Hergest Ridge

Upon the completion of the newest version of the Bytech Website, I’ll be moving the Internet Marketing and Web Design articles to the main site. The blog is likely to take on a more personal flavour without the professional subjects. As it stands, it appears that I bore a segment of my readers at select times. Splitting the two unique themes into two separates should reduce the yawn factor.

If you prefer the personal and professional stuff in one place, drop me a comment. If the lurker department is significant in size, and it prefers the current setup, I’m fine with leaving things as they are and playing some guitar instead of doing yet another restructure in my virtual world. Nuff said.

Advent, Advent,
Ein Lichtlein brennt,
Erst was es klein,
Mann sah es kaum,
Jetzt brennt der ganzer Weihnachtsbaum.

Nah, der Baum ist nicht abgebrannt, aber die Weihnachten sind zum ende gekommen. Heut Abend war ich bei meinen Freunden, wo wir sassen, ein wenig Schnaps tranken, und Geschichten erzählten. Es war eine gute Nacht, und ein gute Weihnachts ende.

Ich hoffe das die letzten Tagen auch für euch und ihre Familien gut gewesen sind. Jetzt ist noch das Neue Jahr zum feiern, aber für mich sind die Weihnachten am liebsten. :)

You know how when you ride by a place you used to spend a lot of time at, be it work, school, or any other regular activity, and you get that old feeling back when you do so? It’s the familiar, old, more innocent self reminder. Well, more and more often I ride by places from days ago, and I sort of forget to “take a second look” until I’m already past the place.

Wonder if that’s what “moving on” a day at a time looks like. Your mind visits the old places less and less frequently, and when you drive by, you almost forget that this is where you spent countless hours.

So what takes the place of those old memories? Better things? Maybe we just start to forget more things as we get older? Or, maybe the memories of places get replaced with memories of people and events. For me the later appears to be the case. I find places matter less and less, as long as the right people are there to make up the fabric of cognitive harmony.

I find that even my home can sometimes feel foreign if the right people are missing; A strange feeling. Or maybe my whole present thought process is a result of Christmas…

Without a proper intro to this new chapter of my life, I give you a look at some of the music that opens up my heart and soul, as experienced by myself and other people that obviously share my passion.

When you’ve listened to a performer like Mike Oldfield for as long as I have, the first thing you want to learn to play on a guitar is one of his pieces. There are many to choose from – well over 20 unique albums – but none are easy to replicate. Even with the chords memorised, the absence of the high tempo, unique timing, and Mike’s method of “mouling” each note leave the piece little more than a distant shadow of the original. An Oldfield fan would recognise the piece, but someone hearing it for the first time would not get the sense of wonder that the original often evokes.

I am making efforts to look at other, more realistic musical goals. One thing I learned within hours of picking up my first, very own guitar, is that a piece of music, no matter how worn and imprinted on the mind can sound new and refreshing if you play an instrument along its side.

While I muddle my way through this new level of musical landscape, I often find inspirational pieces along the way. When I find a chord for a piece I want to try, I head over to YouTube, and look for others that have been down this pathway before me. It really helps me either get into the piece, or sit and admire someone else playing it, while I sit, watch, and shake my head thinking “this is one I’ll be watching for a while, before doing the piece justice myself”.

I leave you with a home vid of “Where’d You Go” (Fort Minor Original), played by 18 year old monkey1655. I heard this song on the radio a few times, and the emotional vocals had me hooked. The voice of the female singer and the lyrics themselves really make you feel the pain and sorrow of this piece. I wanted to learn this piece myself, but after seeing this video, I thought I’d leave it along until I have a bit more experience behind my belt.

Here’s the original. Keep this song close to your heart this Christmas.

The cold water was knee high. The rocky bottom of the river was an ankle twister, each step shooting pain up his frozen legs, all the way to the chest. Leaning against one of the pillars of the stone bridge, the MP40 tight to his body, he listened.

The MMP40 wasn’t his. He grabbed it from the body of a soldier killed by the last of the bullets in his gun, just before getting stuck under the bridge. Under different circumstances the bridge would be considered quaint and maybe even romantic, but right now it was like a shrinking cage.

He was safe against sniper fire likely to come from the surrounding buildings on both sides of the shallow river, but the cold water and the Nazi soldier above could cripple and kill him just the same. All it would take is one well placed potato masher. If he managed to keep the shrapnel out of his teeth, he’d do so at the cost of opening himself up to a rain of bullets from above.

At times like this, decisions are made with instinct. All the training in the world means nothing. Before even considering it, Jack was half way towards the bridge pillar on the northern river side. All he needed to do was throw up a ‘nade over the 10 foot wall on the shore to get decent cover from the north. He could then run down the river towards the stair case going up, all while facing the bridge and using his machine gun for cover.

Grenade in hand, finger on the pin, he stopped. Something felt wrong. It was an instinct that saved his life before, and he was ready for it to get him out of this mess too.

Without pulling the pin, he dropped the grenade and clutched the MP40 with both hands. He glanced upstream towards the eastern side of the bridge, just in time to see the feet of his enemy coming down. The body followed.

Having seen countless people get killed, Jack knew that a dead man comes down head first. Always. The Nazi soldier was determined to make the kill, but without a grenade his strategy was to surprise by coming down out of nowhere.

With the gun clutched in both hands, finger now on the trigger, Jack fired off a third of his clip. His opponent made a hard landing, dead before completing the drop.

The message on the screen read “Nice”.
The level clock reached zero, and the next level began to load.
“Oh, yeah. Bring it on.”

You’ve asked for it, and here it is: My Official Wish List. You’ll also find a link to it in the main navigation on the right hand side.

In Memory of my Grandmother
Teofila Grodzka (January 6, 1923 – December 3, 2006)

When my mother, my sister, and I came to Canada in the early 90s, our first home was that of my Grandmother. Having never seen the house in pictures, I had imagined endless times what her house must look like

I had imagined a large yard with hundred year old trees, and a home that few grownups dare imagine for themselves. A child’s vivid and spontaneous imagination poorly reflects reality, but like imagination, reality has surprises of its own.

I remember the many newspapers, magazines and books that filled the kitchen table and the living room. My Grandmother loved to read. Every day, she spent hours reading. She didn’t care much for fiction; She found the world we live in more interesting than anything anyone could imagine.

The house always felt warm and secure. Everything fit quite well. I remember my Grandmother come and go as she took the bus to go swimming and visit her friends, or, on the cold days watched nature and animal shows on TV, while cracking and eating hazelnuts.

Soon, the modest house with all its imperfections was defined not by that which the eye could see, but by that which was felt and experienced inside. The house became a home.

Having raised four children on her own, lived through five years of forced labour during WWII, and worked as a nurse for two decades, Teofila never lost her strength or resolve to go on and make a difference in the lives of the people around her. Even in her planning for the days and years after she is gone, her kindness and generosity will benefit those of us left behind.

Teofila’s final wish was that her body be donated to the University of Manitoba for medical research and advancements. My first instinct was that of just wanting her to rest; I didn’t want her to be a research project. After she passed away, her face looked so peaceful. She finally looked at rest and that’s how I wanted her to stay. But my Grandmother never thought that way, she always put others ahead of herself. And for that, and so much more, she will be missed and remembered.

Most of the post categories on this blog tend to be pretty straight forward. The title says it all, and if that’s not the case for you, chances are you are better off skipping those areas anyway. In that regard, the Aspirations section is a bit different.

In ‘Aspirations’ I write scraps of thoughts using a more unique and creative method. The entries are designed to give a story like feel opposed to the journal feel experienced throughout other areas of the blog. The category name refers to my aspiration of someday getting published; Not with the content in the section, but in general. I look at it as my training ground.

One important aspect of the category is that I try to limit myself to 15 minutes per entry, with few or no edits afterwards. I’m a perfectionist in many ways, and imagination and perfectionism are bad neighbours. As such, I force myself to paint a picture with limited words, without idea confining detail. The goal is not to present you with a finished story of my thoughts, but to simply get your imagination going into conjuring something that speaks to you, the reader.

I hope you enjoy my take at this venue of expression. If not, there are always the other sections. :)