LOST? I don't think so.

I always like to get my good deed for the day out of the way early.  If I can do something kind for another, or help lighten someone else’s load I feel pretty good about myself the rest of the day. The earlier in the day I do it, the longer I get to bask in my self-generated glow.  Narcissistic?  Maybe, but’s it’s the way I roll, baby.

 A lot of your more traditional religious lessons were lost on me, but NOT the Golden Rule.  Mom and Dad did a great job instilling that one in me.  It just seems right to treat others the way you’d like to be treated.  That’s just common sense, right? 

 

Wouldn’t the world be a better place if bullies decided to treat others with the respect they themselves would like to enjoy?  What could be the harm if we all did like my forefathers and withheld judgment unless we walked a mile in another’s moccasins?   How much better would our country be if people who call themselves compassionate conservatives actually showed some compassion for their fellow citizens of the world? 

Something to think about I guess.

Today my good deed was easy.  While skating to the local supermarket for lunch at the chuckwagon outside our local grocery store (hamburger, chips, pop, $2.25 proceeds and tips to charity) I encountered a bicyclist who was lost.  He flagged me down and apologized for interrupting my skate but I didn’t mind.  Truth be told, my left foot was throbbing from a picnic induced injury I’d suffered the day before so the chance to rest was a welcome break for me.

He explained that he was trying to follow his map but got off of course and had been circling for a while.  I couldn’t help but notice he had all of the latest high tech gear; ultra-lightweight bike (probably cost at least what I bring home in a month), platypus hydration system, lycra outfit, and his “map” was an iPhone.

He wondered if I could tell him where Highway 169 was.  Maybe it was that the sound barrier wall the department of transportation had constructed concealed it so well.  Or perhaps it was the proximity to noon that precluded him from using shadows to determine basic compass points.  Either way, I had to be tactful when telling him he was only 20 feet from the highway he asked about.  It seemed that my encouraging statement that, “You’re a lot closer than you might think you are” was well received. 

He told me where he’d been and where he wanted to go.  I assured him I’d biked a good portion of the trail he was about to travel.  I gave him directions with landmarks and wished him good luck and safe travels.  He thanked me and sped away.

As I continued on my journey, I felt good about helping out a fellow traveler and began to ponder the concept of being lost.  My favorite story of being lost involves a couple of old friends of mine.

Harry Broadfoot was the equipment manager for Gopher hockey for a lot of years; he loves to fish, as does former Gopher hockey coach Doug Woog.  Harry typically fishes from shore or a dock.  Wooger typically fishes from a boat in northern lakes where the big fish are plentiful. 

  

 Harry tells of a fishing excursion he and Woog took in the coach’s boat one evening.  With daylight gone and the boat’s lights losing power and rapidly dimming, they motored along the shoreline of a lake that was foreign to them both when Harry asked, “Doug, are we lost?”  To which The Wooger, a man who successfully lead a Division One hockey team as Head Coach for 15 years replied, “No, Harry, we’re not lost, I’m just not sure where we’re at right now.”  CLASSIC WOOG. 

  

Again, something to think about.

What a refreshing way to view being “lost”.  I really like Woog’s optimistic view that having your bearings at less than 100%, at times, is not a reason to panic.  Do any of us; in the grand scheme of this journey we’re on, REALLY know where we’re at?

The Aztec calendar has the whole shooting match ending on December 23^rd, 2012.  Are we that close to the end?  Who knows?  I hope to make it that far and then farther yet.  I’m having too much fun for the party to end so soon.

Some people think that a higher power has things all planned out for us and all that happens is “HIS WILL”.  I’m not a big believer in that.  I may spend some time in hell for saying that, but if it were all predetermined why would we all agonize over so many decisions throughout our lifetime; Being lost and trying to find our way?

                                                   Tibetan Endless Knot symbolizing Karma

I think we each just need to find our own way by using the technology we have (like my new cyclist friend) and the counsel of those who have previously traveled the path (like me, my parents, and my octogenarian neighbor Walt – who I was fortunate enough to visit with again today), give it our best effort, and know that if you treat others well, they’ll treat you likewise.

All is NOT lost!  Who knew?  

AHOY MATEY!

“…we all came from the sea. And it is an interesting

biological fact that all of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean…

And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to

watch it, we are going back from whence we came."

President John F. Kennedy,

at the Australian Ambassador's Dinner for the America's Cup Crews,

September 14, 1962, Newport, R.I.

I sailed for the first time this past Saturday.  I hardly slept Friday night because I was so eager to learn how to sail.

I’ve lived in the Land of 10,000 Lakes my entire life. 

You’ve got to understand that I’m Minnesotan through and through. 

  

 

As a kid during the winter I skated on an ice-rink in my backyard.  In the summer I often canoed in the Boundary Waters.

In true Minnesota fashion I’ve always referred to the school I graduated from, which is also the place where I work as, “The U”, assuming that people throughout the world would know I was referring to the University of Minnesota Twin Cities campus. 

In the summer the Chicago White Sox are the enemy. 

In the fall I think Floyd of Rosedale belongs in Dinkytown NOT Iowa City.  Winters I curse the weather gods when the cold fronts move in from Alberta, Canada.

I’ve had a belly full of spring flooding thanks to the overflow of melting snow from the wasteland called North Dakota. 

Wisconsin?  Except for my relatives, and a few close friends who live there, those people just rub me the wrong way 12 months a year.  (Badgers? We don’t need no stinkin’ Badgers!)  I’m your typical Gopher.      

Despite the fact that I’m as Minnesotan as a person can be, I have managed to pass the half-century mark in age without ever setting foot on a sailboat.  I’ve been on pontoons, speedboats, rowboats, and canoes; a lot of canoes.  I’ve even ridden the log flume at ValleyFair!

I suppose it makes sense that canoeing came easily to me as an enrolled member of the Ho-Chunk Nation.  It had to be either the Native American blood coursing through my veins, or the fact that Mom and Dad instilled in their children a love of the north woods by taking us camping and canoeing in and around Ely Minnesota on the edge of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.

I’ve long wanted to sail though too, if nothing else, just for the romance of it.  Mankind has harnessed the winds for centuries to travel about the seas.  Sailing was one of the first means of opening the world to global travel, commerce, and discovery.

Homer wrote of sailing in The Iliad.  Melville explored, whaling, obsession, and sailing in Moby Dick.    Ralph Waldo Emerson, in his 1870 work,  Civilization, referring to sailing and seafaring, said, “The most advanced nations are always those who navigate the most.”  How could a person NOT want to learn to sail?

Presidents Bush (the elder), Carter, Ford, Johnson, Kennedy, and Nixon, were sailors.  So were entertainers Humphrey Bogart, Johnny Carson, Bill Cosby, and Kirk Douglas.  Athletes Yogi Berra, Bob Feller, Stan Musial, and Roger Staubach took to the high seas too.  An august group, to be sure, and one I’d like to be included in.

I had a great time on the lake Saturday, but, there was very little wind that day.  We sailed a bit, but not enough that I’d consider myself anything more than a novice sailor.  I did, however, secure an invite from our friends who hosted us, to try sailing another time when the winds might be greater which would provide a better learning experience.

 

So, until schedules can be coordinated, I guess I’ll need to, as President Kennedy said, “Go back to whence I came…” but not to the sea.  I’ll just be going back home to Minnesota, taking encouragement in the words of Mark Twain,

“Twenty years from now, you'll regret the things you didn't do, rather than the things you did do. So cast off the bow lines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."

An old guy like me still, exploring, dreaming, and discovering.  Who knew?

   

Make new friends AND keep the old...

“Make new friends, but keep the old,

One is silver, and the other gold.”   Traditional Children’s song lyric.

I’ve made a new OLD friend in the last couple of weeks.

 

Walt lives four doors down from us in our suburban neighborhood just west of Minneapolis.  I’ve seen him walking by on his occasional journeys through the neighborhood for most of the 18 years we’ve lived here.  He and I were always too busy to stop and chat though.  Sure, we always waved, nodded or said “Good morning/afternoon/evening” – depending on the time of day we passed each other – but we never stopped to talk though.

Until a few weeks ago.

I was out mowing my small lawn when Walt walked by aided by one of those walker/stroller/wheelchair combo devices that are now a popular lifeline for a generation of senior citizens.  Those mobility aids allow older folks to move about their environments even though the effects of aging limit their ability to take walks and explore their surroundings.  Walt was moving at a snail’s pace as 85 years of life has slowed his step.

It was hot that Saturday afternoon, and my lovely bride was at work, so the entire day lay in front of me like a blank tablet; nothing planned, no obligations, I could do whatever I wanted.  A perfect lazy summer day - the likes of which schoolchildren throughout the world savor.  I value them too.  A lot.  Sometimes I think the child-like enthusiasm I hold for the remnants of my youth that I’m still able to enjoy help to keep me young. 

Maybe, maybe not.

Since I was overheating, with nary a beer nearby to remedy my discomfort, and the old man from down the street was slowly strolling by, I decided to stop, and chat with him for a change.  I needed the break; I believe Walt appreciated it as well.  He turned his walker around, sat in the seat, and we chatted.

I introduced myself to Walt – because of his cloudy looking eyes (he’s going blind) and his diminished hearing (he tilts his good ear towards you) - so he would know which neighbor he was talking to.  After a quick minute he said, “Oh yes!  You’re the one with the kids who play hockey.”  In deed they did, indeed I am.  And it was partially that fact, the hectic schedule of a hockey parent, that had prevented me from getting to know Walt all those years ago.

I don’t regret a moment of it though; hockey served my children well, teaching them valuable life lessons about hard work, dedicating their efforts to a team and successfully achieving   goals.  It also got my daughter into an Ivy League university, and created life-long friendships for my son.  My wife and I are positive that the crazy schedule and the deep involvement in our kids’ activities also kept us young.

 That afternoon, despite our 30 plus year age difference, Walt and I chatted about the weather, raising children, yard work, and a few other things common to suburban dads. It was good to finally get to know him.  I vowed to myself that now that I’m a recovering hockey parent (both kids are grown, out of the house, and have hung up their skates) that in the future I’d take the time to talk with Walt, and the rest of the neighbors, when they were out and about.

I did just that a few days later when Walt was out in his driveway, with his walker, a radial arm saw (a major piece of woodworking equipment) and some very large lumber.  I stopped to ask him what he was up to.  He mentioned he was making planter boxes for his yard like a smart neighbor of his (me) had done.  He laughed at his joke as he explained he was referring to me.  As I drove away from our short chat I was kind of concerned about an 85 year old man, half blind, and profoundly deaf, using a power tool of such magnitude, but, thankfully, he safely pulled it off.

I kind of assumed Walt would be successful because of the example of another octogenarian man I knew well.  Dad passed away this past January, two months prior to his 81^st birthday, 40 days after being diagnosed with esophageal cancer.  Since he died I’ve been helping Mom up at their lake home doing the chores my 80 year old Father had been doing; sweeping the chimney, cleaning the rain gutters, hauling firewood, fixing the dock, staining the deck, and patching the gravel road.

I always thought by the time you reached 80 you could slow down and relax.   Dad and Walt wouldn’t have any of it though.  My parents’ lake home is a great retreat in the northwoods, and Walt’s planter boxes turned out very nicely precisely because a couple of guys remained active and worked hard to get things done.

Then it struck me.  These guys were able to stay so active because THEY STAYED SO ACTIVE.  They’ve inspired me to keep active. It's not your outlook that keeps you active and young, and it's not a busy schedule, nor surrounding yourself with young people.  IT'S JUST STAYING ACTIVE.

I’m writing this to inspire any and all who may read this to stay active as well.

If you live in the Twin Cities there is a great trail system you can use to stay active.

Just today as I biked on the South West Corridor Trail I saw, walkers, walkers with canes, walkers raising Cain (by walking on the wrong side of the trail), walkers using walkers (like Walt’s),  people walking dogs, and racewalkers (those funny hip-wiggling walkers).

I saw people like me on bicycles, recumbent bikes, tandem bikes and beach cruiser bikes.  I saw families biking for fun, singles on errands and Lance Armstrong wannabes in their bright colored spandex.

I saw roller skaters, rollerbladers, roller skiers, and runners.   I saw a whole world of active people propelling themselves using only their own muscle power to move through workouts, strolls, a quick trip to the restaurant/store/lake and enjoying themselves as they did so.

Who knew that both Dad and my new 85 year-old friend Walt could inspire me to stay on the trail skating and biking?  Who knew that the real secret to staying active was to just get up and go?

What will it take for you to become more active?   

OCCAM'S RAZOR

In a biology lab at Harvard University, a few years back, students performed a ground–breaking experiment.  After securing government funding and all of the proper clearances to experiment on animals, the undergraduate students rolled up their sleeves and got to work.

The would-be scientists set a frog on the work surface of a lab table, and when one of them said, “Jump frog, jump!” The frog jumped.

Now the experiment begins.  The biologists then cut the frog’s right front leg off and cauterized the wound to prolong the frog’s life.  The same researcher again said, “Jump frog, jump!”  The frog jumped again.

After recording those results the biologists removed the frog’s left front leg in the same humane manner and again urged, “Jump frog, jump!”  Guess what?  The frog jumped.

The researchers, excited with the raw data they were accumulating, then removed the frog’s right rear leg, and with some nervousness again said, “Jump frog, jump!”  After a few seconds delay, and with much effort on his behalf, the frog eventually jumped.  The science students cheered momentarily and then returned to their notebooks jotting notes, data, and observations.

In the experiment’s final stage they humanely removed the frog’s left rear leg and again one of them said, “Jump frog, jump!”  But the frog didn’t jump.  They repeated the request, this time louder and more urgently, “JUMP FROG, JUMP!”  The frog didn’t move at all.  So in unison the scientists all shouted, “JUMP FROG, JUMP!”   Still no movement by the frog, but a lot of note taking and head scratching by the scientists.

A week later, after many discussions, some of them heated others more civil, the researchers revealed their results to their professor and the rest of the class.  Their conclusion?

FROGS THAT HAVE NO LEGS ARE DEAF, UNABLE TO HEAR.

What?
I suppose that could be one conclusion, but probably not the one I would have arrived at. I would have gone with the far simpler, and more obvious, explanation that frogs without legs CAN’T jump whether they are deaf or not.

In my biology course at the University of Minnesota I was taught about Occam’s Razor; the principle that states, "when you have two competing theories that make exactly the same predictions, the simpler one is the better."

To be fair, the Harvard students did their experiment at the beginning of the semester.  They probably were introduced to Occam’s Razor shortly AFTER they presented their questionable conclusion.  I learned about Occam’s Razor after the midterm of my biology course and it is probably the best lesson I learned in that class.  I’ve used a modified form of it quite often in the real world outside of the biology lab.

When faced with multiples answers to a situation, the simpler one is better.

 Driving down an unfamiliar street with every car heading directly towards me with horns blaring and people yelling? 

Possible answer: Some of these people are driving on the wrong side of the street, obviously don't know what they're doing, and should be ticketed for those offenses. 

Simple answer: I’m heading the wrong way down a one-way street.

When faced with multiples answers to a situation, the simpler one is better.

Staying up late on a Friday night surfing the web and blogging leaves me needing a nap on Saturday afternoon.

Possible answer:  The electron-field created by excessive contact with a computer in massive doses (i.e. five day work-week/8 hours/day plus 4 hours Friday night) effects my thyroid causing hypothyroidism making me tired on Saturday afternoon.

Simple answer:  Staying up too late one night makes me tired the next day.

When faced with multiples answers to a situation, the simpler one is better.

A faction of Minnesotans are attempting to decree that discrimination against gay and lesbian citizens of our state will be the law of the land by introducing a ballot initiative to amend the state constitution to define marriage as only between a man and a woman.

Possible answer: Homosexuals being able to legally marry in the state of Minnesota is immoral, unnatural, and against God’s wishes.  Allowing same-sex marriage threatens all marriages that consist of a man and a woman, and will tear at the very fabric of the traditional family.

Simple answer:  My God enjoys and rewards love.  My God believes in fairness for ALL.  If two people are committed to each other and in love, they deserve the right to be married, with all of the honors and privileges that status affords.  Marriage should be for all.

It’s just that simple.  Please keep that in mind when you enter the voting booth in Minnesota next November.

When faced with multiples answers to a situation, the simpler one is better.

WHO KNEW?

THE OPPOSITE OF DEJA VU

I’m guessing that most people who read this have experienced déjà vu before. You’ve probably sensed the feeling that you’re sure you’ve witnessed or experienced a current situation at a previous time although you’re not sure if it actually happened or whether you dreamed it. Often times the “memory” is so vivid that one swears the event actually did happen at an earlier time, only to be occurring again right now. The unusual nature of déjà vu led Sigmund Freud to refer to instances of déjà vu as, “the uncanny”.

I think we’ve all been there. Déjà vu is an odd sensation. More uncanny though, in my book, was the description an old colleague of mine used to describe the sensation of “Vu Ja De”. He described vu ja de as being the opposite of déjà vu. Vu ja de could be used to describe the feeling one gets when entering a situation and experiencing ABSOLUTELY NO sense that you’ve done anything like this before. I thought vu ja de was an interesting play on words; I always found it amusing. I’ve always liked to compare and contrast opposites. (Black and white, Left and right, Stop and go)

Then came the winter of 2011/2012 when the mildest winter on record became the cruelest season of my life.

Meteorologically the past winter was the mildest on record for those of us residing at 44.88’ latitude and 93.22’ longitude. Uncommonly warm temperatures and lack of precipitation led to bicycling and rollerblading opportunities never previously available in the Twin Cities. THAT part of the vu ja de winter I enjoyed. Heck, I had NEVER swept snow before. This past winter we had so little snowfall I swept it off of the sidewalk 3 times and only had to shovel twice ALL WINTER LONG!

However, starting with the call from Dad on November 30^th, when I learned that he was diagnosed with stage 4 esophageal cancer, through tomorrow’s gathering of family and friends to celebrate Dad’s life, I have continually been experiencing more uncomfortable vu ja de occurrences .

Dad’s call at the end of November was like a punch in the gut.

Having to put our dog Sadie to sleep at the end of December left a hole in our home that can’t be filled.

Dad’s passing in early January left me rudderless, confused and sad. I’d never lost anyone that close to me. ‘Mom and Dad’, the inseparable source of strength and support for me, my siblings and all of our children, is now just MEMORIES of Dad and ACTUAL Mom (who we’d all like to support as best we can).

Hey, I’m experiencing and doing stuff here I’ve never had to do before. I‘m feeling somewhat ill equipped as I’m in uncharted (to me anyway) territory.

I don’t like to wallow in self-pity though, so I’m going to embrace these new vu ja de instances and use them as growth opportunities. I’m sure it was a vu ja de situation for Dad when the oncologist gave him his diagnosis with a prognosis of 3 to 6 months to live (Dad lived only 40 more days). One would have expected, and even accepted, a little self-pity on Dad’s behalf. He didn’t go there though.

HE DID THE OPPOSITE.

Mom relayed to us that while driving home from the doctor’s office Dad mentioned that he felt empathy for the doctor having to deliver such sad news to patients and their families. Dad told us all he’d lived a good 80 years and that, faced with the uncertainty of a cancer diagnosis, he was ready to go.

Wow. I better buck up and embrace these vu ja de situations like an adult, like a man, LIKE MY DAD.

To that end I am starting by working on a new concept. I don’t have a name for it yet, but I’ll gladly take suggestions.

WHAT I PROPOSE IS THE OPPOSITE OF AN AUTOPSY.

Everyone knows the autopsy process of determining the method of death through medical science via testing of the recently deceased. I know how Dad died. I read the oncologist’s report. I was with Dad as his mortal life ended.

The thing I’m proposing (as the opposite of the autopsy) is the process of finding out more about HOW DAD LIVED. At tomorrow’s gathering to celebrate Dad’s life I intend to ask older relatives and acquaintances questions about Dad. Then (for a change, opposite what I normally do) I intend to shut up and listen.

Dad only spent 40 plus days dying. He spent 80 plus years living a remarkable life. I think it makes little sense to dwell on the death (autopsy) than it does to explore the life (the opposite of an autopsy).

Heck, who knows? This is all vu ja de to me.

I Am the Greatest of All Time!

Heavyweight boxer Muhammad Ali (Cassius Clay to some of us old timers) boastfully claimed, on multiple occasions, that he was, “The Greatest of All Time.” At age 22 he beat Sonny Liston to become the heavyweight champion so we know he was great. Heck, he might have been right; perhaps he was the greatest ever.

On January 17^th, 2012 Ali celebrated his 70^th birthday. His reaching that ripe old age gave me pause to reflect on him, his career, and the concept of GREATNESS.

I remember, as a kid, that excitement rippled through school, amongst my friends, for 3 types of events more than any other things that happened in our world. Those three events were, the end of the school year, any Evel Knievel stunt, and Ali-Frazier boxing matches.

The end of the school year is obvious; free time, unlimited baseball at the field behind our house, sleeping in and staying up late. What could be better?

Evel Knievel was the ultimate showman, and a cartoonish character that many of us admired for his brave (foolhardy?) ability (dumb luck?) that enabled him to perform spectacular stunts. The fact that he broke a lot of bones and had to walk with a cane due to stunts gone wrong, but was still willing to get back on a motorcycle to attempt more difficult stunts spoke to us of his courage (inability to hold a steady job?). Discussing whether he’d be able to successfully complete his next jump was a major topic of discussion amongst the boys at Washburn Elementary School in Bloomington.

Ali-Frazier. NO event stirred the passions of young boys as much as a heavyweight championship fight pitting Muhammad Ali against Smokin’ Joe Frazier. There were definite favorites and people typically loved one and hated the other. Me? I liked ‘em both, but usually rooted for Frazier to win. Ali was a little too boastful and arrogant for my likes. It wasn’t until years later I learned ‘it ain’t braggin’ if you actually done it’. Ali could back up his boasts as he was one of the greatest boxers we’ll ever see.

But what of Ali’s greatness? One school of thought posits that a certain gift, or genetic makeup is required for one to have a chance at greatness. Obviously a short man has little chance of being an NBA great, just as a tall man or woman has little chance of riding a mount to the Kentucky Derby winners circle. Ali had the physical tools, 6 foot 3 inches tall, muscular physique, and lightning quick reflexes.

Studies have revealed that it takes 10,000 hours of practice at a pursuit to even expect to reach expert status. It doesn’t matter the pursuit; dance, playing the cello, boxing, they all require a vast amount of quality training.

How does one get quality training though to achieve greatness? In Ali’s case a lot of the help came from largely unheard of trainers, handlers, and sparring partners. There were A LOT of people behind the scenes helping him achieve greatness.

I think that’s more common than people realize. I first heard the term “Help-mate” at my Dad’s retirement. Someone used that term to describe Mom. I hadn’t really ever thought very deeply about how effective their relationship was, but the term "help-mate" made me think.

Dad was up in the pulpit on Sundays, serving on commissions during the week, and ministering to his congregation around the clock. How was he able to tirelessly serve so many people? The answer to that question sat at the kitchen table with us every day, as we ate a meal she prepared, with a family she raised, in a home she maintained, so her husband could do what he was expert at.

Mom was willing to do the unsung, largely unheralded things in order to support Dad; kind of like the sparring partners, trainers, and dieticians, who helped Ali develop into a world champion. Some do the mundane support work so others can do the more noticeable things. Thanks Mom for all you have done to support Dad and others.

For 15 years I worked as an equipment manager for the Golden Gopher football team at the University of Minnesota. I wasn’t the one running the offense or making a game saving tackle, but I was a part of the crew that took care of the uniforms and equipment so that others could do those things. I was always happy to be one small cog in that very large machine.

For the past 7 years I’ve worked as an accountant at the U of M doing invoicing and reporting on the federally funded research grants. I’m not the one doing the ground-breaking research, or writing peer-reviewed papers, but the work I do helps others do those things.

I always used to compare myself to Dad and figure that the acorn didn’t fall far from the oak. I guess I’ve also got a lot in common with Mom too, helping others to acheive greatness.

Who knew?

PS I’ve gotten 2 in-person glimpses of greatness in the form of heavyweight champions. Evander Holyfield cut an imposing figure in the concourse of the Metrodome escorted by 8 bodyguards in formation at the opening ceremonies of the Special Olympics. Impressive.
Muhammad Ali, in town for the 1992 Superbowl, emerging from a limousine in the Hyatt parking lot, waving, bowing, and acknowledging a crowd that wasn’t there was both chilling and sad. I nearly cried seeing how Parkinson syndrome had ravaged this once imposing figure.