The rewards of virtue

I am taking a moment to expand on the rewards of virtue. At the moment I am proofreading yet again a paper which has been proofread four times the past 48 hours, and feel inordinately proud that I will be done before evening. Who would have guessed. The past six months, possibly longer have been somewhat colored by the fact that there is work to do, which should have been executed yesterday, and which - lo and behold - is fun, at least 50 % of the time. In my book, 50 % of the time is pretty damn good.
 
The perks that come with hard work.
 
1) The incredible feeling of a job well done.
Ok, so you have a guilt trip most of the time. But, occasionally, you know, the boss is happy, and you are happy, and the sun is shining, and you proved to yourself that you could do it.
 
2) Awe, patience and admiration from the less sturdy.
My friends are incredible. Please come on out to play! We'll bring the food. The beer. The laughs. I've been neglecting people without feeling guilty - everyone knows the reason why. Ok,  so I lost my temper. I work 14 hour days, ok?
 
3) No time to obsess.
This is great. Having real problems, and of a kind that can be solved just by  - hard work - makes all those who am I what am I doing here and WHY-problems so insignificant. I stopped caring about how I look some way back, and what do you know? Every other man on bicycle looks me over when we swish past each other. I could care less, I assure you.
 
Oh shit!! I have to mail the minutes from the national annual meeting too. No rest for the wicked.

Strange, new world

I keep tuning into the blog to see if there are any new posts. The world of blogging hasn't miraculously opened up to me, and I don't really know what to do with it. I'd like to have a blog with a filing system. Random thoughts, rants, poetry, sports, whatever. So far, with only two posts, who cares.
 
So far I can think of only two things to write. One is an essay on Tour de France, a competition I've followed since Greg LeMond beat Laurent Fignon on the last stage. 1989 for those not in the know. I haven't been able to find the enthusiasm this year, partly, as Mr. US Postal claims, because there hasn't been an individual time trial to divide the serious overall competitors from the day-to-day salt-of-the-earth people. And it's been flat for so long. Today is the first real Pyrenee stage. I should be glued to the telly. Alas, something's rotten in the kingdom of Denmark.
 
The second possible post would either be on internet friends, or internet men, or men, - and seing as I may regret saying anything at all, even to a blog noone knows about, that'll keep. 
 
But back to the bicycles. This year I'll watch the last stage! Blimey! I'm in Paris next Sunday. Bliss in itself.
 
So something should be written, I gather. Later.

Anne

Terrific seating at the eighteenth row
we sat down to enjoy the christmas show.
Among the many singers glows
the spirit of an English rose

A rose, our friend, but not of pinkish pale design:
As color-rich as crimson rubies shine
and such a scent! But getting close takes time and can be hard
our rose has thorns that against hazards ward.

From row eighteen we watch, we three
He is a poet and a scald, a spirit free.
She is a quiet lake with patience mild and mirth
And who am I?
I am the young one with the somewhat recent birth.

I value neither more and neither less
and I would trust them any day with any mess.
I love them all for different reasons one of which
is easy friendship, joy so rich.

He the big brother never had.
Helps out, encourages whoever's sad.
She keeps her cool when tempests rage
a soothing balm from someone rather young to be a sage.

But friendship is a living thing and love is too.
And where the path was thorny, I passed unscathed through.
I watch from splendid seating at the eighteenth row
I love her more for thorny paths and time, I know.


--------written after the Christmas concert 2004 ----

A blog, a blog, my kingdom for a blog

I have been out here in cyberspace for a while now. Footprints are found on google, - if you have my name, of course. Once upon a time there was a personal webpage. These days I mostly write under an anonymous alias on a debate site. The footprints are more of an official kind, revealing my whereabouts on a course near the Mediterranean. And my inability to stay away from responsible positions, hobby- or work related. All of it fun, mostly.

Why a blog, why today?

Just an urge, really, an impulse. A need to trace the unwritten thoughts, or present myself with a travel diary. I've had this notion that life is travel even when you're standing still. Not always, but at least, that is how it feels now. Let's just see how it goes, shall we?