Arizona Christmas

Since the family seems to be migrating to Phoenix, we decided to have Christmas there, and of course were greeted with exceptionally low temperatures. And naturally, it snowed like crazy back here, making for some epic days on the mountain for the everyone but me. Still, it was a pleasure being with family for Christmas, sharing too much food, gifts, board games, touch football and DVD's. Also watched the Arizona Cardinals beat the Falcons in overtime.

On Friday and Saturday Merritt, Sam and I ventured into a few canyons near Phoenix, in the Superstition Mountains. (Even though I was coming down with the flu and knew this would be a bad idea.) Ladder Canyon is not very technical (one rappel) but drops into Fish Creek and is an enjoyable jaunt. At the bottom we spotted a pack of 8-10 furry critters--thought they were ringtail cats at first but after a little web-work Merritt determined they were coatis, a racoon-like animal that travels in small bands. They saw us and scampered up the canyon wall. Ladder Canyon was named after a ladder that had been left there for years and become not only an eyesore, but a potential danger to anyone using it. So following the suggestion in Todd Martin's new book Arizona: Technical Canyoneering, we did our service project by hauling it up the canyon and out to the road, but now everyone will be left to wonder how Ladder Canyon got its name, and that will become a matter of lore, in which we will be anonymous participants.

After a frost-covered night in tents we headed up Tango Canyon, with no trail and challenging route-finding. Arizona canyons are unlike its Utah cousins--they are filled with cactus and century plants and all manner of nasty, noxious thistles. (Arizona state motto: Home of pretty rocks and sharp pointy things.) We started with a very tough early-morning climb, followed by a sweet down-canyon strip and then a long 2-3 mile bushwhack up Fish Creek back to camp. Along the way I got pricked or stuck at least a thousand times, sprained an ankle and slogged through freezing cold water. It was enough to make me glad I didn't take more people on this trip. But neither Sam nor Merritt complained, and at the end of the day we all marked it as a success.

By Sunday morning and out trip home I was a coughing, sneezing, shivering, hobbling wreck feeling every year of my age. And I don't regret a minute of it. Merry Christmas!

The Lost Carols

By the time I was ten years old I had memorized the words to a dozen or more Christmas carols--Silent Night, O Little Town of Bethlehem, Hark the Herald, Joy to the World and many others. We heard them in malls and stores, and on TV and in the movies, and we sang them in schools. From Thanksgiving to New Years each year provided a tutorial on the birth of Christ in song and spoken word.

In this age where we nervously check our speech at each public portal for any outward signs of religious belief, those days have passed. Of course Christmas carols in schools are long gone--except perhaps those innocuous tales of Frosty, Rudolf and Jingle Bells. But the traditional religious carols have also disappeared from any public place, from most radio and television, and from all the nooks and crannies of our secular lives, with the exception of churches and religious stations.

As a result, young people don't know Christmas carols any more. I'm guessing you would find more children know the words to satirical versions of "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer" than to "Joy to the World." So families and carolers and other like-minded groups cannot spontaneously sing carols any more. And we have lost not only one of the great social bonds of a sacred holiday, but also a subtle but effective link of the Christmas season to its heritage as the celebration of the birth of Christ, the spirit of sacrifice, and the wonders of selfless love.

With every generation, as we ring out the old, the passing generation mourns the loss of traditional culture and the degeneration of societal values. And I suppose I am no different, and would rather rage against the dying of the light than go gently into that good night.

The Last Town on Earth

Finished a fascinating novel today--The Last Town on Earth. It takes place in Washington State in 1918--quite an extraordinary time. World War I was dragging on, fueling many activist protestors. The Women's Movement extended voting rights from state to state, while women began to work at traditional male jobs because of the war-driven labor shortages. The Industrial Revolution was in full swing. Labor unions were on the rise, sparking fierce conflicts from coast to coast. The Bolsheviks stormed St. Petersburg, while socialist groups and communities popped up across the U.S. And yet the most extraordinary, cataclysmic event of the year was unquestionably the outbreak of the Spanish Flu, which started in the U.S. and spread quickly throughout the world, killing somewhere between 30-100 million people, rivaling the Black Death plague of the 14th century as the worst medical tragedy in the world's history. (And on a personal note, my father was born on the seventh day of the year.)

The Last Town on Earth tells the story of a small, idealistic wood mill town in Washington that attempts to quarantine itself to protect against the disease. As the drama progresses, author Tom Mullen gently presents a range of moral dilemmas and social and psychological insights. Many won't find it very satisfying, as the practical and well-intentioned efforts of the town unravel like a Greek tragedy, leaving a trail of broken lives and ethical ambiguity. Yet it certainly provokes thought, reminiscent in my mind of Albert Camus' The Plague. I thought it was a compelling read.

After-dinner mint: In the final pages of the book, after the end of the novel, is the following addendum: "This book was set in Garamond, a typeface originally designed by the Parisian typecutter Claude Garamond (1480-1561) ... Garamond's distinguished romans and italics first appeared in Opera Ciceronis in 1543-44. The Garamond types are clear, open and elegant." I do enjoy this kind of unexpected learning. And I wonder if Garamond ever dreamed that he would be immortalized by his type face.

Dead African Master Means Big Money for Me

Received this email yesterday which successfully got through my spam filters and which I found so audaciously, ridiculously, pathetically interesting and funny that I wanted to share it. Italics are mine, and I've edited it for length. I'm so excited about this opportunity. How thoughtful of tina_gambo0@latinmail.com to contact me.

WITH DUE RESPACT DEAR FRIEND,

PLEASE I NEEDED YOUR PERSONAL HELP IN THIS MATTER, THIS ALHAJI DAHIRU J MUSA, IS A CITIZEN OF ABIDJAN COTE'D'IVOIRE WHO DIED ON THE RECENT CRISES IN THAT COUNTRY, THE REBELS IN THE CITY OF BOAKERY BOMBED ALHAJI MUSA'RECIDENCE DURING ONE OF THEIR RAIDS, HE AND ALL THE MEMBERS OF HIS FAMILY WERE KILLED IN THAT BOMB INCIDENT, ALHAJI MUSA IS AN INTERNATIONAL BUSSINESS MAN AND A MAJOR SUPPLIER OF YAMAHA MACHINE PARTS IN THIS COUNTRY,

MR.DAHIRU J, MUSA, IN QUESTION, IS A CITIZEN OF ABIDJAN COTE'D'IVOIRE REPUBLIC OF IVORY COAST, WHY I MYSELF IS A REPUBLIC OF BURKINA FASO, WORKING WITH OUR CENTRAL BANK RESERVOIR ACCOUNT DEPOSITED PAYMENT SLIP SECURITY OFFICE, WHY MR.DAHIRU J MUSA, WAS CUSTOMER TO THIS OUR BANK WERE I AM WORKING, HE HAS BEING BANKING WITH THIS OUR BANK, BEFORE HE DIED IN THAT THERE COUNTRY RECENT CRISES BOMBED ATTACK,

SO BASED ON THIS, THE PERSONAL DRIVER TO THE DISEASED PERSON IN QUESTION, LATE MR.DAHIRU J, MUSA, WHOM HAS BEEN COMING TO OUR BANK HERE TO WITHDRAWAL MONEY AND DEPOSITED MONEY WITH HIS MASTER, DURING HIS MASTER LIFE TIME IN THIS WORLD, WHICH HE TOLD ME TO GO AHEAD FOR THE TRANSFERRING PROJECT, BECAUSE AS SOON AS THIS MONEY BEEN TRANSFER INTO YOUR POSITION BANK ACCOUNT, HE HAS HIS OWN PERCENTAGE WHICH WE AGREED UPON, AS SOME ONE WHOM GIVE ME THE INFORMATION’S ON SAID PROJECT, SO THAT EVERY ONE WHOM IS INVOLVE IN THIS TRANSFER PROJECT WILL BE HAPPY,

I CONTACTED YOU IN ORDER FOR US TO JOIN HAND AND MAKE SURE WE MOVE THIS MONEY IN OUR POSITION, JUST BEAR IN MINE THAT YOU ARE DEALING WITH A RELIABLE MAN WITH FAMILY, I AM GIVING YOU EVERY ASSURANCE IN THIS TRANSACTION, MY DEAR, WE WILL NOT ALLOWED THE BANK AUTHORITIES TO INHERIT THIS MONEY LIKE THAT, AS FAR AS THE PERSONAL DRIVER IS AWARE ABOUT THIS DEPOSITED MONEY BY HIS LATE MASTER,

THERE WILL BE NO PROBLEM MY DEAR, I AM WITH YOU UNTIL YOU HAVE THIS MONEY IN YOUR POSITION FOR OUR OWN GOOD OK.

PLEASE CONTACT ME THROUGH THIS MY ALTERNATIVE EMAIL ACCOUNT, (tina_gambo0@latinmail.com)

THANKS YOURS FAITHFULLY.
FROM MADAM KABOURE T. GAMBO.

The Cathedral and the Bazaar

I read a pretty interesting article the other day entitled The Cathedral and the Bazaar. (I’m a sucker for creative titles, especially when they're intrinsic to the article, like this one.) Written in 2000 by legendary hacker, computer programmer and open source evangelist Eric Steven Raymond, The Cathedral and the Bazaar is a rather famous treatise on Raymond’s epiphanies about collaborative software development, ala Linus Torvaald’s Linux.

I am by no means literate in software theory. But in the article, Raymond enumerates a new set of development principles that, it seems to me, transcend the world of software. (I take no credit for this insight, as Keith McFarland made a similar point in an article he wrote using The Cathedral and the Bazaar to compare software development to strategic planning.) I won’t waste the kilobytes or your time by providing much detail or commentary, but consider the expansive truths behind some of Raymond's principles:

1. “Every good work of software starts by scratching a developer’s personal itch.” Yep, and every great work of art and every good business and …

2. “Good programmers know what to write. Great ones know what to rewrite.” Like any genealogy, the roots of greatness always go deeper.

3. “If you have the right attitude, interesting problems will find you.” Seneca said: “Luck is when preparation meets opportunity.”

4. “Release early. Release often. And listen to your customers.” This is the bazaar approach vs. the traditional construction of cathedrals.

5. “Given enough eyeballs, all bugs are shallow.” He calls this “Linus’s Law,” and it is actually a paraphrase of a more formal principle. This is the idea behind James Surowiecki’s interesting book, The Wisdom of Crowds.

6. “If you treat your beta-testers as if they’re your most valuable resource, they will respond by becoming your most valuable resource.” Pretty good leadership principle, methinks.

7. “The next best thing to having good ideas is recognizing good ideas from your users. Sometimes the latter is better.” More on leadership.

8. “Often, the most striking and innovative solutions come from realizing that your concept of the problem was wrong.” This sounds almost Einsteinian in its simple and humble profundity.

9. “Any tool should be useful in the expected way, but a truly great tool lends itself to uses you never expected.” I’m guessing chimpanzees discovered this long ago.

10. “To solve an interesting problem, start by finding a problem that is interesting to you.” We’ll all capable of doing remarkable things, but only when we’re really energized by our work.

Availability Bias

The other day I read about "Availability Bias," a concept that won a few psychologists a Nobel Prize in 2002. The idea here is that people tend to attach too much importance, validity, relevance or likelihood to factors that they are more aware of. For instance, you might read about lottery winners, which makes you believe that your chances of winning are greater than they are, and incite you with false expectations to play the lottery. Or you see the sensational media accounts of a few airplane crashes and develop an irrational fear of flying, when statistically your risk of dying is greater in an automobile.

Despite everything you hear about the human brain being the most powerful computer ever made, it is quite clear to me that most of us are not ruled by our brains, and generally don't act rationally. Availability Bias is just one example. Daniel Gilbert's recent book Stumbling On Happiness also illustrated this principle very nicely--we are terrible at predicting what will make us happy, or at least we aren't very good at acting upon what we might truly know in the deepest recesses of our rational minds.

I think we also tend to do a very poor job of generating the facts to make a decision. The truth is, most of us don't want to be bothered with the potential for a major shift in our perspective. So the Right tunes in to Fox News for decision-making data, and the Left to Jon Stewart. (Yep, that's true!) Most people fear the other side, both those on it, but even more, the possibility that they might be holding a smidgeon of truth.

A corollary to this is the filters we employ to automatically sort and interpret all data based on what we already have chosen to believe. This is historically true in science, enough to fuel an unhealthy skepticism for all those with enough temerity to challenge the prevailing thought. But it's equally true in religion, politics and sports. We all look way too hard for corroborating data, and our fervor leads us to find honor and shame split neatly along party lines, and the image of the Virgin Mary grown onto the side of a cow.

Now I don't think it's a terrible thing to follow your heart, for the mind is certainly prone to error. But it seems to me that we ought to be smart enough to know who is leading the dance at any given time, and to recognize the difference between heart and head. The brain is indeed a computer with a lot of RAM. Unfortunately, like many people with their PC's, it never gets used for anything more challenging than MySpace.

Pay it Forward

When starting this consulting career, I figured it might help to have a little credibility for prospective clients who don't know me personally. I belong to a business network called LinkedIn.com. It tends to show up prominently in Google searches, so I asked a few friends on my network if they would be kind enough to write a recommendation for me and post it on LinkedIn. They did so. And as you might expect (given that I hand-picked them!) they were very kind. I recognized that I'm not really deserving of such praise, but nevertheless the nice words were very gratifying to me.

This got me to thinking about my potential to brighten up someone's day. I thought about all the many people I have come in contact with, through business, church or community, who have impressed me and made a positive impact on my life. And I decided to try to spend some time every day letting someone know, either face to face, on the phone, by email, letter or the web. I put it on my task list every day to remind me. It's been fun.

Several times I have used LinkedIn, which has a tool for recommendations. It's been funny--almost every time I've written one, I've gotten one back in return. (I'm going to start changing my practice so this doesn't happen!) I guess people feel an obligation. But in any event, it's been a nice experience, doesn't take long and maybe makes both sides feel a little better about life.

I guess it's the same principle behind the old-fashioned thank you note. Still feels good to get those. And equally good to give them.

Interesting Quotes: Part 2

"When the eagles are silent, the parrots begin to jabber."
--Churchill

"Lots of folks confuse bad management with destiny."
--Ken Hubbard

"Our doubts are traitors and make us oft lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt."
--Shakespeare

"I know God will not give me anything I can't handle. I just wish that He didn't trust me so much."
--Mother Teresa

"Do or not do. There is no try."
--Yoda

"Whatever a man does, he must do first in his mind."
--Albert Szent-Gyorgyi

"Results! Why man, I have got a lot of results. I know several thousand things that will not work."
--Edison

"Necessity never made a good bargain."
--Benjamin Franklin

"Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a function."
--Garrison Keillor

"I owe my success to having listened respectfully to the very best advice, and then going away and doing the exact opposite."
--G. K. Chesterton

"I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it through not dying."
--Woody Allen

"Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former."
--Albert Einstein

"Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten."
-- BF Skinner

Home Alone

Once again I find myself working at home and already I have learned several critical truths:

1. It is entirely possible for me to eat something every 15 minutes over a ten-hour stretch. Even though my stomach is long past asking for food, going downstairs to get a handful of peanuts or dried fruit always seems like a good idea.

2. Canyoneering and eBay are always more interesting than management strategy.

3. If the phone rings, I have to answer it, even if I know it's either for Rebecca or a computer wanting my opinion.

4. Inc. is a really good magazine.

5. It is better to change into real clothes before 10 a.m. You never know who might come by. Plus, you feel more like you have a real job.

This is going to take some practice and discipline.

Thankfulness

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It is such an unassuming concept--a day to give thanks. Not self-serving in the least. It carries a little history, back to the pilgrims and all, despite how warped and ignorant our perspective on the events of those days may have become. It's not very commercial, except perhaps for the purveyors of turkeys, cranberries and yams. And most importantly, it's a traditional time to gather family and friends at our home.

I love that we keep our traditions alive. We had about 15 people for the 9 a.m. Turkey Bowl. It turned out to be great football weather and we had a terrific time, although I am just now (at 1:00 a.m. Friday) starting to feel sore. Merritt, Angelica, Sam and I were joined by various friends and neighbors.

Dinner was plentiful and delicious, as always. All the traditional stuff, headlined by a 20 lb. fresh turkey Sam got from his work. The family was joined by two of Lanee's schoolmates (including her roomie); Eric, Maricruz and kids (for the third year in a row); Fred Butterick (second or third year); and Brandon's friend Steve (second year). Once you come to our home for Thanksgiving, you are invited for life. It's especially nice to have some folks take advantage of the offer!

The Olympics featured a new sport this year--bocce ball. And after three hours of games, Fred played his guitar and we sang along to tunes from Billy Joel, The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Elton John, CCR, Barenaked Ladies, Janis Joplin, The Eagles and more. Spent an hour looking at ads before I decided I didn't really want to shop at 5 a.m. Watched Transformers, which put me to sleep. And in between all of this, watched a little football here and there.

Couldn't really ask for a better day. I love the traditions. And tonight I give thanks for Thanksgiving.

Humanitarianism

Yesterday I volunteered at the Humanitarian Center, spending four hours assembling about 1500 cleaning kits(bleach, bags, soaps, brushes, garbage bags and a nifty mask!). We ran an assembly line, and I don't remember the last time I worked that hard, moving boxes of detergent and bleach and pulling buckets and other forms of manual, menial labor. I was more sore after four hours than from spending all day working my way through a canyon.

But it felt good to be serving. I kept thinking of the people in Bangladesh which were affected by the cyclone. Thousands dead, 270,000 homes destroyed, but over 650,000 homes damaged. I tried to think of how welcome it would be, with stores sold out for miles, to have one of these cleaning buckets delivered to your house. I don't know if ours will be sent there or not, but the center made over 5000 yesterday (a record, by the way, for four shifts) and some day, some where, they will do some good.

So it was a contented soreness, the kind that comes from good work well done. And while I nearly strained my shoulder patting myself on the back, I was compelled to think about how little service I actually do, and I committed to trying to give a little more. It's only cleaning supplies. But spending four hours to assist in helping 1500 people--beats watching a football game.

No Girly Girls Here

Had another daddy/daughter weekend, this time in the North Wash area, about 25 miles south of Hanksville. Angelica, Lanee, Brad McLaws and I drove down late Thursday night and camped at the Leprechaun Canyon trailhead. Very nice to have Brad along, as he always makes for lively and spirited discussion. He sees the world differently from most, but always with a thoughtful and reasoned point of view. Plus, his strong will (some might call it pig-headedness) invites debate at every corner. The drive down passed quickly with social and political discourse mingled with an occasional poem that the girls and I would recite from memory.

As we were heading out Friday morning we ran into Bette Steffen-Weis, a neat lady that I'd canyoneered with previously, and her friend Joan. We all headed toward East Leprechaun, which was great fun and involved a few short raps and plenty of downclimbing, squeezing, shimmying, chimneying and scraping our way down canyon. At the bottom we did a little exploring up Belfast Boulevard, which is the last section of the Main Fork of the Leprechaun, and is extremely tight, dark and a little intimidating. All in all, East Lep was a fun challenge. I was so pleased with my girls, who thought it was the coolest canyon ever and scampered down the chutes and squeezes without a drop of help from me.

We had a little scare when Brad pulled a deadman anchor out of the ground and free-fell about 18 feet. He landed with his butt on the ground, his back (protected by his pack) hitting hard against the rock wall and his head (protected by his helmet) also smacking the wall. Should you wear a helmet? Yes, always. I'm sure Brad's saved him from a cracked skull at best, and possibly something much worse. As it was, he was very sore and cut up a bit. Very fortunate.

Betty was with a group that included Tom Jones, who runs canyoneeringusa.com and who we canyoned with in Escalante in September. Tom came down to say hello and I joined them all around their fire for a few hours. Met a lot of folks whose names and postings I have seen on the canyoneering sites.

Saturday we did Constrychnine, which has several big raps, including one down a fluted chamber which is really cool. We got a late start and made it out of the canyon just as it was turning dark. It was great to have Brad along because it turns out he's really good with a topographical map and after a couple of debates along the way I just turned all the route-finding over to him and he was totally studly.

Had dinner at Blondie's in Hanksville (don't ever eat there!) and made it home late. It was so much fun being with my girls. They are always good-natured, work hard, never complain and truly enjoy being in these canyons every bit as much as me. I take great pleasure in watching them climb and rappel and squeeze though these narrow walls as we enthusiastically explore new terrain.

It's no longer Clear (Play)

Today was my last day as CEO of ClearPlay. For many reasons it was time to leave, including my general career wanderlust--I usually get bored doing anything after about a year, and it has been over six years in the same job. So I turned the reins over to Matt and Lee and today I informed the troops. They were surprised but I didn't leave much time for sentimentality, as I made the announcement, spoke my peace, made the rounds shaking hands and saying thanks and then walked out the door. I will continue to serve on the board of directors and will help with business development relationships I have cultivated over the years, but I have cleaned out my office and am officially moving on.

So new vistas. I am going to start working with Keith McFarland (www.mcfarlandstrategy.com), conducting three-day strategic planning sessions with mid-sized companies (typically sales between $20 - $500 million). I attended a session last week and really enjoyed it. I like and respect Keith and think his method is much more relevant for today's business than traditional strategic planning, which is slow, cumbersome and elitist. Keith has a book coming out in January and has been quite tied up with its release, so unfortunately my gigs won't start until March. So in the meantime I will prepare myself plus look for some short-term consulting projects.

It means a little more travel than I am used to, but also a lot more days off. If all works out as planned, it will be a nice lifestyle and give me time to develop a few other ideas as well. If it doesn't work out, I will sell pencils on the sidewalk, or perhaps buy a monkey and teach it to dance to my accordion (which I will also have to buy, and then learn to play).

Ramblin' Man

Back home from a busy week of traveling. Monday and Tuesday I was in Colorado Springs staying at the legendary Broadmoor Hotel, a perennial Mobil 5-Star resort (of about 35 in the U.S.). I was attending a conference there and the hotel and amenities were included, including my upgrade to a suite, which was way too much room for me. But the highlight may have been the food, and for two days I dined on $120 dinners and gourmet breakfasts and I basically ate everything that was placed in front of me, plus some stuff that I had to reach for.

Wednesday I flew to Grand Rapids, Michigan, which felt a little like going to my ancestral homeland--Dad Farley grew up in the Upper Peninsula, Grandpa worked at the Ford plant there and a few generations back hail from Holland, MI. I spent three days doing a management strategy session with a company called FlexFab that makes silicone hoses. I'm always fascinated to see how much money is made on the boringest products. It was a rewarding session, but made for long days, which started at 7:30a and finished around 11 p.m.

Several other travel highlights:
1. I ate at PB&J's in the St. Louis Airport. Yes, they serve peanut butter sandwiches, in various versions. I had mine on whole wheat bread with bananas and honey. They gave it to me in a brown lunch bag, which was perfect.
2. At the Wayne County Airport in Detroit I got a muffin from Starbucks and the young, African-American girl behind the counter was so nice and friendly that I told her she made my day. Couldn't have been more than 19, but smiled at everyone and asked how their days were. Really cool to see that, and to realize that it can be done.
3. Sat next to a woman on a flight who was a semi-professional pool player. She gave me some good pointers, and now I'm eager to play. Sometimes I do wish I had a table again, but that would require an addition to the house. Seems complicated.

An Extra Hour

Woke up at 5:45 this morning and couldn't sleep because my body, unaware of Daylight Savings Time, said it was 6:45 and time to get up. Jazz was the same, wandering into the bedroom about 5:30 and wondering where everyone was and the cause for such laziness. So we both went downstairs and I let her out and she came back confused because the paper wasn't there, which is something I could hardly explain to humans, much less a dog.

Not yet hungry and with no paper to read, I stood and pondered for a moment what to do with this extra hour I had been granted, and found myself contemplating the gift of time we have all been given. We all enter this world with two great endowments--time and the choice of how to use it. Yes, some are given more time than others, and some have more choices. But the quality of our lives can be measured by our stewardship over these gifts.

Looking back on the past 50 years, I realize that I have not fully appreciated this gift of time. I'm not suggesting that I should have squeezed more activity into my waking hours, although in many cases, that is true. (I have always loved the Irish adage: When God made time, he made plenty of it.) No, I don't mind letting time drift by occasionally, unencumbered by activity or production. But I'd like to bask in that leisure, living fully in the moment, completely connected to my environment, or even my mental state. I'd like to improve the quality of my time.

I also wish I had prioritized my time a little better. Some things could have been left undone. For many years I think I allocated way too much to being successful and making money, at the expense of things more dear, because that is what is expected of people who have those capabilities. But regret is probably our most wasteful indulgence, and so instead of wallowing in past failures, I will try to look ahead, not knowing how much time I have left, and thoughtfully consider this extraordinary gift and how I plan to use it.

I will start with the rest of my extra hour.

1491

I read a fascinating book on vacation: "1491--New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus." Science journalist Charles Mann does an excellent job of summarizing research over the past 50 years which makes a convincing case that when Columbus and the first explorers arrived in the New World, the western hemisphere was heavily populated by societies as innovative, advanced, organized, cultured and developed as the great civilizations of Europe, Asia and the Middle East.

Reading about the American Indians, the Mayans, the Olmecs, the Aztecs and the Incas, I got a very different understanding of these civilizations, including their beginnings, their histories and the reasons for their declines. The author manages to cite conflicting research points of view, something that you would never get from an academic, only from a journalist.

These people were anything but primitive. For example: Mesoamerican Indians invented maize, the basis for modern-day corn. It didn't grow naturally, and would have required many iterations of agricultural refinement. But in terms of harvest weight, it has become the world's most important crop, spreading quickly throughout the world after Columbus. Maize was vitally important to the native populations, and was the foundation for advanced and complex societies, in many cases taking on a religious significance.

Further, early inhabitants of Mexico and Central America developed tomatoes (no, it wasn't the Italians!), peppers, most of the world's squashes and many varieties of beans. Some have estimated that Indians developed three-fifths of the crops now in cultivation. They also invented, on their own, without the benefit of cross-pollenization so common in the East, writing, astronomy and mathematics, including the zero as a value before the same development occurred in the Eastern world.

Definitely recommended reading, if you like that sort of thing.

Red Sox Sweep

If you aren't really into baseball, you wouldn't understand. There is something captivating about following a team closely. You get to know the players--not just by name and face and position, but how they play. You begin to relate to their emotions. You see the worry in their faces, or share their confidence with every pitch. You anticipate each strategic move by the manager, which gives you the right and the moral authority to challenge his decisions. You are a dedicated fan.

This position has its price. You must mourn with those that mourn. Every loss is painful. A post-season defeat can ruin your day.

And also, the rewards. And so it is the with all of us Red Sox fans, who suffered through so many painful seasons, wearing our agony and frustration like a badge of honor, and watching with anger as the Yankees paraded their dynasty, year after year. We collectively hated George Steinbrenner, and somehow managed to resent even venerable players like Joe Torre, Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera.

Now it is our time to look down on these lesser teams with the compassion afforded a winner. After the Red Sox finished their four-game sweep of the Rockies, we exulted in the joy of victory. And somehow, we resisted the temptation to squirt Diet Coke around the room like it was champagne.

What a pleasure it was to watch Mike Lowell, class act that he is, steadily produce in all four games. And to be in awe of Jonathan Papelbon, so intimidating on the mound yet such a goofball off of it. Or Dustin Pedroia, sure bet for AL Rookie of the Year, playing hard-nosed, scrappy, clutch ball every night. And young Jacoby Ellsbury, who started the year in Double-A and was only called up to the Sox in September, then found himself starting in centerfield for the Series and batting over .400 while leading off in Games 3 and 4.

We got wins from starting pitchers Josh Beckett and Curt Schilling, the best young and old clutch pitchers in baseball, and from Dice-K, fresh from the Japanese league, and Jon Lester, who a year ago was taking chemotherapy cancer treatments.

Yet we can't overlook David "Big Papi" Ortiz or Manny Ramirez, whose Herculean efforts got the Sox past the Indians to get into the Series, or Jason Varitek, who directed the pitching staff like a maestro, or Kevin Youkalis, who never complained about riding the pine when we dropped the DH in Colorado, despite hitting .500 in the post-season, or even J.D. Drew and Julio Lugo, who finally delivered with some timely hitting in the post-season.

It was an October to remember, watching Game 1 in Mexico, hurrying from the airport to catch the end of Game 2, and basking in Games 3 and 4 in the cushioned box seats of my living room sharing shouts and commentary with Sam. Thank you Red Sox, for such a wonderful time.

Adios Amigos

Sat by the beach this morning and read until it was time to check out of the hotel. Turns out the hotel beaches are prime areas for walk-by vendors to peddle their wares. Unfortunately, one of the first had some lovely blankets which Rebecca liked and bought, and with that purchase sitting prominently under our umbrella all the merchants smelled blood in the water and came by with increasing frequency to sell us more blankets and then rugs (from the blanket guys father--a referral!) and jewelry and dresses and maracas and carved seals and even muffins.

We did want to buy something for the kids, but most of the things we saw in the shops were so cheap, and the nice things, in contrast, were expensive, and it seemed like we couldn't agree on anything, so basically left every store empty-handed.

It was an enjoyable trip, and it is easy to see why people like to vacation in Puerto Vallarta. It is absolutely beautiful, with lush green mountainous forests rising up less than a half-mile from the beaches. The people are friendly, helpful and quick to laugh--especially if you speak Spanish to them, although almost all are bilingual. The prices are low and the services excellent, including the bus system. And there are plenty of tours for those traditional tourists who want to swim with dolphins or parasail or ride a pirate ship with real-life buccaneers and wenches.

But I think I would do it differently next time. I would come ready to explore more of the rivers. And I would maybe rent a car or motorcycle and head into more remote parts of the jungle to see some traditional villages or maybe I'd take surfing lessons and go scuba diving a couple of times. And I think I'd find a very private beach to hang out on for a day, with book in hand and my head resting on a sand pillow. And finally, in a perfect world (where I was a little closer to perfection) I'd speak the language, even a little, which would add a new dimension to the experience.

Great to go, but always good to be home. Thanks ever so much to my wonderful children for their thoughtfulness and generosity.

Las Caletas

Not knowing of any better alternatives, we took another tour today, this one to Las Caletas, which first gained notoriety by famed Hollywood director John Huston living there. Huston's son Danny, who I met and talked to at Sundance a few years ago, was married at Caletas. In fact, Huston's decision to shoot Night of the Iguana in Puerto Vallarta in 1963 was the spark that eventual led to making it a resort community.

So we headed to the marina first thing in the morning and caught a catamaran headed for the ancient Greek Isle of Lesbos, or so it seemed, since the boat (and Las Caletas tour) were dominated by passengers off the Olivia cruise ship. Olivia is billed as "The premiere travel and entertainment company for Lesbians," although I wonder how many other lesbian travel and entertainment companies they had to beat out for that honor. And if this was the premier group, I'd hate to see the cattle cars, because there were some pretty scrappy looking women there.

It did make for some awkward moments on the boat, where the crew employed their standard routines, which included couples' contests. There were three which competed in a pop-the-balloon game, and the only "traditional" couple came in a distant last. Based on this limited sample, I would be concerned about the relative fate of the heterosexual species, except of course for our unique ability to procreate.

Moving on, Las Caletas was quite enchanting, like a tropical paradise, and we snorkeled and swam and I found a quiet place away from all the women and laid on the beach reading while Rebecca got a massage. And we ate well once again then back on the catamarran and to Puerto Vallarta. Finally got to the beach outside our hotel where we lounged and read and then had dinner and spent a quiet evening watching the Sox crush the Rockies in Game One of the World Series.

OK, I confess that while at Las Caleta the knave in me considered gathering the straights to challenge the Olivians to beach games, like Red Rover, or chicken fights. I just wanted to see how we'd do. But it seemed like an awkward thing to get started and some of these women were very large plus I feared that it could start something of a race war, so like many of my terrible ideas, I wisely let this one pass privately, but found the notion quite amusing as it danced around in my head.

Tour-ists

Played the tourist today, in that we took an actual "tour." The most interesting thing I could find in the guidebooks was an "Outdoor Adventure," so we signed up. Met at the marina and took a fast boat to Boca de Tomatlon, then proceeded into the jungle, which involved hiking, mule riding, multiple zip lines, rappeling down a 98' waterfall, dropping into pools and crossing a few rope bridges. The other tourists seem to think it was quite thrilling, and Rebecca enjoyed it as well. I found it mildly entertaining, but not the least bit exciting, except perhaps the first five seconds of the first zip line. I realize how much more adrenaline I get from being personally responsible for my fate when I do canyons. The problem was, I completely trusted these guys and their multiple redundant systems. I guess I'd prefer a little more uncertainty in my adventures.

Had a very nice dinner at Si Senor, with fabulous papaya pico de gallo and an outstanding array of salsas. We were also serenaded by three fat mariachis, which I found soothing and entertaining, but mainly made me want to watch the movie El Mariachi again.

Funny thing, wherever we go people see me and my dark complexion and start talking to me in Spanish. My confused and helpless look quickly reveals their mistake. Then Rebecca jumps in with her amazing fluency, and immediately the credibility I'd lost is restored to the family. I think everyone treats us better because she speaks the language so well, and she has been regularly complimented. In fact, her accent is so good that after she spoke to one driver, he would address the crowd of tourists in English, then translate for her in Spanish, not realizing she was bi-lingual. All the guys especially seem to like her and are quick to laugh and joke and help in any way. And I think they wonder what she is doing with a loser like me that speaks only in English. I can live with the ridicule because her mastery of the language makes me feel completely justified in leaving most arrangements in her hands, which frees mine for my specialty--goofing off.

The weather is beautiful and the food terrific and I have eaten and slept so much that I feel like a fat Mexican (who cannot speak Spanish).

Watering

Day Two in Puerto Vallarta and it began with a vacation tradition--sleeping in. OK, it was only until eight o'clock (seven in Utah) but it seemed shamefully indolent to me, which I took a little delight in. We had the hotel buffet, which was wonderful, and besides fresh fruit and pastries I dined on funky dishes with cauliflower and eggplant and other pleasant surprises.

The weather had cleared so after breakfast we took the bus to a river outside of town, which poured down from the mountainous jungle that surrounds Puerto Vallarta. We hiked up about a mile, walking sometimes on a trail, but more at the edge of the river, jumping over moss-slicked boulders. We were soon dripping with sweat and took the first opportunity to take a dip. Eventually we arrived at a gorgeous waterfall--maybe 50 feet high. We languished on the rocks and swam in the pool and under the falls. There was a cable that stretched up a rock wall and using it, along with moki steps, craggy edges and external tree roots I was able to climb to the top despite the greasy covering on the rocks, although going up turned out to be much easier than coming down, which did make my adrenaline surge.

Downriver and back on the ocean, where we hit a quiet, white sand beach we had read about. After a few hours in the pleasant, warm water we were back on a bus heading to the Eden River. We turned down the over-priced cab ride for the benefit of a 2.5 mile hike up the mountain to our destination--a restaurant along a lovely river, where again we swam and then ate. Not up for another long walk, we snagged a ride down with a tour truck, disembarking at the sleeply little town on the coast, and then catching a bus back to the hotel.

By the way, I now know where all the 80's era boxy video games go--the stuff you used to find in mall arcades. They are in Barcelo Mismaloya, on sidewalk patios and in concrete arcades. With faded graphics and flaking paint, the kids drop in a couple of pesos to get their perfectly acceptable substitute to America's XBox and Nintendo Wie.

Welcome to Puerto Vallarta

Arrived in Puerto Vallarta last night. Hadn't gotten out of the airport when we were stopped and asked which hotel we were going to. I smelled a rat, but when he said we had a complementary ride to our hotel it got Rebecca's attention. He brought us to Jose, who was a very nice guy and told us all about the town before he invited us to sit through a "vacation club" presentation, and right then and there I was filled with dread and wanted to run out of the airport as fast as possible but he said the magic words (in third person)--"and you'll help Jose get a little commission"--and so it seemed like some sort of Mexican welfare project which we could hardly refuse, especially when he was smiling so nice and nearly hyperventilating with anticipation and kindly offered to pick us up from church and give us great prices on an island tour and yada yada yada. And that's how we found ourselves having breakfast with a hundred other cheap, pathetic tourists paying dearly for their freebies at the Villa la Something and getting pushed into a sales funnel where we were all but stripped naked and fitted for our sales potential and while several of the representatives were very nice the big sales closer was like a Mexican Gilbert Godrey and yelled at us for an hour and wrote at least 150 numbers down on a paper with a green felt pen and never wrote down a single explanation of what the numbers represented but the correct answer to his seemingly endless equation was that it was a "no-brainer," and both of us being brain-dead Rebecca and I applied a different calculus and politely declined and if only that were that but there was more and finally we left under duress and emotionally battered and if anyone ever asks you if they can give you absolutely anything in exchange for sitting through a "This is NOT a Time Share" presentation tell them you would rather have a needle poked in your eyes. Or better yet, poked in his.

On a lighter note, the Fiesta Americana Hotel is very nice and this afternoon we went downtown to the boardwalk in town, which has the most eclectic and extraordinary array of bronze statues. Ate at Jim Jack's Fish Shack, which was small but very good. Great fresh produce, particulary the jicama, cucumbers, avocado and pico de gallo. Then back to the hotel to watch the Red Sox win Game 7 over the Indians, an event hardly marred by the television commentary being entirely in Spanish, which to me sounded like blah blah blah blah Fenway Park blah blah blah blah Manny Ramirez, etc. But the language spin was enough to make Rebecca sort of dig it.

And I should also mention that everyone says it is sunny every day here and hardly ever rains for more than an hour a day except since we arrived because there is a tropical storm somewhere off the coast and so it has been steadily drizzling and overcast. But that didn't stop some of the guests at our hotel from laying out on the poolside chaise lounges, which seems like an excruciating waste of time but still infinitely more enjoyable than discussing vacation opportunities with Gilbert Godfrey.

Favorite Quotes, Part 1

When I find a quote I like, I save it and put it in my email signature for a day or so. Some people have asked me for these, so I thought I'd occasionally put a few in my blog. One of my goals in life is to come up with a few pithy and well-said ideas that will survive my mortality. You ever hear of "Life's a Beach"?

"The years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. You are always being asked to do more, and you are not yet decrepit enough to turn them down. " --T.S. Eliot

"Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice.” --Shakespeare, Hamlet (Polonius)

"The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man." --George Bernard Shaw

"Nothing endures but change." -- Heraclitus

"We did not change as we grew older; we just became more clearly ourselves." -- Lynn Hall

"Our life is what our thoughts make it." --Marcus Aurelius Antonius

"Man is the Only Animal that Blushes. Or needs to." --Mark Twain

"A classic is something that everybody wants to have read and nobody wants to read." --Mark Twain

"Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.” --Mark Twain

"There is something fascinating about science. One gets such wholesale returns of conjecture out of such a trifling investment of fact." --Mark Twain


“In looking for people to hire, you look for three qualities: Integrity, intelligence, and energy. If they do not have the first, then the other two will kill you.” --Warren Buffett


"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." --Dorothy Thompson, journalist


"Everything I did in my life that was worthwhile I caught hell for." --Earl Warren

"Drive thy business or it will drive thee." --Benjamin Franklin

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." --Henry David Thoreau, Walden.

“I don't want any yes-men around me. I want everyone to tell me the truth, even if it costs them their jobs.” --Samuel Goldwyn

"The ancestor of every action is a thought." --Emerson

"The only way to avoid being miserable is not to have enough leisure to wonder whether you are happy or not." --George Bernard Shaw

"I always wanted to be somebody, but I should have been more specific." --Lily Tomlin

"If a man hasn't discovered something that he will die for, he isn't fit to live." --Martin Luther King Jr.

"People only see what they are prepared to see." --Ralph Waldo Emerson

"The most valuable thing you can make is a mistake - you can't learn anything from being perfect." --Adam Osborne

"Sticks in a bundle are unbreakable." --African Proverb

"Always bear in mind that your own resolution to success is more important than any other one thing."
--Abraham Lincoln

Game 2

The Diamondbacks lost to the Rockies last night in 11 innings. Sam and I sat high above home plate. It was a disappointing loss, but the Rockies played better baseball and deserved to win. Before the game we ate at the Hard Rock Cafe and watched the Red Sox crush the Indians, which was a terrific pre-game meal. More observations from Chase Field:

1. Take Me Out to the Ball Game is one of the great American songs. It's a catchy tune with lyrics that are totally unpretentious in their homespun homage to America's national pasttime. It's one of the coolest traditions in sports that everyone stands and sings it during the seventh inning stretch. But it does make me wish they still sold Cracker Jacks at games.

2. Eric Byrnes is the only major leaguer I've ever seen who plays gay. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) He's a pretty good hitter and the fans love him but the guy plays the game like he's auditioning for a spot on Will and Grace. He runs past first with his legs bouncing out to the side, falls down after a hard swing or a throw from the outfield, then rolls in the dirt then pops up with a flair. Plus, the guy wears black socks pulled up to his knees, and you get the feeling he would wear them mid-thigh if the rules allowed. I don't think I'm homophobic, but in 40 years of watching baseball, I've never seen anything like it.

3. I was surprised to see a group of fans highlighted on the big screen holding letter-cards that spelled out GOD BACKS. I puzzled over this for a few seconds, wondering about the religious significance of the message. Then I realized that their spacing was off a little, and they were really writing GO DBACKS. I guess it was a sign.

Baseball in October

We're in Phoenix this weekend and last night Sam and I attended Game 1 of the National League Championship Series between the Arizona Diamondbacks and the Colorado Rockies. I love the atmosphere at play-off games--the stadium is electric with enthusiasm and energy. But given that I don't have a strong passion for either team, I found myself drawn to random observations throughout the game. Here are a few:

1. There is something very cathartic and unifying about booing the umpire. After a highly questionable call at a crucial time, the crowd raised their collective voices in a prolonged booing of the 2nd base umpire. (They also threw stuff on the field, causing the game to be temporarily suspended.) It was fun to join in on the booing, although I have heard it done with more enthusiasm and creativity in Philadelphia and New York, where after centuries of practice rudeness has been elevated to an art form. For a moment I felt badly for the umpire, but quickly recovered my senses and rejoined the chorus. I wonder why no one ever boos at home, like when your teenager doesn't do chores, or your husband leaves the toilet paper roll empty.

2. The lower section baseline rows in modern stadiums are designed so that if the person in front of you is exactly the same height you will be able to see the field, from the foul line and above, which seems a rather idealistic design with little margin for random distribution of individual verticality. From the top of the head of the person in front, another eight inches will block the view from your foul line to the outfield fence--basically the entire field. If the person in front of you is wearing a baseball cap, that will add two inches, or 25% of the field. If the person is 6'4" or higher and wearing a cap, and you are, say, ME, then you will not see anything. I looked up and down the stands and observed how many people were craning their necks to see the game. I had the passing thought that outlawing baseball caps at games would increase the viewable field coverage substantially for all people on the lower levels, but quickly realized that would be un-American.

3. There is a line in God Bless America that I had never really thought about and struck me as kind of silly:
From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans, white with foam
God bless America, My home sweet home.
I suppose Irving Berlin was struggling to find a word that rhymes with home. "Roam" had already been popularized in Home on the Range. "Comb" was hard to fit in. "Gnome" would be a stretch, and so on. So he settled on "oceans, white with foam," and I'm sure his wife said the song would never take, and if he had any idea that it would be sung at thousands of sporting events for many decades he would have spent more time on it and come up with something better. I bet he never even considered "loam" or "chrome." Maybe we should update the song for today's pro sports scene. Can anyone say "Dome"?

Priorities

Lately I've been plagued by too many priorities and not enough time to do them all. ClearPlay is at a critical juncture, and I always feel compelled to try to do a little bit more, and nearly always finish the day before my To Do List is complete. I'm really anxious to do a small test of my nursing home non-profit. I'd like to take my "Where are They Now?" idea to the next step. And I've had an offer to do some lucrative work for a friend, which requires some diligence on my part, and an initial trip next month.

And there are plenty of other good things to do. We've had company lately, and it seems like people should always be the top priority--this week it's Gene and Lorraine Clark, which has been nice. I think it's good to have some semblance of a social life, and friendships take time. I want to be a better home teacher, and do more to serve. I like to work out about five times a week--been doing it so many years that I feel guilty without it. I try to keep up my blog, even when I'm not inspired (sorry). I have vowed to finish my script by Thanksgiving. There's some correspondence to keep up with. I'm in the middle of reading three books. And there are mundane things around the house--reseed the lawn, clean out the cellar, move stuff to the attic.

And then there's the fun stuff. There are plenty of canyons and hikes I want to do, and this winter I hope to snowboard more, and maybe do some snowshoeing. It's baseball post-season, and Sam and I have been watching quite a few games. Next week we're going to Phoenix to see two NLCS games live. There's Fantasy Football, and as the first-place team I have to maintain family bragging rights. And I like to watch games Sunday and Monday nights, and BYU on Saturdays. I like to catch at least one DVD a week, and I have over 100 classic DVD's on my Blockbuster Online, and I'm in the middle of Prison Break Season One and The Office Season Three. And my half dozen magazines, including the completely self-indulgent Sports Illustrated. And I promised to do Sundance and review movies in January. All frivolous and, arguably, wastes of time.

Needless to say, not everything is getting done. A few lessons learned:
1. Maybe you can do anything, but you definitely can't do everything--at least not at one time.
2. Start early. At 50, I'm starting to feel the sand at the bottom of the hourglass.
3. Make conscious priority decisions, and live by them. I've tried to do this in life, mostly unsuccessfully.
4. Set goals. Translate them into weekly and daily goals.
5. Don't forget to enjoy life. Do your best, but recognize how you're built. If you have more ambition than reasonably possible, don't beat yourself up. Celebrate successes.

What Season Is It?

I don't shop much, so I may have been the only person in the Target store on Tuesday that was surprised to see aisles of Halloween merchandise already out. I checked the date: September 18th. Halloween, which I consider only a minor holiday, is over a month away, and the retailers are already reaching out with their claws of commerce. Does anyone really buy Halloween candy in September? No wonder the stuff the kids bring home so often tastes like tree bark. Are people really picking out their costumes, getting ready to carve their pumpkins and buying decorations for their house?

Having recovered from my surprise, I completely forgot about Halloween until this afternoon, when I was in Costco, and nearly fell over when I heard a familiar tune--Jingle Bells. I turned around and what to my wondering eyes should appear but an entire aisle devoted to Christmas products, complete with trees, decorations and Santa Claus. I would not have been more surprised if he had come down my home chimney.

This is way too early, and clearly Santa needs a calendar. I can thing of no better way to lose the Christmas spirit than to bludgeon it to death with over-exposure. If I worked at Costco and had to start listening to Christmas carols in September I would hate Christmas by Halloween. I would become Jewish, or Muslim, or Hindu. I would abdicate my vegetarianism so that I could eat reindeer. And I'd rip the masks off of every Santa Claus I'd see.

Is there any rational person who is buying Christmas stuff now? Used to be I could comfortably delay any feelings of guilt until Christmas Eve, something I learned from my dad. Now, in the middle of September, I feel selfish and remiss for gazing longingly at the plasma TV's instead of picking out Christmas gifts.

Welcome to the holiday season, and the winter/spring/summer/fall of my discontent.

Grumpy

I flew home from Dallas late last night. I was in a bad mood, mostly because I lost a contact lens in the airport and had checked my bag where I kept my spares. So everything was out of focus, making it hard to see or read.

And then it seemed like everything got worse. The guy in my row was coughing and wheezing--plus he was slovenly. And he acted like he owned the middle seat and the floor in front of it. Just rude and selfish. When we exited the airplane, some people had a hard time grasping the concept of taking turns and going by rows. What, first-time travelers? Then my pet peeve--everyone crowded around the baggage claim carousel, blocking the view of the few of us polite enough to step away. Don't people realize that it would be best for everyone if we just took a few steps back? These people really annoyed me--all of them!

In fact, I realized that I had become quite unhappy and somewhat stressed. I was looking at people as objects, and seeing how they were obstructing my path to comfort and satisfaction. I was in a misanthropic mood, and it was getting worse.

Eventually, I put in a new contact, got in my car, turned on the radio and started to feel better. I reflected on the frustration I was feeling, and realized it was mostly self-imposed. I guess that grumpy is as grumpy does. If you're looking for something to criticize, there's no shortage of material in this world. On the other hand, there's plenty of sunshine on the bright side, if you bother to look over there.

A Weekend in Bluff

Last night I drove home from Bluff, where I spent three days taking an American Canyoneering Association course from a local outfitter. Our group of six guys from Utah, California and New Mexico learned and practiced techniques for anchoring, belaying, pothole escapes and ascending in a few short canyons near Bluff.

Bluff is a small town in the southeast corner of the state, near the Four Corners area. It is on the San Juan River, across from a Navajo Indian reservation. About 250 people live there year-round, and the economy is dominated by ranching and tourism from the San Juan and Four Corners. It has a funky southwest Americana culture. Everyone knows everyone. We met at a little coffee shop that featured some very tasteful local art, lots of trendy chai and green tea drinks and serves a mean bowl of oatmeal. Down the highway there's the local cafe, which has been there for years, with a linoleum floor and hand-painted sign. I met the owner, a skinny 60-ish lady in blue jeans, whose lipstick extended a little too far about her face. Born and raised in Bluff, she makes her money serving lunch to a few locals and when the tourist buses stop for gas and ice cream.

I asked her what was good and she recommended a root beer float. It was quite tasty, but served in a plastic tumbler like the one my friend's mother used to serve Kool-Aid in when we were kids. (It's possible it was the same glass.) We talked about the town and tourists. A few locals came in and chatted, including an Indian family. Their little three-year-old said he was hungry and she gave him a cup of soft-serve ice cream on the house, which seemed kind of cool to me.

I was there during the annual fair, which is the big event of the year, and includes a rodeo and a pow-wow--to attract both the cowboys and Indians, I suppose. I drove through town on Saturday morning and everyone was getting their chairs set up for the parade, an event that I genuinely regret missing.

I wouldn't want to live in a town like Bluff. I value my privacy too much. But it was a slice of America that made for a great visit.

Timpanokee

Last weekend Merritt and I climbed Mt. Timpanogos, on the Timpanokee Trail. It was my first time up that side of the mountain. Sunday afternoon we hiked up most of the way, hastily setting up our tent in the meadow when the rain started to more than drizzle. After a well-deserved sandwich in the tent, the rain stopped, so we decided to explore with the little daylight we had left.

It's funny how dropping your packs to hike feels like such freedom after carrying them five miles up the mountain. We ran into another group camping--a father and two of his grown children, just cooking dinner. Merritt had read about some World War II bomber wreckage, and with a little careful looking we found several pieces, that had been scattered surprisingly far apart.

We also encountered a herd of about 18 mountain goats, who walked slowly along the ridge, and stopped to keep what appeared to be a vigil around the engine of the plane, like something out of 2001: A Space Odyssey, or perhaps The Gods Must Be Crazy.

We came prepared for a cold night, but the weather was surprisingly pleasant. The night was an oddly enchanting combination of rain, wind and moonlight. We left open the mosquito netting on both sides, which seemed to bring the elements closer, but not penetrating the confines of the tent, which we had set up bomb shelter style, fully staked with tight guy lines. Merritt and I both woke up many times throughout the night, each time pausing to appreciate the elements outside from the comfort of our shelter.

We wanted to get up by five in the morning, but neither one of us had a watch, and our phones couldn't hold their charges through the night. So we were quite literally in the dark about when it was time to leave. Finally, we awoke and saw a few headlamps on the trail and dashed out to hit the summit by sunrise, hiking by moonlight, which was just enough to get by. Turns out we got to the saddle by 5 o'clock, and hour before we wanted, meaning we'd gotten up around 4 a.m. After sitting sheltered from the cold wind, and admiring the view overlooking American Fork, we headed for the summit.

We were far from alone. It appears that seeing the sun rise on Timp is a Labor Day tradition for many BYU students. Once at the 11,700 foot peak, we were joined by a throng of young men and women enjoying a midnight hike the day before classes started. We found a private, quieter spot on the face and watched an unusual sunrise, with red streaks spearing cross-like through the intermittent cloud cover.

Then down the mountain, retracing the eight miles of trail down about 4000 vertical feet, and then into the car and back home in time for lunch. Timpanokee is a gorgeous trail with terrific vistas, pleasant meadows and a lovely little lake. And I'm guessing it is even more glorious in late June when the wildflowers are in bloom, or in a few more weeks when the autumn leaves put on their show. What a beautiful area I am blessed to live in, to have such wonders only an hour away. I delight in her bounties, and cherish each time I can get out to enjoy them.

Latin Night

We had a get-together at the house on Thursday night--friends that Rebecca had met in the Spanish Branch in Park City, and that I have come to know as well, despite my inability to speak Spanish, and their lack of confidence with English. But there were adults and teens, some Spanish-speaking and some bilingual, and a few of us English-only speakers, and somehow a good time was had by all. We sat around the table for what seemed like a couple of hours talking and laughing in Spanish and English, and with a little translating and some body language and a general joie de vivre, we managed to communicate quite well.

I like multi-cultural experiences, and I wish I had more of them. Every time I am able to glimpse the world from the perspective of another country I understand a little better why we can be so different, yet remain so very much the same.

Blades of Glory

One of our premises for ClearPlay reviews is based on homespun wisdom most of us learned from our mothers: If you don’t have anything good to say about a movie, don’t review it. This gave me pause when considering Blades of Glory, the only big DVD released this week. But for my mother’s sake, I’m going to try to see this glass half-full:

If Dumb and Dumber (a movie I loved) was too cerebral for your tastes, check out Blades of Glory.

If you’re a high school boy, and need new material to impress your friends in the locker room, you might watch Blades of Glory.

If you named your dog Ron Burgundy and your cat Napoleon, after classic Will Ferrell and Jon Heder roles, then you probably have to see Blades of Glory.

If you think movies with sloppy drunks, smelly crotches, toilet-paper licking, jockstrap sniffing, upchucking, and an endless stream of juvenile sex jokes really rock, then you're sure to enjoy Blades of Glory.

If you’re looking for a movie that even with ClearPlay’s best efforts, is still filled with often-stupid and sometimes funny but always disgusting and gross-out humor, then don’t miss Blades of Glory.

To illustrate my point: Sam just read this review on my computer. His reaction? “Hey, that sounds good.”

(Adapted from a ClearPlay review.)

Contrarian Learning

I read an interesting book recently--No Excuses: Concessions of a Serial Campaigner, by Robert Schrum. Schrum has been an active political consultant to Democratic candidates since he was a teenager volunteering for JFK. He is a dedicated, heart-felt liberal who has had long, close relationships with the likes of Ted Kennedy, Al Gore and John Kerry, in addition to major Democratic candidates from the past three decades.

The book was entertaining, enjoyable and educational. Importantly, it changed my thinking about Democrats in general, and certain Democrats in particular. Now I've never been opposed to most of the ideals of the Democratic party, and truth be told lean more to the left than to the right on most issues. But I've never liked any of the actual Democrats. But I liked Schrum (of course, he authored the book!) and over time I began to like Ted Kennedy quite a bit, and even John Kerry some.

It was a little disheartening to see the political process laid out so nakedly as a matter of branding and positioning--one marketing case after another. But it's the reality we live with and it isn't likely to change.

I think it's good sometimes to read contrary political points of view. It forces you to deal with their arguments and positions. Too often we read and watch stuff that aims only to reinforce our firmly held beliefs, which I guess is what makes Bill O'Reilly and Rush Limbaugh so popular. But that's laughing at your own jokes.

Or Not to Be

I’m about to strongly recommend a movie that most of you aren’t going to want to watch. It won’t matter that the movie is adapted from perhaps the greatest literary work of all time. Nor that it has received critical acclaim and won numerous industry awards. Or even that it has a wonderfully eclectic all-star cast with actors you know and love. Most of you will still will not be interested.

But for those of you that have the slightest attraction to Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Kenneth Branagh’s 1996 movie version, just out on DVD, is not to be missed. Set creatively in the 19th century, Branagh’s Hamlet is an unabridged four-hour spectacle with breathtaking sets, delightful costumes and a terrific score. Having worked the genre before in the excellent Much Ado About Nothing, Branagh’s cinematic liberties, such as enlightening flashbacks and lingering close-ups, somehow makes the production feel alive, energetic and contemporary.

The casting is fun and unusual, and not just for the liberal use of American actors. I wish I wouldn’t have known and could have been pleasantly surprised by the cast, which includes Kate Winslet, Julie Christie, Charlton Heston, Gerard Depardieu, Billy Crystal, Robin Williams, Sir John Gielgud, Judi Dench, Richard Attenborough and Rufus Sewell, plus Branagh’s own riveting performance as Hamlet.

(By the way, this is a textbook case for ClearPlay. Although most people won’t find Shakespeare’s sometimes coarse language offensive, the sex scenes are significantly more explicit than you would expect, and in fact would make watching the movie in schools a bit of a problem, a terribly wasted opportunity.)

But be warned: Even if you’re comfortable with English accents, the dialogue is often hard to follow, and even the uber-literary Lanee found the going tedious at times. My advice is to relax and not worry about it. If you don’t know the play, it wouldn’t hurt to do a little prior research to better follow the story. And you might want to stretch the 242 minutes over two nights. But if you’re not intimidated by Shakespeare or period pieces or Elizabethan language or four-hour movies, then give Hamlet a try.

To watch, or not to watch. That is the question.
Whether to ennoble your mind with four hours of the immortal Bard,
Or to take arms against Elizabethan culture,
and watch instead a Bruckheimer action flick.
To die. To sleep. No more.

Stupid is as Stupid Does

Was down in Zion last week with Angelica, Ryan, Lanee and our friends the Eldredges. We did Subway one day, and four of us went to Birch Hollow the next. We cut the trip short because flash floods made the canyons too dangerous.

I like to take beginners to Birch Hollow because it's a pretty easy technical canyon--well bolted, usually dry, never crowded (I've never seen another person in there) and has straight-forward raps. And I've done it a number of times before, so I guess I've gotten comfortable with it. Apparently, too comfortable.

The longest rap is 120', so I took a brand-new 200' 9mm static rope and an extra 100' rope to pull when needed. The first four raps were under 100' and only required one rope. Since we had a first-timer and a few novices, we generally double-stranded, which added friction and safety. Then we hit the 120', which I rigged with a biner-block to single strand, since the rope wasn't long enough to double. The three others went down first, and I secured the 100' pull rope to the first rope with a fisherman's knot, and tossed it over. That's when I did something very stupid and careless, because I was in a hurry (rain coming in the afternoon) and it was only Birch Hollow.

There's a little ledge on the face, so I thought maybe I'd clean up the rope, get rid of the block so it didn't catch on the pull-through afterwards, and go down double-strand. Seemed like a good idea at the time, until about 40 feet down Angelica asked me how I was planning on rappelling through the knot on the one side. Uh ... Oh yeah, that's why my plan was to go down single-strand. The last minute change created a small problem.

I have never passed a knot "live," i.e. in canyon conditions. But I have read about it and practiced the technique a bit in my backyard. The process is to secure yourself to the rope above, so you can take the pressure off your rappelling device, and unharness it and reattach below the knot, all the time held fast by a friction knot, such as a prusik. I've practiced prusiks before, but never had to actually use them to survive. I also had a spare ATC rappelling device on my harness, and hooked that in below the knot, but still had to free myself from my primary device, which required a good knot above.

Normally I take a few small cords that I know make good prusiks, but since this was only Birch Hollow, I had left these in the car. Same with the brand new Petzl ascenders I just bought, which would have done the trick in minutes. Instead, I had to try to use a sling to tie a prusik to my double-strand new rope and clip to my harness, and I couldn't get the knot to hold. I tried a second one with the same result.

I always carry some small Tri-Bloc ascenders, which are difficult to use, but will do in a pinch. Unfortunately, these had somehow gotten completely jammed together on the carabiner and I could not free them. I sent them down to the folks on the ground and they could not free them either. So they were useless.

Ryan, Angelica and Lanee were getting very worried. They heaped their packs on the ground below me to try to soften my potential 80-foot fall, should this happen, and were already making search and rescue plans. I was nervous too, but not panicky. I knew that if I could just slow things down, I would be able to get out of this, and that my risk level was low. But I also understood that another mistake could be tragic, and that the skies were darkening and heavy rains were coming soon and we did need to get out of the canyon.

I pulled up the tied rope and cut a three foot section off the bottom and tried that as a prusik, but it was even worse. Finally, I tried another friction knot with a sling and ... it held. By this time I was sweating profusely and my leg was falling asleep and I looked down at my harness to see five 'biners clipped in from the prusiks and the rap devices and it looked like the electrical cords in back of my computer. It was difficult to see clearly, and harder yet to focus, but eventually I unhooked everything, and slid down the rope safe, sound and relieved.

Naturally, I've thought about this quite a bit. There were a number of other escape approaches I could have taken. But the real lesson learned is that I was careless and stupid, taking Birch Hollow for granted. But 120 feet is deadly no matter where it is, and I would have been smart to take my ascenders and my prusik cords, and smarter yet to think through the rap before I rigged in double-stranded.

I think life is like that. We don't often start with big mistakes. We make little ones, in areas that don't concern us much. And that's what gets us into trouble. Now I have a little more respect for the Birch Hollows in my life.

Why I Blog

I have been keeping up this blog for a year, and the other day someone asked me the obvious question: Why? There are several reasons, I suppose. Mainly, it is a creative outlet, an opportunity for self-expression. Even the lowliest amateur pianist enjoys sitting down to play now and then. The closet artist paints or draws. And so many of us, no matter how bad our voices, have been caught singing in the shower. Writing is a way for me to release a little creative energy.

And I am a little embarrassed to admit it, but I also consider this an opportunity to practice my writing. Naturally, this suggests that I have higher aspirations, and hope to ply my craft in more public venues. That is true, and while I toil silently on screenplays and poems and the occasional letter, the blog is a constant reminder, an obligation to practice, a duty that tracked and a box that is checked. And maybe someday that novel will begin to take shape. Or maybe not.

The blog is also a way to formulate my thoughts on subjects, and to share these with family and a few close friends. And perhaps that's a little vain, but no more so than the dying art of literate conversation. And perhaps, after I have breathed my last breath, a folder or a website with my ramblings will be read by one of my grandchildren, and we will get reacquainted then.

One year and running. Log on. Slog on. Blog on.

My Minnesota

Just returned from a 10-day trip to Minnesota, spent almost entirely at Rebecca's family cabin on Whiteface, where there was no Internet, computer or cable TV, and my cell phone dropped calls almost as fast as I could pick them up. It was actually a wonderful break to be away from the trappings of technology, which gave certain parts of my mind a rest, and caused other slumbering corners to awake and wander unfettered.

Absent of technology, my time was spent creating memories, of which there were many--kayaking on the Brule River with a bald eagle circling 100 feet overhead, playing bocce ball on the Lake Superior beach, talking politics with Tim, waterskiing on glass just before dark, the stunning red sunsets at Whiteface, a new generation on the tire swing, Layla swimming and eating mud, hot saunas at night followed by a cooling swim (often sans swimsuit), touch football, endless card games, two delightfully mindless detective novels, reuniting with aunts, uncles and cousins, having breakfast with my long-lost childhood best friend, deer and chipmunks and beaver dams and enough food to add five pounds to my aging frame.

Even the road trip was enjoyable, listening to Cat Stevens, Edwin McCain, Carly Simon, Jack Johnson, Barenaked Ladies, John Mayer, Robert Cray, Aimee Mann, Delbert Mclinton, Cannonball Adderly, Frank Sinatra and much more from my iPod. After wistfully passing through Des Moines, unsuccessfully looking for a motel in Council Bluffs, Omaha and Lincoln, and finally finding a vacancy in Kearny at 2:30 a.m. Listening critically to the "Don't Know Much about American History" mp3 audiobook. Memorizing a John Donne poem. Driving countless miles of freeway--an asphalt invitation to think and think and think some more.

There is certainly an allure to trips to more exotic locations--scuba diving and rain forests, or medieval castles and great museums. But I think there will always be room in my life for vacations made simple, filled with good company and days easy and relaxed, where memories refresh like lake water in the night and satisfy like fresh raspberry pie.

Prison Time

Today I visited the Utah State Prison in Draper, going with my friend Barry, who has been helping there for seven years. There were a dozen or so volunteers that joined us, almost all of them weekly regulars, holding church services for two groups of inmates--a "Diagnostic" group and one composed of sexual predators.

Barry tells me that some people get uncomfortable in the environment, but I didn't feel awkward at all. The Diagnostic group was first, dressed in orange jumpsuits. These men are in a holding pattern for a maximum of 90 days, generally waiting to be sentenced. For some of them, it's their first time in prison, and a period of great anxiety as their life crumbles before them. They are in for crimes of all sorts, such as murder, armed robbery, rape and tax evasion.

The second group was composed entirely of sexual predators, which have to be separated from the other inmates for their own protection. (Apparently, they are at the bottom of the prison pecking order, with murderers being at the top.) There was a look to some of these men that is unique and a little eerie at first. I have seen it before, in a friend I met a few years ago who was a sex addict. And I saw it in a few others when I attended a 12-step class with him one time. But after a few minutes, I was able to get past that, and look at these men with no judgmental feelings.

These are men who have been brought down by the consequences of their decisions. They have been humbled, doing time for years or even decades. What esteem they may have once had is hanging by a thread. It was good to be there with them and shake their hands and say a few words. I felt like my smile and handshake did more good today than a year's worth of normal Sunday services. And as I looked each one in the eye, I could with all honesty grab their hands, smile and tell them how glad I was to be with them today.

For nearly all of these men, the first step in their downfall was pornography, which is an insidious and all too accessible evil. Now not everyone that falls prey to pornography becomes a sexual predator; like not everyone that uses drugs becomes an addict. But some do, and it's hard to tell where your personal path will lead when that first step is taken. For these men, it led to a destruction of their lives, and most had lost their families, their jobs, their reputations and nearly all their hope.

The notions of repentance and forgiveness, which many of us think about abstractly, take on profound importance in their lives. And the gentle, spiritual feelings of love and acceptance are sought after and cherished.

The branch choir sang Come Come Ye Saints, I suppose in honor of Pioneer Day this week. And I wondered what was passing through their minds as they sang the words:

Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
'Tis not so; all is right.
... Gird up your loins; fresh courage take;
Our God will never us forsake;
And soon we'll have this tale to tell-
All is well! all is well!

As the doors locked shut behind me, I felt enriched by the experience. I'm grateful so many inmates came out, and that I had a chance to join them today. In fact, I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday.

Empty and Full

I taught a lesson today that centered on seeking wealth, giving what we can, etc. So during church, when I probably should have been listening more intently, I wrote this simple poem. It's a little out of season, but the imagery came to me and so I followed my smidgeon of inspiration down the trail to this rough-hewn and clumsy verse.


EMPTY AND FULL

It was snowing, made worse by the cold blowing wind,
But the store had a big Christmas sale,
So the shoppers rushed in, past the Santa in front
Who was holding a bell and a pail.

The old woman moved very slowly.
And each step she took threatened to fail.
But she tilted her head when she heard the bell ring
And she stopped and looked down at the pail.

Then she opened her handbag and took off her gloves
And her fingers, cold, withered and frail,
Unsteadily opened her coin purse
And then emptied it into the pail.

I'll never forget her example;
And I hope that I'll ever avail,
When I'm hurrying through life and I hear the bells ring,
That I stop and put alms in the pail.

For if I have much then I have much to give,
And when weighed on eternity's scale
My life can be valued not by what I've earned
But by how much I've left in the pail.

Rules of 24

Since Sam and I are bachelors while Rebecca and Lanee are in Guatemala, we've been doing manly things, like playing baseball, eating ice cream and watching three episodes of 24 Season Three every night. Now I've seen (and previously written about) the other two seasons of 24, but this time through it's becoming clear to me that the world of CTU is governed by certain immutable laws:

1. Jack Bauer is always in control. Even when he's hurt, it doesn't get in the way of him doing his job. Saving the world is always his first priority.

2. Jack tries to give up his life to save the world at least once every day, but Jack Bauer cannot be killed.

3. The 24-hour day cannot end unless Jack Bauer personally kills at least 10 bad guys. There is no maximum limit to how many bad guys Jack Bauer can kill in one day.

4. Everyone in the series gets their own look, which they developed after watching Zoolander. Jack's is straight-on and blank, revealing nothing. David Palmer's will burn a hole through you. Michelle always looks up, like she's afraid to be caught. Tony Almeda looks down and sideways, sort of irritated. Kim darts inquisitively. Shari Palmer is wide-eyed and can't be trusted. Every main character gets to give their look with an extreme close-up at least five times per episode.

5. Everyone talks by cell phone, which is the preferred means of communication for CTU personnel. No one is allowed to text message, play solitaire or download funky ring tones.

6. To end a cell conversation, you cannot say "good-bye," "so long," "see you later" or any other traditional form of closure. Usually, the conversation ends abruptly when one party snaps their phone shut. Even if you are talking to your mother, you can just quit talking at any time and turn off your phone.

7. The laws of physics in LA traffic are temporarily suspended whenever someone from CTU must drive somewhere. This is necessary because it is the only way Jack Bauer can go anywhere in LA and still have time to save the world in one day. Same with air travel. A flight from Mexico to LA on a military transport plane takes only five minutes, which is not even enough time for a decent beverage service.

8. Jack Bauer can fire any weapon without studying it. He just picks it up, aims and shoots, and never misses. He could kill you with a boomerang without even practicing.

9. Jack Bauer can also fly any aircraft without even checking the glovebox for the instruction manual.

10. Chloe is the best techie in the world. She is faster than all the engineers I have ever worked with combined. If she was working on my company's website, she could install a new database system during the commercials.

11. Jack Bauer always gets to make the plan, which works great until someone else screws it up, so he has to make a new plan every hour. Jack Bauer can think of a really good plan in about seven seconds.

12. CTU is always dimly lit. It's modeled after the batcave. Alfred may appear in a later episode.

13. Every season represents one of the worst possible days imaginable for everyone in the show. So far, the day is not even over and (spoiler coming) Michelle's husband is shot, she has an argument with him, she gets chewed out at work, she kills an unarmed civilian, she is exposed to a deadly virus and she is caught by the bad guy's henchman, who almost pokes her eye out. But she's still having a better day than the president.

14. The main bad guy is always really, really smart. It always takes Jack Bauer almost 24 hours to catch him.

15. No one ever sleeps. You can call anyone at 3 a.m. and they will be up, and not at all surprised that you called.

16. CTU agents never eat. They are not allowed to bring in pizza or Chinese food, even when pulling an all-nighter. Jack Bauer is way too tough to eat.

17. Everything always happens either just in time or one minute too late. Eventually, the world is always saved just in time.

18. There must be at least one big surprise during the 24-hour period. Either someone you thought was good turns out to be bad, or vice versa. And you can never tell by their looks, even with five or more extreme close-ups.

19. CTU agents are so tough, they can even keep doing their jobs after they have been shot, tortured, on heroin withdrawals or exposed to deadly viruses. They do not even get time off if they are planning to die later in the show.

20. At 10 seconds before every hour things look so bleak that you must be ready to abandon all hope. If you can hold on until the next episode, Jack Bauer will come up with a new plan and you can breathe more easily for 59 minutes.

21. Employees experiencing violent deaths at the CTU headquarters does not appear to affect productivity. It seems likely that these employees were not really necessary in the first place, another example of wasteful government spending. Further, no one seems to know the people who get killed. It's possible they were never really CTU employees at all. Maybe they were temps from Kelly Services. (If you ever get a call for a temporary job at CTU, DO NOT TAKE IT! You will almost certainly get killed. Only take a job as a main character, and even that is no picnic.)

22. It always sucks to be Jack Bauer's boss. He's hard to manage. And plus, you're probably going to die.

23. It sucks worse to be the president. He never has any fun and he has bad luck with women.

24. But it sucks the most to be the main bad guy and know that once the season starts, in 24 hours Jack Bauer will get you and you will be toast.

Once

Rebecca and I caught the indie musical film Once the other night at the Broadway Theatre. Set in Dublin, Once is a warm, funny and charmingly platonic romance about a street musician and a Czech immigrant who meet, make music, become friends and recognize that they could easily fall in love, but ... he has never gotten over the love of his life, who is in London, and she left her husband in the Czech Republic to make a better life for their young daughter.

The guy (neither one is ever named) is played by Glen Hansard, a singer and guitarist for the successful band Frames in Ireland. Director John Carney was previously in the band as well, before leaving to become a movie maker, and Markéta Irglová, who plays the girl, recently recorded an album with Hansard. So the music was real and terrific. After big budget biopics with actors mimicking musicians (see Walk the Line, Ray) it's rather refreshing to see and hear real musicians taking a crack at acting.

Once may have lagged in places, but its low budget and inexperienced cast gave the film a raw and gritty realism, brimming with genuine emotions that covered the spectrum from curiosity, admiration, respect, lust, joy, embarrassment, awkwardness and anticipation. Carney tells a story of intersecting lives; about dreams, realities and regrets; about what might have been and what already is; and about perspective, consideration, responsibility and choices.

It was one of those movies that I enjoy more over time, and that I have thought back to again and again since watching it. It is refreshing to see two people connect, without the need for a storybook ending. And I prefer to see passion simmer on the screen and not boil over. I wish this kind of thing happened more than Once.

Daddy-Daughters

Last weekend we had a Daddy-Daughter canyoneering excursion. Angelica, Lanee and I spent two days in Cedar Mesa, and navigated both Fry Canyon and Gravel Canyon. Fry is a short but delightful canyon, with winding turns and narrow slots. It took us only four hours, but it was enough to make us weary and ready for a night under a beautiful star-filled sky. Gravel Canyon was a more challenging day, and included some difficult route-finding, extraordinary bouldering, ad hoc raps into the entry canyon, floating disconnects, frigid swims in groady water and a tough and uncertain canyon exit.

Overall, not the stuff for the weak-kneed or faint of heart. So I was very proud of my girls, who were brave, tireless and unwavering. And throughout the trip, there was plenty of laughter which made all the discomforts of a searingly hot summer hike pass like a gentle breeze. It is good to have strong and energetic daughters made of hardy stuff, and better yet when they make pleasant traveling companions. I do love adventure, but love it best with my kids, and feel far more blessed by their company than they are by mine.

Post Script: Three long-cherished outdoor companions may have taken their last hike. First, my Nalgene bottle cracked when dropped in a pack on a downclimb. It was the first one I owned, a plain white opaque model that was Nalgene's only choice before their marketing department discovered translucent plastic in vibrant colors. Also, my North Face shorts, which have lived long past any reasonably expected life span, and have survived countless days in sandstone canyons, the harshest test of all for pants. And finally, my Escalante cap is falling apart. The band long disappeared, and its red dye weathered, it somehow it always felt like it belonged in canyon country. I have become curiously attached to these inanimate items, not for their style or utility, but simply because we have been together so many times as we explored the back-country. Losing them reminds me that I am wearing out as well, and one day will make my final trip, either because I have cracked suddenly like the Nalgene or, as the shorts and cap, declined gradually, a fading casualty of heavy mileage and rugged terrain.