I'm taking up a new hobby. Something to fill the lonely hours that's perhaps a bit more productive and active than sitting in front of a computer decimating hordes of evil whatevers. I'm taking up archery. I've been thinking about it for years, but just never had the initiative to go and do it.
Well, I happened to mention my possible interest during lunch one day, and it turns out that one of my noontime cribbage opponents is an archer. So several weeks ago we went out shooting at a local range. This was the first time I had actually handled a real bow and launched arrows. I was surprised how well I did considering this lack of experience. I only lost one arrow in the woods.
So, I'm looking to join the local club; they'll vote on letting me in next week. And I purchased a used compound bow (has pulleys, the tension lets off as you pull so it's easier to hold the draw). Today I took it to a local shop for a new string, setting up draw length, some arrows, and a quiver.
On top of all this, there is an indoor range within walking distance of home! So I can go shooting all winter. Yay.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Locational errors.
Ok, I'm back. It's been a while. We completed to moves to Spousal Unit's apartment, and the new place in the new home town near ye olde atom mill. It was certainly not without incident. Perhaps I'll write on that later.
Currently I'm at Spousal Unit's (SU) place on a visit. She is out being a venue manager at the Fringe Festival here. And as I look around the place, my eyes invariably fall on various items we had at the old house. As I look at them, I can't not think of where in that house they used to sit. I'd thought I wouldn't miss the old house much, as I hadn't felt attached to any place since leaving the house I grew up in. But it seems that 6 years in our house (in the middle of our street) had some effect.
Over the years we've moved many times, each time throwing away more or less "junk". During this last move we disposed of a hell of a lot of stuff. Things that we didn't need, didn't want, or just failed to have any meaning to us ended up in some scrap heap or other. And then I look around at what's left, and remember where it was. Some of it links back to where I grew up. A lot of stuff from back then was pitched or given away years ago, but I sometimes still think of it when I go on little tours of the old place in my mind. I lived there for 22 years, and I can still remember every detail. From the smell of old floor wax in the utility closet, to the dirty linoleum top of the workbench my father built in the basement, to the marks I put in the underside of the built-in desk in my room when I was about 6. The objects in this mental model are part of it. Some of them I still have. Many are gone. Sometimes it feels that by getting rid of them I'm throwing away my past. Or betraying my parents.
But I also see that they are just objects. Just things. And as I get older I realize that things just aren't that important. But I still feel that link to the past through them, either to my origin many years ago, or just to the last house we lived in. Seeing them here, in different, unfamiliar places just feels strange.
Currently I'm at Spousal Unit's (SU) place on a visit. She is out being a venue manager at the Fringe Festival here. And as I look around the place, my eyes invariably fall on various items we had at the old house. As I look at them, I can't not think of where in that house they used to sit. I'd thought I wouldn't miss the old house much, as I hadn't felt attached to any place since leaving the house I grew up in. But it seems that 6 years in our house (in the middle of our street) had some effect.
Over the years we've moved many times, each time throwing away more or less "junk". During this last move we disposed of a hell of a lot of stuff. Things that we didn't need, didn't want, or just failed to have any meaning to us ended up in some scrap heap or other. And then I look around at what's left, and remember where it was. Some of it links back to where I grew up. A lot of stuff from back then was pitched or given away years ago, but I sometimes still think of it when I go on little tours of the old place in my mind. I lived there for 22 years, and I can still remember every detail. From the smell of old floor wax in the utility closet, to the dirty linoleum top of the workbench my father built in the basement, to the marks I put in the underside of the built-in desk in my room when I was about 6. The objects in this mental model are part of it. Some of them I still have. Many are gone. Sometimes it feels that by getting rid of them I'm throwing away my past. Or betraying my parents.
But I also see that they are just objects. Just things. And as I get older I realize that things just aren't that important. But I still feel that link to the past through them, either to my origin many years ago, or just to the last house we lived in. Seeing them here, in different, unfamiliar places just feels strange.
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