, well enough that one of the school maintenance crew came over to top off my drink, I was happy.

And later on the bus ride home when the topped off drink and I stood in the isle of the bus and sang and played Wonder wall, I was happy.

Because I'm glad that I brought my guitar with me, because playing guitar makes me happy.

When There's a Knock, Knock, Knock at the Door

knock knock

we aren't expecting guests, I said to myself. That can't be our door.

knock knock knock

that's definitely the other door because we are not expecting guests because no one knows we live here

knocknocknocknocknocknocknock

that is our door


now what?

~ ~ ~

We had moved to China three days earlier. We travelled from Toronto to Qingdao in a little more that 36hrs. It should have been about 20hrs but the planes had been grounded leaving TO due to bad weather.

We spent the night in Shanghai when we should have caught our connecting flight. It wasn't a big deal, and the airport was really helpful. They spoke a bit of English and helped us with where to bring things. There was an eager little man running ahead of all the other travellers stranded in Shanghai because of the Toronto rain.

36 hrs of travel takes a lot out of a person. On top of that, there was a 12hr difference adjust to. It's been five days now and we're feeling alright, but with just 3 days of China under my belt I wasn't ready to deal with a knocknocknock at the door.

Besides, no one knew we lived in this apartment.

~ ~ ~

knocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknock

my oh my. you are a persistent one

I opened the door because that's what one should do when there's a knock, knock, knock at the door. On the other side there was a small Chinese woman who was on a mission. I knew she was on a mission because before I could ask her in English if she spoke English (because I don't know the Mandarin for that) she was in my kitchen.

"Can I help with something?"I asked, in English

"Something something something" she said, in Mandarin. This was followed by a blank stare, to which I replied my own blank stare, but I raised her two eyebrows.

"Something something something gas something"

"Wait. What? I got part of that." I replied. "Say it again".

Blank stare.

The part I had picked up had been in English, but that didn't sink in until much later than it should have.

She stared back at me, still clearly on a mission because she had started opening cupboards. Cupboards that I hadn't even found yet.

It finally occurred to me that she wanted to read the gas meter. I don't remember what it was that helped the thought occur, but it did finally occur to me. This thought would have occurred to me sooner had I have read the welcome packet that I had been told to read. The person who both had told me to read the packet, and knew how to deal with this situation, was sound asleep in the next room busily incorporating the sounds from the kitchen into her dream.

The person who knew later remarked how curious a practice it is when people knowingly use a language that the other person doesn't understand just to be communicating something.

She also later told me again to read the packet.

My mission lady had found the meter, scanned it with a reader that I am confident she didn't have with her when she came in the door, and was walking back out the door saying

"Something something something something something"

raise of the eyebrows

"Something something something gas card something"

man. I have got to start taking language classes




I have not read the packet yet

A New Look, for a Big Move

August first is the day we leave for China. We'll be there for two years. Often when I've been living in a new place I made a new banner, however I don't think I recorded what the old one looked like. There was one for Ireland, Italy, and perhaps ones for Stratford and Brantford, I don't remember for sure.

Irregardless, here's an idea of what was ... and what will be.

Thanks for reading.

--b

Those Guys

On the Saturday we started our trip we met our host at a Sorianna (grocery store chain) in Monterrey. We arrived well before Everardo did, so we did what any two guys who had just spent their first ten hours of a road trip cooped up inside a small car - we tailgated.

On Canada day we had purchased a couple of folding chairs and worked on the car. Each of the chairs came with a six pack, so we worked on those, too.

Roberto, my mechanic, came over to help out. He installed the faulty part (not his fault) that would eventually need to be changed and replaced while we were en route to Monterrey. This part would also cost us all the cash we had on us and therefore we wouldn't have any money for food along the way.

But it was Canada day, we had new chairs, and none of this had happened yet. We were content.

When we arrived in Monterrey, which is a frighteningly large city, we went straight for the AC inside the grocery store. Then, we just stood there for a while. There was food, it was cool, and the sound of wind rushing past our ears had started to fade.

There was not leaving this place. Not for a while.

We picked out all the essentials; two bananas, bag of chips, Gatorade, apple strudels, carrot cake, and lots and lots of cash.

The only we didn't get through was the cash.  The rest we ate while sitting in our folding chairs and watching the locals watch us. Two guys who clearly don't know what they're doing.

Everado showed up, smirked, and raised his eyebrow. He didn't even ask if we were the right guys.

We clearly were.

Road Warriors

Nick is having a hard time keeping his sanity. He has created a game where he notches an arrow and explodes the car in front of us. Another variation is checking the wind direction, adjusting his scope, and shooting out the tires of vehicles around us.

It's all in his head. Clearly. They wouldn't sell us firearms that would do that kind of damage.

We tried.

(No we didn't)

Other times he dramatically honks the horn at other drivers. Most times it's for interested waving drivers, or kids in backseats waling on each other. However the off time it's to try and scare people.

It never does. Cheech's is out honked by bicycle horns.

Driving down the center of the highway and 'bah-bah-bahing' as the white lines disappear under the hood is another FAVOURITE.

Chris, the headlight cover

We met Chris today. Chris speaks with his arms crossed for the most part. Not in a way that closes him off to conversation, but in a way that allows him to use quick hand movements to reiterate a point.

Such as "are you here about my cousin's car you know the old Pontiac with the rear shift it's the one with the new tires it's over here I can show you." He had gestured towards the car fifteen times during this interaction.

We were not talking to him because we were looking at his cousin's car. We didn't know his cousin had a car. We didn't know Chris. We wanted to speak to the people who ran the wrecking yard.

So I asked him "is this your wrecking yard?"

"No"

Insert significant confusion here.

We were clearly at a wrecking yard. He came up to us as if he knew what he was talking about, which, moments after meeting him, it was quite clear that he did not have any clue whatsoever.

Just as confusing, Chris was speaking to us as if we had had a coffee with him that morning, a beer the night before, and we coached little league together.

"Do I know you?" I asked, immediately wondering why I'd asked that since I was completely sure of the answer.

"Yeah you do I'm Chris"

Chris and I were tight.

Chris had a tattoo on his right arm. We could see it between gestures. It was a tattoo of his first name. It was helping him as much as it was us.

"Does anyone here work for the wreckers?" I tried.

"Yes" he answered, clearly still thinking about his cousin's car.

We waited patiently for the rest of an answer that never arrived.

I looked at the trailer behind me labeled 'office'. It gave me an idea.

"Is there anyone in that office, Chris?"

"Yeah a bunch of women"

Is that so, I thought to myself wondering why we were even bothering. The gaping hole that remained after the headlight cover had flown off Cheech 20 minutes earlier no longer seemed important.

No longer speaking to Chris was becoming an increasingly important one.

So I turned around and walked away. It was our only choice. The conversation was clearly going to continue in this way for the rest of time, and we still had to talk to the 'women' inside, have them not find what we need, get back on the road and find the lost cover for ourselves.

There was no more time for Chris. Besides, he was late to tea and one does not keep the mad hatter waiting.

We have named the recovered cover Chris. 

The Fuel Thingy

When we had the car looked at before leaving I had an injector replaced. Its the thing that puts fuel into the piston, as far as I know.

At least, that's what Roberto told me. Or might have told me - he spoke quickly.

I got a refurbished one cause it was cheaper, however it turned out not to be.

Before Roberto left the house on Thursday he also topped up the oil. He dribbled a bit on the engine, so when I smelled gas over the next couple of days I assumed it was cause the oil was still hanging around.

Turns out that it was the refurbished fuel thing that was sealed correctly and .... well, it's science and I won't bore you.

Also, I don't really understand it.

Point is we were half way through Mexico stopping at every building that looked like they knee stuff about cars. 

One guy went to pick up his buddy who proceeded to tell us that we needed a mechanic.

That bit of advice cost us two large beers.

The lads that did end up helping us hosed us on the price bit we were in the middle of no where with no hope of doing it ourselves and too high on fumes to make an argument about anything.

The car got fixed and we were back on the road in 45 mins. Happy and hot and tired and sweaty.

But, fully operational.

America

Had a nice breakfast this morning. The cleaning staff at the hotel where Mexican, and quite surprised when we spoke a bit of Spanish.

I had a Texas shaped waffle this morning because .... America.

That's reason enough, isn't it?

The desk jockey was coaching me through the process, figuring I wasn't going to get through the ordeal unaided.

I showed her. I fried up the best damn flour and water mixture that front office had seen. I used the artificial syrup liquid to trace our path as soon as I realized it was Texas, which took a while because I am used to round, not the strange shape in front of me.

We're en route to New Orleans today.

Nos vemos.

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.