Boring Stuff

Yeah, well, I'm up to my eyebrows. Got an Iaido grading coming up, which calls for regular practice and plenty of it. And the ju-jitsu students are going to grade shortly, so I'm working hard with them, too.

Meanwhile, the primary school has asked me to do a few sessions of an introductory martial arts course for the kids there. I never say no to the local primary school if I can help it, so that's going on.

At the same time, the end-of-winter sniffles have arrived, and all three kids of gone down like tin ducks in sideshow alley. Even Elder Son, he of the titanium-plated immune system, is currently lying on the couch reading Calvin and Hobbes, and sniffling.

In the same vein, we hit the end-of-month patch with the Satellite "broadband" deal, and ran out of bandwidth. As usual. It's clicked over today, which is nice - but for some reason, the uplink seems to be a bit sketchy. It was running okay, and then it just randomly throttled back, and I started getting "site not found" bullshit warnings. Possibly Natalie's machine is busy downloading some goddam epic Microsoft update, or something like that. I dunno. I just know it makes working via the 'Net a painful process.

And -- surprise, surprise! -- the National Broadband Network probably won't fucking help. K-Rudd is proving ever more incompetent. He doesn't even know how to deliver a bribe properly. The two areas getting NBN first are North-West Tassie, and North-East Tassie, where I live. Not too coincidentally, both are quite marginal seats.

So, here comes the payoff for our electoral support, right?

Wrong. So far, it looks as though the so-called NBN "roll-out" is going to be restricted to places like Scottsdale, which have ALREADY F--KING GOT ADSL. So if you live, like, ten km outside Scottsdale, there will be no goddam change. Business as usual: shitty, expensive, unreliable, high-maintenance satellite, or even-more-expensive Next-G which doesn't work because of the poor coverage and the hilly terrain. Or dial-up. Yeah, wow... that's a good one, eh?

Thank you, Mr Rudd. Why don't you drop by sometime? If you're going to blow smoke up my arse, you might as well do it in person, eh?

All right. I've gotta get back to it. I've got two off-colour kids lying around the place, a monster pile of laundry to do, a Spanish lesson to put together for the afternoon, a flyer to write and print for the afternoon's martial arts class, and I still haven't written any goddam fiction since Monday.

This sucks.

Moments Of Beauty

ISP Issues

Just a short note. And it will probably take all morning to post.

As you know, we're on satellite. It's a "shaped plan", so we get a few gig of 'prime time' at moderately useful speed (about 500kbps, I believe) and a few more of 'off peak', and then the whole lot gets throttled back to 54kbps or something similar. Theoretically.

54kbps is dial-up pace, for those who live anywhere with real connectivity.

Anyway. For the last 24 hours or so, we've had shitty, shitty connectivity. Thought it might be due to exceeding the 'prime time' allocation, so I ponied up for an extra bloc of data - but there's been no change. I tried phoning the satellite johnnies, but all I got was half an hour of hold message. Apparently there are "intermittent browsing issues" which their "engineers will rectify shortly".

Does that explain my situation? I don't know. Certainly, it's not just browsing for me. Email sucks too. Is it a result of technical error at their end? Throttling? Technical issues at my end? Shitty Tasmanian weather?

I have no way of knowing. I can't get through to the support desk. I've sent in an email, but I doubt that will produce any result. I can't get through on the phone.

So that's it, really.

I'll get back to you when I can. If you're trying to email me, or you're awaiting a reply for something, please be patient. I can't do anything about it until I can consult with the support people for activ8me -- and I can't contact them until they solve their "intermittent browsing issues".

Roll on, National Broadband Network, eh?

Idle Moments #3

Robin Hood In A Flannelette Shirt...

Yeah, I like a bit of archery. Have done for a long time. But I've been stuck with this goddam compound thing, about 30kg+ in draw, with all the pulleys and the hunter-stuff, and frankly, I never really enjoyed it. I like my archery fairly primitive, I guess: a bowstave, a string, an arrow and a target.

Really, I do the arrow-shooting thing in the spirit of kyu-do -- as a form of meditation, to chill out and empty my head. Possibly because I've been doing it longer, I find that sending a few flights downrange is even more relaxing than spending half an hour practising iaido drills.

Anyway, a while back the string on the big compound motherforker got a bit more frayed than I felt comfortable with. You really, really do NOT want one of those bastards explosively de-tensioning next to your ear... or frankly, anywhere within a couple metres of you. There's an awful lot of stored energy in a powerful compound bow.

Logically, I should have got it restrung. But... I've had it ten years, and it was secondhand when I got it, and it really doesn't suit my needs. And on top of that, getting one of those puppies restrung in Tasmania is, apparently, quite a trick. I hear a rumour there may possibly be somebody in Hobart who can do it. But not up this end of the state, apparently.

So I thought: to hell with it. I got down a full jar of change, and when the boys went into gym yesterday, I ducked down to the bank in Launceston, and cashed in all those coins. Then, armed with about $250, I bought myself a nice, simple 15kg draw bow, and a few new arrows to go with it.

"Simple" is probably a minor exaggeration. There are two laminated arms that bolt onto a heavy, laminated centrepiece. But there are no pulleys, and you string it yourself every time you want to use it. And even though there are innumerable mounts for counterweights and sights and balances and shite -- there's no rule that says I have to use 'em.

I got the bow home, and when I could steal a moment, I tried out a couple of the new fibreglass arrows. I've never shot fibreglass before, and I wondered about them. They were thinner than I was used to, and a little shorter, although still nicely within the proper draw-length for my arms.

Well, they flew okay and the bow felt good, so I put it away and got back to kid-wrangling.

Today, though -- today I decided I'd have a 'proper' shot. I built a nice little backstop with some old tyres (a bit of give so stray arrows don't shatter on impact), popped a cardboard box full of cardboard and polystyrene scraps in front, and went back about 20m.

I know. 20m isn't much, really. But I was just getting the feel of the bow, and besides, Natalie wasn't home -- so I pretty much had to expect the boys would want to shoot alongside me. (I bought them a lightweight fibreglass kids/beginner's bow a couple years back. They love it; particularly Younger Son.) 20m is a good distance for them, with that bow.

And it was nice. We took turns, arrow-for-arrow. I offered a few corrections here and there. Younger Son finally found the range, shooting (with his short arms!) up at an angle of about thirty=five degrees, and he was delighted. And I found the target pretty quickly at that distance, so that was okay too.

Then it happened. One of the new fibreglass arrows went through the centerline/top of my improvised cardboard target. It bounced off the tyres behind, but didn't come all the way free of the top flap of the box. Instead, the arrow hung down across the target box from top to bottom, like a centreline.

Naturally, I used it as an aiming guide. I mean, it's not like I was actually gonna hit it or anything. And remember: these are rounded, target-point arrows. And the shafts are goddam fibreglass -- they're very hard, and very smooth. So what do you reckon the odds of THIS happening would be?

Robin frickin' Hood, eat your Lincoln Greens.

I have to hand it to those little fibreglass arrows, though. Once I pulled the killer arrow out of its victim, the wounded shaft closed up neatly. Out of curiosity, I nocked it and let fly. And what do you know? Bullseye.

I think that as my older arrows gradually die, I'll continue replacing them with the fibreglass variety. They're not particularly expensive, and honestly, they do a hell of a job. It's not very traditional, but who cares? I reckon they'd have been glad of 'em at Crecy or Agincourt -- and Robin Hood wouldn't think twice about it.

Idle Moments #2

The Hidden Dilemma Of Parenting

I don't mind most of parenting, and there's parts of it I quite like. I'm fond of my kids. Spending time with them, doing stuff with 'em, helping 'em grow and learn: that's all good. And I can hack the obvious downsides: cranky kids, lack of sleep, idiotic fights, nappies and toilet training and all that nonsense.

But there's one element of parenting which is quite insidious, and almost impossible to describe to someone who has not already been a parent for years -- and that's the organisational stuff.

D'you remember what it was like to just clear your schedule? To just kick back, throw off your shoes and let the day take care of itself? To wake up, then roll over and go back to sleep just because you can?

If you don't remember any of that, you're not a parent. You don't remember it because it's not something you bother remembering. It's part of the life of any sane, normal, non-parenting adult. You've got commitments to work and society, probably, yes. And you may have commitments to a relationship. And when those are out of the way, you might even have self-inflicted commitments to fitness and health and hobbies.

But in between, there are little pockets of time you can call your own. You don't have to arrange them. They just happen, because the time you haven't specifically dedicated to other things belongs to you. That's the nature of the universe, right?

Wrong.

I wake up at 0700 every morning. It's not the kids any more. I'm upstairs, and they're quiet enough, and Natalie usually handles the breakfast run. But I wake up anyway, even if I was up to 0130 working - which I was, this morning.

The first thing I think about: what time does Natalie need to be out of the house? And if it's early, then that's it for me -- I'm up, out of bed, dressed, and downstairs to make lunches and take the reins for the day. If Natalie has a bit of time up her sleeve, though, I may try snoozing until 0730. But it's not a 'natural right': it's a careful, considered decision, no matter how tired I may be.

And my entire day, every day: where do the kids need to be? How long will they be there? What do I have to organise for the morning/afternoon/evening/night? How do I fit my personal work and household duties around what the kids are doing?

Even as I write this, I'm on the clock. I've been checking my email. I've already cleaned up after breakfast, and dispatched the daughter with Neighbour Anna off to daycare. Meanwhile, one of Neighbour Anna's kids is here with the boys. They have another forty minutes of playtime before I load them into the car and we go to Launceston so they can do the gymnastics thing. That's another thirty minutes I can have here -- or anywhere else I need to be -- before I have to start packing, organising, and chivvying kids.

And so it goes, the rest of the day. The kids will be done with gym by a quarter of twelve. I'll need to organise a lunch for them. There are a few errands to run in Launceston. Then when we get back, they'll have another hour or so to play before the daughter gets returned... which means I'd better do a bit of grocery shopping in Launceston to prep for dinner. And Natalie may or may not be on call tonight... must check. And I need to run the pump, too, so I'd better bring the fuel bottle and get some petrol.

Now, the insidious thing about this is that there are no breaks, no holidays to speak of. If you've got a compassionate partner, you get some down time and some alone time -- but it always, always has to be planned and set up, and so whenever you've got some of that precious downtime coming to you, inevitably you plan things for it.

You remember what it was like just to spontaneously throw all your plans out the window for a day? I do -- at least, I think I do. Random road-trips with unexpectedly arriving friends. Days where I got caught up in the gravity well of somebody's back deck, lazy in the sun with beer and backyard cricket.

Sure, I can still have beer on the deck and backyard cricket: but the time has to be allotted and planned for. There's no point where I can simply go yeah, fuck it, the rest of the day will take care of itself, man -- because it simply will not take care of itself.

It gets into your head.

On Wednesday, Natalie unexpectedly agreed to handle dinner. Neighbour Anna took the boys to gym, and then kept 'em at her place for the afternoon to play. The Mau-Mau was at daycare. And Natalie went on a bike ride.

I was left alone, in an unplanned window. It fair did in my bloody head.

First I thought I'd write, but I kept zoning out - thoughts of dinner and errands kept cropping up, interrupting me. Unplanned time to write? That doesn't happen, does it? Must be something else you have to do.

So I thought I'd hit the garden. And I did a bit of hoeing and weeding, but the whole time, I had this feeling that I was skipping out on something - that I'd forgotten some vital matter. It was creepy as hell. I'd find myself stopping in mid-work, trying to remember, trying to recall... and then I'd realise that no, no... the time was mine. I didn't have to prepare for dinner, or go shopping or anything. I could choose to do what I wanted.

Most of the afternoon, I drifted badly. One task to another. I didn't achieve much. I was pretty tired - long night beforehand - so I tried napping, but I kept waking up from dreams where I'd lost or forgotten stuff. And come dinnertime, with Natalie making sushi, I was jittery, nervy... it felt wrong.

Planned. Everything is planned, even if only loosely, in terms of time. Spontaneous trip down an interesting side-road? Only if you know you'll get home in time for feeding and bathing and all that stuff. Random trip to the beach? Oh, that's not random: first you have to make sure the doctor's schedule is cleared. Then you've got to consider how long the kids will be able to deal with the place. And you absolutely have to make plans for food, and shade, and sunscreen, towels and changes of clothes, and what do you say when the boys want to invite a friend?

It's all planned. Not minute-by-minute, no, but definitely bloc by bloc, with certain fixed points occurring 'most every day, like known rocks or reefs to be navigated. And even when you do get time out, down-time, unplanned time, there's always the certain knowledge that it's going to end. You know to the day, the hour, the minute when you're due to resume your duties, and everything you do is calculated to fit into that window of 'open time'.

It isn't your life any more. Like a classy thief in a complicated heist movie, you plan everything to perfection so you can steal back precious jewels of time to call your own.

This is the bit I can't explain properly - the bit every parent will understand innately, but virtually nobody else will truly feel. It really isn't your life any more. The 'default setting' to which you revert is no longer that of 'single or paired adult'. It is now 'parent', and that means no rolling over and going back to sleep without careful decision-making: not now, nor for the next fourteen or fifteen years.

I wish, just once, I could remember properly what it felt like to be bored and aimless, at a loose end.