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.)