tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72902725784853170362024-03-13T09:28:45.088-06:00deutschlehrerdeutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-85742212706338447582022-04-26T15:17:00.006-06:002022-04-26T16:36:20.543-06:00Just went through this whole blog--I am collecting hobbiesI used to write more and better than I do today. Being Chair for the department set me back. That is an excuse. I don't know what else to say, though--it feels like the truth. But I think I am back where I started. I know I need to write more. This is as good a place to do it as any. My first post states that not many will read this and I am curious to see who will discover it. Almost 15 years later I post again at a time when almost no one I know keeps a blog, and noone I know goes to blogspot. I wondered at the time who would read my posts. I wonder that again.
Once again I will be taking students to Germany--for the first time since the covid pandemic hit. Maybe I can spend time writing there like I did in the past. I need to reflect more. I need to scroll less.
Once again I am writing about Peter Handke. He is problematic. He is unpopular with many. He makes me think. I think he is not who others think he is. We will see where that gets me.
This blog missed my bowyer phase. I haven't given it up, but I haven't done much with it. Here is a picture to see if I can upload images.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOMwC4cyqcNFOAW5YBYs0t_iTYTlDfFauEBdTtbOvVbaiOMrf_sICxQJjpij8fKz92D-GTCLpXt2cF0yvNBaYXfh837CL87e0HkpA5bw5wP9k47_ijAxbAeTcqnEwjptodTj92vLuzDtduBvzE3I5KhmEUhA6keOb0xwqypFI2_qekWEFymHM5gBfJw/s1024/cupid%20bowyer%20%28Medium%29.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; clear: left; float: left;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOMwC4cyqcNFOAW5YBYs0t_iTYTlDfFauEBdTtbOvVbaiOMrf_sICxQJjpij8fKz92D-GTCLpXt2cF0yvNBaYXfh837CL87e0HkpA5bw5wP9k47_ijAxbAeTcqnEwjptodTj92vLuzDtduBvzE3I5KhmEUhA6keOb0xwqypFI2_qekWEFymHM5gBfJw/s320/cupid%20bowyer%20%28Medium%29.jpg"/></a></div>
Here is a link of me but I can't get it to format the way I want it to. If I write a whole bunch of nonsense here it might move the video down a bit so it doesn't overlap with the other image. The bow, the arrows and the quiver (as well as the target off screen) are all made by me. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tjReC6iEBM">shooting<iframe class="BLOG_video_class" allowfullscreen="" youtube-src-id="9tjReC6iEBM" width="320" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9tjReC6iEBM"></iframe></a> to see if that works too. Here is another airplane video also<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe class="BLOG_video_class" allowfullscreen="" youtube-src-id="nOasP2-ovqY" width="320" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nOasP2-ovqY"></iframe></div>
and a video of me playing the piano that has nothing to do with any of my earlier posts. I seem to collect hobbies. Did I mention also got a lathe recently? The bowls on the piano were turned by me (as well as the lamp--but in the 8th grade).<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><iframe class="BLOG_video_class" allowfullscreen="" youtube-src-id="PMJ4NfiXlfc" width="320" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PMJ4NfiXlfc"></iframe></div>
deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-32483398861490340952022-02-14T09:39:00.005-07:002022-02-14T16:59:21.175-07:00The Moment of Impact, or, what I remember from breaking my arms<p> I haven't used this blog in a very long time. I wonder what will happen if I start writing here again. It is on a little-used google account, but it also says 36 people have looked at my posts in the last month. I need to start writing again. Do I want to do it in a semi-public way?</p>
On October 21st, 2021 I was riding my bike up the trail in Provo Canyon when a kid from Arkansas came down the other way on a rented E-bike. He was going way too fast for his skill level, and he was on the wrong side of the trail. I came around a corner onto the bridge at canyon glenn park, looked up just in time to see him come barreling through me. I remember the collision, but I do not remember impacting the ground. There was not a single scratch on my helmet, but when I looked at my left arm, I knew right away that it was broken. The radius snapped, and my wrist was forced into an awkward position by the dislocation of the bones. I rolled over on the ground and looked at the teen-aged kid and yelled, “what the hell were you doing?” and then the pain really kicked in.
The thing is, I have vivid memories of some of what happened, but not of other things. I have created and retold the story countless times and I KNOW that is how it happened. But I wonder if it really did happen that way. I remember seeing blood on the ground from the scrape in my knee. I remember trying to pick up my phone so I could call for help, but I don’t remember if my phone was on the ground or still in my backpack. As I grasped the phone and felt the pain in my right thumb and I knew then that it was broken too. (When the nurse at the ER saw that both arms were out of commission, he said “You broke them both? Oh, man, I am so sorry. This is going to really suck.”–He was right, but the sinking feeling that gave me at the time was the first real clue as to how bad it was going to be.)
Like I said, with the memory, I keep wondering if I have it right. Did I maybe swing a little wide into the oncoming biker’s path? Do I bear any responsibility? My fitness tracker–Strava–says I was doing about 10 mph just before the crash. That fits well with what would be normal for me at that point in the trail. I had just come around the rockfall, and I was just getting ready to make my final acceleration up the straightaway past the bridge–the same straightaway the kid had just come down–a good half-mile of downhill where you can finally get up to full speed if you want. All the damage on my bike (and my body) was on the left side. My wheel was taco-ed in that direction, with clear impact signs on the left side of the rim. So clearly my impulse was to move further right in the last split second before impact. Doesn’t that mean I was on the right and trying to move further to that side?
A week or two ago, when I could finally drive agin, I went to the site of the accident. I couldn’t make the scene fit that moment. The fence was too far from where it had to be. The curve was too far back the other way. The kid had to have seen me coming for a while. I should have been able to see him. I had a split second. It felt so much longer. Long enough to have complex thoughts. I remember thinking-‘well I’ve not had an accident in 20 years. It is about time I got it over with now.’ Did I think that all in the split second, or did that thought come later? Did I also think ‘what is he doing on my side of the trail?’ I thought ‘there is no way for me to avoid this.’ I felt his soft, overweight, dough-like body impact with me, go through my location and send me –what? Flying over his head? Sideways into the fence? Just over my own handlebars? The fact that I don’t remember hitting the ground bothers me. That hole in my recollection calls the rest of it into question. The titanium plate in my arm and the six screws and the two scars all testify that to the reality–but in a way it all seems still unreal.
Handke writes several scenes that all happen in an Augenblick in the moment of the jetzt. It is the only moment that exists for sure, and the fact that I cannot access that one ‘now’ among the several ‘nows’ that still feel present every time I look at my scars undermines the whole of the experience. I don’t know where to go with this. I don’t know that what I am writing right now is how I feel about it. November was a dark and horrible month of helplessness and frustration and anger. December was nearly as bad. In that moment right before impact–and this sounds so cliche to me–but time slowed way down and I remember so many things. I remember the state of my legs and my feet in the pedals. I remember his feet leaving the pedals. I remember the smell of the autumn air and the gold of the sunlight about an hour from setting. I remember the time–4:45 exactly–time to turn and head home. Just another 100 yards to the end of the park and then homeward and dinner and then an evening finishing the turning of a wood bowl on the lathe. All of it in that threshold instant. And then I’m on the ground wondering ‘what the hell!’ I want to remember the kid in overalls because he was from Arkansas, and certainly a redneck who should never be on a bike. But I don’t remember that. I want to trust my memories, but I can’t remember hitting the ground.
Fortsetzung folgt.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-77960737879330356052011-10-18T21:23:00.003-06:002011-10-18T21:25:31.154-06:00AAAARGI feel like I have been grading homework and tests straight for the last week.<br /><br />Oh, wait. I have.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-14019248827163598972011-09-08T13:08:00.004-06:002011-09-08T13:22:36.291-06:00Birthday milesI had a birthday yesterday, so the cycling year has officially come to an end. As I have done the last three years, I did a birthday ride on Labor day where I have to ride my age. The ride was slow because I started at 5 am and it was really dark. But I did take a really nice picture of the sunrise with my smartphone.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X9bUESMmpLo/TmkVuCdeXsI/AAAAAAAAAVo/lCMePjfirTg/s1600/sunrise%2Bbirthday%2Bride.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-X9bUESMmpLo/TmkVuCdeXsI/AAAAAAAAAVo/lCMePjfirTg/s320/sunrise%2Bbirthday%2Bride.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650071088191659714" border="0" /></a><br /> I managed a little over 2500 miles this year to put me at 18,566 since I started keeping track in 2002. The circumference of the Earth is <span class="st">24901.55, so I still have a couple of years to go (2.5 to 3 years actually) until I will have completed the virtual circumnavigation.<br /></span>deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-91119457009923509242011-08-20T22:36:00.004-06:002011-08-20T23:39:03.471-06:00My kids think I am cool againI have a long and painful history with cars. First there was the '79 Pinto that I bought right after my mission for $450, because that was how much I had. It was also known as the peach bomb, because that was its color and that is what it was. It had the advantage of having a hole in the floor that allowed me to measure my speed by how fast the yellow stripes passed by. Still, it was good enough to get engaged to my wife with. We sold it shortly after the wedding because, well, it was a Pinto.
<br />Next came the Mercury Topaz we got from my uncle. It was okay, except for the a leaky power steering unit and a really bad paint job. And an alternator that kept going out and a bunch of other little things. When I had to drive down to Ft. Huachuca for Army Officer Basic Course, I needed something that a new Lieutenant could be seen in. I bought a 92 Eclipse. It was totally stripped down--no power windows, no cruise control, not even power steering--which was a plus at the time, because that meant it couldn't go out on me. What it did have was a manual transmission that was a whole lot of fun and a comfortable front seat that I could drive for hours without getting tired. I really liked that car.
<br />When I got home, we sold the Eclipse to my brother, and the Topaz to a woman around the corner, who promptly wrecked it--and then put full insurance coverage on it. With the money from those two we bought a '94 Geo Prizm. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the Prizm, except that it was a Prizm with absolutely no personality, and not enough leg room--which made it very uncomfortable on cross-country drives. Three children in the back was also an adventure. Years later in Texas (land of F-250's and Ford Mustangs) I once picked up an inactive youth in it. His first words to me were, "why don't you have a truck?"
<br />With our family growing, and with my first real job, we purchased my parents Dodge Grand Caravan and I was faced with the fact that my life was now well and truly over. The mini van is a very practical vehicle. It allows the kids to sit far enough behind the parents that they can beat on each other with impunity, or fight over who gets the prime seat in the middle row--which is only prime because it is closer to the treats on long trips. The downside of a mini van is once again the position it forces you to keep your legs (in my case) or your shoulders (in my wife's case) in. It also shouts "I-would-be-driving-an-SUV-right-now,-but-I-realize-that-I will-NEVER-have-a-chance-to-take-this-thing-off road,-so-why-bother" about as loud as I can imagine.
<br />In Texas, my car journey took a strange turn. In the same week, my wife and I both independantly had the impression that a family in our ward who was struggling, could really use our Prizm to replace their broken down car. So I began looking for a replacement. A few days later, I thought I had found the perfect solution. On Ebay, I found a 95 eclipse that i thought would bring me back to the days of happy driving I knew in Sierra Vista, Arizona. So I put what I thought was a low bid on it--and won. It was great, until I went to pick it up, and discovered what I had bought. There was no oil in it (leaked on the ground out of the leaky head gaskets, as it turns out) missing a spare tire. On the way home the battery died completely. I spray painted the hood--in retrospect, I should have painted it yellow, because it was a lemon--but it was still pretty fun to drive, when it ran.
<br />For the last month, it has been back in the shop again. Our normal mechanic (with whom I am now on a first-name basis, and who now has a new ski-boat) couldn't get it running right. I took it in to the dealer, and they wanted to put in a new computer for the second time in two years. It was time to get rid of it.
<br />So here is the next attempt at driving something with a little self-respect. It is a 2005 Acura RSX type S.
<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b1qc2_1Wwys/TlCWSnVFk6I/AAAAAAAAAVA/A5xrqXQtPxQ/s1600/8-20-11%2B001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b1qc2_1Wwys/TlCWSnVFk6I/AAAAAAAAAVA/A5xrqXQtPxQ/s320/8-20-11%2B001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643175579634471842" border="0" /></a>Ryan likes it anyway.
<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oGqgYG0BjLU/TlCWSrEDxsI/AAAAAAAAAVI/n5tpCA_bd4c/s1600/8-20-11%2B006.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oGqgYG0BjLU/TlCWSrEDxsI/AAAAAAAAAVI/n5tpCA_bd4c/s320/8-20-11%2B006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643175580636792514" border="0" /></a>For those who say, "You can't get all your kids into that," I answer, "That is correct."
<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zsgVZk0Ep48/TlCWS7tP4JI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/TMWLla8jfq4/s1600/8-20-11%2B003.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zsgVZk0Ep48/TlCWS7tP4JI/AAAAAAAAAVQ/TMWLla8jfq4/s320/8-20-11%2B003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643175585104519314" border="0" /></a>It has a 6-speed manual transmission that is a whole lot of fun and a whole lot of zip.
<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-02XlF916EJs/TlCWTVSZEKI/AAAAAAAAAVY/O2Z1Gyx3Z74/s1600/8-20-11%2B005.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-02XlF916EJs/TlCWTVSZEKI/AAAAAAAAAVY/O2Z1Gyx3Z74/s320/8-20-11%2B005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643175591971197090" border="0" /></a>It also has a moon-roof, which I learned on google, is different from a sun-roof because it has a motorized retraction system and a tinted glass window. And although the leather seats and the Bose sound system are nice, I am just glad it doesn't kill on me at random moments like the eclipse. As an added bonus, the blue paint almost perfectly matches the blue covering on my Stik.
<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RTsbQlM83f0/TlCZhWvl39I/AAAAAAAAAVg/28DtMH3_VQw/s1600/blueplane0027.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RTsbQlM83f0/TlCZhWvl39I/AAAAAAAAAVg/28DtMH3_VQw/s320/blueplane0027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643179131415158738" border="0" /></a>
<br />deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-60019940148572333082011-05-25T06:27:00.006-06:002011-05-26T00:01:40.669-06:00Augenblicke auf der MuseuminselSome years ago I wrote an essay for a presentation on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugo_von_Hofmannsthal">Hugo von Hofmannsthal</a>’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Augenblicke in Griechenland</span>, which is a travelogue of the author’s visit to the Parthenon and the museum next to it. I was and am interested in his use of the word <span style="font-style: italic;">Augenblick</span>, because for him, the idea represents a moment of pure clarity, or immediate experience, unfiltered by explanation, or language or symbol, but is a moment of pure presence. The word <span style="font-style: italic;">Augenblick</span> itself is a bit elusive. In common usage, it means “moment,” or a short period of time. We might want to translate it as “in the blink of an eye.” but <span style="font-style: italic;">Blick</span> means to see, or sight, or even better, the gaze, so that <span style="font-style: italic;">Augenblick</span> is somehow the moment of the eye’s gaze–capturing an instant and holding almost as it were in a timeless eternity–but this is perhaps too melodramatic.<br />For Hofmannsthal, the moment can be overpowering. They are difficult to capture, impossible to hold, and unexpected when they happen. He has such an experience on the Acropolis as he encounters three <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kore_%28sculpture%29">Korai</a>. Under their gaze he sees time and timelessness as a dizzying swirl that combines the eternal and the temporary all in the same object. The statues come to represent a world lost forever, even if preserved in the stone artifact.<br />I have always been captivated by his description, ever since I discovered it. His essay becomes an exercise in language–but not one of words, but of a language of stone. It is something more primal than the words we try to use, and I always had the feeling that even his descriptions never came close to his experience. I have not thought about his work in a few years now.<br />This week in the New Museum (new because it is only 150 years old) I had an experience that reminded me of Hofmannsthal’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Augenblick,</span> and I think I came a step closer to understanding what he meant. There is in the museum a seated figure, carved from a reddish-brown stone. She dates to the 12. Egyptian dynasty, or around 1850 b.c. That makes her nearly 4000 years old. <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gLTFGWS9kHg/Td0N70sWYII/AAAAAAAAAU0/CkyqlmVk--I/s1600/neues%2Bmuseum%2B%252840%2529.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gLTFGWS9kHg/Td0N70sWYII/AAAAAAAAAU0/CkyqlmVk--I/s320/neues%2Bmuseum%2B%252840%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610656032181608578" border="0" /></a>She sits with crossed arms and bare feet sticking out of a full length robe. In her hand she holds a cloth offering. Her gaze is straight ahead, eyes up, with a look of unspeakable calm on her face. The curators have presented her with dramatic lighting from above, highlighting facial features that are at once strong and yet delicate, almost vulnerable. Overall I see the tension between these two extremes of strength and vulnerability in the statue. The form is one that is repeated over the ages in countless works, both long before this one, and long afterward.<br />But when I saw it, I was overcome very nearly the same way as Hofmannsthal was. There are so many layers here. When you look at it, at her, it is both a woman and a statue. She confronts you, draws you in to her long-vanished world. I see the faith of the one who commissioned the work and presented it as an offering. Then I see the hopeful, resolute vulnerability of the figure herself, upright and resolved on the hard blank stone block. But here also is the hand of the sculptor, who formed her out of a formless block, and I think of the time that has passed since then and the perfect surface, almost unweathered by time, and I "see" all these people, and I am transported back into their world for just a moment and we connect–<br />But then words fail, just as it is impossible to recover that time in a single statue. I can’t explain what it was like. I tried to show my students that were there with me in the museum, but they just nodded their heads politely and let me professorize into the wind. I think some of them sort of get it, but then they just wander off.<br />Much later, when I finally flee the museum, overwhelmed by the impossibility of absorbing so much history in a single morning, I discover that my students have long since left. True, they had class they had to get to, and thus an excuse that I did not share, but I would not have noticed the time either way and would not have made it out in time. What are a few hours in the last 4000 years?deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-26422977347395804912011-05-20T05:47:00.005-06:002011-05-20T06:08:32.315-06:00In which Geri and I Play a Game.Last year when I was in Berlin, I was crossing <a href="http://www.potsdamerplatz.de/en/home/">Potsdamer Platz</a> on my way to or from somewhere. On that day they were having a market, which is when various and random vendors set up tents on city squares and sell random wares, good food, and usually some kind of beer or Bratwurst as well. Walking through I noticed a vendor selling a beautifully carved chess set in what looked like a well constructed case with drawers to hold the pieces. It was only 25 Euro. The problem was, I was feeling poor that day, having just spent most of my liquid assets for tickets to a concert in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Berliner_Philharmonie">Philharmonie</a> for me and my students. So I didn’t get the chess board. I felt bad, even though I already have several chess sets, and really display exactly none of them. And even though it was probably made in Poland or somewhere else in eastern Europe, I still like the idea of a chess set as a souvenir. A good one has beauty and function. When I told my dad about it, who also likes chess sets, even though he hasn’t played me since the first time I beat him, he told me I should have bought the board anyway if it were only 25 euro. I thought this was odd, since he is, if anything, even more conservative with his money than I am.<br /><br />Which leads up to this year. When I took the students to Dresden, there is a market place near the <a href="http://www.frauenkirche-dresden.de/startseite+M54406d54630.html">Frauenkirche</a> with all the typical shop tents and wooden huts set up – I had some roast rabbit and Rotkohl with klöße there that was amazing. I also saw a chess board with stone figures and a stone-inlaid playing surface. 25 Euro. So without thinking too long. I bought it. I broke it in at the train station on the way home by beating one of my students in its first game. I don’t like to brag, but I demolished him, sucking him into a gambit and then picking him apart piece by piece. I still don’t like to brag, because he wasn’t a bad player, – but the game wasn’t really that close.<br /><br />So now the board sits in my room, and I have no one to play. So I have been playing myself–Geri’s game style. If I wait long enough between moves, the left half of my brain can’t remember what the right half was thinking, and it is a pretty fair fight. We can’t play for false teeth, since neither of us has any, just a few crowns we both share. Maybe the loser will have to buy the winner a chocolate bar. Winner chooses the flavor.<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qFUB5gCVnco/TdZXSiydNfI/AAAAAAAAAUs/1bwZvYbL1uI/s1600/chess%2Bboard%2Blow%2Bangle.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qFUB5gCVnco/TdZXSiydNfI/AAAAAAAAAUs/1bwZvYbL1uI/s320/chess%2Bboard%2Blow%2Bangle.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608766362024228338" border="0" /></a>By the way, no <a href="http://charlottelaughs.blogspot.com/">stone lions </a>were injured in the composition of this post, but 3 of the four stone horsemen have already left the game. My apologies to Ron Weasley.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-15178895395724548462011-05-04T09:08:00.007-06:002011-05-04T09:37:31.317-06:00Stuff happens when I am in Berlin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQZxmTlsk90/TcFybrlkqeI/AAAAAAAAAUk/udZN0CJSgJ8/s1600/Obama-Osama-bin-Laden-situation-room-650x433.jpg"><br /></a><br />Stuff always seems to happen when I am in Berlin. As a missionary, I experienced the reunification of the two German republics first hand. I wasn’t here for the fall of the Berlin wall, but I took part in much of what came immediately after. I thought at the time I understood what was happening, but now I am not so sure. I know so much more now about the complexities of German history that much of what at the time seemed so black-and-white now takes on a rich texture of colors and patterns even as it fades into the past at the same time.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TsulScNke0A/TcFuhEiH3eI/AAAAAAAAAUc/Cb7psXgsYio/s1600/1989-Berlin-Wall-Falls.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TsulScNke0A/TcFuhEiH3eI/AAAAAAAAAUc/Cb7psXgsYio/s320/1989-Berlin-Wall-Falls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602880925857209826" border="0" /></a><br />Ten years later I arrived in Berlin with my family in the shadow of 9/11 and the threat of a new war on terror. The expected bombs soon fell in Afganistan and soon thereafter the (from me) unexpected ones in Iraq.<br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T3oGL2CJ3JU/TcFtN9Mfb3I/AAAAAAAAAUU/nnJg054iW-g/s1600/bush_ground_zero.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 227px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-T3oGL2CJ3JU/TcFtN9Mfb3I/AAAAAAAAAUU/nnJg054iW-g/s320/bush_ground_zero.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602879497958289266" border="0" /></a>In that year that everything changed for the United States I filtered it all through the BBC and the German newspapers. I still had trust in President Bush to do the right thing, and I am still not sure whether he did or not. Certainly nothing turned out as we expected it to. One could argue that the fall of the wall and the fall of the twin towers are related. The Soviet decline begins with their failure in Afghanistan, and caused Gorbachev to rethink the entire foreign policy of the Soviet Union. So Bin Laden was a product of the Cold War and that the Soviet pull-out of Afganistan and the later US failure to help the country stabilize in the resulting vacuum set the world down the path that put American soldiers in Afghanistan and in Iraq.<br /><br />Now another ten years have passed and I sit in the Goethe-Institute I read of the assassination of Osama Bin Laden and the new awakening of the Arab Spring. I am 40 instead of instead of 30 instead of 20 and I wonder what these events mean for the future. I no longer think that I can make sense of it the way I thought I could before.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQZxmTlsk90/TcFybrlkqeI/AAAAAAAAAUk/udZN0CJSgJ8/s1600/Obama-Osama-bin-Laden-situation-room-650x433.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tQZxmTlsk90/TcFybrlkqeI/AAAAAAAAAUk/udZN0CJSgJ8/s320/Obama-Osama-bin-Laden-situation-room-650x433.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602885231307958754" border="0" /></a> As any president would, Obama is taking credit for the success of the operation against Bin Laden, but it appears that the groundwork that led up to the assault on his compound in Pakistan goes back to well before the begin of Obama’s presidency. The president has also taken some credit for the revolutions in Egypt, Tunisia, and elsewhere that the newspapers have been calling the “Arab Spring.” Yet I wonder how much of these changes would have been possible if it had not been for the US policies of intervention in Iraq and Afghanistan in the decade leading up to today.<br /><br />And yet another “yet,” it is clear that the Bush presidency and the US made countless mistakes and miscalculations in their foreign policy during the last ten years, and I wonder how much we have hindered the possible progress that could have been made in that time if we had not created so much animosity for the West over the last decade. Is it possible that change could have come quicker if we had left the muslim world alone, if they had left us alone? If we had reacted differently?deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-66096048170274591012010-12-23T00:05:00.008-07:002010-12-23T00:40:29.674-07:00Two posts in one night<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL8XY3AQ9I/AAAAAAAAATs/D1_vGWygdqw/s1600/IMG_1212.jpg"><br /></a><br />Here is what I have been working on in my free time over the last 6 months. the biplane is scratch built to my own plans. It started out as a sketch on the back of a poster that I then converted to working plans with a CAD program on my computer. I cut everything out (there are LOT of ribs with two wings), built up the frame over the plans and made the tail and wings.<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL8XY3AQ9I/AAAAAAAAATs/D1_vGWygdqw/s1600/IMG_1212.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL8XY3AQ9I/AAAAAAAAATs/D1_vGWygdqw/s320/IMG_1212.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553778769241588690" border="0" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL4fsg5rBI/AAAAAAAAATc/0BtNy-MOgDw/s1600/IMG_1208.jpg"><br /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL1hc-oCDI/AAAAAAAAASs/BKiqUCBsuWc/s1600/IMG_1206.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL1hc-oCDI/AAAAAAAAASs/BKiqUCBsuWc/s320/IMG_1206.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553771245564594226" border="0" /></a><br />The problem was, the nose way too long and there was no way it would have balanced without a lot of extra weight in the tail. So I chopped it--even though it is hard to tell from the next pictures. If you look close, there are three holes cut out in the nose of the first picture, and only two in the second.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL4fsg5rBI/AAAAAAAAATc/0BtNy-MOgDw/s1600/IMG_1208.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL4fsg5rBI/AAAAAAAAATc/0BtNy-MOgDw/s320/IMG_1208.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553774513910033426" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL1h0GpYyI/AAAAAAAAAS0/HlY7EgTvyzA/s1600/IMG_1295_edited-1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL1h0GpYyI/AAAAAAAAAS0/HlY7EgTvyzA/s320/IMG_1295_edited-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553771251772252962" border="0" /></a>By the way, I cut all those holes in the landing gear too. That was fun.<br /><br />To show off all the beautiful frame work, I covered it with translucent covering. here is the finished product:<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL6Cnh_D8I/AAAAAAAAATk/QnbQQ8a-Qao/s1600/Bipe%2B8.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL6Cnh_D8I/AAAAAAAAATk/QnbQQ8a-Qao/s320/Bipe%2B8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553776213379452866" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL2cH417EI/AAAAAAAAATE/6O0dqB4Q-Sw/s1600/Bipe%2B7.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL2cH417EI/AAAAAAAAATE/6O0dqB4Q-Sw/s320/Bipe%2B7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553772253515476034" border="0" /></a>But wait--there's more! Okay, not such a big surprise for those that already know about this project, but since I have alienated all of those people by not posting forever, only complete strangers will ever see this posting, and you, my new, strange friends have no idea what I am talking about. So here it is. . .<br /><br /><br /><br />Drum roll, please. . .<br /><br /><br /><br />a little more suspense . . .<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It has lights!!! (the soldering was a real bear. Thanks Jon, for the help.)<br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL2cynOB1I/AAAAAAAAATM/5bxdCgXIQHI/s1600/Bipe%2B9.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL2cynOB1I/AAAAAAAAATM/5bxdCgXIQHI/s320/Bipe%2B9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553772264984282962" border="0" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL2dOjBIUI/AAAAAAAAATU/CYTOhw-WyCo/s1600/Bipe%2B15.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRL2dOjBIUI/AAAAAAAAATU/CYTOhw-WyCo/s320/Bipe%2B15.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553772272482853186" border="0" /></a>but it looks cool under the Christmas tree. It should be really visible for night flying--the original intent of the design. I am sure almost no one cares, but it was a lot of fun to design and build. I sure hope it flies.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-23428184611110090952010-12-22T23:22:00.003-07:002010-12-23T01:18:36.011-07:00Am I in?Now that I have avoided posting on my blog for long enough that it is just me again talking to the air, I will probably do two posts here maybe even tonight. A while ago my <a href="http://phanorkner.blogspot.com/">brother joined</a> an <a href="http://charlottelaughs.blogspot.com/2010/06/lion-watchers-united.html">exclusive group</a> started by one of my <a href="http://charlottelaughs.blogspot.com/">friends</a> from high school. The stone lions are the biggest rage of the internet. I hate being shown up by my little brother. So I had to find a stone lion that was stone-lion-y in a Deutschlehrer kind of way. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRLrEiMZJaI/AAAAAAAAASc/E-9KjKq88jc/s1600/Goethe%2BInstitut%2BLion.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TRLrEiMZJaI/AAAAAAAAASc/E-9KjKq88jc/s320/Goethe%2BInstitut%2BLion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553759753632032162" border="0" /></a>This lion is in fact over a fireplace in the Goethe-Institute that I visited in Boston last month. I saw it in an assembly room during a very crowded reception for German teachers during a convention for language teachers in general. It was the bright point of the evening--except I didn't have a camera with me. Luckily there was another reception the next night, which I was late for, which meant I had to stand in the back next to the wine for an hour--which would have been fine, except I don't drink--but great accomplishments sometimes require sacrifice. When the talk was over (it was an author talking about her book about--and I am not making this up-- two siblings with a sick cat that they cured by feeding it a very specific type of coffee bean that they then recycled after the cat was finished with it, by roasting the passed beans, grinding them, and making coffee out of them--which they then sold. The high point of the evening was when friends of the author served coffee according to the recipe in the book. There are days when the Word of Wisdom really comes in handy. Anyway, when everyone got up to enjoy the "refreshments" I snapped this picture. So, Charlotte, am I in?deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-66371930794258408352010-11-10T15:18:00.004-07:002010-11-10T15:34:14.544-07:00RIPRemember that really fast plane from earlier in the year? Well it saw its end on the last weekend of racing this year. Spectacularly.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TNsbuKsMErI/AAAAAAAAASM/I8_dZxIDtAs/s1600/lawndart%2B2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TNsbuKsMErI/AAAAAAAAASM/I8_dZxIDtAs/s320/lawndart%2B2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538050646739784370" border="0" /></a> I lost control around the first turn of the first heat. I am pretty sure my aileron servo stripped out. The only other possibility is maybe the antenna broke loose and so when it got out a ways, It lost the signal. Either way, the aircraft quickly turned into a 100mph lawn dart.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TNsbtWYKGHI/AAAAAAAAASE/BeIFtPNGDmU/s1600/lawndart%2B1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TNsbtWYKGHI/AAAAAAAAASE/BeIFtPNGDmU/s320/lawndart%2B1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538050632697124978" border="0" /></a>Here you can see the nose buried about 4 inches deep into the sod. Battery pack, receiver and 3 of 4 servos seem to be a complete loss. Surprisingly, I think the motor itself survived. This is us digging it out.<br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/16642564" width="400" frameborder="0" height="265"></iframe><br /><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/16642564">CUPRA November Pylon Race - Jeff Packer's Crash</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user237356">Jon Finch</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</p>These are the people that I fly with. Generally a very generous and fun group. Next race is in March, and I already have ideas to make the next one faster.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-18655371480939387612010-10-24T20:33:00.006-06:002010-10-24T22:05:58.885-06:00Many, many years ago--I think it was the summer after my mission when I returned to Germany to visit friends for the first time as a non-missionary, my good friend Lutz Wagner gave me his father's iron cross from the first world war. (I am pretty sure it was his father and not his grandfather--I believe he was already quite old when Lutz was born).<br /><br />I was very honored by the gift. With Germans, the idea of friendship is deeper than it is most of the time with Americans, it is something closer to family than anything else. At least with the Wagners, with whom I lived for several months, I know the relationship goes beyond simple friendship. So you can imagine how I felt when I looked one day (for a class) and could not find the iron cross anywhere. To make matters worse, this summer Lutz mentioned that he had had a medal from his father and didn't know where it was anymore. I had to admit to him that he had given it to me years ago, but that I couldn't find it anymore.<br /><br />Of course there is a happy end to the story. A couple of weeks ago my parents threatened to throw out all my stuff that was still at their house (it's less than 20 years since I lived there) if I didn't go through the boxes and decide what I wanted to keep. Guess what I found? I feel a little like the woman in the parable that cleaned her whole house and found the money she had lost.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TMT35j3m1eI/AAAAAAAAAR8/VxjS4lNmho0/s1600/iron+cross.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TMT35j3m1eI/AAAAAAAAAR8/VxjS4lNmho0/s320/iron+cross.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531818810570888674" border="0" /></a><br />Objects are really just things that should not be important to us at all, but when they become symbols then that changes them altogether. I can't help but think about the changing meaning behind this one. When it was given, it was a symbol of one man's service to his country--a country that, by the time the cross was awarded, did not even exist anymore. For years during the socialist era, it must have sat in a drawer, nearly forgotten as it would have represented a time of capitalist empiricism to some had it been displayed too openly. It was also a symbol of war and militarism and so somewhat ambivalent in the best of times. To Lutz, I would think that it would serve as a memory of his father. I should probably give it back to him.<br /><br />To me, however, it is a reminder that the family I am a part of is bigger than that I was born to, or that have been born to me, that there are people that I hope to enjoy the eternities with. That, I think, is what it means to have a Pearl of Great Price.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-60334438050269519042010-09-18T21:29:00.004-06:002010-09-18T22:24:53.891-06:00After 5 years. . .Let me take you back 5 years <span style="font-size:78%;">(I am watching Back to the future right now, so this kind of fits)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> We had just moved to Missouri, and I finally had space for the Mustang I had built before I left for graduate school in Ohio. As usual it needed some repairs.</span> I took my son out with me when it was finally ready. It was a little cold, but that hardly matters when you are flying. I fired up the engine, and checked everything out and taxied out onto our grass runway, took a deep breath, and began my takeoff run. Ten feet into the air, the engine killed on me. The resulting "hard" landing put the gear up through the top of the wing. My son's compassionate response? "Can we go home now Dad?"<br /><br />When we got back to Utah, I finally got around to finishing the rebuilt wing. Then it was a matter of waiting until my own father could be there to watch.-- I got tired of waiting for that, so I took it out to fly again today, just five years after its last flight. The weather was perfect. The engine was running great. The takeoff, well, the takeoff was very smooth.<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyK6EGu6CwsFfEloSiB24Wcdp30PAlcmykXzNEkAhXD7cwIluJPzy6yjemFMrEB9m6lVLQ_ViVkX0uQoMGbyw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br />. . . Until the throttle stopped responding that is. I had to fly around until the engine decided to stop, <span style="font-size:78%;">which was sooner than it should have been, so I have some more work to do<span style="font-size:100%;"> and then try to land it dead-stick, without power. Mustangs don't like that</span></span>, by the way.<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwev77m-Gt2c0rcAjFsV2V-MHJf2VoopLiSd0iExTJIaOakk9KSX4sxz0EOZwOt_CTbX6cr8UoBTtnR9BXxdg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Luckily the landing went as well as can be expected. There is some work to be done, but not too serious, if I can figure out the vibration problem.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TJWQbEo1gwI/AAAAAAAAAR0/RvwnB9_iiHY/s1600/IMG_1224.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TJWQbEo1gwI/AAAAAAAAAR0/RvwnB9_iiHY/s320/IMG_1224.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5518475713188299522" border="0" /></a>deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-50623985457018240862010-08-05T09:05:00.004-06:002010-08-05T09:11:40.273-06:00My Wife is in D.C. for the WeekendThree words can best describe the mental state of a house lacking all estrogenal influence:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">Armpit fart hugs</span><br /><br />One guess which of the four very refined young men here came up with that. I think it best if I don't include any images with this post, other than the one that just formed in your head.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-67149107496353825422010-07-05T14:55:00.008-06:002010-07-05T23:23:21.548-06:00Why it is Good to Have a Backup National IdentityLet us review: after beating Australia 4:0 in the preliminary rounds, Germany then defeated--no crushed--England in the first knock-out round. Saturday morning, the German national side turned its sights on South American powerhouse Argentina. Everyone expected that finally someone would give the Germans a run for their money.. The result? once again the opposition is humiliated by Germany's lightning quick counter attacks and swarming defense.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TDK8J-HS75I/AAAAAAAAARk/VfDweCVvP-Y/s1600/IMG_1173.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TDK8J-HS75I/AAAAAAAAARk/VfDweCVvP-Y/s320/IMG_1173.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490657775196499858" border="0" /></a><br />Anyway, my boys and I have been enjoying cheering for a winner for once, and we hope that the fun will continue a little longer. As a friend of mine pointed out, the German team reflects the change in German culture over the last 40 years. On the team is one player of Turkish ancestry, two from Poland and one from Tunisia. Germany is increasingly a country of immigrants-- and not just the guest workers of fifties and sixties, and I find it very encouraging.<br /><br />On the other hand, the United States managed to not embarrass themselves at the World Cup. They tied England and overcame some horrendous calls by the referees, with a injury time goal to make it out of group play. Against Ghana, they managed a heroic comeback only to lose out 2:1 in overtime, ending the hopes of espn to have a successful World Cup. --On the bright side, if the U.S. ever did win the soccer championship, it would be the end of all foreign relations, and the rest of the world really <span style="font-style: italic;">would</span> hate us. So it is nice to have a backup Country that you can identify with--especially if that team has scored 15 goals in the last five games (almost as much as in an American football game.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TDK8I-quY4I/AAAAAAAAARU/gKlnAGEGN-Q/s1600/IMG_1176.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TDK8I-quY4I/AAAAAAAAARU/gKlnAGEGN-Q/s320/IMG_1176.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490657758165230466" border="0" /></a> So to all my friends and coworkers that have connections with Argentina, all I can say is, too bad. You chose your second country poorly. Time to learn German.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TDK8JbegQmI/AAAAAAAAARc/5YoRVoMNHzo/s1600/IMG_1175.JPG"><br /></a>deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-32705658002140482252010-05-30T15:13:00.001-06:002010-05-30T15:16:05.917-06:00Adam's new girlfriends<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TALVKEzVNRI/AAAAAAAAARM/njiuhQ1dwDU/s1600/PICT9139.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/TALVKEzVNRI/AAAAAAAAARM/njiuhQ1dwDU/s320/PICT9139.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477174465900393746" border="0" /></a>My son Adam playing cards with Heiko Hengst's daughters in Hohenstein-Ernstthaldeutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-79112459390031261002010-05-01T12:10:00.004-06:002010-11-10T17:05:46.087-07:00Here We Go AgainToday is the first of May and my first full day back in Berlin. May Day is of course the international day of the worker when the socialists remember the call to unify themselves in revolution against the establishment. The establishment celebrates May Day by holding hands behind plastic shields to make sure the socialists are properly anti-social within their carefully established space. In Berlin these marches are countermarched by the Neo-Nazis, who celebrate May Day here by dressing in black, and by throwing rocks at the socialists and the establishment. The counter-marchers are then counter-counter-marched by others who just want everybody to get along–especially if they can get a good drink while doing it. Soccer is not the national pass-time of the Germans, protesting is. Most of the citizens take in the road blocks and the transit stoppages stoically as if it were just another change in the weather.<br /><br />I plan to celebrate May Day by sleeping off what is left of my jet lag quietly in my room. My appetite for taking in civil unrest from close range has never developed to the point where I have felt like I need to take in civil unrest from close range. I wonder what the soccer score is?deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-39620373078849555602010-04-25T20:57:00.004-06:002010-04-25T21:10:00.890-06:00Here is another video of German lit geekiness. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2q3D0h4xCro&feature=related">Werner Herzog </a>is a well-known <a href="http://www.netflix.com/WiMovie/Nosferatu_the_Vampyre/70130162?strackid=5d925660a7c26a94_0_srl&strkid=1675518942_0_0&trkid=438381">German filmmaker </a>since the 60's that,--well, if you know him I don't need to explain this, and if you don't know him or his works, this won't be funny to you anyway.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/EvWh6PMi9Ek&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/EvWh6PMi9Ek&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-34625017096071271852010-03-17T16:11:00.004-06:002010-03-17T16:22:33.705-06:00some videos of the plane belowDid I mention it was fast?<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzwWOf70rhhpmcegkeOxgDzdSMDZ7_BuqaW9iK7R5acxqMBxuHOItfaUhcmWq3PYZ_dPbU_0TFHhKT-6IKglA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Reallyfast<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyH0JJTLCJRaPd0itMtYr2h6LORleI0I1DZHPEO6NAEujf1feA369thPY6-D_yQ6qF-cJhdSe8NhP9D6JWBbA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />But at least it is still in one piece<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw6sqFZSFrHnsFfRKMHKfukbiVcrtNHly_glG9102kI-Kt3dJVJjdxUFOM5xgzh4w4Ym3rON00dAPjocL4EQg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />By the way, that is my dad breathing hard into the camera. I, of course, was completely calm and in control. . .deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-6984792006784721082010-03-14T17:10:00.006-06:002010-03-14T17:38:02.169-06:00Noch ein Flugzeug!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S51uyEoUZMI/AAAAAAAAAQs/Uf73ucTg6XM/s1600-h/RAWmodified0005.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S51uyEoUZMI/AAAAAAAAAQs/Uf73ucTg6XM/s320/RAWmodified0005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448632930703533250" border="0" /></a><br />Here is the latest attempt to put together a pylon racer that will be able to compete this year. The last<a href="http://utahdeutschlehrer.blogspot.com/2008/08/ein-flugzeug.html"> two</a> I built have <a href="http://sites.google.com/site/uvapylonracing/">glow-powered engines.</a> I have had a little trouble keeping those engines running This one will compete in the speed 200 class. The pictures are from its maiden flight Saturday morning. The plane feels fast and the first flight was really hairy until I was able to trim it out for level flight. Even at 1/4 throttle, it was almost all I could handle. I landed and adjusted the elevator to move only half as much as it did on the first flight. The reduced twitchiness was very welcome.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S51u_T1g4II/AAAAAAAAAQ0/j8qZaZYxNLA/s1600-h/IMG_3775.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S51u_T1g4II/AAAAAAAAAQ0/j8qZaZYxNLA/s320/IMG_3775.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448633158123708546" border="0" /></a>The motor is a 1900Kv Turnigy brushless outrunner motor. I am using 1350 mAh 3-cell lithium-polymer batteries--the same type as is used in cell phones, except with a higher discharge rate. the propeller is 6.5" Graupner propeller (made in Germany!). As you can see, I have decorated it with the German colors. The speed controller (a computer chip that controls the battery-motor interface and acts as a throttle) can be programmed to play various songs when it is powered up and ready to fly. In keeping with the German theme, I set it to play Beethoven's Ode to Joy. I don't think many of the people I fly with will get the joke.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S51wS51GNLI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/sP3SO0LiX4s/s1600-h/RAWmodified0006+trimmed.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S51wS51GNLI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/sP3SO0LiX4s/s320/RAWmodified0006+trimmed.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448634594251650226" border="0" /></a> The design is my own, although I took a lot of cues from others that are also flying. The plane has a V-tail and a slightly forward-swept main wing. It feels really fast, although I am not sure exactly how fast. Others who have similar designs have clocked their planes at between 100-110 miles per hour. I need to get used to flying at this speed at about 20 feet off the ground. This last picture is my favorite.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S51ye8S7RiI/AAAAAAAAARE/HCGN8TksyS0/s1600-h/RAWmodified0003.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S51ye8S7RiI/AAAAAAAAARE/HCGN8TksyS0/s320/RAWmodified0003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448637000095319586" border="0" /></a>deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-39806094797233175072010-02-10T20:46:00.003-07:002010-02-10T20:56:52.819-07:00You may not get it, but to me this is really funny<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S3N-C8YWzdI/AAAAAAAAAPE/035KP3Zkb5Y/s1600-h/goethe+Hipster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 257px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/S3N-C8YWzdI/AAAAAAAAAPE/035KP3Zkb5Y/s320/goethe+Hipster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436827764199443922" border="0" /></a>deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-73961911667055392862009-11-15T11:01:00.008-07:002009-11-16T09:04:40.977-07:00Where my October wentThis week marks the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. November 9th, 1989 is a pretty important date for me personally since the fall of the wall and the opening of East Germany meant that my mission call to Switzerland was changed to the Dresden mission. It shaped my understanding of German culture and has had a profound impact on the course of my professional development. In the past few years it has become a marker to me of how old I have gotten as my students were born closer and closer to 1989, and their memories of the fall become more and more vague. This year a majority of my students were born after the wall fell and the event that plays a central role in my personal identity might as well be ancient history to them.<br /><br />At the beginning of the semester I had a conversation with Stephan-- a local high school German teacher who also served in Dresden with me and shares my sense of identity with <span style="font-style: italic;">Wende</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBGP7HpvmI/AAAAAAAAAN0/mQZCE8VwcMA/s1600-h/IMG_3045.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBGP7HpvmI/AAAAAAAAAN0/mQZCE8VwcMA/s320/IMG_3045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404396792226365026" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">-</span>Germany-- that we really should do something to commemorate the 20th anniversary. It would help both of our programs and raise the profile of German studies in Utah, and give us a chance to share our experiences. Both of us think big and of course things quickly snowballed until they were nearly out of control. But in the end I think we put on a nice event. I had to coordinate for all of the space at UVU, organize the schedule, arrange for prizes and "schwag" for the participating students. Here are a few pictures of the event. We built a replica wall out of cardboard posters. There were over 150 entrants making a wall nearly 200 yards long. we filled up the Hall of flags at School. I was really pleased with the art work. Some of the students copied things that had appeared on the wall, like this series of weird faces. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBJO3N6zNI/AAAAAAAAAN8/kgEN-l6TQw4/s1600-h/compressed+faces.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBJO3N6zNI/AAAAAAAAAN8/kgEN-l6TQw4/s320/compressed+faces.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404400072533920978" border="0" /></a> Others did other historical or political messages in a style that might have appeared on the wall. Others were completely creative.<br />I like the picture of a butterfly through a hole in the bricks that the German Club president did--thanks Cindy.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBKgmAvWNI/AAAAAAAAAOc/0laJABj56nc/s1600-h/wall+butterfly.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBKgmAvWNI/AAAAAAAAAOc/0laJABj56nc/s320/wall+butterfly.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404401476664514770" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBJPXdSqAI/AAAAAAAAAOM/WViOvjhpz0c/s1600-h/holocaust+memorial+wall.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBJPXdSqAI/AAAAAAAAAOM/WViOvjhpz0c/s320/holocaust+memorial+wall.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404400081188333570" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBJPJFPV-I/AAAAAAAAAOE/DVrjlmLb7xI/s1600-h/ein+volk+compressed.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBJPJFPV-I/AAAAAAAAAOE/DVrjlmLb7xI/s320/ein+volk+compressed.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404400077329356770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBJPmnPE5I/AAAAAAAAAOU/hLmQSOolUmw/s1600-h/more+wall+art.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBJPmnPE5I/AAAAAAAAAOU/hLmQSOolUmw/s320/more+wall+art.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404400085256573842" border="0" /></a><br />I invited the Honorary German Consulate, Charles Dahlquist to participate in our event, and he was very helpful. He provided us with cases worth of material to give away to the students--Over one hundred t-shirts, cases of water bottles, magazines, pens, pins, markers, etc. This necessitated the creation of a "Wheel of Schwag" that we used to give it all away fairly.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBNhzGr5qI/AAAAAAAAAOk/Vwwb5mfwTgg/s1600-h/wheel+of+schwag.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBNhzGr5qI/AAAAAAAAAOk/Vwwb5mfwTgg/s320/wheel+of+schwag.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404404795893868194" border="0" /></a>It was a lot of fun and my student volunteers seemed to be enjoying themselves. The prizes were a big hit with the students. Over all the event was a success. We had over 500 high school and junior high students in attendance, and things got a little chaotic from time to time. But every one had a good time. KUER radio came and interviewed me, and I made the hourly news, so I only have about 14:30 left of my 15 minutes of fame<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBN7rLh3AI/AAAAAAAAAOs/mbbpPhL4nPI/s1600-h/Dahlquist+and+me.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBN7rLh3AI/AAAAAAAAAOs/mbbpPhL4nPI/s320/Dahlquist+and+me.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404405240443296770" border="0" /></a>This is Mr. Dahlquist and I at the wall. His remarks were very nice and well-thought-out. I was glad that he was able to find time to come and participate.<br /><br />We had other activities as well. We had a number of presentations given by students and a woman who grew up in the east. She told of life in east Germany and brought back memories of FDJ, the Pioniere, and other youth organizations. It was very good. The student presentations were hit and miss. We showed a movie called <span style="font-style: italic;">Prager Botschaft</span> that told about the crises at the German embassy in Prague, 1989, when thousands of east German refugees fled to Czechoslovakia to escape into the west. It went well until the scene that showed a woman's bare shoulders (that's all, I swear!!) as she sat wrapped in a sheet in bed. One of the junior high teachers promptly panicked, made us stop the movie and wanted to escort her kids out of the theater until we talked her down from the ledge.<br /><br />Maybe my favorite part, however, was my friend's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trabant">Trabant.</a> The Trabi is THE icon of the communist era in east Germany and both loved and hated by the people who drove them. There are some great jokes about them <a href="http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article19076.ece">here</a>-- (only site I could find in english-the Sun's site has some inappropriate links on it though, so beware) He and I both had the opportunity to drive one as missionaries when the members bought new, western cars and didn't know what to do with their trabis. That worked great for about a month when the general authorities heard about it and shut us down. :-( A few years ago, Stephan found a trabi for sale in Minnesota and bought it. Since then he has used it in his teaching, brought it to mission reunions, and had a general good time with it--when he wasn't spending insane amounts of money fixing it.<br /><br />It was a real pain arranging for permission to get it in the building, and event more trouble ensued when a couple of police officers got all territorial about it, but we brought in his car. It was a real hit. Kids got to have their pictures taken with it. Sit inside, and look under the hood at it's lawnmower-like engine.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBUUJtdCEI/AAAAAAAAAO0/H-jplSzrQYc/s1600-h/trabi.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SwBUUJtdCEI/AAAAAAAAAO0/H-jplSzrQYc/s320/trabi.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404412258025277506" border="0" /></a>At one point in the planning, someone asked me if it would fit through a set of double doors. "Um, I don't think that is going to be a problem," was all I could reply. The car actually looks bigger in this picture because it is just kids behind the wheel. I have a picture at work (not an electronic copy, just a printout) of one of my colleagues in it--then you get a real idea of the scale. The sound the motor makes is the best part. It is only a 2-stroke engine, so it sounds something between a snow mobile and a chainsaw. Listen and enjoy<br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyZBuAsakB_UG1p3jFCV3TtNhFJdemJUcMPRIr3csTgqJLcu4-On2h9NgcuKQFG5lpUTDN9t2ViwV7O0IMmQA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-86336687928237306432009-10-23T16:23:00.011-06:002009-10-23T17:02:03.734-06:00On what a stone has to sayWhen I was my son’s age, I discovered fantasy literature in the form of C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. Tolkien particularly captured my imagination with the utterly realistic world he created. The major contributing factor of this realism of course was Tolkien’s facility with language. Tolkien’s own love of languages, etymology, and literature infected me and played perhaps too great a role in my decision to study language–probably because my own love of reading blossomed in the midst of hobbits and elves on the fields and hills of Middle Earth.<br /><br />Key to the hobbits’ adventures was a dwarvish map written in a runic script. The runes were a secret and magic script that led the way to treasure and dragons and access to the world learning outside the Shire. True to Tolkien’s own personality, each hobbit that leaves his home becomes in his own right a scholar of the land that adopts him, brining back the language, learning, and history of that land.<br /><br />It was a pleasant surprise then, when I discovered in my courses on the history of the German language, that Tolkien’s dwarvish runes were not original to him, but borrowed from the nordic germanic tribes. For the Norsemen too, runes were possessed of a magic wielded only by the select few. I suppose the magic still holds, even if the secret is widely known: if you put something into writing, you call it into being, and therefore you gain power over it as you make it present again – re-presenting it – in the text. The Norse understood this in a way that we have forgotten.<br /><br />When I went to Sweden this summer I hoped I would find some of these runes. They were often engraved into standing stones–like Stonehenge in England. The stones themselves had meaning both in the way they were arranged and in the act of erecting them. They stand, like the Norse ideal of manhood. Upright. Proud. Immovable. Strong. Timeless. They are <span style="font-style: italic;">Standhaft</span>. When I see them, my own Viking heritage stirs. They represent all the things we cannot always be, but wish we were, and I wanted to find one for myself.<br /><br />I had heard of prehistoric Norse cemetery that had been discovered south of Stockholm, and which happened to be within walking distance of my hostel. I set out to find this cemetery on a beautiful June morning; the sun was bright and the air fresh after the rain of the previous day. About a mile down the path I began to see a series of stone circles sticking up out of the forest floor. There were other geometric shapes as well, mostly triangles and quadratic figures.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SuIufPIdh-I/AAAAAAAAANE/4lUJ7CcObZ4/s1600-h/sweden,+metzigs,+Hohenstein+196.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SuIufPIdh-I/AAAAAAAAANE/4lUJ7CcObZ4/s320/sweden,+metzigs,+Hohenstein+196.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395926417716119522" border="0" /></a> It was a curious experience. The stones themselves are ageless: unshaped by any hand, they seem as old as the earth itself. But at some point someone gathered them together and arranged them, and even this act is removed from me by over a thousand, maybe two thousand years. For all that time they have remained, unmoved, a more constant part of the environment than even the generations of trees that have sprung up and died around them. Their permanence served as a contrast to the transience of the human hands that placed them, and my distance from those people, despite the fact that I was standing on the very place where they must have stood long before. The signposts said they were grave markers, but if there was any significance to the layout of the stones, it remained unclear to me, except that their very placement gave the stones meaning. It set them apart so that they were no longer just stones, but a message–Remember us, even though we are gone, we were here. This was our place. We lived. We worked. We created. We were.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SuIvg6wJw-I/AAAAAAAAANM/C2-NBpUP-lw/s1600-h/compressed+standing+stone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SuIvg6wJw-I/AAAAAAAAANM/C2-NBpUP-lw/s320/compressed+standing+stone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395927546116817890" border="0" /></a><br />At the time I was only struck by the beauty of their extreme age and their stunning simplicity. I was also mildly disappointed that they lacked any runes–any writing to connect me to them. All these other meanings come to me as I sit and write about them months later, when I realize that they had much to say and indeed were able to say much despite their silence. But at the time I resigned myself to the fact that this was as close as I was going to get to Norse paganism and so I set of in search of the coast and the seagulls.<br /><br />On my way to the airport, however, I made one final stop at the castle <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gripsholm_Castle">Gripsholm</a> in Mariefeld. The afternoon was getting on, but the day was just as beautiful as it had begun. I knew nothing about the castle except that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kurt_Tucholsky">Kurt Tucholsky</a> used to take his vacations there. However, as I walked around the castle, I was surprised to find these two rune stones standing in the courtyard. I do not know if they have always stood on this spot, or as I suspect, they were moved here by the builders<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SuIyy8rR-fI/AAAAAAAAANs/th0ZkzPhH5k/s1600-h/compressed+rune+stone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SuIyy8rR-fI/AAAAAAAAANs/th0ZkzPhH5k/s320/compressed+rune+stone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395931154405784050" border="0" /></a> of the castle. It doesn’t much matter to me either way. As I looked at them, I remembered the one with the snake’s head from pictures in my graduate classes. Between the unexpected surprise at discovering them and the delight at touching a thousand-year-old inscription (okay maybe only 900 years) it was the perfect end to my trip to Sweden.<br /><br />At one time I could puzzle out the sound of the language on the stones from the runes, even if the language itself was beyond me. But now I can’t remember the value of most of the symbols. In English it reads this stone was set up by Tola in memory of her son, Harald. He was Ingvar the Far-traveled’s brother They fared like men far after gold and in the east gave the eagle food. They died southward in Serkland.” According to the marker next to the stone, “Giving the Eagle food” means they killed enemies, and the “Far Traveled’s” expedition to Serkland is mentioned in many other rune inscriptions. These rune stones are therefore Cenotaphs, grave markers erected in memory of one who died far away and whose body cannot be returned home. They represent an absence, a symbol of what is not there.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SuIyKbBe7MI/AAAAAAAAANc/MOn04UB8zpI/s1600-h/compressed+red+rune+stone.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/SuIyKbBe7MI/AAAAAAAAANc/MOn04UB8zpI/s320/compressed+red+rune+stone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395930458177334466" border="0" /></a>To me these rune stones and the standing stones that predate them become a metaphor for language. Words are symbols for ideas or objects that are not there. The words we use re-present an absence, and even though the sound or shape of a word is meaningless in itself, the use we put them to–the way we arrange them opens them to an infinite number of possible meanings.<br /><br />The stones do nothing. They just “stand there.” They exist in the moment of <span style="font-style: italic;">nunc stans</span> (Thank you Scott Abbott), of “standing now” in the present. Yet they carry with them a connotation of extreme age, of events long past, of the people who touched them and placed them and wrote upon them. The language of a good book or a good poem does the same thing for me. The words only exist as I read them–before that they were just marks on a page. But as my eyes pass over them, the words connect me to an author who is absent–sometimes long absent. Whatever other message they might bear, Their texts become a monument that says, remember me. I was here. This was my space. I worked. I lived. I created. I am.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-76233188232719020142009-10-11T20:55:00.007-06:002009-10-12T08:32:49.904-06:00100 miles in the desertSo here are some p<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKbmbM___I/AAAAAAAAALU/UnvDQrEDeVA/s1600-h/century%27s+start+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKbmbM___I/AAAAAAAAALU/UnvDQrEDeVA/s320/century%27s+start+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391542788355522546" border="0" /></a>ictures of my century ride in Moab. I finally have a few minutes to blog about it. It was absolutely beautiful, and the hill wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be--either that or it has already faded from memory. The pace started out really slow, and since I didn't know what the climb was going to be like, and since I had felt realllllly awful all week, so I took it easy too. In all there was about 7000 feet of climbing. The weather could not have been better. For the climb the clouds were out and kept it cool. The sun came out later, but it never go too hot.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKbl4sdh2I/AAAAAAAAALM/CB6HV2L6eVI/s1600-h/century%27s+end+2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKbl4sdh2I/AAAAAAAAALM/CB6HV2L6eVI/s320/century%27s+end+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391542779092240226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />This guy you see here next to me is Steve. I caught up with him at about the half-way point as we came on to the Colorado river road. We were doing about the same pace, so we were able to take turns breaking the headwind for each other. The company made the ride a lot more pleasant and the guy, despite having 20 or 30 years on me, was an animal.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKblfx5DZI/AAAAAAAAALE/197uFaqaqLI/s1600-h/castle+valley.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKblfx5DZI/AAAAAAAAALE/197uFaqaqLI/s320/castle+valley.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391542772404129170" border="0" /></a>Moab was smaller than it was when I was growing up there. But as soon as I got some of that red dirt under my fingers, it felt like I had come home. I have always wanted to do a ride down the river road in Moab. I have also been thinking for the past few years that I wanted to have some sort of goal for my workouts instead of just riding for fun. The century in Moab was perfect because it gave me an excuse to achieve two goals in one: It was far enough out of reach to be a real challenge, but in a great location that let me return to where I grew up.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKbk2kZmAI/AAAAAAAAAK8/hhqGhPid0RE/s1600-h/century%27s+end+1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKbk2kZmAI/AAAAAAAAAK8/hhqGhPid0RE/s320/century%27s+end+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391542761341687810" border="0" /></a>I was tired when I finished, but not as bad as I expected. My arms actually hurt more than my legs. Probably a combination of the achy flu I had and the breaking I had to do when coming down the switchbacks into Castle Valley. The only real excitement came ten miles from the end when my front tire blew out violently. It sounded like a gunshot. We were going to boot the hole with a power bar wrapper when the SAG wagon showed up with a new tire. So I went home with a brand-new tire worth $40, that I was going to have to replace soon anyway.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKtPPkegsI/AAAAAAAAALc/bu-rnDhifWc/s1600-h/the+perfect+spot.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rzvv_84rwHo/StKtPPkegsI/AAAAAAAAALc/bu-rnDhifWc/s320/the+perfect+spot.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391562181305074370" border="0" /></a><br />And just so you know, after the ride, we went to Arches where Dallin found what was according to him "the perfect spot" and told his mom to take a picture. Which she did.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7290272578485317036.post-88081290415145975102009-08-16T00:03:00.003-06:002009-08-16T00:25:18.336-06:00my latest rideThis week, in getting ready for the <a href="http://skinnytireevents.com/content/section/12/30/">Moab Century Tour</a>, I tried to do a little extra mileage. I did three rides over 40 miles, including <a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/route/us/ut/pleasant%20grove/511125040254279908">this one</a><br /><br /><iframe src="http://js.mapmyfitness.com/embed/blogview.html?r=4eac13ab8097b596f30c8d3a8263f4ae&u=e&t=ride" width="350" frameborder="0" height="500">&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/ut/pleasant-grove/511125040254279908"&amp;amp;gt;Pleasant Grove to Nephi&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/find-ride/united-states/ut/pleasant-grove"&amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in Pleasant Grove, Utah&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;</iframe><!-- MMF PARTNER TOOL --><br /><br /><br />and <a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/ut/cedar-city/152218329">this one</a>. Even though it shows only 37 miles, I went a couple of miles further toward New Harmony than this map shows.<br /><iframe src="http://js.mapmyfitness.com/embed/blogview.html?r=9b14c5b74fb9a4081caee6d7edee95ce&u=e&t=ride" width="550" frameborder="0" height="450">&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/ut/cedar-city/152218329"&amp;amp;gt;New Harmony&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/find-ride/united-states/ut/cedar-city"&amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in Cedar City, Utah&amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;gt;</iframe><!-- MMF PARTNER TOOL --><br />Last week I also climbed to the summit of American Fork Canyon, which should imitate the climb on the Moab Century.<br />All total I have done over 150 miles this week and over 860 since returning from Berlin in June.deutschlehrerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06207233165207398291noreply@blogger.com2