brett bergie :: diversions and happenstance

bubba 2.0?

Sun, 7 Feb 2010 14:35:23 -0700

At long last, I’m contemplating the purchase of new notebook computer. This will be a significant upgrade from my current model, a 15’ PowerBook G4 667Mhz PPC model, which, come next month, will enter its ninth year. It’s been as much a workhorse as it’s been long-lasting.

I’m committed to the Mac platform, and while the price point of the entry MacBook is enticing, I can’t bear the thought of shifting from my current model made of titanium to a polycarbonate enclosure. Design and materials are important.

I’m fairly certain at this point that a 13’ aluminum unibody MacBook Pro will be my model. I’ll miss my current 15’ display, as I often take advantage of the full screen real estate, though the benefits of such an upgrade fall short of the costs. Besides, I think I’ll appreciate the added portability of smaller display and notebook footprint. (Yes, discount airlines, I’m looking at you.)

I gather a MacBook Pro line update is imminent, and the processor is meant to be a focus—offering great benefits over current specs. I’ll wait for the update. In fact, I likely won’t pull the trigger on this purchase until the early spring months, so I hope as well that the solid state drive becomes a little more accessible in price; the added durability of these drives, with no moving parts, is awfully attractive, especially, as with my current system, which by the way, I’ve named bubba, I’m aiming for long duration of service.

The pro line of notebooks has seen many updates since my 2002 purchase, so the upgrade will offer much, much more than simply faster speed and increased capacity. In no particular order, I’m looking forward to experiencing these new (for me) design and functionality enhancements first hand:

Aluminum unibody enclosure
Multi-core processing
OS X 10.6 Snow Leopard
iLife ’09 or greater
Backlit keyboard
LED display
Time Machine
Out-of-the-box Exchange Support
Built-in iSight display
Multi-touch trackpad
Bluetooth
(yes, and even) Photobooth

good riddance, january

Fri, 29 Jan 2010 22:54:48 -0700

I cycle to and from work. Generally, it’s a pleasure, but January has been unkind. I’ve had four flat tires, and last week my rear fender split in two; the stresses of the frigid air were past bearing. My bike immobile, I left it behind over the weekend to return on Monday with the proper tools to remove the offending pieces.

Today summoned the worst of it: a crash. Descending Edworthy Hill, I encountered a long slab of ice, and my wheels slipped to the side, taking my bike and me down. I landed softly, somehow, but slid a short distance on ice and asphalt.

I brought myself to be upright, brushed myself off, and examined the integrity of my bike and components before resuming the ride. The recovery was short-lived; I came to realize my rear tire was losing air pressure quickly.

With cold fingers, I struggled to get the frozen and rigid tire bead free from the rim. After success, dearly earned, I changed the tube and pumped my wheel back up—but for naught; the valve broke, releasing all the air.

I carry but one spare when I commute. I was hooped. My location and plastic cleats on my shoes made it impossible to walk back home and impossible to walk to work. I swallowed hard, locked my bike up to a post, and caught a bus to complete the trek.

May February bring better days.

family at play

Sun, 17 Jan 2010 14:37:34 -0700

In our neighbourhood, a park abuts the housing complex in which Beatrice, Samuel, and I reside. While small, it hosts new, vibrant equipment designed principally for the smallest of children. With Sam on the cusp of toddlerhood, Beatrice and he visit the park regularly; winter, it seems, deters neither.

Yesterday afternoon, I joined them.

Stepping away from our front door, we were greeted by subdued daylight, a sky comprised of many blues, and outwardly stretched shadows, all of which symptomatic of the low-lying and distant winter sun. The air was fresh and hospitable enough, though we were grateful for our winter attire.

Encumbered by snow and an abundance of ice, we carefully sauntered off to the park. At the end of the complex’s walkway, we cautiously crossed the lane and ascended a small crest, the latter of which comprises the park’s western boundary. Upon the crest, we found stable footing as the hardened icy layer of snow collapsed under the weight of each step. Our pace became more hurried with new found security underfoot.

I placed Sam into the infant swing, the girth of which seemed a little too large for him, yet it kept him securely in place, though the additional room encouraged an awful slouch. I stood in front of Sam and gave him gentle pushes, and without much effort, the swing achieved steady oscillation.

He sat in quiet contentment going back and forth, his countenance appearing neutral only initially, but his widening eyes unmasked his excitement each time his swing swiftly returned him to me. As my pushes assumed more briskness, he chirped excitedly as he went outward, and smiled broadly on the return flight.

After a short time, Beatrice noticed my attention fixing on something else and kindly took my place in position only. Now within the protective orbit of his mother, Samuel assumed a moderate swing to and fro. What he lost in altitude, I made up for in a brief but proper nod to my childhood: I took to the swing next to him, feeling no inhibitions--the way only children do.

For a brief period on that January day, a park that only a moment earlier sat so idle and forlorn was adorned by the happy sounds of a family at play.

post holiday polarity

Sat, 2 Jan 2010 11:24:00 -0700

Beatrice and I packed up and stowed our Christmas decorations today, returning our home to a more intimate and relaxed state.

I dread this exercise as much as I hanker for it.

Its interruption from the more leisurely pace to which I’ve become accustomed during the holiday is unwelcome, yet leaving it for another day--deeper into January--is a more dreadful option. I pine for a return to normalcy in which our home is neatly organized and uncluttered. In fairness, our holiday decor doesn’t necessarily clutter, but in the immediate days following Christmas, the ornamentation begins to crowd.

Fortunately, Beatrice seems committed to the task and tackles it with equal gusto; however, I suspect her motives might have less to do with a sense of urgency than with trying to diminish the risk of finding me irritable. (I can’t deny the merits of the charge.)

Now that Christmas ornamentation is out of sight, I feel unburdened, yet the arrival of this state is not without a cost. As much as I enjoy the seeming gain in living space, I must confess that the house appears a little sparse today. The fireplace mantle appears too sparsely dressed, the living room floor plan, too lightly furnished.

In a general way, the sudden absence of holiday ornaments, their cheery flourishes and twinkle, is starkly apparent, leaving our home somewhat forlorn.

But I’ll get over it.

repaying debt and paying to prevent it

Wed, 30 Dec 2009 08:27:35 -0700

Several months ago, Beatrice and I opened a Registered Education Savings Plan (RESP) for our son, Samuel. We’re making monthly contributions, and with the addition of federal and provincial grants, his plan is already experiencing an encouraging return, which is fulfilling to see at this early stage.

Setting up this plan was a priority for Beatrice and me. We carry student loan debt and will continue to make payments until sometime in our respective 39th years. This is an excessive, debilitating burden to carry, one which we hope Samuel will not have to experience directly.

I’m glad that Beatrice and I are investing in Samuel’s future and, in turn, his economic security, so this is not something we’re doing begrudgingly; however, it bears saying that there is something inherently amiss about the necessity of an 18-year savings vehicle so parents can afford to send their children to participate in post-secondary education.

the dad transition

Sun, 27 Dec 2009 07:44:36 -0700

I rarely feel like I’m a dad. My son is nearing seven months, yet I still consider others’ references to my entry into fatherhood as novel.

It’s no wonder; the very word conjures up an image of a man who isn’t me but who is instead my dad, a man who for over thirty years has carefully and judiciously constructed my frame of reference on what it means to carry the title dad.

By his example, being dad is about sharing wholesome experiences and imparting faithful counsel, from giving praise for tying my laces in a bow, to teaching the proper technique to stop a high-speed grounder, to introducing all manner of activities to help me discover my passion for cycling, to imparting lessons on treating people with respect and dignity, and to modeling how to be a respectable man and decent husband.

I’ve come to understand that being dad is more than a title, it’s a call to action, one to which I must now respond. I have a long way to go to assume the role, especially as being a son persists as a principal component of my sense of self.

I presume though that as Samuel continues his development, he will give great momentum to my dad transition when he begins issuing my call to action by calling me daddy. I know now, however, that upon hearing the word from anyone else, my thought will lend itself first to my dad.

And I suppose that’s the way it should be.

christmas morn

Sat, 26 Dec 2009 08:16:07 -0700

Yesterday after waking and without delay, Beatrice, Samuel, and I gathered under the tree. Samuel sat, propped up in part with the support of my hands, and appeared reasonably accommodating for whatever activity Beatrice and I had planned. This morning began much differently than the rest, making it apparent that something was afoot.

Sam’s focused attention unmasked his anticipation.

Beatrice unloaded his stocking and presented some new outfits, one of which–an outfit complete with a reindeer sweater–he would soon after don. He gave his outfits a passing glance as Beatrice set them down a short distance away.

Samuel soon found a wrapped present set in front of him and within reach. He leaned forward and began slapping the wrapped box with his hands. Beatrice gave him some support, reorienting the present so the bow was closer to him. He grabbed the bow with a firm grip and pulled it toward his mouth; the weight of the present proved insufficient to foil Sam’s will.

Beatrice untangled Samuel’s fingers from the bow, and she and I began unwrapping the gift. Sam watched us carefully, casting his attention on the unravelling paper rather than the discarded bow. His eyes gave a look of bewilderment, enough so that Beatrice and I took note and commented, as the object we held completely transitioned from one appearance to another.

We presented Sam with a new, unwrapped toy before moving onto the next, and with it, we firmly established our new tradition of Christmas morn.

rumours of this blog’s demise have been greatly exaggerated

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 07:07:59 -0700

It’s time to blow off a layer of dust, reacquaint myself with my ol’ quill, and rediscover my fondness for blogging. (I sense the emergence of a New Year’s resolution.) I place the blame of my hiatus on work; managing multiple projects over the last few months brought the requisite long hours and bouts of fatigue.

Of course, blaming work is fashionable but conveniently de-emphasizes the other prominent factor (which is more akin to a vice): television. Beatrice and I have tuned in several new shows in recent months and have committed inordinate blocks of time to screening episodes on most evenings. Fringe, Glee, Big Bang Theory, and How I Met Your Mother are the culprits, and things are bound to get worse when Lost resumes. (I fear I have viewers’ remorse, summoning up yet another resolution.)

So as those pesky television series go on hiatus, and work simultaneously winds up for the holiday season, I hope to revive my devotion to leisurely writing and beat down my growing appetite for television with a heavy, heavy stick.

samuel’s emotional introduction to live orchestra

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 09:54:38 -0600

This past week, the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra played a special lunch hour concert in the lobby of a downtown office tower. Beatrice and I decided it opportune to attend the performance with Samuel, particularly because the setting would ensure any sudden shrills from our baby would go largely unnoticed amid the noise, bustle, and traffic of the lunch hour crowd.

We arrived in time to hear the orchestra warming up and settled at a table some distance away to have lunch and observe Samuel’s mood. He appeared jovial as he rested in his stroller, content to look around and coo. He lay still under layers of blankets and was adorned by a warm coat and hood.

His pleasant disposition encouraged Beatrice and me to join the growing crowd encircling the musicians. We settled in a most advantageous location, one that offered Samuel and ourselves an unimpeded view.

Spectating the performance with Samuel stirred up divided loyalties in Beatrice and me. On the one hand, we came to observe and listen to the concert, but on the other, we continually found ourselves keenly observing Samuel, watching for signs of his bewitchment by the orchestra’s power. He appeared soothed and serene as he fixed on the sights and sounds of Calgary’s imposing and masterful orchestra.

His untroubled state would be tested. Both Beatrice and I were tentative about our new location, wary of the general scarcity of sound-absorbing material in the building’s lobby and a large brass section sitting at the ready. Their introduction to the crowd was inevitable. Soon enough, the classical movement called on them, and the section raised mouthpieces to lips. For Sam, it was sudden and unexpected.

The brass section filled the lobby with a boisterous sound. While beautiful, the sheer volume disturbed Sam fully, and he was in the throws of alarm. His face uncovered his inner apprehension and his wail, inner turmoil. Beatrice and I acted swiftly. We grabbed hold of Samuel’s stroller and made a beeline for the refuge that only distance between us and the musicians would offer. Sam settled quickly, though appearing somewhat on guard for the remainder of the concert.

At the concert’s end, we began the ritual associated with parting. As Beatrice turned the stroller carrying Sam, I could hear him cooing as they began their trip home. While returning to my office, I thought about the orchestra stirring such raw emotions in Samuel and concluded that he had been bewitched after all.

outside his window

Sun, 4 Oct 2009 09:06:53 -0600

Of all the windows in our home, Samuel’s bedroom window offers the best view. Peering through its pane unmasks a quiet little courtyard, commonly shared among the residents of the twelve or so dwellings that line its perimeter. The base of the courtyard is comprised of patio blocks; its uniform appearance and simplicity are disguised by the natural and varied elevations on which the townhouses sit. On the west side, a retaining wall and steps accent the area with a more decorative and darker hued stone.

The courtyard supports ample gardens that host moderately tall trees and manicured shrubs. In the summer months, bright flowers provide visual emphasis upon which passersby fix. Most gardens line the fronts of the housing units, but some extend outward to nearly the courtyard’s middle, and by way of juxtaposition, pathways extend from the courtyard’s outer edges to adjacent lane ways and parking lots situated at the rear or sides of the units.

This morning, the scene was particularly pleasing. When I entered Samuel’s bedroom to scoop him up from his crib, my passing glance at the sight out of his window instead became extended observation. Tiny flakes of snow descended from the sky and lightly accumulated on the rooftops, trees, and shrubs. The bright white snow contrasted against a densely overcast sky overhead and dampened courtyard surface below, the latter of which retained too much heat to permit any snow accumulation.

After a moment, I resumed the task of collecting Sam, who was happily cooing in anticipation of a change of scene and the promise of receiving a fresh diaper. After fulfilling that promise, I held Sam in my arms and faced him outward so that we could observe the happenings out of his window together. This was Samuel’s introduction to snow. I paid mind to his reaction, hoping to see some expression of bewilderment or astonishment at the sudden and unfamiliar change to the setting outside. Instead, Samuel looked rather neutral, and after a short time, he fixed his attention on the picture in his room of a flute player summoning fairies to her.