Be the Change You Want to See in the World

I attended another funeral this week and I feel better for it. Yes, go back and read that first sentence again. I’ll wait. I really did say that I feel better for it. That isn’t to say that I don't feel utterly terrible about my friend losing his wife and the mother of his two young daughters. I do. I can't begine to imagine the pain and suffering he is dealing with. Heaven’s gain is our community’s loss with the passing of this amazing woman. If you know who I’m referring to, you understand. But the odd thing about attending this funeral service is that I not only left the church crying but inspired to do something, anything that in some small way will fill the void of compassion and selflessness this woman’s ascent to heaven has left.

As you may recall I’m currently “in between” careers, also known as “gainfully unemployed”, “seriously searching”, and “bumming around in coffee shops”. How, you might ask yourself, can someone who is dealing with their own issues be considering ways to help others? Good question, but the answer is pretty easy. Because I can. Because I believe that I am already resolving my own challenges and I need to do more to help others. By help I don’t mean write a check either. That’s too easy. (There’s nothing wrong with donations – I donate every year to a number of charities and conservation groups. I just mean that I want to do more. You keep doing what works for you, o.k.) I am chronically optimistic (except against a flush draw with an open ended straight draw to boot) and I believe that optimism is what makes me so sure that I can do something to make a difference in someone else’s life.

Fortunately I have friends that think along the same lines as I do. I have one friend in particular, we’ll call him “The Train”, that has asked me to train for a marathon in Alaska (during the summer!) to help raise money for fighting lung cancer and giving at-risk youth something to focus on besides getting into more trouble. Despite the fact that I only run to the bathroom when I REALLY gotta go bad, I’ve tentatively agreed, but I’m sure that once we round the corner for the solar calendar and I start to see the days get longer I’ll be more excited about the idea.

The first thing I think I can do is share my optimism with my family and friends. I truly believe that Roosevelt (or at least his speech writer at the time) had it right when he said during his inauguration speech  “…the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory.” In other words, if we continue to be fearful or pessimistic then we have lost; if we focus on the positive things in our lives – our family, our friends, our sharing and caring community, then we will get past the scary things and “be the change you want to see in the world”, as Gandhi said. That’s what I want to do – be the change. Not loose change. Not spare change. Just good positive change.

I’m reluctant to lay out a 100 day plan just yet, but suffice it to say that I intend to focus on the Gilpin/Nederland community that I love. I’ll let you know just as soon as I have it figured out. I know that I’ll never fill replace the incredible energy and efforts of my friend’s wife. I doubt that anyone can. But I’m bound and determined to do something that will make a difference in at least one person’s life besides my own kids. That’s a responsibility (making a difference in my kids’ lives) that I relish above all else.

I never imagined when I woke up this morning that I’d go to a funeral service and come home feeling inspired and energized. I haven’t been sleeping a lot lately, but right now I feel like I could stay up for days working out my ideas and putting together a plan to make them real. I think the Priest who spoke at the funeral service today would be somewhat satisfied if he knew that his homely, his candid remarks, touched me so powerfully. I think he’d be more satisfied when I follow through and become the change I want to see. I’ll get to work on that.

2008 Elk Hunting Wrap-Up

Snap, crackle, pop. They’re not just the sounds you hear in your bowl of cereal every morning. They are the sounds you want to hear, very loudly, when you’re sitting in the dark timber at oh-dark-thirty waiting patiently for a 600+ pound elk to walk up on your position. Crash, bang, boom - as the sounds gets closer and closer the hair on the back of your neck begins to rise and your pulse quickens. Suddenly you’re aware that you’re breathing faster and faster despite your best effort to remain perfectly calm. You double-check the chamber on your rifle to make sure you’ve already got a bullet loaded. It would really be embarrassing to pull the trigger and hear “click” instead of “BOOM!” You double-check the safety on your rifle to make sure you haven’t forgotten which side it’s on. You look down at your scope, making sure the lens covers are off and the variable zoom is set no higher than 6x. It would be darn frustrating to look through the eye piece and see nothing but the knot on a tree 100 yards away instead of the elk you’re targeting.

You say a little prayer to the hunting spirits asking for their blessings because you’re not sure if the last time you bumped your scope against a tree while you were stumbling through the early morning darkness you didn’t knock it loose and mess it up. From directly behind the tree you’re sitting against you hear what can only be a herd of elk slowly trotting through the woods. You check your watch to confirm that shooting hours have started; there’s no sun in the sky yet to confirm what you’re pretty sure you know. You take a deep breath and slowly exhale. The sounds of snapping twigs and disturbed earth only grow louder. You decide that the time has come to take a look behind the tree and possibly take your first shot in three years. You slowly lift your rifle, putting one eye in the scope and the other wide open to take in the whole scene. As you ever so slowly swing around the tree you can feel your heart pounding in your chest as your walk down the mental checklist you’ve reviewed over and over for the last 11 months – where to aim, confirm a good backstop, safety off before you pull the trigger, squeeze the trigger slowly, keep breathing… OH CRAP!

There, sitting upright, perfectly in your scope’s sights is the fattest squirrel I’ve ever seen. So fat, that it just might be worth shooting it to make up for the fact that I was convinced it was an elk. Grrr. There is no elk anywhere in sight. I put the safety back on, drew a deep breadth, and wondered how any squirrel, no matter how fat, can make that much noise in the woods. Dang squirrels. It is amazing how a few days away from the television, radio, computer, and cellphone (and all the other noisy distractions like the wife and kids) lets your hearing become more sensitive to even the smallest sounds. When I talk to other elk hunters, particularly those that have actually seen and shot elk, they tell me that an elk walking through the woods is a fairly noisy animal. I guess it would be hard to be “light on your feet” if you weighed over 500 pounds. Now I know that elk make more noise than squirrels. How much more, I’m not exactly sure, but I’m betting it’s a fair bit more. Dang squirrels.

This year I was fortunate to get out hunting twice – once during the first rifle season with a bull tag and once during the second rifle season with a leftover cow tab. Despite hunting two seasons I came up completely empty. Grrr. My best guess is that the weather has been so good going into October that the bulls went their separate ways after the rut and haven’t been pushed lower to look for better sources of food and water. Without a big snowstorm in September to kill off the grasses in the high meadows, bulls and cows are pretty content to stay put and only move when absolutely necessary. In between hunting seasons I had to work at a tradeshow in Dallas. That’s a long time to be away from home. Needless to say, my kids missed me and my wife (probably) didn’t.

Now don’t get me wrong – despite not filling either tag I still had a great time. All the BS you hear from men about “its just great to get out (of the house) and spend time in the woods (playing poker and drinking beer) is honestly true. For me the best part is getting out of the usual routine (wake-up, feed the kids, make coffee for the wife, send everyone off to school) and having some time to commune with nature. While I was out during the second rifle season, hunting up near Walden, I saw more moose than you could shake a stick at. This is the same area where moose were reintroduced a number of years ago. From what I saw, the reintroduction is working just fine. Over three days hiking around the woods I counted three bulls, four cows, and at least one calf. One of the bulls must have been at least 4-5 years old. He had a gorgeous rack and looked like he weighed around 1,200 pounds or more. Even though elk hunting is still my greatest pursuit, I’m starting to think it might be worth the effort to start accumulating preference points for a moose hunt. I hear they taste just as good as elk, if not better.

For me elk hunting is done until 2009. I don’t have the cash or the time to pull another leftover tag. My three year running score is: Elk 3, Drew 0. No matter, I’ll be the first one to call all my hunting buddies when the 2009 big game brochure comes out so we can get together for a beer at Roy’s and start planning for next year’s hunt. Hopefully NEXT year I’ll finally fill a tag instead of running into any more giant squirrels. Grrr.

The Usual Suspects

In case anyone was truly worried, I didn’t flip a coin to decide who to elect for Commissioner last week. I couldn’t let such an important decision rest on the rotations of a quarter – I used a dartboard! Sorry the article was so short, but I was way behind on my work and I still needed to finish reading the Blue Book so I would know how to vote on all of the amendments. It was a good thing I finished reading everything before going to vote since I had my kids in tow. It turned out that having the kids with me made for a great educational experience. They’d spent the last two days learning about the electoral process and were really excited to see the polling place, or should I say voting place. For the first time in what may be months they were quiet and not fighting with each other while I showed my I.D. card and received my ballot. We found a booth in the back row and the kids watched intently as I filled in the little rectangles with my pencil. As I worked my way up the ballot to the presidential candidates (I like to vote backwards, judges first, then the amendments, president last) I softly asked my kids “Who do I vote for President?” My son replied “Rock Bomma”. I asked him why and he answered “Cause his name is cool!” Oh well, good thing they don’t run political commercials on PBS or the Disney Channel. Needless to say, the kids enjoyed watching me vote and somehow felt like they were voting too; I’m glad they came along. I found out the next day that the kids did their own voting – cats versus dogs; cats won by a landslide; that makes no sense to me whatsoever.

My favorite part of the newspaper, besides my own article of course, is the Police and Sheriff’s crime reports. Around my house we refer to that section as the “Bad Guy Boo-Boos”, “Idiots on Parade”, or “What NOT to Do In Gilpin County”. I thought I’d take a stab at writing my own version of the crime reports for your entertainment:

• On such and such day at somewhere around 0130 hours (that’s police talk for 1:30am) Officer so-and-so observed a man driving south on Highway 119 weaving back and forth across the double yellow line. After putting on the bright red and blue lights the man pulled over, into a ditch, highsiding the ‘86 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme he was driving. After Officer so-and-so determined that the vehicle’s registration was expired he approached the driver’s side of the car only to be greeted by the smell of cheap whiskey and something like sage brush. The driver obviously had not been using a seatbelt, as he was sitting in the passenger seat. Officer so-and-so asked the man if he was in fact the driver of the vehicle. The man answered, claiming that the driver was no longer here, and could he get a ride home from the officer to Lakewood. When asked where the driver went, the man replied “Mars?” The man was taken into custody and charged with driving while stupid.
• On the same day, at around 0145 someone called dispatch to report a small green man walking south on Highway 119.
• On the next day, at around 1905 (that’s police talk for 7:05pm) Officer so-and-so was called to the Whatever Casino on a report of missing money. The woman told the officer that she kept putting her money in the change machine but no quarters were coming out. The officer advised the woman that she was sitting at a slot machine and to try pulling the handle. The woman became angry, accusing the casino of stealing her bus money, until she accidentally pushed the “Play Now” button and hit the super slot jackpot for $5,342. She thanked the officer for his help and asked if someone could call her a taxi to get home with all her winnings.
• On the same day, at around 2200 (10:00pm), someone called dispatch to report a small green man sitting along side Highway 119.
• On the same day, at around 2300, Officer so-and-so was dispatched to the Somethingelse Casino on a report of a missing wallet. The victim was obviously hammered and had no idea where they left their wallet let alone what casino they were in. The case is still open, but nobody expects the wallet to reappear out of thin air. The victim was taken home by a small green man driving an Oldsmobile.
• On the same day, at around 2330, Officer so-and-so was dispatched to Mountain View Drive on a report of two dogs at large. The Officer contacted the owner who told him that one dog had already come home but the other one was probably coyote bait. The Officer shrugged his shoulders, wished the owner good luck, and seriously considered another career as a Black Jack dealer. No summons was issued. No idea if the second dog ever made it home.
• On the next day, at around 0930 hours, a small green man was spotted by Officer so-and-so driving a late model Oldsmobile on Highway 119. The license plate, with renewed registration stickers, matched the same one that was pulled over two nights earlier. The Officer shook his head and kept driving…
• On the same day, at around 2315 (11:15pm), Officer so-and-so responded to a home poker game at something-or-other Coyote Circle. One of the players, frustrated at losing to a pair of 2’s when he had a straight draw and flush draw (13 outs!), had thrown a water bottle on the ground, splashing all the players at the table. Nobody was injured. No summons was issued. The player was warned not to expect to hit a flush draw every time.
• On the same day, at around 2325, at the same poker game, the same player was reported missing with all the money for the poker game. The player and the money was found. No summons was issued. The other players were warned not to let this guy hold all the money at the next game.

Country Squirrel, City Squirrel

A few weeks ago I took the family to Connecticut to celebrate Grandpa’s 70^th birthday. After living in the mountains for the last 12 years and living west of the Mississippi for the last 22 years, I’ve gotten used to folks that are more relaxed and less stressed than the folks I met in Connecticut. Just so you can appreciate how good we have it here in the mountains, let me describe for you some of the differences I saw between living in the Rockies and living on the East Coast…

First of all, out west, we have a LOT of room to roam around. With all of the National Forests, BLM land, and open space, we can easily get away from the crowds and enjoy a bit of peace and quiet almost any time we want. Back East (I grew up in “Jersey”, so I always refer to the East Coast as “Back East”) everything is pretty crowded. The only way to get some peace and quiet is to take a walk along the shore or get out into the sound on a boat. Good luck if you want to drive anywhere – the roads don’t go straight and the drivers are insane.

I can only guess that long ago, when our forefathers (and foremothers!) created the first towns and cities they had no idea what a straight line was. Instead, fascinated by circles, they choose to connect the trails and roads (usually no less than 5 or 6) with circles at almost every intersection. Today, in the middle of those circles, are flowerbeds that surely mark the grave of some poor schmuck that got caught going around the circles and never made it out alive.

We bought Grandpa a GPS for his truck so that he wouldn’t get lost going to all the places in and around his home town that he’s gone to for the last 54 years. When we set it up for him and gave it a test it would verbally give directions in a calm female voice - “Turn left at the next intersection”, “Turn right in 50 yards”, or “You have arrived at your destination.” I decided that it really needed a true test, so I set a course from one side of town to the other, passing through 6 or seven different traffic circles. By the 3^rd traffic circle the calm female voice had become somewhat grumpy and annoyed. By the 5^th traffic circle the voice was obviously annoyed and irritated. By the last traffic circle the voice became angry and abusive – “Turn, turn, turn!!!”, “Slow down or you’ll miss the exit!”, “Who the heck designed these stupid streets!” At our destination the GPS burst into flames, worn out by the spider’s web of streets and traffic circles. I brought it back to the store and got grandpa a tie and a bottle of his favorite wine.

Out West, we have the mountains to tell us which way is North (and East, South, and West). Back East, if you can see it, the Ocean is the landmark that tells you if you’re going North or South. Obviously, going too far East is not an option while driving. Out West we have mile markers to tell us how far we’ve gone and to check the calibration on our speedometer. Back East there’s a Dunkin Doughnuts every few miles to tell you how far you’ve gone and remind you that a cup of coffee and a box of chocolate glazed doughnut holes would make the perfect snack any time of the day.

Interestingly enough, there is less fast food to be found back East than you find in Colorado. After asking my inlaws about that, they looked at me like I was an idiot (true, sometimes) and told me simply “The local mom-and-pop restaurants, delis, and sandwich shops have all the business wrapped-up. Everyone around here has their favorite place, so why would they bother to go to Denny’s, Chili’s or TGIFridays?!?” How true, how true. I did my best while I was there to support the local economy – I feasted on corn beef and pastrami sandwiches at the local delis, bought bagels and doughnuts at the local bakery, and gorged myself on pizza at every opportunity. In between these eating safaris I also squeezed in some saltwater fishing and a trip to the local diner. What a great trip!

As much as I enjoyed seeing my inlaws and a bunch of my cousins, it was great to get home and have some room to roam. I always feel a bit cramped when I’m back East. I guess I’m just spoiled, living the good life in the Colorado mountains.

Everything I Learned Coaching Pee-Wee Soccer

Soccer season is over. This year I coached a team of precosious 5 and 6 year-olds – the "Gilpin Cosmos". The team practiced hard, they played hard, and they listened to what I told them to do 25% of the time. I figure that’s pretty good, considering that at home my kids listen to me about 10% of the time and I never listen to what my wife is telling me. Looking back over the seasaon I thought I share some reflections I’ve had about what I’ve learned as a Pee-Wee soccer coach over the past three years.

First of all, showing up is half the job. At this age there’s no reason whatsoever to rank the kids by skill and only play the best lineup until a win is in the bag. Everyone plays, as much as everyone else, as long as they show up for the game. What always surprises me is how the youngest, most inexperienced players rise to the challenge and have outscored the older, more experienced players. Just goes to show you that once you’re on the field anything, including success, can happen. You just have to show up.

If you fall down on the ball some son-of-gun is going to kick you, guaranteed. You’ll probably get kicked more than once. You’ll get kicked In the head, in the legs, anywhere that they think will cause the ball to pop out in front of them. You’ve covered-up the thing they want the most – the soccer ball. My revelation is pretty basic – either don’t fall down on the ball, or if you do, jump up as quick as you can and start kicking the ball again. Lying on the ground waiting for someone to blow a whistle and come to your rescue is like waiting for someone else to solve all your other problems. It isn’t going to happen.

Soccer is a running game. The kids that score the most goals are the ones that run endlessly. They aren’t necessarily the fastest runners, they’re just the ones that keep running all the time. They’re the ones that are running when everyone else has stopped running. Endurance has its place on the soccer field and in life – keep doing the right thing long enough and the rewards will come.

In soccer using your hands is illegal and results in a turnover of the ball to the other team. Use your hands in the penalty box and the opposing team gets a free kick which usually results in a goal. Sometimes your hand may come in contact with the ball accidentally and if nobody sees it happen there’s nothing to worry about. The rules in soccer, much like the rules we all agree to live by, are designed to keep the game simple to understand and fair for all the players. Follow the rules and you can have a lot of fun. Ignore the rules and you’ll be sitting on the sidelines.

There’s always someone yelling at the players during a soccer game. Family, coaches, teammates – everyone wants to tell you what to do, when to do it (“Shoot the ball NOW!”), and how to do it. It can be pretty tough to concentrate with all that noise and distraction. Pay attention to where the ball is, where the other players are on the field, and where the goal is. Don’t worry about who’s eating all the snacks or who’s sitting in “your spot” on the grass. Block out all the distractions and count of your training to guide your actions. Stay focused on your goal and your chances of scoring or making an assist are excellent.

Your coach is there to help you. He yells because he cares. He makes you run around the field or chase the soccer ball over and over because he knows what it takes to reach a level of fitness that makes you run like the wind during the game. Your coach has a vested interest in your success – he (or she!) wants to see you have fun and enjoy playing soccer (or T-ball, or basketball, etc.) Listen carefully to your coach. Do the drills they show you how to do and don’t complain. Never ask “Are we done yet?!” or “Can I go sit down now?” Your coach is there to help you.

Don’t steal the ball from your own teammate. There’s probably nothing more aggravating then setting up a shot on goal and having a teammate step in front of you and kick the ball into the goal or out of bounds. Position yourself to take a pass in case an opponent steps in front to block the shot or find a spot to kick in a rebound in case the ball ricochets off of the goal post. Being a teammate means that you’re there to support each other and play against the other team; you’re not there to compete with each other for who gets more goals. Odds are, if you work together, the team will do great and you’ll both score a lot of goals!

Sappy, I know, but I’m hoping that in about 30+ years when my own son and daughter coach their own team of 5 & 6 year olds they’ll read this article in the family scrapbook and find something more to teach their teams than how to win a game. If not, no worries. At least for now I’m lucky enough to have a great bunch of kids to coach and the presence of mind realize myself that coaching soccer has taught me as much as I hope to teach them.

I'm a Lumberjack, Yes Indeed...

Labor Day Holiday. That’s an oxymoron, right? I mean, how many of you actually spent all three days doing nothing but relaxing, enjoying the holiday that honors your labors for the other 364 days of the year? I don’t know about you, but I spent most of my “holiday” doing what I do every Labor Day weekend – getting ready for winter.

Getting ready for winter really means that I spent most of my time cutting, cleaning, logging, blocking, and splitting firewood. My wife enjoyed the holiday too – she spent most of her time hauling one load of slash after another over to the County slash pile. She spent so much time there this weekend that’s she now on a first name basis with the fellas from Road & Bridge that work in the slash and dirt yard. They’re the ones that make sure no stumps, truck hitches, chains, or any other “stuff” goes into the slash pile that might break our new fancy-schmancy chipper. They even have a “wall of shame” that shows off all the stuff some folks have dumped into the slash pile over the years. Road & Bridge dudes - thanks for helping my wife unload the trailer with the big bucket thingy; keep up the good work!

Is it just me or do we spend our winters wishing it was summer and our summers getting ready for winter? This year I made sure to order my hard wood early so that I’d have it stacked well in advance of the first snow storm that’s sure to come on opening day of elk hunting season. So far I pretty sure I’ve at least one cord of pine blocked with another cord worth of logs stacked and ready to cut sitting next to my sawbuck.

Over the past twelve years since I moved to Gilpin County I’ve never made it through a winter without having to order another cord of wood in the spring. No matter how much wood I think I’ve got, I always end up a cord short. I was so far off the mark last winter that I was cutting, blocking, and splitting the standing dead in my yard during a snowstorm in March. That stunk big time. Of all the things I’d rather do during a snowstorm, cutting firewood isn’t one of them. Adding insult to injury, my chainsaw decided to quit on me, forcing me to get out the trusty old hand saw for the last few block cuts. That stunk more.

This year I’m bound and determined to have all my firewood cut and stacked before elk hunting season. I’m sure all you hunters out there know why. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is more frustrating than getting ready to go hunting and all you hear is that tiny voice in the back of your head saying “Ha! You’re in trouble now. There will be a foot of snow on the ground before you’re a mile back on your hunt and your family will be cursing your name because you didn’t finish cutting all the firewood.” Or maybe that’s what my wife keeps saying, starting in May after the last snowfall until late September/early October when the first snow falls. Regardless of who says it, I want to go hunting without a care in the world – just me, my rifle, my buddies, and lots of hope that the sun will shine long enough for me to get back home and finish splitting that last cord I hid under the big blue tarp.

Other matters – I hope you all had the opportunity to get to the County Fair or the Rodeo. I want to say “thank you” to all the folks that worked hard to put on those events. I can attest from the smiles on my kids’ faces that they had a great time. I mean, who wouldn’t have a great time eating funnel cake, playing in the bouncy castle, and being shot into the air tied to bunch of recycle underwear waistbands. I thought about trying my hands at the bull riding (mechanical bull riding), but I was still a bit sore from cutting firewood. I did make sure to acquire an “adult beverage” (a.k.a. amber malted drink) and toast all the candidates running for commissioner. Good luck to them all. If you need to get a reminder of who’s running, stop by the general store next to the Stage Stop. Every poster for every candidate is tacked up on the wall. That’s what I call equal opportunity.

Finally, I managed to finally repair my dirt bike and get out for a ride yesterday. After grabbing a juice and some cookies at the general store in Rollinsville I drove up the Tolland Road and hooked a left up towards Mammoth Reservoir. From there I went past Elk Park and up over Apex (on public property!) down into Moon Gulch and back to Rollinsville. I ran into a couple from Denver sitting along the trail overlooking Jenny Lind Gulch. I stopped and sat with them for a while, soaking in the clear blue skies, the luscious green forest, and the deafening silence. We traded stories about trails we’d hiked and ridden. They told me that they were from Denver and that they wished they could live up here. I told them that I was from “here” and that sometimes, in the late spring, when I ran out of firewood, I wished I lived in Denver.

7 Tips for Weekend Getaways with Your Kids

My wife just returned from her annual “Babes on the River” rafting trip. To support the effort I have the kids all to myself for a few days. Most years, when the kids were younger, we would just stay home, spending each day staring at each other until nap time or bed time. It was a pretty easy gig. Now that the kids are older, I can’t get away with that anymore. This year I decided to take the kids to Pagosa Springs to see their Grandmother while mom was having fun in the sun. Turns out I would have been better off staying home and staring at the kids until they got sleepy. I’m just kidding, it was a great time and here’s some tips to make a great weekend getaway with your kids.

The first tip I want to share is to make sure you keep a cooler full of refreshments and a bag full of snacks in the car. If you don’t, you’ll be stopping at every gas station in Idaho Springs, Leadville, and Center looking for just the right thing to make their little tummies stop screaming at you from the back seat. I go with Gatoraide, Combos (the cheddar-filled pretzel kind), Tootsie Pops, and fruit leather. I’m not going for the five food groups here, just two basic responses – quiet and happy. Door to door, Pagosa Springs is 288 miles from my house. I measure the snacks I bring in YPM – yells per mile. The lower the YPM, the better. While I’ve never been able to achieve zero YPM, I have come pretty close with this assortment of snacks and drinks.

The second tip is to get a really good radar detector. Really good. Why? Because even if you bring the best snacks with the lowest YPM, you still don’t want to spend any more time in the car than you have to. Forget gas mileage. No amount of money can replace you last nerve when you’re driving down Wolf Creek Pass, about to hit the 20 MPH hairpin turn near the bottom, and the kids start asking the age old question “Are we there yet?!?”

The third tip is to get a really good lawyer for when the really good radar detector fails to spot the CSP officer hiding just over the hill with an instant-on laser gun. If he (the Colorado State Patrolman) any kids of his own, he would understand why I was driving the car like I stole it… At least I have pretty pink souvenir ticket to remember my trip.

The fourth tip is to get a dual screen DVD player for the backseat and stock up on every Pixar movie made in the last seven years. Throw in a few Disney movies like the Little Mermaid and Merry Poppins and you’re set. To go with the DVD player make sure you have two spare headphones. Spare headphones are CRUCIAL! Despite repeated warnings, my son somehow transitioned from his Tootsie Pop to chewing on the headphone cords. As soon as the sound went dead he pulled the plug so everyone in the car could enjoy the soundtrack and dialog as loudly as possible. Now I’ve seen “Finding Nemo” over 1,000 times (I’m not kidding) and I don’t need to hear it again; ever again. I quickly plugged in the spares and we were happily on the way – he had Nemo back in full stereo surround sound and I had Led Zeppelin free of the Pixar sound effects.

The fifth tip is to force your kids to use the bathroom when you stop for gas or to stretch your legs. If you don’t they will inevitably tell you “I have to go potty… NOW!” exactly half way between the last civilized bathroom and the next. This isn’t a problem for either kid when we’re just talking about Number 1. Being “mountain kids” they’ve both learned to adapt and overcome while hiking in the woods, so to speak. When we’re talking about 1+1, no amount of privacy is enough for them to work with and a porcelain palace is the only thing that will suffice.

The sixth tip is to forget about a reasonable bedtime. Sharing the same hotel room with two kids means that unless they pass out from using every last ounce of energy swimming in the pool or running around on the playground, they’re not going to sleep until you do. If the TV is on, so are they. And don’t think that just because you’re the parent that the kids will put up with watching “World Poker Tour” or “ESPN Sportscenter”. They won’t. I got lucky and we compromised – we watched the “Princess Diaries” on the Disney Channel and during the commercials we watched bits and pieces about elk and deer hunting on the Outdoor channel. Despite the protests, I finally turned off the TV around 10pm when it was obvious that my daughter was shooting for a new “stay up late” record and I would have a very grumpy princess on my hands if we didn’t get to sleep sooner than later.

The seventh and final tip is to just enjoy the adventure with your kids. There is a quote – “Happiness is a journey, not a destination” which is easily forgotten when you’re miles from home, sleeping in a motel and wishing you were home. The only part of the entire trip that truly frustrated me was the bumper to bumper traffic from the tunnel to Idaho Spring. Everything else was a blast. The kids and I got to catch-up on some quality time together and mom will never know how many ice cream cones it really takes to get the YPM close to zero. I do, but that’s a tip I’m not at liberty to share right now.

There Are Two Weeks of Summer Left

Our “two weeks of summer” is almost over and that can mean only one thing – time to go for a hike before the trails are covered with snow. Living in the mountains we are blessed with an abundance of outdoor activities: mountain biking, skiing, rock climbing and poker. The easiest activity for any of us is probably hiking. You only need to put on some boots or sneakers, grab a water bottle and a power bar, and head out the back door into the National Forrest for a hike in the woods and meadows. It sounds simple, and for some folks it is simple. For me, it isn’t so easy…

I have a few complicating factors working against me when I want to go hiking. First of all, I have two dogs that LOVE to run around the woods. Unfortunately they also like to slam into me and whoever else is with me just so we know that they’re there and we don’t forget to give them snacks along the way. I’ve nicked-named them “Seek” and “Destroy”. No matter where you are on the trail and how far afield they’ve gotten, they’ll find you, like some satellite guided missile, and do their best to run you over. I love’m, but they sure are annoying on a hike. You’re probably saying “So, leave them at home!” I would, but then they get really ticked-off and crap in the house to express their displeasure with me for not taking them on the hike. I hate the smell of dog crap in the morning. So we have an understanding – I take them with me on my hikes and they don’t crap in the house. So far it has been a very pleasant two weeks of summer.

Further complicating matters is the fact that I see every hike as an opportunity to scout for the upcoming deer and elk hunting seasons. Loving my creature comforts like I do (warm shower, warm bed, hot coffee in the morning) I’ve opted to hunt in Unit 38 (Gilpin County) again this year. As much as I’d love to set up a hunting camp far off in the woods for a week, I figure I’ve got it pretty good living IN the Unit I’m hunting, so why not enjoy the comforts of home AND hunt out the backdoor. SO… since I’m hunting out my backdoor, that means that every hike IS a scouting trip, which means that I don’t bring just a water bottle and Powerbar, I bring the 10 Essentials and then some. [Remember kids, ALWAYS bring the 10 Essentials (pocket knife, first aid kit, extra clothes, flashlight with extra batteries, full water bottle, map/compass, matches, hat/sunglasses, food, good common sense) whenever you’re going “into the wild” for more than an hour or a few miles.] In addition to all the “required” stuff, I have my GPS, my cell phone, my binoculars, a Crazy Creek chair, dog biscuits, extra water for the dogs, etc. The upside of all this extra stuff is that it helps me get in shape for hunting season – when I carry all the extra stuff for my kids.

Finally, the last and most annoying hindrance to get out hiking is all the other stuff I want or have to do. Fly fishing and cutting firewood are the two biggest. Considering the cost of oil and where its going, I figure I’m going need about 14 cords of wood to heat the house this winter. Kind of sad that I spend all of my winter looking forward to the summer, only to spend most of my summer getting ready for another long winter. Grrr.

Its All Coming Back to me Now (Vegas Part Deux)

Let’s see, where was I… Las Vegas, bender, play date, older, wiser, work, poker… OH YEAH! Now I remember! I was playing poker at the Venetian - $1/$2 No Limit Hold’em. [If you missed last week’s piece, you’ll need to go back and read it before going any further. Why? Because I can’t remember everything I wrote last week and explain it all over again just for you, that’s why. You think I keep a copy of everything I write? Ha! A lot you know. As soon as I finish my weekly article, with minutes to spare before the deadline, I quickly scan it for typpos and email as fast as I can to my editor/publisher. Then I delete the file, burn all my notes, and pour a shot of whiskey to celebrate my little victory.]

So there I was, sitting at a poker table in the Venetian wondering how I got there… Hours before arriving in the casino I’d made the rounds at the industry parties hosted at the Tao nightclub. I do mean parties, plural. You see, when I arrived at Tao (THE hottest nightclub on the strip… when someone else besides the techno-geeks are in town) I somehow managed to get in line for the Asian-Pacific Sales Team party. Despite not having the proper credentials to get into the party, the bouncer stamped my hand and let me in. Guess my bulging muscles intimidated the 6’6” 300 pound sumo wrestler-looking dude. Or he just didn’t care who got in the party, even if everyone else in line was Japanese, Chinese, Korean, or Taiwanese. When I arrived at the (open) bar I did wonder why I was the only guy over six feet tall and I wondered where the rest of my “crew” was hanging out. After a few shots of whiskey I didn’t care and settled into a nice lounge chair along the side of the pool to wait for my coworkers. My phone rang – it was my boss asking where I was. “I’m at the party” I replied. “Which one? There’s four of them tonight” was his response. Hmmm. Good question. I wandered back toward the stairwell to see I could unravel this mystery. As look would have it, I’d somehow missed the big 6’x8’ banner at the top of the stairs that said “Welcome Asia-Pacific Team Members.” Without skipping I beat I downed the rest of my whiskey and headed down the stairs looking for the right party.

On the third floor of the nightclub (there are four floors, including the rooftop pool) I found my boss and another open bar. After a few Stoli and Redbulls I was in my happy place, which is to say I was feeling no pain and didn’t care if I was at the right party or the wrong party. James Belushi, brother of the late, great Jim Belushi, was the entertainment for the night. He and his band played great renditions of all the blues classics… none of which I know by name, I just know they sound good. Other folks were in their happy places too, as evidenced by the number of ladies James convinced to dance on stage with him… and dance on tables, chairs, pretty much anywhere they could get away with it. This was shaping up to be a great party, so I left. I forgot to eat dinner before I got to the club and I was pretty hungry.

I made my way down to the third floor and found the dinner party that was part of the drinking party on the third floor. It was really a buffet, but I didn’t protest. I got in line, filled my plate with all kinds of rice, chicken, dumplings, etc. and made my way to the nearest table. A waiter stopped by to get my drink order (more Stoli and Redbull!) while I dove into my plate. A few bites into my meal I noticed that there were other people at the table, all staring at my plate. “Where did you get that?” someone asked. “Um (chew chew) over there, around (chew, swallow) the corner” I replied. I quickly realized that I’d taken a spot at the table without introducing myself or bothering to ask if they would have me join them. I did introduce myself to three fellas from the UK, one of whom was from Manchester, the birthplace of my maternal grandmother. As soon as I professed a love for European football (known in America as “soccer”) all was forgiven and I spent the next hour talking with them about the European Cup, World Cup, and the Olympics… as well as plugging my company’s products.

I soon realized that it was later than I thought and if I wanted to play any poker before flying home the next day I’d better get to the casino soon. I exchanged business cards with the three gentlemen and wished them all good luck at the blackjack tables, their game of choice. Despite the abundance of free drinks I’d consumed that evening I felt pretty good. Living over 9,000 feet definitely helps when you visit the lowlands… and so does weighing over 200 pounds. I was ready for some poker!

To make a long story short, and not bore 99.9% of you with all the details of my poker hands, I left the poker table 7 hours after I sat down with just over twice the money I started with. Nothing spectacular, but pretty good in my book for a Vegas poker rookie. Perhaps I’ll get back to Vegas before another twelve years goes by.

What happens in Vegas...

The last time I visited Las Vegas it was 1993 and I was there for a bachelor party. My roommate and I drove out, leaving on a Friday afternoon and arriving at 6am the next day. We had just enough time to grab a quick nap before going on a 24 hour bender that left us penniless and wondering which way was up. The real fun came later while we were driving home through a spring snow storm and got stuck on Vail pass. [For you kids reading this, a “bender” is a “play date” that last longer than 2 hours and doesn’t require your mommy or daddy to drop you off and pick you up.]

The bachelor festivities started with cigars and scotch at a swank club. It was then that I discovered that my roommate had never smoked a cigar in his entire life. As the cigars were being passed around, my roommate snatched the last one from my hands, ripped the end off with his teeth, and proceeded to smoke it like a cheap cigarette. Knowing what would inevitably happen to him if he kept smoking that way; I happily sipped my scotch while I waited for karma to show up. After a few long draws on the cigar he quickly turned dark green - a shade somewhat similar to Kermit the frog. Holding a hand over his mouth, he made a mad dash for the restroom, but only made it to the door before he released his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. [Kids “released” means he puked his guts out all over the floor.]

After some other typical bachelor party activities (bowling, riding the sky coaster, etc.) we had some breakfast in old town Vegas while we watched the sunrise. Our friend JP had long ago passed out from all the fun and we were all content that we’d given him a bachelor party that he would never forget. We also figured that his wife would never see his new tattoo… That was then, this is now.

Fifteen years later I returned to Vegas on a business trip, representing my company at a major industry conference. This time I flew in, although I did consider driving after all the bad luck I’ve had with the airlines lately. Seems I’ve been getting the middle or aisle seat in the last row, the row with the child that has an ear infection and loves to scream the entire flight. The conference was at the Venetian, probably the nicest hotel in the city. Compared to the bench seat in the RV I slept on the last time I was in Vegas, my room was spectacular! I had a view of The Strip as well as the four (yes four!) pools that are part of the hotel.

I was stunned at how much Vegas had changed since I was there so long ago. I’d heard about all the new hotels, the new “Disneyland for adults”, but I’d never imagined just how much things had really changed. It seemed to me that Vegas had tripled in size, mostly going up, since there was a limited amount of space downtown to grow out. I wasn’t sure what to make of it all. I didn’t really have the luxury of a lot of free time to walk around and see everything, so I resigned to accept it for what it was – a giant black hole for paychecks and do my best to go home with as much money as I arrived with, minus any reasonable expenses.

Once you enter the hotel you never have to leave, which was a good thing, since it was 110 degrees outside. It was a “dry heat”, as they say in Arizona, but it was still hotter than anything I’ve seen this spring and my body was still in shape for winter – a nice layer of fat covering my rippling muscles. I vowed to stick with air conditioning all week. You can do everything within the walls of the hotel – work, shop, eat, see a show, gamble, and sleep (sleeping in Vegas is optional – that’s what coffee is for). The work was pretty easy – walk through the casino to the convention center, stand in your booth for a few hours talking to customers and competitors, walk back to your room when your shift is over. The easiest commute you could ever ask for. Shopping was easy too – there wasn’t a single shop that I could afford anything more than a “What Happens in Vegas…” t-shirt, so I didn’t do any shopping. Trivia fact: the Venetian hotel, the one with the indoor canals and gondola rides, is the largest hotel in the world (and they’re making it bigger!).

I’ve been playing poker with my buddies once a month for the last year and a half. Our regular games are pretty casual, with lots of whiskey and cigars being passed around. I’ve also played a little bit of poker in Black Hawk with reasonably good results. To say I felt out of my league in Vegas was an understatement. I’ll be the first to admit that I was pretty nervous about sitting at a poker table in Vegas, at the Venetian no less. My concerns were only amplified by the fact that the World Series of Poker was in town and every wanna-be pro was trolling the various poker rooms looking for some “fish” to eat up and spit out. Despite my nerves, I knew I couldn’t go home without at least playing a few hands, just to say I did it. Besides, my poker pals would never let me live it down if I came home and told them that I chickened out in Vegas.

When I finally did sit down to try my luck at the 1-2 No Limit Hold’em game it was my last night in Vegas. Sizing up the players at the table, they all seemed pretty reasonable poker players – nobody was playing crazy cards like 3-4 off-suite or chasing a four flush with an Ace. The dealer welcomed me to the table, exchanged my lunch money for a relatively small stack of chips, and dealt me in to the next hand. It was almost ten o’clock and I was about to play the longest, most exciting poker game in my life… [to be continued]

Taking One for the Team

This past weekend, along with just a handful of other men and what seemed like every woman over 29, I went to see “Sex and the City” with my wife. We had some dinner in Boulder and then caught the show at the Cinemark theater. As my friend Kirk puts it, I took one for “the team.”

What may have been even funnier (or sadder) than the movie were the previews. Its felt like every chick-flick coming out in the next six to twelve months had a preview showing before the main attraction. There was a preview for “He’s Just Not That Into You”, “The Accidental Husband”, “Mama Mia”, and “Brideshead Revisited.” By the time the actual movie started I felt like I’d be run through the chipper and spit out, only to have two more hours of chick flix action coming at me head on like a freight train. The only thing that would have made it any worse would have been sitting through a few dozen commercials for feminine hygiene products! Where were the previews for “Indiana Jones”? “The Incredible Hulk”? “Beverly Hills Chihuahua”!?
Lucky for me I’ve got a Blackberry cell phone, complete with a built-in web browser. The Blackberry is what 90% of the business world used before the iPhone came along. Anyway… I grabbed my phone and punched in the address for ESPN.com. I needed something, anything, that would keep me from losing all contact with the “man world” before I was immersed in the comedic tragedy that is the life of Carrie Bradshaw and her three New York City amigos.

I found the box scores for that day’s baseball games and immediately consumed them all in one bite. I hoped that if I filled up on sports news I could hold my breath and somehow make it through the next 2+ hours being bombarded by a movie that concentrates on shopping for shoes, buying couture dresses, and all the heartache men bring to a relationship.

[WARNING: Movie spoiler. Skip to the P.S. now if you haven’t seen the movie yet and then come back a read this section later.] This movie does nothing more than show men as uncaring, inconsiderate, and incapable of living in a committed relationship. The biggest culprit of all is “Big”, Carrie’s on-again-off-again (on-again, off again, etc.) boyfriend of ten years. Minutes before his (3rd) marriage to Carrie he gets cold feet and zooms off in the back of the limo. At that point in the movie there were just a handful of dry eyes (yes, mine), some weeping, and some cursing. One lady yelled out “that jerk!” to which the rest of the women in the audience replied “yeah!” I was scared. If Big didn’t fix things before the end of the movie I thought there was a good chance I might not make it out alive.

[WARNING: More spoilers] Then there was “Steve”, Miranda’s husband. The bartender married to a Manhattan lawyer. He steps out of line (sleeps with another woman) and the fury of a woman scorned is unleashed on him by his wife…AND every women in the movie theater. I could feel hundreds of eyes looking in my direction, burning with fury that I could share the same gender with Steve. If I wanted to get a nasty glaring looks from a lot of women, I’d rather not have to pay for it. I was not comfortable in that theater. I needed to hit the eject button and get out of there fast. Where’s a good old fire in the theater when you need one.

Fortunately, Samantha and Charlotte, the other two of the three NYC amigos, had minor issues in the movie and didn’t cause the kind of dramatic response that Carrie and Miranda’s problems caused. In fact, they were the comedic relief to the over-the-top drama. Thank you Samantha and Charlotte.

As I sat there, wondering if Big would save me, I thought to myself “what I need right now is a week at “Man Camp”! A week where I can wear the same jeans, not shave, go fishing every afternoon, play poker every night, and learn how to fix complicated things like a carburetor, a transmission, or a hot tub. I wanted to be in a place where men that love their wives and do the right things every day are appreciated. No, I don’t want to go to Promise Keepers camp. I just wanted to get away from a movie that demonizes men and portrays them as the root of all relationship evil.

In the end Big came through and saved the day for every poor schmoe guy sitting in that movie theater. Carrie and her crew lived happily ever after - shopping for shoes, attending fashion shows, and drinking cosmopolitans. As for me, I cannot wait to go see Indiana Jones!!!

The Things We Do for Love

This past weekend, along with just a handful of other men and what seemed like every woman over 29, I went to see “Sex and the City” with my wife. We had some dinner in Boulder and then caught the show at the Cinemark theater. As my friend Kirk puts it, I took one for “the team.”
What may have been even funnier (or sadder) than the movie were the previews. Its felt like every chick-flick coming out in the next six to twelve months had a preview showing before the main attraction. There was a preview for “He’s Just Not That Into You”, “The Accidental Husband”, “Mama Mia”, and “Brideshead Revisited.” By the time the actual movie started I felt like I’d be run through the chipper and spit out, only to have two more hours of chick flix action coming at me head on like a freight train. The only thing that would have made it any worse would have been sitting through a few dozen commercials for feminine hygiene products! Where were the previews for “Indiana Jones”? “The Incredible Hulk”? “Beverly Hills Chihuahua”!?

Lucky for me I’ve got a Blackberry cell phone, complete with a built-in web browser. The Blackberry is what 90% of the business world used before the iPhone came along. Anyway… I grabbed my phone and punched in the address for ESPN.com. I needed something, anything, that would keep me from losing all contact with the “man world” before I was immersed in the comedic tragedy that is the life of Carrie Bradshaw and her three New York City amigos.
I found the box scores for that day’s baseball games and immediately consumed them all in one bite. I hoped that if I filled up on sports news I could hold my breath and somehow make it through the next 2+ hours being bombarded by a movie that concentrates on shopping for shoes, buying couture dresses, and all the heartache men bring to a relationship

[WARNING: Movie spoiler. Skip to the P.S. now if you haven’t seen the movie yet and then come back a read this section later.] This movie does nothing more than show men as uncaring, inconsiderate, and incapable of living in a committed relationship. The biggest culprit of all is “Big”, Carrie’s on-again-off-again (on-again, off again, etc.) boyfriend of ten years. Minutes before his (3rd) marriage to Carrie he gets cold feet and zooms off in the back of the limo. At that point in the movie there were just a handful of dry eyes (yes, mine), some weeping, and some cursing. One lady yelled out “that jerk!” to which the rest of the women in the audience replied “yeah!” I was scared. If Big didn’t fix things before the end of the movie I thought there was a good chance I might not make it out alive.

[WARNING: More spoilers] Then there was “Steve”, Miranda’s husband. The bartender married to a Manhattan lawyer. He steps out of line (sleeps with another woman) and the fury of a woman scorned is unleashed on him by his wife…AND every women in the movie theater. I could feel hundreds of eyes looking in my direction, burning with fury that I could share the same gender with Steve. If I wanted to get a nasty glaring looks from a lot of women, I’d rather not have to pay for it. I was not comfortable in that theater. I needed to hit the eject button and get out of there fast. Where’s a good old fire in the theater when you need one.
Fortunately, Samantha and Charlotte, the other two of the three NYC amigos, had minor issues in the movie and didn’t cause the kind of dramatic response that Carrie and Miranda’s problems caused. In fact, they were the comedic relief to the over-the-top drama. Thank you Samantha and Charlotte.

As I sat there, wondering if Big would save me, I thought to myself “what I need right now is a week at “Man Camp”! A week where I can wear the same jeans, not shave, go fishing every afternoon, play poker every night, and learn how to fix complicated things like a carburetor, a transmission, or a hot tub. I wanted to be in a place where men that love their wives and do the right things every day are appreciated. No, I don’t want to go to Promise Keepers camp. I just wanted to get away from a movie that demonizes men and portrays them as the root of all relationship evil.

In the end Big came through and saved the day for every poor schmoe guy sitting in that movie theater. Carrie and her crew lived happily ever after - shopping for shoes, attending fashion shows, and drinking cosmopolitans. As for me, I cannot wait to go see Indiana Jones!!!
P.S. - Congratulations to Nederdance Studio’s Ballet 1 and Ballet 2 classes on a flawless recital last Saturday. Thanks to the folks that volunteered their time to put together the Gilpin Classic golf event – I can’t wait to drive my first shot into the creek again next year. Finally, happy birthday to my good buddy Kirk, the Big Johnson!

Little League Lessons

What We Learn On and Off the Field

Little league. Been there, done that. I played little league baseball from the age of 6 until the age of 14. I played every position except for 1st base. (I have no idea why I never played first base) My fondest memories were: hitting my first single, double, triple, homerun, and grand slam; striking out my first batter; diving catches in the outfield; stealing 2nd base, 3rd base, and home plate; throwing out a slow runner at 1st base from left field, and going out for ice cream after the games – win or lose.

Looking back now, I find it easier to appreciate the things I learned from playing baseball as a kid. First, I realize that my Mom did a lot for me that I never appreciated, until now. She drove me to every practice and game. She sat in the bleachers and cheered for every swing, hit, miss, catch, or dropped ball. She cheered the loudest when I made a great play or big hit. Win or lose she was there to support me, encourage me, and remind me that winning or losing was part of the game.

Second, I realize that winning and losing are two sides of the same valuable coin. Confused? Hold on, I’ll explain… To be a winner you have to have a passion for winning. You need a burning desire to be number one, the best. Until you’ve had a winning experience you really have no idea what is so great about it. Sure, you may have raced your friends around the playground or had bragging rights for eating the most hotdogs at the school picnic, but that’s not REALLY winning. Winning is knocking in a two-run homerun in the bottom of the last inning. Winning is the feeling of absolute elation you feel as you jog into home plate, crowded with your teammates cheering, knowing that you made the difference between winning and losing. That is a feeling that will never leave you and you might just crave it in the other things you do in life.

So too is the feeling of losing. Losing sucks. Let me repeat that. Losing sucks. As someone else once said “2nd place is the first loser” and I believe them. Once you’ve dropped a fly fall in deep center field, only to watch the winning run tag home. Seen your teammates turn away from you in disgust and curse you under your breath. Then you know the brutal sting of defeat. But there is an upside. Losing is when your true character is tested. Succumbing to defeat, assuming it is what you deserved, is never the answer. Resolving to practice harder and never drop another fly ball again, that’s the right answer. Despite the downside, losing shapes your future just as much as winning, its all in how you respond and react. Like making mistakes, losing is a learning experience, as long as you take the time to look back and try to understand why you lost.

Finally, I learned to have fun playing baseball. On the baseball field, my friends and I were the playing for the fun of the game and nothing else. We had nothing else on our minds except playing baseball in that moment. We were playing a game that our fathers had grown-up playing on the streets of New York City, Boston, or Philadelphia. It was time away from the rules of school, chores at home, and the pressures of growing up in a world that was changing faster than we were.

This was before professional scouts were watching Pee Wee League games looking for the next George Brett, Derek Jeter, or Alex Rodriguez. Now it seems, in some places, the emphasis on winning, and only winning, has overshadowed the fun factor. I feel sorry for the kids that taught that winning is the only reason to play. Hopefully someday they’ll have a chance to look back and see that they learned more from the whole experience than just how to win or lose.

I know from watching the t-ball games at the local multi-sport field that fun is still alive and well on the baseball field. I see the joy in the eyes of every boy and girl as they approach the plate and take their cut at the ball. I see their coaches and parents cheering for them, hit or miss, catch or drop. I see the teams cheering for each other, happy to be away from the classroom and their chores at home. I salute the parents that work so hard to bring the joy of baseball to their little boys and girls of summer. You’re doing a wonderful thing. Parents and players - have a great season!

2008 Commencement Speech

“Be The Change”

I never gave a commencement speech. I wasn’t the Valedictorian or the Salutatorian in high school, and I’m glad I wasn’t. At that point in my life I was only concerned with two things – hooking up with parties and girls, preferably at the same time. I had limited “life experience” and very little wisdom to share with my classmates. What did I know! Now that I’ve made a few mistakes, learned from my mistakes, and taken the time to understand and grow from my experience I feel the time has come to give a commencement speech that might actually be worth listening to. If it sounds like a sermon, I apologize, but I did recently become an ordained monastery minister with the Universal Life Church.

“To the Class of 2008 - high school, middle school, and kindergarten graduates. As you move on from one school to another, or into “the real world”, I want you to remember just one thing – you, and only you, can be the change that you want to see in the world. Nobody is going to do it for you. As the great Bill Murry said in classic movie “Caddyshack” – “Be the Ball”. Think about that for a moment while I ramble on...

For the high school graduates – whether you are going to college or starting a career, the hard work is just beginning. Now that you’re all grown-up and you finally know everything, nobody is going to remind you to do your homework or put in the overtime to be recognized as a standout employee. How hard you work at your studies or your job will determine your future opportunities. It is that simple – the effort you put in determines the results, plain and simple. You are the motor and the transmission for your life. Sit on the couch all day waiting for someone else to do something for you and you’ll get lapped in no time. Don’t get me wrong, you also need to get out and play, see the world (or at least Utah). Use your newfound free time to make new friends, see new places, and explore. Work hard, play hard is still an admirable mantra to live by, as long as you “keep it real” (do kids still say that?).

For the middle school graduates – get ready to rumble! If you thought the pecking order in middle school was rough, just wait until you start your first day of high school and discover that you are the lowest of the low. Don’t panic! Rent a copy of “The Breakfast Club” over the summer and all will be revealed to you. Be true to yourself and you’ll make friends faster that you know. Better yet, make a difference by helping someone else more nervous than you about entering high school and you’ll have a friend for life. Just don’t hit on the girlfriend of the captain of the football team… that’ll hurt you every time, trust me.

For kindergarten graduates – you have it easy. You still have a long way to go (probably a few years at least) before mom and dad kick your butt out of the house. Milk it!! Enjoy every day that you go to the fridge and it is stocked with food that you didn’t have to pay for. Thank your lucky stars for every trip to Chunky-E-Cheese that you don’t have to shell out big bucks to fill the gas tank. If you keep your room clean and don’t forget to help around the house you will be golden for the next few years… until you discover that you know more than your parents and tell them so in a furious rage over which way the sun rotates around the earth. You too can make a change – stop being a sullen little brat and thank god that you have people in your life that love you for who you are.

As I was saying, you are the change. Want to be start your own property management company, start one, it doesn’t cost a dime and you have nothing (literally) to lose. Want so see better recycling services in your county, call your Commissioners and tell them what you think. Think you have what it takes to play varsity football, basketball, or oboe? Go out for the team and see what happens. Ready to move-up from “Goodnight Moon” to “Hop on Pop”, grab a different book from the library the next time you’re there. It is all up to you!

It was Gandhi, not me, that first said “You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” Even if your world is just between Black Hawk and Ward, it is still possible to make a change, any change, and live your life without any excuses. Now go do it!!!

Lingo Bingo

When I lived in Boulder (yes, its true, but I’m feeling better now) I worked for a video game company that developed games like EverQuest or Worlds of Warcraft. I’d still be working there if it wasn’t for the fact that the games we made we boring and nobody wanted to collectively pay us millions of dollars every month to play them. So, to be more precise, our games were not like EverQuest or Worlds of Warcraft – they were far from it.

As the head of the testing department I had a staff of recent college graduates and nearly-college-graduates to do my bidding. They were a great group of guys and my buddies. As part of the techno-game culture, there was always a discussion at lunch over the latest and greatest gadgets, gizmos, and techie toys. Most of the time the discussion centered on the newest 3-D graphics card, the hottest game controller, or the best CPU to build a computer around. Believe it or not, it was possible for us to waste an entire lunchtime debating the merits of RAM speed, cache size, and bus speed. (If none of this sounds familiar to you, count yourself lucky.)
I’m telling you about this because now that I live in the mountains and my hobbies have changed, I have other lingo to throw around besides RAM, CPU, megabits, and Ethernet.

Now, in my free time, with a different group of friends, I talk about aperture, field-of-view, eye relief, muzzle velocity, and caliber. Hopefully, as a mountain living person you recognize those terms from your last hunting trip. They are the various terms used to describe a scope and rifle, as well as the behaviors of those components.

This past weekend I went down to the Boulder Rifle Club (in Boulder, no less) to get a head start on my shooting practice for next fall’s elk hunting season. I noticed that over the past couple of years (I’ve only been hunting elk for a couple of years) I waited until a few weeks before the season opened to zero my rifle and get in some practice rounds. As any seasoned hunter, probably someone with more than two years under his belt, will tell you, that amount of practice just doesn’t cut it. I know that, so I made a promise to myself that I’d shoot my elk rifle at least once a month, every month, from May to October. My goal is to be a crack shot by the fall. So far I’m pretty happy. At 100 yards my second shot from the bench was a dead-on bull’s eye and every shot I took off-hand from kneeling position was on the target. If I stay on schedule and practice with the kids’ BB gun in the back yard, I might be ready for something more than a 50 yard shot this year.

While I was there I took the opportunity to practice a few shots with my pistol. On the pistol range I was surrounded by all kinds of gun geeks. I say that with great admiration and appreciation for their skill and experience. These guys (and gals, there was one!) obviously knew their gun stuff. One gentlemen I talked to told me how I could modify my pistol by changing out all kinds of parts I didn’t know my pistol had. When I looked at him like he had two heads (the same way my wife looks at me when I try to wake her up early on a Saturday morning) he knew immediately that I was only a newbie, not a master like himself. Without blinking an eye he offered to buy my pistol, probably hoping to give it a better home with the love and attention it deserves. I said I’d think about it and give him a call later in the week.

I guess I find it pretty funny that even though I left the “big city” over 10 years ago I can’t get away from technical lingo jingo. Pistols or computers, everything has it’s own dictionary and the more you learn the more there is to learn. For what its worth, I’m happier talking about calibers than clock cycles any day of the week.

P.S. – To all the new folks that moved to the high county this winter (above 8,000 feet), the missing pet signs you post on the telephone poles won’t bring back your little “FiFi” or “Mr. Snuggles”. Your missing pet has taken their place in the circle of life and provided an easy meal to the neighborhood coyote/bobcat/mountain lion. Say a little prayer for them and contact the local humane society to see what bigger, faster pets they have available for adoption.

Traveling is Just Plane Fun

I had the distinct pleasure of traveling to California last week. While I was waiting for my plane to load up and take off I took some time to observe the classic stereotypes of travelers. I thought I’d share my experience and hope you see some of the same humor that I did.

First, there’s the “Road Warrior”. This is the guy that logs over 100,000 miles a year and watches most of his favorite television shows on the screen in the seat in front of him. He’s probably in sales, or close enough that he’s got to be in front of customers 4 days a week. He buys a lot of presents (birthdays, anniversaries, guilt gifts) in the shops along the concourse. The most fun you have watching this guy is when First Class is booked solid and he can’t use any of his gazillion frequent flier points to upgrade out of “cattle car” class into the “high life”. He sticks out like a sore thumb – he’s the only guy with a Rolex, freshly polished shoes, and cuff links. The only thing that could make his field trip to the “middle class” worse would be if he got stuck in a seat next to a mother and her hyper-active 2-year-old boy who likes to scream and shout along with the music on the headphones. Lucky for him, that was my fate…

Then there’s the “luggage shover”. This is the person who must somehow be related to Whodini, since they are convinced that any baggage they bring on the plane will magically fit into even the smallest space in the overhead compartment. Despite the best efforts of the airline and the TSA, their bag is always an inch too big. No matter how many times they push and shove their bag deeper into the compartment it never gets any smaller. Watching them slam the door repeatedly on the bag, while the line of impatient passengers steadily grows behind them, is now one of my favorite channels on the airline passenger reality channel. I’m sure if Douglas Adams were still alive he’d find some cosmic explanation for the difference between the space in the overhead compartment and the size of the carry on luggage. That, and the mismatch between the number of hot dogs and their buns, will continue to elude even Nobel Prize winning scientists.

The “stragglers” are my favorite, since they’re so damn annoying, but they are very entertaining. This is the couple that’s on their way to see the grandkids. They probably met at a USO dance in the 40’s and they’ve been taking their sweet time to get anywhere ever since. They’re the last two people to get on the plane, probably wondering why someone didn’t carry their bags from the little golf cart on the concourse into the plane for them. They obviously haven’t been on a plane for a while, since they open every closed overhead compartment to find a spot for their carry on luggage. Her bag is either a hat box or a make-up case (my mom still has one!) and his bag is full of all of the rest of her stuff that wouldn’t fit in her bag. For the best entertainment, cross your fingers and hope that the “shover” volunteers to help them create that magic space in the overhead to accommodate their bags. I’ve seen this quest for space take upwards of five minutes. If you’re not annoyed by the fact that you’ve already been in your plane sit for 30 minutes this can be very fun to watch. The cherry on top is when the “stragglers” discover that someone is already in their seats (they’re looking on the wrong side of the aisle) and they summon the flight attendant to sort it all out. The whole thing feels like a skit from the Benny Hill show. It would probably be funnier if you saw it in person.

Finally, there’s the mother traveling alone to see the grandparents with her two-year-old son. He’s cute, in the “I’m going to spill milk all over you” kind of way. Despite mom’s best intentions, and a large dose of cold medicine (intended to knock the kid unconscious), this kid is wired for sound. He wants everyone to know that he can hit the high notes for every song on the plane’s radio station. I’m not a “road warrior” and I don’t want to be, but I had the misfortune of being assigned the seat was right next to this bundle of joy and his saintly mother. When I sat down, I did my best to hide my disappointment, but the little boy’s mom could plainly see how “excited” I was to join them in the last row. The good news is that I learned a long time ago that a good pair of earphones, combined with an iPod full of loud heavy metal music, will get me through even the longest flight next to the loudest kid on the plane. After a brief greeting I dug out my earphones and plugged them deep into my ears as fast as I could.

Next time you travel, take a good look around at your fellow travelers. Despite the fun in the security line (can’t we make a dang machine that will detect bomb materials in shoes without me having to take them off?!?) and the delays at the gate, you might just have some fun playing “Name that Traveler” now that I’ve given you a few stereotypes to look for.

Forget Global Warming, What About Global Slowing?

I know there's a lot of concern lately about global warming, but what about global slowing?
With all the fat people in the world, and more coming, isn't it possible that the world will start to rotate more slowly? Think about that...

Follow-up: 5/22/08 - I was close!

Earth Day 2008

This week's Earthday links...

• Earth Day Festival at NCAR in Boulder
• South Platte River Clean-up
• The history of Earthday
• More Earthday information from the EPA
  

(Pulitzer) Prizes are for Winners Only

The Pulitzer prizes were announced this week. For anyone that doesn’t know, myself included (until I wrote this article), the Pulitzer Prizes are awarded to “distinguished” works in journalism, letters, drama, and music. The Pulitzer Prize Board, headed by the President of Columbia University, determines the nominations and the awards. What’s pretty cool about the Pulitzers is that there are no set criteria for judging the nominations. The awards are completely subjective. If there isn’t any work that is deemed “worthy” for a particular category, they just don’t give out a prize. Imagine that, not everyone gets a prize, even if they did really good work and tried their best. I like that. More on that in a moment.

Here’s a bit of background on the Pulitzers: From “The History of the Prizes” at www.pulitzer.org - “In the latter years of the 19th century, Joseph Pulitzer stood out as the very embodiment of American journalism. Hungarian-born, an intense indomitable figure, Pulitzer was the most skillful of newspaper publishers, a passionate crusader against dishonest government, a fierce, hawk-like competitor who did not shrink from sensationalism in circulation struggles, and a visionary who richly endowed his profession. His innovative New York World and St. Louis Post-Dispatch reshaped newspaper journalism. Pulitzer was the first to call for the training of journalists at the university level in a school of journalism. And certainly, the lasting influence of the Pulitzer Prizes on journalism, literature, music, and drama is to be attributed to his visionary acumen. In writing his 1904 will, which made provision for the establishment of the Pulitzer Prizes as an incentive to excellence, Pulitzer specified solely four awards in journalism, four in letters and drama, one for education, and four traveling scholarships. In letters, prizes were to go to an American novel, an original American play performed in New York, a book on the history of the United States, an American biography, and a history of public service by the press. But, sensitive to the dynamic progression of his society Pulitzer made provision for broad changes in the system of awards. He established an overseer advisory board and willed it "power in its discretion to suspend or to change any subject or subjects, substituting, however, others in their places, if in the judgment of the board such suspension, changes, or substitutions shall be conducive to the public good or rendered advisable by public necessities, or by reason of change of time." He also empowered the board to withhold any award where entries fell below its standards of excellence. The assignment of power to the board was such that it could also overrule the recommendations for awards made by the juries subsequently set up in each of the categories. Since the inception of the prizes in 1917, the board, later renamed the Pulitzer Prize Board, has increased the number of awards to 21 and introduced poetry, music, and photography as subjects, while adhering to the spirit of the founder's will and its intent.” Interesting stuff, eh?

I’m the first person to admit, without any apologies, that I have NO formal training in journalism. I’ll even go so far to say that I’m a “hack”. It isn’t that I don’t want to learn to be a better writer; I just don’t have the time. I write whatever comes to mind and if it entertains or informs the readership (all three of you!) they I guess I did all right. By now you’ve probably figured out that I have two things I like to write about – the outdoors (especially hunting), and my adventures with my family. The outdoors “stuff” is harder – I have to actually construct the article based on research and facts. Writing about my own adventures, past and present, is a lot easier. Only I know the truth, so I can write whatever comes to my mind and nobody (except my Wife) can call bull hockey on me. Hence the reason I started out writing an outdoor column and morphed into writing a sometimes funny autobiographical column.

I joke with my buddies that someday I’ll get a Pulitzer for all my “distinguished” journalistic efforts. The truth is, unless I really apply myself and truly strive for greatness, I’ll just be a hack, writing whatever comes to mind, keeping it easy and fun. I don’t really need a “Certificate of Participation” – seeing my column each week in the paper (I’m always pleasantly surprised when I see it in the paper) is rewarding enough. The bonus is when I’m out-and-about and folks I know tell me things like “I liked your last article!” or “Hey, did you REALLY fall through the ice goose hunting?”

I will admit that I do want to be published in Field & Steam, Outdoor Life, or American Hunter. I just haven’t taken the time to figure out what they’ll reject nicely. Perhaps if I recycled the goose-hunting story, they’d laugh so hard AT me that it would be difficult for them to write the “No Thanks/What Were You Thinking” rejection letter and send it to me.

So here’s the rub – I can keep writing about my own adventures and occasionally write about the outdoors. If you have an opinion, or no opinion, drop me a line at drewschlussel_@_gmail.com and let me know what you want or don’t want. I’ll be sure to keep all comments secret, or give credit where credit is due. Otherwise, without any feedback, you all need to be prepared for more stories about me, my kids, and maybe my wife (if she’ll let me). Thanks for your support and readership.

The Boys are Back in Town

The Rockies’ home opener is tomorrow (Friday) and we’re sure to have a snowstorm the day before or the same day, just to remind everyone that springtime in Colorado means snow, snow, and more snow. Just ask anyone that’s been driving Vail Pass this year and they’ll tell you that winter is still going strong. At least now that we’ve got baseball back we can begin to look forward to lazy summer days, changing the oil in the truck while listening to the Rockies game on the radio.

I played non-competitive baseball as a kid. You know, the kind of league that gives you a trophy just for stepping out on the field and having your presence felt. For whatever reason I never bothered to try out for the “Major League” teams – the ones that required you to run fast, hit hard, and practice all the time. I was content to job, hit, and practice occasionally. We were having fun and that was all that mattered to my friends and me. Except for my very first little league season…

I was just 6 or 7 years old, it’s hard to remember now. I was playing for the “Rockets.” We were the best pee wee team in Denville, the town where I grew up. We were undefeated for the season and playing our last game. I was the best right fielder you ever saw, which isn’t say much since most right fielders are the worst players on the team. I guess I felt pretty lucky to be on the field at all, since the outfield could only accommodate 5 outfielders in total. I was honored to be the THE “right fielder” instead of the “right middle” or “left middle” or “just find an open spot somewhere” outfielder. In addition to my prestigious position on the team, I also had the distinct privilege of batting last in the line-up. When I asked the coach why his son and his son’s friends always batted at the top of the line-up, he just smiled and mumbled something like “you just get out there and have a great game.” Little did he know how important I would be in the final game of the season!

As luck would have it, we were down by one run in the bottom of the 4th inning (pee wee baseball only played 4 innings) and there were two outs. All the “A”, “B”, and “C” players had already been at bat in the previous innings, so I was the last great hope for an undefeated season. My coach was so confident in me that he didn’t even bother to give me a little pep talk before I got up to the plate. Instead he showed his confidence by having his son start to pack up all the bats and helmets. He even tried to pack the helmet I was wearing before I reminded him that I wasn’t done yet. I’m sure this was the coach’s way of psyching out the opposing team.

As I stood at the plate, taking a few practice swings, I looked into the stands for encouragement from my fan. The long faces and heads buried between knees told me everything I needed to know – everyone was cheering for me deep down inside!
In our baseball league the first two innings were T-ball and the last two were pitched by the kids. I don’t remember the pitcher’s name, but I knew he could bring the heat, mostly at my head, so I stood way back and gave him a lot of room. The first two pitches were strikes, which made my coach even more confident that he closed the scorebook and shoved it into the gear bag. What a champ! He’d already marked this game down as a win.

I inched in toward the home plate and steadied myself for the next pitch. I didn’t have any vision of knocking the ball out of the park, since I hadn’t clear the infield all year, but I did imagine squeaking one past the pitcher. With the tying runner on second I concentrated really hard and waited for the pitch. The ball sailed through the air, heading right over the plate. I swung with every ounce of energy I had and anticipated the “clink” sound of aluminum on leather.

”Boink”. That was the sound me taking a full swing and bunting the ball half way up the first base line. I stood frozen for a second, not sure what to do. The runner on second stood still, waiting for the umpire to call “Out!” so he could trot into the dugout and grab some snacks. Not wanting my coach to have to pull out all the gear and change the scorebook I charged up the first base line. The first baseman had the ball in his glove, but he didn’t run to the bag. Instead he turned around and ran toward me, wanting to tag me himself and take all the credit for ending the Rocket’s dream season. Without thinking twice, instinct took over and I lowered my shoulders, running as hard as I could toward the son-of-gun between me and my team’s undefeated season. As we connected, the ball flew out of his mitt and he fell over backwards, stunned that I didn’t just concede defeat and let him tag me without a fight.

I didn’t stop there. The ball rolled into shallow right field, so I tagged first and headed to second. Unfortunately the runner on second base was still standing there, wondering how he was going to get his snacks, so I had to yell at him to get a move on and start running for home. The second basemen ran over and grabbed the ball, hurling it toward third base. As the runner in front of me and I rounded third base the ball sailed over our heads and hit the fence in front of the other team’s dugout. The third baseman hustled over, grabbed the ball, and chucked it towards home plate. The runner in front of me tagged home plate and I tagged it right behind him. The catcher was still digging the ball out of the backstop as I jogged into my team’s dugout to the sound of screams and yells. My coach had a funny look on his face – part joy and part disbelief. I’m sure he was trying to figure out how to sign me for the next season before one of the scouts in the bleachers tried to sign me with another pee wee team.

After the game we all went out for ice cream and received our trophies. Unfortunately, someone had screwed-up at the trophy shop and forgot to put “Undefeated Champions of the Pee Wee League” on what should have been gigantic trophies. Instead we got, what I now know to be, “Participation Trophies” that indicated nothing more than an ability to walk or breath. I did get the game ball, and that was the best trophy I could have asked for. I still have that game ball and it continues to remind me to never give up, even if you bunt the ball down the first base line. I guess that’s why I now have a place in my heart for the Rockies, they’re the team that never gives up. Go Rocks!!