Webster Art

There is a feel good article in the WaPo this morning about Jewish grandma’s setting up shop on the sidewalks of New York and offering free advice to random passerby’s. It reminded me of how much I miss my dad. At 32 we had a one year old and I was stuck in a dead end blue collar printing job.

I’d worked there 11 years running simple machines and needed a change. Imagine an oil change guy who wants to move up to repairing engines for more pay. The shop was so small there was no where to go up. It was a family run business and they had the administrative jobs. Not that I wanted them, I enjoyed working with my hands. But I knew I was capable of a lot more.

Through one of the visiting ink salesman I heard of a job 30 miles aways where I’d grown up and my parents still lived in the old family home. I knew the company was on shaky ground but it was a bigger machine and I desperately needed a change. I took the job and six months later they fired me and promptly went bankrupt.

I got let go at noon and went for a walk around my old teenage stomping grounds. I ended up at the State Supreme Court where dad worked as the bailiff, a job he’d had since ’65. When court wasn’t in session his job was pretty chill and he could take breaks whenever.

Ever since I was a stoned out hippy I knew he was always there and happy to see me. I could have easily dropped by to see mom up the hill, but I gravitated toward dad. He knew I was supposed to be at work and was surprised to see me walk into his office.

I got fired dad.

Ah, I’m sorry to hear that, I knew you had high hopes for your new job.

Yeah, they said I was too slow and I was hurting their profits.

Well I’m sure it was more than that. They have been in trouble for years.

Hey, did you know I got fired more than a dozen times?

What!! No way. I’ve never heard that. You only had two jobs in the last 30 years.

Yup, it’s true. Before I got that city desk job at the newspaper where you kids were born I bounced around reporting jobs for years. I’d work for a while, make the editor mad or the paper would close and I’d get fired. It happened over and over. The newspaper business is much more volatile than the printing trade. I had jobs at papers up and down the west coast from Sitka to San Francisco.

Geez dad, I had no idea. You were a rock as long as I can remember.

It took me years to learn how to keep a job. I reported on some hot button issues and would get all worked up.

Well, I feel better now. This is the first time I’ve been fired. I had that cushy job for 11 years. I was the foreman there and they loved me.

It won’t be your last if you are anything like me. There is always another job out there. You are a smart, honest young man with a lot of skills, you’ll be fine.

I walked out of there feeling much better and began pounding the pavement. I developed a routine where I’d hit as many print shops in day as possible. I even developed some subterfuges to get past the front desk. I quickly realized that I had to get past the desk to the foreman who could hire and fire. If I walked in and asked for the foreman the secretary would say he was busy.

I learned to call first and ask for the foreman’s name, saying I wanted to mail him a resume. Then I’d walk in the front door with a big smile and ask for Bob. Many times the desk lady thought I was a personal friend, otherwise why would I be smiling and know his name?

Other times I’d walk straight in the back entrance. Shops back then always kept the alley door open for ventilation and deliveries. Printing uses a lot of solvents and creates clouds of paper dust, air circulation is critical. I’d circulate in and talk shop with the pressmen, resume in hand. That particular time I got a job in ten days.

I found a shop up in Silverdale whose pressman had quit. The guy was desperate. I heard about the job from another boss nearby who didn’t need help but knew someone who did.

I meant this to be a blog post about grandmas. I’m married to one now. The kids and their kids come over regularly, or we drop by their houses. We just hang out. Sue does a lot of babysitting when they get in a pinch. Neither has a sitter. They both take turns with their spouses watching the kids, and rely on grandparents for un-avoidable complications. Both of my kids spouses have parents within an hours drive. Unlike a lot of people, our kids never left the state, or even the county, for college. So there is no need to ask advice of a bubbe on the sidewalk. They just come home. We are very fortunate.

I made my first YouTube short!

There have been bear warning signs up all summer at Squamish. They described an aggressive bear that was dragging packs away from climbers. We were joking about it on previous trips but this time it was no joke.

C. was top roping an 11 and had just arrived at the anchors when the bear ambled into view on the trail 30 feet away. We’d heard it was nearby from other climbers who had mentioned it was near but minding its own business.

Because I was belaying I had nowhere to go. I could have climbed up the rope with the grigri, but the bear would have easily caught me. Instead, like any self respecting tourist, I got out my phone and took pictures. It seemed to not see me or the other climber behind me. It couldn’t have missed us, it simply had no interest in us.

But C.’s pack clearly smelled tasty because it dragged it a few feet towards some bushes. C. saw her pack getting mauled from the anchors 60 feet up and threw a quickdraw. The bear was used to thrown things and did not react. I was told later that running toward it with bear spray would have been bad.

About 7 people were in the area (Free and Easy, Smoke Bluffs) and all were shouting “Hey Bear!” I kept shooting pictures. It was nerve-racking being trapped in a corner with the bear out front. An apex predator of that size is not part of my normal day. C. later said she wasn’t concerned about me at all. Rather she was worried about her new backpack.

Good duck hunting dogs are trained to swim out and retrieve ducks using a ‘soft mouth’ so they don’t damage the meat. The bear must have learned early on that human food is better when it isn’t mangled. Her pack was covered in bear slobber but no holes.

At camp that night I played Piano Man all the way through. I’ve mastered the harmonica parts and my guitar harp brace works great. I was dimly aware of some headlamps in the next campsite. C. was singing with me in her clear perfectly pitched soprano voice. At the finish we heard clapping and a loud: “That was awesome guys, holy shit!!”

C. later said that she’d never seen me so happy. I guess the neighbors applause was just what I needed. She asked me if I had ever wanted to be a performing artist and I admitted that I had.

My unicycle journey has been mixed. I have some residual cramping and popping going on in my right knee. I don’t know what it is, but it could be Long Covid PMR. It hurts a bit sometimes though it’s also prone to vanish. We’ve been driving to a local grade school where there is a long sidewalk along a cyclone fence. But that is only 50 meters.

I’ve been focusing on a perfect start off the fence. That means well balanced and in control as I start moving. But today I drove to where there is a sidewalk with a quarter mile of fence. It’s on an inlet into the harbor. Best of all it’s sort of a lost bike path, meaning most people don’t even know it’s there because the entrances aren’t obvious.

I got on that today and saw the fence and asphalt stretching out before me with no people anywhere, just some seagulls. I spent at least half an hour falling repeatedly, barely pedaling 40 feet. I couldn’t find my groove and considered giving up. But I remembered that speed is your friend.

But to get up to speed you can’t fall off during liftoff. So I thought, maybe a flawless start isn’t important. Maybe I need to start wildly and just fight for it, flailing arms and all. And that worked. I launched off the fence left side, which I hate, and just flailed chanting “fight for it, fight!!” Soon I was reaching cruising speed (a fast walk) and could relax a little.

There is a whole other set of skills involving cruising: things like balancing weight between pedals and seat, leaning forward, holding hands down to sides…and waiting for the groove. Sounds weird to say that but if you’ve ever pursued excellence in a tricky sport like windsurfing, speed skating, climbing, you’ll know what the groove is. It’s also called getting in the zone.

A few days ago I went out after the rains and rode the entire length of the boat house bike path several times, once without stopping. As I left I looked uphill toward the skybridge. I’ve never ridden uphill but gave it a shot. Surprisingly, uphill is more stable because you have to push hard on every pedal stroke. Who knew? On the level you have to balance forward and back pedaling, but uphill it’s all forward pushing. This means you can focus on leaning forward, pushing hard, while also going slower. It’s a win win. My 45 year old badly healed broken ankle complains after each long ride. It doesn’t like all the jumping off at speed. That pain is the same reason why I don’t like pickleball.

When I skate no one ever says anything to me. Skaters are common down there and there are some extremely graceful skaters. One young woman is a goddess on skates. I’m just a clumsy old man exercising. But on my unicycle I’m a one off. People stop me every time I go out. They exclaim that it looks really hard, I’m super brave, did I know I’m missing a wheel?

Yesterday, I rode past a woman in her 50’s. I got about 60 feet past her before doing a moving dismount. This means I stepped off at walking speed, running a few steps while the uni tumbled to a stop behind me.

“That was a great push there, nice effort!”

“Oh, thanks, it’s a scary sport!”

“What made you want to try such an unusual sport? I’ve never seen a unicycle.”

“Oh, I guess it was because my brother was able to ride one when I was 10. But I couldn’t figure it out. I promised myself I’d try it eventually; like a bucket list thing. I’m retired now and have the time to try weird sports.”

“Well, congratulations! I’m sure by next summer you’ll have it in the bag and be cruising all over.”