Following in the same direction as the ever-effervescent Aly over at Breathe Gently, I decided her post on her handwriting was such a good idea, I’d play along.

If you’d like to do so, here’s the items to follow that she and I did to create this sample.    Then simply scan in your paper (remember to show your work!  Hee hee.)

1. Name/Blog Name
2. Right handed, left handed or both
3. Favorite letters to write
4. Least favorite letters to write
5. Write: The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.
6. Write in caps:
CRAB
HUMOR
KALEIDOSCOPE
PAJAMAS
GAZILLION
7. Favorite song lyrics
8. Tag 7 people
9. Any special note or drawing

I have to apologize; since becoming computer-literate, my handwriting has gone completely and totally south.   But that’s ok, I rarely have to use it for anyone but me.   But…here’s my sample!   Enjoy interpreting!  (click on it for a larger version)

P.S. — In question #8, I have tagged the following people, but really — if you want to do it, I highly encourage you to go for it:   Queenie Carly, Stacey at This Just In, Corn Fed Girl, Mark at Avablog, Five Second Dance Party, Randomly Yours, Julia, and Tara Septembre

Real, physical mail usually sucks.    I don’t know about what you get in your box every day, but mine falls into one of two categories:   bills or junk.    Only on special occasions do I get a card or something of that nature, and we occasionally get mail from our relatives.   Or Amazon.   But beyond that, it’s crap.

I’d like to start something for myself and my online friends called, “The Real Mail Project”.   This isn’t some idealistic attempt to say that email has taken something away from us, or there’s some inherent goodness or inner peace in writing actual letters — no, plenty of people have done that and frankly, writing too much makes my hand cramp.   I wasn’t built for it, clearly, and my handwriting attests to that.

No, this is simply because I like the idea of putting something physical into your hands and maybe getting something physical back.   I still read a newspaper because I like holding the print in my hands while I recline in a chair, the trees be damned.   My books are some of my most precious possessions because they bring something to reading that electronics just can’t.

I’d like to send you — gentle reader — a piece of mail.   Handwritten by me.   A postcard, probably, although it depends on the day and my mood.   I also can’t promise when you’ll get it, because I might be swamped with work and so forth, but I will keep at it until I hit up everyone who is interested.    I don’t care if you’re near or far from me, down the street or across the globe.   The relatives of mine who read this, go ahead and sign up if you want, that’ s fine.

I would love and adore to get something back from you in return if you’re so inclined.   I’d also like to do some posts on who I am writing to and if I get something back from you, what I got.    I might scan it in, who knows!   There’s no requirement to reply to me, but it’d be fun, wouldn’t it?    There’s also no necessity for carrying on past these two pieces of post unless we want to; it just sounded like a fun idea.

Many of you I may not meet for a long time, so let’s write, shall we?

If this sounds interesting to you, here’s how to participate:    Click here to fill out the contact form:  Contact Me

Make sure to give me your full mailing address if you want to get something, otherwise it’s kinda pointless, eh?

I don’t know how well this will work, and it all depends on who signs up, but — I’m in the mood to write.   Do you want to get some GOOD mail for once?

Today the world of blogging takes me on a road trip over to Morning Erection, the blog of a guy named Tom who is a very talented writer and (obviously) loves an intriguing topic of conversation.

Nathan Pralle, Guest Blogger on Time

Please head on over to check out my guest post on the subject of Time and how it’s getting a bit too accurate !!and while you’re there, check out a few of Tom’s other great postings on various topics!

Dear Reader,

A wish — an invocation — a blessing;

To all of you at this holiday season, with adoration:

I could wish for many outlandish, pricey, or grandiose things this holiday — most are certified loads of hogwash; idle fantasies that we toy with to amuse ourselves and dig ourselves out of our miserable existence.    They are difficult if not impossible to achieve.   Scores desire, many try, most fail.

There is one thing, however, that I have observed and it is so incredibly fulfilling and truly awe-inspiring that I wish it to each of you ever so much:

Real Time

Our daily lives are inundated with piles of mental requirements and “multitasking” is the key word to much employment these days.    Whether it is juggling departmental projects, remembering to pick up the milk, or to shut the door to the basement so your toddler doesn’t bounce down the stairs, we are always thinking ahead, planning our moves, strategically shuffling the chess pieces of our lives to ensure the best of outcomes.

Suffice it to say, we don’t spend a lot of time observing the current moment because we’re distracted by thinking ahead.   And most of that’s good, but it can be overwhelming at times, and most importantly, we can miss things.

Real things.

In Real Time.

Think not that Real Time is what you are sold on Hallmark commercials and jewelry sales.    It is not the eggnog and the mistletoe, the Christmas turkey or the shining menorah.  You cannot be sold a moment of bliss.

Real time is not simply appreciating what you have now.   It is not “taking a moment” or “slowing down” to observe the holidays.    “Peace on Earth” doesn’t capture its unique nature.    Hallelujahs do not hold the key to this phenomenon.   It is not necessarily found in a manger.

It is a unique form of momentary existence that is rare, hard to achieve, and precious to behold.   It is the elusive diamond in the rough, the unexpected treasure, the gift that gives only fleetingly yet lingers for a thousand times more.

You cannot work for it — indeed, doing so chases it away, and you cannot plan for it, carving out a spot on your calendar.    Real Time comes when it warrants and stays as it pleases and whisks away just as quickly.    And if you don’t realize what it is, you’ll miss it, too.

Real Time is when all the pre-planning, preparation, and foresight vanish from your mind; not simply on the back burner, but gone from existence.   All the multiple layers of multi-tasking collapse and flatten into a silky smooth pool of thought.   The balls you are juggling fall sharply to the floor and disappear.   You are left, for only a moment — nay, a second — with a clean slate; a bare tablet and freshly-sharpened pencil for which to cherish life.   You have nothing to prepare, nothing to plan, nothing to anticipate.    You simply ARE for that moment in time.   Real Time.

It is — without question — incredible.

For once there are no demands, no pressures, no influences.   Jumbled thoughts disappear into the ether — analysis goes away.    All faculties are suddenly finely tuned towards the exact happenings right in front of you and absolutely nowhere else.    All that horsepower hitched to one single, colorful cart is simply overwhelming in its intensity.

We are not wired for such a state.    Humans are not programmed to stay at a rest, un-touched by the outside, all resources focused so narrowly, so Real Time does not linger.   It will leave no instructions, no calling card, no evidence that it came.

But you’ll know.    You will know afterwards that what you had was a moment in your life so brief you couldn’t possibly tie it to something so large and arbitrary as a calendar or clock or describe it in terms so harsh and garish as clichés or epitaphs, but it was there, and you were, too.   For once you were completely and totally there and nowhere else.

Real time can be anywhere and can be triggered by anything, but unsurprisingly it often happens most frequently when we do those things that connect us and ground us and centre us — the smell of your child’s skin, the depth of your lover’s eyes, the silence of a soft snowfall, the twinkle of a candle.   You cannot search for it; Real Time caters to none.   But it lurks in that which means most to each of us.

May you find a few, unexpected, surprising,  but sparkling moments of Real Time this holiday season, and may they warm your heart for a long, long time to come.

From all of mine to all of yours, the best of repasts.

Nathan, Yolanda, and Keston

About 9:30 this morning, as I was slumbering peacefully in my bed and awaiting the next cries of my son to prompt my attention, my father rang me on my cellphone. Since I’m on call for work this entire weekend, I had it right by the bed. The theme from Super Mario Brothers I wangled away as I struggled to locate said communications device, punch the appropriate button, and slap it to my ear.

“Yeah?” I said, groggily.

“You folks still there in one piece?” he asked. “Sure,” I replied, “why wouldn’t we be?”

Turns out it had rained quite a bit in the night and since the ground and assorted bodies of water are already sufficiently filled, it had proceeded to flood out quite a lot of places, including his basement. I trotted downstairs and checked out the scene, prancing about the house in my skivvies, until I was reasonably assured that nothing was overly wet and/or missing.

I was just looking up local weather and news when he called again. “They said on the radio that they are evacuating the nursing home and want volunteers to help. You might want to go help your grandma.”

I blinked. “Gotcha…I’ll toss on some clothes and get moving.” I grabbed myself a quick bowl of some generic cereal and headed to the shower, got primped in my best “dirties”, grabbed my shitkickers, and headed out the door.

Upon driving to the end of main street, I was stopped by a familiar face in a fireman’s uniform. “Hey, Jeff,” I said out the window. He asked where I was going, and I indicated that I had heard that they needed help. “Sure,” he replied, “but go to the high school; they’ll shuttle you down there, we don’t have room for all the cars.”

Upon parking and jumping onto the fire equipment truck with a bunch of other folks from around town, we headed on down. The sight that greeted me was impressive; water in every direction up to and starting to flow over the driveways of the nursing home, trucks, piles of sand, sandbags, and lots of people. This was going to be interesting.

The residents, as it turns out, were already evacuated to Ridgestone Golf Course, a local club with a rather sizable restaurant space. I smiled as I imagined my grandmother sitting up at the bar and ordering a cold one.

So, instead I busied myself by jumping in on the sandbagging, helping to offload bucketloads of completed bags and forming a chain of sandbags in a ring around the structure three deep. Three hours and some 1,500 bags later, we were not only done with the barrier for the care center but managed to fill the better part of the back of a dump truck with bags as well in preparation for coming weather. Dirty, soaked to the bone (it didn’t fail to piss down rain while we were working, of course), tired, but happily so, I headed back to my car and then home to shower and spend the rest of the day relaxing and getting minor things done.

Later in the afternoon, after most of the excitement had let off, we went for a small drive and collected a lot of pictures of the flooding. I post them below for your general enjoyment and amusement.

I’ve never really been involved in any sort of emergency assistance/recovery/prevention/whatever and I have to say that today was a wonderful experience, even given the circumstances. Seeing people from all sorts of statuses, creeds, backgrounds, and experiences come together simply because they were a community and, by god, we were not about to let a staple institution of our town get destroyed was nothing less than inspirational. It made me have some brief hope for humanity in general by seeing what a small but organized effort could accomplish given the opportunity.

Now — on to the pictures! (remember, you can click on the thumbnail to make them bigger)

The sidewalk leading north from our street to the city swimming pool park, and the poor schmuck’s backyard that suffered as well.

I don’t think this guy will be mowing lawn very soon.

This was, at one point, a corn field. I doubt the viability of it now.

This is an empty lot and in the background, Sukup Manufacturing, which also flooded out somewhat.

On Gilman Street (C-13) headed east and our first glimpse at the care center and the line of sandbags on the west side.

The south side of the care center and its front lawn, deeply under water. You can clearly see the sandbag line here. I didn’t personally work on this side; I was on the crew on the reverse (north) side, but the idea is the same. It’s not really rocket science — sand, in a bag, stacked. Kinda self-explanatory.

The eastern driveway into the nursing home and the east ditch. The brown gunk is floating, rotting corn stalks from last year; the water there is about 3′ deep at the bottom of the ditch and, as you can see, is already flowing over the concrete. You can also see the pile of reserve sandbags in the background by the line. We left several such piles in the case that something broke and/or had to be bolstered.

The parking lot of the Sheffield Vet Clinic, looking north.

Looking north along Highway 65, across Gilman Street.

Looking south along Hwy 65.

The pumps at Casey’s General Store (NE side under water) and the intersection of Gilman and Hwy 65, ditches full.

The north ditch by Hwy 65. The water here is probably 3′ deep at least.

The massive amount of suction at one of two culverts attempting to empty the ditch as fast as possible. The culverts are about a foot wide at the intake and I’ll bet the suction would rip the hair right off your leg or worse.

The output of the culvert above and the southern ditch. Given the speed of the water rushing through, you suddenly realize that this is a A Lot Of Water.

Looking west along Gilman Street and the south side of the Vet Clinic, ditch full and getting worse.

The front of the Vet Clinic. Hope those doggies remembered their boots!

A very wet, muddy, sandy, tired, but satisfied me after the adventure in the morning. Why is it that sand can get into the deepest of crevices with little or no effort? Yike!