"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.