Fenya's Sweet Ride

Fenya has always had an appreciation for vintage items. This was not the case for me when I was her age - the newer the better, for most things. Luckily, my appreciation for history and pop culture ephemera and the realization that few things really last long enough to become memorable has greatly increased my enjoyment of things from the past. In Fenya's case, it has also provided her with a cool bike with an intriguing history.

Back in early June, she had expressed an interest in getting a cruiser-style bike, and I offered to help her track one down. There seemed to be some likely prospects at Canadian Tire with decent reviews to their name, but alas, they were all sold out at our local store and not orderable online. When we drove to the other side of the city, we discovered the two we thought we had spotted in their inventory had already been spoken for. It turns out the pandemic has done tremendous things to the bike market, and as a result, there are very few of any type to be found under the $500 mark.

The other night, for whatever reason, I took a look on Kijiji and saw an ad for a "vintage European ladies step-through bike." It looked to be in good shape, with new tires, and had the retro charm I knew Fenya would enjoy. Most importantly, I saw that it had the basket which was essential to her, even though it was mounted on the back and not the front.

I passed along the ad and noted her interest, and suggested she and her boyfriend Bobby could check it out since they were planning to be on the southside Friday night anyhow. Lo and behold, later that evening they returned with the bike. The seller turned out to be someone who fixes bikes as a hobby, had repaired this one for his daughter but she had moved into an apartment and had no room for it. What a lucky find!

Seeing it up close revealed it was even older than I had originally thought, but in remarkable condition, with the original shifter in place and a logo I didn't recognize. Fenya reached out to the seller to ask what brand it was and how he had come across it and discovered it was a Kettler Alu-Rad from Germany. He had bought it a decade ago from a German lady who had brought it over in the '70s, and guessed it was a late seventies model. 

I looked up Kettler and discovered they had actually started out making pedal cars for children (Kettcars). They only began manufacturing bicycles in 1977, so Liesl is very likely to be one of their earliest models. The original silver and maroon trim frame and fenders had been painted over with a butter yellow that suits Fenya right down to the ground.

As someone who grew up in the Cold War, it took me a moment to realize that this bike would probably not bear a stamp reading "Made in Germany" but more likely, "Made in West Germany." And it is so much compelling to me to know that Liesl made her transatlantic journey as a personal belonging and not simply a product of commerce. 

I mean, the most important thing about a bicycle is where it can take you, but it is very cool to know that Fenya's new ride has already come a long way, and through interesting times. Who knows where she and Liesl might end up?

The Resonance of the Ressikan Flute

It is good to reexperience culture, even (or perhaps especially) pop culture. Repeated experiences, whether viewings or listenings or what-have-you have the potential to reveal new insights to you, about the material itself, or perhaps your own self.

Fenya and I got to talking the other day about allegory, and I mentioned how good the various iterations of Star Trek have been at presenting insightful moral tales cloaked in a veneer of science-fiction adventure. I mentioned the Next Generation episode "Darmok" as a particularly good example - in it, Captain Picard is trapped on a planet with a starship captain from an enigmatic culture who speaks in metaphors. Picard can understand the words but not the meaning behind them, until, following an attack by a hostile creature, the gap is finally bridged.

"Darmok" is brilliant for a few reasons, not the least of which is it is one of the few episodes where an alien civilization actually felt...alien. And the phrase "Darmok and Jelad at Tenagra" has, in turn, become a referential shorthand for both the difficulty in reaching out to others and the rewards in doing so successfully.

We ended up at loose ends Saturday night and I suggested we watch "Darmok" on Netflix, and Fenya agreed. She enjoyed it as much as I hoped she would and asked if there were many other episodes of Next Generation as good as that one. "Very few," I said, "but one that always seems to come up in the top ten is 'The Inner Light'." 

She asked me to put it on, and against my better judgement due to the hour, I watched it all the way through with her. (Spoiler alert for the synopsis below, but hey, it's been a quarter-century now...)

Captain Jean-Luc Picard (Patrick Stewart) is struck unconscious by an energy beam from an alien probe. While minutes pass for the rest of the crew, the probe makes Picard experience 40 years of lifetime as Kamin, a humanoid scientist whose planet is threatened by the nova of its sun. Toward the end of Kamin's "lifetime," Picard—who had come to accept his new life, though he never forgot his life on the Enterprise—learns that the purpose of the probe and the 40 years of virtual life it gave him was to keep alive the memory of Kamin's race long after the death of their civilization. Brought on board afterwards for analysis, the probe also contains Kamin's flute; Picard, having mastered it during his 40 years as Kamin, finds he retained the musical skills he learned and can still play it. He keeps it as a memento for the remainder of the series.

I am unsure if I have watched this episode since it first aired in 1992, but it has to been at least 15 years since I have seen it. I had always appreciated and respected it, but found it to be much more affecting and moving this time around. It is clear to me that the change has transpired in me, and not the episode.

The first time I watched The Inner Light, I thought how immensely clever it was of the Ressikans to transcribe their culture as a personal story instead of facts and figures. I thought of the Pioneer plaques attached to probes destined to leave our solar system and how they are allegedly designed to describe the humans who built them and where they reside. And I reflected on how haunted Picard must be by his experience and wondered how he felt about retaining a lifetime's experience of playing the Ressikan flute in only 25 minutes. He seemed at peace with it, but I wondered if a person might feel violated in some way.

Watching it now, the episode's impacts were emotional ones, not intellectual. Watching Picard as Kamin lean into his new life, start a family, play with his grandson, and rail against the injustice of young life brought forth on a doomed world, saying bitterly, "It breaks my heart to look at him," backed up by all of Patrick Stewart's Shakespearean-trained gravitas.

Where Captain Picard has made no secret of his discomfort when around children, Kamin instead says, ""I always believed that I didn't need children to complete my life. Now, I couldn't imagine life without them." I found myself wondering if he would mourn for the family he'd never actually had, lost a thousand years earlier.

Assuming I watched this episode when it originally aired in June of 1992, I would not yet have been married (but engaged to be that December), and was still seven years away from becoming a father myself. I would have been on summer break from the advertising and public relations program at Grant MacEwan Community College (at the time), before getting into loggerheads with the program chair and leaving the program that fall, wondering what career I might end up in. (And still do, in fact...)

It was a heady brew, watching that episode with Fenya, who was as entranced by it as I was, and that may have been the most profound effect of all -  the manner in which an episode of television that was in reruns before she was ever born could provide a bridge for us to share an experience, and to reflect upon what is truly important. Still largely isolated due to the pandemic, with uncertainty all around us, and certainly no more in evidence than current events in the U.S.), the words that Kamin spoke to his daughter resonated more strongly with me now than the notes of the millennia-old flute Picard plays at the close of the episode: "Seize the time, Meribor – live now! Make now always the most precious time. Now will never come again."

And it is gratifying to see how an episode with no action, little adventure and no conflict to speak of has been so impactful as well. "The Inner Light" has been named as favourite episode by many of the cast and crew, including at least one writer who called it her favourite, despite not having written it. It won the 1993 Hugo award for Best Dramatic Presentation, an honour shared with the original series episode, "City on the Edge of Forever."

When props were auctioned from The Next Generation in 2006, many castmembers predicted that the Ressikan flute itself would be among the highest-bid items. The lot it was part of had a catalogue estimate of $800-$1200 but sold for $48,000.

The flute itself reappeared in future episodes, reflecting the impact the experience had on Picard (as well as viewers), with him playing a duet with a romantic interest and years later it even appeared on his desk in one of the theatrical movies. It is a tribute to the lasting impact of the episode that sharp-eared viewers were able to pick out the influence of the Ressikan flute music in the opening credits to the new Picard series (which is also quite good).

As both "Darmok" and "The Inner Light" have shown us, stories, both real and made-up, can show us things about ourselves that we might not have known, or have perhaps forgotten, and bring us together in a way few other things can.

Darmok and Jelad, at Tenagra.

A Hard Drive

It all transpired very quickly. 

Glory had been looking to go work in Churchill since last summer, but between the pandemic and her postponed graduation ceremonies, it just didn't seem very probable. To make matters worse, Belinda's grandfather had recently passed away in Australia, so it was a bad time to discuss the situation with her.

Two weeks ago, Glory was at last able to have a conversation with Belinda, and expected it to go along the lines of, "well, too bad it didn't work out, - maybe next year." Instead, Belinda's first question was, "So, have you bought a train ticket yet?"

By the time the phone call ended, Glory was in agreement and eager to go, which was good as she had only ten days or so to pack and prepare.

Within a few days, the 4x8 table downstairs was filled with all the clothes Glory would need for five months.,.. and then a little bit besides. Fenya helped her pare some of it down, based on her own experience in Churchill 4 years ago.

Glory got her luggage into two checked bags, a personal item and a carry-on, plus she fit in a visit to Oma and Opa in High River and got together with her bestie the day before we left, July 5.

The original plan had been to put her on the train at Hudson Bay, SK, the same place we picked Fenya up in 2016. But on July 1, I got a notification from Via that the train had been cancelled from Winnipeg to The Pas. Thankfully, The Pas is only about another hour's drive, and unlike Hudson Bay, has an actual train station.

Sunday morning we loaded up the Flex, said goodbye to Nitti (who was ably looked after by our house-sitting nephew Mark), and hit the road.

Despite rainy conditions, the drive was largely uneventful but ye Gods, the road from Nipawin to The Pas was brutal. Despite appearing as a highway on Google maps, Sask.55 is unpaved and was overdue for a visit from a grader, with puddles that clutched at the wheels as Audrey tried to keep her speed to a reasonable level. Luckily for me, I had taken the first shift at the tiller and driven from Edmonton to Prince Albert. I spent much of his part of the trip watching Black Hawk Down with Glory on the iPad in the back seat.

And it is a pretty drive, despite Saskatchewan's reputation as a place where you can stand on a stool and see the back of your own head, or watch your dog run away from home for up to three days. We saw rolling hills, beautiful parklands, and lush green fields thanks to the rain - but I was still glad when we got to the Manitoba border and the road improved.

I had also miscalculated the time change so it was after 8:00 when we checked into our motel. We had been prepared to have our first experience of dining out since March at a nice little place in The Pas called Good Thymes, but it turns out they are closed Sundays. We had resigned ourselves to pizza or Chinese food in our motel room, but even a lot of those places were closed. Pizza Hut was still open, but had run out of pizza, so had pasta and a caesar salad to tide us over until 0100. (Future blog topic: was it my job to ask for plates and forks from the restaurant, or should the pizza-less restaurant perhaps take it as a given that we did not pack our own plates and cutlery?)

Glory's train was scheduled to depart at 0230, and they asked for passengers to be at the station at least 45 minutes ahead of time. As you might expect from a smaller train run in a town of 5500, we needn't have rushed; only three passengers boarded at The Pas (although another 50 would board at Thompson).

We also realized Glory had no luggage tag for her checked duffle, but Audrey MacGyvered one up from the Flex's glove box: the string from a face mask, cd envelope and the purple Sharpie she carries on her person at all times. Most impressive!

We got Glory's bags situated around 0220, and she boarded shortly after. The conductor, Claudette, showed her how to open the train door and lower the step, if necessary, as she was the sole passenger in her particular car. And yes, it helped us to know that there was another woman on board the train.

We waved to her out the window for a bit - no tears, just eager anticipation - and returned to the hotel just before the train departed the station, around 0240.

She was in Thompson for a five-hour layover before we even got out of the province, texting us periodically along the way. We drove back the way we came, and Sask 55 was quite a bit more forgiving without the rain, and we even passed a grader improving the road somewhat. 

Glory's train left Thompson about 1730, we got home just after 2030, exhausted after 20 hours in the Flex, but still upbeat. The next day, I started work downstairs and got a text from Glory, saying she could see Belinda from the train as it pulled into Churchill.

And thus a wonderful adventure begins for my youngest. It's bittersweet, because it's part of growing up and eventually moving out, and I already miss her a lot. Leaving her at that station was actually the hardest part of the drive. But she is great at keeping in contact and I think she is going to have an awesome summer and a tremendous start to her post-secondary experiences.

See you in November, my girl!

Monsters in Miniature

Someday, perhaps, I will unpack and count all my miniatures.

I've been collecting them since I was 13, starting with Grenadier's Dungeons & Dragons figurines, and painting them with the brushes and paints Mum used for her ceramics. I still have most of them too. 

Gnome illuisionist, archer, druid

Medusa, winged imp

Better looking figurines followed and my painting slowly improved, and wanting to see more toy soldiers on the tabletop led me to games like Games Workshop's Space Hulk, which led directly into Warhammer 40,000 and wargaming.

I accumulated loads of miniatures while working for GW from 1995-2007, and grabbed quite a few when I parted ways with them, as you could still order the metal miniatures by weight at the time, a perk they discontinued within a year or so of my departure.. A large portion of these became my XXII Valhallan army back in - egad, 2012? Wow. Sadly, an even larger contingent remains unpainted.

They languish alongside a complete army of 25mm Early Imperial Roman legionnaires, 15mm British Long Range Desert Group and German Afrika Korps, 28mm zombie gunfighters and a number of boardgames like XCOM and Big Trouble in Little China that I know would look better painted, but frankly play just as well unadorned.

Theoretically, social distancing and the inability to attend movies should make this a golden time for painting some of my backlog, but no - my current fervor for D&D has me ordering pre-painted miniatures instead. These models lack in detailing, sure, but in terms of effect, they are hard to match for the price.

The shipment arrived the day before I was scheduled to play with the family (and Bobby), which meant I could put three foul spidery-human hybrids called ettercaps on the table instead of proxies. The disgust these 1-inch monstrosities elicited from my players made it all worthwhile.

Their arrival, though timely, meant I finally had to bite the bullet and reorganize my non-army miniatures, using a set of compartmented boxes I had ordered. Not necessarily elegant, but a bit more secure than the random boxes and egg carton foam I had been using to that point, and the transparent lids should make it easier to find what I'm looking for. (Now if I could only find the grell and the Type VI (Marilith) demon that I know are lurking about here in the Batcave somewhere...)

Best of all though, it doesn't take much time to paint a single monster, unlike the delayed gratification required to assemble an army of Tyranids or fleet of starships. This crocodile painted up nicely in a single night, and the translucent base makes for a very decent water effect. Best of all, it will probably serve a dual role as an adversary as well as a potential Wild Shape for Fenya's shapeshifting druid.

And yet, the desire to expand the collection even further remains and temptation lies around every corner. I constantly muse about the classic monster missing from my collection: the fearsome beholder, the eerie mummy, the puzzling rust monster and of course, the gelatinous cube.

Well, at least I managed to get the dreaded owlbear included in that last shipment, and I've even got the first coat of paint on him already. ("He's just for painting, right Dad?" my daughters ask. "We aren't gonna fight him, right?" My shrugs do little to comfort them.)

And as far as counting them goes... maybe it makes more sense to do that once I'm done collecting.