c-log

Things that happened to me this week. I bought two live basil plants at a market across town for $1.99 each. The ground is still frozen so I was happy to get a head start on my favorite herb for the spring. I got them home and realized I had nothing to plant them in, so I cut two plastic bottles and planted them with some dirt from outside that was frozen between my fingers. After a few days I was happy to see the roots creeping through to the sides. I was also happy because I saw the same plants yesterday at my local market for $4.99.
I woke up today to find email announcing that a manuscript I worked on has been accepted to a famous academic journal. This collaboration started as an email I received while in Santa Margherita, Italy. It’s a great feeling to have a productive project come to fruition, and make it out into the world.
People protested “the body” exhibit at Union Station. Sometimes it’s hard to believe I live in a part of the country where people will come out to protest an exhibition of the human body.

Among all the cold days hovering around freezing, suddenly comes a day of 60 degrees. No jacket, no brisk chill against the skin when stepping out of the house. The outdoors is welcome for existence, and motorcycles are on the roads. The car washes are backed up with long lines of people waiting to finally hose the salt, dirt, and grime off the car and have the water not freeze to the surface.
But then the very next day the temperature is 30 degrees. I sit in my very cold car warming up to go to work, and looking down the suburban street I see the remnants of the desert snaking and whipping about. It is little bits of snow blowing around on the street like sand. Whenever the wind picks up, the ground moves with a vapor of solid particles. Like a serpent whipping about, they trace out the pattern of the wind as it moves down the street, but are gone in an instant as soon as the wind stops. A gust of wind blows a pile of leaves into a swirling column that build to 10 feet, then 15 feet as it moves from the street to the neighbors yard. As I’m fumbling for my camera the wind stops, the leaves fall to the ground, the faint white street swirls disappear back into the pavement, everything dies.

This morning the streets were covered with a thin layer of ice. We walked out to go to Aixois, and I ended up ice skating down the driveway in my boots. No drive to the cafe today – even though it’s only a mile away. Instead I decided to see what it would be like to walk. It was treacherous. I headed out to the Roasterie, which has the saving grace that at least it’s near a market, so I could pick up some food for what looks to be a shut in weekend.
Two blocks away from the house I slipped and fell. No problem, I thought, only 6 blocks to go. I was convinved that it must be possible to walk on a slippery surface for a mile with the right combination of patience and attention. I managed to make it there and back without falling again – but it wasn’t easy, and I had a few close calls. People were driving like idiots given how slick the roads are.
The cafe was nice, warm, and relaxing. Well worth the trek. At the market I picked up supplies for an afternoon breakfast, and some smoked ribs for dinner.

When youtube became popular last year I found it intriguing. Even though I had been making and sharing videos on the web for years without a problem, the youtube mechanism lowered the bar for everyone. Anyone with a computer and enough creative spark to push start on their camera suddenly had an audience, a video management system, and a community to play to.
I bought an Xacti video camera. Small enough to fit in a pocket, and fairly inexpensive, it could give me the option of recording things I might want to share. All my experiences could be sharable. Everyday we live stories, why not tell them?
The problem is, having the instrument doesn’t give you something to play. I think telling stories and sharing human experience is fundamental to how we connect with others, and in general, we’re all terrible at it. I realized I have no idea about how stories are constructed. I like hearing the stories of others, and it’s easy to criticize stories in terms of how they could be better, but when it comes to starting from scratch, I can’t see the shapes in my own building blocks. Stories have patterns, basic elements, that blend together into a yarn. I suppose the best way is not to overthink it, but just start doing it. Learn by trial and error. Bring some kind of structure to it and see what happens. Like anything else, with practice, the patterns will begin to emerge.

Yesterday may have been the warmest day until next spring. It was supposed to be 72 degrees – but for most of the day it was in the 60’s. I think I finally regained a sense of hope for motorcycle riding around Kansas City. I rode North for 20 miles to end up on some roads near Smithville Lake. Small beautiful country roads with only one or two lanes. One of them almost kicked my ass as I approached a corner with a 15 MPH speed marker that I neglected to see. I was going a bit faster than that and almost ran of the road. I only noticed the sign because I had a camera strapped to my head and saw it in the video replay.
Further up the road I found myself riding into an amazing phenomena. A swarm of hundreds of black birds were covering the ground around a curve in the road ahead. As I road towards them they began to lift up from the ground but there were so many that they formed a cloud all around me like a giant cloud of bats. It was an amazing feeling to feel cradled and swallowed by a cloud of flying creatures. I went up the road, turned around, and came back and they did it again. I was really glad to have the camera on for that.
I was also glad to have found those roads. I had begun to lose hope. I like taking motorcycle rides, and was beginning to conclude that there was nothing interesting nearby. But a few minutes on the highway is all it takes to get out into the country, and I can deal with that. I turned around and came home a little early. Daylight savings time had set in the night before and I wanted to get home to help Kim with the yard. But when I got home she was all finished.
Another thing I discovered this weekend is that what I thought was a new brood of two black mollies turned out to be five on Friday night, and then 7 on Saturday night. So Kim’s two fish have now turned into 11 over the last two months. It also serves as another reminder that the closer I look at things, the more I discover about them.

Yesterday I left the house with a jacket for the first time since last winter. The heat of summer is over and it’s finally getting cool. Autumn is my favorite time of year. I’m not sure why, but I have memories of walking around San Jose streets with chilly air and falling leaves. I also turned on the heater – filing the house with the smell of burnt dust and cat hair. Good to get that out of the way while Kim is at work.

Sometimes I don’t like living in Kansas City. Yesterday I thought I would take a motorcycle ride near Liberty after lunch. It’s 22 miles away. I looked at the maps and found a route that avoided major highways. The plan was to ride to Liberty, which is just North of the the river, take a small semi-curvy road to Excelsior springs and back, and then go back to work. I figured it would take me an hour and a half, maybe two hours tops.
I hit the road on the bright red Triumph and immediately found myself stuck behind cars crawling along on the surface streets. Unlike in California, here there is no lane splitting to get away from them. After an hour I was hot, tired, and hadn’t even made it to the river yet, just few miles north of my house. I had gone 27 miles – and hadn’t actually gone anywhere! I was still surrounded by fast food and strip malls. I felt guilty about being away from work, so I turned around and came back. This time opting for a major highway that brought me back the 25 miles home in half the time.

Yesterday I went on a short ride on the Triumph twice around slope park. It’s just a few minutes from my house, and has a little bit of the feel of riding through manicured wilderness with trees overhanging the road in some places, and inviting round cement tables surrounded by grass, trees, and shade. It seems like a short ride, but I was actually gone almost an hour. According to my GPS it was 35 miles, took 50 minutes, with an average speed of 43 mph.
Today I tried revamping the Lake Jacomo ride, which also goes through swope park. I had hoped to extend in by riding around the lake, as the rode was closed last year. But there were thunderstorms coming, and muntes after I hit the road, rain started coming down. I headed back and the really hard rain hit just as I was getting home and putting the bike into the garage.

Rode 220 miles down to Arkansas early on Sunday morning with two BMW riders. Ended up in a quaint place called Eureka Springs – a motorcycle destination I had never heard of before. It’s an old town among the twisty Ozark mountains. There’s a riders guide with several day rides originating from there. It’s a great place for motorcycles. Many of the hotels cater to motorcyclists. The roads are in good condition, with curvy ups and downs that go through woods and fields for miles and miles. Went on 4 days of rides through two lane roads, some with canopies of trees for miles at a time. Stopped at Beaver lake at sunset for a swim in warm water. My only regret is not stoppoing to take more pictures. It’s hard when riding in unfmailiar territory with other riders to simply stop and hope they wait at the next unknown turn for you to catch up. Somewhere coming down into a valley near highway 7 we came upon an abondoned house and barn nestled at the base of a valley surrounded by fields and mountains, with a role of hay stuck on the second floor of the barn. It was such a beautiful picture – but I missed it. I almost want to drive back, 4 hours each way just to find that place and take the picture.

Kelsey Smith was only 18 years old and had just graduated from high school two weeks ago. Last Saturday she was shopping at Target across the street from a mall where I shop for clothes. As she entered her car, someone rushed up from behind her, overpowered her, and drove off with her in her own car. Two hours later her car was found parked at a Macy’s across the street from the Target. Kelsey was missing.
I followed the case with trepidation, watching news reports, reading the paper. The news showed video footage of her entering and leaving the target store. Then there was grainy footage of activity at her car that was interpreted as a struggle. The following day there was footage of a person of interest leaving the store, with nothing in hand, just before Kelsey exited. The guy was casually dressed, wearing shorts and a white T-shirt. He had very short hair, maybe some facial hair under his chin. He was thin with an angular face. As he walked through the foyer he looked side to side, as if scanning the parking lot.
The day after that there was footage of a Chevy pickup truck entering the parking lot, parking in the same lane as Kelsey’s car, and leaving about two hours later. Everyone immediately realized that the driver of the pickup was most likely the person who abducted Kelsey. The footage of the pickup was very distinctive. It seemed like only a matter of time before someone recognized it.
Her body was found at a semi remote location near a local lake. She had been strangled. Searchers were able to triangulate on signals from her cell phone that had pinged various towers as she was being driven to the spot where she was killed.
Her dad is a big guy. It was tough to see him on the news in so much pain while she was missing. She vanished in broad daylight in a busy parking lot on a Saturday. Her body was found on Wednesday. I knew he had hardly slept in between.
Today there was a motorcycle ride in Kelsey’s honor. I saw the flyer on the door as Kim and I entered the café. More than 200 motorcyclsits rode around Kansas City on the 435 loop. With each bike paying 20 dollars to a memorial fund, the group raised more than $4000. Kelsey’s parents joined the ride. I was really sorry I missed it. Having followed the story so closely, it would have been nice to connect with some other people. The highway ride with 200 other bikers would have been quite a memorable experience.