Robbers Roost

The third annual Real Men's Memorial Day Canyon Trip was held at Robbers Roost this year. There were only three of us--Merritt, Sam and me, as Dave Jarvi had a family wedding. The Roost is remote country--not even much grazing going on out there. It got its name as a hideout for outlaws of the wild west, including Butch Cassidy and his gang.

We did four canyons--Little Bluejohn/Horseshoe, Not Mindbender, Larry and Alcatraz. Many terrific memories, including the Great Gallery in Horseshoe--a magnificent wall of pictographs from the Barrier period--between 2000-1000 b.c. We descended the canyon where Aron Ralston lost his arm. We squeezed through plenty of skinnies, often requiring chimneying off the deck to pass through. Saw a little wildlife, including a baby canyon wren in Larry that kept unsuccessfully trying to learn how to cling to a canyon wall--poor thing kept falling to the ground, once right at my feet; pronghorn antelope at the Larry Trailhead; a little rattler in Not Mindbender; some wild horses (or maybe mules) in Bluejohn, including a white one who aggressively followed our journey, and other critters as well.

One small experience of note. I'd just finished cleaning the rope in the first 70-foot rap in Little Bluejohn. It was my first time in this canyon. Merritt and Sam were just around the corner, sitting in a little alcove waiting and we decided it was a good photo-op. I was still carrying the rope bag, so to free up my hands for the camera, I tossed it down, but off to the side so it would be out of the picture. I then watched their eyes get wide as saucers as we heard ka-thwap, ka-thwap, ka ... (object descending 70 feet accelerating to 32 feet per second) THUMP. Yep, having no idea it was around the corner, I'd tossed our only rope down the second 70-foot rap. I think Sam's words were: "Uh, that was a bad idea, Dad."

Fortunately, it turned out fine. I had brought along extra webbing, which we were able to rap down. Just took a little more creative thinking. We also had slings, plus there's a little ledge off to the side about 12 feet down. So I'm guessing there were a couple more solutions available to us. Honestly, even when I first realized that we were ropeless between two big rappels I was confident we'd figure something out. Two thoughts on the experience:

1. Important lesson: Don't throw your rope anyplace you can't see. Uh ... DUH!

2. That five minutes of figuring out what we were going to do were the most memorable of my four days in the canyons. Unlike many of the canyoneers I meet, I'm not an engineer. But high-stakes problem-solving seems to surface the best in us, bringing me, at least, fully in the moment, engaged, focused and alive.

Every day we did a "Hero Play of the Day" and a "Bonehead Play of the Day." Needless to say, I took home the bonehead gold that day.

Great canyons. Great company. Great food. Nice campsites. Beautiful, rugged country that wore a lovely shade of green being early in the season and having taken a little rain. Photos on Flickr.

On Being a Customer

Over the past several months I've done a lot more shopping than ever before. And I find myself gravitating to the same places--Dan's and Wild Oats for groceries, Home Depot and Costco for everything else. They have earned my business over time, by keeping their stores neat and clean, having the products I want, being generally pleasant and helpful and never offending me. And so I am a loyal customer.

"Customer" is derived from the word "custom," which is "a habitual practice." We often don't think about it that way anymore, as we shift from store to store based on who is having a sale. But I take a little delight in being old school, and I like it that I am learning my way around these stores, and that I recognize some of the employees, and after only a few months some of them recognize me as well.

I think businesses would be wise to rethink the classic definition of customer. It's easier and cheaper to nurture and strengthen your relationship with a customer than it is to attract new triers with price and promotions. Peter Drucker once said that the purpose of a business is to create and keep a customer. That's a good choice of words, I think. Create a customer.

Benefit of the Doubt

For some time I've been mulling over a previously overlooked principle of success in relationships--the benefit of the doubt. (How I can live 50 years and miss so many obvious things continues to amaze me.) It's quite simple, really--instead of mentally accusing (and trying, and condemning) someone for the evil intent of their actions, give them the benefit of the doubt. It's really the psychological polar opposite of paranoia, and I have come to the conclusion that for many of us, this is a big, big deal, both for the success of our relationships and for our personal happiness.

Countless times something has happened that annoyed me, and I assume my wife/child/colleague/acquaintance/service provider was acting with malicious intent. So my mind stews and it swirls and it froths and it foams and I can't wait to return serve, often a volley of accusation and insinuation, leading to a flurry of points and counterpoints, the outcome of which is anything but love-love.

I was intrigued by a recent Fortune article on Indra Nooyi, Chairman and CEO of PepsiCo (and the most powerful woman in business), who talked about the same principle as a key to her success, although she phrased it better and more positively: "Assume the best about people," I think were her words.

Maybe sometimes I have been correct in my dark assumptions, but just as often I've been wrong, which is a suspect interpersonal equation. It's such a simple thing, and yet I find myself applying it almost every day, and when I get it right I have a much sunnier outlook on life and my relationships are better. I'm certainly not cured. But like the alcoholic, it's one day at a time.

The State of Perfect Balance

I saw a full-page ad in the Wall Street Journal this morning that caught my eye. It read: "Ohio--The State of Perfect Balance," which is a multiple double-entendre, I think. It featured Kate Bailey, who apparently is a vice president at DSW in Ohio, and, according to the ad, "matches a stylish career with a rich family life." As opposed to a "rich career with a stylish family life," which I think would have broader appeal.

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to take away from the ad. Maybe that nobody works very hard in Ohio, so you'll fit right in? And how about the slogan claiming "Perfect Balance"? What is this, The Ballerina State? Anyway, it got me to thinking, and I came up with a few alternates they might want to consider:

Ohio: Move here if you don't want to work much.
Ohio: Bring us your hungry, your poor, and especially your Imbalanced.
Ohio: Find Perfect Balance working from home and make big $$$! (They can post this to telephone poles, saving media costs.)
Ohio: We're not very good at anything, but we are Perfectly Balanced.
Ohio: The State of Bad Marketing

May-May on Mothers Day

I first met her in the summer of 1967. I was ten years old, prior to my fifth grade year in school. It started as a trial run. I had been living in St. Paul Children’s Home with other children with no parents, part of the young group who were gradually transforming from deprived children into social misfits and juvenile delinquents. Occasionally one of the group would be called to a foster family, but actual adoption was almost unheard of at my age. Yet here we were. Mother and Dad had married in 1961, I think. She was now 39 and he was 49. I would be the first child for both. This was an unlikely threesome.

Mom did everything possible to make me feel comfortable. When I arrived, we were in the process of buying our house on Skyline Parkway in Duluth, Minnesota, but still lived on the more rural Miller Trunk Highway, which was busy and dangerous and not very conducive to meeting other kids. So during the day while Dad went to work it was Mother and me, and not having any experience in the art of motherhood, she had not yet learned to say no. So we did whatever I wanted, which meant hours spent out on the lawn hitting baseballs to each other, and when I tired of that playing board games in the house—chess, Yahtzee, Milles Borne and others. I wanted a pet and she got me a calico cat, which I nicknamed Snoopy, an ironical homage to my favorite character in Peanuts.

After a year the trial turned into a formal adoption and we three made our lives together. It had never been easy for Mom. Her first marriage was bad and she divorced before it got worse. Her marriage to Dad was almost inevitable, given they were baptized in the same church on the same night, were both Finnish, and once Mom’s divorce was final, both single. But Dad had been a bachelor for 20 years and his ways were not easily changed or adapted to marriage. Plus, mother battled a hereditary mental condition, a chemical imbalance which in those days was generally neither diagnosed nor treated. But like her mother and others in her family, she suffered through periods of deep depression and frustration, although by the early 70’s she was prescribed medication which certainly helped. It was, as far as I could tell, her only imperfection, unless you count that fact that she wasn’t very good at crafts, despite her unfailing enthusiasm.

My memories are full and rich of my mother, but perhaps one thing about her character stands out more than any other. She was a friend to the friendless. If there were people who were lonely, old, feeble or troubled in any way, my mother was there for them. One young boy had great difficulty with his parents (prior to my arrival), and my parents took him in. When my Great Uncle Emil had to be in Duluth for treatment, he stayed with us. When my cousin Howie was a freshman at UMD, we shared a room. When grumpy old widows needed help with their shopping, my parents drove them around, and gave them rides to church and had them over for dinner as well. When those that were unlikable needed a friend, my mother was there without judgment. I have never seen a more selfless heart in any individual.

I learned true religion from my mother—less by precept than by daily example. When I left home after high school we were still great friends, and would have frequent visits and lengthy phone discussions. Once married and with children, I was fortunate to have her nearby most of the time, and will ever be grateful for the love and example she shared with the kids, and only wish it could have been longer. And on this Mother’s Day I humbly pay tribute to May-May, as the kids named her, as the greatest and most profound influence upon my life.

May Quotes

"We build good ships here.
At a profit--if we can.
At a loss--if we must.
But always good ships.
--Collis P. Huntington, founder, Newport news Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Company, 1886

"In any moment of decision the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing."
--Theodore Roosevelt

"Imagination is more important than knowledge."
--Albert Einstein

“When a brave man takes a stand, the spines of others are often stiffened.”
—-Billy Graham

“The only thing we know about the future is that it will be different.”
--Peter Drucker

"If anything is perfect in this world, love is perfect in its imperfections."
--Jons, in Ingmar Bergman's The Seventh Seal

"Continuous effort -- not strength or intelligence -- is the key to unlocking our potential."
--Liane Cordes

"So the writer who breeds more words than he needs, is making a chore for the reader who reads."
--Dr. Seuss

Irish Diplomacy... is the ability to tell a man to go to hell so that he looks forward to making the trip.


"The only difference between a tax man and a taxidermist is that the taxidermist leaves the skin."
--- Mark Twain

"The race may not always be to the swift, or the fight to the strong, but that's the way to bet."
--Damon Runyan


“Unless commitment is made, there are only promises and hopes; but no plans.”
--Peter Drucker

"Don't wait on a perfect plan, just get a good plan and go with it."
--Jack Welch

"Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect."
--Mark Twain

"The factory of the future will have only two employees, a man and a dog. The man will be there to feed the dog. The dog will be there to keep the man from touching the equipment."
--Warren G. Bennis

Emily Dickinson

I have been trying to escape with a little poetry every day, spending time with The Oxford Book of American Poetry, which Merritt was nice enough to give me as a gift, after I gave him the same last Christmas and then admired it with a covetous eye.

It has been fun reconnecting with some of my favorites, but also discovering many new poets, some of which form an instant bond, and others that make it easy for me to move on to the next. This morning it was Emily Dickinson, an unlikely poet. A recluse who rarely left her homestead during her adult years, she cultivated an unorthodox style and a wry sense of humor which provides occasional respite from her ironical and melancholic observations and general preoccupation with illness and death. Here's a few that provoked my thoughts this morning:

Success is Counted Sweetest

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'r succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple Host
Who took the Flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of Victory

As he defeated--dying--
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear.

1859


Fame is a Bee

Fame is a bee.
It has a song--
It has a sting--
Ah, too, it has a wing.

Snows and Shows

I looked out the window this morning and was shocked to see the ground whitened by snow. I went outside to get a better view and saw the tulips looking quite forlorn, cold and topped with snow but firm in their resistance to live through the weather. They are womanly things, these flowers, and I suppose feel threatened by the ravages of time and the elements upon their native beauty. It continued to snow lightly off and on throughout the day, and I think this is the first time I can remember it snowing on my birthday, even as a kid in Minnesota.

I watched two movies this week, both of which I recommend. Lars and the Real Girl is a delight--a quirky comedy about a shy socially maladjusted guy who gets delusional about a life-sized mail-order doll. Wonderfully creative idea, and it turns out to be quite uplifting as well, all on a low budget with a genuine Indy feel. Starring Ryan Gosling and Patricia Clarkson.

And finally sat down with the critically-acclaimed Charlie Wilson's War, which is both an insightful lesson in recent history and a well-executed and engaging film. Tom Hanks is very good as the substance-abusing and lecherous Congressman Charlie Wilson (Hanks never turns in a weak performance) but Phillip Seymour Hoffman is fabulous as an iconoclastic CIA journeyman. The dialog between the two in their first meeting is some of the best and funniest in recent memory, and Hanks and Hoffman show impeccable timing and surprising chemistry. In fact, there is plenty of good writing throughout, which helps keep the movie on pace when it might otherwise drag under the burden of a one-dimensional plot-line.

Watch them both if you're still waiting for Spring to confirm its arrival.

Billy Collins

Lanee gave me a poetry book by Billy Collins--The Trouble with Poetry. I had never heard of Collins, (a reflection of the waning currency of my literary education), although I have since learned that he was poet laureate of our country a few years back, including on September 11, 2001, which I suppose is both a grave responsibility and an immortal opportunity for a poet, whose gaggle of humanity generally lacks responsibility and is easily forgotten.

Collins is fun to read. A native New Yorker, he has spent most of his life teaching college in the Bronx, a setting which has doubtless contributed to his unpretentious style. He has a keen eye for the commonplace, not as symbols really, as poets often contrive, but as playing integral roles that evade inspection, taking their turns upon life's stage, sometimes with a single line of timely occasion. The salt shaker may reside in a darkened cabinet most of the time, but what is more important when served a baked potato?

So I have enjoyed his refreshing work, despite my usual comfort in structure, meter and rhyme. Collins could care less about any of these, as he is the poet of experience, part common and homespun like Frost and part coarse and plain-spoken like Whitman, mixed with dollop of e.e. cummings' iconoclasm and irony for an American stew made palatable for today's tastes. Here's one I liked:

Flock

It has been calculated that each copy of the Gutenburg Bible ... required the skins of 300 sheep.
--from an article on printing.

I can see them squeezed into the holding pen
behind the stone building
where the printing press is housed,

all of them squirming around
to find a little room
and looking so much alike

it would be nearly impossible
to count them,
and there is no telling

which one will carry the news
that the Lord is a shepherd,
one of the few things they already know.

Wonderland

Just spent a few days in beautiful southern Utah. Thursday I joined a bunch of guys to hike Buckskin Gulch, the longest slot canyon in the world. It's a very lovely route, emptying into the Paria River, for a total of 22 miles of slot canyons flanked by towering 300-foot sandstone walls.

I guess I'm not used to hanging out with guys my age, because it felt a little like a senior citizen group. Six of us were about 50, one was 61 and one 41. But we still managed the entire trek in eight hours, and no one seemed worse for the wear. Good company, great weather, beautiful canyon. Followed with a surprisingly tasty dinner at a Kanab diner. Life is good.

Friday Brett Pinegar and I headed to Rock Canyon, between Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park and Zion National Park. Finding the trailhead proved difficult as we had to navigate criss-crossing rancher roads through sand that demanded 4WD attention. After some backtracking, we found our destination, loaded our gear and headed down Rock Canyon. A few nice rappels and some terrific downclimbing later we were in the Paranuweap River (East Fork of the Virgin). This was my first time on this part of the river and it is truly lovely. We enjoyed a sizable petroglyph wall and then walked the river to the exit, then up French Canyon, which was also quite pretty, starting with a narrow little passage and finishing with a neat little climb. All in all a great day, and a fine introduction to canyoneering for Brett. Didn't see another soul, unless you count the few cows grazing along the river.

I'll never tire of these canyons. I love working my way down them, then the physical challenge of climbing back up, and all the mystical delights along the way. My wonderland.

A Day in the Life of Grandma

This is a true and accurate catalog of yesterday's events, as best as I can recollect them:

11:15 a.m. Bill takes Stacie and MJ to the airport after visiting from Phoenix.
3:30 p.m. Rebecca, having cried three times already, cries again, already missing her grandchildren.
4:45 p.m. Courtney calls, mentioning that she is buying a car from Angelica, but doesn't know how she is going to get it to here from Phoenix.
5:00 p.m. Rebecca suggests she may be available to pick up car.
5:15 p.m. Rebecca calls Angelica. They scheme.
5:30 p.m. Layla calls Rebecca (with Angelica's help) and gives ticket details.
5:40 p.m. Rebecca packs bags for Phoenix. No more crying. Very excited about seeing grandchildren. Schedule includes Layla, MJ and all parents.
7:00 p.m. Bill takes Rebecca to airport to fly to Phoenix.
10:00 p.m. Grandmother reunited with grandchildren after a traumatic 11-hour separation.

Quit Hitting the Bottle

I guess I should practice what I preach, so I'm making a commitment. No more bottled water. I've been leaning in that direction, but today I stumbled upon an article that for some reason I can't find again. (It was a featured story in Yahoo. But I've managed to source most of it.) A few things:

-60 million plastic bottles a day are going into U.S. landfills.
-Plastic bottles can take up to 1000 years to biodegrade.
-In the U.S., we spent $15 Billion on bottled water last year.
-More than 25.5 billion plastic water bottles were sold in the U.S. last year.
-About 1 in 5 plastic water bottles used in America are recycled.
-Producing our plastic bottles uses 1.5 million barrels of crude oil annually. That's enough to fuel over one million cars a year.
-Last year bottling water produced 2.5 million tons of carbon dioxide.
-Three gallons of water are used for each gallon of bottled water produced and sold, while one billion people in the world do not have easy access to potable water.
-Tap water is under even more stringent regulations than bottled water. Many experts believe that overall it is as good or better for you than tap water. (See this Readers Digest article as one among many.)
-Bottled water costs (ranges I've read) between 500 and 2000 times more than municipal water.
-Much of the bottled water purchased is simply tap water. This is true for both PepsiCo's water (Aquafina) and Coke's (Dasanti). There are no labeling requirements.
-And more and more research is demonstrating that in blind taste tests, tap water is preferred to many brands of bottled water.

Bottled water became popular when smart marketers from French companies (first Perrier, then Evian) convinced trend-setters that it was cool. I predict that in five years, drinking bottled water will be considered as uncool and irresponsible as littering or driving cars that burn oil. So drop by REI and get a nifty-looking Nalgene or refillable sports bottle. (Don't refill plastic water bottles for health reasons.) How hard is that? And if you don't like the idea of simple tap water, get a PUR or another filtering system, which are cheap and easy to use.

Yeah, bottled water is convenient. That's the same thing decent people used to say about throwing dirty Pampers out their car window. What would you think of them now? C'mon, be cool, responsible and ahead of your time. Quit hitting the bottle!

Seeing the Light

Ran into a very cool, fun, refreshing and original website called www.unscrewamerica.org, which promotes the usage of incandescent light alternatives--LED's and CFL's. Be sure to hit the space bar, and play around on the website, which is clever and upbeat, but still provides plenty of credible arguments for all of us to switch. Why? Well ... they are both cheaper over the long run, save energy and reduce greenhouse gases. That ought to be enough, methinks. Here's something I learned--95% of the energy used by an incandescent bulb is lost in heat. The light is merely a byproduct. Gee, that sounds pretty wasteful.

Over the past six months I have reflected on various elements of my lifestyle, with some nagging persistence in the area of environmentalism and conservation. (I've long admired the ancient wisdom from Socrates: "The unexamined life is not worth living.") And sadly, in many areas I am unable to justify my actions. When confronted by these realities, I either do a fetal curl in denial, or seek refuge in the protective embrace of crowds and customs. For instance, I can question the research, without the inconvenience of further study. Or, I can ignore it, content with the fact that everyone else uses incandescent bulbs. Why should I have to be weird?

Another example: I recently read about how our oceans are becoming increasingly polluted by plastics, floating on the surface, coalescing toxic chemicals and endangering ocean wildlife. According to the article, "Currently floating in the Pacific Ocean: a giant field of plastic trash that's twice the size of the continental United States." It's nearly impossible to destroy plastic, so when bags, bottles and manufacturing byproducts hit the waterways, as plenty do, they have nowhere else to go.

What can we do? Quit using plastic bags. Cut out bottled water. Buy less disposable stuff. Recycle. And maybe all of those are a little inconvenient. Maybe these changes are too hard. Well, maybe so. But does that make us any less accountable? Then there's the greatest rationalization: I'm only one person and won't really make a difference. I think just the opposite--real change is only going to happen by individuals leading the way with their personal decisions and commitment. Example is the only effective way to teach, and the best way to change the world. It is my responsibility to do what I can.

Unfortunately, these ruminations can be frustrating, as I continually find myself living at odds with my ideals, and must suffer the burden of culpability, no greater or less than anybody else. On the other hand, maybe CFL bulbs can lighten my load.

April Quotes

"The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees the opportunity in every difficulty."
--Winston Churchill

"A positive attitude may not solve all your problems, but it will annoy enough people to make it worthwhile."
--Herm Albright, writer

"Pain is mandatory, but suffering is optional."
--Sylvia Boorstein, Buddhist-Jewish teacher

"The three great essentials to achieve anything worthwhile are, first, hard work; second, stick-to-itiveness; third, common sense."
--Thomas Edison

“Follow effective action with quiet reflection. From the quiet reflection will come even more effective action.”
--Peter Drucker

"No plans survive first contact with the enemy."
--Carl von Clausewitz

"A pint of sweat will save a gallon of blood."
--General George S. Patton


"It is impossible to learn everything about a man, his soul, his will and his judgment, until he is seen practicing government and law."
--Sophocles (Antigone)

"Some day bemused students will try to see how we came to this decision and credit us with profound thought we never had. The thing as I see it is to get a definite, simple plan quickly, and win by execution ..."
--George S. Patton, on plans for the 1943 invasion of Sicily

"I may lose a battle, but I shall never lose a minute."
--Napoleon Bonaparte

"Many assume that half efforts can be effective. A small jump is easier than a large one, but no one wishing to cross a wide ditch would cross half of it first."
--Carl von Clausewitz

"When life gets to be more than you can stand, kneel."

“Meetings are a symptom of bad organization. The fewer meetings the better.” - --Peter Drucker

“Plans are only good intentions unless they immediately degenerate into hard work.” - --Peter Drucker

"Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons."
--Woody Allen

"However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results." - --Winston Churchill

"Finish last in your league and they call you 'Idiot.' Finish last in medical school and they call you 'Doctor'."
--Abe Lemons, college basketball coaching legend

"Doctors bury their mistakes, mine are still on scholarship."
--Abe Lemons

“One's objective should be to get it right, get it quick,
get it out, and get it over ... your problem won't
improve with age.”
--Warren Buffett

"One does not accumulate but eliminate. It is not daily increase but daily decrease. The height of cultivation always runs to simplicity."
--Bruce Lee

"Reading, after a certain age, diverts the mind too much from its creative pursuits. Any man who reads too much and uses his own brain too little falls into lazy habits of thinking."
--Albert Einstein

Feeling Swell

The weather is turning its most beautiful in southern Utah so I seized the opportunity to spend a few days in the San Rafael Swell, just north of Goblin Valley State Park. Many people had told me that it was an interesting place, but this was my first visit, and I was not disappointed. Angelica, Zachary and I drove down after Easter dinner and found a nice backcountry camping spot where we gasped at the stunning display of stars and also a little at the cold, as it got down below freezing at night and made exiting our sleeping bags in the morning a test of our resolution. We passed, and after an oatmeal breakfast drove down to check out Chute Canyon, which would be our exit. There we met a couple of old climbing hippies from Boulder who had hiked Ding and Dang Canyons the day before and supplied some beta which got me thinking. (I say they were “old,” but probably no older than me!)

Back to the Crack Canyon trailhead and we entered the canyon as it was warming from the sun. It’s a fun little slot with some interesting downclimbs. Unfortunately, we missed the best and easiest cut-off to Chute, as I was using one of Michael Kelsey’s guidebooks, which are notorious for being incorrect. So we hiked longer than planned, but eventually turned just before Temple Mountain (which is quite majestic, if not religiously inspired) and found our way to Chute. All in all, maybe 13 miles of hiking, climbing and clamboring. Makes it easier to sleep at night.

We were going to do Wild Horse and Bell Canyons on Tuesday, but I became convinced Ding and Dang would be more fun and challenging. So off we went, despite not having a topographical map to find the canyons, and relying completely on Kelsey’s rough description. And naturally, given my keen route-finding skills, we were soon wandering aimlessly, with no idea where the canyons were. But we knew they went up to the reef, so we found a canyon that looked most interesting and climbed up, thinking that might be Ding or Dang. It proved to be a lot of fun, with some challenging climbs, stems, chimneys and a body-anchor assist. Eventually we hiked to a high point for lunch and reconnoiter, still not sure where we were, and decided one canyon up looked tougher and more fun than the rest, and that if we took it we could probably find our way east around a large fin, and that another canyon down also looked like it might be tasty. So that’s what we did, never knowing what to expect next. It was more exciting that way. I do enjoy spontaneity, and adventure even more, and I am often my happiest trying to peer through a veil of uncertainty.

Back home on Tuesday night I looked at the map and realized we had totally missed Ding and Dang, and hiked unnamed canyons, which I will blame at least in part on the Kelsey hand-drawn map. But no worries about the canyons not taken. I will save them for another day. Yet knowing how way leads on to way …

Bluebird Day

Is there anything better than snowboarding/skiing in light fresh powder on a beautiful sunny day with your family? Nope. And that's the way it was on Thursday at Solitude--maybe 8-10 inches of soft, fluffy pow at the top and by 11:00a the snow had stopped and the sun was shining brightly on Tim, Zach, Brandon and me. We were the second ones on the lifts and first-tracked a couple of blues before heading to the top, where we found virgin powder nearly everywhere we looked until a well-deserved lunch. In the afternoon we hit the trees and chutes where the snow was still soft and in many places untouched. What a paradise we live in!

Tim was in town for four days of skiing--Alta, Snowbird, Solitude and Grand Basin--and lots of other fun. Craig and Teddy Lopus joined in today and Rebecca, Angelica, Zachary, Brandon, Courtney, Lanee and Sam all hit the slopes for at least one day. Overall, a great time with family and friends. Life is good!

My Irish Eyes Are Smiling

It’s St. Paddy’s Day and as is always the case my thoughts turned to my Irish father, Victor William Farley. I lost track of my dad when I was a few years old and didn’t see him again until after I was married and had children. It was a pleasant reunion, however, and I greatly enjoyed getting to know him. Perhaps the highlight of our relationship was when we went to Ireland (I think in 1997), after he retired. It was one of the great times of my life, getting to know Dad while we visited our ancestral home for the first time. As we drove through the countryside, roamed castles, explored cemeteries and ate at pubs we discovered we were alike in so many ways.

My dad was an unusual man with a colorful past. At 15 he left home and tended bar in Chicago. Then he lied about his age and enlisted in the army in World War II. They kept him stateside so he went AWOL, not once, but three times I think. Exasperated, the Army sent him overseas, and I think he mainly served in India. When he came back he ran bars again in Chicago and Miami, sometimes for organized crime and sometimes his own. He was a very tough guy, and was proud of the fact that in all the years he ran “saloons” (as he called them), he always “handled his own business” and never once called the cops. I have heard stories about him handling his own business. Although he was a kind, good-natured and overly accommodating man, it was wise not to cross him, for he had an Irish temper and iron fists.

I think of him as a great servant to friends, family and strangers. Numerous times I observed him helping others in unusual ways that would never occur to me. Another highlight in my life was going to a Cubs game with Dad in 1998—my first at Wrigley Field—and watching Mark McGuire and Sammy Sosa bash homers as they both chased Babe Ruth’s record.

So today I put on the sweater that I bought with in Ireland and we looked at the Irish photos and I put on my favorite album of Irish pub songs and reminisced and thought about Dad. And it was good.

Tales of Two Men

Last weekend I had plenty of driving time down and back to Death Valley. And since I was alone, there were no negotiations on what played on the iPod. So I decided to listen to a few audiobooks. On the way down, Team of Rivals by Doris Kearns Goodwin, about the political leadership style of Abraham Lincoln. This was recommended to me some time ago and I’ve been waiting for the right time to listen. On the way home it was Bob Spitz’s biography of The Beatles, which was on my iPod when I bought it, and one of the few book-length choices that I had available.

I was struck by the enormous contrast between the two. I have read some about Lincoln before, but prior to this had never really appreciated him as man. Beyond his intelligence and sagacity, he was a man of extraordinary character and goodness—good-natured, humorous, forgiving, long-suffering, patient, kind and considerate. I was humbled as I listened to his story, and deeply saddened when it came to his assassination, for the world lost too early one of its noblest souls.

Listening to The Beatles provided some interesting background to their music, which I have enjoyed and admired since I was a kid. The White Album was one of my first, and Hey Jude was an early favorite that I learned on the piano. But I must admit to being disappointed in discovering them as people, and particularly John Lennon, often considered the soul of the group. Lennon was certainly a gifted songwriter and the catalyst for the development of the band. But he was also a cruel, arrogant and insecure individual whose penchant for hard drugs and later heroin addiction squeezed out his humanity and left him and Yoko parading as symbols and seeking publicity and attention at every turn. It is a sad and unfortunate story, and one that I rather wish I had not wasted my time on.

It’s too bad that we look for so many of our “heroes” in the world of pop culture. There are great people among us, and many more to be found in history. Listening to Abraham Lincoln’s story inspired me to be a better person, and I would be wise to spend more of my study in that direction. John Lennon’s story went the other way, glamorous and successful but morally empty. What we read, what we listen to, turns out to be an important decision. I’ve certainly had my fill of pablum at the expense of more fulfilling options. And unfortunately, I can’t go back. But now in hindsight I see how readily I have sacrificed my mental and spiritual health by partaking of demoralizing junk food and popular swill.

Death Valley Days

I had the unique pleasure of spending a few days in Death Valley over the weekend, enjoying its canyons with some very nice folks from Las Vegas. It was my first time there and the place is truly awesome in its desolate loneliness, appearing nearly lifeless and with intimidating ruggedness. From Dante’s Peak you can look over the vast expanse of the valley, all below sea level and covered with immense salt deposits, leading to an inevitable feeling that God did not create this bleak tract of earth for human habitation. And in fact, few have lived here over the course of history, mostly miners, battling the mountains and elements to extract precious deposits of gold, silver, copper, chloride, borax, lead and even cyanide.

The canyons are equally stark, surrounded by black, craggy mountains with approaches filled with slippery talus-covered inclines, one of which carried me on my butt for over 40 yards while I grasped desperately for something to stop my fall. At the bottom, looking at my bloody hands, I was reminded of why I brought my gloves, and kept them by my side for the rest of the trip.

Day One was Styx Canyon, which includes 13 rappels and plenty of challenging downclimbs, dropping nearly 5000 vertical feet. Unlike Utah sandstone, these canyons offer many layers of mineral-laden rock, from crumbly limestone to hard-edged quartz and large igneous deposits. This made for a very different sort of canyoneering experience, and although not as beautiful as Utah, they are certainly as impressive and awe-inspiring. And after a 10-hour day in Styx, I would say equally challenging as well. Day Two was Coffin Canyon, another 4600 feet down and seven rappels, including one 190-footer and another that passed sea level during the descent. Both canyons finished about at about -250 feet in elevation with walkouts over vast alluvial fans overlooking the saline-covered valley floor.

I would like to return to Death Valley. I've read about a stunningly long line of petroglyphs west of the park that sound fascinating. I've heard that the mountain wildflowers are awesome a little later in the spring. Of course, there’s the infamous racetracks, where the rocks leave long traces in the sand as they roll imperceptibly across the perfectly flat desert floor. And then there are more canyons to do. But I think I’d most like to walk in the salt-covered valley in the middle of July, baking in the sun in the hottest and driest place on this earth, enduring for a while this one extreme, and taking the best and worst of what the sun can give.

Getting Needled

When it comes to pain removal, I’m willing to try almost anything. So when a back pain started to flare up again recently, I was pretty open-minded. I’ve tried vigorous stretching. I’ve also had a series of chiropractic treatments. But nothing has worked. Which is how I found myself doing a Google Maps search for “Acupuncture” businesses in my area.

I had only one important criteria for choosing an acupuncturist off of Google—I wanted a real Chinese guy. From China. The worse English the better. I wasn’t looking for some New-Age acupuncturist who learned her trade in southern California and would make me listen to Michael Bolton while she pricked my back. Nor was I interested in a former junkie turned tattoo artist who had traded up their needles along the way. No, I wanted an old man, with calluses on his feet, who had learned the secrets of acupuncture deep in mainland China, gaining wisdom quietly passed down by wise and aged Oriental shamans over many generations.

Google showed me Master Lu’s Acupuncture. Now that sounded pretty good. I pictured the old blind guy on the Kung Fu shows I watched as a kid. But I called and it turns out Master Lu had a heart attack, sold his business and moved back to Taiwan. No good. Then I tried Yancheng Acupuncture and Herbal Clinic. Dr. Yancheng answered the phone. I didn’t understand a word he said. Perfect. I made an appointment for the next day.

Dr. Yancheng has a spartan office—a house which he has converted half into his place of business. I was led from the reception area into a back room which had his desk and several bookshelves full of glass bottles filled with many curious-looking herbs. But fortunately, no bongs around, so I figured he was probably ok. (I’m not sure exactly what an eye of gnewt looks like, but I think I saw one.)

Dr. Yancheng told me he was also an orthopedic doctor, but preferred acupuncture to conventional methods. When I described my problems, he assured me he could fix them, showing me a book written completely in Chinese as some sort of reassurance to me. Turns out that mine was problem #117. Or maybe he was recommending the Kung Pao Shrimp. Anyway, we went into a little room and I laid down on a massage table and he stuck me in the back with needles and hooked me up to an electric current for 15 minutes and then proceeded to twist, prod and massage my back and neck, cracking it vigorously, bending me roughly and poking at me mercilessly with his knife-like fingers.

“You very stiff,” I think he said. (Or maybe it was “Blue fairy skip,” I’m not sure.) He indicated that it would take a lot of work, then made the next two appointments while I imagined I heard a cash register in the background go “ka-ching,” a universal sound which I think originated in China. I told him that had been my first ever massage and he was surprised. If he had known that before, I think he would have been more gentle. Anyway, we talked for a while, and eventually I began to understand him a little. “Chinese medicine not like American medicine,” he said. American medicine want to fix you after you get sick. Chinese medicine want to help you never get sick.” Now that made perfect sense to me.

And next time I'm going to ask about the jars.