Three Things from Edmonton -- Episode 144: the universe and the fundamental attribution error, waiting in line, above the fold


Focus. The weekend is in sight. Here are three things that left tracks of happiness and gratitude this past week.

Three Things from Edmonton, episode 144:

                      


1.  The universe and the fundamental attribution error 

Chocolate almonds are a weakness. From way back. From the days back behind the Esso station on 66 Street in Steele Heights where we’d put our bikes down next to a telephone pole in the alley and eat the chocolate almonds instead of trying to sell them door to door to support the school fundraising campaign. I was never meant to be a salesperson. I took a no, thanks, or a door closed in my face, or a dog barking a goodbye way too personally.  Andy’s IGA  is a much better chocolate hawker. The shelf stockers there simply pile up plastic tubs of chocolate almonds and, without a word, wait for me to come apart and buy one, which, last week, I did and then did. 

I walked up the front sidewalk balancing these memories with, in my arms (why spend 15 cents on a bag?), the almonds, a box of cookies, a package of pork chops and a litre of Sun Rype Apple Orange Peach juice. Predictably, the container of almonds slid off the juice it frictionlessly sat on and fell toward the sidewalk. I stood there, under the moon, arms full, frozen, awaiting the verdict of fate. The container would surely break open and spill the almonds like ball bearings across the sidewalk. I saw myself on my knees gathering them back together. I saw myself as seen by neighbours through front windows on my knees gathering up the precious almonds. 


But that’s not what happened. The most remarkable thing did. The container landed squarely and stayed there. Huh! The container held. 


Chocolate almond anarchy was not loosed upon the sidewalk. I was stunned.  I was tossed back on my bias that the world would keep beating me up that week, and it just didn’t. It took a few minutes to digest it all.


2.  Waiting in line 

The grey-haired man in front of me at Rice Bowl Deluxe on 149 Street was in no hurry to make his order. The Speedo chicken rice bowl, he asked, pointing to the illuminated menu board, does it have any dairy or milk products in it? After a minute or so, it was determined that the dish shouldn’t have any dairy in it, but the woman behind the counter couldn’t guarantee that the teriyaki sauce wouldn’t have somehow been exposed to milk in the kitchen. Would you like the sauce on the side? Yes, that would be fine, the man said slowly. He then ordered an extra piece of chicken, was that possible, an extra piece of chicken? Extra piece of chicken, good, good. This was excruciating. It came to pass that there was no teriyaki sauce, after all, and would a Korean sauce do? If it’s not too spicy, the man said. No, it’s not spicy. But put it on the side, would you?  My wife is lactose intolerant and she doesn’t like sauce that is too spicy, either, he said. I felt chastened. Here was a husband bringing home food for his wife, ordering first for her, making sure her dietary restrictions were respected. He then turned to his own order. And I turned back to my restlessness. Seven or 10 pieces of chicken, he asked? Who are you asking? I wondered. I’ll have seven. We all waited. No, make it 10. Okay, that will be 34 dollars, he was told. He questioned the price. Of course, he questioned the price. The clerk went over what each item, and the extra piece of chicken with the Speedo rice bowl cost, and, yes, it was 34 dollars. Okay, the man said, I thought you said 24 dollars, and I thought that was too low so I just wanted to check I was paying enough. A caring husband and an honest customer, I realized. I was now 0 for 2 with this guy in the silent drama in my head. He punched in his debit card digits. There was a slight tremor in his hand. He nodded at me and stepped aside. His eyes were a bit watery. His eyes were kind. I quickly ordered a Gagnam Chicken rice bowl, a small wonton soup and a Coke Zero. I took my food and said thank you more deliberately than I typically do.


3. Above the fold 

Sound the trumpets, Shelagh is back from Italy! 

I won’t have as many stories to share as she will, but I will have one. My story from my time away from her won’t compete with her stories from her time away. I mean, how could it? The things she saw and did and bought and at—epic stuff. I  want to know more about the cyclist climbing the hill who yelled allez, allez, allez  in Siena. And the other cavalry vehicles in Siena, the horses clip-clopping through the streets, what was that like? And trekking up the Palatine Hill where Rome was founded, what did being in that kind of history feel like in her bones?
My accomplishment was much more mundane. While she was on the Tiber, I was on the YouTube.


I won't get ahead of myself here, but I’m pretty sure I learned how to fold a fitted mattress sheet. I need the floor to origami it all into shape. I fail when I try to do it standing. But what’s the use of time away by yourself if you don’t come back in better shape than you were before. 

Thanks for being out there, friends. 



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Hello!

Image
The potential socialness of a bicycle is built right into its roofless and windshieldless and doorless frame. It is easy to say hello on a bicycle. Like this morning. These sidewalkers nodded to me in unison at the exact instant I nodded to them. I said hello to the jogger, and he waved back. Hi, I said, to the dog walkers and the dog, and they nodded a greeting back. Both joggers smiled and said hello as our lives passed. I said hello to the squirrel. I said hello to the woman walking with poles and she returned the hello. The jogger looked over and I said hello as she said hello. I said hello to this fellow egg picker upper and we talked for a couple of minutes. Her bicycle comes out April 1. She is excited. Hello, I said. Hi, she said. I said hello to the  man on the other end of this leash and he said he and his dog were enjoying the beautiful morning. I said hello to this woman and she said hello, and we laughed ab
Read more

:)

Image
One of the joys and dangers of studying in the MACT program is that you start to feel scared enough to feel confident enough to fool around and try simple new things with technology. The danger is that you're not good enough not to spend most of your time fiddling around doing those things. And, so, this morning I am proud to announce that, taken by the hand, I have managed to embed html vimeo code into my blog. Please, no applause. This is not much, I know. Your basic 8 year old can do more. Asleep. But it is a minor accomplishment for me, because of me. And how I get in the way with my pre-wired reaction that new things won't work. The effect of that kind of thinking (or that lack of thinking) is that I transform the machine in front of me into an antagonistic force working to undo me. But it does remind me of me when I attribute malevolence to the skies when they conspire to bring rain on a morning of golf! Either way, that's bad storytelling. On another leve
Read more

On the way to and from Coffee Outside

Image
I have wondered about the the flight to artifice when natural beauty is encountered. Standing in front of a mountain vista, I will routinely offer some version of, wow, it looks like a painting! Or like a postcard. Or that is just out of a movie! This morning as I pedalled in the MacKinnon Ravine the April snow felt etched onto the limbs of the trees. I have often felt dissatisfied with this transposing of the beauty out there into the key of human making.  But, maybe, painting and photography and engraving and the rest of the human arts are as natural to us, as lovely, as nature itself. Or, maybe, so entwined that it is hard to tell nature and art apart. My bicycle has certainly transported me to feelings of freedom I would not have achieved were it not a piece of technology.  Who are we, really?                                                                           At the turn at the bottom of the ravine, a plastic orange fence encircles a soggy sink
Read more