tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-137875792024-03-13T09:13:11.064-05:00Scorpion SandwichHumor, Creativity, Storytelling, Self-Deprication, AngstUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-35466384990892345822013-03-16T23:08:00.000-06:002013-03-16T23:08:30.879-06:00The Second Plague of Moses<br />
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Whenever you move into a new place you never really know what to expect. Think about it. When you are renting or buying a new place you take a walk around once or twice and from those couple of experiences usually make a decision. You look out for things that are undesireable and if there are enough things that you dislike about the house or the area, you just move on. Let's say that you make the jump and decide to get a place. It is only afterward that once you settle in that you begin to see things that you never really noticed before. The quiet street that you thought was going to be quite turns out to be a thouroughfare for mothers picking up their children during the day from school. A next door neighbor that likes to fix cars and ends up reving the engine of his car early in the morning. These are just some things that one can not foresee unless you were able to spend a lot of time there. In our last house it wasn't until the moment that we signed the contract and put down the earnest money that we were presented with the fact sheet about poisonous bites and stings. Turns out that at the time there was no disclosure law that required you to tell your potential buyer that the house they were buying was a habitat to the 4th deadliest scorpion on the planet. While our last house was nohwere near infested it was quite an extended battle for a decade of trying to keep them out of the house. This time around it is much different. when we inspected the house it turned out at one time that there were issues with field mice but that it had been addressed and there were not other problems (still much better than scorpions). <br />
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Having moved back to Northern California for cooler temperatures we selected a house that sits very close to a creek system that feeds into the American River. The level of water that flows in the creek varies per the season along with amont of percipitation. It never really over flows but when the rains come it is quite a site to see. One of the reasons that we purchased this house was because of the proximity to the creeks and the trail system that follows along the banks. If you look at it on the map we are a pitching wedge away from the Every morning Jill is up with the dog and out on the trails. Upon her return I ask for a wildlife sighting report. So far to day she has seen, rabbits, mice, ducks, quail, geese, turkeys, deer, herons, coyote and most recently beaver swiming in the creek. She has heard reports of bobcat but has avoided the trail when that has happened. <br />
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The one thing that I didn't expect was the frogs. Millions of them. As soon as the rains came and the creeks rose there was an explosion of them. I knew that because we were close to wetlands that there would be some and maybe we would hear the occasional soothing ribbet of a frog in the distance but the sheer volume from their singing is actually deafening. We had to close the windows it was so loud. A couple of months ago we had the cable guy come out and rework some wiring on the outside of the house. I had to pull away some wood that was used as siding and when I did about 30 frogs came flying out. On occasion we find several stuck to the side of the house or on the sliding glass door on the back. When we let the dog out to go to the bathroom we see them leaping to get out of the way and one or two of them land in the pool. Aside from them being on the outside of the house we have not had any of them come in. With the occasional encounter in the yard or on the house it has been a plesant yet unexpected and at the same time not unwelcome experience. Even if the frogs were of the order of Dendrobatidae it would still be better than scorpions.<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-87516646196592306762013-03-10T13:56:00.000-06:002013-03-10T13:56:04.665-06:00Steve and Eydie Write Back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Aimee was hanging out in my office studying for a Spanish test so I put on an all Spanish album by Eydie Gormet. Aimee is pretty up the ladder with her studies so I thought that she could listen to some music in the background. It was great to hear in that she was able to understand pretty much everything and in every tense. As she studied I looked up to see if there was a website for Eydie and found that there was a contact link. So, on the spur of the moment I sent a short message:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Hi guys,</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">We hope this finds you well. My daughter and I are listening to your recordings in Spanish for the first time, I wanted to introduce her to your wonderful recordings with Los Tres Panchos. I was helping her study Spanish and thought it would be great to have her hear you. We really love your music and are so thankful for both of your incredible talents.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Take care both of you,</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Ed & Amelia Flores</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">A few days later we got a reply:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Dear Ed & Amelia,</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Thank you so much for the great e-mail.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">We appreciate our fans so much.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">We hope this e-mail finds you well & happy.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Take care & best wishes.</span><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><br style="font-family: Helvetica;" /><span style="font-family: Helvetica;">Steve & Eydie</span><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-55712853411032274982012-10-07T22:16:00.000-05:002012-10-07T22:16:43.942-05:00Just Right<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With the recent move back to Sacramento we have managed to up-end our lives in so many different ways. Even though this use to be our home over a decade ago, it is now a very different place. Now that we are here and our daughter is older our lives have evolved to a point that we just do different things and now have to start all over again. With Aimee this was one of our considerations. For myself, I wanted to make sure that I had a couple of options as far as Kendo was concerned. I had recently made the rank of Ni-Kyu and wanted to continue gaining the skills and experienced needed to continue down that path and I had begun some five years earlier. For Aimee it was much more of a consideration and investment.
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When she was 5 I had made the decision to introduce her to the martial arts. I had approached the task of introducting her with an empty mind. My plan was that of a children's alphabet picture book. I was going to start at the begining of the alphabet until she had a chance to see all of the arts. Well, I never made it to "B." All it took was one visit to Theresa Masteson's children's Aikido class and there was no going any further. As I tried to explain to her that the next visit would be to Brazilian JuJitsu she just shot her arm out toward the shomen and stated. "I want to take this." That was the end of it. For the next nine years Jill would drive her twice a week to lessons rain or shine (mostly shine in the valley of the sun). Aimee would go on to progress through two children's level classes to at the age of 12 go on to the adult class and go on to earn one belt short of brown belt. She ended up getting over two years of experience training with full size adults and multiple attackers. She managed to come close to perfecting her ukemi (falling and rolling) and gaining a solid grasp of all of the Kihon Waza (the inventory of Aikido moves). I know that she is my daughter, but it was amazing to see her out there during the training. For such a young person she demonstrated great skill, patience and ability when training during all of those years on the mat.
Moving away from such a deep investment of time and relationship was difficult and I would often question if it was the right thing to do. We were cutting ties, setting sail to a port with out really knowing if we could get back that which we were leaving behind. I knew that there would be traditional martial arts here in Sacramento, but I did not know to what extent or if for that matter it would end up being a good fit. In talking to Aimee we agreed that we would approach the new journey with an open mind and that in reasearching it turned out that we had multiple options available to us. In preliminary searches, I was able to find that there were at least four Aikido dojos and two Kendo dojos in the greater Sacramento area. It really looked promising.
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We haven't returned to Kendo with any regularity due to Aimee's school work load We are also have the option of a second school in South Sacramento.<br />
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Finding an Aikido dojo was a different experience altogether. Having done a search for all possibilities in the area, we were able to determine that there were 4 schools that taught Aikido. So the first week after we settled in we decided to make one week a sort of Budopallooza. We would visit a different Aikido each night.
The whole experience was a bit like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. The first style was too hard. The style was regimented based off of ritualistic forms and almost militaristic. The second style was too soft. It focused on energy extension and was lacking is action to the point of being meditative. The final style was just right. It had both energy and flow. It was medative but with connection to the art as a whole. It all of the people in the school were kind and were genuine in welcoming her.<br />
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While all of the schools acknowledged how skilled she was, it was this last school that most closely matched her style as well as showed her a direction where she wanted to go. Of all of the dojos she had been to, this was also the most Japanese and had the greatest influence culturally.
Having been experienced with so many years in the martial arts it was good to know that she was able to make the move and continue on the path with her studies. It was good to see that she was able to transition from a couple of great schools to new schools in Northern California that were just as great with the difference of styles providing a fresh start and a new direction.<br />
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Each of the Sensei's from each of the dojos commented on her abilities and experience. But it was the last that noticed her abilities as a whole. After 9 years of study she had gained the ability to learn and know all of the kihon wazas (foundational forms) as well as have a strong spirit throughout the training. The last sensei her out on the floor as both uke (receiver) and nage (thrower) and put her through her paces at full speed in front of the entire class. There was quite a bit of murmering during the exercise as Aimee repeated the throwing and falling some 20 times or more in rapid succession, flowing and withoug stopping.
After the class we had quite a few of the students and several of the black belts mention what a joy it was to work with her.<br />
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We had returned a week later and when we came in over heard one of the instructors talking to another instructor telling him how great she though she was. Aimee was silently overjoied to hear the comment.
It was nice to see as a matter of confirmation that she had acquired the skills to be considered an experienced and accomplished Aikidokaist. While all of her years, and rank may or may not matriculate directly into her new school, I think that all of her expreience and abilities will translate and will balance out. As the Dojo Cho put it, "I can see that she has all of the moves."
Hearing that only confirmed my thoughts that Aimee had gained the skills to be able to join an adult class and keep up with all of the black belts. Some of the comments from the other black belts have been' "She has great Ki extension" or "Her ukemi flows and she is a joy to watch." All of those kind comments came as a relief to know that All of those years of practice had paid off.
Not bad for a kid.
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"..And though she be but little, she is fierce." Wm. Shakespeare</blockquote>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-41419813416412269112012-06-03T00:07:00.001-05:002012-06-03T00:08:49.412-05:00Goodbye ArizonaWe’ve lived in the desert now for over 10 years. This has been the longest period of time that any of us in or family has lived in one place. Despite our not wanting to be here for the reasons of the heat and the bugs, this has ultimately been our home and we have been changed by it. We have seen and experienced may things. We as individuals have grown as we have continued to lean and have made many new friends. So, no matter how we felt about being here, Arizona has been our home for a decade almost to the day. Leaving her has been bittersweet but we also look forward to seeing old, familiar places and seeking new experiences in a place that has changed vastly over the last decade. Moving back to Northern California will change our quality of life in that the surrounding areas will allow us to branch out more and to be closer to family. We are sad however to leave behind the many people that we have met over the years and the many teachers that we have been so fortunate to have worked with. We will miss the copper state and all of the beauty and riches that it holds. Arizona is truly a majestic state.
So in the distance the expanse of the desert begins to appear farther in the mirror as we leave what was once our home in the distance. The saguaro’s fade to sihloutte in the early evening sky. A coppery blanket of light covers the land as the sun sets and as the desert settles in. Night approaches and somewhere in the hot, early evening air, the scorpion waves slowly its tail goodbye.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-60422195155224807472012-01-07T13:39:00.005-06:002012-01-07T14:06:41.377-06:00The 6 People You Say Goodbye to After you Leave<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DxClCNBxJUI/Twik3oeHnmI/AAAAAAAAAfA/toTYA1DLmVU/s1600/Field%2Bof%2BFlowers.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DxClCNBxJUI/Twik3oeHnmI/AAAAAAAAAfA/toTYA1DLmVU/s320/Field%2Bof%2BFlowers.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694983004473499234" /></a><br /><div><br />As soon as my wife handed me the phone I could tell that it something was wrong. She had a look of fear on her face. Jill knew what was coming. As soon as she jaded me the phone, I heard his voice I knew what happened. It was a month to the day that I had last spoken to his mother. I knew what he was going to say even before he was going to say it. Because during that conversation that I had with her the month prior, the first thing she said to me was, "Son, I've called to say goodbye, this is it. I am going to die."</div><div><br /></div><div>Although she addressed me as son, I was not related to her. From the moment that we met she took a liking to me (for reasons that I fully never understood) and she made it a point to "adopt me." As a young soldier in the 82nd Airborne division I was far away from home and removed from my family. She had made it a point from our meeting to include me in her family for the next three years. Pretty much for every holiday I was over at the house being a part of her family. During the regular part of the year I was invited on family trips and to dinners out. For me it was a life saver. I hated Army life in that it was so different than anything that I had experienced. To have this new family in my life gave me a quality of life that was somewhat normal. </div><div><br /></div><div>The morning I left the Army she was there at the bus stop and saw me drive off. She cried as the bus left and she faded from view in the early morning Italian fog. I ended a chapter in my life and began a new one. In the process many of the people that I had made friends with in the military had faded from my life as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>For many years we had lost contact, but as soon as her son found me through an extensive search one of the first things I did was to make a trip to Idaho to introduce her to my wife.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over the course of the last couple of years as my frined's heath was declining I was fortunate to spend time over the phone and have lenghty conversations. When my mother was diagnosed with cancer she had made the point to call her and give my mother a pep talk about survival, even as she was dealing with her own illness. "Hi, I'm Ed's other mother," she introduced herself over the phone to my mother.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the last things that she said to me during our final conversation was that I was one of 6 important people in her life that she want to have informed as soon as she was gone. It was a mere 45 minutes after she had died that I received the phone call from her son. He was on the highway headed home. It was a remarkable act on his behalf in as much as he had just lost his mother and he had to call an essential outsider to let them know that his mother died. However hard it was for him I was thankful to know that she was no longer in pain and that she was in peace. He did manage to go in to some detail about her last moments. I was so glad to hear about the fact that all of her family was there and that at the last moment, on her last breath, she looked into the eyes of her son, closed her eyes and stopped breathing. We are all going to die, but it was was reassuring to know that she left with all of her family around her.</div><div><br /></div><div>After her son hung up I was overwhelmed with emotion. The fact that he had to call me to let me know that his mother had just died. The power of knowing that she was now gone, that she had to leave her husband, her children and grandchildren. She led a good life, had a fantastic marriage. I looked up to her relationship with her husband and felt that it was one of the best examples of true love and friendship that I have ever seen. So many questions rolled around my head. Why me? Why did she choose me? Why was I so important to her? She was such an incredible person, so to be chosen by her was just a powerful thought. Who were the other 5 people? Someday, I'd like to know.</div><div><br /></div><div>Linda had visions and hopes for the people around her. She projected those positive visions for her family and friends. She was able to see her childern grow and become successful and happy and to see her grandchildren grow. I remember sitting on the porch at her home at Ft. Bragg and her saying, "someday you are going to meet someone and are going to be married, and I'd like to see that." I was glad that she was able to see my family and visit my home. In some small way it was a zen moment. Her vision had been complete.</div><div><br /></div><div>As an outsider looking in things did not come easy for Linda and her family during the years in the military. Her husband and her worked hard for everything that they had. Even afterwards both of them worked hard to further their education and to establish a strong foothold in new careers and jobs. It was only later in their marriage that some success came to them. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Son, don't worry, I've had a good life. I still have some things that I want to see and do. I want to make it through Christmas and New Years. Also, my team is going to the superbowl…I have to see that. Plus my anniversary is coming up, I can't miss that. And my birthday is coming up…Summertime, I hate the heat…maybe then."</div><div><br /></div><div>You died on a Thursday. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just a few weeks later her Green Bay Packers went to the superbowl and won. All of us who knew her had to have a moment to think about her and quietly smile. Even though I was not a fan of football or for that matter the Packers, there was some sense of universal justice to the fact that another hope of hers was now complete.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her voice still even today resonates in my head. Occasionally when I think of her. She inturrupts me and I hear her, "Son, don't worry about me…I'm okay." With all that I have seen and heard, as all of our worlds have grown and changed for the better. It is what she wanted for all of us. She saw just about everything that she wanted to see for her family…so I know that she is okay.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-25643818305120192272012-01-05T22:12:00.004-06:002012-01-05T22:51:55.383-06:00I Hate Fruit<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T-gQ2SxAF9U/TwZ2Vw6xrPI/AAAAAAAAAeo/cWScmNzE6wQ/s1600/Yuck.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T-gQ2SxAF9U/TwZ2Vw6xrPI/AAAAAAAAAeo/cWScmNzE6wQ/s320/Yuck.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694368895137328370" /></a><div><br /></div><div>Not sure when it started, but for as long as I can remember I have never had a significant amount of fruit intake in my diet. The amount that I've had has been negligible to the point as to be mathmatically considered as insignificant. The last memory of me even having fruit was when I was about 4. A baby sitter gave me a banana. I rember that gamey flavor that only bananas can have. The closest thing that I can compare it to is that fake banana flavor like that is in banana flavored candy. The cloyingly sweet yet ranky overpowering sweetness that is found in bananna flavored gum. After that I just couldn't stand it and avoided fruit all together. It wasn't till I was 9 or so that out of sheer desperation that I ate an orange. I actually enjoyed it. Since then it was pretty much the only fruit that I would eat (I've been told that Lemons do not count as a fruit). </div><div><br /></div><div>Once I joined the army it was pretty much the same thing, complete and total fruit avoidance. Out of sheer bordom and having spent a multitude of hours lying on the floor of the German forrest in camoflage with a machine gun I did bring myself to try blueberries. They were everywhere. They grew nautral and wild in the German underbrush. It was impossible to avoid them. I'd return back from Italy with all of my uniforms stained from lying in blueberries. After awhile the stains would just no longer come out. One time during one of the many training exercises of being lost patrolling around the German woods I ran into a thicket of brambles and thorns. Much to my suprise and on closer inspection I found that the canes of thorned brambles contained blackberries and raspberries. Upon giving them a try I found that I really liked them with my favoring the raspberries more than the blackberries. Although I had found something new in the fruit family it would be quite some time until I would add them into a regular regimen.</div><div><br /></div><div>Just recently I was in a supermarket with my family and we were talking about diet and somehow I mentioned out loud during the conversation. "I don't eat fruit."</div><div><br /></div><div>Standing next to me was an older woman, probably in her late 60s or early 70s. Instinctually and instantameously she punched me in the arm. It wasn't very hard. I'd like to think that she did it out of disbeleif and as a reaction to my statement. At the same time she hit me she blurted out, "You don't eat fruit? You are gonna to die!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Having been accosted by a complete and total stranger several red flags popped up in my mind:</div><div>(not in any particular order)</div><div><br /></div><div>1. I've just been hit by an old woman</div><div>2. Personal space violation</div><div>3. I don't know you; stranger danger</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, not knowing her I could have reacted immediatly out of indignation with a statement such as, "unhand me woman," or "good God, I don't know who you are and why are you touching me." But for some strange reason I found myself calm and recognized the moment for its comedic potential. I calmly moved my position, stood next to her, put one arm around her and with my other arm outstreached looked out into the distance as if to share a vision. I move my hand slightly across the horizon of the supermarket aisleway as if to highlight a line of imaganary text and said,</div><div><br /></div><div>"And on his gravestone it read: He ate no fruit."</div><div><br /></div><div>There was just a moment of hesitation as I could see that she at first did not get it. Then the neurons connected, and we all burst out laughing. </div><div><br /></div><div>I then quickly proceeded to the register with my wife and daugher to pay for our groceries and to get away from my strange new acquaintance. </div><div><br /></div><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OH0hgJUOnS8/TwZ1FQtsQJI/AAAAAAAAAec/dAur9X3yXz4/s1600/He%2Bate%2Bno%2Bfruit.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 244px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OH0hgJUOnS8/TwZ1FQtsQJI/AAAAAAAAAec/dAur9X3yXz4/s320/He%2Bate%2Bno%2Bfruit.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694367512102977682" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-90243522618211017182010-11-26T23:30:00.010-06:002010-11-26T23:51:07.160-06:00Like Father Like Daughter<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><u><br /></u></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TPCYCYp_UhI/AAAAAAAAAcs/nuYjnb1ui3M/s1600/IMG_1227.JPG"></a></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TPCXtE6JB0I/AAAAAAAAAck/QpviMwhxDS4/s1600/IMG_1231.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TPCXtE6JB0I/AAAAAAAAAck/QpviMwhxDS4/s320/IMG_1231.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544097941960591170" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ever since she has seen me running my daughter has commented “someday I’d like to run a marathon with you.” Not that I would ever wish that on my kids but I though that it was neat that she thought that my running was a good thing.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I’ve wanted to hold off on getting her started on running in that I wanted her to grow first and not have any complications with Osgood-Schlatters syndrome that is common with children who run to often at such an early age. My daughter has always been highly active her entire childhood so far exercising at times up to 5 to 9 hours a week so I knew that even if I kept her away from running as a hobby that eventually she would get started at it at a more appropriate age.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A couple of weeks ago Jill decided that she would go out and get Aimee a new set of shoes in that the last set of athletic shoes that she had were too small and that it was time to get another good pair.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Jill had recently signed up for the Mother/Daughter Phoenix Irongirl 5K. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Both her and Aimee headed down to the local Sports Authority and just picked out a set that they liked.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As soon as I saw what they had picked I thought to myself that maybe it was time to have her formally evaluated for her gait and efficiency.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">To do that would only make sense in getting her the right set of shoes.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Not too far from where we live is a specialty running store, by runners and for runners.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When you get there they evaluate the type of shoe that you need based on your impact and they bring out about a half dozen set of shoes and have you start running in them.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">After careful consideration Aimee had narrowed the field down to three pairs and agonized between two of them.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Eventually she went with the Brooks over the Asics.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Quietly I smiled inside knowing that they were the same brand that I have run with for the last couple of years.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TPCYrvY___I/AAAAAAAAAc0/J8jOyCXsmwo/s320/IMG_1225.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544099018516201458" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px; " /></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Later that evening she was eager to run.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I had her set up a running list with the spare iPod Shuffle I was given from work as gift.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As my wife prepared dinner, we both laced up and headed toward the door.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I had plan to clock the run using the iPhone 4 and the NikeGPS app.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Since this was her first run I wanted to take it easy on her and just give her the field of the road.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As soon as we left the house she popped the earbuds in and started running down the street.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">To see her run was an amazing experience.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">She has a beautiful energetic stride and runs with a determined focus.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">For the first half-mile I had her run in front of me. And I let her go at her own pace.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Roughly she was able to run about an 8:50 pace.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I had her walk for a couple of yards after the first half-mile and then we turned and headed home.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">She easily loped home but was beginning to develop a side cramp and wanted to start walking again just a few blocks from the house.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I convinced her to run home at a slower pace without stopping, then to sprint to the finish.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TPCYrqNT-nI/AAAAAAAAAc8/gv2he0aA9Pk/s320/IMG_1228.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544099017125001842" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px; " /></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There are many things that just her and I have done and do together on a regular basis.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This was the first time that I felt like I was sort of alone </span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">out</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">there even though we were together, that in some way she was out there on her own and that somehow I was losing her.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> A couple of days later I helped her get stated on the starting line of the Phoenix Irongirl 5K. I was not allowed to run with her (no men are allowed in the race) or for that matter I was not even allowed in the starting chute. I just tried to stay with her as close as I could, then watched her go as the starting gun fired. It was then that I realized that s</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">he’s growing up, getting farther out in front and that someday before I know it, she’ll be gone.</span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TPCYCYp_UhI/AAAAAAAAAcs/nuYjnb1ui3M/s320/IMG_1227.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544098308038808082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></p><div><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-86530829794409289312010-09-03T00:02:00.004-05:002010-09-03T00:34:51.471-05:00Zombie 092<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TICCr7SrdgI/AAAAAAAAAcU/QYnfLzKnw0M/s1600/the-walking-dead.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 183px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TICCr7SrdgI/AAAAAAAAAcU/QYnfLzKnw0M/s320/the-walking-dead.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512549635063510530" /></a><br />Zombies represent several things from the standpoint of human emotion and fear.<br /><br />As humans we all have common fears and the genre of zombies covers more than just one.<br /><br />The fear of zombies represents the fear of the crowd, the unruly, soulless masses, being alone and of course, zombies represent the fear of death from being consumed while still alive.<br /><br />Fear and the instinct of flight or fight drives our internal survival mechanism. The genre of the zombie apocalypse stirs all of those emotions within us as we ask ourselves “what if?” This reason alone is probably the biggest reason as to why the genre has exploded over the last decade with a ravenous fan base (no pun intended).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TICGgbPjpnI/AAAAAAAAAcc/Lp3vIW6jGKU/s1600/girl-zombie-walking.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 172px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TICGgbPjpnI/AAAAAAAAAcc/Lp3vIW6jGKU/s320/girl-zombie-walking.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512553835528431218" /></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yg46DWI_fCE">The Walking Dead</a> trailer on YouTube.<br /><br /><br />Coming this Halloween AMC Television will be releasing The Walking Dead, the adaptation of the graphic novel. Just from the fan base alone of zombies alone the show should be a success. From the few production stills that have been released and from the four-minute trailer it looks spectacular. I would venture to say that it will be the best production in both story and production value so far on the genre. And while there have been a plethora of zombie movies over the years that either stick to or deviate greatly from George Romero's original myth, The Walking Dead manages to come up with some concepts that we haven't seen before the the realm of the undead. It airs on Halloween night. Get ready.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-44441109615473027082010-08-08T19:39:00.005-05:002010-08-08T20:44:30.221-05:00The Bogu Stand<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9RzFa9ZcI/AAAAAAAAAcE/vX5Z8RxT3j0/s1600/IMG_0923.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9RzFa9ZcI/AAAAAAAAAcE/vX5Z8RxT3j0/s320/IMG_0923.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503207207740466626" /></a><br />It"s been over a year since I got my bogu for kendo. Rather that having the hot sweaty armor sit in a dark back in the corner of my office after each practice I decided that I would like to air it out so that it doesn't get that used bogu smell that the sport is so famous for. After hours of use and profuse sweating the armor ends up smelling like sweaty gym socks. Keeping anything that is drenched in sweat in a warm dark place can't be good. So, wanting to avoid this, I decided to make a stand for for the bogu. I saw several different versions of stands that people have made over the years posted on various forums on the Internet. So with no official plans to work off of I decided to wing it. I laid out the armor and measured it carefully and began to sketch and think of all options that I would need for the design. It took me a long time to build it but I adjusted my plans several times as well and made slight adjustments to accommodate accessories that I did not think of.<br /><br />Far from perfect the stand came out nicely with only a table saw, and a cordless drill as the only two tools that were used. For my Birthday, Jill ordered and framed some Japanese calligraphy for me. Hanging above the armor the Shodo reads "Ken-ko" or "The glint of a sword." <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9RyrDxnUI/AAAAAAAAAb8/jYk8ygs7k9Q/s1600/IMG_0924.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9RyrDxnUI/AAAAAAAAAb8/jYk8ygs7k9Q/s320/IMG_0924.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503207200663903554" /></a><br />Today at practice during keiko, one of the black belts said to me, "You are now a real Kendoist, your armor smells like it." Not sure that If that was an insult or a complement meaning that I practice quite a bit or that I just smell bad. But my initial purpose of the stand has obviously not been effective. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9RyLjvliI/AAAAAAAAAb0/OIcqpk3x2CA/s1600/IMG_0913.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9RyLjvliI/AAAAAAAAAb0/OIcqpk3x2CA/s320/IMG_0913.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503207192208053794" /></a><br />I'll spend sometime this weekend cleaning it with hydrogen peroxide. If that doesn't work I'll order some spray-on bogu cleaner, a sort of Japanese Fabreeze that is designed to deodorize the equipment. But for now, in between practice sessions the armor sits and waits.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-85560187327626140602010-08-08T19:37:00.002-05:002010-08-08T19:39:21.158-05:00Random Photos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9OGoMIMhI/AAAAAAAAAbs/7Y9tOXAYArc/s1600/IMG_0908.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9OGoMIMhI/AAAAAAAAAbs/7Y9tOXAYArc/s320/IMG_0908.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503203145444504082" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9OGNpU78I/AAAAAAAAAbk/iM5FXPfLM8Q/s1600/IMG_0907.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9OGNpU78I/AAAAAAAAAbk/iM5FXPfLM8Q/s320/IMG_0907.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503203138319216578" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9OFyGetYI/AAAAAAAAAbc/4aeHfDJIAYo/s1600/IMG_0929.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9OFyGetYI/AAAAAAAAAbc/4aeHfDJIAYo/s320/IMG_0929.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503203130925299074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9OFdfyIkI/AAAAAAAAAbU/4r_ZfkOizto/s1600/IMG_0928.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 192px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TF9OFdfyIkI/AAAAAAAAAbU/4r_ZfkOizto/s320/IMG_0928.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503203125394285122" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-85309677767517655522010-06-03T19:08:00.006-05:002010-06-03T19:31:26.377-05:00Problems Again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TAhJFR2qwaI/AAAAAAAAAbE/jHVZFFoePho/s1600/IMG_0804.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TAhJFR2qwaI/AAAAAAAAAbE/jHVZFFoePho/s320/IMG_0804.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478709301737079202" /></a><br /><br />In trying to increase the miles in my running schedule and I ran into an old friend again...knee pain. I am lucky in the sense that I do not truly have knee issues such as torn cartilage or impact issues from worn out cartilage. So hopefully I still have a couple of thousand miles in my knees left to go. <br /><br />What i have managed to find out over the years is that if I do have problems with my knees it is a matter of foot alignment.<br /><br />The last two hundred miles, I was doing okay with my second of Brooks, “The Beast” running shoes. As I have stated before the shoes were designed for big, fat, heavy, hairy, smelly, inefficient runners such as myself. <br /><br />Even thought the shoe is designed to be a motion control shoe the last of the shoe is not quite right for my foot. I tend to buy shoes one size larger than my normal size to accommodate swelling that can occur during training or during a race. <br /><br />My feet are long but they are also narrow resulting with my foot swimming around in a larger shoe. I did okay at first with the current shoes but began to experience some itching underneath my left knee cap and some outright pain just below my right knee. After some feeling around I determined that my right knee was experiencing some ITB (iliotibal band syndrome) pain. <br /><br />Yesterday I went to the local running store and brought some Sole inserts. In my last set of shoes I had the same make of inserts and they worked well. They were probably the best thing next to custom inserts from a podiatrist and about 260 dollars cheaper. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TAhI0rD3SOI/AAAAAAAAAa8/gAPwARKNexk/s1600/IMG_0805.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TAhI0rD3SOI/AAAAAAAAAa8/gAPwARKNexk/s320/IMG_0805.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478709016445536482" /></a><br /><br />The inserts are customizable in that you can mold them to your feet. You merely place the inserts in the oven at 250 degrees for a couple of minutes, then put the heated inserts into your shoes quickly, then step into and lace up your shoes. After a couple of minutes the warm molds will conform to your feel. <br /><br />I did two miles on them today. I was able to feel the difference immediately. No knee pain or sub-patella itch. The felt so good that I was able to increase my run time by two minutes on the first mile. The shoes although heavier felt more forgiving and the alignment made a world of difference. It was worth the money.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-36999459525589517032010-05-29T19:06:00.005-05:002010-05-29T19:17:19.532-05:00A Testimony in Silence<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TAGte89HN8I/AAAAAAAAAas/qlwfS3y6hzs/s1600/The+Dead.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/TAGte89HN8I/AAAAAAAAAas/qlwfS3y6hzs/s320/The+Dead.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476849369129367490" /></a><br /><br />Quietly they stand<br /><br />waiting vigilantly at rest <br /><br />waiting to serve once more.<br /><br />White monoliths of stone <br /><br />serving as a reminder <br /><br />of selfless endeavor. <br /><br />The price, the cost, of gain despite loss.<br /><br />That they paid, freely, willingly.<br /> <br />They speak to us still, in stillness <br /><br />and tell us...<br /><br />“remember.”<br /><br /><br />Ed Flores, Memorial Day, 2010Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-74635778394870279122010-05-02T22:58:00.007-05:002010-05-02T23:10:26.934-05:00The Sharpie: A Rediscovery<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S95KZndtt_I/AAAAAAAAAaU/w_-DoR6Kazo/s1600/wr.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S95KZndtt_I/AAAAAAAAAaU/w_-DoR6Kazo/s320/wr.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466888801625159666" /></a><br />I fell in love with the Sharpie some years ago when I created a storyboard for a short film that I wrote some 24 years ago. A good friend gave me a storyboard format to work with and when I went to get some pens and the local PX I opted for a Sharpie.<br /><br />“A laundry marker,” he asked with incredulity. After all it would make sense to most a the time that a sharpie would be reserved for your mom to write your name on the inside of your underwear with.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S95L3ifcydI/AAAAAAAAAak/D7dLMiWsC18/s1600/Storyboard.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S95L3ifcydI/AAAAAAAAAak/D7dLMiWsC18/s320/Storyboard.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466890415197964754" /></a><br />I liked the Sharpie in that it was a bold marker but not as bold as a Prismograph or as narrow as the cheap “El Marko” or technical pilot pen. The nib of a sharpie was wedged shaped so that you could make medium thickness or very bold lines. The ink flowed fairly thickly so that the lines created were very saturated.<br /><br />What’s great about the Sharpie is that the ink is waterproof and permanent. Once it gets into the fibers of the paper it is pretty much stuck there. It does well on most porous surfaces with the exception of tile and glass. <br /><br />Over the years what had initially started out as a laundry marker had diversified into an array of products of different colors, sizes and purposes. Sharpies come in every size and color and are used for just as many purposes.<br /><br />When I started working in Hollywood it was clear that Sharpie was the working pen of choice on the set but off the set as well. Cameramen use it to mark film rolls up for packaging for the lab and on freshly loaded cameras to denote stock, size and speed. Off the set it is not unusual to see a star carry one for impromptu autographs. Sharpies work exceptionally well on glossy photos.<br /><br />I found out a year ago prior to its release that Sharpie was planning on releasing a metal barrel version of the pen. I tracked the rumor down for about a year until I could finally get my hands on one. I pretty much use it daily and gets as much milage as the MontBlanc and more than the Parker Duofold.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S95K8ljqpaI/AAAAAAAAAac/D_xryakugxE/s1600/Sharpie+test.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S95K8ljqpaI/AAAAAAAAAac/D_xryakugxE/s320/Sharpie+test.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466889402408674722" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-56115204531842666912010-04-25T14:46:00.004-05:002010-04-25T15:10:18.596-05:00Crazy Pizza<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S9SfbfQ_HeI/AAAAAAAAAaM/4H8XCU5HPMs/s1600/IMG_0415.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S9SfbfQ_HeI/AAAAAAAAAaM/4H8XCU5HPMs/s320/IMG_0415.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464167542505283042" /></a><br /><br />About a year ago I bought Jill a pizza stone so that we could make pizza at home. It's been a fun experience each time we make a pizza. The only problem that we are having is transfering the pizza from the pizza shovel onto the pizza stone. The pizza ends up sticking to the spatula no matter how much cornmeal we use. The dough ends up disfigured and torn into some bizzaro shape which will ofter result in some strange looking creations such as the yin and yang pizza of awesomeness featured above. I will probably go out and get a larger spatula and hunt for other methods on how to transfer the ready made pie into the oven.<br /><br />But until such time that we master the stone, I present, The United States of Pizza:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S9SfawRpe_I/AAAAAAAAAaE/J9FMDP4tJEw/s1600/IMG_0750.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S9SfawRpe_I/AAAAAAAAAaE/J9FMDP4tJEw/s320/IMG_0750.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464167529891593202" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-62511064623472483802010-03-11T20:56:00.002-06:002010-03-11T21:12:23.817-06:00I Would Walk 500 Miles<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S5mtqq3y1SI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/wHNQQS7LLW8/s1600-h/EdBoots.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S5mtqq3y1SI/AAAAAAAAAZ0/wHNQQS7LLW8/s320/EdBoots.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447576172855743778" /></a><br /><br />Last fall Wolverine advertised that they would be re-releasing their series of the 1000 mile boot that originally debuted back in 1883.<br /><br />When I was in the military I picked up a set of Wolverines as a set of kick arounds and for traveling. Back then the price seemed pretty reasonable from what I could remember. I wore then to the point that they pretty much fell off my feet.<br /><br />Because these boots are a re-release they are in a way a special edition boot, with that comes the price. The good thing about the boot that makes it all worth it is the level of quality and durability. Upon first seeing them Jill's first comment was, "Whoa, those things look that they will last forever." To see them in a photo is one thing, but to have them in front of you is a sight to behold. It is clear that at first glance that these are pretty substantial in their construction. Wolverine employed Horween Leather to supply them with the Aniline Chromexcel leather hides that are used on the boot. The leather is full hide pull up leather that has been infused with natural oil and greases to create a naturally waterproof leather. This is one kick-ass boot that will go the distance and then 500 more.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S5mtrD8oKsI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/A6mwhjrkKP0/s1600-h/EdBoots2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S5mtrD8oKsI/AAAAAAAAAZ8/A6mwhjrkKP0/s320/EdBoots2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447576179586902722" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-42468486146142139142010-03-09T22:38:00.002-06:002010-03-09T22:42:26.170-06:00Nanishi Togareshi, I Love You<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S5ci9NJviiI/AAAAAAAAAZs/bwmrbgn0I1M/s1600-h/schichimi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 273px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S5ci9NJviiI/AAAAAAAAAZs/bwmrbgn0I1M/s320/schichimi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446860709225794082" /></a><br /><br /><br />I never use to like hot food. It wasn’t until I joined the Army that I discovered, hot sauce and chili powder. I ended up using the stuff not because the military cooks put it in to the food, I ended up using it because often the food was so bland. <br /><br />Even the meals in the field were incredibly horrible. We were lucky in that we had a combat field kitchen attached to our unit and that we were able to receive hot “A’s” delivered to us out in some of the most remote conditions. Logistics and location aside, the military has never really been known for their culinary expertise. And not matter what you do, you can just never deliver a world-class meal in below freezing conditions or in the middle of the German forrest at night.<br /><br />One day I finally got sick of MRE’s or Meal, Ready to Eat (the author Tom Clancy referred to them as three lies in one). At the time the regimen within the MRE menu was limited to 12 different meals. In my opinion at least three of them were completely inedible. Chicken a al King or affectionately known as Chicken a la Sling (because as soon as that meal was received it was immediately thrown out). The Meatballs in BBQ Sauce was another that was not digestible. Most people agreed that the sauce or baby gravy (referring to the contents of a diaper) was disgusting. Hot or cold both of these meals were inedible.<br /><br />The Chicken loaf was the worst of them all. A 4” x4” cake of compressed meat, the chicken cake was quite literally thrown out. Contests among the soldiers were held for distance or the ability to hit the occasional stray dog, iguana, errant monkey or Turkish child from a moving military vehicle were frequently held.<br /><br />It hit me one day while on leave and having a meal at a local diner. I was never a fan of condiments, I being a somewhat moral person never stole anything in my life. But for some reason the bottle of tabasco bottle on table called me. As I paid the bill I pocketed the bottle of of Illians Tabasco and headed back to North Carolina.<br /><br />In my normal field gear there were few places that made sense to put a bottle of tabasco sauce. My cargo pocket was too dangerous. I didn’t want it to break in the field and have a pocket full of broken glass and tabasco running down my BDUs.<br /><br />One day while at the range I noticed that the bottle fit perfectly into my magazine pouch. If I took out one of the magazines and put it into the weapon I could keep the bottle stored in a protected place that was readily available. For the next two years I carried a bottle of tabasco on every jump and every field exercise, and the ever infamous Army chow became just a little more tolerable. Unfortunately I had nowhere else to put the spare magazine so I would just lock it into the magazine much to the displeasure of the company NCO’s.<br /><br />After the military I discovered Nanashi Togareshi. There was a small teriyaki restaurant called Yoshiz that specialized in bento box style meals near by work in downtown Pasadena, California. I noticed that on each of the tables were the requisite bottles of soy sauce. What I did not recognize were the small red capped bottles of chili powder at each of the tables. Seeing everyone give a small shake of the powder onto their dishes I decided to do as the Romans do at the moment. The result was an incredibly pleasant surprise. Spicy but not hot with a pleasant tang and the lack of vinegar overtone that you get from tobacco. The great think about it is that you can take it pretty much anywhere and not have to worry about breaking the bottle.<br /><br />I went to a local restaurant shop and got one of those large dispensers that you see at your local pizza parlor that dispenses either Parmesan cheese or the red flake chili pepper. I went to Lee Lee’s Asian Supermarket and got a 2 pound bag of the stuff. At the table whenever we are having asian food I bring my large shaker of Nanashi Togareshi and spice things up a bit. It always adds a bit of flavor whether it be stir fry, udon or egg tacos for breakfast.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-35036275166875248962010-01-13T20:55:00.004-06:002010-01-13T21:03:41.187-06:00Sticking with it<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S06JJ-WOCKI/AAAAAAAAAZk/XKDOCcSx-L0/s1600-h/IMG_0565.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S06JJ-WOCKI/AAAAAAAAAZk/XKDOCcSx-L0/s320/IMG_0565.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426425405476047010" /></a><br /><br />Last October I went to Los Angeles and took my first Kendo test. Up to that point I had been practicing for about a year and three months.<br /><br />I had never been to a shinsa and had no idea what to expect. I had been to about 5 aikido examinations watching Aimee climbing the ranks. When I was 13 I took Taekwondo for about 6 months. I ended up waking up late the morning of the exam and I missed my chance for getting yellow belt. The Taekwondo grandmaster Chun Lee let me test a week later and reluctantly gave me a yellow belt fearing that I would quit if I didn’t pass. Lacking discipline and maturity, I dropped out anyway. <br /><br />Over the years I had attempted to sign up for and attend several martial arts classes. In high school Brian Iwakiri attempted to round up several of his friends to take judo at a local Japanese community center. Up unto that point I had not trained in anything so challenging and brutal. I would come home with the cross-hatch weave patterns of the gi ground into the skin of my chest in one big bloody mess. Not sure why I didn’t stay with it, at that point in my life I just never really stuck to anything.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S06INj4ICVI/AAAAAAAAAZM/2XidPUV-xbc/s1600-h/IMG_0575.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S06INj4ICVI/AAAAAAAAAZM/2XidPUV-xbc/s320/IMG_0575.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426424367578351954" /></a><br /><br />It was around 1979 when I saw Sydney Pollack’s “The Yakuza” on TV. It was my first view of Kendo...I was mesmerized by it and was fascinated by the short scene that was at the beginning of the movie. After some research I was able to find a nearby dojo in West Covina. I just went to watch...I had no interest in joining. To me, watching Kendo was just fascinating. It was fast, flowing, explosive, beautiful. In my teens I would go back to the dojo just to watch, but I had somehow come to the conclusion that because I was not Japanese I would never really be any good at it.<br /><br />As soon as I graduated from High School and I moved in with my father down in Huntington Beach I found a local dojo and started taking classes. Due to my constantly changing life, my inability to hold down a job or commit to school, I once again had to quit something that I wanted to learn.<br /><br />About two years ago on my birthday, I just wanted to go and see a Kendo practice. Like so many times in my life before I though that I just wanted to watch. I didn’t think that I was going to make a commitment.<br /><br />Aimee seemed generally interested as well and went with me on a frequent basis on the Sunday practices. With my change of job last year, I went from evening shift to the day shift so I was then able to go to the practices during the week on a regular basis.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S06INcg0j2I/AAAAAAAAAZE/xqo3or6rqSE/s1600-h/IMG_0578.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S06INcg0j2I/AAAAAAAAAZE/xqo3or6rqSE/s320/IMG_0578.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426424365601558370" /></a><br /><br />Going to a Kendo test is sheer pandemonium at best. There are hundreds of people there in various ages, shapes and sizes. Fifteen minutes prior to the practice all of the students from the various dojos gather together for swinging and striking exercises. The noise for all of the students is deafening and overwhelming.<br /><br />I was nervous to say the least. I did not know what to expect or for that matter what I should do. It was all new territory for me.<br /><br />Once the testing stated the instructors and judges pretty much tell you what to do and how to do it. The hardest part was sitting in the torturous seiza position for an extended period of time.<br /><br />I ended up having to participate in two matches. In the first I did pretty well. The second all I could think was “why does this guy keep hitting me with a stick?” No matter what I would do my second opponent would just find an opening and exploit it. I took a moderate bashing.<br /><br />I left the shinsa and Torrance not knowing how I did or what rank I received. A couple of days later I received an email from my sensei with my placement results from the test.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S06IORXAUBI/AAAAAAAAAZc/VZuGDArDQPw/s1600-h/IMG_0576.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S06IORXAUBI/AAAAAAAAAZc/VZuGDArDQPw/s320/IMG_0576.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426424379787464722" /></a><br /><br />Turns out that I got san-kyu which it about 4 “belts” below sho-dan or black belt. Not too bad for the first time around. I still have a long way to go from a skill level. My footwork is bad and my timing and sense for gaining opportunities to seize the moment in a second is non-existent. But, once again in my life I have managed to pick up where I left off and did better than I did before. Just like school I managed to dedicate myself to something and I gained something as a result.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-79524288656917725922010-01-07T23:57:00.003-06:002010-01-08T00:00:34.888-06:00Random Photos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0bJte56NPI/AAAAAAAAAY0/nOX_3pHNYHE/s1600-h/IMG_0647.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0bJte56NPI/AAAAAAAAAY0/nOX_3pHNYHE/s320/IMG_0647.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424244584441591026" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0bJtIdGSMI/AAAAAAAAAYs/_AkkfDu7lMs/s1600-h/IMG_0653.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0bJtIdGSMI/AAAAAAAAAYs/_AkkfDu7lMs/s320/IMG_0653.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424244578415167682" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0bJtw4iekI/AAAAAAAAAY8/3vo6YlclHNY/s1600-h/IMG_0639.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0bJtw4iekI/AAAAAAAAAY8/3vo6YlclHNY/s320/IMG_0639.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424244589267679810" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-69550034437880641762010-01-07T20:43:00.006-06:002010-01-07T21:28:42.464-06:00A New Friend<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0akXBidpAI/AAAAAAAAAYc/RuWF3rFUjaA/s1600-h/IMG_0660.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0akXBidpAI/AAAAAAAAAYc/RuWF3rFUjaA/s320/IMG_0660.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424203516671271938" /></a><br /><br />As some of you know, I've had the same wristwatch for that last 24 years. I was overindulgent in my purchase but at the time I was tired of burning through wristwatches. By the time I had got to my permanent duty station at Ft Bragg I had already burned through three watches in Basic, AIT and Jump School (yes I snuck a watch through jump school even though it was technically illegal). <br /><br />The Submariner has been with me since September of 1985, which means that this year the watch will be 25 years old. A couple of months ago, it started to show it's age and began developing some problems. While the watch was able to hold time, I would at times wake up in the morning only to find that the watch had stopped in the early hours of the morning. I just had the watch serviced two years earlier, and because it's a Rolex, the service charge just to look under the hood of the thing is quite expensive (just like a Ferrari). I just couldn't bring myself to cough up the money to have it serviced again. After talking to several professionals the consensus was that the watch was just old and that it wouldn't hold a charge any longer without having to be hand wound. This was one of the original reasons that I had purchased the watch. I wanted a timepiece that I didn't have to worry about. But it seems that the time had come to give the Submariner a break. After all, it had been with me through over a half dozen jumps out of military aircraft, traveled with me to 23 different countries, traveled below the equator, been on the set of countless Hollywood productions and was there with me when I got married and the day that my daughter was born. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0akyCagyKI/AAAAAAAAAYk/dc6tL6KgJdA/s1600-h/IMG_0039.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0akyCagyKI/AAAAAAAAAYk/dc6tL6KgJdA/s320/IMG_0039.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424203980762826914" /></a><br /><br />To have to come to terms with the prospect with retiring the watch was heartbreaking to say the least. Jill was pretty adamant about holding off on getting the watch repaired again. This time I agreed with her. Since I now work from home and really don't get out much I just needed a timepiece that was fairly accurate and that I could knock around. Jill asked me what kind of watch I wanted and roughly set a price range of what we could afford. After looking around on the Internet and spending some time on The Poor Man's Watch Forum I was reminded of something. I have always really liked diver's watches. I was PADI Openwater certified when I was 18 and have always been a fan of diving. Plus the advantages of having a watch that meets ISO standards means that the watch can pretty much take a beating.<br /><br />I had decided on the old trusted standard of the Seiko 200 meter diver also known as the SXK007. In watch collector circles, the automatic watch is well know as a reliable work horse and a good overall sport watch and is not a bad looking watch.<br /><br />Jill ordered the watch from Chronograph.com and the watch was drop shipped from Singapore to directly under the Christmas tree. Now that I have 4 watches my mother was kind enough to get me a watch box to store all of my collection under atop my dresser in the bedroom. Like Lenin in his glass tomb, my watch sits, reminding me of glorious days past.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0ajpdQLijI/AAAAAAAAAYU/pb6WPv7ZpTk/s1600-h/IMG_0659.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/S0ajpdQLijI/AAAAAAAAAYU/pb6WPv7ZpTk/s320/IMG_0659.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424202733836798514" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-78382571637336914022009-10-10T23:00:00.003-05:002009-10-10T23:10:38.830-05:00Legend of the Worry Man<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/StFakU5xoAI/AAAAAAAAAYE/atd0rwopGtw/s1600-h/worryman.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/StFakU5xoAI/AAAAAAAAAYE/atd0rwopGtw/s320/worryman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391189809072021506" /></a><br /> <br />When I first heard it I thought the story was absolutely fascinating. I was in an import shop looking at various curios and found a very small carving of a weeping man.<br /><br />The clerk walked up to me and explained that this was the “worry man,” you simply hold the carving in your hand and roll it around during times of anxiety and stress. If you continue to work it eventually it will become smooth. Once that happens all of your worries will be gone. <br /><br />At that time I did not purchase the palm sized statue and since that time (I’ve had many worries) regretted that I did not. Several years had passed and during that time I had searched high and low for a carving of the same size. Over the years I had found several that were a foot in diameter or so, but nothing like the small one that I had encountered<br /><br />I was lucky enough to find one this morning in a Tibetan curio shop in downtown Boulder, Colorado. <br /><br />The owner of the shop corrected me on my story and told me that the carving was of the weeping buddha. It turns out that Buddha is sometimes depicted as weeping because “the world is joy and the world is pain.” Perhaps this depiction is before his enlightenment.<br /><br />I still like the story about the worry man. As a high anxiety type it works for me as a sort of asian medieval stress ball. The convenient size makes it so that I can work it during meetings, on flights (and landings) or other times of high stress.<br /><br />My daughter observed the depth of the carving and said “that will take forever to rub that into a smooth ball.”<br /><br />I replied, “that is because during your life your worries will never really go away.”Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-90290003595600314322009-09-07T16:29:00.003-05:002009-09-07T16:34:14.734-05:00Yoonie's 40thLast weekend one of our friends had her 40th birthday party. Her husband conspired along with my wife and other friends to make it a surprise party.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqV8ApVfJ9I/AAAAAAAAAX0/8Et5BqhyArk/s1600-h/IMG_0451.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqV8ApVfJ9I/AAAAAAAAAX0/8Et5BqhyArk/s320/IMG_0451.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378841680501745618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqV8APbUlNI/AAAAAAAAAXs/yzYy_h0iOW8/s1600-h/IMG_0462.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqV8APbUlNI/AAAAAAAAAXs/yzYy_h0iOW8/s320/IMG_0462.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378841673546896594" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqV7_0K3UFI/AAAAAAAAAXk/haFa-QUGwY8/s1600-h/IMG_0452.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqV7_0K3UFI/AAAAAAAAAXk/haFa-QUGwY8/s320/IMG_0452.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378841666230112338" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-19236285412283398642009-09-07T16:08:00.005-05:002009-09-08T15:48:37.503-05:00Photos of Recent Meals<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqbDHaUJYRI/AAAAAAAAAX8/q5sC7VlfCTM/s1600-h/Sammich.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqbDHaUJYRI/AAAAAAAAAX8/q5sC7VlfCTM/s320/Sammich.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379201337030959378" /></a><br />Jill went out of town for a couple of days so I decided to live big. I had the butcher make up a couple of burgers made out of angus beef. That along with a side of grilled asparagus and a couple of Bohemia beers it wasn't a bad meal.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqV6ywuUeNI/AAAAAAAAAXU/d0JOE4Hl3k4/s1600-h/IMG_0236.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SqV6ywuUeNI/AAAAAAAAAXU/d0JOE4Hl3k4/s320/IMG_0236.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378840342455154898" /></a><br />Last week was a really busy week so I ended up eating at my desk...here's a sandwich that I made.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-18770969788844886852009-08-16T16:51:00.002-05:002009-08-16T16:53:18.921-05:00Bright Idea<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/Soh_vXrocsI/AAAAAAAAAW8/2oG5D4JnGZY/s1600-h/Bright+Idea+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/Soh_vXrocsI/AAAAAAAAAW8/2oG5D4JnGZY/s320/Bright+Idea+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370683007426917058" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/Soh_vHsXdjI/AAAAAAAAAW0/Fv2WoDH-P6M/s1600-h/Bright+Idea+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/Soh_vHsXdjI/AAAAAAAAAW0/Fv2WoDH-P6M/s320/Bright+Idea+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370683003135030834" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-27298797626653580702009-08-16T16:50:00.002-05:002009-08-16T16:51:44.774-05:00Photos of Jill<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/Soh_TtZieAI/AAAAAAAAAWs/hW5SncVITDY/s1600-h/Jill+1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/Soh_TtZieAI/AAAAAAAAAWs/hW5SncVITDY/s320/Jill+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370682532220270594" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/Soh_TC82QwI/AAAAAAAAAWk/nU2iHxgdHwQ/s1600-h/Jill+2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/Soh_TC82QwI/AAAAAAAAAWk/nU2iHxgdHwQ/s320/Jill+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370682520825643778" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13787579.post-6940714485977983602009-07-29T21:26:00.002-05:002009-07-29T21:29:46.729-05:00Random Photos<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SnEFZaw4-DI/AAAAAAAAAWc/DG5zjqmm6u0/s1600-h/pen.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SnEFZaw4-DI/AAAAAAAAAWc/DG5zjqmm6u0/s320/pen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364074565414221874" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SnEFZdLNu-I/AAAAAAAAAWU/jRvx4DuQivM/s1600-h/no+head.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FEpJYMEbuQo/SnEFZdLNu-I/AAAAAAAAAWU/jRvx4DuQivM/s320/no+head.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364074566061505506" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0