There are different theories about raising kids. And dogs. And dealing with co-workers.
It comes down to consistency. Or what your brain tells you is consistency. What it REALLY comes down to is making people think that you’re appreciating them, and handing over surprises to keep ’em from being mad at you.
There’s a best-selling book about child-raising in that. And dog-raising. And two or three books about dealing with co-workers. Per year. They do a LOT of those books.
Poor Ol’ Mr. Nutley.
At least, that’s what his neighbors always call him.
I think it’s in Bill Bryson’s ‘A Walk In The Woods’ where he mentions how many Americans (That is, citizens of the U.S.) only walk between buildings and their cars. Living like that, it actually takes days to walk a mile.
Fitbits came later, but the point remains.
by Jeff Cravens:
I got home from work while it was still light. I had been neglecting my bike trails. They were lonely and needed me. I told my children not to play with the knives or drive heavy equipment for at least 15 minutes. I hopped on my bike and shot down the trail at full, liberating speed. I had a grin on
my face the whole way across Boarder Trail, up the Balsam Root Spur, across Birthday Bridge, down Arrowleaf Trail and out Maple Lane. As I rode out onto the gravel road and started the long slog back up to the house, I was chuckling to myself. It had been a glorious ride. Mucho mojo. Groovitude on two wheels.
At home, I went inside and found that my children had not damaged anything or anyone. Lap 2 was calling my name. I went back out, put on my game face, and set my mind to break the speed record. After all, I was on fire. My previous run was the best I’d ever had. I had hit all the banks high, tossed my bike underneath me in the curves, and nailed all three jumps. What could go wrong?
I shot down the trail determined. I wasn’t going any faster, but I was working harder. Half way down Boarder Trail, the front of my bike decided to take a short cut down the hill. I hit the ground like a blunt Yard Dart 10 feet down the bank. Neither the bike nor I was broken, and the dirt bath was not going to interfere with the rest of the lap, so I dragged the bike back up on the trail and took off again. Before the next intersection, my subconscious wanted more dirt in my pants, so off the trail my tire went again. On this blooper, I managed to contain the wreck to the trail.
Back on the trail, I wobbled over Birthday Bridge and tried to conjure up some mojo for Arrowleaf. As I gained speed on the downhill, I felt better, then hit the Arrowleaf jump hard and sloppy. I barely held on in the big bank, and fought the bike through the S curves. I needed to get the flow back, so I released the brakes on the high bank to let it ride.
As I once again drove my bike off the trail (this time at high speed), it occurred to me that I suck. This wasn’t a dirty wreck. This one put me square into a batch of choke cherry bushes and weeds. I clawed out of the choke cherry, dragging my bike and apologizing to my shins, while checking to see if my eyes had been poked out.
I finished the ride with a bit more humility. Even so, I was shaky on the last bridge, and almost hurled my body into the woods on the Maple Lane jump. I coasted out to the gravel road with a little less skin and a lot more dirt than I started with.
As I meandered up to the house, I pondered the remarkable differences between the two rides.
The first ride was thoughtless and wonderful. The second ride was purposeful and horrendous. As I replayed the first run in my mind, I realized the real difference in the two laps… the smile.
On the first run, I had felt joy. I was simply happy to be out there. Happy to be alive and on my bike. On the second lap, I mucked it up with the idea of breaking a record, which wiped the smile off my face.
I think it’s the same way with every hobby. Whether you are a runner, a skateboarder, or a champion horseshoe thrower, we have to stop keeping score sometimes. We have to stop thinking and pushing. We have to do the things we love for the joy of doing them.
The joy is enough.
The joy is the reason we keep doing it.
The joy is pure gold.
(Ed. Note- You can see the video of the trail he’s describing HERE.)
I have been giving considerable thought to bringing Hubris to various conventions around this country and Canada (Hey, Allan!) and so I’ve dipped my toe in, locally. Didn’t gamble much in the way of merchandise or table time, but it was fun, and I think there are a few new readers since then (Hey, guys!)
Here’s me at MidSouthCon-
I had some books to sell, a skateboard to sell, and lots of stickers to give out, along with some original pencil sheets for anyone who acted truly interested. I’d also like to point out that the outlandish buckskin jacket I was wearing was complimented more and more thoroughly at the convention than it has been for ten years prior.
There weren’t a lot of sales made, and it was tricky to keep the attention of the Convention-goers. Comic strips aren’t always the biggest hit at Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Comic book events. Comic Strips are for a different kind of reader. Some of you might take that as a compliment or as an insult when I point out that the convention-goers I was speaking to looked like this:
And like this:
I think I’ve mentioned Career Day here before. A school invites you to come and talk about what you do. You put together some handouts, some examples of what you do, and some kind of display. You go talk to a lot of kids for a few hours. Fun. And, as with anything, it’s the stuff that surprises you that’s worth repeating. What’s the #1 question I get from schoolkids? Take a moment to guess.
Here it is: “Did you draw all of this?” while indicating a table full of books, comics, ads, comic strips, etc. My usual answer is, “Yes. Cartooning is my career. I wouldn’t bring anyone else’s artwork to show you.” They usually turn to the kid next to them and say, “He drew ALL that!” I don’t know why.
Here’s my #1 question for the kids: “How many jobs within the field of cartooning can you name?” That usually gets them engaged. Most people assume that cartoonists do one job- the one that pops into that person’s mind when he or she is asked to name more than one. For elementary school kids, that usually means animation of some kind- movies or TV. For older kids, it might be comic books or videogame design or animation. What’s funniest is when the Career Fair is set up in a library and NO ONE can think to say, “Children’s Book Illustrator.”
My handouts are actually sort of a cheat sheet. There’s a long list of cartooning jobs/careers listed. Some kids will stand there with the handouts, never thinking to look at the words on it to answer my question. Sadly, there are occasionally kids who DO read the list, the light STILL doesn’t come on, and they still don’t have an answer. For those kids’ (and my) sake, I’m glad someone’s making them go to school where they can get a decent breakfast and lunch- and meet some people who can expand their worlds with them. Maybe something will click someday and their lives will be something they’re aware of, and that they have some control over.
Most kids, though, are fantastic to talk to. Did you ever explain… really explain… something to a kid who’s surprised that there’s information to be had? You learn as much about what you already thought you knew as the kid learns from you saying it. Always worth the effort, for everyone involved. Try it, if you can. Need a quick example that tried and true? Sit down and write complete instructions on how to tie your shoe. You know, instructions that are clear and to the point, that a kid can follow. I guarantee you’ll learn something about how you tie your shoes, and how you communicate… or don’t.
As mentioned before, there are some local schoolkids that know what I do, and have discovered that I will ‘publish’ their cartoons. I think I’m going to impose a ‘theme’ rule- that the drawings have to have skateboards or bikes or suchlike in them from now on. Not that I don’t like DragonBall Z tracings, but … y’know… I don’t, much.
Here’s a couple of drawings, though- One’s from Eric Owens and the other’s by a young man who didn’t sign his cartoon. I usually return the cartoons stuck on the cover of a sort of sketchbook thingy, so maybe the sketchbook is more important to him than having his name on here. I’ll update when he tells me his name.
You know… you guys could be sending in drawings and photos.
from Jeff Outdoors-
The Department of Transportation cam showed that the mountain pass was smoke free, so that’s where we went.
I had been waffling for days between depression and trying to hide from my children without breathing outside air. The smoke from the forest fires was so bad that the Health Department shut down the schools and told everyone to leave the area, or at the very least not to go outside.
Firefighters flying water where it'll be more use than it had been
The Health Department doesn’t have children.
I was trapped in my home with a 13 and an 11 year old who have a penchant for fighting in the most irritating ways. My only respite was an occasional foray into the smoke choked town for groceries. Meanwhile, my wife was on a Mediterranean cruise with her mother and cousin. My compassionate side was thoroughly relieved that she was missing all of this, while my selfish side was wanting to film our children for 14 straight hours and then force my wife to watch the video when she returned. I needed someone to share my pain.
My children were just as stir crazy as I was by the time I got the car loaded with snacks, fishing poles and waterbottles. As we drove for an hour up to the mountain pass, the smoke thinned like my hair, and at the top, it was clearer than my shower door after a vigerous Windexing. I felt better just getting out of the car in the parking lot. The fresh air gave me new vitality while yelling at the children to stop hitting each other with the fishing poles. “If one of those hooks gets stuck in your skin, I’ll have to cut the barb off, and those hooks cost money!”
We started up the Jeep track toward the lake in the fresh, clean air, when my daughter started crying. I thought for a moment she was shedding a tear of joy for being in a land where the only smell was of fir trees. No. She was crying because she wanted the trail to be downhill both ways. I took a physics and topography approach with her, which, if you’re a woman, you’ll know didn’t work. Apparently, I was supposed to say, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry you have to walk up hill, but we’ll be there before you know it and I’ll have treats waiting for you at the top!”
Whatever.
When the physics lesson failed, I went with, “Suck it up and stop harshing my buzz.”
We made it to the lake after quite a lot of tears and attitude. At the lake, all memories of discomfort flew out the window. We fed gray-jays out of our hands, fished, waded in the pristine water, listened to the silence of the wilderness, and breathed clean, smoke-free air. While I was reveling in my new low blood pressure and heart rate, I overheard my daughter demanding that my son untangle the snarl in her fishing line. Her reasoning was simple, “I only know how to catch. You know how to fish, so fix it.”
As the sun dipped lower, I decided it was time to go. On the way back down the trail, the children raced, cheated, then experimented with new ways of “accidentally” hitting each other with their fishing poles (without the hooks).
We loaded back up in the car, took one last breath of air, and drove back into the smoke.
The children are now asleep and I’m checking the windows to see where the smoke is leaking into the house. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll take the kids to coalmine or China… you know, somewhere we can breathe better.
Jeff, Intrepid Dad and inspired writer
It’s interesting, trying to go home again, especially when we’ve been told by whatever very famous writer is was that we can’t go home again. Fair enough, but it sure is fun trying. My friends and I used to go to the Ocoee river all the time. Since then, there’s been kids born, careers changed, marriages ended, lives lost to the eternal tide, and more. And still, when we see one another, we always say we need to do another ‘Old Timer’s Trip’. We laughingly call it that, even though we don’t think of ourselves, or one another, as old.
Then again, I was twenty eight when we started kayaking the Ocoee.
Now, we return every few years. It’s a long drive, going back to being twenty eight. And I get lost on the way of course. But it’s gotta be tried.
I do another comic strip, The Buckets, that’s sort of about getting old and becoming your parents. I made the point in it once that while it’s not fair that a kid can’t wait to be 18, but what’s REALLY not fair is that now I can’t wait to be 18 either, and it’s never going to happen.
But there’s still the occasional Old Timer’s Trip. And that may be good enough.
Erron says
You know what I hate? Movie critics who say, “This movie stunk.” There are some movies I like that critics don’t. Critics need good storytelling, and proper acting, and outstanding direction. I don’t need movies to be art on every level down to the gaffers and best boys and all that crap. Some explosions, a couple of bikinis, a nice hook, I’m good.
So I’m going to give you a critique of Stretch Island Fruit Strips. I’m not going to say, “These stink” or “These are the best things ever” because, well, I saw “Out Of Africa”. The critics said I was supposed to love it, but they didn’t tell me it didn’t have bikinis or even a nice hook. I’m going to tell you what these things are, and then you can decide if they’re what you want. That’s good critiquing, y’all!
Stretch Island Fruit Strips fit really well into the lost corner of your backpack. They have expiration dates a few months down the road of the date you buy them, which also buys you some time to let them get properly mulched down before you pull them out and say, “Thank God! I DO have some food in here! We’re saved!” If this sort of consideration is important to you (as it is to me) then score one for Stretch Island Fruit Company.
If you buy these things 30 at a time, the way they’re offered on the Stretch Island Fruit Co website (http://www.stretchislandfruit.com/) They’ll cost you less than fifty cents apiece. The upside? LESS THAN FIFTY CENTS APIECE. The downside? There’s thirty of these things. What’s gonna stop you from eating three or five or whatever and still thinking “the box is pretty full. I could have another one.”
Which brings us to the size of these things. I’m a fat guy. I can polish off a typical ‘meal replacement bar’ like Clif or any of the thousands of others available and my stomach growls a few minutes later. These Stretch Island things are NOT meal replacement bars. They’re little snacks. Don’t buy ’em thinking they’ll fill you up and keep you on your feet. If you need a sugar charge and something to keep your jaws working for a half a minute, you’re good here. Go for ’em.
I guess that brings us to the nutrition part. These little darlings have a half-day’s serving of fruit, if the company’s claim is true- and I have no reason to doubt them. They have 0g of: Total Fat, Sat. Fat, or Trans Fat. No fat. period. They also have 0g cholesterol, which makes my cardiologist happy. They have No Sodium, which is good, but they also have no vitamin A, Calcium or Iron. They have 4% of the vitamin C you’re supposed to get today. 120mg or Potassium, 12g total carbs, (1g of which is from Fiber, 9g of which is from Sugars)
The aforementioned ‘Sugars’ must be All-Natural and Pure sugars because Stretch Island’s website is very full of the words All-Natural and Pure.
Since they’re so natural and pure and full of the goodness of nature and fruit and they don’t have all that weird stuff that, say, Pop-Tarts have, if you have to take kids into consideration, these are a good idea. If the other kids in the neighborhood are snarfing down ‘Froot Roll Ups’ or whatever nuclear-colored pre-processed toy-that-looks-like-candy ‘food’ their parents have provided, you can provide your kids with Stretch Island All-Natural Fruit Strips, and they can feel like they’re at least related to the crowd, if not IN the crowd. Maybe you live in a really hip neighborhood, and ‘Froot’ isn’t allowed. Then your kids get to be the COOLEST, since they have some kind of processed stretchy fruit to eat and don’t have to resort to eating actual fruit in public. I dunno. You know where you live. Make the call and tell the kids what they get. You’re scarring them for life and they’ll rebel against you no matter how well you look after them, so be the parent.
Now. Taste. That’s critical for something you’re going to put in your mouth as food, right? Let’s see. I have four of their seven flavors here, and some people to taste them. ‘Ripened Rasberry’, ‘Autumn Apple’, ‘Abundant Apricot’, and ‘Harvest Grape’. I don’t know why they abandoned the alliteration for grape. Slackers.
There’s a sugary zing right off the bat on all of the flavors. Then the flavor drifts in. The sugary zing is kind of startling at the first bite, but as the taste test went on, we didn’t notice it as much. I suspect that it’s the same as being deafened at a concert. After a few minutes, you don’t realize you’re being deafened.
The texture is nothing to scream about. I’m told that the texture of these is better than Froot Roll Ups and I’m taking the kid’s word for it, because I’m just not gonna eat Froot. As an adult who isn’t gonna eat Froot, though, these things felt slick and unnatural on my tongue. On the other hand, if they were textured to look like something other than fruit goop spat out of a machine, I’d wonder why and it might be distracting. Flat, smooth fruit is at least something that some folks think of as normal in this day and age.
The apple smelled good. The grape lost its scent pretty quickly after the package was opened. I never really got a whiff of ‘raspberry’ from the raspberry flavored. The apricot smelled like apricots. No surprise, no comment.
The flavors linger. We’ve been sitting here and discussing them for a while, the bites are gone and we’re still tasting the heck out of this stuff. It may be that the stickiness has left a coat of zing on our tongues and teeth, or it may be that the flavors are so concentrated that once they hit spit, they spread out and set up shop. Either way, that’s probably good… we know we’ve eaten something.
The stickiness was an issue because we were cutting up bits to share around, but I guess if you’re opening one and cramming it down yourself, stickiness isn’t an issue… except for your hands, which you then need to wash, and the wrapper, which has to be put somewhere that it won’t wreck, say, your spare shirt or your sunglasses or your camera… or just the inside of the little pocket of your shorts or pack. Sticky. Woo. Hikers and Moms without baby wipes beware.
The Autumn Apple wins for flavor. I’m a big raspberry fan, and I still like the apple better. You’d think the apricot would taste just like a regular old dried apricot, but it doesn’t exactly. Not bad, just not exactly a dried apricot, which it isn’t anyway. And the apricot strip was harder than the rest, I’ve just been reminded. Like it didn’t hold up as well structurally or something. I’ve gone back to the raspberry over and over hoping for something nice to say about it, since I’m partial to actual raspberries. The best thing I can say is that the aftertaste is just like faint raspberries. I don’t want the company to pump up the flavors artificially, but I do wish raspberries kept as much zing as a granny smith apple apparently does.
Everybody says the flavor doesn’t go away. Still tasting all that stuff.
So there you go. Sticky, Zingy, long-lasting flavor, easy to pack around, All-Natural Fruit leather. For total disclosure: It’s June now, and the expiration dates on these things are in January and February of next year. They’ve been sitting in the bottom of two different packs over the past two months, and I don’t know how much time on a shelf before that. That’s the correct lifetime of the sort of snacks I take on trails and trips, so that’s what we’re working with here. If you live the way that makes these things sound good for your lifestyle, provide yourself with them. If you need a gateway snack to a healthier lifestyle, dump the Froot and go with these. If you need a meal replacement bar, or if PopTarts have all the texture and flavor you desire, then these might be alright occasionally. If the words ‘All-Natural’ and ‘Pure’ make you want to go kneel on a hippy’s windpipe, and smoke a ham and a cigar right after, you can skip Stretch Island’s Fruit Strips.
Bam.
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