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Thanksgiving; Fading
Oct. 3rd, 2006 12:31 amSunday was the German Thanksgiving day.
It isn't all that widely celebrated - sadly, because Thanksgiving is one of the few religious holidays I love for more than nostalgic reasons - but we had venison and red cabbage at my parents', which was at least vaguely feast-like.
In the evening, our internet died.
It was probably just a cable, but as the new cable would've cost as much as a new router...
... we now have a new router.
I've been returning to my karate practice, and it's been kind of strange. On the one hand, I'm massively relieved that I still know the first kata, and all the names and techniques, and that I manage to get through the class without dying.
On the other hand... it's been weird. Disappointing.
There has been some massive argument recently, apparently, and thanks to that, half the people I know from the "old days" of the dôjô aren't coming anymore. (The other half aren't exactly the people I was most fond of, which implies that, had I been there, I would've been on the losing side of the argument, too.) The atmosphere has changed completely; it appears loveless, spirit-less. It's just small things, really. When sensei was called from the actualy dôjô for a moment during practice, he forgot to bow towards the shômen. That would never have happened earlier. He didn't correct nearly as much as he used to, and the people weren't so good that they didn't need correction, especially not I, who hasn't practiced properly for over a year. Just - as though it didn't matter so much anymore. The perfectionism has gone. The training itself was good, that's not it; but the atmosphere around it was no longer right. Edelgard and I were the only ones who bothered with the breathing techniques after the first half hour, and the only ones to watch our techniques in general.
I'm noticing this with a certain detachment- I go there for my training; I'll survive if the atmosphere's no longer right. But it is weird. This dôjô used to be my life. There were times when I went to practice six times a week. There were times when the people there - most of whom are no longer there - meant everything to me. I loved that place - not the one we have now, actually, but the old place - because I'd helped to build it, and it felt like a family, and it was just wonderful.
Now the family's broken up.
It isn't all that widely celebrated - sadly, because Thanksgiving is one of the few religious holidays I love for more than nostalgic reasons - but we had venison and red cabbage at my parents', which was at least vaguely feast-like.
In the evening, our internet died.
It was probably just a cable, but as the new cable would've cost as much as a new router...
... we now have a new router.
I've been returning to my karate practice, and it's been kind of strange. On the one hand, I'm massively relieved that I still know the first kata, and all the names and techniques, and that I manage to get through the class without dying.
On the other hand... it's been weird. Disappointing.
There has been some massive argument recently, apparently, and thanks to that, half the people I know from the "old days" of the dôjô aren't coming anymore. (The other half aren't exactly the people I was most fond of, which implies that, had I been there, I would've been on the losing side of the argument, too.) The atmosphere has changed completely; it appears loveless, spirit-less. It's just small things, really. When sensei was called from the actualy dôjô for a moment during practice, he forgot to bow towards the shômen. That would never have happened earlier. He didn't correct nearly as much as he used to, and the people weren't so good that they didn't need correction, especially not I, who hasn't practiced properly for over a year. Just - as though it didn't matter so much anymore. The perfectionism has gone. The training itself was good, that's not it; but the atmosphere around it was no longer right. Edelgard and I were the only ones who bothered with the breathing techniques after the first half hour, and the only ones to watch our techniques in general.
I'm noticing this with a certain detachment- I go there for my training; I'll survive if the atmosphere's no longer right. But it is weird. This dôjô used to be my life. There were times when I went to practice six times a week. There were times when the people there - most of whom are no longer there - meant everything to me. I loved that place - not the one we have now, actually, but the old place - because I'd helped to build it, and it felt like a family, and it was just wonderful.
Now the family's broken up.
