Tuesday, 26 January 2010

On the gifts of our parents

This entry is only vaguely related cycling, but I feel it is important to say it. In a previous entry, I mused on whether my father had seen the "naked" mountains of the Rockies prior to embarking on a career as a geologist. In the last couple of days, I finally got around to asking him directly if this was the case. It turns out he had only been as far West as Guelph, Ontario prior to making the decision. In fact, he first saw the Rockies close up when he was only slightly younger than I am now at which time he was PhD. I guess it only goes to show.

However, in the process of discussing the rationale (he wanted an intellectual job that got him outdoors) behind his career choice with him, I realised that because of him, I have much more awareness of geology than most people, tossing terms such as the Champlain Sea around with comparative ease. I never took any courses in geology because I didn't have the desire "to be like my dad". As well, as he was my father, I already knew more than enough to satisfy my curiosity about geology. Not that I don't still ask him the odd question about the subject, but enough to get bored with it. The fact remains, however, I have a fair amount of geological knowledge tucked away in my noggin, some which comes out as speculation whilst traveling as to the nature of the geologic structures I am seeing. This in one of my cycling mental "road games". And it is a gift of sorts from my Father.

When I started this entry, I wracked my brains for something to mention about a gift from my Mother. I think I had something more profound, but all I can think of is that gave the gift of the knowledge how to follow a recipe and the wisdom of knowing when not to. These, of course, are the two fundamental skills required for cooking, as least in my humble opinion.

I am going to post this unfinished as it is bedtime.

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