Finally...some nice weather.

It has been pretty cold here, in Portland, Oregon. It hasn't been cold, like Boston cold, but still in the 30's. People are freaking out. The people here think they are at the dawn of a new ice age, and its 37 degrees outside. It makes me remember the days when I would stand at the Brookline Village T stop at 4:45am to wait for that blasted train to pick me up for work. Those mornings the snot would freeze in my nose. I bought a giant down jacket, one more giant than the most giant you could think of. It wasn't enough. I still froze my ass off. Last winter we started talking about taking a winter tropical vacation. That dream comes to fruition Wednesday when we leave for Belize.

The basic outline of the trip goes like this:
1. Fly to Houston and connect to flight bound for Belize.
2. Arrive at Belize City airport.
3. Get picked up and driven to the jungle where will get to experience some magnificent Mayan ruins.
4. After 3 nights in the jungle we will travel to Ambergis Caye.
5. Enjoy the beach life for 5 nights. Snorkel. Yes please. Mai Tais. Yes.
6. Leave Paradise for Portland, Oregon.

Sounds good? You bet it will be. Upon our return it is going to time to get down to business triathlon. I hope to get in some big miles and some quality work next month. After the vacation it will be time to get at it. Yipee.

Portland, Oregon

I have been sick the last couple of days. I have never been ill so many times in a one year period. Dating back to my run-in with strep throat after racing at Cascade Edge I have been sick at least 3 times including this year. I blame it mostly on my work. I am in constant contact with a plethora of people, all of them with their own set of plagues. Now I am sick again, not training, watching a lot of tv, interneting (I will take the liberty to call this new word a verb, infinitive form), and being glad I again live in the Pacific Northwest.

Last year at this time I was in Boston, freezing my ass off as I waited for the T to pick me up and take me to work. Those subarctic mornings seem to me a distant memory. Now I live in Portland = Paradise. If you don't believe: Portland.

I will be be better soon. I am going to train hard this week and through the next weekend. Then it will be off to Belize.

Empty Spaces

My grandfather, Howard George Jasperson, died on the morning of December 26, 2007. He was a loving and caring man. He was man with a tremendously generous heart. He will be sorely missed.

The past two weeks have been rough emotionally, physically, and mentally. I have been exhausted by the contemplation of mortality. I was charged with the task of writing my grandfather's obituary and addressing the throng at his funeral with words that somehow were to be a brief summation of this man's character. I did the same for my grandmother when she left this world. In both cases I have been lauded by those who both knew my grandparents and heard my words. I hope they have taken some solace in them. However, I am not completely certain whether, for me, this process has been cathartic. Everyday presents new challenges in filling the empty space left behind.

As I have had the opportunity to reflect on his life, his accomplishments, and his family, I can't help but wonder whether he knew it was time. He had spent the last three days of his life amongst his family, whom he loved with all his heart. Those days were filled with the conversation he loved, filled with his endearing laugh, and an unforced congeniality that set him at ease. I think he knew we would be alright. I think he knew that he had shepherded his family through times good and bad. I think he knew he had taught us values that would endure, that his legacy was secure. We will always love him, for he taught us how to love.

W.H. Auden

FUNERAL BLUES

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crepe bows around the necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working weak and my Sunday Rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out everyone;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.