A Bad Dog Marriage

Kiana was a beautiful black labrador puppy. She was the biggest and smartest and prettiest of her litter. Her father told her she could be anything she wanted, but her mother told her that the key to happiness was to marry wisely and settle down with the right sire and breed future champions.

Kobuck was very good looking (for a yellow lab)but it was his sense of humor that attracted her to him. He did the silliest things and she would laugh and laugh. And he was quite an athlete. She would spend hours watching him in the park as he outran all of the other dogs to catch and fetch what ever was thrown. Despite her mothers warning to only date someone of her own color, she fell in love and soon they were married. She was certain that with her guidance, she could give this silly boy the heart of a warrior.

The problems started right away. She wanted to take life seriously and he just wanted a good time. The sense of humor that attracted her to him was just kind of goofy now. She never laughed and started telling him to grow up. It got too awkwaard for his friends and they stopped coming over. She wanted him to do something she could be proud of like hunting or guarding but his one passion in life was to fetch tennis balls. He believed he could work Wimbledon one day and could never let go of the athletic glory days of his youth.

By the time I spent a week with this couple she was bitter and domineering and had sucked the joy from both of their lives. He had let himself go and was just a ball fetching, floor pooping clown. Sure...he could have been a better husband. Yes...his goofy puppy act could get old. But he says, "Hey! I didn't change. This is who I always was. Now throw me the ball!"

Her anger towards him is visible in every interaction between them. His indifference towards her is evident every time he runs into her without apologizing as he chases that stupid slobbery ball. They probably can both share some of the blame. But now they have developed some patterns that are clearly not healthy. I've seen her shove his tennis balls under the bed where he can't reach them. I've seen him fart on her food bowl when she's not looking.

Kobuck still tries to find a little bit of joy in his life with his passion for tennis balls. Kiana, on the other hand, has given up on "following her bliss" and her only purpose is to put Kobuck in his place...to humiliate him and make him admit that she rules and he's just a stupid jerk that ruined her life. It wouldn't be so bad if she would administer her punishments behind closed doors and let Kobuck keep his dignity in public and in front of his friends. But no. The smallest infraction will set her off and she lets him have it. Sometimes the only thing he does wrong is to let someone pet him before they pet her. And right there in front of everyone she makes him assume the position.

SHE climbs up on HIM and humps him! And if she is seriously pissed off she bites his neck while she's humping him. And she says, "You ruined my life. I'll teach you how to be a man." And he looks around a little embarrassed but just shrugs and says "What can I do?"



The first time I saw it, I yelled at her to stop. But after several more times, I started yelling at him instead. "Kobuck! Get some pride, man! Bite her! Run away! Put your butt up against the wall! Don't just take it!" But he just patiently accepts his punishment and brings me the tennis ball when she is done. (but it takes him several minutes before he can look me in the eye)

I'm not sure what the future holds for this marriage. I'm trying to talk them into some counseling. I've suggested they spend some time apart. I told her that she should develop her own interests. I'm just glad there are no puppies around to witness this sad situation.

Still Dog Sitting

The dogs haven't torn up the house again and have managed to leave their poop outdoors. But pooping outdoors brings up another subject. I'm supposed to pick it up! These are very large dogs with very large poops. My little bichon frise has very little bichon poops that stay in our yard and my kids pick it up with a shovel after it is hard and cold.

But there is no fenced yard here, so 3 times a day I have to leash them up and walk them long enough until their bowels loosen up and they can do their business in public. And in a civilized society you are expected to pick it up(still warm and steamy) with a very thin plastic bag. You can feel the temperature and the texture of the brown deposit. Once you have something like that in your hand, you want to get rid of it as soon as possible, right? But you can't. You have to carry it back 100 yards for proper deposit in your garbage can. But it's difficult with a leash in each hand and I don't want to stick it in my pocket. The other morning the dogs tried to jump on an old lady getting her newspaper. I had to sit on the ground with a bag of warm poop twirling around my wrist to keep from getting drug across the snow. I could feel the stuff in the bag squishing between the leash and my wrist while the old woman screamed. I'm still traumatized. She might be too.

Here's my confession. I still take the dogs for a walk with a plastic bag in my pocket. After they poop, I assume neighbors might be watching, so I make a big production of taking out my bag and shaking it out and bending over the poop. But instead of picking it up, I push snow over the top of it and hide it.

We've had over a hundred inches of snow already. My treachery won't be discovered until April!

Dog Sitting

I'm dog sitting for friends this week. Two lonely, needy labradors and one indifferent cat. When asked I said, "Sure!" How hard could it be? I didn't have the kids this week and I was doing them a favor and the $300 they offered, sealed the deal.

Tonight I think I've been ripped off.

They are treating me like the substitute teacher. I just arrived at the house and the place is trashed. They've turned the cat's litter box over and scattered it all over. All of the garbage cans have been tossed about and there is a pile of very smelly poop. I think I can actually see the stink.

I cleaned, yelled, scrubbed, and cursed. I found the cat on top of the washing machine and she shook her head like she couldn't believe what I let those dogs get away with.

Right now it's 15 degrees outside and I've got all of the windows open so I can breathe without my shirt pulled over my nose.

I'll scrub the carpets tomorrow after I get control of my gag reflex. 5 more days.

Curmudgeon

I'm feeling curmudgeonly. And that's totally inappropriate for the holiday season. Maybe spending 13 Decembers in the shopping mall industry did it to me. Seeing the dark side of Christmas up close for so long can't be healthy.

But, I'm not really going to complain about Christmas. I'm going to complain about something much bigger and just get it out of my system. Because being a curmudgeon makes me feel old. Once you reach that point you are just a few years away from sitting on park benches and yelling at birds. So with a little help from Frank Schaeffer, a columnist I like, here goes...

There is a basic human moral code. The human race has a sense of right and wrong. Civilization created rules and laws around that sense of right and wrong. If everybody "followed their bliss" or "just do what feels good", there would be anarchy and society would collapse. It's a matter of the survival of the tribe. We need rules.

- What has led to the massive levels of fraud on Wall Street?
- Why are educational values sliding?
- Why are divorce rates so high across all demographics?
- Why are the majority of African-American children being raised by single parents?
- Why are the white, educated jerks who ran our economy into the mud taking bonuses?
- Why are rural kids killing themselves with methamphetamine addiction?
- Why did it become "okay" to torture prisoners?
- Why have the banks betrayed us?
- Why are there idiots collecting assault weapons?
- Why are we an obese nation who may well have shorter life spans than our parents?
- Why have we run up personal and national debt to the point that our currency is plunging?
- Why are we putting children on prescription drugs for disciplinary or behavioral problems?
- Why can't we keep our credit cards in our wallets and our zippers up?

Look for an answer and you'll see the left pointing right and the right pointing left. The left followed their bliss diminished the importance of morals. Drugs and sex were private matters that didn't hurt anybody and staying married for the sake of raising stable families was an old fashioned notion. On the right, and especially in the evangelical/fundamentalist community, people pick and choose among "God's Laws". The bible says that both pork and homosexuality are abominations...but bacon tastes so good we're going to let that one slide.

The left scream "Censorship" until anything is allowed on TV.
The right declared that the market is supreme and freedom equals consumerism.
On the left, the cry went up, it's my body I'll do what I want!
The right responded this is my stuff I'll do what I want!

When personal and public responsibility and taboos crumble the situation becomes toxic. Everyone is into what works for "me" but not what works for "us." Very few are willing to sacrifice. No one is allowed to judge anyone else's behavior. The result is a culture that drives whatever vehicles suits it and global warming be damned. The result is a culture in which divorce is easy and common despite unequivocal proof that the children of divorce bear lifelong scars.The result is raping the earth in the name of market oriented "freedom." The result is irresponsible men who father children they never see and irresponsible women who walk away from families.

The real problem is that we all lie to ourselves and pretend that our individual choices don't matter. We've pretend that society is exempt from the need for order, structure and moral taboos.Why are we ignoring the vast amounts paid the executive thieves running the hedge fund companies and banks. We are winking at the idiots in the entertainment industry who have sold us on the idea that following your lust is always a fine idea. People can't stop eating, won't save money and run up debts. These are not "private" choices. They are what ruin schools, make health care unaffordable , destroy the economy and create kids who barely can function.

We all pay. And we're all guilty if of nothing else, then just because we are silent. We've put at risk the most powerful country on earth and perhaps destroyed our future.

I hope for leaders that can call us back to our senses, coerce us into better behavior, preach, cajole, convince and -- if need be -- force us to look at what we've done to ourselves.

There. I feel better.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Office Christmas Party

I've heard that it is a bad year for the office holiday party. One source said that 65% of them had been cut nationwide. Aside from just cutting expenses, many companies feel that holiday parties are a little awkward when everyone is worried about lay-offs.

I wouldn't have minded if ours had been canceled, but we went ahead with it anyway. Only one person who had been cut last week actually showed up, so the awkwardness was kept to a minimum. But because I've never really developed the "mingling skill". Not knowing how to mingle is bad when you are in the business world since there a lot of functions (often attended by many important people) where mingling is expected. Golf and mingling should have been taught in business school. Small talk bores me anyway and I can’t see how I can just insert myself into a conversation already in flight without looking rude or looking like a stunned dork while I stand around waiting for an ‘in’ on the conversation.

But it's the greetings that really confuse me. I see my co-workers who barely nod greetings to each other everyday, all of a sudden hugging and kissing at the Christmas party. I'm all for hugging and kissing but I just can't bring myself to do it at the party. Should it be a lip kiss? Cheek kiss? Air kiss? Too confusing.

A couple of drinks may have helped the situation, but I was the designated driver for a group of five of us from Summit county. Another disadvantage to being the guy with the mini-van I suppose.

Over all it wasn't a bad evening. The food was good and it was nice to see everyone dressed up. I just need to learn to kiss my co-workers, I guess.

Lay-Offs

Lay-Offs are sweeping the country. Today's unemployment report says that the U.S. lost 540,000 jobs in November. I understand economics and I know why lay-offs happen. I even believe that it can be healthy for a company to go through it sometimes. No companies are immune...including my own. I knew it was a possibility but when it started, I was clueless.

On Wednesday, I talked to Joe in his office at 8:30. I had a follow up question at 10:30 and his office was dark. Jan was at the copier at 10:00 but had disappeared by noon. I saw Mike leaving work early at 1:15 and waved to him. I was like the clueless character in the summer camp horror movie who doesn't know that the campers are disappearing around him. I thought that the dark offices just meant that they were saving energy.

The CEO's email came at 4:00 and the SR.VP called a mandatory meeting at 4:30. We were all in the conference room scanning faces and trying to figure out who was missing. Joe, Jan, Mike, Rick, Simi, Anita, Brad, Kara. My division of 90 lost 18.

For some reason, 18 with names and faces seems like a much larger number than the 540,000 in the news. Why is that?

Pre-Obese?

That's what my recent company health screening said I was. The Body Mass Index (BMI) scale says that below 20 is under-weight. 20 to 25 is normal. 25 to 30 is pre-obese. And over 30 is obese. I was 25.2. They couldn't say "higher than normal" or "over-weight". Maybe they use the term pre-obese for the shock effect. If so, it's working.

Although I stay relatively active, I will admit that I currently weigh more than I ever have before. The scale this week says I am 193 pounds. I was 17 when I reached my current height of 5'10". At the time I was wrestling at 132lbs. A few years later I was running marathons at 153lbs. I got married at 160lbs. At 25, I started lifting weights and put on a little muscle and felt good at about 170lbs. That's where I should have stopped. But I've averaged about a pound a year ever since.

Pre-obese? Seriously?

I've decided I'm going to get back to about 175. I've made those goals before and I can drop 10 pounds relatively easy. I was 10 pounds lighter than this for my triathlon just 4 months ago. But keeping it off is always the hard part. Maybe writing it down publicly will help.

So here it is. I will weigh 175 pounds by May 30, 2009. That's just a loss 3 pounds a month. Should be a piece of cake...er...make that rice cake.

Weekend 10K

I ran a 10K on Saturday.

Although I used to run a lot of them, it's not something I do on my own anymore. Someone's got to make me do it now. This time it was Shunnie. She had never run one and decided she wanted to and recruited me and Christine to run with her. It's easy to commit when the race is 8 weeks away. I figured I'd run a couple of times the week before and muddle through on race day.

But Shunnie was as bad as my old coach and made us actually train for the race. After work I'd rather go home and eat icecream, but instead found myself running on mountain trails through the fall colors (and some snow). I trained better for this race than I did for my triathlon this summer. And I'll admit...it felt good.

But now the race is over (1:00:53 was my time) and winter is here. Will I keep it up and stay in shape???

Where's the icecream?

Brains Are Back

I've been trying to figure out the best way to describe why I'm so thrilled with the outcome or the election. So many reasons besides just the fact that my side won. Instead of writing my own thoughts on the subject, I found someone who perfectly captured what I'm feeling.

Here's an edited version of a Newsweek article by Michael Hirsh

Brains Are Back

For two days now, Americans have celebrated the idea that we may have finally atoned for our nation's original sin, slavery, along with its long legacy of racism. We can rejoice in the world's accolades over the election of a multicultural African-American to the presidency after nearly eight years of cringing in shame as the Bush administration methodically curdled our Constitutional values and sullied our global reputation as a beacon of hope. Every once in a while, it seems, we Americans do manage to live up to our ideals rather than betray them. Hooray!

I am just as happy as everyone else over all this global good feeling. But there's something else that I'm even happier about—positively giddy, in fact. And the effects of this change are likely to last a lot longer than the brief honeymoon Barack Obama will enjoy as a symbol of realized ideals. What Obama's election means, above all, is that brains are back. Sense and pragmatism and the idea of considering-all-the-options are back. Studying one's enemies and thinking through strategic problems are back. Cultural understanding is back. Yahooism and jingoism and junk science about global warming and shabby legal reasoning about torture are out. The national culture of flag-pin shallowness that guided our foreign policy is gone with the wind.

I'm under no illusion that Barack Obama will turn out to be perfect. He'll probably screw up some things, especially at first. The problems he faces–from the economic crisis to Iran's nuclear program–are just too hard. But, after eight years of a president who could barely form a coherent sentence, much less a strategic thought, we can finally go back to respecting logic and reason and studiousness under a president who doesn't seem to care much about what is "left," "right" or ideologically pure.

Or what he thinks God is saying to him. A guy who keeps religion in its proper place—in the pew. The politics represented by George W. Bush—the politics of ideological rigidity, religious zealotry and anti-intellectualism—"has for the moment played itself out," says presidential historian Robert Dallek.

From the very start of his campaign, Obama has given notice that whatever you might think about his policies, they will be well thought out and soberly considered, and that as president he will not be a slave to passion or impulse.How very presidential. And how very unusual.

One tragedy of the Bush administration is the amount of American brainpower and talent that went unused, the options that went unconsidered, because they were seen to lack ideological purity. That era is over as we confront a desperate landscape—a serious recession and two prolonged wars.

"I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face," Obama said in his acceptance speech in Chicago Tuesday night. If he holds to that pledge and nothing else, we'll be OK.

So anything seems possible now, even when it comes to the toughest issues. Victors, it is said, write the history. Obama is now about to write America's new history. Unless I mistake my man, its theme will be that reason and sense and that cardinal American virtue—pragmatism—are going to rule once again.

And that's really something to celebrate.

The Man On Your Right

BOLO: Military term used as a mishap(BOLO) during an initial action requiring an individual to retry or perform that action again to pass a required criteria.

"BOLO'S! Fall out and report to Staff Sergeant Zelinski for re-education! The rest of the company is dismissed!"

I looked at the sky and sighed. I couldn't believe I was a bolo. I was a squad leader, I ran faster than anyone (except my brother) and did more push ups and sit ups than most. I could take apart and reassemble my M-16 in less than 45 seconds. I passed all skills and tests. Land mines, hand grenades, tear gas, machine guns...no problem. But after 8 weeks of Army basic training, me and 8 other guys were called bolo's and threatened with repeating the 8 weeks until we got it right.

My problems were on the rifle range. You see, I could shoot fast and I could shoot straight...I just couldn't do both at the same time. I scored high enough on the circular targets where I could take my time to find the center and shoot. But I failed miserably on the range with the silhouettes that popped up for five seconds from 30 feet to 200 feet away. By the time I saw the target, moved my rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger, the target would drop back down again. It was even more frustrating knowing that 231 other men (and 4 women) in Charlie Company were able to pass without a problem. I knew for a fact that many of those guys couldn't even hit the urinal half the time.

"CROCKER! I can't believe I'm looking at your sorry ass back on my firing range! What is your problem, boy! I thought you were supposed to be some sort of leader!"

Although screaming at me never helped my aim, I did know the psychology behind it. It was part of the bonding process. One way to mold us into a cohesive unit was to give us all a common enemy to hate. The Utah Mormons, Tennessee rednecks, Minnesota farmers, and New York Jews in the company all hated the drill sergeants. The African Americans, Puerto Ricans, Asians, Caucasians, Mexicans, and Native Americans all had that in common. It brought us together. When one of us screwed up we were all punished. One untied shoe meant we all did push ups. One un-made bed meant we all slept on the floor that night. One unfair enemy (in our minds)made us bond pretty quickly. We had each other covered. We corrected and tutored and trained the slower soldiers because they were a part of the whole that we all belonged to. One Unit.

As we bolo's waited for the truck to take us to our last chance on the firing range, Staff Sergeant Zelinski said, "Since you girls don't seem to appreciate my most excellent instructions on how to shoot an enemy, I've brought in some special education help for you all." He pointed to nine of our friends walking up to join us. Nine friends who were also the highest scoring marksmen in Charlie Company. "These gentlemen are giving up an afternoon of rest and relaxation to re-train you bolo's."

Responsibility for my "re-education" was assigned to Richard. I haven't seen him in 25 years but I recently heard that he was a Colonel serving in Iraq. Richard went through the steps with me for about 10 minutes and offered a couple of pointers. I thanked him but said I didn't see how this was going to make a difference.

"I've got a feeling you're going to pass this time, Jim."

The firing range consisted of a row of about 20 fox holes with firing "lanes" in front of them. We all test at once, firing at the targets in our own lanes. When it was time to test, Zelinski ordered our tutors to get into every other fox hole so that they could better observe what we were doing wrong. Richard climbed in to my right.

The test started and gunfire erupted. My silhouette popped up and I fired and the silhouette went down. Hit. Again...pop, fire, hit. pop, fire, hit. I was doing good. Half way through the test I clearly undershot a mid range target and saw the dirt kick up in front of it...but it went down anyway. Puzzled, I was way too slow with the next shot but watched my target go down before I even pulled the trigger. I continued to shoot and targets continued to fall. I'm not sure if I hit any of them.

When the test was over there were no bolo's left in Charlie Company. Richard smiled at me, "I had a feeling you'd pass." Richard had my back. Turns out even the "unfair" Zelinski had my back.

I remembered this story because I was watching an interview on the Today show this week. The reporter asked a soldier in Afghanistan what motivated him? What kept him going? He said, "I'm fighting for the man on my right and I'm fighting for the man on my left. I believe they are fighting for the same reasons."

In Iraq, I hope Richard has men just like that on both sides of him.

Jim Endorses Obama

I'm sure everyone has been waiting for my official endorsement before making up their own minds about the presidential election. So here it is. My conservative family in Minnesota and friends in Utah can tear up their McCain/Palin bumper stickers and follow my lead on November 4th!

I understand that everyone has their own (mostly) valid beliefs in who and what is best for the country. But I worry that too many people I know vote on the mistaken belief that God is a Republican. Church and religious interference in government really concerns me. I can't see that it's worked out so well in Iran or Afghanistan.

My reasons for supporting Barack Obama are plentiful but I can't say it any better than the huge majority of newspapers in this country that are endorsing him. Here are some quotes from the Chicago and Salt Lake Tribunes. Keep in mind that the Salt Lake Tribune comes from the most republican state in the nation and the Chicago Tribune has never endorsed a Democrat in it's 150 year history.

Chicago Tribune
Many Americans say they're uneasy about Obama. He's pretty new to them. We can provide some assurance.

We have tremendous confidence in his intellectual rigor, his moral compass and his ability to make sound, thoughtful, careful decisions. He is ready. We think Obama would govern as much more of a pragmatic centrist than many people expect. We know first-hand that Obama seeks out and listens carefully and respectfully to people who disagree with him. He builds consensus.

We might have counted on John McCain to correct his party's course. We like McCain. It is, though, hard to figure John McCain these days. He argued that President Bush's tax cuts were fiscally irresponsible, but he now supports them. He promises a balanced budget by the end of his first term, but his tax cut plan would add an estimated $4.2 trillion in debt over 10 years. He has responded to the economic crisis with an angry, populist message. McCain failed in his most important executive decision. Give him credit for choosing a female running mate--but he passed up any number of supremely qualified Republican women who could have served. Having called Obama not ready to lead, McCain chose Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin. His campaign has tried to stage-manage Palin's exposure to the public. But it's clear she is not prepared to step in at a moment's notice and serve as president. McCain put his campaign before his country.

Obama chose a more experienced and more thoughtful running mate--he put governing before politicking. Sen. Joe Biden doesn't bring many votes to Obama, but he would help him from day one to lead the country.

Obama is deeply grounded in the best aspirations of this country, and we need to return to those aspirations. He has had the character and the will to achieve great things despite the obstacles that he faced as an unprivileged black man in the U.S.

He has risen with his honor, grace and civility intact. He has the intelligence to understand the grave economic and national security risks that face us, to listen to good advice and make careful decisions.

When Obama said at the 2004 Democratic Convention that we weren't a nation of red states and blue states, he spoke of union the way Abraham Lincoln did.

The nation needs Barack Obama in the White House

Salt Lake Tribune
The next U.S. president will lead a nation that remains embroiled in two wars and is beset by an economic meltdown more severe than any since the Great Depression. By necessity, the country's next commander in chief must also be its mender in chief, capable of inspiring his angry and divided constituents to join together in a recovery project to restore the peace, prosperity, and self-confidence we once knew.

The Salt Lake Tribune believes that Barack Obama can deliver it.

Obama mounted an extraordinary grass-roots campaign, raised gobs of cash, and showed great fortitude and equanimity in the face of the Clinton juggernaut. He endured, and once the nomination was his, he set about uniting his divided party with an impressive display of magnanimity and diplomacy.

John McCain, meanwhile, crushed Mitt Romney to gain his party's nomination, but then blundered badly by not bringing the business-savvy Romney onto the ticket. Romney would have shored up McCain's poor grasp of economic policy.

Then, out of nowhere, and without proper vetting, the impetuous McCain picked Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin as his running mate. She quickly proved grievously underequipped to step into the presidency should McCain, at 72 and with a history of health problems, die in office. More than any single factor, McCain's bad judgment in choosing the inarticulate, insular and ethically challenged Palin disqualifies him for the presidency.

Still, we have compelling reasons for endorsing Obama on his merits alone. Under the most intense scrutiny and attacks from both parties, Obama has shown the temperament, judgment, intellect and political acumen that are essential in a president that would lead the United States out of the crises created by President Bush, a complicit Congress and our own apathy.

McCain's foreign policy objectives virtually replicate Bush's disastrous course. His disdain for diplomacy is troubling, and his faith in eventual U.S. "victory" in Iraq is ill-defined. We simply cannot afford perpetual war. Obama knows this. And his nuanced approach would help America recover it's global prestige.

Indeed, we see too many of Bush's failed policies in McCain's recipe for recovery. The country desperately needs a new and well-defined road map for the 21st century and leadership that can unite the country behind it.

We believe that Barack Obama can give us both.

If those reasons aren't enough go to http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/cc65ed650d/ron-howards-call-to-action-from-ron-howard-and-henry-winkler (cut and paste it into your address block) It's a fun video from a couple of old friends.

OBAMA/BIDEN 08

The Last Lecture

You've probably heard of Randy Pausch and The Last Lecture. If you haven't I've included the link here...

http://download.srv.cs.cmu.edu/~pausch/

I watched his lecture on You Tube earlier this year and was moved by his story and his attitude. The link to that lecture is in the above web page. I just finished reading his book and I agree so much with his philosphy on life that I wanted to write down some of the bullet points.

Give yourself permission to dream.
Earnest is better than hip.
Life is short so sometimes surrendering is the right thing to do.
Stop complaining. Either do something about it or shut up.
Treat the disease, not the symptom.
Don't obsess over what other people think.
Look for the best in everybody.
Show gratitude.
Apologize
No job is beneath you.
Tell the truth.

I could expound on all of those topics but Randy Pausch does it much better.

Do yourself a favor. Watch the Lecture. Read the book.

The Exorcist

Not the movie...the hitchhiker.

I was driving from Breckenridge today and I pulled over for a hitchhiker in a coat and tie. I know..I know...picking up people on the side of the road could be dangerous, but I figure it's good karma for when one day I find myself without a car. Besides, I still have a lot of rides to pay back from my youth. But the main reason I'll pick someone up is because they will usually reward me with a story.

Peter gratefully slid into the van and introduced himself. He was about my age and said he was from Africa. He'd been in the states for about two years and wasn't going back because his family was dead and that the blacks had taken all of his family's land away from him. (Peter was white)

"So you've just been traveling for 2 years, Peter?"
"Yes. I go wherever the lord sends me."
"How do you make a living?"
"Well, I do some construction, but mostly I'm an exorcist."
"Sorry. What did you say?"
"Exorcist. I cast demons out of people."

Soooo cooool! I picked up an exorcist!! I was excited because he was my first exorcist and I knew he'd have a good story.

"Wow. How long have you been doing that? Did you have any formal training"
"No Jim. I just do what the lord tells me. I've been doing it about 20 years.I've always been a man of spirit."
"How exactly do you go about it?" Is there a ritual or something?"
"Every case and every demon is different. Mostly it's just fasting and a lot of prayer. People don't realize they can do it themselves if they are strong enough. You just have to fast for 48 hours...have nothing but water...and the demon literally starves and weakens and is more susceptible to your prayers. There's directions in the book of Matthew, you know."

He covered quite a bit in the 20 minute drive to the freeway. He told me more about demons (apparently they are pretty tricky) and about Africa and a 4,000 foot waterfall by his home, and the unfairness of losing his home and the good works he's been doing in America. After he finishes helping with the spiritual matters of some Mexican families in the area, he is heading to Galveston to help the Hurricane victims. He's also heading down to the gulf because there is another major hurricane headed there this year. (God told him)

When I arrived at his on-ramp he asked if he could pray for me. I accepted and bowed my head and heard a fairly standard prayer of gratitude and forgiveness, but then I heard him ask God to triple my "guard of angels". I was pleased for a couple of reasons. I'd heard that I might have a guardian angel but not a whole guard of them. (that sounds like several, right?) Well what ever the number was before, it is tripled now!

As his hand was on the door handle, he paused and asked if I could spare a few dollars. I gave him a five and he told me to expect a miracle in the next few days.

What a bargain. $5 for a miracle and triple the angels I had before. Thanks Peter!

Teeth Are Not Tools

Ever had an Otter Pop? They are the frozen kool-aid stuff in the plastic sleeves. The very difficult to open plastic sleeves. The ones you should use scissors on but usually just rip open with your teeth.

Noah and I were watching a dvd tonight and I grabbed us a couple of otter pops. I tried tearing it open with my fingers with no luck before sticking it in my mouth to rip open with my teeth. Dogs don't seem to have a problem with this method. But instead of ripping open some blue raspberry sweetness I ripped my front tooth out of my head.

It's Friday night and I probably can't get to a dentist until Monday. I look like a homeless boxer. The good news is that since my "sh", "th", and "s" all sound the same, Noah is having big laughs giving me tongue twisters and asking me to smile.

Teeth Are Not Tools.

High School Reunion

My 30th is coming up next year and I'm trying to get the wheels in motion to get something organized. So as I do google searches, send emails and make phone calls, I have to answer the question "Why would anyone want to go?"

That's the question, isn't it? Why go? For me, I have more good memories than bad but for many, High School was traumatic. And it was for as many reasons as there are people.

I came from a small school and there were only about 60 of us collected together, 5 days/week, 8 hours/day. Most of us didn't choose each other. We were thrown together based on where our parents lived. Teens seldom have much of an idea of who they are or how to relate to people. We ran on a mix of instinct and hormones while being put under pressure to learn Math and English and History. There were pressures of sports and pressures of dating and pressures at home and the biggest pressure of just trying to "fit in." That's quite a mix. It's going to be difficult. Can you hold somebody accountable for that? Blame them for it?

We all made our share of poor decisions that were in hindsight clearly "mistakes". We'd love to have a "do-over." Many of those mistakes were the sort you can't see. Some of those poor decisions hurt somebody. I doubt anyone makes it through school without getting hurt or hurting someone else.

So why would we want to revisit any of that?

Because the most incredible thing happened to us in those four years. We all hatched together. We got wrenched from childhood into a fairly hostile adolescence and then spit out towards as the adults we are today. The only people on this planet who were witnesses are your fellow classmates. The kids we went to school with were there when it was all happening. They were there when we were trying to figure out how to be a person in the world.

And every one of your classmates has a story. Aren't you curious about how those stories go? Haven't you seen the movies that wraps up the characters lives during the credits and wish you could get a wrap up of the characters in your life? It's so rare that we get a chance to find out what happened in real life and a reunion is a chance to get a bit of that perspective.

I'm not interested in judging anybody. Whether you were a missionary, a junkie, a soldier, a teacher, a mother, or a bum, or whether you have 10 kids or 3 marriages, I'm just curious about how you got there. If you are homeless or hopeless, I want to hear what happened. If you are a billionaire with a yacht and an island, I want to know your story. (and be your best friend!)

After 30 years, with sore knees, gray hair, fading eyesight, noisy joints, high cholestral, and surrounded by kids and co-workers who don't know us any other way, its good to be with people who remember when we were young. Who remember when we were walking, breathing sacks of dreams and potential.

And our memories, our past, is something worth keeping, in any form it takes, if for nothing else to help us to see who we are now.

Poker

It was too wet too hike today. No snow to ski on. Not my weekend with the kids. So with nothing to do I drove down to Blackhawk to play some poker. There was a tournament starting at noon so I paid $80 and took my seat.

I Love Poker.

I knew the general rules but never really played until about 3 years ago when a change in my marital status left me with more free time than I was used to. I started playing on the internet and immediately loved it. I'm not talking about the love of an addicted gambler looking to get rich. And I don't love it so much that I fantasize about quitting my job and turning pro. (I'm lying...I fantasize about it all of the time.) I just loved that it was so simple that anyone could learn it but so complex that you could never stop learning. I loved that online I was playing with people in Germany and Russia and Argentina and Australia. I loved that when I play live, I'm playing with a commodities trader from Chicago and a farmer from South Dakota and a Mary Kay rep from Florida, and a retired golf pro from Texas and a businessman from Korea.

And I didn't just enjoy it...I started to get...I don't want to say good at it, but I became competent at it. After a few months of playing, I turned and $11 entry fee into a $12,500 package at the World Series of Poker in Las Vegas. After playing against the real pros from all over the world in Vegas, you'll understand why I won't say I'm good at it....yet.

Today I started out between a truck driver with a pony tail to his waist and a cute little Asian girl who had to show her ID to prove she was old enough to play. I was trying out a new "lucky piece". A small white stone that I brought down from the top of Mt. Bedford this month. Most poker players have little luck tokens that they place on top of their cards. I've seen dinosaurs, rubber ducks, silver dollars, pictures of kids, etc. The truck driver had a little rubber brain with his name on it. I always start slow. Betting very conservative. Watching people. I spent the first hour winning a little and losing a little. Staying even.

I love the language of poker. Bad beats, pocket rockets, runner runner, trips, suck out, rivered a flush, put em in the air, flop a monster, donkey, maniac, ducks, sucker straight, drawing dead, open end, gut shot, the nuts, rags, big slick, big blind, check the turn. You can say, "I woke up to big slick on the button but foolishly limped. The flop gave me top pair and top kicker so I pushed but the donkey in the big blind called with a gut shot and and sucked out on the river." Fun, huh!? Say that to any poker player in the world and they'll know exactly what happened. It's like talking in code for a secret society.

After two hours at the tables today I loosened up and started chatting and joking a little more. I got away with a couple of bluffs and and built my stack from 8000 to 14,000. The girl and truck driver were both busted out.

I love the life lessons from poker. Be patient. Wait for your spot and act boldly. Act confident when you are weak. Bad beats happen. Don't dwell on them and move on. You can be dealt a great hand and play it stupidly and lose. You can be dealt rotten cards but play them brilliantly and win. Luck is a factor in life and poker. (both kinds) Every day you wake up, you get two new cards to play. Have the sense to fold when you are beat and save what you can to make a comeback on the next hand. Pay attention to signs and signals and learn to read what they are telling you.

After three hours I nearly busted out. I checked from the big blind with a 4 5 to a couple of limpers. The flop came J 5 5. I checked and the first bettor bet 2,000. The next bettor (the truck drivers wife) reraised to 6,000. I figured one of them had the jack and would call if I went all in so I pushed in 30,000. The first guy folded but the woman called and turned over A 5. I was screwed and started gathering my stuff to leave. A king came on the turn and then BOOM! 4 on the river to give me the boat. I was saved and just doubled up to become chip leader. But I felt too guilty to act happy and mumbled a sorry in her direction as I stacked my chips.

Chip leader is a great position to play from because you can start building your stack by bullying people. (another instance of poker imitating life I suppose) You can play with questionable cards and push people off their hands just by betting large. Your opponent has to go all in just to call your bet that is just 20% of your own stack. So I started making big bets and stealing blinds and busting people out. I got lucky a few times when my KQ hit against AJ or when I was dealt KK and a guy pushed with 88, and by 5:00 there were only 3 of us left. We were tired and roughly equal in chips so instead of playing to the end we decided to chop the pot and split the $2,400 remaining in the prize pool.

$80 to $800 in 5 hours. To celebrate, I drove down to Denver and took Samantha and her boyfriend out to dinner. (and slipped her $100) It wasn't a free meal for them though.

I made them listen to my poker stories!

Adventures...

... are fun and exciting and worth pursuing. But I've got a feeling they are even more fun and exciting when you are looking back on them.

I hitchhiked across the country in the 1983. 25 states, 2 months, 95 rides, $150. It was an adventure and I love remembering it and telling people I did it. It was exciting not knowing where I would sleep or what I would eat. My adreniline pumped everytime a car pulled over for me. Who would I meet? What was their story? Where were we going? I certainly don't regret doing it but I'm fully aware that the memories get better as the years pass.

What I usually leave out of my hitchhiking stories is the cold and the rain and the hunger and the fear and the wishing I was warm at home and that the adventure was just in my head. The same is true with the 14er's I climb. I recall the beauty and the accomplishment much easier than the sore knees and difficult breathing.

I suppose it's that selective memory that allows mankind to progress and discover. (or have more than one child!)

Here are a couple of my favorite quotes on the subject.

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature. Life is either a grand adventure or nothing ....
Helen Keller

Remember the high board at the swimming pool? After days of looking up at it you finally climbed the wet steps to the platform. From there, it was higher than ever. There were only two ways down: the steps to defeat of the dive to victory. You stood on the edge, shivering in the hot sun, deathly afraid. At last you leaned too far forward, it was too late for retreat, and you dived. The high board was conquered, and you spent the rest of the day diving. Climbing a thousand high boards, we demolish fear, and turn into human beings.
Richard Bach A Gift of Wings

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.
Mark Twain

Sail On!

Picture Time

Last month I hosted a family reunion. The good thing about volunteering to host is not having to travel and getting to sleep in your own bed. The down side is that there are lots of people in your home and there are certain pressures that come with it. Where will everyone sleep? What will they eat? How will I entertain them?

Fortunately, I come from a pretty low maintenance family and everyone seems to get along. No feuds that I'm aware of. So keeping everyone happy wasn't difficult. There was an early season snowfall (August 15!!) that canceled a hike but otherwise it was snafu-free. It had been several years since we had all been together so hiring a photographer for a group shot was a priority. The gathering has to be immortalized. Here are some shots from that afternoon.

I'm the good looking one.

14er's

There are 54 peaks in Colorado that are over 14,000 feet in elevation. I can't remember why I decided I was going to "collect" all of them. It's a very difficult hobby and every year they seem to get steeper. Geologists really need to look into why this is happening.

So far I've done 14 of them. Longs, Evans, Bierstadt, Grays, Torreys, Democrat, Linclon, Quandary, Sherman, Cameron, Bross, Elbert, Belford, and Oxford. I did the last two yesterday.

hiking boots, retractable hiking pole, long underwear, sunglasses, emergency poncho, knife, protein bars, jerky, camel pack, cell phone, camera, hiking socks, t-shirt, thermal cap, ball cap, hoody, water resistant jacket, gatorade, head lamp, running pants, water bottle, tissues, aspirin, bananas, gps, gum, energy gels, fruit leather, ipod, gloves, chap stick, sun block, whistle, air mattress, map, sleeping bag, matches, pillow, first aid kit.

That's not the stuff I brought. It's the stuff I was supposed to bring. I didn't plan on going until a few hours before I went so I was grateful I ended up with two thirds of it. Today I'm kinda wishing chapstick had been included in the inventory.

I slept at the trailhead in the mini van so I could get an early start and was on the trail by 6:00am. 11 miles, 6000 feet total elevation gain, 9 hours. This wasn't the hardest 14er I've done. That honor still goes to the 14 hours for Longs Peak. But this one was a psychological poke in the eye. Picture a capital M. You climb 4000 feet up to Belford, then descend 1000 feet and climb up another 1000 to Oxford. Mission accomplished, right? It should all be down hill from there. But there is only one way off these mountains and that is the exact same way you got there. I had to retrace my steps and go back to the top of Belford and down the original side. I will admit though, that I sat in the valley of the M for about 10 minutes and considered "bushwacking" my own trail straight down. I even headed down for a couple hundred feet (past 2 beautiful mountain goats!) before common sense over ruled my exhaustion. I could imagine myself trapped on a cliff face with no one knowing which way I'd gone.

So I went back up Belford slower than I'd ever climbed before. 30 steps, rest...20 steps, rest, curse...10 steps, rest, sit, curse...10 steps, rest, sit, curse, throw rock at stupid goats...8 steps, hug boulder during 40mph gust, curse...and so on.

I'm painting a grim picture of what was actually a beautiful day. Aside from the worst wind I've ever hiked in, the skies were clear and the the views spectacular. There is usually plenty of company on the 14er's on a weekend, but on Oxford I had the whole mountain to myself. I didn't plant a flag or anything, but for 20 minutes I laid on my back and considered it to be my mountain.

I posted the one picture of my old exhausted face on Oxford but if you really want to see what the views were, go to www.14ers.com and you will learn everything you never wanted to know about these stoney bad boys.

Forty more to go.

One More

OK, just one more post about Samantha and her shark phobia and I'll stop writing about her.

It really is a phobia. She's got enough courage that she'll still go into a fresh water lake, but while she's in the lake, she's resigned to the fact that a rogue shark has found it's way into America's interior and is hungrily swimming beneath her. She really does pull her feet up when a shark is on TV and she scans the pool before she jumps in.

So let me tell you what her dad made her do. We were in Puerto Vallarta for spring break and I convinced her to go snorkeling with me. I told her about the shark statisics and the rarity of attacks and that it's more likely she'd be struck by lightning. She said it wasn't just about the sharks but the fact that ocean was filled with all sorts of spooky creatures.

But she did it anyway. She put on the fins and the mask and went into the water with me and her brothers. The whole time she knew that monstrous creatures were beneath her wishing to do her harm. So although she'd go into the ocean she wasn't going to put her face in the water and watch them come after her. I convinced her that she was missing the whole point of snorkeling and that it was a beautiful world beneath the water. "Just one quick peak", I said. So she gathered a little more courage and lowered her face into the ocean.

Right into a jelly fish.

That stung her in the forehead.

Two years later, I still apologize.

Correction

Just like in the newspapers, if I need to correct any misinformation presented in a previous blog, I will do so. So consider this a correction... I was with Samantha this weekend and she corrected my story about my Gilligan's Island song. Not only was she not embarrassed that I sang to the crowd, she was actually proud that her Dad knew the words to the song. (children are easy to impress, apparently)The quality of my singing was another matter but she assures me that she was NOT mortified.

In fact her memories of my public singing debut were overshadowed by her own trauma from that day. After I brought attention to my family with my song, my adorable daughter was selected to participate in the show. The dolphin trainer selected her to jump on a dolphin as it swam by. The joke was that the trainer would never actually let the selected kid jump. Samantha remembers standing on the platform in front of the huge crowd. She remembers thinking that dolphins weren't the only creatures in the water because we had just seen the killer whale show. She remembers thinking that if killer whales were in the water, then there were probably sharks too.

She didn't jump.

But she still pulls her feet up on the couch whenever there is a shark on TV.

"Just sit right back and you'll a tale..."

I was sharing my bucket list with my kids the other day. They thought some were cool and some were ridiculous. But when I got to my goal to sing in public, Samantha shared a memory that had been irreparably burned into her psyche. She was only 7 at the time but 11 years later, her mortification was still visible.

We were in the audience for the Shamu show at Sea World and the warm-up guy was entertaining the crowd while we waited for the star to show up.

"Who knows the theme song to Gilligans Island?" he asked the crowd. Without considering the repercussions of my actions, I proudly raised my hand. I dropped my arm quickly when I saw the microphone headed my way, but it was too late. I shook my head and pushed the mic away, but the crowd would have none of my stage fright and there was no backing out.

Knowing that I was going to look like an idiot whether I whispered, ran, or belted it out, I chose the latter and let er rip.

I'm not sure if Samantha was more embarrassed that I sang so horribly or if it was that I actually knew the words. Whatever...it counts and I'm crossing it off the list!

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,
A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this tropic port
Aboard this tiny ship.

The mate was a mighty sailing man,
The skipper brave and sure.
Five passengers set sail that day
For a three hour tour, a three hour tour.

The weather started getting rough,
The tiny ship was tossed,
If not for the courage of the fearless crew
The minnow would be lost, the minnow would be lost.

The ship set ground on the shore of this uncharted desert isle
With Gilligan
The Skipper too,
The millionaire and his wife,
The movie star
The professor and Mary Ann,
Here on Gilligans Isle.

Swallowed up

Eventually...

...life will break you.

If you are forty-something and you haven't been touched by divorce, death, financial catastrophe or serious illness, then count yourself very fortunate...and prepare.

Solitude is the best preparation. You can lessen your odds that you'll feel pain by avoiding relationships. You can keep tragedy to a taste instead of a meal.

I do like people...really I do. But maybe it's just the abstract concept of people. I like books and movies and songs about love, pain, hope, heartache, and triumph. But in reality those things are messy. And some of them hurt. A lot. So, if you never marry, you'll never divorce. If you never have children, then you'll never suffer through their pain and won't have to realize how truly vulnerable we all are. If you keep your friends at arms length, you can still sympathize but won't have to suffer through their cancer. It's an easier way to live. But eventually...

...solitude will break you.

It will break you with it's yearning. You can strive to protect yourself from life and you may mostly succeed. But that is not the reason you are here. You have to feel. You have to love. You...we...are here to risk our heart. We are here to experience, to taste life and be swallowed up by it.

And when it happens that we fail - when we grieve for a child - when we are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, we will remind ourselves that we are human and this is part of the human experience. At the end, we should know that we tasted as much as we could.

Have You Looked In Your Sock?

Family legends are usually not planned. If you are the main character in a family story that gets passed down through the years, you hope that you are cast in a favorable light. You want the story to tell about how heroic, brave, intelligent or honest you were. But in reality, you've got little choice in the matter. The story unfolds just like life does. Usually at random. You just hope that the more embarrassing moments are forgotten.

Four years ago the whole family went to a movie. On the way out of the theater I noticed my wallet was missing. I ran back to my seat to look. Couldn't find it. My wife and kids came to help. Couldn't find it. The theater employees couldn't find it. After half an hour I was finally convinced that my wallet had been stolen so I canceled my credit cards, mourned the loss of about a hundred bucks and got ready for bed. I bent over to pull my socks off and as I touched my wallet, I remembered. I was uncomfortable sitting on the wallet and my front pockets were full so I stuck it in my sock during the movie.

I joyfully held the wallet over my head as I walked out of the bedroom. Rather than sharing the joy, my family looked at me like I was the village idiot. To be honest, I saw their point.

The worst part of the story is that it was never forgotten. Four years later, if I ever misplace my keys, remote control, wallet, even my car... my kids ask, "Have you looked in your sock?"

Sigh....

Bucket List

Let's clear this up first.

I had a bucket list before the movie came out. I've had a bucket list for decades because I took the following quote to heart when I was just a teenager.

"As you grow older, you'll find the only things you regret are the things you didn't do." There are many versions of that quote and I've believed all of them. I knew it was true...like gravity... and ever since I wanted to experience stuff. Lots of stuff. I want to know what it looks like, feels like, sounds like, tastes like.

The list is an organic, evolving thing. I add things. I subtract things. I'll read something I wrote down a year ago and I'll wonder why I ever thought it was important. Then I'll think about something else and wonder why that wasn't always on my list.

This next paragraph is a summary of what's been completed. (I cheated on a couple and only added them to the list so I could cross them off after I did them!)

I have sky dived, rounded up cattle on the back of a horse, fired a machine gun, been tear gassed, hang glided, earned a college degree, run marathons, survived a triathlon, raised 3 children, hitch hiked across the country, climbed mountains and rappeled down them, rafted rapids, skied on snow and water, loved deeply, written a novel, played poker in the world series, and have given a eulogy.

Here's what I still need. Some are easy. Some are not likely to happen.

Visit all 50 states (I'm just short Louisiana and Hawaii)
Paraglide
Fast for 3 days
Hike the Appalachian Trail (this requires 5 months)
Canoe the Mississippi from headwaters to Gulf (3 months)
Spend a month in a monastery
Scuba dive
Play a musical instrument
Visit a nude beach...nude (with lots of sunblock)
Live outside the US for awhile
Learn to sail
Attend Olympics
Expertly cook one meal
Volunteer at a Hospice
Sing in public (I won't even sing in church)
Perform in community theater
No human contact for a week
Outdoor survival course
Expert at digital photos
Dance at grandkids wedding
Make a movie or music video
Get a pedicure
Hole in one
Learn a martial art
See a NASCAR race (not a fan, just want to see what all the fuss is about)
Holy Land
Great Wall of China
Northern Lights
Total eclipse of the sun
Pyramids
Write a poem (a good one)
Host a huge party for no reason (not so easy...I hate huge parties)
Be a film extra
Dance lessons
Gun lessons (this is the west after all!)
Raft Grand Canyon
Ask a stranger for a date (read "Cowardice at the Concert")
Hot air balloon ride
Donate enough money to put my name on something
Draw or Paint lessons
Change strangers life (for the better hopefully)

Wow!! That's a lot. What am I doing just sitting here?

Any suggestions or advice are welcome!

Confessions

My brother, Rick, had a seizure last year. He never had one before but he's had another since. The brain is a mysterious organ. It's studied and studied but basically we still don't know how the brain works. It's magic! The doctors don't know why he had seizures but they took away his drivers license and put him on drugs. Sorry Rick, that sucks. They also asked him a series of questions about the health history of his head. This is where my confession is relevant.

I was an older brother. It was my birthright to tease, taunt and torture. I'm sorry.

When Rick was 3 years old and I was 5, Grandpa was taking us, along with our cousins for a walk on his farm. I was 5, but I remember this very clearly. Rick (Ricky then) was riding on grandpa's shoulders while the rest of us walked. Ricky was cute. He called himself Ricky Rocker and he made people laugh. I was jealous. I wanted to be on Grandpa's shoulders. I wanted to make him laugh. Grandpa put Rick down after awhile and I called him over to look at a bug on the ground.

"Look closer:. I said.

Then I picked up the biggest rock I could lift and I dropped it on his head.

Ricky was hurt and he cried. I got in trouble. I loved him and I couldn't explain why I dropped a rock on my brother's head. 40 years later, I still remember the rock, the place, the emotions and the guilt. Sorry Rick.

34 years ago we were at family day for Rick's boy scout troop. Rick and his friends were down in a ravine while me and some older kids were up above. I don't remember the details or who started the rock throwing but we ended up throwing rocks at our siblings down below. We couldn't really see them but we knew roughly where they were and thought their screams were hilarious. Rick was hit with a rock and knocked out. Not sure if the rock came from my hand or not. I do remember lieing my ass off and telling our parents that we had no idea that people were down there. We were just throwing rocks in a ravine, we said. Sorry Rick.

I'll also apologize for the knife wound in his foot but I'm sure that didn't have anything to do with his seizures. Right? There...I feel better now. How about you, Rick?

Farts on a Plane

I know, I know...teenage potty humor. But it's got to be addressed. I'm not going to pretend that observations on this subject are original. Seinfeld or Carlin or some other comedian probably had a routine about farts on a plane. But it's not funny. If this very serious issue has been dealt with before, I haven't seen it and I certainly haven't received any useful advice on how to deal with the situation.

After my recent triathlon (Have you heard I'm a triathlete?) I was flying home on a full Frontier flight in my usual window seat. The flight was full and my seatmates were an 8 year old boy and his father. At takeoff, the unknown assailant released the first gas bomb. The smell was seriously putrid and the windows would not roll down. I didn't want to mortify someone who had accidentally let one slip but I was curious about what could produce that odor outside of a zoo and I felt the need to assign blame, so I looked for the culprit. You're thinking what I was thinking, right? It's gotta be the kid! So, as I rubbed my watery eyes, I snuck a look to my right.

The kid obviously smells it but he has no intentions about hiding his disgust. He's actually holding his nose with his eyes squeezed shut as he leans into his dad....and away from me! He's trying to get as far away from me as possible!! Then he opens his eyes and looks at me like I'm covered in snot.

IT WASN'T ME!

But this little brat is supplying the only evidence to the passengers around us that I am the perpetrator of this crime. The smell hovers over several rows and I can tell that the women across the aisle can smell it and I see that they see this kid acting like I'm abusing him. I watch a flight attendant's smile disappear and her eyes go into a squint as she walks by.

Now if I had actually done the deed, I could see the humor in the situation and I would just pretend to be asleep as I chuckled at the suffering around me. BUT IT WASN'T ME! I didn't want to let this injustice stand but I was clueless about a remedy and I was paralyzed from embarrasment until the odor mercifully faded.

Somewhere over the Utah/Colorado border it happened again. I couldn't comprehend how the smell could be worse, but it was. I knew there was only one thing to do and I sprang into action. I had to act more disgusted than the kid. After making sure the dad wasn't looking at me but the kid was...I glared at him at pulled the collar of my t-shirt up over my nose. His eyes widened and I knew exactly what he was thinking..."IT WASN'T ME!" I left my modified gas mask on for a full minute until the smell dissipated and I was sure that anyone looking for the culprit would see that I was just as pained by the situation as they were. I knew the kid was innocent but I had no problems throwing him under the bus to defend myself so I faked a cough and left one finger pointing at him while I covered my mouth. Who were people going to believe? Obviously, this young man could not control his bowels.

It happened for the last time after we had taxied to the gate and were standing in the aisle waiting for the doors to open. The stink was again released from it's home in hell and a dozen heads swiveled for someone to blame. This time I spotted him immediately.

He was in the seat in front of mine.

He was the guy pretending to be asleep with a smile on his face as he chuckled at the suffering that surrounded him.

Jim the Triathlete

The triathlon is a display of human endurance, mettle and triumph. With serious and proper training you will be able to achieve your personal best and become one of the truly elite in the sports world.

One of the elite of the sports world. Ahhhh...yes. That is quite a title and is why "completing a triathlon" ended up on my bucket list 20 years ago. But I can't swim. Drop me in a lake and I can probably stay alive for 30 minutes but I would never make it to shore. So as far triathlons go, I always figured it'd be something I left unchecked in the end.

But last year, Todd Barney completed a triathlon. Todd Barney Can't Swim. That is a fact. In 1985 I watched him nearly drown in 4 feet of water while I cruelly withheld the information that he could stand up if he put his feet down. And now he was one of the sporting elite??? I couldn't let this go unchallenged and that was enough motivation for me to commit to completing one in 2008.

You see, Todd didn't actually swim...he floated. The Spudman Triathlon in Burley Idaho, starts in the Snake River with a 3mph current. If you can just keep your head above water for 30 minutes, you'll eventually finish the mile in the water. I can do that!

As a gift to future first time triathletes, I have decided to share my complete training regimine.

January

Register for the race. Not as simple as it sounds. The race is popular and fills up within minutes. But with determination, superior internet skills and lightening quick reflexes, I grabbed a spot. Decided to take the rest of the month off.

February

Work on a training schedule, research gym memberships, browse triathlon websites.

March

Buy new running shoes. Promise self to start running...soon.

April

Look through want ads for used wet suits. Solicit advice from fellow elite athletes. Plan trip to Utah to train with friends. Trash talk and taunt those friends. Run 2 miles three times. Promise self to run more.

May

Plan frequent running dates with new neighbor. Actually follow through on one of those dates. Run 6 other days on my own for a total of 13 miles. Spend 30 minutes on a life cycle 5 times. I drive all the way to Utah for a 12 mile ride followed within 3 minutes by a 3 mile run. I cannot complete the run. Tell friends that that was just the motivation I needed to get serious about my training.

June

Book flight to Utah for race. Promise to get serious about training. Tell many people that I am doing a triathlon this summer.

July

Rent wetsuit. Run twice. Bike twice. Convice myself that the race is more mental than physical. Convince myself that "muscle memory" from thousands of miles of training in my youth will kick in and save me. Practice putting on and taking off wetsuit. Tell lots more people that I am doing a triathlon. I decide to take it easy the week before the race. I don't want to wear myself out.

August

Tell lots of people that I did a triathlon. Add "triathlete" to business cards. Change my will to make sure that my elite athlete status is reflected on my headstone.

Now I'm not saying that this is the way that most elite athletes train. It is just a simple training diary that you may or may not want to follow.

Henry

I met Henry in 1990 when we were assigned to be roommates at a company conference. I got to the room first and my unpacking involved putting my suitcase next to my bed. He arrived and we performed polite introductions and small talk while I watched him arrange his socks in one drawer and fold his tshirts into another. He didn't finish until he had ironed his wrinkle-free shirts and lined up his grooming supplies beside the sink.

"Oh great", I thought. "I get to spend the next four days with the most anal guy in the company." Four days later, we had formed a friendship that lasted 17 years. I'm still not sure why. He was 10 years older than me. He was serious about his job and had the company's mission statement memorized. He was a Vietnam vet and a former Nascar driver. He was a life long bachelor with an eye for pretty women.

And me? I was...well, I was none of those things. I think I forgot to pack socks on that trip.

He sounds like a serious guy but he was also a complete optimist. Kind of a "the sun will come up tomorrow" personality. He survived cancer. I watched him take a battery of pills and lather lotions on his body to help with the chemo or radiation. But he never complained and he always pointed out that he was blessed and that he was so much better off than most of the people on the planet.

Later, I switched companies and talked him into coming along. It was a good move for him and his talent and work ethic were recognized and he moved up the ladder into some high profile positions. I was thanked for bringing him into the company. A few years later, I made another career move and we started to lose touch. There was an occasional phone call but then 2 years went by while we forgot to talk at all.

If this is starting to sound like a eulogy, well, I suppose it is. It's been a year now since he left work early, wrote a note to his new wife and shot himself in the bathtub. I wanted to put some time between the news of his suicide and writing this. First, I wanted to understand it. I wanted to wrap my head around what happened and why. I wanted to find the answer to this problem.

But I've changed my mind.

I don't want to understand it. I don't want to know that he was always in pain and I never recognized it. I don't want to know what was in the note he left. I don't want to grasp how he could battle cancer so bravely and with out self pity and then take his own life after the battle was won. I don't want to find out that Henry could hate his new wife so much that he would make her carry the lifetime burden of what she saw in that bathroom. I don't want to think that I might have made a difference if I'd kept in touch. This is the second story I've written dealing with suicide and I don't want to realize that everybody is capable of it. I don't want to wrap my head around that kind of darkness.

I can accept that some things just are. Sometimes there are no answers.

I don't need to understand.

Cowardice at the Concert

A blizzard and a fifty car accident had me stuck 50 miles from home again. I was wondering who's sofa I'd end up on when my boss said she'd let me expense a room at Beaver Creek.

Cool! My frozen lemons just became lemonade! Deciding to take advantage of the spontaneous evening that God was handing me I splurged on a nice dinner and overheard people talking about the concert they were going to right by my hotel...Bob Marley and the Wailers.(Bob Marley couldn't make it). I'm not a big concert goer, but a "why not" urge had me handing over $40 for 2 hours of island sounds in a snow storm.

I don't go to many concerts because I'm never sure how to act at them and going byself was even more disconcerting. I might have been happy just closing my eyes and listening to the music, but if I was going to do that I might as well just be in my room listening to my ipod. So I tried to get into it and as the audience stood, I stood with them. I clapped and whooped with them. I didn't feel terribly alone because I saw a dozen other self concious men looking around for guidance on how to behave. But it was watching the women that was really worth the price of admission.

She caught my eye when I first sat down two seats away. We smiled and nodded at each other and looked back to the stage. When people rose and started dancing she removed her jacket and manuevered next to me, looking great in her tank and surprisingly tan for March.

I don't do bars or night clubs because I never mastered "the approach". Whatever physical signals women are sending out are a mystery to me. Apparently there are books, blogs, and videos on the subject but I'm sure I still couldn't figure it out. But she was definitely interested. She didn't need to dance on my lap to make her point. Her signals were strong and she might as well have handed me a card saying "Talk to me".

You can pull a muscle if you just jump into the game without warming up, so I started to internally practice a few good opening lines.

"Hi"
"Great concert"
"I'm Jim"
"Bob Marley's dead, you know"
"Having a good time?"
"You smell like pot."
"Why are you looking at me?"
"I've got a room next door"
"You look fantastic"
"Here, pull my finger!"

You've already seen the title of this story, so you know how it ends. I didn't end up using any of these lines, but if there are any good ones I'd hate to see them go to waste so please feel free to use them if you'd like. Instead, I spent a couple of songs screwing up my courage (and screwing up an opportunity) until the band took a break. She looked me in the eye on the way to the lobby and even touched my arm to get past. She may have rolled her eyes and shook her head but that could be my imagination punishing me.

Sighhhh...

20 minutes later I was in my room watching the Discovery channel in my underwear.

That's the end of my story. But as you know, I like to wrap up with some sort of moral...some sort of point I'm trying to make. Aesop, Jesus, and me....we all dig the parables and I can't let those two down so here's what I've got.....

Reach for the stars - He who hesitates is lost - Fortune befriends the bold - A faint heart never won a fair maiden - Men who try to do something and fail are better off than those who try nothing and succeed - All BULLSHIT!

The only point I'm trying to make is that they call it a "comfort zone" for a reason....It's comfortable.

....ok that's weak... but she was probably some sort of serial killer that targets bold men anyway.

On Blogging

These keystokes represent my first tentative steps into recording my relevant and profound (OK...maybe dull) musings onto the web for world wide consumption (isn't a world wide following every blogger's fantasy??). Blogging has been around for several years and I remember laughing the first time I heard about it. What kind of ego's believe that the world cares about the cuteness of their cat or their crazy sister? I laughed... but I really was curious. Who blogs? Why do they do it? Isn't it just another chore to do between the laundry and the lawn? Where's the motivation?

I asked myself those questions back when blogs numbered in the thousands. Last week I heard that the world wide number of blogs now exceeds 100 million! It's growing exponentially.

But why...????

I'm not the first person to ask. It's actually been studied. One very good paper I've read is titled "I'm Blogging This" A Closer Look at Why People Blog. (I'm not techno-savvy enough to provide a link so you'll have to google it if you want to read it)This paper submits five reasons for the need to blog. 1)documenting one's life, 2)providing commentary and opinions, 3) working out emotional issues, 4) thinking by writing, 5) promoting conversation and community. All legitimate reasons. The paper is very well researched, written, foot noted and the conclusions make sense, but I think the data can be boiled down further and summarized into something much simpler and deeper to the human psyche.

A few years ago (was it even 10??) I watched an hour of a television drama that may have been canceled after a few episodes. I don't remember the name and I don't remember the actors but there was one scene that stayed with me. I recognized it as a very basic truth. An exhausted salesman woke up in his hotel room having slept on top of the covers and in his clothes. He was in a hurry and grabbed his bag and stood at the door looking back at his room. The bed was still made, the towels unused, the soap unopened, etc. He couldn't leave the room until he went back and pulled the covers down, threw a couple towels on the floor and ran some water in the tub. It was too sad for him to know that he was in that room for several hours but left no sign that he had ever been there. He needed to leave proof of his existence.

He needed to Matter.

Isn't that a basic primal instinct of our species? Isn't that a reason behind cave drawings in France, carved initials in the forest, and grafitti in Los Angeles? The kid in L.A. is using his spray paint for the same reason I am using my keyboard.

WE ARE AFFIRMING THAT WE EXIST. On some level we believe that what goes out onto the internet is archived and can be googled and discovered even in the next millenium. To me it feels more permanent than the initials I carved in the birch tree decades ago. If I turn my thoughts and musings into electrons and toss them into the world wide wind ... I'm just saying...


Jim was here.....

"I Have the Right to Pose Naked"

She told me that and I agreed with her. Which made it that much harder to fire her the same week I hired her.

I've hired hundreds of applicants in my career and I take pride in finding good, talented people. And Debbie was a can't-miss-slam-dunk. She wasn't just going to be the head of marketing...she was going to be the face and voice of the companies local office. She stood out from the other applicants. Debbie had a great personality. She was "perky", which was exactly what we were looking for. Afterwards, I had to defend myself that I hired her for her looks. Certainly she was pretty. But not sexy pretty. Not model pretty. A better description might be 'adorable'. She was the neighbor girl you hired to watch your kids. She was an activities director in a nursing home for God's sake. Her husband was the weekend anchor at the local network. Can't-miss-slam-dunk.

Debbie started on Monday...the same day the local paper did the standard puff peice on our new Marketing Director. On Tuesday a "concerned citizen" dropped off a magazine at our office. Maxim...no problem. Playboy...we might have lived with. Penthouse... would have presented some difficulties. But this was...Hustler. And it wasn't a youthful error. It was the current issue! And she was in the middle in all of her "adorable" spread legged perkiness.

Within hours (maybe it was minutes) it was big news at the corporate office and a couple of clerks were dispatched to gather evidence from the local porn shops so the company officers could see for themselves who Jim hired. They needed to see the evidence for themselves before they made any decisons.

On Thursday I fired her. I had to do it with the corporate attorney listening in on the speaker phone. She cried and I felt awful. She talked about her rights and I countered with our rights. She finally left peacefully and with 2 weeks pay.

I still believe she had the right to pose naked. Anyone does. And you have the right to pierce your toungue and tattoo your neck and have a swastika bumper sticker and drink yourself into a stupor. I even believe you should have the right to get high. But as you exercise your rights and "stick it to the man", you gotta realize that "the man" has got rights too.

Good luck Debbie. I wish you the best.

Finally Something to Admire

Aaron was an ass. He was cruel, racist, lazy, sexist, and he was my boss. Those who worked closest to him never lasted long. After a long line of his female assistants quit after a few months with him, we hired a man who lasted 11 months before resigning after being reduced to tears in front of the rest of the staff.

He boasted that he had friends in high places and couldn't be fired and after so many outrageous incidents that resulted in nothing more than a friendly warning, we came to believe it. I once tried to think up with even one small thing to admire about him. I couldn't do it. Came up empty...

...until I heard the details of how he killed himself.

Aaron's reign came to an end through the most unlikely hero. Betty was a timid, nervous woman who never really made eye contact during the interview. But Aaron's reputation was well known and she was the only applicant. That was a good enough qualification and she was hired. Her resume told us where she worked before and where she went to school but it never showed us her back bone. Solid Titanium. Sure, she cried. But she fought back and we rallied around her and based on all of our testimony, Aaron was finally fired.

But I'm not writing about Betty. Admiring her was easy. I still do. This story is about how Aaron killed himself.

On January 2nd, the local paper, the sheriffs office, and various relatives were informed in writing of Aaron's death...by Aaron himself. When the sheriff arrived at the address, he found a home that was spotless and devoid of furniture. An envelope filled with instructions was on a kitchen counter. Aaron and his wife (and the cat) were in the front seat of Buick in the still fume filled garage. They had written their own obituaries and sent them to the paper with a check, prepaid for a simple cremation, sold all the furniture, taken their clothes to the thrift store, discontinued utility services and paid the final bills, cleaned the house, applied for the life insurance benefits, and left instructions for the disbursement of any remaining assets. They had taken care of every conceivable detail. It was so clean. So efficient. Why?? It went completely against how he lived. It took a dumpster to clean out his office but just an envelope to clean up his life? Was it one last act of control? Was he trying to make amends for a messy life?

Whatever his reasons were, I was fascinated. I still believe suicide is the ultimate act of cowardice...but...(and I apologize everytime I tell this story)...but ...I gotta admit...I was impressed. This was something about Aaron I could admire.

Rest in Peace Aaron.

Silver Linings and Bipolar Bonuses

The picture in the paper was taken at 1:00am and showed me with my hands on my head looking in disbelief at the mangled entry doors to the mall.

Thanksgiving was 4 days away and the timing was horrible. The only witness was the guy in the parking lot sweeper who said, "I thought the headlights were my own reflection until the doors exploded and this little gray car drove out of the mall."

The story in the paper went on to explain that shortly after midnight a car crashed through the automatic doors of the east entrance drove the length of the mall, running into holiday displays, vendors carts, food court tables, before exiting through the west entrance and escaping into the night. The only evidence was a gray driver's mirror at center court.

It had already been a tough year. Traffic and revenue were down because of a new mall in the area. My year end bonus was tied to annual revenue. It was an "all or nothing" bonus system. If I fell even five dollars short of budget, I received nothing. By the end of November I was looking at a forty thousand dollar short fall.

And now this...
We spent the night getting the mall ready for the next days shoppers and the following afternoon we had a visit from our insurance claims adjuster. Damages were estimated at about $40,000. And the "silver lining light bulb" was lit over my head.

In a few weeks, the insurance check was collected, repairs were made, and the bills were paid. Who would notice or even care if the check was deposited on December 28th and the bills weren't paid until January 8th?

I made my bonus with $850 to spare.

They later caught Adam, a 19 year old kid who was off his medication for a bi-polar disorder. During a manic episode he felt compelled to take a driving tour of our mall and never could explain why.

Sometimes you have to get creative but there are opportunities or silver linings in every crisis. Thanks Adam!

Two Summers - One Lesson

If you're lucky some of the important life lessons can be learned early. I didn't realize it at the time but this lesson I learned in elementary school stuck with me for the rest of my life.

A few days before the end of the 3rd grade, Mrs. McWhinnie (loved that name!) announced that the school and the local libraries were sponsoring a summer reading contest. Whoever read the most books before the start of the next school year would win a wonderful prize. All of the libraries would have contest entry forms and the librarian would record how many books you checked out over the summer.

This announcement came just a month after bikes were awarded to the winners of the fund raising contest that I had only half heartedly participated in. I quickly deduced that if bikes were awarded for 3 weeks worth of selling magazines and wrapping paper...then the prize for 3 months of reading during your summer break...must be like 10 times better than a bike! ( I was a reader, not a mathematician)

I was going to go for it. I liked to read anyway and I knew that my only serious competition was Julie Beudreau. Julie read during recess which clearly was a sign of a compulsive disorder. She might be a problem.

That summer I read. I read in bed, I read in the bathroom, I read in the car, I read at the barbers, I read at dinner, I read at the rodeo, I read while camping, I just read. Occasionally my friends would peal me away for a bike ride but I couldn't enjoy it because I just KNEW Julie was reading. I pictured that compulsive little suck up setting her alarm for 4am so she could get to more books. I couldn't let up if I was going to beat her.

It did occur to me to cheat but imagined that with such a fabulous prize at stake there was probably going to be some sort of test on the books...maybe even fingerprinting of the pages...so I read every word.

By summer's end I had logged 48 books with the librarian and was certain that I had fallen at least a dozen books short. On the first day of 4th Grade the principal came into our classroom to personally award the Summer Reading Prize.

I looked at Julie and tried to imitate her apparent non-chalance. If she was going to pretend not to care - so was I.

"Good morning class. I'm so proud...blah, blah, blah...everyone's a winner...blah, blah blah...and the winner for the whole school comes from this very class room."

My heart was beating in my head.

"With an amazing 48 books read, the prize goes to Jimmy Crocker. Jimmy, could you come up here please?"

I walked (maybe I swaggered) to the front of the class and received my 1st place certificate and my...

...Bookmark. That's it. A bookmark.

A certificate, a bookmark, my name displayed in the school trophy case for the entire school year, teasing for being a bookworm, and accusations of cheating (because no one is stupid enough to spend their summer actually reading 48 books). The only person who seemed actually impressed with my acheivement was - Julie Beudreau (19 books). While she congratulated me and we discussed the books we had read, I noticed that besides reading, she'd spent the summer getting kinda hot. I decided it wouldn't be such a sacrifice to give up a little recess tetherball for the occasional book discussion with Julie.

By the end of 4th grade, I was just Jim...no more Jimmy. The summer reading contest was announced again but I was having none of it. I'd climbed that ladder and I knew what was at the top.

That summer (maybe the funnest 3 months of my life) was spent riding bikes and horses. We fished until it got hot, then we threw down our poles and the fishing hole turned into a swimming hole. We had a 30 foot rope tied to a cottonwood and we timed ourselves to the top everyday. I danced at the reservation Pow Wow and went on a cattle drive at my friends ranch. I stacked hay on the farm and learned to water ski. I slept in a tent nearly as often as I slept in my bed. And to completely destroy my book worm rep I even got arrested. (but that's another story) I can't remember for sure but I must have read a couple of books because I still needed something to talk to Julie about in the fall.

I don't think there was a conscious realization that I'd learned a life lesson that summer but I'm sure it's something I must have internalized on some level. I'd discovered that the "fabulous prize" wasn't something I had to work for or something that could be awarded by someone else. The prize was being able to live on the Wind River in Wyoming and seeing the mountains from my bedroom window. It was having good friends and a healthy body and to have the freedom to enjoy both. It was having great parents and a brother who was my best friend.

And I was given that prize every single morning.

Ever since then I've been careful. I don't want to spend years climbing a ladder just to discover it's been leaning against the wrong wall. Why wait for a vague promise that there is a land of milk and honey in your future. Look around. You are surrounded by milk and honey already.

Just taste it.