How to Worship Properly

Via slacktivist, instructions on proper worship. Adjust appropriately to fit the conservativeness of your church.

Monster in the Closet

A few weeks ago, I came home to some surprising news. Entirely on its own, my closet shelf and the hanging rod (*) collapsed. The shelf had been attached to the drywall with nail-in anchors. Yup, the top half of my wardrobe (**) had been entirely supported by nails in drywall. I'm surprised it had held up for the five years we've owned the house (***).

When the closet collapsed, my wife crept into the room, well-armed, to take care of the monster that had made such a racket. After she chased the monster away, she was nice enough to move most of the clothes that had been neatly arranged in the closet. It was a huge relief to realize that I could just concentrate on rebuilding the closet (with the associated cleanup) instead of cleaning up clothes, rebuilding the closet, and then cleaning up again. Thank you, wifey!

A quick trip to Lowe's, some measuring, a few minutes with a saw, and some quality time with a drill later, the closet was fixed. It's much more solid now. Instead of the goofy anchors nailed into drywall, the supports for the shelf and rod are screwed into the studs.

That should keep that closet monster from causing any more mischief.

* It was one of those wire shelves with an integrated rod.
** And a bit of the bottom half. There were a few pairs of pants on hangers. But mostly shirts.
*** My wife would make a snarky comment about how it's amazing that anything could hold up the weight of my career fair and other free promotional T-shirts.

Checking out the Trail Extension

A few weeks ago, I noticed that the Cedar Valley Nature Trail had been extended south of Cedar Rapids. A few years back, I rode to the south end, and discovered that the trail ended abruptly between a cul-de-sac in a newish subdivision and a cornfield. So, knowing that the trail needed to be explored and the car needed an oil change, I loaded my bike in the car, dropped it off at the mechanic, said I'd be back in a couple of hours, and took off.

As I rode through town toward the trail, I smelled something very much out of place in the middle of Cedar Rapids. It took me a minute to realize that it smelled like a cow barn. It was probably partially-composted cow manure being used to fertilize the topsoil trucked in around some new construction. All this wouldn't be worth mentioning, except the new construction is directly across the road from a little ice cream shop called the Kool Moo.

A few minutes later, I picked up the trail. I nodded hello as I passed a couple of oncoming bikes. As I looked back to the trail, I saw something out of the corner of my eye, and I did a quick double-take. What had looked like a teddy bear hanging out of a bright pink backpack was actually a fluffy little dog, evidently quite happy to be riding on his owner's back.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the trail had re-opened south of the Cedar River, between Czech Village and the softball fields (or maybe more precisely, around Mt. Trashmore). A few turns later, I passed under U.S. 30. A few minutes after that, I was in new trail territory, at one point so close to the cornfield that I could have detasseled as I rode.

A mile or so past 30, the trail went into some cool woods, which was very welcome after the hot sun in the cornfield. A sign warned users of the paved trail that horses were prohibited on the limestone portions of the trail. "Ah," I thought, "the trail must turn to limestone soon. I should watch for that." One or two miles later, the trail was still paved. I stopped where the trail crossed Ely Road, just at the Linn/Johnson county line. "Maybe Linn County paved the trail, but Johnson County hasn't quite gotten there yet," I mused, looking across the road at the concrete apron beckoning me to continue my ride. Instead, I turned back toward Cedar Rapids. It wasn't just that I needed to pick the car up and head home. It was also that, past the concrete apron, roadside weeds grew out of the ditch. Not only has Johnson County not paved the trail yet, they haven't built it yet (*).

Fortunately, when they do, I'll have another reason to ride south on the trail.

The ride north was enjoyably uneventful. The rolling hills I climbed going south made the ride to the river speedy and easy. A brief showdown with trail-blocking geese was the only notable animal encounter on the way back. Then, sadly, the bike had to take a ride in the car.

Important stats:
28.65 miles in 1:50:59
2 water bottle refills
No notable roadkill
1 fluffy dog in a backpack
4.5 quarts of 5W20

* This means the nearest limestone trail is roughly 20 miles north of the sign, past County Home Road, on the other side of Cedar Rapids.

It's a little damp...

Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day. It was just a tad on the warm side, but one of those days that I need to get outside for. I didn't have a chance to hop on the bike or go for a run, but I did get out to the garden and give it some sorely-needed attention.

Aside from normal busyness, the garden needed attention because it has been raining off and on (mostly on) for weeks. Some of the tomato and pepper plants actually drowned a few days after being transplanted into the garden. The soil has been too wet for weeding, as I'd just turn everything into a big muddy mess. I'd also run the risk of damaging plants (by slipping into them, damaging roots by stepping too close or pulling out an intertwined weed). And, of course, I'd run the risk of drowning in the garden mud.

When I finally stepped into the garden to pull weeds, I discovered how healthy the weeds were. The crabgrass, in particular, had shot up to a foot tall, and had spread over the entire garden. Fortunately, the ground was still a bit damp, which made the crabgrass, lamb's quarters, rogue mint, and other weeds easier to pull. Still, I only managed to get half of the weeds pulled in the hour or more I spent pulling.

I'm sure there's some sort of metaphorical application to life in all of this, in that the same circumstances that can distract you from "pulling weeds" in your own life also nourish the "weeds", making restoration more difficult and even make starting towards restoration look fruitless because of the magnitude of the task. That'd be awfully deep and clever. But really, this is just a gardener's lament from being locked out of my own garden.

I hope to finish the weeding soon. But wouldn't you know it, it's raining again.

Back on the Bike

I finally got back on my bike yesterday and rode to work. The last time I had ridden at all was December 1 of last year, and it had been almost four months before that since I'd ridden regularly.

My reasons for not riding were generally good. With a new baby in the house, and not knowing whether I'd need to come home quickly for some reason, I drove, because I could get home faster. With a garage stall full of basement fillings (mostly furniture and boxes of stuff), it was difficult to dig my bike out. And before long, I was in the habit of driving.

So it came as no surprise that my legs weren't in any kind of shape for riding. Yesterday's rides to and from work were 17:07 and 15:10--it's a four-mile ride. I had a headwind going in, and a crosswind coming home. Because of terrain and not worrying about sweating, I generally ride faster coming home. But here, for comparison purposes, are a couple of ride log entries from last summer:

To/From	Time	Comments entered at the time
To	16:25	Headwind; legs felt dead
To	15:12	Taking it easy
From	14:42	Hot, humid, dead legs
From	14:29	Slight headwind

It looks like I have some riding to do before my legs get back to where they were last summer. But that's okay. I like riding. That's why I pulled my bike out on a 24 degree (F) morning and rode off into a headwind. In between thoughts of "really, that's all you've got?", "I seem to remember being faster", and "it's probably just that your technique has gotten sloppy, yeah, that's it", was a feeling of happiness and contentment at being back on my bike, one of my favorite places to be.

A Jog in the Park

Yesterday was a beautiful day. The sun was out, the weather was warm, and I really wanted to take a bike ride or go for a run. But one thing led to another, as things tend to do. Soon it was dark, then it was time to feed the baby, and then it was time for dinner, and not long after that, it was time to put the baby to bed.

So I decided to go for a run anyway. I would have had to go out anyway--I had a video to return to redbox, and a letter to drop in the mail--so I planned a run to the nearest Hy-Vee. I layered up for a run in 15-degree weather and headed out.

Sidewalks in my neighborhood were only a bit icy, and it felt good to be out. Then, a few blocks later, I turned off the sidewalk and into the municipal golf course. The snow would slow me down, sure, but it'd also be shorter and avoid a sidewalkless busy road.

The moon was nearly full, shining from behind me as my eyes adjusted from streetlights to moonlight. Warm days two weeks ago had softened and compressed the snow, which had crusted as the weather turned cold and rainy a week ago. Each step was different as the strength of the crust and the snow depth underneath varied. And before I knew it, I was dropping my letter in the mailbox.

17 minutes one-way would not be a great pace (*). But my only run in months was the "Last Race of the Year" 5k. Besides, running in snow is never particularly quick. There was another factor, too. In college, I made the discovery that eating pizza a few hours before playing hockey is a particularly bad idea. A dinner of tacos a few hours before a run is a similarly bad idea. I had suspected as much. Now I know.

The return through the golf course was almost relaxing, despite the effort that generated enough heat that I was carrying my hat and gloves instead of wearing them. I stopped for a minute to look at Mars, perched two handsbreadths above the moon, glowing pale pink-orange. Then it was back to running, my feet breaking through the crust, searching for something solid, then launching forward again. Being back on the sidewalk was almost a let-down.

I should do that kind of thing more often.


* It was 35 minutes round-trip, with time paused while I was in Hy-Vee. The 35 minutes counts the time I stopped to admire the moon and Mars. I was too busy looking up at the sky to fumble with my watch.